Reading Online Novel

The Debt & the Doormat(13)



‘I know!’ Victor exclaims, pulling me out of my thoughts. His eyes grow wide as he stares at me.

‘Tea? Coffee?’ I offer again, my smile strained.

‘Why don't you give us a little Irish jig?’ Victor suggests, his eyes dancing at the idea.

Irish jig? Is he serious?

‘Oh yes! Goody. I do like a show,’ Mrs Dewitt says, clapping her hands together.

‘I...I can't,’ I stammer, my legs going wobbly at the thought.

‘Of course you can Poppy,’ Victor says, smiling with his mouth, but warning with his eyes.

Please don't make me, I try to communicate back.

‘Have you got enough room?’ Mrs Dewitt asks, pulling her chair out of the way.

‘I...I...’

I can't speak! I cannot do this! I cannot dance around the room like an idiot.

‘Take your shoes off Poppy,’ Victor instructs.

Why don't I just take off all of my clothes and have an actual nightmare? Mrs Dewitt bends over and starts pulling at my shoes. I’m tempted to kick her in the face and run for the hills.

‘My goodness, what small feet you have!’ she shouts, as she prises my un-willing feet out of them. ‘What size are you?’

‘I’m a five.’

‘My goodness - so small!’

Size five is average actually. Not like your size 9 clown feet.

‘Let me Google a tune for you,’ Victor says, already on his iPhone.

This can't be happening. This cannot be happening.

‘Here we go!’ Victor says happily, as the rooms fills with a tune. It reminds me of my childhood in Irish bars drinking red lemonade and eating Tato crisps.

‘Go Poppy!’ Victor shouts, clapping his hands together.

‘But....I’m really not – ‘

‘Go! I said GO!’

His snarl is enough to pull my body into action. I jump to my tip toes immediately and try to forget about them staring at me. I jig around, quickly remembering the steps, flinging my legs in the air, all the time wishing I was dead.

‘Brilliant Poppy!’ Victor shouts, encouragingly.

I smile back, the old steps becoming clearer with each one I take. Why should I even be embarrassed? I’m good at Irish dancing! I won loads of medals when I was younger. I mean, granted, I was seven at the time, but still!

‘Yes, thank-you Poppy,’ Victor says abruptly, his playful mood over. ‘Two coffees.’

I stop abruptly, panting, out of breath. Well, he changes his mind bloody quickly. Just when I was getting into my stride. I pick my shoes up and walk out of the meeting room, heading for the kitchen.

‘Oh, Poppy thank God!’ Lilly says, rushing towards me. ‘I have an important message for you.’

‘Really? What?’

The worst thoughts go running through my head. My Mum, my Dad; are they ok?

‘Michael Flatley called. He wants his moves back. Something about you stealing them?’

My face freezes in embarrassment.

‘Oh ha bloody ha,’ I say hitting her on the shoulder. ‘You saw then?’

‘Not just me! Victor e-mailed a video of it to everyone in the company.’

My stomach hits the floor and I can suddenly hear my heart thumping hard.

‘Please, please tell me you’re joking,’ I plead. I need to run away and escape.

‘I wish I was.’ She eyes me sympathetically. ‘Yeah, good luck with the rest of the day.’ She smiles wickedly, walking away.

I make the coffees, my hands still shaking and take them towards the meeting room.

‘Top of the morning to ya!’ Jeremy says, as he walks past.

‘Oh, fuck off.’

* * *





The minute I get back to the house I throw my shoes at the wall and lie on the lumpy sofa. Those damn fucking shoes! They’ve given me angry, vicious looking blisters at the back of my foot where they’ve rubbed. The last ten minutes of my walk home I had to rip them off and go barefoot. Jazz keeps telling me off for doing that.

‘Hey Pops. Bad day?’ Izzy asks coming into the room wearing nothing but a towel.

‘Yeah. Understatement of the year actually,’ I answer, feeling very sorry for myself.

She begins towel drying her hair and I can’t stop noticing what an amazing body she has. Don’t get me wrong – I’m no lesbian, but her legs are so toned and tanned. Her whole body looks like it should belong in a high gloss magazine, not in this grotty sitting room in Shepherd’s Bush. In fact, if there were a girl to turn me it would probably be her.

‘Poppy? I said what happened?’

I pull myself back into the room, telling myself off for daydreaming again.

‘Oh, sorry. It's a bit of a long story actually.’

‘Oh, well to be honest,’ she says, scrunching her face up in regret, ‘I haven’t got too much time on my hands. Me and Gracie have got dates.’

‘Oh really, that's great. Anyone special?’ I ask, pleased that the conversation has turned back to her.

‘No. Just some guys from her office. Probably bores, but you never know.’ She winks at me.

‘Oh, well have a great time.’

‘Thanks. And I will chat to you about this, I promise. Why don't we go for brekkie tomorrow before work?’

‘Oh.’ I’m genuinely surprised at the offer of real friendship. It’s been so long since I made a new friend. ‘Yeah that would be great.’ I try to smile half as widely as her, while pretending I will be fine to get up at a ridiculous hour.

‘Awesome. Well I’m gonna go blow dry my hair, but I’ll wake you in the morning, ok?’

‘Yeah, cool.’

* * *





When she’s gone I make a big bowl of spaghetti bolognaise. If there's one thing I’m sure will always cheer me up, it's a plate load of carbs and it’s easy enough for even me to make. I always end up making enough to last me the week. Then I usually eat most of it in one sitting, spending the rest of the night crying, disgusted at what a beast I am. I really must ask Izzy what the deal is with buying food and stop stealing theirs in the hope that they won't notice.

I’ve just put the garlic bread in the oven when my mobile rings. I run to get it and my spirit picks up when I see that it's Jazz. I’ve got so much to tell her.

‘Hiya love,’ I sing down the phone.

‘Disaster! I need your help urgently. Can you come round?’ Her serious tone shocks me.

‘Yeah, but why? What's wrong?’

‘Oh Pops,’ she says, her voice breaking slightly.

She’s been in a car crash. No, worse, she’s set my flat on fire.

‘What??’

I hear her take a deep breath.

‘I need to get the morning after pill.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’





Chapter 6




The tube is a nightmare. Trust Jazz to have an emergency at rush hour. And trust me to always find the sweatiest, most obese people to be squeezed between. When I finally get to the flat I find her sitting at the kitchen table in my track suit bottoms, a half empty bottle of wine beside her. This must be bad. She never wears tracksuit bottoms.

‘Tell me everything.’ I demand as soon as I take my coat off.

‘Oh it's such a fucking mess.’ She drains her glass. There’s smudged mascara under her red rimmed eyes, indicating she’s been crying. ‘Have you got trainers on?’ she asks, suddenly staring disapprovingly at my feet.

‘Yes, but TELL me. What happened?’

‘They look terrible. I thought I told you to wear the shoes today?’

How can she pick on my shoes in the middle of an emergency?

‘I did and they gave me fucking blisters! Now tell me what the fuck happened?’

‘Ok, ok,’ she waves her hands in the air. She takes a deep breath. ‘I slept with Jake. You know, the builder from last night,’ she explains while pouring herself another glass.

‘Against my orders,’ I say, my jaw clenching in anger. If she would have just listened to me she wouldn’t be in this mess.

‘Anyway, it split and I told him no worries as I’d get the morning after pill. But then I overslept and had to get to work. I was still half an hour late on my first day and they told me I’d have to work through my lunch to make up the time. So I didn’t have a chance.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t fire you on the spot! But what about after work? Why didn’t you just go straight to a chemist on the way home?’

‘I did. I went into one and ended up buying loads of random crap, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to ask for it.’

‘Work up the courage? You’re a grown woman for God’s sake!’

‘Exactly. That’s exactly my point. If I was a stupid teenager then it would be better, but I’m a grown woman. I should have known better and I know that's what they’ll say to me. Plus all the women in there are always bitches.’

‘They’re not bitches.’ But I know what she means. They do seem to cast their eyes over your purchases and judge you. God forbid I buy thrush cream.

‘It’s fine anyway,’ I say, trying to remain calm. ‘It might have only split when he pulled out. You may be ok, but either way we’re better setting off now for a chemist.’

I glance nervously at my watch as Jazz bites her lip, a big fat tear trickling down her face. I know that look. She needs to tell me something but she’s afraid of how I’ll react. We really don't have time for her to be keeping secrets.