Burglars Baby , livre ebook

The Burglar’s Baby


Katharine Ann Angel

2QT Limited (Publishing)



First eBook Edition published 2016 by
2QT Limited (Publishing)
Settle, North Yorkshire BD24 9RH
www.2qt.co.uk


Copyright © K. A. Angel
The right of K. A. Angel to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988


Facebook: Katharine Ann Angel Twitter: @katharine59


All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.


Illustrations: Angela Allen
Graphic Design: Dale Rennard

A CIP catalogue record for the paperback version of this book is available
from the British Library ISBN 978-1-910077-73-3

ePub ISBN 978-1-910077-86-3

Finally the Truth
9
Lisa 1: October and November
24
Julia 1: Friday October 31st
34
Duncan 1: Daddy’s Cave
39
Julia 2: Out of Sync
53
Lisa 2: Zig. Zag. Cut
58
Duncan 3: This is Business
63
Monika and Erik 1: A Storm is Brewing
69
Monika and Erik 2: The Genuine Mr Simons
72
Duncan 4: Taking on a New Beat
76
Duncan 5: Lost Something?
84
Lisa 3: Open Me x
90
Duncan 6: Beethoven’s Fifth
94
Julia 3: Where There is Darkness
103
Hugo 1: To Be Investigated
108
Duncan 7 and Hugo 2: Jagged Rocks to the Left
113
Hugo 3: The Breeze Hotel
126
Julia 4: I Never Forget a Face
133
Duncan 8 and Julia 5: Walking on Eggshells
140
Duncan 9 and Hugo 4: A Far Cry from a Wallet
147
Lisa 4: What’s She Hiding?
165
Lisa 5 and Callie 1: Fixing a Smile
176
Lisa 6, Hugo 5 and Callie 2: The Starcliff Hotel
183
Duncan 10: The Sands Inn
190
Hugo 6: Sweet Wax?
203
Lisa 7: Hope Rises like a Crazy Thing
213
Duncan 11: There is a Situation
217
Duncan 12 and Hugo 7: The Ice Plate Shifts
222
Julia 6: Sordid Imaginings and Furious Tears
229
Duncan 13 and Hugo 8: Monday Afternoon
240
Hugo 9 Julia 7 and Callie 3: Fire after Midnight
245
Lisa 8: That Same Night
258
Duncan 14, Hugo 10, Julia 8, Callie 4 and Lisa 9:
The Snow-Bridge Collapses
273
Hugo 11: I am Durus
286



Contents


‘We make men without chests and expect from them virtue and enterprise.
We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst.’
C.S Lewis , The Abolition of Man

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who read, proofed or edited The Burglar’s Baby ; for your invaluable insights, suggestions concerning the ‘details that matter,’ and your constant encouragement. Special thanks to Dave Lamin, Kirsty-Jane Lamin, Andrew Gardner, Will Newton, Amanda Cross, Alan Greenwell, Charis Smith and Rebecca Townley. Thank you, Angela Allen, for your beautiful artwork. Thanks, Dale Rennard, for the graphic design – it has been great to work with you again. Thank you, Karen Holmes - I’m so glad you are, in your words, ‘a pedant; finicky about sub-clauses and punctuation.’ It makes you a very good editor. Thank you, Catherine Cousins, for your constant support and patient advice.
Finally, thanks to those readers who wrote saying how much they loved Hugo Quin in The Froggitt Chain and asking me to write him into another story. You will understand this quote from the essay ‘Losing Control: Memoirs of Middle Age’ by Karen Holmes: ‘ There was always some sort of transport to get me out of a fix. Failing that, I walked. ’


For Joel, Sam and Ethan

Finally the Truth
The truth about 1999 as dictated by Duncan Wilde, January 2nd 2016

What doesn’t thrill isn’t worth remembering. I think it was my dad who said that, but whoever said it was dead right. When I’m too old to care what others think, my idea is to relive (in my mind) some of the crazy stuff I did in my youth. I’ll mumble, ‘I lost Steve,’ or ‘I stole a baby,’ they’ll exchange knowing glances and tap their temples and whisper, ‘Poor guy doesn’t know what he’s saying.’
But for now, only this Dictaphone will hear my story . Back in 1999 I coped with normal life by believing my own lies. But ‘normal’ being a pretty wife, two daughters and a job in IT, bored me rigid. Deep down I craved the old excitement and often wondered how or why I ever let it go.
‘Normal’ included nights managing an international 24-hour IT support line for Direction Data, before the firm decided on a massive shake-up. No problem, I thought. My boss forewarned me about the cuts: ‘Don’t you worry, Duncan. You’re an asset to the company. Your job is secure.’ Two days later he summoned me; ‘Mr Wilde, we’re letting you go . . . you’re a good guy. You understand . . .’
As I left, I was that livid I lifted some random wallet off the desk of a colleague. I’d never nicked a thing before. Not as an adult. And it wasn’t for money because I’d inherited plenty. But they owed me. Later that evening, I admit to a minor panic thinking CCTV might’ve picked up on me, but after a week with no police at my door, I got a thrill. A vague awareness of triumph. But like the disobedient vicar who skived his Sunday service to play golf and played a hole-in-one, I couldn’t tell a living soul of my success.
However, I did almost blurt to Julia that I’d lost my job and I don’t know how I kept my mouth shut. After such a massive blow, I deserved a spot of freedom. I rewarded myself by going out wherever, five evenings a week without question. Ignorance is bliss as they say and Julia was blissfully ignorant in the belief that I was at work.
Initially I chatted to strangers in bars, but what nagged on at me was the thrill of that wallet, that frisson , a delicious rush that hit me right in the ‘feels’ from the feet up. I wanted more. Initially it was mere fantasy, something to entertain my frustrated mind. I imagined breaking into houses, this way or that: shinning a drainpipe, slipping into a house, pocketing some insignificant trophy then returning home nonchalant, like I’d been to work. Some evenings I stayed home, telling Julia my hours had changed, but that wallet . . .
So began an entertaining, um, hobby . Not getting caught, or almost getting caught, gave me the most phenomenal shot of adrenalin. By nature I’m no thief, but by habit I became one.
I did thirteen break-ins before Toby, the one Julia found out about. She was livid and threatened to leave me but then she reverted to type and amateur-psyched me. Said, ‘If you ask me, you’ve got suppressed grief. I warned you to get therapy about Steve.’ After Toby, I finally admitted that I lost my job months ago which, to Julia, explained my suspicious behaviour. She persuaded herself I’d cracked up but that with patience and understanding I could be fixed. She had this idea that I could become a motivational speaker and helped me set up an impressive web page. I’ve got the gift of the gab. They say I’m a natural. People part with good money to hear me go on about leadership, so I suppose I should be grateful, but even as I speak my demon ‘boredom’ rears its ugly head!
I’m past climbing drainpipes for a laugh but I am toying with something. I’m thinking of sabotaging one of my ‘ How to be a Born Leader ’ lectures. I’ll switch on this Dictaphone and play this confession full volume. It’ll be worth it to see the shock on their sycophantic faces when they realise that their all-knowing, self-assured guru was, and still is, a pathetic coward.
Recently I’ve had trouble sleeping. I get jittery. It’s time for my brain to dispose of the gunk. I told myself, Duncan, if you can’