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

don’t mind, but I photographed a couple of bits and sent them over.”

“Okay. I’m quite intrigued. I guess they don’t want me for cooking or sewing skills then.”

“You were a girly swot, weren’t you? Good at all the academic stuff.”

“Yeah, mostly. Better at languages than science, but I could hold my own there too.”

“I don’t think we ever discussed it. What O-Levels did you do?”

“English Language, English Lit, French, German, Spanish, Maths, Biology, History, and General Studies in Lower Sixth. Then English, French and History at A-Level. What about you?”

“Science all the way. As you know, I’m rubbish at languages. Maths, English – Language only; my teacher chickened out of putting me in for Literature – Physics, Chemistry, Biology and Music. I failed French, but got a Grade 2 CSE in it. It would probably have counted a couple of years later, as a GCSE.”

“And your A-Levels?”

“Three sciences. Chemistry was always a must, and then to get in to do Pharmacy, it was two out of Maths, Physics and Biology. I ditched the maths. It’s a shame really. Stats would have been useful. I get by though.”

“So back to the point: did Roger give any clues about why he wanted to know?”

“He just said… I can’t remember exactly… something about wanting to know where your latent talents might lie. He knows about your career with the police, but there are many things you can do for them.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea for me to get involved? I still have a lot of nightmares and freak out about certain things.”

“This might be a good way for you to get back out there, but in a less conspicuous environment. And you’ve got your work with Joanna as a legitimate cover for any questions.”

“Why don’t they want her to go down to London?”

“I reckon Roger’s keeping her in reserve for now. She… I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she messed up a bit on our last assignment. That’s why I freaked out so much when she turned up here that first day. I thought the shit had finally hit the fan. But I reckon they know, and they’re a bit reluctant to use her just now.”

“The poor woman’s been struggling with cancer, and lots of crap at home.”

“I never said it was her fault.”

“You implied it.”

“I didn’t mean to. She’s great, and very competent, and loyal, and she’ll always have your back. I’m delighted that the two of you are in business together. I think Roger will put some legitimate work your way too, but yes, she had a lot going on at that point. Someone got injured because of some information going in the wrong direction. It was an accident, but I knew that it had to have been her mistake. Anyway, I reckon Roger suspects, and that’s why you’re going to London, and she’s not to know about it, except that you’ve been summoned to go to meet Troy’s record producer.”

“How am I supposed to justify going without her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe say that Finn sorted it out, and…”

“Hang on. She saw Roger in the Village.”

“Well, maybe you can say he sorted it out for you to visit the record people.”

“He did, actually, but it still looks unfair.”

“He’s trying to cut costs. He only bought one ticket. You stopped to speak to him, and she didn’t.”

“I guess that works.” I’m interrupted from further comments by the sound of the front door opening, followed by Cheryl coming in.

“Hi Mum and Dad. Guess what? You’re invited to a meeting on Thursday night at Joel’s house.

His mum is organising it. Then on Friday, I think all hell is going to break loose at school.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I don’t get much sleep on Tuesday night, and the little I get is filled with strange and frightening dreams; like scenes from a James Bond movie, with guns, car chases and enemies appearing from the roof of intercity trains. Consequently, when my alarm goes off at half past seven on Wednesday morning, I’m bleary-eyed and more anxious than I should be.

By arrangement, Will arrives at 8:45 to take me to Piccadilly station. Bless him, he’s been via Costa Coffee, and picked up a couple of lattes.

“Morning, Becky. I figured you’d need coffee. Have you got anything to read on the train?” Will asks as I put my seatbelt on.

“Damn, no. Have I got time to pop back in for my Kindle?”

“Sure. You’ve got two minutes.”

A few minutes later, I’m back in the car with my Kindle, and also my phone charger and power bank I’d forgotten to pack yesterday.

Will switches on his satnav and sets it to take the traffic in consideration and take us via the quickest route. So we draw up at the station with twenty minutes to spare. I’m marginally more relaxed after the journey. My companion has kept me chatting about literature and movies the entire journey. We’ve avoided any discussion of the day ahead. I told Joanna and Will yesterday that I’d be visiting Troy’s record company and doing some shopping, then seeing Dan. I don’t know convincing I was. I could see that Joanna suspected something, but they refrained from pressuring me for answers. Will still insisted on driving me to and from the station.

“I reckon you’ll be tired by the time you get back, Becky. You won’t want to bother with driving home, but I don’t think you’ll want to get a taxi either. This is the best solution, and I’m happy to oblige anyway. Making the most of this little beauty.” He’d patted the bonnet as he saw me out to my car yesterday evening.

The convenience of being driven by someone I like and trust, and being dropped off right outside the station, is a huge relief. I’m on the station concourse by ten, with another coffee, and a paper bag containing a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel and a muffin. I need sustenance for this journey. As I put the ticket into the machine at the