Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [14]
7
Sally stood in David Goldrab’s utility room, the iron forgotten in her hand, his words going round and round in her head. Twenty quid an hour – off the books. No tax. Six hours a week. A hundred and twenty pounds every week to add to her pay packet? At the moment she and Millie were just squeaking by after food, utilities, council tax and interest payments. An extra four hundred and eighty a month would mean she could begin to pay off the loans. Buy Millie a new school dress, new jeans. But working for David Goldrab? Here on her own, with all his rudeness and bluster? She wasn’t sure.
Since Julian had left, it seemed that every day there had been a new obstacle, a new impossible predicament. And there was never time to think it through properly. Back in the days before Sally and Zoë had been separated from each other and sent away to different boarding-schools, Mum used to watch old films on TV on Saturday. There was a character in one of her favourites who liked to say, ‘Morals? We can’t afford morals.’ That was what happened at the bottom of the pile: you let ideals, like not stealing other people’s work, sink to the bottom of the list – somewhere beneath the electricity bill and the school uniform. You learned to swallow the things you really wanted to say.
She put down the iron, slid its plastic heat-cover closed and went into the kitchen. David was standing in the breakfast room, scratching his chest, idly clicking through the channels on the big wall-mounted TV screen. Danuta was crouched next to the sink, her back to them, sorting through the cleaning equipment. When Sally came in David raised his eyebrows, as if he was surprised to see her. ‘OK, Sally?’
She nodded.
‘What can I do for you, darling?’
She made a face – nodded fiercely at Danuta, who was still rummaging in the cupboard.
‘Sorry?’ David said politely, glancing uncomprehendingly at Danuta’s back. ‘Beg pardon?’
Sally swallowed hard. ‘Mr Goldrab, have you got a moment? There’s something I need to ask you about.’
David gave a small smile. He turned away from her and went back to clicking through the channels. Sally waited. She watched as he calmly passed news channels, channels where everyone seemed to be under water or on a mountain ledge, one with a woman lying on a bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of bright orange pants and cheerleader socks, staring at the camera with her finger in her mouth. When he’d got to the end he clicked all the way back again. Then he turned to Sally. Again, he seemed surprised to see her still there.
‘OK, OK.’ He sounded impatient. ‘Go to the office and I’ll be there in a bit. Don’t give me a headache over it.’
The office was on the ground floor and was filled with computers, shelves of recording equipment, and cabinets of golfing trophies. On the walls were framed pictures of David looking proud with horses, his arm round girls in bikinis, grinning in a bow-tie next to a variety of celebrities that Sally recognized from programmes like The X Factor. She sat down and waited. After five minutes he appeared, closed the door and sat opposite her. ‘Sally. How can I help? Something on your mind?’
‘The agency will think it’s strange – if suddenly I’m not available two afternoons a week and you cancel the agreement with the three of us at the same time. They look out for things like that.’
He grinned. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘See? What did I say? Told you you’ve got the smarts. It’s OK. I’ll call the agency, tell them I want to cut down the hours so you and the Polish tarts don’t come so often – say, every ten days. We’ll let that situation cruise for a couple of months, then I’ll cancel with them. It’s win-win for you, darling. And anyway …’ He smiled and bent towards her. For a moment she thought he might put his finger under her chin and raise her face to his. ‘