The Debt & the Doormat(27)

She raises her eyebrows. ‘The lady doth protest too much me thinks.’

I feel my cheeks redden and I pray they’ll stop.

‘Oh shut up. He’s just a horrible boy, a player actually. I’m really, really not interested. Now, where’s the smell coming from?’

‘Oh please! You’ve gone all red. You really need to learn how to lie better. Either that or stop bothering.’

‘I’m not lying! Now what is the smell?’ I shout, starting to lose my temper. I still can't believe we’re even doing this. What other PA’s have to do this sort of thing? It's ridiculous.

‘Found it!’ she shouts in triumph. She pulls out a tray from the back of the fridge and presents it to me. It looks like some milk has leaked into it and slowly rotted away, it now black and mouldy.

My stomach flips and I swallow back my convulsion. She looks at the tray and then back at me. What is she up to? She smiles before thrusting the tray under my nose.

‘Oh my God!’ I scream, pushing it away from me.

‘You tell the truth and I’ll sort this out for you. You continue to lie and I leave you here to sort this mess out yourself.’

Is she serious? She can't honestly think I could clean this up myself? It's beyond gross.

‘It's up to you’. She edges forward, the tray closer to me. I’m backing away in horror, realising I don't have any options.

‘Ok! I’ll tell you!’

‘That's my girl. Spill.’ She throws the tray in the sink, covering it in fairy liquid and hot water. She rubs her hands together like a witch. ‘So?’

‘Ok, well I suppose he is totally gorgeous. But in an arrogant, I’m God’s gift to women kind of way. I never really know where I stand with him. I’m sure he’s not interested in me.’

‘Err, why the hell wouldn’t he be? The fool would be lucky to have you.’

‘You have to say that because you’re my friend. I don't know if it's worth the bother anyway. I act all stupid around him, like a teenage crush or something. Jazz has warned me off him too.’

‘Why?’ she asks, her playful face changed to one of worry.

‘Because she says he’s a player.’

‘Oh.’ She looks a bit deflated. ‘Well maybe if Jazz is warning you off him...maybe you should listen. She normally likes them like that.’

‘Yeah I know,’ I say feebly. ‘Oh just shut up and clean, wench.’

* * *





‘Good evening. Have you booked a table?’ the glamorous looking lady behind the desk asks me.

‘Um, yes. My friend booked it. It’s under Ryan...’ Oh my God, I don’t know his surname!

‘Sorry? Ryan...is there a surname?’ she asks, narrowing her false eyelash coated eyes at me.

‘I...I don’t know it,’ I admit.

‘Don’t worry,’ she smiles kindly. ‘I know what these blind dates are like.’ She glances down at the list.

Blind date? Do I look that desperate? I’m only wearing tight black jeans and one of Jazz’s green tops with heels, not wanting to be over dressed. Surely I don't look that desperate? I spent ages trying to deliberately look not desperate. Maybe I should go home and change? Would I make it home and back again in time? But then what would I wear? This isn’t exactly the place for baggy jeans. Calm down, you’re getting hysterical.

‘Here we go. There’s a Ryan Davis for two people.’

Davis. What a beautiful surname. Poppy Davis. I now pronounce you Poppy Davis. Mrs Davis, your table is ready. No! Stop it!

‘Yes, that must be it.’

‘Well, the table’s just finishing up. But you could wait in the bar area.’ She smiles, already dismissing me.

I walk over to the red and black bar and sit on one of the white leather bar stools. I order myself a vodka, lime and soda and sip it; the bubbles instantly making me feel a bit giddy. I scan the room feeling a bit self-conscious to be alone. I purse my lips together and lick them, my usual nervous habit. I pick up a strand of hair to twirl, but stop myself. The restaurant is packed with smartly dressed people laughing about their day, happy for the weekend to have begun. So am I. Thank God I won't have to deal with Hugh anymore.

As I scan the room further, I notice that most women are in little dresses. Actually I’m the only woman in jeans. Maybe there’s a strict dress code and everyone is actually laughing at me, thinking what a tramp I am. Maybe I should go home and change.

Then I spot another woman in smart jeans. I smile over at her warmly and she responds by looking away alarmed. Great. She probably thinks I’m a lesbian trying to come on to her.

I look around some more, annoyed that Ryan’s making me wait. I mean, what time is it anyway? I’ve been waiting here forever. I glance at my watch and realise he’s only two minutes late. Nothing to be alarmed about.

I continue scanning the room, making up life stories for the people. The bald man in the corner is shagging his secretary and is trying to persuade her friend to join in. The woman in her forties is working out a way to tell her husband she’s leaving him for another woman. He’s working out when to surprise her with the plane tickets to the Bahamas. The group of men drinking bottled beers work in the gherkin and have a secret. They’re in a love cult together.

A strange sense of recognition goes through me when I look at the back of a man’s head. It looks so familiar. Could I actually recognise someone from the back of their head? But a niggling feeling in my stomach tells me I do. The ears, his neck, they look so familiar.

Oh my God.

I know where I know that neck from. Images of me kissing it flash though my head. It’s him. Stuart. My ex-boyfriend Stuart. Just thinking his name gives me a dart to the heart.

Oh my God. I quickly look away into the opposite direction and grab a cocktail menu from the bar, hiding my face behind it, my breathing suddenly erratic. Please let this be a dream. Please don’t let him be here. I’m hot, suddenly very hot. I can feel every sweat gland in my body waking up and going into over-drive.

I need to get out of here. I clench my fingers tightly round the plastic cocktail menu, feeling bubbles of panic rising inside me. I don't want to see him. I just want to run away like a child and block him from my mind forever. Where are my nearest exits? Could I make a run for it and just ditch Ryan?

‘Poppy?’ his familiar voice calls.

My stomach jumps and begins convulsing. His voice. His beautiful voice. Memories of our relationship flash through my head. Memories I’ve locked away for a long time. Us sitting on the sofa laughing over some film. Him making me pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. Us talking about baby names.

My heart starts beating faster and faster. So fast it feels like it's going to jump out and hit the barman in the face. Just ignore it. Don’t look up. Just pretend you haven’t heard it and you’re someone else.

‘Poppy?’ A hand is on my cocktail menu and it's pushed down to expose me. ‘It is you.’

I carry on looking down, thudding fear growing inside me. I have to look up at him. He knows it's me. There’s no escaping this. I slowly look up at him. I look into his deep blue eyes and feel a sharp stab in my chest. Those eyes that I woke up to every morning. My stomach drops as it does when you’re on a rollercoaster. Memories of the day he left come flooding back, suffocating me.

You’re too boring. I’ve started to resent you.

The scars, which I thought were healed, now feel like they’ve been ripped open with a razor blade. We were so close to our happy ending. So close. More memories come flooding into my head, whizzing round like a blender. Us on Brighton pier in the rain, eating soggy chips. Us dressed up as Fred and Wilma from The Flintstones for a fancy dress party. Him touching my belly and saying ‘I’m gonna put a baby in there someday’. I start gasping for breath, like I’m drowning. I gave him everything; my heart and soul and he decided to stamp on it.

I open my mouth to speak, but it's so dry I can barely get any words out. Stuart looks at me strangely, clearly wondering if I’ve lost my mind. I cough, trying to release the lump in my throat.

‘Oh, hi! What a coincidence!’ I squeak, my voice unnaturally high pitched.

The letter. Dear God, the letter.

‘How’ve you been?’ He smiles; that same pearly smile which used to make me go weak at the knees. ‘Oh, this is my girlfriend, Claudine.’

The same Claudine that I’d heard he’d started dating two weeks after he left. It's funny because when he said ‘I want to be single, I want to be free’ I didn’t see him settling down with someone else two weeks later. I suppose she gave him things I couldn’t give him. Like she took it up the arse. What a whore.

Her hair is dark red, almost the colour of purple and is curled, heavily hair sprayed to stay in place, making it look like straw. Her face is thin, almost gaunt, but she has massive collagen filled lips that are coated with so much red lip gloss I’m sure it’ll drip onto the floor any minute. Her fake eyelashes frame her tiny blue eyes, making it look like butterflies have landed on them.

‘Hi! Nice to meet you!’ God, I really can’t stop squealing. What is wrong with me?

I’ll always love you in some way. But right now you need to let me go.