‘He’s probably done you a favour,’ said Annie, wondering if someone in the office would really risk a major fire just to get Layla into trouble. Or had someone from outside the building walked into her empty office and started it?
‘Thanks for that,’ said Layla coldly.
‘There’s no security on the front door at your office, is there?’
‘No. Of course not. Why would we need it?’
‘Maybe to stop someone coming in off the street and setting a fire.’
Layla grew still. ‘I thought it was just a prank, to get me in bother with Etchingham.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Annie. ‘But on the other hand…’
‘Jesus!’
‘All the more reason to stay here and stay secure, OK?’
‘I’ll die of boredom,’ said Layla.
‘There are worse things to die of.’ Annie peered intently at her daughter. ‘Look, I had a thought. Why don’t you help Ellie out with the books?’
Layla stared at Annie. Fuck’s sake. She had sworn she would never get involved in her parents’ business, and here she was: living over the shop, and now about to do the firm’s accounts. This was absolutely bloody great.
‘Thanks, but I don’t think so.’ Layla took out her Filofax. She had contacts. She would phone around, see what she could come up with. She unfastened the Filofax and screamed when a four-leaf clover fluttered out and floated gently to the floor.
When her mother was gone – taking the shamrock with her – Layla reassessed the situation. The fire and the fact that some creep had been up close, handling her Filofax, slipping that damned thing inside it, gave her the shudders.
Much as she hated the fact, she knew Annie was right: going out to work – any work – was out of the question. But maybe she could do what Mum suggested, help out with the company accounts? She didn’t want to. On the other hand she couldn’t just sit here and wait for the next disaster to occur. This forced inactivity was killing her.
She approached Ellie early that evening, when the club was still empty but the girls were getting prettied up for the punters. Ellie was in the office, talking to Miss Pargeter, a dried-up old stick of a woman who came in and helped out with the bookkeeping.
‘Um… could I have a word?’ asked Layla. She glanced at Miss Pargeter. ‘Privately.’
Ellie moved out of the tiny office and into the hall. ‘Yes, Layla?’
‘I was wondering… Mum suggested you might need some help with the accounts…?’
Ellie hadn’t closed the door of the office. Miss Pargeter looked up at Layla, and in that single glance Layla saw the whole story of Miss Pargeter’s life. Some of the more unkind girls laughed about her behind her back, called her an old maid. She was often seen bent double over the desk in the windowless office, scratching away at figures.