It had been raining for the last few days, but it had just stopped for a short time. It was a momentary relief, for it seemed to have been raining continuously, forever. And, indeed, it nearly had. There had been just constant rain and it seemed to dull the senses, and tire the spirit making one feel dizzy with the damp and less keen on life, because of it.
Amy sits at her desk reading her emails. An email circulating around the building said, ‘If you happened to have been parked in the Flinders’ Lane car park last Friday, at around 7am and you saw a black sedan with the license plate quite possibly JM 0 something, or JN 0 something, or possibly YJM something... could you please call the number supplied. You may be able to assist with an inquiry regarding a woman who allegedly parked in the car park at around the same time.’
Amy is taken back a little, as she had seen the car in question. Jeremy Marshall’s car. Her Jeremy. His BMW had the number plate JM 030. She had parked behind it, as she had on other occasions. Amy's car had been parked in the underground car park from 6am on the morning in question. Amy had been one of the first people to arrive, but she hadn't seen anyone else in the car park as she exited through the back stairwell. The back stairwell was the closest to her office and it gave her a reason to walk the five flights of stairs, rather than being lazy and taking the lift. Of course, she could take the lift and just go back to the gym. Or suspend her membership, at the very least. But, using the stairs gave her a sense of, actually, doing something healthy, you know. Gym membership, or not. No further action required.
Had she seen anyone that morning? She didn't think so, she couldn't quite remember now, as she really hadn't take that much notice, as she struggled with her two bags and her leather coat – it’s all very well having a briefcase with wheels, but the stairs? Was she talking on her phone and therefore distracted, as she was so often as she arrived at the office? Yes, Jeremy had called her to discuss the two of them, she thought as she gazed at the number plate.
Would anyone else remember the two door car? She only remembers because the car meant something to her. Of course, the car isn’t a sedan at all, as it said in the email, it is a coupe. She feels relieved and then wonders straight after that thought why she should feel relieved at all.
In hindsight, that was the tactical phone call to sure up the proposal, later that night. She is a bit hung over from the night before, she remembers she was concentrating that morning, more than usual, her head ached, and she didn't want to forget anything. She must have looked a wreck. She laugh, at the thought, more of a defence mechanism than because she thinks it is humorous. Lucky there isn’t any security footage attached to this email. She wasn't hung over on alcohol. She's realised lately that she can't smoke anything, if she wants a clear head. Although she hasn't stopped, it is Jeremy’s influence, so it was vagueness she was battling.
I don’t want to call anyone, she thinks. I don’t want to get involved. What did she care, Jeremy had asked her to marry him, just out of the blue? Well, clearly not just out of the blue for Jeremy. Amy’s head spun with every bridle picture she’d ever seen, as she found herself saying yes. She deleted the memo and then emptied the trash.
She wonders if she should call Jeremy.
What inquiry could this be assisting with, she also thinks?
If Jeremy was on the phone to her? What time was that? What could he have to do with another person? A woman?
She decides to call him.
“Jeremy, there is an email circulating around our office about anyone seeing a black car with the number plate something like your number plate last Friday morning in my parking lot?”
“Really,” says Jeremy. “Funny hey? But… but… I didn’t park in the parking lot, last Friday. I was at a clients all morning.”
“Oh,” says Amy.
Amy hadn’t really thought that the memo was referring to Jeremy’s car at all, she suspected that she was being a drama queen, open to salacious gossip as we all are now a days, that was until Jeremy had just obviously lied to her.
“Oh?” repeats Jeremy into the phone.
Still, he probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to park in the car park in the immediate future, whether he has, actually, done anything or not.
She feels relieved, of sorts. Her mother’s words came into her head.
Stop mothering that boy, he’s more, um, worldly than you give him credit for. He’s more… Her mother shook her head.
Amy gets up and goes to the door of her office.
Tim, Amy’s PA, was dutifully at his desk.
“Morning,” he says, as he did every morning. “When do you want to go through your schedule?”
“Oh, give me a moment,” replies Amy. “I’ll let you know when I am ready.”
She closes the door to her office and sits at her desk and switches on her computer, hoping that work would replace the troubled feeling she has.
She can’t get Jeremy out of her head.
She decides to go and make coffee.
She gets up again and heads out of her office.
“I’m just going to make a coffee.”
“I could go down stairs and get you a real one,” says Tim.
“No, it’s okay, I’m in the mood for instant.”
Tim looked perplexed.
She wants to be distracted.
In the kitchen they are discussing the email and the rumour of what it all might have been about.
“What’s it about?” asks Amy.
“Oh, some girl got her bag snatched by some whack job,” says Dave from IT. “Apparently, the whack job took off in a black Holden Commodore. That’s why they are asking for witnesses, to collaborate the story.”
“A Commodore, you say?”
“I said Holden,” says Dave. “But yes, I believe it was a Commodore.”
“Oh, a Commodore.”
“Yes.”
That let Jeremy off the hook, thought Amy. But why did he lie? Why would a man lie to his girlfriend, she thinks?
She can't stop thinking about it all afternoon. By 3pm, she tells Tim she is leaving for the day.
She heads to the local gadget shop and purchases a GPS tracker. It is the magnetic type. The nice sales boy says she could just attach it under Jeremy's mudguard on his car. Once she had done that, it was simple to track where Jeremy has been.
“If that’s what you really want to do,” says the nice sales boy.
“Why? What are you saying?”
“Well, people aren’t always happy with what they find out.”
She isn't really sure, she knows that, but she wants to know why Jeremy told her a lie.
Jeremy's BMW was in the car park when she got down to the basement carpark of his apartment building. Amy felt a chill run up her spine as she looked at the black car. She walked to the back of the coupe. She looked up and down the driveways, they were clear. She opened her bag and slid her hand in. She stopped. Hesitated. Looked up and down the driveway again. She slipped her hand out of her bag, clicked it shut and turned and walked back down the driveway to where her car was parked, far enough away from Jeremy’s car, just in case... She chuckled to herself, just in case of what? She thought.
She stops. Looks at her car for a moment. Now is the time, don’t fumble it, she thinks.
She walks directly to the back of the black coupe once again. She looks around for a final time and then reaches in under the rear mudguard and attaches the tracking device. Then she just casually walks away. Her stomach is in a knot, belying the whole scene.
Later that evening, she had just pilled the corn (actually, I love that image) er, pulled the cork from a bottle of chardonnay and had poured herself a glass. She sits on the bar stools at her kitchen bench. She sips her wine and remembers her phone. She retrieves the phone from her bag on the kitchen island bench. She unlocks her phone and scrolls to the tracking device app.
Jeremy’s car hadn’t moved. She isn’t sure what she expected.
She puts her phone down on the bench and drink her wine.
Why did she think Jeremy was lying? What possible reason could he have for saying his car wasn’t some place it was? Why would he say that?
She sips her wine.
Because he wants her to think he was somewhere else? What possible reason would he have for wanting her to think he was someplace else?
If that was the case, it was a rather clumsy lie, as she had already proved, she’d seen his car in the car park.
It was therefore a rather half-arsed lie. And for Jeremy to be telling a half-arsed lie, it pointed to him being rather desperate about something. Really out of options as far as it was concerned.
Why would Jeremy be in such a position that he had to seemingly tell a rather desperate lie?
