The Thief Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  The Thief

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781409068877

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Arrow in 2006

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Kingsmarkham Enterprises Ltd 2006

  Kingsmarkham Enterprises Ltd has asserted its right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

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  First published in the United Kingdom by Arrow

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  ISBN 978 0 099 49788 2 (from Jan 2007)

  ISBN 0 0994 9788 3

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE FIRST TIME SHE stole something Polly was eight years old. She and her mother had gone in the car to have tea with her aunt, so that she could play with her cousins, James and Lizzie. It was a fine sunny day in the middle of summer. Chairs and tables were out in the garden under a big sunshade. There was a blow-up pool and the hose was on. James and Lizzie were in swimsuits and Polly put hers on. They splashed about in the water. Polly got very excited, splashed water over her mother and Auntie Pauline and took hold of Lizzie, holding her head under the water. Her mother told her to stop and then, when Polly didn’t stop, she told her again.

  ‘Stop that at once, Polly. You’re spoiling the game for the others!’

  Polly had stopped for a while, then begun again, splashing with both hands. Her aunt got up, said to her, ‘Come into the house. I’ve got something I want to show you.’

  So Polly got out of the water, dried herself on a towel and followed Auntie Pauline into the house. She thought she was going to get a present. Auntie Pauline had said that once before and had given her the thing she had shown her. Not this time. As soon as they were inside and the door was shut her aunt put her over her knee and smacked her hard, ten sharp blows across her bottom. Then Auntie Pauline went back into the garden.

  When her aunt had gone and left her crying, Polly had hated her. She would have liked to kill her. Rubbing her eyes, she had walked slowly through the rooms. In one of them was a desk and on the desk, lying face-down, the book Auntie Pauline was reading. Polly took it. She put it in the big bag her mother had left in the hallway. It wasn’t her aunt’s book but one from the Public Library. If it was missing Auntie Pauline would have to pay for it . . .

  When it was time to go, she and her mother got into the car and while her mother was driving Polly took the book out of her bag and hid it under her jacket. She meant to destroy it. But how? There was nowhere to burn it. She found her mother’s scissors and while her parents were watching the news on TV she went up to her bedroom and cut the book into a hundred small pieces.

  Polly’s mother and Auntie Pauline had a lot of talks about the missing book. Polly was always there and heard what they said. Where could the book have gone? Auntie Pauline had asked everyone, Uncle Martin and Lizzie and James and the lady who came to clean. No one knew anything about it.

  ‘You haven’t seen it, have you, Polly?’ her mother asked.

  Polly looked her right in the eyes. ‘Oh, no, Mummy, of course I haven’t.’

  She was a good liar. It seemed too that she was a good thief.

  In the same class at school there was a girl called Abigail Robinson. She wasn’t one of Polly’s crowd. Polly thought Abby was the only person in the class who didn’t like her. No, it wasn’t a matter of not liking. Abby really disliked her. And it was more than that; not hating but despising. Abby looked at her as if she was something dirty you trod in in the street. And she never spoke to Polly if she could help it.

  One day Polly said to her, ‘What’s wrong with me, I’d like to know?’

  Abby just shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘My mother says you’ve got an attitude problem,’ Polly said.

  Her mother hadn’t said this. She knew nothing about Abby Robinson and her not speaking to Polly.

  ‘I suppose that’s a lie,’ said Abby. ‘Another lie. You’re always lying. That’s why I don’t want to know you.’

  Abby had a watch she was very proud of. It was gold with a dark green face and gold hands. At swimming class she left it on a shelf in the changing room and when everyone else had gone into the pool Polly hung back and took Abby’s watch. She put it in the pocket of her school blazer and put the blazer in her locker.

  After the class Abby couldn’t find her watch and there was a hunt for it. Polly didn’t stay to join the hunt. It was three-thirty, time to go home. When she got home she went into the shed where her father kept his tools and smashed the watch with a hammer. Then, carrying the pieces, she went out into the street and dropped the remains of the watch down the drain.

  Everyone at school was asked about the missing watch. The head teacher asked Polly along with the rest of her class. She looked into the head teacher’s eyes, stared into her eyes, and put on her honest face.

  ‘I never saw it, Mrs Wilson,’ she said. ‘I haven’t touched it.’

  And all the time she had a little cut on her hand where a piece of broken glass had scratched her.

  Stealing things from people who had upset her was something Polly did quite a lot. Only she didn’t call it stealing but ‘taking’. Later on, when she was older, she had a boyfriend called Tom. He was a student and he hadn’t much money. Music was what he loved and he loved his CD Walkman too. Polly thought he loved it much more than he loved her. She was right, he did, and after they had been together for a year he told her he wanted them to split up.

  ‘I can’t take you lying all the time,’ he said. ‘I never know what the truth is any more with you. You even lie about the time you left work or where you’ve been if you’re late or who you’ve met. It’s just easier for you to lie so you do it.’


  ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t. Tell me just one lie I’ve told.’

  ‘You said the phone didn’t ring while I was out but I know it did. It must have rung three times. That’s one. You said you didn’t have a drink with Alex Swain last night but I know you did. John saw you. They say that even a liar must tell more truths than lies but you tell more lies than truths.’

  He said he’d be moving out the next day. She took his Walkman while he was in the shower. He had left it lying in the bedroom on a chair on top of his jacket, a round blue and silver Walkman. She picked it up, ran down the stairs with it and out into the street. The place they lived in was at a crossroads with traffic lights. It was early morning and the traffic was heavy with big lorries waiting at the red light before taking the M1 up to the north. Polly was excited and breathing heavily. When the traffic light turned green, she threw the Walkman into the road, in front of a big truck. She heard the crunching cracking sound when the huge wheels went over it.

  Tom knew he had left it somewhere in the room and he hunted everywhere for it. Of course he asked Polly if she had seen it. She looked him in the eye and told him she hadn’t.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe what you like,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen your stupid old Walkman. You must have left it somewhere.’

  What could he do about it? He walked out on her the next day but not before he told her he had seen the broken blue and silver pieces in the road.

  Polly wasn’t alone for long. She started seeing Alex Swain and she fell in love with him. He fell in love with her too and they moved in together. Alex was different from any boyfriend she had had before. He was five years older with a house of his own and a car and a good job. Apart from that, he was a grown-up person who made rules for life and kept them. As well as being very good-looking, Alex was kind and loving and, above all, an honest man who valued truth-telling. He often said how much he hated lying, even the kind of lies people tell to get out of going somewhere they don’t want to go. Even the lies they tell to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. If you spoke firmly and with kindness, he said, you need not lie.

  Being with him changed Polly’s life. Or she thought it had changed her life. She found that Alex trusted her. He took it for granted what she said to him was the truth. He believed everything she said. And because she loved him she mostly told him the truth. It wasn’t hard to be truthful with him.

  He is making me a better person, she said to herself. I am young enough to change. It’s lucky for me I met him while I was still young. Another thing he did for her was that he taught her not to hate people. It wasn’t worth it, he said. And now she was with him no one seemed to hurt or upset her or if they did she had learned to forget it. She no longer took other people’s things and broke them. If they were unkind to her or let her down in some way, she didn’t hate them as she once would have done. All that was in the past. She was different.

  ‘I’ve never known you so happy, Polly,’ her mother said. ‘Being with Alex must be doing you good.’

  And her friend Louise said, ‘I thought he was a bit too much of a do-gooder but I’ve changed my mind now I see he’s making you happy.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALEX SAW THE SUITCASE before Polly did. It was quite a small suitcase, orange with a black trim and a black and orange strap, surely the only one like it in the airport.

  ‘He won’t lose it,’ he said. ‘No one will pick that up by mistake.’

  Polly laughed. ‘I’d get tired of it if it was mine.’

  The man with the suitcase wore a black suit and a bright yellow shirt. He was ahead of them in the queue at the check-in and there were three people between them and him. The queue moved very slowly.

  ‘You may as well go,’ said Polly. ‘There’s no point in you waiting. I’ll be back on Friday.’

  ‘I just thought I’d like to see you safely through the fast-track but if you’re really sure. I do have things to do.’

  Alex kissed her and she watched him go back the way they had come. He looked back twice, waving. The man in black and yellow had reached the check-in desk and put his orange case on the conveyor. His name in large black letters on an orange label was easy to read: Trevor Lant. One thing to be said for a bag that colour, thought Polly, was that you’d see it the moment it bowled out on to the belt. There wouldn’t be any puzzling over which of the black ones was yours. The man in the black suit had been given his boarding pass and was off towards the gate with his small but still orange carry-on bag. Moving up the queue, Polly forgot him.

  Forgot him, that is, until he was at the gate. She saw him again then, could hardly have missed him, for Trevor Lant had taken over four of the chairs in the seating area. It looked as if the flight would be full and all those waiting wanted to sit down. Lant had spread his things out to cover those chairs, the small orange carry-on bag, two newspapers, a magazine, his suit jacket, a book and a slice of cake in plastic wrap. Polly moved into the seating area just as a woman went up to Lant and asked him if he would mind moving his things so that she and her mother could sit down.

  ‘Yes, I would mind.’ Lant stared at her. ‘First come, first served. You should have got here sooner if you wanted a seat.’

  The woman blushed. She had lost her nerve and walked away. An old man tried it next, then a woman with a shrill voice.

  ‘What’s with you people?’ said Lant. ‘Didn’t you hear me the first time? I’m not moving my stuff.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, sir.’ This was one of the women from behind the desk, fetched from looking at boarding passes. ‘There’s a lady here who can’t stand for long. Now come along, I’m sure you don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Lant said. ‘I don’t mind a bit of trouble. It would liven things up a bit, would trouble. I’m getting bored out of my head in this dump. Go on, move my stuff, and you’ll see what trouble is.’

  Polly didn’t wait to hear the outcome. She moved away and stood staring out of one of the windows at the Boeing 757 which in half an hour would start taking them all to New York. Behind him voices were raised, a crowd had gathered and men in uniform had joined in. But just as she began to think that the man in the black suit would not be allowed to stay in the seating area, the flight was called and boarding began. Trevor Lant slowly picked up his newspapers, his book, his jacket, his piece of cake and his orange carry-on bag and joined the queue.

  With a club class ticket, Polly thought herself safe from him. She was almost sure she had seen an economy class ticket in his hand. But a passenger may be upgraded to a higher class and it seemed this had been done for Lant. He had been given the seat beside Polly’s and would be sitting next to her for the next seven hours.

  At first this seemed no problem. Lant said not a word. He gave his jacket to a member of the crew, stuffed his book and papers into the pocket in front of him and put his orange bag on the floor. His seatbelt on, he lay back and closed his eyes. He looked about thirty-five. He had dark hair, very pale skin and thin lips. She remembered that his teeth were good, his eyes blue. Most people would call him attractive but he was so very rude. I hope he won’t be rude to me, she thought. I hate that.

  Polly turned her head to the window, thinking that she had never known a flight to take off on time. This one left only ten minutes late. She had a book with her and the crossword puzzle in the paper to do. A trolley came round and she took a glass of wine, then another. Alex didn’t like her to drink too much but Alex wasn’t here. She read the paper. There was a story about an escaped Komodo dragon with a photo. It was the stuff of nightmares, a giant lizard.

  Lant slept on. Polly was handed a menu and one for the man next to her. Lunch came quickly after that and the rattle of her table woke Lant. He sat up with a jerk, nearly hitting the tray the stewardess was passing her.

  ‘You might have told me lunch was coming,’ he said to Polly in a sharp tone. ‘You should have woken me up.’

  The
stewardess caught her eye and gave a little smile. It was plain she thought Polly and Lant were partners. That was how it sounded. Polly didn’t return the look or reply to Lant. He said to her, ‘I’m Trevor. What’s your name?’

  ‘Polly,’ she said.

  He made a big fuss over putting up his table, tugging at it and pushing it too far forward. She had pasta for her main course and he had chicken curry. Polly was hungry and had eaten most of hers when Lant set down his knife and fork and said, ‘How’s your food, Polly? Vile, isn’t it?’

  This time she had to say something, though she was smarting from being treated like a doormat kind of wife. ‘Mine wasn’t bad.’

  ‘You tell them that and the standard will never get better. It will just go down. I don’t know what’s with you people. You put up with second-class everything. Have you no taste? Don’t you care?’

  Before she could reply, he was saying the same thing to the stewardess who came to take their plates. She was to tell the cook, if there was a cook, repeat his very words and come back and tell him she had done so. The stewardess said she would and Polly asked her if she would bring her another glass of wine. What Lant said next took her breath away.

  ‘It’s not a good idea drinking alcohol on flights. These glasses are very big. Each one is at least four units and you’re quite a small woman.’

  She wanted to say she needed it, having to sit next to him but she never said things like that. She wasn’t very brave. If she was rude to him she was afraid he would insult her, make some remark about her looks or her clothes and that would hurt. He was looking over her shoulder at the photo of the giant lizard.

  ‘I was talking to you,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘Here’s your poison coming now. Make it last. You don’t want to stagger off the plane when we get there.’