‘I have time. Like you said, I’m not working or anything,’ he sneers.
I look down at my eggs, embarrassed at being such a judgemental bitch. Maybe I am turning into my mother.
‘That was a quick job you managed to get,’ he continues. ‘Especially when you’ve just moved from Spain’. He raises an eyebrow, a tight smile on his lips.
I take it back. He’s a smug bastard.
‘Ha ha, bloody ha. You know I didn’t come from Spain.’
‘No!’ He puts his hand up to his mouth in mock shock. ‘You’re not from Spain? I feel totally cheated.’
‘Was I that much of a bad actress?’ I ask, a tiny laugh escaping despite myself.
‘That...and I know Jazz’s best friend is called Poppy. She talks about you enough.’
‘Oh, right.’
I wonder what she says about me.
‘She...talks about me? What does she say?’ I ask, intrigued.
‘Not much. But she never mentioned anything about you moving to Spain to design handbags for Jessica Simpson.’
Not much? Why does he have to be so mysterious? I stare at my tea wondering if it's because there’s not much to tell about me. I’m such a bore since he left.
I glance back up to find him watching me intensely. He looks hard at my face, starting with my mouth, slowly moving up to look into my eyes. I feel my body freeze and shut down; my mouth suddenly dry. He doesn’t seem embarrassed to be lingering, but the goose pimples on my arms tell me I’m not comfortable with this. His eyes are dark brown, I notice, the colour of Bourneville chocolate. And when he doesn’t have food in his mouth I suppose he could pass as not completely ugly.
‘Your eyes are really green,’ he says, holding my gaze.
‘Oh....thanks...I guess.’ I try to look coy and cute, but instead I snort and spill my tea.
‘It's strange against your black hair.’
Then without another word he turns and walks upstairs. Well, that was weird.
* * *
When I un-lock my flat door I feel a massive relief. Finally I’m safe. The smells of my perfume greets me instead of dry rot and damp. An enormous urge to run to my bedroom and jump into bed takes over me. I’d happily never resurface from the layers of warm duvet.
‘Pops?’ Jazz’s voice bellows from the sitting room.
‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I say, suddenly excited to see her.
I almost run into the sitting room with my arms open. It feels like years since I’ve seen her.
Jazz’s panicked face greets me as I turn the corner, her normally loose curls pulled up into a rough bun. She’s wearing dungarees with a bikini underneath. She keeps looking down at her feet and back at my face. Why is she looking so worried?
‘I wanted to wait until it was finished before I showed you,’ she says, smiling warily.
‘What?’ But before the word is even out of my mouth I realise.
I look around the room, my mouth on the floor. Dust sheets are on everything, newspaper on the carpet. There’s a paintbrush in her hand. The walls are red. Red! Post box red. My gorgeous magnolia walls are gone.
‘Oh my God,’ I gasp, suddenly out of breath from the shock.
‘Please don’t over-react,’ she pleads. ‘It’s not finished yet and when it is it will look fab. I promise you.’
I sigh heavily and collapse onto the sofa, the dust sheet crumpling underneath me. ‘Didn’t you think to ask?’ I sigh again, exhausted from her un-predictable behaviour.
‘It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it!’ she laughs, carefree as always.
‘Oh, whatever.’
There’s no point in arguing with her when she’s like this. She’ll get her own way in the end anyway, a product of parents that spoilt her rotten. I look at the tins of paint, trying to work out if she’s planning on painting the entire room this colour. I’m hoping it's just a feature wall. Then it dawns on me that she must have spent a fortune on it. She’s not supposed to be spending!
‘How did you pay for this? And don’t tell me, you’ve been so busy doing this you haven’t had a chance to go to the agencies or ring your credit card people? Bloody typical.’
‘Are you quite finished?’ she asks, smiling smugly. ‘Because I have been to the agencies. Not only have I been, but I’ve had an interview...’ her smile brightens, ‘and I’ve got a job!’
‘What?’ I shout excitedly. ‘You’ve got a job already?’
‘I know! It’s fab isn’t it. I thought I’d be searching for ages, but they sent me straight to this interview and offered it to me on the spot. They seemed a bit desperate, but who cares, right? I got it, that's the main thing.’
‘Totally! I just can’t believe how lucky you’ve been.’ Only Jazz could be this lucky. ‘What’s it doing?’
‘Well, it’s only a shitty marketing assistant role and the money’s rubbish, but its full time. Like you said, it’s regular money isn’t it. I start tomorrow!’
‘Exactly!’ I exclaim, still shocked.
Wow – she really is listening to me. I can’t actually believe she’s been so easy to crack.
‘So, did you ring the credit card companies?’
‘Yeah, but they weren’t really helpful. They just said that I still need to make my minimum payment each month or else they’ll take further action.’
‘Oh, well I was thinking anyway. You need to transfer all of those debts onto an interest free credit card. That way you’ll only pay off the debt.’
‘I know,’ she nods, ‘that's what your Dad said. I’ve sent off to Virgin and they’ve accepted it in principle. They’re sending me through my details and then I can make all of the transfers.’
‘Sorry? Did you just say my Dad?’
‘Yep. He rang last night and we had a long chat. Good old Douggie,’ she smiles affectionately. ‘I told him everything and he said it’d be the best thing to do. He was really helpful. I think he was just glad to have someone that would listen to him, you know?’
Unfortunately I do know what she means. My Mum, although I love her to bits, is a nightmare to live with. She’s so busy keeping up with the Jones’s and re-decorating every room in the house, that she doesn’t realise she’s spending the whole time driving everyone else around her mad.
‘But he was worried you’d get yourself into trouble. You know how he worries about you.’
Oh great, so now I’m going to have more lectures from him about being safe in London and carrying my rape alarm. When will he realise that I’m not going to die just because I’m on my own? I mean, I may be a bit accident prone, but still. The truth is that the amount of stories he’s told me over the years have terrified me so much I’m scared to go almost anywhere. And I’m sure that's why I trip.
‘Did he say what he was ringing about?’
‘Yeah, it was to chat about your brother’s wedding. And your Mum shouted something in the background about you only having a month now to lose the puppy fat.’ She turns quickly to paint the wall, trying desperately to hide her giggles.
Like I could forget. Mum’s been ringing me practically every day to remind me that I need to look fabulous, and boring me with all of the preparation details. She even ‘accidentally’ e-mailed me a link to a plastic surgery clinic advertising boob jobs.
‘So anyway,’ I try to shake the thought of her out of my head. ‘Did you spend money on the paint?’
‘No, even better. I was walking past this house down the road which is having loads of work done and I got chatting to the builders. They said the woman was being a nightmare and saying they’d bought the wrong shade of red. Anyway, long story short, this gorgeous builder said I could have the paint and some brushes if I agreed to go out on a date with him. It’s win, win!’
‘Oh my God! You’ve pimped yourself out just to get some paint.’
Images of Jazz walking past in stripper heels and leopard print flash through my mind. Mainly because I know she owns those clothes.
‘Didn’t you hear me – he’s gorgeous! Quite magnificent actually.’
‘Really,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Totally! Did you ever see Titanic?’ she swoons.
‘Oh yeah,’ I say, brightening up at the thought of Leonardo Di Caprio. He must be hot.
‘Well he’s kind of like the guy I went to see that with.’
‘Oh.’
She makes no sense.
‘I can’t wait. He’s already called and we’re going out tonight.’
‘Jesus, he’s keen! But wait, I thought we said any decisions had to be passed through the other one? And how are you going to afford it?’
‘Chill out Grandma!’ she giggles. ‘Its only pizza express and hopefully he’ll be a gentleman and pay.’
‘Whatever,’ I retort. I hate when she calls me Grandma.
‘Oh and your brother popped round.’
‘Which one?’
‘Ollie. I filled him in on our little arrangement.’
‘Oh great. So he’s gonna rip the piss out of me next time I see him.’
She giggles again, seeming desperate not to openly laugh in my face.
‘Anyway, I’ve told you about my day. What happened with you?’