Someone Like Philipa Burns

It's always the same in suburbia- day in and day out. Life here is monotonous, but I'm one of the lucky ones. I still have a chance to get out of here, to do something with my life. But, to do something with your life, to do anything really you need one thing, money, and lots of it. People are always talking about how money doesn't buy you happiness. And yes, in many cases it doesn't, but it sure does help. That's why I do it, babysit I mean. I'm only seventeen and I babysit for four families on my street and make nearly double the money of all my friends flipping burgers. It's a good gig, decent pay and the kids are bearable.

"Renee"

My journaling was interrupted by Isla, a nine-year-old with the attitude of a sixteen-year-old.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after me?"

Her big green eyes studied me, one hand rested on her pyjama covered hip and the other gripped a stuffed bunny rabbit toy. I always thought it was funny how confident Isla was, considering how she looked. Long untamed red hair with eyebrows to match. Don't get me wrong she was a cute kid, just not your typical cute kid.

"Well, Isla", I wondered towards the young girl. Her cheeks were flushed from running around the living room. "I Just thought that a girl as bright as you would be perfectly capable of entertaining herself. but I guess if you would life for me to read you a book?

"Oh no, that's ok, Renee. I just want to check if you needed me to entertain you. You’ve been writing in that book almost all night! You must be getting sick of it surely”

Isla was wrong. I had big dreams of becoming an author, detective novels mostly. The only problem was that where I'm from, nothing ever happened. There was nowhere to draw inspiration from. Nothing to do, nothing to see, just a whole lot of nothing.

•••

Feeding 72-year-old Phillipa Burns’ cat while she attended her grandchildren's Saturday sporting events was another way I earn money. It pays a little less then babysitting but then again, it's only a fifteen-minute job. And, after babysitting Isla last night, I could use a rest day.

"Hi, Monti", I greeted the Scottish shorthair cat laying on the forest green velvet couch.

Phillipa always bragged about her vintage furniture. "It belonged to a famous musician in the 50's" she would mention referencing the couch. She failed to note that the musician was a busker who slept on the couch in the streets.

It was a pretty straightforward job. I just had to give Monti one scoop of wet food, sprinkle some dry food over the top and refill his water.

"Come on, big fella", I motioned for the cat to come to his bowel by tapping the tin of food before beginning to pour the dry food on top. A few of the biscuits came out.

"Empty," I said with a sigh before heading to Phillips’s pantry, where she kept Monti's food.

"Goodness me, Phillipa," I muttered, opening the pantry to reveal roughly nine bags of cat food. "Why am I not surprised that Phillipa Burns Is a closeted hoarder"

Grabbing one of the bags, I wander back to a patiently waiting Monti eager for a feed. I began to gently pour the dry food over the wet food. This was always my least favourite part- Not only was Phillipa Burns a hoarder, but she was also cheap. She only bought the home brand cat food, which smelt like week-old fish.

My train of thought was disrupted by the loud sound of the bowl knocking over. Looking down, I realised that something had fallen out of the bag—a little black book.

"Oh, don't tell me I need to add forgetful to the list of problems with Phillipa Burns."

Picking up the book, I opened it to a page in the Middle. "Theodore Wilson", the top of the page read. Theodore Wilson was a university professor who lived across the street and three doors down from Mrs Burns. I continued down the page, trying to read the cursive writing.

"Theodore Wilson has been having an affair with his twenty-two-year-old student Sonja Mantras. The pare began their romance in 2015. They often meet at the Rosemary hotel just 45 minutes from the University. I have been charging him $6,000 a month to keep his secret from both his wife and the University."

The next four pages were filled with emails dedicated to Sonja from Theodore and vice versa, and pictures of Theodore with what could only be assumed was Sonja Mantras.

"I can't believe it". I spoke out loud for the first time. Looking at Monti, now eating his cat food that had been splattered over the floor. " I just can't believe it."

Flipping to another page, "Janine Campbell."

"Janine Campbell has been selling her sons ADHD medication to her friends. This first began shortly after her son Mike was diagnosed in 2013. She charges $15.00 per pill; I'm charging $500 to keep her secret not only from the neighbourhood but also from her husband, who had threatened to file for divorce more than once."

The Campbell's were one of the families that I babysat for. The next few letters were copies of text exchanges between Janine and a circle of mums discussing times and locations to make the trade.

"Oh my gosh", I exhaled, frozen in astonishment from what I was reading, and, in a panic, I slowly began flick through pages of the book. Ian Phillips, Pamela Stone, Penelope Kent, among other names from our street and the ones surrounding it, were all listed in this book along with wild accusations and a sum of money attached to their name. I paused for a moment. Who would have thought that sweet old Phillipa Burns was blackmailing half the neighbourhood? And for a lot of money at that. In a blurry haze, I scooped Monti's remaining cat food into his bowl before hurrying into the kitchen cupboard to place the now half-empty bag back where I found it. I then. Paused for a moment before shoving the book into my backpack slamming the door on my way out.

•••

I didn't sleep that night; I couldn't stop looking at the book. I read through every word, every secret, every detail. The only thing worse than all those sins was the fact Phillipa was blackmailing people for money. But there was one thing that I couldn’t shake. One thing about this whole situation that didn’t quite add up. How was she doing it? I mean, I understand that most if not all people have a sinister side to them, but how did she actually do it. After all, she was a 72-year-old woman who couldn't possibly be capable of finding even half of this information. The private emails, the texts, without being stereotypical, she couldn't possibly be able to hack into people’s computers. She must have had help, and whoever it is, they must be beyond tech-savvy. Someone who was capable of not only finding the information, but someone who was comfortable enough to use it to exploit others.

“Someone like Phillipa Burns.” I walked over to my window and pressed my hand against the cool glass looking out into the dark sky. “Some just like Phillipa Burns.”

•••

After my sleepless night, I decided it was time to pay a certain old lady a visit. I chapped on the door three times before Phillipa opened the door.

"Well, hello dear, did I forget to leave you the money for feeding Monti? I'm so sorry, I must have completely forgotten to leave it on the hall table before your last visit."

"Actually, I was hoping for a raise." I held up the little black book.

"what do you want?" her eyes fixated on the notebook in my hand.

"Just to talk."

I sat on a floral printed armchair covered in plastic, the kind you would find in a kindergarten classroom to protect the tables from a mess. Phillipa Burns sat next to me, her signature scent of butterscotch lollies and traditional rose perfume.

"I bet you have a few questions", She began stirring a teaspoon in her tea. "But I can assure you that anything you may be thinking has a straightforward explanation."

"Which is?" I asked, leaning forward, staring at the liquid in her cup. There was too much milk for my liking.

"You see dear, when you reach my age, well, sadly, you get a little bored—a little lonely. So, I created a world of excitement, kind of my version of a soap opera. All the things I wrote in that book, they're all fake, you see. Just a little hobby, I started to make my life a little less boring. I'm just a little old lady, and I-"

"Knock it off Phillipa." I didn't have time to listen to her rambling. "I know everything."

We looked at each other for a moment before Phillipa motioned for me to continue.

"I'll be honest, it took me a moment to piece it together, but after some online research, something you wouldn't know about, I figured it out. You see, Phillipa Burns, or at least the one that I know, has a son. A son names James Burns, and this James Burns works for a multi-million-dollar tech company Milestone. Now Milestone recently was forced to shut down after a conspiracy that they were using their technology to spy on their customers. The classic stuff, reading private emails, phone calls, texts."

Phillipa sat back into her chair, taking a shaky sip of her tea.

"So", I continued "When you lose your job, and your only skill set is to spy, what do you do? You start to think about those around you, those who you see every day, those in your neighbourhood. And when you find out that the people you thought you knew have secrets, you blackmail them, and you get your sweet, unsuspecting mother to help.

"What do you want?" She asked, her lips in a straight line

"I want in."

"You want what?"

"$30,000 a month for the rest of my life, or I go to the police, and I tell them about this whole operation.

"It's not that simple. I'd have to speak to James first. I don't even know if we can give you $30,000 a month, maybe $5,000 if you're lucky."

"Let's be real Phillipa, James may be the tech genius behind this scam, but you'd be lying to yourself and me if you said you weren't the one in charge. So, what's it going to be? Are you going to stop being greedy and spare the $30,000? I know your good for it." I tapped the little black book that had been sitting in front of me.

“What if I refuse?”

“Well then I’d have no choice but to mention to the police that James is not only breaking the law by using Milestone soft wear. And because I believe in doing the right thing, it would only be fair to mention that you were his accomplish through this whole thing.”

“I’ll go get my check book.” She groaned before heading into the kitchen. “So, we have deal then? James and I will keep going about our business and you get to live off of hush money for the rest of your life?”

I looked down at the check Phillipa had just handed to me, in the bottom left corner there was a drawing of two little Scottish short haired kittens.

“It’s a deal, oh and I should mention that I’ve made multiple copies of the book, for insurance reasons. I’m sure you understand.”

Phillipa nodded with an irritated smile, “we’ll I think it’s well and truly time you go.”