Keeping Mum. Kate Lawson

into the mirror, presumably trying to gauge the effectiveness of Cass’s disguise.

      ‘How can you be so certain?’

      The questions seemed to take Fiona by surprise. ‘Because he’s been acting very strangely over the last few weeks. He’s changed the password on his email account.’

      ‘And you know this because?’

      ‘Well, when I was on his computer I couldn’t get into his email,’ said Fiona, casually.

      ‘You read his email?’

      At least Fiona had the decency to look a bit sheepish. ‘Of course I do, I mean, doesn’t everyone? We’re practically married—’

      ‘And that makes it all right, does it?’ Cass couldn’t imagine anything worse than having someone nosing through her private life.

      ‘What on earth has right got to do with anything?’ said Fiona indignantly. ‘He shouldn’t need to hide things from me.’

      ‘So presumably Andy’s got your password too?’ asked Cass.

      Fiona looked outraged. ‘No, of course he hasn’t, but that’s different—I mean, I’m not up to anything.’

      ‘Changing your password is hardly proof of being up to something though, is it?’

      ‘He keeps getting texts…’

      ‘Oh for goodness sake, Fee, we all get texts.’

      ‘Which he erases,’ Fiona countered. ‘I know because I’ve looked while he’s in the shower. His inbox is always empty—you’ve got to admit that that is suspicious?’

      Cass wasn’t sure there was any sane answer. Experience told her that if you think someone is up to something, then your mind is only too happy to fill in the gaps, and everything the other person does only conspires to make them look even more guilty. And while Fiona’s plan all sounded pretty crazy from this side of the fence, no doubt inside Fiona’s head it sounded just fine. When it struck, jealously, insecurity and uncertainty could be a destructive and all-engulfing madness.

      ‘How long have you two been together?’ asked Cass, adjusting the wig and adding a bit more lipstick. She’d always wondered how she’d look as a blonde. Cass turned to catch a look at her profile; realistically she probably needed something a little less Barbie.

      ‘Nearly four years. I read somewhere that four years is the new seven-year itch. And besides, if Andy’s got nothing to hide, then why does he keep wiping the inbox on his phone, why does he have a new password on his email account and why does he sneak about? Did I tell you he’s been sneaking about—’

      ‘Have you thought it might be because you’re trying to break into his email account, read his phone messages and are currently setting someone up to stalk him?’ asked Cass.

      Fiona considered the possibility for a few seconds then shook her head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Andy’s got no idea he’s going to be stalked. And besides, he is up to something, I know it—and I want you to find out exactly what it is.’

      ‘Because?’

      ‘Well, because we’re friends, and I’d do the same for you.’

      Cass stared at her. ‘Really?’

      ‘Oh God yes,’ said Fiona. Which wasn’t exactly how Cass remembered it. She did remember lots of things about being Fiona’s friend, like being left at the bus stop in the pouring rain, in her gym kit, because Fee had persuaded her mum to give the school hunk, Alan Hall, a lift home instead of Cass, the same friend who had refused point-blank to lend Cass a tenner when they were at a gig and Cass found she’d left her handbag backstage.

      None of which suggested to Cass that Fiona would be running to her rescue if she ever needed a bit of on-the-side spying.

      ‘I don’t think blonde’s really my colour, do you?’ asked Cass, narrowing her eyes, trying to gauge the effect of the wig and hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Maybe something with a bit more caramel?’

      ‘Can we please concentrate? I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,’ snapped Fiona. ‘Andy’s going to be at Sam’s Place, Saturday night, at eight. I’ve brought my camera with me just in case yours doesn’t have a zoom.’

      Cass looked at her. ‘Sam’s Place?’

      ‘Uh-huh you know, the trendy new bar, opposite the Corn Exchange.’

      Cass shook her head.

      ‘Oh, come on, Cass, you must have seen it. It’s been all over the local papers. They did a double-page spread in the Argos and Echo, and a thing on local TV. Some guy off the telly is one of the partners in it. He used to be in The Bill—not that I watch that kind of thing, obviously. Anyway, there’s a cocktail bar and restaurant, and a coffee shop, all retro and very Casablanca, with a nightclub upstairs. I’ve been trying to persuade Andy to take me there for weeks.’ Fiona paused for effect. ‘Do you know what he said?’

      Cass decided it would probably be wiser not to offer any suggestions, so pulled an I have no idea face instead.

      ‘He said, “Fee, what in god’s name do you want to go there for? Clubbing—at our age? It’s ridiculous.” That’s what he said, Cass, “Ridiculous”. It was horrible. It made me sound like some sort of desperate pensioner…’

      Fiona was wearing a skirt that was bang on trend—if you happened to be eighteen—a pair of Christian Louboutin knock-offs and a haircut that probably cost more than Cass’s sofa, and Fiona had made Cass swear that she’d never mention the Botox or the fillers in front of anyone. Maybe ‘pensioner’ was a bit cruel, but ‘desperate’ wasn’t far short of the mark.

      ‘So you haven’t been there?’

      Fiona shook her head. ‘No, of course I haven’t been there, although now it looks as if he’s going to be going without me. There was a message on the pad in his office —“Sam’s Place, 8 o’clock”, and what looked like next Saturday’s date. I was going to bring it with me to prove that I wasn’t imagining it…’

      ‘Did you ask Andy about it? I mean, surely if he left the note on his desk he meant you to see it,’ asked Cass cautiously.

      ‘He would think I was mad…’

      Cass decided not to comment. ‘Maybe he’s planning to surprise you? You said you wanted to go—maybe he’s going to take you as a treat.’

      Fiona didn’t look convinced.

      ‘Why don’t you just ask him, Fee? He left you a note—in plain sight…’

      ‘It wasn’t actually the note I saw,’ Fiona said, after a few seconds. ‘And Andy didn’t leave it out on the desk for me to see. It was more of an impression on the pad underneath. I could see that it had something written on it, but I couldn’t really make out what it said…’

      ‘Right,’ murmured Cass in an undertone. This was getting weirder by the second.

      ‘Anyway, I saw this thing on a film once, where you get a soft pencil and then very lightly shade over the indentations.’ Fiona mimed the action.

      Cass had heard enough. ‘Uh-huh, okay, look, I think we should stop right there, Fiona—this is nuts. You need to talk to Andy, not me. And as for the stalking? I think it’s crazy and I’m not doing it.’ As she spoke, Cass pulled off the wig and dropped it onto the bed. ‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you want to stay with Andy?’

      Fiona stared at Cass as if the question hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘Well of course I want to stay with Andy,’ she snapped. ‘Why on earth would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t want to be with him? For god’s sake Cass—have you got any idea how hard it is to get your hands on a decent blonde wig? It’s taken me ages to get all this stuff together…’