Paparazzi by Jo Fenton (best free e reader .txt) 📕

a pain, and that you wanted to make a new start. Let them know where they can contact you if they need you, and thank them for everything they’ve ever done for you.”

Joanna wraps her hands around her mug and sits back in the chair, looking thoughtful.

“Maybe. Yeah, I could do. I suppose looking at it from their point of view, it would seem as though I’ve done a runner because I wanted to avoid them. They’d think I’ve done something wrong.”

“It does look like that.” I give her a quick, nervous glance. “So, how well do you know Matt?”

“We met about half a dozen times. Usually in London, but twice further North – Newcastle, Carlisle. I never got to know him though. He was just another operative. Someone I worked with remotely on a project. We discussed the project when we met.” She hesitates.

“Carry on.”

“The only thing is that we had to meet in hotel rooms, to make sure the discussions were private. There’d be this thing, where one of us would book the room, then when we arrived, we’d always ask for a different room, and it would usually be the third or fourth room they offered. We had to be sure we hadn’t been set up. If our enemies had known we were meeting there, they might have bugged the room or something. So we avoided it by changing rooms. Nothing ever happened between us. I didn’t fancy him anyway, but he made it clear that he was happily married and the hotel rooms were a necessary evil. I was fine with that. I had enough complications going on in my life. And obviously if I’d known who he was, the question of marital status wouldn’t even have arisen.”

Clearly the question did arise, but Matt’s alleged response sounds very like the sort of thing he’d say – upfront and before it became an issue – so I do believe Joanna.

“Fine. I think it’s time we prepare for our first client. What do we know about her so far?”

Joanna gets out an A5 notebook and opens it to the first page. “Penny Moore works for a press agency – primarily taking photos of celebrities.”

“Do we know anything else about her?” I ask, but any response is delayed by the doorbell. Joanna jumps up and goes to the door, and we spend the next several minutes directing the delivery driver and his mate to get the sofa and chairs through the front door, which suddenly seems much narrower.

Eventually we’re alone again. The suite is arranged appropriately in the lounge, with the plastic covers safely stowed in the bin. It has that lovely new smell, and I breathe deeply.

“You daft woman,” says Joanna. “Why don’t you sit down, and test it out? We’ve never sat on it without the plastic. It might be awful.”

I give her a look as if to say It wouldn’t dare be awful, but sit down as instructed. The soft fabric has just the right amount of support, allowing my legs and bottom to melt into it. I feel my muscles relax.

“This might be a bit too comfy. We’ll never get rid of the clients.”

“No, it’s good.” She settles herself into the armchair. “It will encourage them to talk.” She flashes me an evil grin.

“Maybe. Anyway, you never answered my question. What else do we know about Penny?”

“Not as much as I’d like. Bloody data protection laws. I kept hitting a wall. I might have to teach myself to hack?”

“How easy it to teach yourself something like that?”

“The kids seem to do it all the time. My son’s not a bad hacker.”

“Where is he?”

“He lives in Edinburgh, to be as close to his daughter as he can be – he has joint custody - but he’s a software engineer, and can work from home. If we give him some warning, he could come down here for a week and stay with me. I spoke to him last night, and he wants to see me settled in, so that could work out well.”

“Okay. Alternatively, and perhaps more legally, I still have friends in the police who could check things out for me.” My thoughts return to Wendy and Finn. I’ve avoided contacting them for the last few months, and I wonder if they’d be pleased to hear from me now – just because I want something.

My phone pings. I glance at it, and it blurs before my eyes. I blink hard and try to slow my suddenly rapid breathing.

‘Becks. How r u doing? Don’t hide from me. BF’

BF stands for Big Finn (he’s six foot three), or Best Friend. He once joked that he’s happy with either.

“Oh my God, that’s really spooky. That was my best pal from the force. Can I just answer this?”

Joanna nods, and I type out a quick message.

‘Great to hear from you. Fancy meeting up?’

‘Obvs! Lunch tomoz? Village hotel near u? 12:30?’ His texting is more like that of my younger daughter than a grown man. In anyone else it would drive me mad, but I smile and type back ‘Sure’ and add a smiley emoji. We had a conversation about messaging once a long time ago, but his comment still sticks in my mind: “Just because I don’t put kisses in my messages to you, Becks, it doesn’t mean I don’t care. Quite the opposite in fact. I wouldn’t want the wrong person to pick it up and get the wrong idea.”

He meant Matt and the kids, but it would have only been partly the wrong idea. Finn and I have never had an affair (I don’t count a few drunken snogs at Christmas parties), but he’s held a special place in my heart for the last twenty-five years, and if we’d ever both been single at the same time… Well, who knows? It obviously wasn’t meant to be, but he still makes my insides go all gooey.

Joanna doesn’t need to know any of this, although she’s clearly curious.

“Best pal, huh?