Page 37 of Fireworks at Pennycress Inn
Leaving him in the hallway, Polly pushed forward, forcing herself to inch open the hallway door into the tiny living room. Once inside, she walked into the middle of the room and turned slowly, conjuring up memories of how it had looked when she’d left it. The two shelves on either side of the small electric fire still housed her grandma’s prized possessions, her collection of china dolls, which had always creeped Polly out as much as fascinated her. Her grandad’s painting still hung above the short mantelpiece, forever preserving the day the three of them had spent down at the Witterings on the south coast the year she’d turned sixteen. They’d celebrated with flasks of tomato soup and cans of Coke before her grandma had pulled a small birthday cake, delicately decorated with dancing ballerinas cut from pink royal icing, from the picnic hamper and they’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’ as the sun set over the white sand and turquoise ocean. Her grandad had found the painting that day in a bric-a-brac shop and called it his ‘lucky find’.
As Polly spun slowly around, her eyes rested on the small television set sitting upon the blanket box. The TV screen was cracked, the remote control lying on the rug in front of it. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Whoever had broken in had clearly expected something else. They hadn’t figured they’d be met with such a lack of easy-to-grab technology.
‘Is there much missing?’ Zac came up behind her, one hand covering the mouthpiece of his mobile.
‘Nothing. Not from in here, anyway.’ Polly shook her head. Everything was just how she’d left it: the old Christmas TV guide her grandma had flicked through last December still sat on the coffee table, the clay flowerpot Polly had made in her first year of secondary school still held the carved wooden flowers her grandad had bought her grandma for the last wedding anniversary they’d shared, and the pack of cards which had been a favourite pastime over the years was still in its place next to the old carriage clock in the centre of the mantelpiece. She guessed whoever had forced themselves into the flat had had only one thing in their sights and that must have been something easy to sell, something they could flog to their mates in the streets or down the local pub. ‘I’m guessing the TV was too old to bother with.’
‘Right.’ Turning his back on her, Zac spoke into the phone again.
Polly walked across to the fireplace and ran her forefinger along the edge of the painting before looking down at her feet. She rubbed the red and navy patterned rug with the toe of her trainer. There were crumbs of some sort, dropped here and there across the rug, across the floorboards too. She looked up at the walls at the red panelling her grandad had spent hours down the local DIY store having the paint mixed up for, to match the red of the rug perfectly, the cream woodchip above.
Hurrying back across to the other side of the room, she bit down on her bottom lip. There were greasy marks smeared across the walls, just as though whoever had been eating whatever was strewn across the floor had decided to wipe their hands across the paintwork for good measure.
Following the trails of crumbs, she walked through the small flat, first to her grandparents’ bedroom and then her own, before finishing in the kitchen, where the source of the crumbs, two empty pizza boxes, still lay open on the kitchen counter. She shuddered, she wasn’t sure what angered her more, that someone had broken into her home, into her safe space, into her grandparents’ flat, or the fact they’d done so and then made themselves at home, ordered pizza and consumed it probably sitting on her sofa.
‘They’ll send someone out to take a statement when they can.’ Zac spoke quietly behind her.
Jumping, Polly spun around, her heart hammering in her chest as though she’d expected to see one of the people who had broken in standing behind her in the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘That’s okay. I can imagine it must be a shock.’ Slipping his mobile into the pocket of his jeans, he looked around the kitchen and pointed to the pizza boxes. ‘The cheek of some people.’
Polly nodded slowly, her answer getting caught in her throat. ‘Yep.’
‘Have you got somewhere else to stay tonight? You can’t stay here.’
‘I’ll be okay.’ Polly waved her hand at him dismissively, despite a fresh surge of despair washing over her at the thought of spending the night on her own.
‘No. There’s no chance I’m leaving you here. It’s not secure for one thing, not with the door as it is.’ Zac shook his head.
Turning away, Polly blinked as tears began to flow again. The last thing she wanted to do was to hole up in the flat alone, but what other choice did she have?
Stacey. She could go to Stacey’s. ‘I’ll go to my friend’s house.’
‘Well, give her a call and I’ll drop you off once the police have been.’
‘They might be hours yet.’ Polly sighed as she rummaged in her pocket for her mobile. Where was it? Had she lost that now? What next?
‘Are you looking for your mobile? I think it’s in here.’ Zac patted her tote bag he still had flung over his shoulder. ‘I’m sure something was making a noise while I was on the phone with the police.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She’d completely forgotten he was still hanging on to her bag. Holding her hand out, she took the tote bag, pushed one of the empty pizza boxes to the back of the narrow work surface and placed her bag down before rummaging through her clothes, still damp from the earlier downpour she’d got caught in, until she pulled out her phone. Glancing at the screen, her heart rate slowed to normal as she saw a missed call from Stacey. She was probably ringing her to try to drag her out for drinks. That would be an offer she definitely wouldn’t refuse right now.
‘Sorry I’d best get this.’ Zac held up his mobile as the screen illuminated before walking back through to the living room.
23
Dragging the back of her hand over her eyes, Polly squinted as she tried to focus on the small screen long enough to scroll through to Stacey’s name and hit the Call button. Four rings later, and Stacey’s cheerful voice filled her ear.
‘Hey, Pols. So glad you rang back. I have so much to tell you right now. Mind you, though, I’m in the ladies’ and have been for about five minutes, trying to call you.’ Stacey took a quick breath. ‘I don’t want them thinking I’m escaping through a window or something worse.’
‘Stacey, I?—’
‘It’s cool. I’m only joking. Let them think what they want.’ Stacey laughed.
‘Who?’ Polly managed to get out.
‘The work crew, of course. We’re out at the pub for Ben’s leaving drinks. Remember I told you? Well…’ Stacey paused as the flush of a toilet drowned her words. ‘And you know we used to joke about him and Mrs Jedd?’
‘Yep.’ Polly held her hand over her mouth, willing herself not to burst out crying. She wasn’t going to Stacey’s then. Stacey rarely had a spare moment to go out and let her hair down, there was no chance she was going to get in the way of a night out for her. Knowing her old colleagues, they’d be out all night. By the sounds of it, dinner had already turned into drinks at the pub and later it would be the club. And had Stacey told her? She didn’t remember, but Stacey tried her hardest not to speak to her about her ex in front of her, so it would be just like her not to mention it.
