The Debt & the Doormat(66)

I grab my bag and am nearly away from my desk when Tiffany, a young temp with glossy red hair and too much blue eye shadow, comes by my desk.

‘Hi Poppy. I just heard something hilarious,’ she says, smiling widely.

‘Really?’ I enquire, intrigued despite myself.

‘Yeah. Neville said he’s going out with you,’ she snorts, holding onto her sides, while she’s overtaken by uncontrollable laughter.

Oh, for goodness sakes. I’d almost forgotten about that drama.

‘Oh. That.’

‘That?’ she asks confused. ‘You’re not actually going out with Neville are you?’ she laughs.

‘No, of course not.’

‘I was gonna say. I mean, what a freak he is! I totally laughed in his face when he told me. As if he could get anyone!’

What an evil bitch. Who the hell does she think she is? She’s hardly Elle MacPherson herself. He may have gotten it all deluded in his head, but Neville is a good person. He doesn’t deserve little bitches going around laughing at him.

‘It's just too funny,’ she says, continuing to laugh as if it's the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

‘Actually it's not that funny,’ I snap, feeling embarrassed on behalf of Neville. ‘We may not be going out, but...but we’re having sex.’

‘What?’

Yeah, what?

‘Yes! We’re having hot, passionate sex. And let me tell you, don't let that sweet innocent look fool you. Behind closed doors he’s an absolute animal!’

Tiffany stares back at me completely stunned. I should stop. Stop there. Just let her imagine the rest. But I can't.

‘Oh yeah, it's true. And he’s hung like a donkey. I thought I’d had orgasms before him, but my God I had no idea. The doors he’s opened to me. I’m so thankful to him,’ I gloat, flicking my hair around as I imagine a sexual goddess does.

‘Are you...are you serious?’ she asks, looking as if her head might explode any moment.

‘Oh yeah. He’s such a generous lover. I mean, I wish he’d go out with me! I begged him, I really did! But he told me he didn’t want to be tied down. He said he’d play along at work if I told people. That's probably why he told you.’

She nods, her eyes darting helplessly from side to side, trying to make sense of it all.

‘To be honest, I don't know if I’ll be able to move on from him. I mean, I think he may have ruined me for any other man. They’ll never be able to satisfy me like him.’

‘Wow,’ she gasps. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Yep. They always say it's the quiet ones.’

She nods, completely in awe.

‘Anyway, I have to go. Promise me you won't tell a soul?’ I ask, fully aware that it will be around the entire office within the hour.

‘Of course. I won't breathe a word,’ she promises, her mouth still gaping open.

‘Bye!’

I run out of the room, round the corner and almost straight into Neville.

‘Neville! Come with me!’ I shout grabbing him and dragging him into the lift.

I close the doors and push the emergency button, suspending the lift in the air, as Lilly and I have done many times in an emergency.

‘Poppy, are you OK?’ he asks, seemingly concerned that I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

‘Listen, I’m too rushed to be sensitive, OK?’ I say, conscious of the time.

‘OK,’ he nods.

‘Neville, we’re not going out. I love you as a friend, but I don't see you romantically like that.’

‘Oh.’ His face drops.

‘But I’ve lied to people and told them we’re sleeping together.’

‘What?’ he asks in surprise.

‘I’m gonna help you out. If anyone asks you any questions you are only to say “a gentleman never tells”. Do you understand?’

‘A gentleman never tells,’ he repeats slowly. ‘OK, got it.’

‘Nothing else, promise?’

‘Promise,’ he smiles.

‘Cool. I’m taking you shopping tomorrow lunch and giving you a makeover.’

‘Really? Do I need one?’ he asks looking over his tartan shirt and green dickie bow.

‘Yes,’ I say bluntly. I don't have time to beat around the bush. ‘Will you meet me?’

‘Yes. I’ll be there!’ he says with fresh enthusiasm.

‘Great.’

‘But Poppy, why are you doing this for me?’ he asks, as I press the emergency button again making us move.

‘Because you’re a good guy Neville and a lot of the little bitches here need a lesson teaching to them. It's just all about good PR.’

The door pings open and I quickly wrap my arms round Neville’s neck and plant a quick kiss on his lips. I turn round and as I predicted, Tiffany is already at reception telling the receptionist Suzanne my gossip. They both turn to stare at us, their mouths gawking open.

I pretend to straighten my hair, wink at Neville and then run out, hearing Tiffany say ‘I told you!’

* * *





I arrive at the passport place at 11am. I’ll make it. I just need to make sure I don't get delayed. The lady on the phone said I just need to quote the order number and they’ll give it to me. As long as I’m in and out I should get to the airport in time.

‘Next!’ a lady behind a glass counter yells.

It's a bit like a normal post office really. Hopefully they’ll be as efficient as Harry from ours. And not make so many racist jokes.

‘Hi. I’m here to pick up a package for Victor Darlington. It had attempted delivery last night. It's order number 2398JLK.’

I smile up at the moody woman. She’s about forty with blonde frizzy hair and crooked teeth.

‘I’m afraid only Mr Darlington can collect it,’ she drawls, yawning.

‘Sorry? You must be mistaken. I called up three times. They said I could just quote the number.’

Please God, let her be mistaken.

‘Sorry, but the computer says no.’

Did she seriously just say “computer says no?” Am I on a hidden camera show? Is this a massive joke?

‘You can't be serious.’

‘Afraid so. Sorry.’ She looks anything but sorry.

‘Can I speak to your supervisor please?’

‘She’s on a break.’

‘I’m willing to wait,’ I say, standing my ground.

‘Fine,’ she snarls through gritted teeth. We glare back at each other until I finally lose my nerve and look away.

‘Please stand out of the way madam. Next!’

‘I don't think so! I’m waiting here until I can speak to your supervisor.’

‘Excuse me,’ a young girl with plaited brown hair says, trying to barge me out of the way.

‘No, sorry! I’m not moving until I get my package.’

‘Why don't you just go,’ plaited girl says to me giving me a little shove.

Did she seriously just shove me?

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, shoving her back a little harder.

‘I think you need to wait your turn!’ she growls, pushing me away hard.

How can she have so much attitude for a nineteen year old? Who does she think she is? Probably here to collect a Polly Pocket toy from her pen pal in Austria.

‘Why don't you just back the fuck up,’ I shout, channelling my inner ghetto princess.

I shove her as hard as I can. She flies back, falls over and hits her head on the top of the desk. Maybe a little too hard in hind sight.

‘Oh my God, are you OK?’ I ask, rushing over, a sickening feeling creeping into my stomach.

I didn’t mean to kill the bitch.

‘What on earth is going on?’ a deep authoritative voice says.

I look up, panicked. Please don't say it's a police man.

I look through the glass window at a bulky mixed race woman with long black curly hair. I recognise that face. I swear I do. Her stern face breaks in recognition too.

‘Poppy? Is that you?’

Shit. What's her name? I went to school with her. I sat next to her in French. She went out with Barry Reynolds and lost it to him in a ditch in the countryside on our sponsored walk. But what the hell is her name?

‘Oh my goodness. Is that...you?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it's me! How strange, I was just talking about you the other day,’ she squeals, full of excitement.

Crap. Did I do anything horrible to her? Trace back your mind.

‘Oh really?’

‘Hello! Has everybody forgotten about me?’ plaited girl shouts, still leaning her head dramatically against the counter.

‘Oh pipe down,’ I hiss.

‘Yes.’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘I heard through the grapevine that you’re knocked up.’

Oh dear. What has my mother done? No, what have I done? One little teeny weeny lie and it's multiplied and spread round London like the plague. I still need to speak to her about stalking poor unsuspecting Ryan Smith.

‘Err...’ I don't know what to say. I’m literally lost for words.

‘You’re preggers?’ plaited girl says, horrified. ‘Pregnant women shouldn’t be going round starting fights. Especially when they can't end them.’

‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t go around pushing pregnant women,’ my long lost friend says.

‘But...I...,‘ plaited girl protests, stamping her foot.

‘No buts. I think you should go to the next desk before I call the police and tell them you’ve been hitting pregnant women.’