Rebecca Jane - The Real Lady Detective Agency - A True Story

CONTENTS Cover CONTENTS Cover Title Page About the Author Dedication Prelude 1. The Making of Me 2. Freedom 3. Finding our Feet 4. The Ladies Versus the CSA 5. The Dating Game 6. Diamond-dealing Failure 7. Morals Fly Out of the Window 8. Honey Trap, Honey Trap 9. Transsexuals R US … God Help Me! 10. Saying Goodbye to the Past 11. Stag Party Times 12. The One that Breaks Us? 13. Mr Perfect 14. When Sadness Hits New Lows 15. Just When you Think you Know it All … 16. The Beaming Smile Family 17. When Clients Mess with your Head! 18. The Ultimate Choice Acknowledgements Copyright About the Publisher

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prelude

1. The Making of Me

2. Freedom

3. Finding our Feet

4. The Ladies Versus the CSA

5. The Dating Game

6. Diamond-dealing Failure

7. Morals Fly Out of the Window

8. Honey Trap, Honey Trap

9. Transsexuals R US … God Help Me!

10. Saying Goodbye to the Past

11. Stag Party Times

12. The One that Breaks Us?

13. Mr Perfect

14. When Sadness Hits New Lows

15. Just When you Think you Know it All …

16. The Beaming Smile Family

17. When Clients Mess with your Head!

18. The Ultimate Choice

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Publisher

Rebecca Jane started The Lady Detective Agency in 2009 at the age of twenty-four, after being cheated on by her husband. With her highly trained team of ladies, she now helps hundreds of people solve their problems. She was a finalist for Business Woman of the Year 2011 and was nominated for Inspirational Woman of the Year 2012. She also made the top 100 UK Mumpreneur list.

For Ben, Paris and Peaches

‘Is it eight yet?’ Steph asks me.

‘Not even close!’ I tell her.

‘I feel like I’ve been sitting here a lifetime; my bum is numb. I need a walk.’

All of a sudden I hear the jolly sound of a child-like jingle. It’s an ice-cream van!

‘Here you go, perfect opportunity for you,’ I say to her, handing over some coins and sending her off in search of ice cream.

‘Amazing! Surveillance is always made easier when an ice-cream man turns up …’

Steph isn’t wrong. We’ve been sat outside the same house for eight hours straight, and we’ve another three to go. I’m pretty sure it could be classed as a torture technique.

My life is crazy. There’s no two ways about it. Every day when the phone rings I never know what’s coming next. I think I’ve heard it all, and then someone new enters my life. They have seriously bizarre tales and, more importantly, problems that need solving.

When I say problems, I don’t mean things like: ‘Who’s going to make tea tonight?’ or ‘What shall I wear for my date on Saturday?’ The sorts of problems I hear about, and end up deeply involved with, are: ‘Is my husband having an affair?’ (that’s a very common one); ‘Is the man I met online who tells me he’s a multi-millionaire with boats and bodyguards real?’ (not every day, but that one’s blatantly another fraudster), or ‘Is my girlfriend’s house secretly being used as a brothel during the day?’ (that may sound ludicrous, but you’d be surprised how often it occurs).

My personal life used to be filled with drama, but when the need for drama in me went away, it manifested itself in a different form – a detective agency!

A new client picks up the phone and tells me their tale of woe. I sit and listen. If they go down the emotionally distraught route, I put myself in their position. The same position I once found myself in – and I had nowhere to turn. Am I shocked or surprised? Not at all. These tales they tell sound crazy and dramatic, but they’re all true. This is my life. My real life. Every day I find myself trying to complete the largest jigsaws known to man, putting together all the tiny pieces to help make some sense out of them on my client’s behalf. We create a picture, and it forms the truth. The scariest part for me is that I think this is all perfectly normal.

Sometimes I wonder if morally I’m doing the right thing … You’re either in Camp Yes or Camp No.

Camp Yes: They’re the people I do this for. They believe in every aspect of our work. They appreciate the need for the truth and an agency like ours to turn to. They totally believe my life motto: ‘If you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to be scared of.’

Camp No: They pretty much hate me (and our agency), and they make it known. They tell me that we entrap people, that we ruin relationships and look for things that aren’t there. I think they have something to hide!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very firm in my beliefs: that we provide a good service to the general public and are helping anyone who asks for it. There are days, though, when Camp No get into my head. They make me question all my morals and beliefs. I’ll have a little battle with myself about the rights and wrongs, but then I have to let it go. I don’t believe I’m a bad person for doing what I do.

I created this dream and I’m standing by it. To help other people who are in need, to give them somewhere to turn when they have nowhere else, that’s the reason why, right now, today, I find myself sat in a car with a fellow lady and friend who got roped into this crazy plan with me. She’s one of many, and we sit with binoculars in hand ready to catch the cheaters – or the long-lost loves, transsexuals, missing relatives or, occasionally, a household pet or two. Every once in a while you can’t help but ask yourself, how on earth did my life come to this?

Back in 2009 I was faced with a choice that would change my life forever. I’d been unhappy for years, pretty much since I married my husband. Life had always been on the edge and drama found me no matter where I hid. I was twenty-four and the mother of a little angel, Paris, who was about to be three. Did I really want to become a divorce statistic at such a young age? Certainly not – it was my worst nightmare. I’d been fighting for three years to keep my marriage together, even though I knew the week before the wedding that I should have called it off.

Don’t get me wrong; in the beginning James, my husband, was fantastic. But after we got engaged and I became pregnant, he changed. I’d met him in a nightclub and always knew that he liked to have a good time but I warned him that he needed to keep it under control if he was to hang onto me. So for a while he did. He stopped seeing his best friend Martin, who had the same party ethic, and didn’t even take his calls for a while.

Life was great for about a year but after I got pregnant the best friend was back on the scene. When James decided I was being ‘too boring’, he’d simply pick up the phone and call Martin. Then came the disappearing acts. He would go to work and not return home for three days. These weren’t just any random trips; he would go to Italy, Spain and often Ireland. I’d come home from work and check if his passport was still there, just to get some indication whether he would be returning any time soon. He ignored my calls and texts while he was away, then on his return he acted as if nothing had happened. As if this crazy life we were living was normal. Eventually he mentally broke me, and I became convinced every man did the same thing and every woman put up with it. I thought it was just the way things were.

Next came other women. Rumours would circulate around my home town, the small Lancashire village of Barrowford. It’s the type of place where everyone knows each other, and houses look like cottages from postcards. All the things I loved about it – the close-knit community and the pubs that were so gorgeous on a sunny summer afternoon – I began to hate. The pubs became places where everyone whispered behind your back, and the people I’d hung out with for years were feeding me information about my so-called ‘wonderful’ marriage. I’d hear that James had been seen with his arms around the local trollop, or texting random girls. It was horrible. The place I’d held so close to my heart was now filled with doom and gloom.