Annie Spaulding

ONE

Annie Spaulding looked nice. She had chosen an attractive but suitably conservative dress for the occasion. An inconspicuous look allowing the appropriate degree of respect for the circumstances she found herself in.

She glanced down at the leaflet in her hand.

It struck her that people talked about not knowing what to do with their hands in moments like this. This seemed absurd. She simply occupied them by holding tightly onto this limp piece of paper.

Her eyes were the problem.

Where exactly was she supposed to look?

Several times they had danced across the cold bland room. Each time she stopped herself. Gripped by the fear she might see something she shouldn’t.

The horrible possibility of making eye contact with someone and intruding upon, or worse - becoming involved with, their grief.

She reverted to the safest choice. She looked at the order of service. She took in the man’s face smiling at her from the front cover. Dressed in a rather cheap looking suit, clearly enjoying an occasion more joyful than this one.

She hadn’t known him very well. He had lived opposite her for at least ten years. He and her husband had been friendly in that non-committal masculine way that had always felt so distant to her.

He had been kind to her when she had been widowed but never more than would be expected from a pleasant neighbour.

Still, she was a little disappointed at the paltry turnout for this man’s final departure.

Tom Sumner had deserved better.

Tom Sumner had been nice.

After the service she stepped outside into the sunshine. For a moment she stopped and enjoyed the warmth on her skin. A welcome sensation after the cold and unfeeling room she had left. This was enough, there was no need to overstep the mark by attending the wake. That part of the day was for those close to Tom. She was merely his neighbour. Someone who wished to pay her respects to a man she barely knew.

She made her way to the metal gates and began her walk home. She didn’t look back.

If she had she would have seen them.

Two men stood and watched as she left.

Similar in stature and dressed in the respectable attire that a funeral demands they did not stand out at all.

The younger man stepped forward to get her attention. With the tiniest of movements the older man held him back.

“Not yet.”

The younger man stopped in an instant and nodded. The older man walked calmly to the sleek car and settled into the passenger seat. He waited as the younger man followed and sat behind the wheel.

They watched the top of Annie’s head bobbing along just above the wall before disappearing out of sight.

TWO

After a comfortable night Annie had risen and prepared for the day ahead. She had showered and dressed before eating a sensible breakfast and a slightly less sensible coffee. The coffee now sloshed uncomfortably in her stomach as she stood in the queue at the bank. Bills to pay, transactions to carry out. Sometimes she longed for a more exciting life.

“Customer Number 4”

The robotic voice interrupted her thoughts, rudely snapping her back to reality. She stepped to the perspex window and routinely went about her very ordinary business.

“Will there be anything else today Mrs Spaulding?”

Annie put her card into her purse and then her purse into her handbag.

“No that’s fine thank you. Actually while I’m here could you tell me the balance please?”

“Of course”, replied the cashier. Handsome. Young enough to be her son.

His fingers tapped rhythmically over the keys.

“The balance of your account is £22471”

Annie stared blankly. For a moment she said nothing.

“Mrs Spaulding? Is there a problem?”

Very quickly she found her tongue. With some effort she forced the words out.

“No. No problem. Thank you.”

She paused before speaking again.

“Could I have a print out of that please?”

She walked shakily back to her small house staring at the statement in front of her. Before she knew it she was at her door turning the key, her eyes glued to the incredible amount of money that had appeared in her account. She wouldn’t have noticed the black car parked at the top of her road even if she’d been paying attention.

So fixated on the paper was she that she almost tripped over the small package. She picked it up, poured another large coffee and settled into her armchair.

Her trembling hands tore open the small parcel. Gently she slid out the contents before checking inside for any signs of correspondence. Nothing.

In her hands was a small black notebook. It was well thumbed but otherwise unremarkable. She flicked through it and was surprised to find pages and pages of names. None she recognised, just name after name after name. Next to each name was a hand-drawn picture of a face. Most were sad faces but a small number were happy. Crude smiles peppered the book here and there. Curiously she placed the book on her small table, returning her attention to the far more pressing issue of her new found wealth.

She studied her statement again. She stared at the large deposit several times. She blinked. She smiled.

Then Annie Spaulding began to laugh.

THREE

Annie stepped off the plane and made her way to the baggage area. Patiently she waited as her suitcase appeared and trundled around the conveyor belt. She leaned forward and nimbly plucked it away before it could make another rotation.

As she walked across the car park she contemplated the month she had had.

For so long she had wanted excitement. Since Paul had died loneliness had crippled her. With time the grief had faded but the loss had stayed. It wasn’t the sadness that had gotten her down so much as the endless monotony of her days.

She had become someone who would attend the funerals of people she hardly knew just to get out of the house.

She had decided to embrace this opportunity. To not be the good girl any more. She was fed up of people thinking of her as just a nice lady.

She had decided to be reckless.

The holiday had cost a fortune. The food had been exquisite. The ocean had been stunning, each morning she had run down and leapt in, allowing the cold water to wash over and revive her. As though each time she shattered the glassy surface she pushed away the old habits, the old Annie.

She had drunk the expensive wine, indulged in the forbidden drugs, broken the old restrictive laws.

He had been exquisite too.

She had never met a handsome man in a bar before let alone gone home with him. Whilst sitting at the bar studying the black book a young man had offered to buy her a drink.

Perhaps it was her new jewellery. Or her new haircut.

Either way, all thoughts of the book were dismissed as she dropped it into her handbag.

This gentleman had reminded her of the attractive cashier at the bank. Also been young enough to be her son.

A shiver of pleasure ran through her as she relived that particular memory. She allowed herself a small wicked smile.

She paid the woman running the car park to collect her brand new car. Money was no longer an issue but she was a decent woman. She would tip this young lady handsomely and then make a very large donation to a charity. She had had her moment of indulgence.

She turned the key and the car spluttered to life. The radio blared out and she hummed contentedly to the music.

The book crept into her head as she relaxed into her drive.

So focused on this and the road ahead was she that she didn’t notice the black car following her.

FOUR

Back at home Annie thumbed through the book. Her adventure had come to an end. Time to focus on the matter at hand.

She looked at the names hoping to find some hidden clue. What was the relevance of the faces? Why had it been sent to her?

Assuming it must be some mistake and not meant for her at all, she would pop it back into the envelope and return it to the post office.

Then she saw it.

Screaming from the centre of the page. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before.

There, nestled amongst the anonymous names, staring out at her.

PAUL SPALDING

She took a sharp intake of breath.

Paul.

She looked long and hard at the two words before moving her eyes to the right. Next to his name was a broad smiling face.

Frantically, she searched the page, for anything that might shed light on this mystery.

Two more words leapt angrily off the page, assaulting her eyes.

TOM SUMNER

She had enough time to see another smiling face before the book fell from her hands.

She shot upstairs into Paul’s office. She’d never felt ready to empty this room. Now she was grateful that she hadn’t. Paul was an organized man. His room must hold a clue.

Hours passed as she scoured every inch of his modest study. Numerous dead ends had faced her until now she sat clutching a single piece of paper. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at the numbers in front of her. Amongst Paul’s meticulously ordered files were bank statements going back over twenty years. On this particular page, blaring furiously from the paper, stood the figure. A deposit of £20000. Then immediately after it had been paid straight into another account.

A children’s charity somewhere in the South of England.

She cursed him for a moment. All the things that they could have done with that money!

Exhausted she pulled herself to standing, everything she thought she knew about her husband had been a lie and she couldn’t even ask him about it.

With an aching sadness she fell into her bed and drifted into an uncomfortable fitful sleep.

FIVE

Annie’s restless dreams were interrupted by the incessant ringing of the doorbell.

With great effort she walked to the door. It swung open on the old hinges.

Two smiling men greeted her. One young and handsome. The other older, his hard life carved into his features.

“Mrs Spaulding. We’d like to speak to you.”, the young man said, smiling like a serpent.

“About your husband”, the older man cut in with a gravelly voice.

Tired and confused, Annie simply turned and walked to her kitchen. She sat down. Silently the men followed.

With exhausted, defeated eyes she looked up at the two men.

The older man spoke softly.

“This part is always unfortunate.”

She did not hear the sound, she did not feel the pain. In less than a second Annie Spaulding’s life came to an end.

Silently the younger man wiped down the barrel and returned the gun to its holster.

The older man picked up the book from the table and flicked through it. It didn’t take long to find it. On the second to last page he saw it.

ANNIE SPAULDING

With a sigh he took a pen from inside his jacket. Next to her name he drew a circle. Then two dots. Then a curve.

The younger man looked over his shoulder.

“Your sad faces are getting better”

The old man did not respond. He pocketed the book. Both men turned and left, leaving Annie Spaulding face down and alone on her kitchen table.

In the car the young man finally spoke.

“I hate that bit”

As the car pulled away the older man answered quietly.

“You’re not supposed to like it. They just need to make the right choice.”

The black car indicated left and turned out of Annie Spaulding’s quiet road. It disappeared into the traffic and was gone.