3
“Well, yeah thank you – if you could lift that other speaker for me, thanks very much.”
“No problem love.”
I had just arrived at my next gig, at seven in the evening a few days later. It was in a beautiful double-fronted Georgian house in Ballyholme, Bangor. It was for a fiftieth wedding anniversary and the couple’s son, in full evening wear, was helping me in with the last of my gear.
“I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my sister, see you later on,” he said, and introduced me to his sister Sally. It was apparently her house that was being used as the party venue. She was wearing a casual white T shirt and blue jeans. She was probably around my age, but she looked ten years younger than me. I noted her makeup had already been perfectly applied, despite her not being in her own evening wear as yet. I had only just applied my own makeup a few hours before. That was from under the covers of my bed, with yet another cup of tea steaming beside me. I’d had a ‘duvet day’, bingeing on most of a season of The Walking Dead. I’d spent some of it recording snippets of this and that on my computer, little compositions that sounded good enough, but that I knew I’d hate when listening to later. Eventually I had forced myself to cook something half decent to eat, then had to force harder to make myself take a shower. Nobody wants a smelly singer at their party. I had peeled a dress out of the laundry basket and given it a cursory iron. That final wrench had been getting my slap on, then making it out the front door on time.
“Please, come on through,” Susan said in a hushed and lightly posh Ballyholme lilt. We walked along a high-ceilinged corridor, with heritage grey paint on the walls, beneath a finely plastered dado-rail. Before we entered the kitchen, I took note of the alarm panel on the wall and registered the name and model. I had already clocked where the main sensors were placed – being around the front door and beneath the staircase. I’d clocked the type of Yale locks that were in place too. I’d done this type of thing for a few years now. Like any job, if you’ve half a brain, then you can get pretty good at it.
“You’ve got a lovely home,” I said, as we entered a huge sunroom off the kitchen. I meant it too.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile, “We’re very fortunate.”
I was taken aback by the rear of the house. It was an astounding extension – a really nice job. A vast sunroom had been created by building a huge glass extension onto an already large kitchen. It was finished with a near perfect blend of traditional and modern taste. Well I thought so anyway. If I had real money – this would be the kind of home I’d want.
“I was thinking you could set up over there,” she said, gesturing with a long, ring laden finger.
“Yes, that looks fine,” I said, pulled out of my daydream.
“Great, super… thanks. I’m really looking forward to hearing you play. Can I get you a coffee Vicky?” she asked.
She seemed sweet. She wasn’t at all up herself, not conceited about her house or her looks.
“Yeah great, thanks. Just a dash of milk please.”
I felt a pang. She wasn’t the type I usually wanted to rob. Not that I had a burning desire to rob anyone, it was just something I did.
After a half hour, I had set everything up. We’d shifted a sofa together and then I got on with unpacking everything. I had a large corner area to myself to place my keyboard and stool. My iPad was set up, attached to my mike stand. It comes in handy for requests – I’ve an app you can just search for the music and lyrics. I use a smallish Fender PA for most gigs. It’s easy enough to carry about and it’s got a nice clean sound. The speakers are manageable to lift by myself and they fit snugly in the car, along with my little mixer.
‘Vicky Stark – travel-lite entertainer for hire’; that’s me!
Helen had left the room and I thought she’d gone out to send some messages she had mentioned. I listened. The house was quiet. I strode across the kitchen, checking around me once more before snapping pictures of the sliding glass doors and the lock in the middle.
Click.
It would be a potential alright. It’d probably be a goer. I never took part in the actual robberies – but I had picked up a lot about the scoping out of houses over the couple of years I’d been involved. I had just kind of fallen into it all. I think we were probably drunk one night, and I mentioned some amazing house I’d played at and what rubbish security they had. It could have just stayed as some drunken conversation. Then he actually went there, and it worked. Then we did it again. Honestly, it just started out with him stealing a few little things – it had felt like more of a game. Then
