‘Of course. My name’s Sarah. I left my husband three years ago and we’re now divorced. We have a child – she’s now six – and he’s never paid child support. I don’t want millions from him, I just want something. I don’t understand why he thinks that my paying for everything is acceptable when we created her together. Not only that, I’m a single mother and I do actually need help. I don’t have a money tree in the garden or anything.’
‘I understand. It certainly doesn’t seem very fair. Have you got the CSA involved?’ I ask, wondering if she has a genuine case.
‘Yes. I first asked them to look into it two years ago, and they put him through assessment. He never replied to any of their letters, so they based the amount of money I was owed on some chart or scheme or something.’
‘I’ve heard about that. It’s a survey they look at if they can’t get information from the non-resident parent, or can’t find a tax return. The survey tells them what the person is expected to earn, based on their job title. The judgment is based on this.’
‘Exactly. It said I was owed £50 per week, which was fine by me. Only problem was that when they started to pester him for money, he suddenly replied. He said he wasn’t working, and that he lives with his parents.’
‘Is that true?’
‘No. He lives with his new girlfriend, and I know he works. He has his own business.’
Over the years I’ve heard a lot about people struggling to get maintenance payments from non-resident parents. Maybe this is an interesting new avenue for The Lady Detective Agency. Just what I was looking for!
‘Sounds familiar. What do you know about his work, and what evidence do you have?’
‘I don’t have any evidence. That’s my problem, because the CSA needs it. I know he’s a builder and has two builders who work for him. The whole operation is cash-based, and the CSA tell me they can’t do anything about that. They’ve read his bank statements and they show there’s nothing going through, but that’s because he puts it all in his girlfriend’s accounts. I know where he lives, though.’
‘Excellent,’ I tell her, relieved we have a lead. ‘It sounds simple. First things first. I’d advise surveillance to start off with. We’ll follow him from that address to work and compile some evidence about what he’s up to. Does he work every day?’
‘Oh yes, every day, he leaves between 7am and 9.30am, depending on where he’s working.’
‘No problem. I’ll email you a quote in the next half an hour. You have a think about it, and if you want to go ahead you just have to suggest a day and we’ll take it from there,’ I tell her, winding up the conversation.
‘Wonderful! Oh, thank you so much. I’m so relieved I’ve found someone who can help! I felt lost with it all.’
Aw, I like this lady! I thank her, get her details and hang up, moving straight on to the quote, which I compile and send through to her. I feel as if the morning has been productive now and decide to wander down to the village shop, pondering this possible new direction for the business.
As soon as I’ve returned, had some soup for lunch and read the paper, I check my emails. Sarah, the new CSA client lady, has instantly replied and even paid through PayPal! Crikey, she’s keen.
Hi Rebecca,
I’d love to go ahead with your services. Any weekday will be fine. I know it’s going to be a case of hit and miss, although I am confident he will do exactly as I’ve said. I can honestly say I’m not bitter, but I know him. He did the exact same thing with his first wife. He didn’t want to pay support for the two children he had with her, so he used to do everything in cash and put it through my account. When they got divorced, she ended up with a judgment on him for over £50,000, so now he has even more reason to hide everything he’s doing. I suppose this is karma calling, but either way, I need to do something. The whole thing seems so unfair. Anyway, I’ll leave it in your very capable hands; just let me know when you have any info.
Best of luck,
Sarah
Oh dear, this certainly seems like karma. Either way, this man is a serial child-maintenance dodger. Who on earth thinks they can have children and not support them? I am infuriated by this man. Hey ho, we’ve nothing else on for tomorrow, so I’ll book it in, and ask Steph to come along with me.
The alarm shrieks at a terrifying pitch. I’ve never been a morning person. I hit out to shut it up, but what I really want to do is throw it at a wall. My legs flop over the side of the bed, and I raise my upper half like a zombie. In fact, I probably look like a zombie too – yes, a quick check in the mirror affirms this. Wonderful. I hobble into the bathroom. I’m in my twenties but I’m moving like my grandma. No, maybe not; grandma moves better than I do.
The shower is lukewarm – any warmer and I’d fall asleep standing up! Did I mention it’s 5.30am? In my book, when the hands of the clock are anywhere before 7am, it’s classed as ‘holiday time’ – only an acceptable time of day to be awake if you’re catching a plane somewhere warm and sunny! But I suppose this is the reality of being a private detective.
I throw on the war paint, going far too heavy on the blusher – but who cares? I’m not supposed to be seen. Hair is just wrong, and it makes me feel stressed, but I need to get over that. Walk out to God’s Waiting Room and realise it’s a beautiful day. One of the first days of autumn, when you really notice the temperature changing. The leaves are just starting to turn and the sky is bright blue and clear. Ah, I do love God’s Waiting Room on days like today. Mrs Timson across the path waves at me as I’m loading up the car: 5.50am and she’s up, ready to face the day. What’s that all about? I wave back to the happy old dear. She’s lovely, really; slightly unhinged – calls me every name but my real one (Sarah, Judith, Joan …) – and is always up and awake at what I consider crazy times of day, but she’s lovely.
Time is moving on and I’m pulling up outside Steph’s house. She’s equally as prepared as I am: her hair is wet through and she hasn’t a scrap of make-up on. ‘Wrong, this time of day, wrong!’ she moans, getting in the car with a pillow and blanket in tow.
‘Morning, Steph.’
‘Hello, love,’ she says, leaning over for half a hug. ‘Where we rocking off to today?’ she asks, sticking on a pair of sunglasses like the diva she is.
‘Some dude hasn’t been paying child maintenance for his kid. Says he’s not working but he is. We’re off to get the evidence.’ I try to stifle a yawn, thinking that as an agency we should just refuse to work before 10am.
‘Rock on then, bird.’
‘Are you stealing my lines now?’
‘Yep, deal with it!’
We’ve clearly been working together too much lately.
We pull up outside the house where we’ve been told the target is living with his girlfriend. The new 4x4 he’s supposed to drive is parked outside. The estate is rather lovely. Certainly doesn’t look as if he’s struggling. The house is detached with possibly three bedrooms, and there are neatly kept gardens. A very family-orientated estate – which is ironic considering why we’re here. There’s a stirring from under the blanket. Steph pops half her head out and lifts her sunglasses only slightly, as if she’s a vampire trying to protect herself from the light.
‘Arghhhh,’ she says, like she’s actually in pain. ‘Where are we?’ She has a puzzled look on her face and I can tell she’s going to be highly useful today.
‘We’re here, and that’s his house,’ I say, pointing at the brightly painted red door.
‘So he’s well on the breadline then!’ she remarks in her usual sarcastic tone.
‘Exactly!’