Read The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Online
Authors: Geraldine Fonteroy
‘Still, lovely features. You’ve bought well.’
And can afford the mortgage, thanks to my parents.
‘Thanks Frieda. I’m sure your home is lovely too.’
‘You’ll have to come over sometime and see for yourself. I’m rather proud of it, even if my husband thinks there is far too much pine. It’s the Norwegian thing. We all love it.’
‘Who doesn’t love pine?’ The two women smiled at each other, and Jessica wondered why she hadn’t spoken to Frieda before this. She appeared a genuine and sincere person, in spite of being squeezed into inappropriately tight designer jeans – white today, with a matching, unfortunately see-through, top.
‘So, you up for this business, then?’ Frieda asked, observing Jessica carefully.
‘Not really, but to be honest, I don’t have a choice. I need money, and the woman at the job centre told me the options were lorry driving or door person at a lap dancing club.’
‘Some choices! Who knew the job centre would take on a lap dancing club.’
‘Exactly what I thought.’
Rising from the kitchen table, Frieda said they should get started, and suggested they work in the main bedroom, where the closet could simulate a store rail.
Mind flipping to the unmade bed, and floor littered with discarded clothes, Jessica made a counter suggestion. ‘How about Rachel’s room? It’s a bit tidier.’
‘Sure.’
Jessica led the way upstairs, and stood as Frieda began unloading various bits and pieces from her bag. ‘Right, come and take a look.’
Laid out on Rachel’s pink duvet cover was an array of gadgets. The first was a funny little machine that resembled to a mini-waffle maker.
‘That’s for getting rid of those round white security tags, like this.’ A creamy disc was held up for inspection.
‘Okay.’
Am I really doing this?
‘And this one,’ she indicated a silver-coated pair of thick, tong-like object. ‘That’s for the long, thin tags, the horrible ones with the dye inside.’
‘That what?’
‘The dye. Some tags have a blue dye inside that explodes over you if you try to get them off.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica looked at a strange box with a red button. ‘What’s that?’
‘In case of emergency. It automatically dials up emergency services and a pre-recorded voice yells fire. It has a GPS tracker so the shop can be located by the fire engines. Only use it if you think security is watching you, and leave it in the fitting room. And be really careful not to accidentally set it off.’
Jessica gulped. It all seemed a little too real now. And Frieda’s ernest expression didn’t help. ‘Where on earth did you get this stuff?’
‘Rita’s husband had a Chinese client who has a factory making the security stuff for major shops worldwide. She organised a visit when she and Chelsea decided to start the business, and took a few samples. We have three sets. Those of us who work with clothes use them.’
‘She
stole
them from the factory?’
‘Of course. There wasn’t really a need to – the Chinese are a very generous people. But it wouldn’t do to let on that she had them, would it? Sometimes, even husbands can’t be trusted. Which leads me to the first lesson – always deny everything and never, ever mention what you do to anyone except the four of us.’
That was pretty obvious.
‘And be careful who is standing about if you say something to us at school. Chelsea says that Elise is a bit too herbal for her own good. It might be best if you steer clear of her for a while.’
Jessica considered the comment. ‘Do you think that?’
‘Personally, I like her, but I don’t want to be caught. And if one of us is caught, it stands to reason we might all be. Which . . .’ she smiled a tight grin, ‘leads me to another caution. If you’re caught, do not reveal anything at all about us or the business. We offer the same protection to you.’
‘Yes. I won’t say a thing.’
‘So if you are caught, and the police ask where you got these,’ Frieda pointed to the tag devices, ‘what are you going to say?’
‘Ordered them online from China?’
‘Then the cops will ask you to show them the site.’
‘Oh, good point. Found them in a skip.’
‘Excellent. Yes. A skip where?’
‘In some country town on the way to Sussex. Can’t recall the name.’
‘You’re getting the hang of it.’
I’m not sure I want to.
‘Thanks.’
‘Right, you’ve got the gear, let’s move to technique.’ Frieda swung open the doors to Rachel’s cupboard. Her two good dresses hung forlornly amongst extra uniform shirts and a few tops and skirts. The lack of stock was pitiful. ‘Gosh, you are frugal when it comes to kids’ clothes, aren’t you? Personally, I can’t help but buy Annika everything I see that might suit her.’
Frieda’s daughter Annika Shieklehorn was a tubby child with a sweet disposition and a notoriously grubby reputation. According to Rachel, her nickname was The Soiled Shiek. The pretty embroidered dresses that she was shoehorned into didn’t help matters, either. Jessica made a mental note not to mention ‘shoehorn’ to Rachel, least it become a new epithet for the poor child.
‘Clearly, I’m not turning to crime because I’m bored, Frieda,’ Jessica snapped. The crushed expression on the Norwegian’s face immediately made her feel guilty. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Things have been so stressful lately – the operation, Ronald’s job. I just want things to get easier.’
‘A nice income can make a big difference,’ Frieda said, quickly accepting the apology. Unlike her mate Chelsea, she wasn’t one to hold a grudge. ‘Now, let’s get on with it.’ She picked up her handbag, which was a particularly nice DKNY shopper, and threw it at Jessica. ‘Steal something?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Pretend this is a shop, and steal something from that wardrobe.’
‘Oh.’ Put on the spot, Jessica felt extremely self-conscious.
I am never going to be able to successfully steal. I’ll be caught in a minute.
She wandered over to the cupboard, and began flicking through the clothes ‘on offer’. Taking up the red velvet frock her mother had bought Rachel for Christmas last year, she held it up, then looked left and right and quickly bundled it up and shoved in the bag.’
Frieda was sitting on the bed, shaking her head.
‘Not good?’
‘You look like you’re in some sort of situation comedy. Are you actually trying to be arrested?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Right, let me show you one of the tried and tested way us girls have perfected.’
Frieda walked up to the wardrobe, took out the two dresses, held each up, then called out: ‘Shop assistant? Could you help me?’
Jessica sat mutely until she realised that Frieda meant her. ‘Oh, yes. Do you need something?’
‘Yes, could I try these on? The girl I am buying them for is small, like me.’
‘Why do you need to try them on?’ Jessica asked.
‘You are going for leather jackets. They will have extra security – those chains through the sleeves. The only way to legitimately get them removed is to try them on.’
‘Or buy them.’
‘Which kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? So, back to role play . . . you’ve tried them on, then you say: ‘I was wondering if you had these in any other sizes?’.’
‘Hah?
‘Just go with it,’ Frieda hissed. As nice as she was, Jessica was proving a difficult student.
‘Right, well, not sure, I’ll check . . .’
‘In the meantime, do you mind if I check these outside for colour? I am trying to match a pair of shoes.’
‘Oh, sure.’
Frieda walked to the door, and disappeared. After waiting a few moments, Jessica walked to the door and peered about. ‘Frieda? Where did you go?’
The chubby blonde poked her head around the bathroom door. ‘Exactly.’
‘But surely they don’t let you just take the stock into the street without watching you?’
‘Oh yes they do. Because you are immaculately dressed in your disguise, and they are busy and they figure someone like you wouldn’t blatantly steal from them, not after going to all the trouble of trying the clothes on.’
‘But these stores have security guards, don’t they?’
‘Yes, but if you ask
them
for their opinion, then fuss about holding the dress this way and that, they eventually look away, and that’s when you get away.’
‘Don’t they chase you?’
‘Sometimes, but you’ve already planned your escape. Make sure there is another store or a café with a toilet nearby, where you can hide out.’
Jessica was still confused. ‘Surely the security guard will run after you? What about CCTV?’
‘It doesn’t matter, because you’re wearing a disguise.’
I thought she was kidding about that.
‘A disguise?’
‘Of course. Otherwise, how on earth would we get away with it?’
‘What sort of disguise?’
‘We have a few that we rotate, but my favourite is Lady Muck.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Glasses on a chain, grey wig with bun attached, expensive Burberry suit – pinched from a leading department store, of course – and neat Tod’s shoes, also pilfered. You change your accent so that your vowels would cut ice, and bingo. Completely trustworthy. Just make sure to wear something you can walk about in beneath the suit – there isn’t always a lot of time to get changed.’
Jessica felt sick. Wearing a disguise; stealing expensive coats. It wasn’t her. Could she really go through with this?
Noticing the apprehensive look, Frieda told Jessica that the first time was the worst. ‘After that, it becomes a buzz. Sometimes, it’s even fun.’
You don’t say.
Jessica wondered what on earth a nice person like Frieda, who clearly didn’t need the money, was doing stealing.
But when she asked, Frieda changed the subject, suggesting they look at the disguises she bought with her.
‘They’re down in the boot of the car – I’ll run down.’
Listening to the descending footsteps, Jessica pondered the evasion of the question. Frieda Shieklehorn had secrets.
Didn’t they all? Well, decided Jessica, she could keep them. There was enough intrigue in her life without worrying about a rich woman’s addiction to shoplifting.
A while later, Frieda had imparted all the wisdom she could before having to leave for a nail appointment, and Jessica was left alone with the implements of theft. Fingering the grey wig, she decided that she needed more time to think, and called her mother for the latest horrible escapades of her father.
It seemed anything was better that dealing with her own problems, including hearing how her dad had attempted to hijack a bus and force the driver to take him to the cinema to see a cartoon about a monster.
THE JOB – THAT’S WHAT Frieda called it, ‘the job’ – was scheduled for the next Monday morning, around 11:00 a.m. ‘No one expects a theft first thing on a Monday,’ she told Jessica over the phone. ‘Your average thief is usually still in bed recovering from the weekend.’
Jessica hoped she was right.
‘What is wrong with you this morning?’ Ronald exclaimed, when Jessica accidentally tipped tea in his lap rather than his cup.
‘Nothing, why?’
‘Why? I have tea in my bloody lap.’
‘Then pour your own stupid drinks.’ Knowing the response was overly curt, and not wanting to get into a discussion of why, Jessica tried to appease matters by suggesting his favourite pasta for dinner.
‘I’ve got a conference with a new client, so maybe something that can be left on the warmer,’ Ronald said, holding a piece of paper towel to this lap to mop up the tea.
‘The warmer is broken, remember?’ Where had the magic gone from their marriage? Now he didn’t even look at her when they spoke.
Rachel chose that moment to make matters worse. ‘Mummy, can I have a new scooter like Sienna. An electronic one?’
‘You mean an electric one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps for your birthday?’
They all looked over at Ronald, who wasn’t listening.
‘Daddy?’
‘Yes, baby?’ He didn’t look up from the paper.
‘Can I have a scooter for my birthday?’
‘We’ll see. They’re expensive.’ Still no eye contact with any of them.
Squeezing her daughter’s hand, Jessica shooed the kids off to get ready for school and prayed that her new ‘job’ went well. Because her husband was becoming less and less a person on whom she could rely.
Turning to stack the dishes in the sink, Jessica didn’t notice Ronald dialling until he spoke – and not to her.
‘Yes, yes. Is that Lloyds? What, my password? What password? Look, just wondering if you could resend my statement, that’s all. I don’t understand why you can’t just . . . no, I don’t have time for additional security questions . . . what? Oh, never mind.’
Staring straight ahead, at the splash back that needed a good clean, Jessica forced herself not to turn around. Not to show interest.