I take a sip of tea and look up expectantly. This is where my mother always comes into her own?ask her for advice and she manages to sort your life out and anyone else who happens to be around. She will be able to tell me exactly what to do. She always has done in the past. But now, right when I need her, she seems to have nothing to say.
For a good five minutes she just sits and looks at me. And then she says ?Georgie, David is right, you know. You are very stupid.?
Great. I mean, I knew that already. I have enough people telling me how stupid I am. What I?m looking for here is someone to tell me how I can get out of this god-awful mess. If I can?t turn to my mother in my hour of need, who can I turn to?
?You know,? my mother continues, ?you have to grow up and realize what you have. If you keep letting yourself get sidetracked, you?re going to lose everything that matters and you?ll be left with absolutely nothing.?
?I am grown-up,? I mutter.
?If you?re so grown-up, then why are you here telling me about how terrible everything is instead of focusing on the real issue??
?But this is the real issue,? I shout. ?I love David, he hates me, and I want to get him back.?
?No, Georgie.? My mother stares at me the way she used to when I was little and had done something really bad. I feel about five again. ?The real issue is that a really good man, who has only ever been wonderful to you, is in real trouble, and it?s your fault. And another man, who has only ever been a complete time waster, is going to get away with a great deal of money that belongs to other people. And that is also partly your fault. If you can stop, for just one moment, thinking about yourself, then there may be a chance that you can do something about this terrible state of affairs. So stop trying to work out how you can get David to like you again, and instead try to work out a way to get him out of the mess that you have got him into.?
She?s right. Of course she?s right. It?s just that right now I don?t want to know that she?s right. I want her to give me a hug and put me to bed and tell me that everything will be okay. I was hoping she?d just be able to make a few phone calls?to the police, to David?s bosses, telling them that it was all a bit of a mix-up, and probably best not to mention it again, particularly in front of me. I have a sinking feeling, however, that this particular mess is going to take more than a couple of phone calls to make things right again. I swallow my pride, and look up at my mother beseechingly. ?Will you help me??
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We?re sitting outside Mike?s flat in my mother?s battered Mini. Well, not exactly outside his flat, more opposite and along a bit, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. My mother is dressed as a cleaning lady. (I?m not convinced that white linen trousers and an apron with red poppies all over it constitutes typical cleaning lady dress, but my mother is in no mood for questions.) James, who has driven us there, is looking extremely uncomfortable. My mother refused to let him bring the Jag because it would stand out, but I can?t help thinking that James looks so wrong in a Mini that anyone looking at us would be convinced we were up to something. And a Jag would hardly stand out in St. John?s Wood, whereas a Mini looks completely out of place. But what do I know?
?Call him,? instructs my mother, and I take out my mobile. As expected, Mike?s home phone rings until the answerphone picks up.
?I told you. He?s in the office waiting for the disk to arrive. He won?t be coming round here for ages, if at all.? I wish Mum would just take my word for it sometimes.
?Right, I?m going in.?
Mum lets herself out of the car and walks purposefully down the road. She takes a bunch of keys out of her apron pocket and lets herself into Mike?s house, taking a quick look around her before going in.
?And Mike?s not going to notice that his keys are missing?? James asks me.
?No! He?s in a meeting.?
It wasn?t too difficult getting Mike?s keys. I popped into his office to assure him that the disk would be arriving ?any minute? and just accidentally on purpose picked his keys up off his desk on my way out. He?s always losing things so he?ll never notice. If all goes according to plan he will be sitting at his trendy round desk for the next few hours wondering when the postman is going to arrive with the envelope. Which gives us plenty of time. All we need to do is to pick up the disk from his flat, where I actually sent it, and then I can get the keys back to Mike. Easy peasy.
The Mini is getting increasingly uncomfortable. I?m charged with adrenaline, and being cooped up is torture. James and I don?t have a great deal to say to one another, so we sit, waiting.
Suddenly my mobile rings. It?s my mother.
?You?re going to have to come in,? she tells me. ?There are lots of letters here and his desk is covered with papers and I don?t know which ones to take.?
?What do you mean?? I ask. ?You don?t need papers, just the disk.?
?Darling, I am not going to leave with just a disk. Mike has all sorts of papers here. I?m sure we can find something more interesting than just the disk.?
I can?t decide whether to be terrified that my mother seems intent on searching Mike?s flat, or delighted to have a reason to leave the car. Either way, I have to go in. I give James a quick peck on the cheek and cross the road, looking around me. I know there won?t be anyone looking, but . . . I can?t help feeling like I?m starring in a ?Starsky and Hutch? episode as I approach Mike?s building. As soon as I reach the main door, the buzzer goes to let me in. And when I get upstairs Mike?s door opens almost immediately. My package is lying on the floor and I pick it up gratefully, putting it straight in my pocket. I then follow my mother into his study, where piles of paper are all over the floor.
?What a mess!?
?We can tidy up afterward,? says my mother. ?Just find what you need.?
I stare at her. ?You mean these papers weren?t all over the floor when you arrived??
