Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake Read online

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered as finally made it to the glass door. ‘I didn’t…’

  ‘Get out of my sight,’ ordered A.A Jones. After all the fury and disdain this was a cold and unemotional instruction that left Minnie in no doubt that she was no more. No one is irreplaceable.

  Minnie collapsed back at her desk. Ross Brown appeared immediately, jumping excitedly from foot to foot with hoppity hop movements.

  ‘Security is on its way up to escort you off the premises,’ he trilled.

  ‘I know how to get out of the building,’ snapped Minnie.

  ‘Your computer is now locked. I’ve also wiped your Sim card,’ Ross informed her.

  ‘You did what?’ Minnie scrabbled to find her phone. Sure enough, all the contacts had disappeared. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I just did.’ Ross smiled his signature, insincere smile. His lips cracked as his smile widened.

  ‘I had personal numbers in the phone.’

  ‘Then I’m confident I’ve done everyone a favour.’

  ‘You are so unprofessional,’ seethed Minnie as she watched Ross Brown sweep pens, paperwork and a paperweight into the waste paper bin.

  ‘Don’t get those hips stuck in the turnstile on the way out!’ Ross shouted after her as she disappeared into the elevator. ‘We wouldn’t want to delay your departure.’

  Minnie hurried to the foyer as fast as she could. She could already feel the shakes starting and her legs were turning weak. She made a beeline for the revolving doors and spun out into the pavement, gasping to fill her lungs.

  The man she loved and the job she needed had been erased as effectively as Ross Brown had deleted the contacts off the Sim card on her phone.

  He had also said she had hips wide enough to block a turnstile. Sticks and stones rained down in the sunshine; she was terribly hurt.

  4

  Heathrow (LHR) to San Francisco, CA (SFO)

  Angie had insisted on driving Minnie to the airport. She had selected her clothing in support of Minnie and was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the quote: “There’s a special place in hell reserved for women who refuse to help one another.”

  Minnie was curled up in the passenger seat entering numbers onto her new Sim. She might be socially inept but her numerical recall was brilliant; a prodigious memory had some advantages. It was a quick and effortless procedure. It was a start.

  ‘I still can’t believe the bitch fired you?’ raged Angie as she negotiated traffic. There was a street-fighting side to Angie. She was an urban warrior dressed in statement tees, taffeta skirts, cashmere knitwear and Dr. Martens boots – all the poise and presence of a ballerina but with a backbone and toe caps made of steel.

  ‘She had no choice,’ said Minnie, a tremor to her voice. After leaving the Jones & Sword office, Minnie had returned to Angie’s house. Angie had listened in quiet fury as Minnie recounted the morning’s events. She had then gone to Minnie’s house after checking that James George had left for work. Minnie couldn’t bear to go back to the scene of the monstrous betrayal. At Minnie’s request she had packed a suitcase and also collected her passport.

  ‘She had no choice?’ squawked Angie, incredulous.

  ‘She runs a business,’ said Minnie.

  ‘And you are her greatest asset.’

  ‘I tried to make her listen.’

  ‘I believe you can turn this around, why can’t she?’

  ‘She doesn’t like me, Angie. It’s not just business, it’s personal, too. She warned me, “The weirdo inside mustn’t come out.” It came out – and with disastrous consequences.’

  ‘She makes me so furious,’ ranted Angie. ‘She bullies and threatens.’

  ‘I need to grow a thicker skin.’

  ‘Y’know, it’s for the best,’ declared Angie, throwing a U-turn into the conversation as she screeched to a stop at traffic lights. ‘You don’t need to work for her.’

  Minnie looked unsure. ‘But I love my job.’

  ‘You will find work elsewhere.’

  ‘We are in a double-dip recession.’

  ‘You are an incredible mathematician,’ praised Angie.

  Minnie exhaled and said, ‘But I have no one to blame for the stupid stuff I say and do. I have perfectly lovely parents and a wonderful sister who are all quietly baffled as I lurch from one disaster to the next. I have no tragic past, I have no abandonment issues or disfigurements. Some people have real problems.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

  ‘I need to be. No more mistakes.’

  Angie had encouraged Minnie to work out a plan based on the KISS Principle, which was Angie’s favorite acronym and motto for life.

  ‘Keep it simple, stupid.’

  Minnie nodded.

  Angie said, ‘Obviously, I’m not calling you stupid.’

  Minnie looked downcast. ‘I know.’

  ‘But when I said simple,’ continued Angie, carefully, ‘I didn’t exactly mean jump on the next flight to San Francisco. That’s complicated in my book. Not simple.’

  ‘I’m going after Greene. It’s the right thing to do,’ said Minnie, mind made up.

  ‘Send him an email instead,’ urged Angie. ‘Reduce your carbon footprint.’

  ‘I need to make a grand gesture. Go the distance, literally. Greene needs to see that I am sincerely sorry. I must talk about the natural gas deal, too. There is unfinished business I need to sort out.’

  ‘Greene is not a Sudoku. You can’t just work him out.’

  ‘I’ve caused him immeasurable damage.’

  ‘You made a mistake,’ sighed Angie.

  ‘I also need to put some distance between me and James,’ added Minnie miserably.

  ‘You think San Francisco can do that?’ Angie looked unsure.

  ‘I need time to forgive him.’

  ‘You can’t take him back,’ said Angie horrified. ‘He’s a cheater.’

  ‘He made a mistake,’ reasoned Minnie. ‘I’d be a hypocrite if I asked Greene to forgive me but wouldn’t make allowances for my husband-to-be.’

  Minnie had made it to the airport, Heathrow, Terminal 5, with three hours to spare. Angie helped her check in a suitcase and went to buy coffees and pastries before Minnie was sucked through security and out of sight.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ asked Angie. ‘It is not too late to come back home with me.’

  Minnie nodded. ‘I need to do it.’

  ‘Would you even be here if James George hadn’t…?’

  The unsaid words seemed to knock the wind out of Minnie. She took a deep breath and said, ‘I like to think I would be doing something.’

  ‘San Francisco is quite a stretch though. You hate travel. You don’t like adventure.’

  ‘It’s a challenge, I’ll admit,’ confessed Minnie, feeling more nervous than she had ever been in her entire life.

  Angie stirred her coffee vigorously and asked, ‘How will you find this Greene?’

  ‘People can’t just disappear.’

  ‘Rich people can,’ reasoned Angie. ‘Private jets and desert islands.’

  ‘I’ll play the business card,’ said Minnie. ‘He was passionate about the natural gas business plan. He won’t walk away from a deal like that.’

  ‘I should be there with you. Thelma had Louise.’

  ‘You have, like, a hundred cats and dogs to look after – animals with abandonment issues. You can’t just leave. I have no idea how long this will take.’

  Angie looked genuinely torn.

  Minnie put down her coffee and reached out to hold Angie’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For, well, you know.’

  ‘No, I don’t know.’

  ‘Looking out for me. You’ve always looked out for me.’

  Angie reached over for Minnie’s hand and squeezed.

  Minnie returned the squeeze and picked up her coffee cup. Angie tucked into her pastry and started people watching. She sa
id suddenly, ‘I can wire you money. Like Jimmy did when Louise needed some.’

  ‘Angie, I’m not on the run,’ said Minnie managing a smile.

  ‘I know. But you never know.’

  ‘Okay, great.’

  Minnie suddenly had a surge of panic and wondered if she could actually do this.

  Minnie wished she could have taken Angie up on her offer to go with her. She would be a brilliant ‘wing man’ to see her through this Greene goose chase. She was going to San Francisco under-confident and ill-prepared.

  Until now, San Francisco had been no more than a movie set for Minnie. Home to cinematic stories such as Mrs. Doubtfire and Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus – the latter a particular favourite of James George.

  Real life was going to look drastically different.

  Angie with her big heart and wild hair was an anchor for Minnie. Angie would weather the storm whereas Minnie would end up flattened under a hurricane-hit house. Opposites attract: Minnie needed a routine and structure in her life while Angie had a more random and volatile nature. She was, however, totally dependable.

  As they neared the security check point, Angie tried to keep Minnie’s spirits up.

  ‘Don’t go breaking and entering if you find him. There is only one burglar rule that applies across the pond and it involves a shotgun!’

  Minnie put a finger to her lips to shhhh Angie and jerked her head in the direction of security-conscious airport staff.

  Angie handed Minnie a goody bag for the trip. It consisted of giant-size bag of colourful M&Ms, a copy of Mathematics Logico magazine, a silk eyemask decorated with pink pawprints, a notepad and pen, and a pair of exotic sunglasses.

  Minnie smiled and thanked her, gripping on to the bag for dear life.

  ‘What else does a modern-girl detective need?’ said Angie cheerfully.

  ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘Well, I guess we’ll never know. I’ll always be here for you.’

  Minnie nodded, desperately grateful.

  ‘Walk about on the plane!’ instructed Angie, shouting over people’s heads as they weaved their way through the crowds. ‘Don’t drink the coffee! Call me when you get there!’

  It was time to say goodbye. Minnie stopped and wrapped herself around Angie, gripping her tightly. Then she walked backwards, waving to Angie until the very last second.

  Just as Minnie was about to disappear into the network of security, she heard Angie’s voice boom out like an official airport announcement: ‘Minnie Chase, I predict you’ll find yourself sitting next to a handsome photographer from National Geographic magazine who will tell you about the amazing places he’s been.’

  Minnie looked round one last time.

  Angie was nodding and smiling, giving her the thumbs up – the perfect vision of optimism.

  All signs of optimism were shattered the minute Minnie looked at her boarding card. Seat number 20B! No! Immediate panic set in, not because of the seat but the row itself. Row 20.

  Minnie had issues with the number zero, especially in a high-stress environment such as… a plane. It was nothing to do with the zero itself, a zero was harmless. It was where it featured within a sequence that was the problem. A zero had to be hidden within a series of numbers to ensure Minnie’s personal safety and wellbeing. It should not, could not, ever, be at the beginning or the end of the string. Multiples of ten, hundreds, thousands and so on were never a good sign. Decimal points didn’t ease the burden either. Minnie likened it to the common fear that is reserved for the traditionally unlucky number 13, the fear that bad things might happen. James Bond and Minnie could never have been friends.

  If pushed, Minnie could concede that there may possibly be a degree of irrationality in this feeling. Over the years she had tried hard to control it. Alone with her thoughts, however, it was difficult to deny that there may be just a trace of an obsessive-compulsive problem inside her head.

  Obviously, as a mathematician, her exposure to zero was hugely heightened but she managed to compartmentalise her neurosis at work. She struggled more when zero cropped up in a personal situation whenever a number was directly assigned to her, such as a boarding pass; a hotel room number; a date – 20.10.2010, for example, would be remembered as the date she was knocked off her bike and broke her collar bone – and so on.

  To make matters worse the zero had a knack of targeting Minnie personally and as a result she was placed in even greater danger. And, right now, she couldn’t think of anything worse than a Boeing 747 falling out of the sky.

  Minnie stood in the aisle and stared at her boarding card: 20B. She started to feel lightheaded but fiercely told herself that a panic attack was not permissible within the confines of hundreds of tonnes of steel about to leave the ground.

  She regretted passing on the pastries earlier. The industrial-strength coffee with its caffeine-high content now threatened to percolate into the air in her lungs as there was nothing in her stomach to soak it up.

  Minnie eyed the row in front desperately: she believed 19B would see her through to San Francisco with no trouble at all. She looked down on the heads in front of her and saw a crumpled-suited businessman in the window seat who was already comatose and breathing heavily, pillowy lips parted in exhaustion.

  Time was running out as people bumped and squeezed past her on the way to their seats. What’s more, two other young men in row 19 had now settled into their seats and were packing personal items such as water, magazines and electrical items into the storage pockets in front.

  Minnie considered making a run for the nearest exit and throwing herself down an inflatable chute, primed to kick off her shoes to comply with air safety instructions. The collective breath from passengers and crew caught in her throat.

  ‘PLEASE,’ she said abruptly, a little shouty and sounding desperate. ‘Could I sit in this row?’ She stuck to Angie’s KISS principle and kept it simple, not offering an explanation. ‘I would very much like to.’

  The sleeping man was unresponsive but the other two looked up at her, startled, then glanced towards the window seat and appeared to make the presumption that Minnie knew him.

  ‘Actually, I would be happy to move,’ said the man in the middle without hesitation. He did appear happy, but this had probably less to do with being a Good Samaritan, more to do with being able to escape the increasingly-loud snoring at his side. ‘Give me a second to collect my things.’

  Minnie could have cried out with relief. She now had a seat on row 19. Geese wouldn’t fly into the engine, the plane wouldn’t be struck by lightning and the pilots wouldn’t suffer simultaneous seizures.

  She would be fine until touchdown. She could handle a stranger snoring with his head rolling on his chest. That’s what headphones were for.

  The other young man in the aisle seat in the safe zone of row 19 stood up to make space to let her squeeze by. There was a sudden crush of passengers trying to push and squeeze their way along the plane towards their seats until Minnie and the man in the middle had managed to settle into their switched seats.

  Minnie felt exhausted when she finally sat down. Her adrenaline high was rapidly replaced with a numbing low. She clamped her eyes shut. It seemed to be getting hotter. She could feel herself overheating, in spite of the fact that she had carefully and practically selected her travel wardrobe. Wide, loose, linen trousers, flight socks to prevent deep-vein thrombosis, practical slip-on shoes and a huge, flapping, voluminous shirt and delicate lace shawl that was supposed to facilitate air flow. Her carelessly-cut hair was sticking to the back of her neck.

  She eventually opened her eyes and fidgeted with the belt as she settled into her newly negotiated seat.

  ‘Did your boyfriend drop some Ambien for the flight?’ asked the bemused looking man to her right, nodding in the direction of the window. He had a laidback beach tan and sun-bleached hair. He was wearing an eye-poppingly bright shirt and board shorts accessorised with a beaded necklace, braided bracelets and a warm
smile.

  Minnie stared at him, bewildered, wondering why on earth this stranger was talking to her about James George. The question made her heart begin to race.

  ‘Sleeping pills,’ said the stranger, offering an explanation.

  ‘Oh, him!’ exclaimed Minnie, realising the mistake as she followed his gaze to her left. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even know the man.’ She coughed to cover up the undertones of horror in her voice, thankful the man was out for the count and unable to take offence.

  The bright-shirted man with the smile now looked momentarily flummoxed as to why Minnie would want to switch a middle seat in one row for a middle seat in the next row. After a brief pause, he gave a relaxed shrug and let the obvious question go.

  Minnie silently thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t need to explain an obsessive compulsive number disorder. She inhaled deeply: breathe, Minnie, breathe, she repeated the mantra.

  ‘Snowflake Jackson,’ said the bright-shirted man with an even wider smile. He stuck out his right hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Friends call me Snowflake, my sisters call me Jackson. My mother is still on first-name terms with me – she calls me Jay, which is short for Jason. No one calls me Jason except for my father. Jason is the son he wanted but never had – a respectable suit-wearing Harvard-educated lawyer. You decide.’

  Snowflake, dear God, thought Minnie, panicking slightly, as she shook his hand. This talkative man was one of those rare and exotic species that should be admired from a safe distance and preferably from behind armoured glass. It was going to be one of those Nothing In Common situations and probably a very long flight.

  So much for Angie’s prediction about sensible and serious National Geographic Man.

  But her good manners couldn’t bring her to ignore Jackson, after all, he was merely a by-product of the successful resolution of her zero-fear situation and so, rather reluctantly, she began to introduce herself. Panic set in as soon as she tried to choose a suitable way to address the still-smiling stranger. Snowflake was surely too familiar; Jay too ‘meet-the-parents’; and Jason too ‘I-hate-the-parents’.