Джеффри Арчер: Cat O'Nine Tales

Chris hardly slept at night as he continued to sign countless postal orders, rub out piles of scratch cards and, before going to bed, fill in numerous lottery tickets with endless combinations. By day he visited every post office within a fifty-mile radius, gathering his spoils, but, despite his dedication, by the second week in December Mr and Mrs Haskins had only collected just over half the amount required to retrieve the £250,000 they had originally invested.

Sue warned Chris that they would have to take an even bigger risk if they still hoped to acquire the full amount by Christmas Eve.

On the second Friday in December, week four, Sue called the issuing manager at headquarters, and made a request for £115,000.

‘You’re having a busy Christmas,’ suggested a voice on the other end of the line. First sign of any suspicion, thought Sue, but she had her script well prepared.

‘Run off my feet,’ Sue told him, ‘but don’t forget, more people retire to Cleethorpes than any other seaside town in Britain.’

‘You learn something new every day,’ came back the voice on the other end of the line, before adding, ‘Don’t worry, the cash will be with you on Monday Keep up the good work.’

‘I will,’ promised Sue, and, emboldened by the exchange, requested £140,000 for the final week before Christmas, aware that any sum above £150,000 was always referred back to head office in London.

When Sue pulled down the blinds at six o’clock on Christmas Eve, both of them were exhausted.

Sue was the first to recover. ‘We haven’t a moment to waste,’ she reminded her husband as she walked across to the bulging safe. She entered the code, pulled open the door and withdrew everything from their current account. She then placed the money on the counter in neat bundles — fifties, twenties, tens and fives — before they set about counting their spoils.

Chris checked the final figure and confirmed that they were £267,300 in credit. They put £17,300 back in the safe, and locked the door. After all, they had never intended to make a profit — that would be stealing. Sue began to put elastic bands around each thousand, while Chris transferred the two hundred and fifty bundles carefully into an old RAF duffel bag. By eight o’clock they were ready to leave. Chris set the alarm, slipped quietly out of the back door and placed the duffel bag in the boot of their Rover, on top of four other cases his wife had packed earlier that morning. Sue joined him in the front of the car, as Chris turned on the ignition.

‘We’ve forgotten something,’ said Sue as she pulled the door closed.

‘Stamps,’ they said in unison. Chris turned off the ignition, got out of the car and returned to the post office. He re-entered the code, switched off the alarm and opened the back door in search of Stamps. He found him fast asleep in the kitchen, reluctant to be enticed out of his warm basket and into the back seat of the car. Didn’t they realize it was Christmas Eve?

Chris reset the alarm and locked the door for a second time.

At eight nineteen p.m. Mr and Mrs Haskins set out on the journey for Ashford in Kent. Sue worked out that they had four clear days before anyone would be aware of their absence. Christmas Day, Boxing Day, Sunday, Monday (a bank holiday), back in theory on Tuesday morning, by which time they would be viewing properties in the Algarve.

The two of them hardly spoke a word on the long journey to Kent, not even in Portuguese. Sue couldn’t believe they’d gone through with it, and Chris was even more surprised that they’d got away with it.

‘We haven’t yet,’ Sue reminded him, ‘not until we drive into Albufeira, and don’t forget, Mr Appleyard, we no longer have the same names.’

‘Living in sin after all these years are we, Mrs Brewer?’

Chris brought the car to a halt outside their daughter’s home just after midnight. Tracey opened the front door to greet her mother, while Chris removed one of the suitcases and the duffel bag from the boot. Tracey had never seen her parents looking so exhausted, and felt they had aged since she’d last seen them in the summer. Perhaps it was just the long journey. Tracey took them through to the kitchen, sat them both down and made them a cup of tea. They hardly spoke, and when Tracey eventually bundled them off to bed, her father wouldn’t allow her to carry the old duffel bag up to the guest bedroom.

Sue woke every time she heard a car come to a halt in the street outside, wondering if it was marked with the bold fluorescent lettering POLICE. Chris waited for the frontdoor bell to ring before someone came bounding up the stairs to drag the duffel bag from under the bed, arrest them and escort them both to the nearest police station.

After a sleepless night they joined Tracey in the kitchen for breakfast.

‘Happy Christmas,’ said Tracey, before kissing them both on the cheek. Neither of them responded. Had they forgotten it was Christmas Day? They both looked embarrassed as they stared at the two wrapped boxes that their daughter had placed on the table. They hadn’t remembered to buy Tracey a Christmas present and resorted to giving her cash, something they hadn’t done since she was a teenager. Tracey hoped that it was nothing more than the Christmas rush, and excitement at the thought of their visit to the States, which had caused such uncharacteristic behaviour.

Boxing Day turned out to be a little better. Sue and Chris appeared more relaxed, although they often lapsed into long silences. After lunch Tracy suggested that they take Stamps for a run across the Downs and get some fresh air. During the long walk one of them would begin a sentence and then fall silent. A few minutes later the other would finish it.

By Sunday morning Tracey felt that they both looked a lot better, even chatting away about their trip to America. But two things puzzled her. When she saw her parents coming down the stairs carrying the duffel bag with Stamps in their wake, she could have sworn they were speaking Portuguese. And why bother to take Stamps to America, when she had already offered to take care of the dog while they were away?

The next surprise came when they set off for Heathrow after breakfast. When her father packed the duffel bag and their suitcase into the boot of the car, she was surprised to see three large bags already in the boot. Why bother with so much luggage when they were only going away for a fortnight?

Tracey stood on the pavement and waved goodbye, as her parents’ car trundled off down the road. When the old Rover reached the end of the street it swung right, instead of left, which took them in the opposite direction to Heathrow. Something was wrong. Tracey dismissed the mistake, aware that they could correct their error long before they reached the motorway.

Once Chris and Sue had joined the motorway, they followed the signs for Dover. The two of them became more and more nervous as each minute passed, aware that there was now no turning back. Only Stamps seemed to be enjoying the adventure as he stared out of the back window wagging his tail.

Once again, Mr Appleyard and Mrs Brewer went over their plan. When they reached the docks, Sue would jump out of the car and join the queue of foot passengers waiting to board, while Chris drove the Rover up the car ramp and on to the ferry. They agreed not to meet again until the boat had docked in Calais and Chris had driven on to the dockside.

Sue stood at the bottom of the gangway and waited nervously at the back of the queue as she watched their Rover edge towards the entrance of the hold. Her heart raced when she saw a customs officer double-check Chris’s passport, and invite him to step out of the car and stand to one side. She had to stop herself from running across so she could overhear their conversation — she couldn’t risk it now they were no longer married.