The Debt & the Doormat (12 page)

‘Miss Windsor, I need a yes or a no,’ she presses.  ‘Obviously if you were to say no we’d have to look into this further.  Waste more police time and interview a Raj Mohamed.  He could be charged with withholding evidence.’

‘No!’ I wail.  ‘I did it ok!  Please just don't involve Raj in this.  He’s got a family, it's not his fault.  It was me, all me.  I’m so sorry!  I just got so drunk and...And....I don't know what I was thinking.  I’m so sorry.’

I cover my face in my hands and tell myself to be stronger.  I’ll have to get tough before I go to prison.  Oh God, and even worse, how am I going to tell my Mum?

Ryan places his hand on my shoulder.

‘What's going to happen?  Surely just a caution will be sufficient?’ he enquires. 

‘We will be issuing a caution to both Miss Windsor and Miss Green.  But I warn you Miss Windsor.  If I catch you doing anything like this ever again, I will make sure you are charged.’

I look up and she stares back at me, with the smallest bit of amusement in the corners of her mouth.

‘A caution?  Am I...free to go?’ I whisper, not daring to believe it.

‘Yes,’ she says.  ‘I’ll just arrange the paperwork.’  She leaves the room, slamming the door loudly.  I burst into more angry sobs.

‘Pops, don't worry.  It's only a caution,’ Ryan tries to reason.  ‘You’re fine.’

‘But...I still got in trouble!  Don't you get it, I feel sick.  I hate being in trouble.’

‘You are funny,’ he laughs.

I look up to see him smiling at me warmly. 

‘Funny?  How the fuck is any of this funny?’

‘Trust me, you’ll look back at this and smile,’ he assures confidently.   

‘I doubt it.’

Within twenty minutes I’ve signed a notice to say that I accept a caution and I’m in the reception area waiting for Jazz.  She comes running out dramatically, still screaming.

‘You wait!  I’ll be back,’ she screams at the policemen as she puts her shoes on.  ‘Taking my shoes, it's fucking police brutality if you ask me!’

‘Jazz shut up,’ I snap, grabbing her and pulling her out before she can get arrested again. 

‘Well it's ludicrous,’ she shrieks, flicking her hair as she gets into Ryan’s car.

‘No, what's ludicrous is your French gay tourists,’ I snap.

Ryan chuckles and looks back at the both of us. 

‘You two really are different.’

Me and Jazz look at each other confused.  I glance back at him to see him studying me with curious eyes. 

‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask.

‘I just assumed that you’d be like Jazz is all.  But you’re really not’.  He stares ahead at the road leaving me wondering what he meant by that.

‘I need a fucking drink,’ Jazz proclaims.  ‘Who’s up for a cocktail bar?’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Ryan laughs. 

‘Actually...I could do with a drink,’ I say before I can help it.

*
                            *                            *

Two hours later we’re in a cocktail bar in St Albans called ‘Mine’s a Mojito’.  It's decorated like a Hawaiian hut with wood cladding and deck chairs darted around.  They’ve even made us wear flower necklaces.  I’m a little bit drunk, but I mean, after the shock that I’ve had that's to be expected, right?

Jazz and Ryan are talking about the letter I wrote to Him.

‘I can't believe you made her write a letter,’ Ryan snorts.  ‘It's such a stupid girl thing to do.’

‘No it's not!’ she retorts.  ‘I read it in Cosmo!’

‘You’re kind of proving his point there Jazz,’ I say, finishing off my Sex on the Beach.

‘I’m not!’ she exclaims, her face getting red.  ‘You should have seen her.  She was a right mess.  All panda eyes and tracksuits.’

Ryan laughs while he orders us another round.

‘It's not that funny!  It was actually a really bad time for me,’ I say, feeling giddy. 

‘Oh, I think it is,’ he chuckles darkly.

‘I’m glad my personal misery brings you so much amusement.  Shall I really make you laugh and read some for you?’ I ask pleased by his attention.

‘Yeah, go on then,’ he says, flashing his lovely straight teeth.

‘Ok.’  I take it out of my bag and rip it open.  I clear my throat and sit up straight, taking my cocktail from him as I open it up.  I go to read the first line, but it looks different.  This is black biro and I could have sworn I wrote it with blue.  I never write with black, it's too depressing.  I clutch my stomach as realisation comes flooding into my brain.  This isn’t my letter.  This is an old lady’s letter to her friend Anne.

‘What's wrong?’ Jazz asks, smiling.

‘It's....it’s....um, not the letter.’

‘What?’  Her face drops and she grabs the letter from me, reading it.  ‘Shit.  Does this mean the letter really is on the way to him?’   

‘Yeah-huh,’ I mumble.

I can just imagine him getting the post, maybe even Claudine getting it.  Opening it and reading all of that crap I wrote.  Oh my God, he’s going to think I wrote it recently and that I’m still in love with him or something!

‘Is it really that bad? Ryan asks, sipping his mojito. 

‘It's...’ I gulp, remembering the words.

‘It's bad,’ Jazz interjects.  ‘We called him a shit head.’

‘And....an interfering old man twat,’ I say, my body still feeling like a zombie’s.

‘Ok.  Well, at least it's straight to the point,’ he smiles.

‘God, he was a cock,’ Jazz says remembering.  

‘Oh God,’ I grimace.  ‘And I insulted his hair.’

‘In her defence, I did make her drink Sambuca before she wrote it,’ Jazz explains. 

‘Ah, is that another reason you don't do shots anymore?’ he smiles playfully. 

I can suddenly remember it off by heart.  The pain resurfaces for a second before I push it back down and lock it away, where it belongs. 

‘I heard about your new girlfriend.  Funny coz you didn’t mention it when you broke my heart,’ I say out loud.  Ryan looks up at me as if he’s not sure whether to leave.  Jazz grimaces and downs her Pina Colada.  I smile and take another gulp of my cocktail. 

There's silence as they both look at me, their faces full of awkward pity.  The atmosphere has quickly changed and I’m now aware of how pathetic I look. 

‘It's...funny really,’ I say wanting to diffuse the atmosphere.  I want it to be back to us laughing again.

‘Really?  Because it sounds kind of...awful,’ he says, his eyes sympathetic. 

Jazz orders another round of cocktails even though I’m nowhere near finishing mine.

‘No, honestly I’m fine,’ I say, surprised at the sudden moistness at my eyes.  Why the hell do I feel like I’m going to burst into tears?  I’m well over this.  It's the damn drink.  Why do I keep drinking!?

‘Come on.  Tell me.’  He puts his warm hand on mine, sending shivers down my spine.

‘Don't push her,’ Jazz warns, shooting him a sharp look.

‘It's just...it’s just that I really didn’t see it coming.  I thought he was going to propose and instead I got dumped,’ I blurt out, the words almost choking me.

‘Oh,’ he says, biting his lip.  ‘I...don't really know what to say.’

‘I told you not to push her dickhead!’ Jazz shouts, shoving him.

‘No, it's cool.  I’m over it now.  It was ages ago.  I don't really like to think about it.’

He stares at me, trying to figure something out.  ‘You really didn’t see it coming?’

‘What the fuck did I just tell you!?’ Jazz shouts, banging her fist on the table.

‘No, Jazz its fine.’  I take a deep breath.  ‘I thought we were happy.  But then he suddenly decided that he didn’t want the boring life of a couple.  And I mean, I can't really blame him.  We were so young when we got together.  I just...’

‘What?’ he encourages, seeming completely intrigued by my pathetic little life.

I can't remember the last time someone, anyone, took this much interest in me.

‘I just wish I’d listened to everyone when they’d told me I was too young to be settling down with someone and I should have been out partying.’ 

‘Yeah you should,’ Jazz says under her breath.

‘So you’ve been making up for it ever since?’ he asks, his cheeky smile returning.

‘Not exactly,’ I laugh.

‘I keep moaning on at her that she lives like an old granny; staying in and being boring,’ Jazz explains.  ‘So now I’ve made her move in with you guys and start to try new things.’

‘Oh, so that's why,’ he says, seeming to be putting the pieces together in his head. 

I suppose it isn’t every day that a complete nutcase moves into your house.

‘And how’s it going?  Trying new things I mean.’ he asks.

‘Awful,’ I laugh.  ‘Everything I do seems to turn into a disaster.’

‘You can say that again,’ he winks, staring at me intently with his big brown eyes.

I take another gulp of drink, feeling myself blush.  Maybe it won't be that bad to fancy someone a little bit.  It might actually be good for me.  He might be like medicine to me, a bit of a remedy.  I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be poison.

*                            *                            *

In the morning there's a note from him left on the kitchen table.

‘Poppy,

My number is 07836 784 893.  Please put it in your phone.  It will stop me worrying so much.

Ryan’

Imagine writing me a note.  I don't know whether to be seriously offended or pleased that he seems to care about me.  And why does he seem to worry about me?  It's weird.  Why do I even care?  It's just nice that someone does.  And maybe it helps that
the
someone in question has a jawline that I can’t stop imagining touching. 

‘Poppy,’ Hugh says, suddenly at my desk.  ‘Can I see you in my office for a moment please?’

My stomach drops and my body starts to tremble.  I get up from my desk as calmly as possible and follow him into the small room at the end of the corridor.  I should have bought a rape alarm.

‘Please take a seat,’ he says professionally.

Maybe he’s changed.  Maybe yesterday has shown him that I’m not interested and that we can only have a professional relationship.

‘Poppy, I was very upset by your behaviour yesterday,’ he says, while he squeezes a stress ball menacingly.

‘Well actually Hugh, I was very upset by your behaviour,’ I say, my teeth almost clattering from nerves.

‘Oh really?’ he says, shocked.  ‘Well then maybe you shouldn’t dress so provocatively around the office.  You’ll give all of us men the wrong impression,’ he smiles insincerely.

‘Wrong impression?’ I ask puzzled.

‘Yes.  That you’re up for it.’  He narrows his eyes at me like I’m some slut from the street.

I swallow hard, feeling the strong urge to burst into tears. 

‘Up for it?  I was wearing a wrap dress for Christ’s sake!’

‘Exactly,’ he nods.  ‘Anyway.’  He gets up and moves to sit on the desk directly in front of me.  ‘I feel like you and I have got off on the wrong foot.’

God, his crotch is so close to my face.  This is awful.  How the hell did I get myself into this situation? 

‘Ok,’ I say carefully, shifting uncomfortably in my chair.  Where is this leading?

‘I’m your boss.  My Father has agreed for me to set your KPI’s and objectives and I do hope that I’m not unhappy with you.  It would be really awful for you to lose your job.’

‘Sorry?  Are you...threatening me?’  I swallow hard and take a deep breath, praying the tears stinging at my eyes don't escape. 

Please tell me this isn’t happening.  This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life does it?  This is the kind of crap you see on soap operas. 

‘Of course not Poppy.  I’m merely advising you to keep me happy,’ he says, with a bloodcurdling grin.

My body shakes all the more violently as his stare moves to my boobs and he licks his lips.

‘And right now I need these people’s personnel files.’  He hands me over a sheet of paper scribbled with people’s names.  He sits back and smiles, as if the previous conversation didn’t just happen.  ‘That's all.’

I run from his office straight to the toilets, tears already starting to fall down my face.  How can this be happening to me!?  I have to leave; I can't work here anymore under him.  He’s going to make my life hell.  Absolute hell on earth.

I burst through the toilet door and jump when I see a familiar body shape standing by the sink crying.  She instantly straightens herself up and wipes the tears from her face.

‘Cheryl?  Are you ok?’

‘Oh yes.  I’m fine,’ she says, wiping a tear from her red blotchy face.

‘Well you obviously aren’t.  What's wrong?’ I ask, quickly cleaning up my own tears.

‘It's nothing, honestly.  I just...I don't want to talk about it.’  She turns to look back at the mirror, removing the mascara smudges from under her eyes.

Ok.  Well maybe she does just want to be left alone.  She’s upset as it is now, let alone if I start pestering her for information.  Even though I’m seriously curious, I must remember that this isn’t gossip.  This is her life.

‘Ok.  Well if you need anything.’  I open the door to leave.

‘He’s having an affair,’ she blurts out.

I let go of the door and stare back at her in disbelief.

‘What?  Who’s having an affair?’

‘Well my husband, obviously,’ she snaps, her face hard.

I must remember that she’s in emotional pain.  Try not to let the fact that she’s an obnoxious bitch play a part in how I react.

‘Are you sure?’ I say carefully.

‘Of course I am,’ she growls as another tear escapes.  ‘Well at least...I think I am.’

‘Well, you don't sound very sure,’ I challenge.

‘Look all I know,’ she says, her voice breaking and her chin beginning to quiver ‘is that he’s lost all interest in me since I’ve had Matilda.’

‘But that might just be – ‘

‘I’m not finished,’ she bawls, shooting me an irritated stare.  Don't hold it against her.  Just smile.

‘Then a few things have made me wonder.  He’s suddenly in a really good mood all the time and buying me presents.’

‘But that's good isn’t it?  Maybe he’s making an effort?’

‘Poppy.  I’m still not finished,’ she says sharply.  ‘If you’d just stop interrupting like this I could have already told the story.’

Maybe he is cheating.  I can't imagine being excited to come home to this bitch.

‘Anyway,’ she says, jutting out her jaw and turning back to face the mirror.  ‘Every woman knows that a man only buys presents when he’s feeling guilty.’

I consider interrupting to tell her she’s just being paranoid, that maybe he loves her.  But I bite my tongue, remembering her strict orders.

‘So last night I went through his phone.  I didn’t see it at first.  There were loads of texts from a friend called Chad.  There were so many that I thought maybe I’d go into one message to see what on earth they were talking about.  I mean, I’d never heard him even mention a Chad.’  She stops for a minute to take a deep breath, her words seeming to drudge up painful memories.  She closes her eyes.  ‘Then I saw it.’  She opens her eyes.  ‘It said ‘can't you make an excuse?’

I stare at her expectantly as she pauses dramatically.

‘So I went through the rest and I realised that Chad is a cover name for some woman he’s seeing.  She wants him to come up with an excuse so that she can see him tonight after work.’

‘Are you sure...’ I don't know quite how to say this.  ‘Are you sure Chad is a woman?’

‘What?’ she yells turning to face me.  ‘Now you think my husband is a faggot?’

‘No!  And Cheryl, no-one says faggot.’

‘Well I’m
very
sorry for being so politically incorrect!’ she snaps, waving her hands dramatically.

‘Look, I’m sorry but you still might be wrong.’

‘Well he just text me and said that he had a last minute client after work and so won't be home until later.’

‘Oh,’ is all I can muster.  ‘But, I mean, he could be telling the truth.’

‘He’s a personal trainer Poppy.  How can you just suddenly need a last minute appointment?  What, you suddenly eat a doughnut and need to urgently work it off,’ she rolls her eyes.

‘Maybe.  Oh, I don't know.’  I rest myself against the sink.  This is just too much to take in.  ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘No idea.  I love him Poppy,’ she says, fresh tears escaping as her voice breaks.  ‘I really do.’

This is probably the first time I’ve seen her vulnerable.  I have to just forget about the past and see her as a woman.  A woman heartbroken over her husband’s cheating.

‘Maybe you should go and spy on him.  You know, just to check.  I still think you could be wrong,’ I offer.

‘Oh my goodness, you’re right!  That's what we’ll do,’ she says, her face lighting up with sudden excitement.

‘What do you mean – what
we’ll
do?’

‘Me and you.  We’re going to follow him after work and see if it is an affair,’ she says determinedly.

‘Oh.  I don't actually know if I’m free after work…,’ I say hoping she’ll let me off the hook.

‘Of course you are, silly.  You’re the one that came up with the idea.’  She turns to walk out, a new spring in her step.  She turns back to face me smiling.  ‘Thanks Poppy.  You’re a good friend.  I’ll meet you in reception at five.’

Oh crap.

When I get back to my desk I take the piece of paper Hugh gave me out of my pocket and scan the list of names.  He wants their personnel files, which can only mean one thing.  They’re the people going to be made redundant. 

I go through the names, feeling sick as I see Jeremy’s name, then Paul in accounts.  But then I freeze and close my eyes, wishing I haven’t seen it.  That I’m wrong. 

Because the name I’m looking at is Lilly Evans. 

*                            *                            *

By quarter to six Cheryl and I are walking towards a park that she says she knows her husband often takes his clients to.  My stomach starts churning, telling me this is a terrible idea.  Either that or I need a cookie.  I mean, hopefully we’ll just find him with an old man called Chad doing chin ups, but a terrible feeling in my gut tells me that we’re going to find what we’re looking for. 

How will she react?  Will she want to run over and confront him?  And if she does what should I do?  Should I just walk away and leave them to it or try and calm her down.  And what if she attacks the woman?  What if this is a trick and she’s planned for this?  What if she’s currently carrying a knife in her bag and just wants a witness to the murder she plans to commit?

Ok, calm down Poppy.  Don't let your imagination run wild.

‘There he is!’ she says, grabbing me and pulling me down behind a bush.  I part the bushes in front of me to try and spot him, but I can't see him anywhere.

‘Shush!’ she snarls to me.

‘I didn’t say anything!’

‘You just did!’

‘I can't see him.  Are you sure you saw him?’ I ask, thinking her poor fragile mind must be playing tricks on her.

‘Look.  Over there.’  I follow her pointed manicured finger and see him in his sports gear with a woman whose back is turned towards us.  She’s got medium length brown hair and a great arse.  Maybe I should let Izzy train me if you get an arse like that.  I try to analyse their body language for any signs of an affair but they’re just talking.

‘See,’ I say to Cheryl smugly.  ‘They’re just talking.’

‘You don't see it?’ she asks, her face crumpled in agony.  ‘That's his flirty face.’  She points towards him again.

I try to focus in on his face and it looks anything but flirty.  If anything it looks contorted, like he’s in some sort of pain.

‘That's his flirty face?  Are you sure?’

‘Completely positive,’ she nods.

God, I’d hate to think of his orgasm face.  Images of this flash through my head and I try with all my might to get them out.  If I don't I might not be able to sleep tonight.  Or ever again.

He smiles at the brunette and closes the gap between them with one step.  He leans in towards her and I hold my breath in anticipation.  Please no.  Don't do it.  It's like a car crash – I can't help but look. 

He kisses her.  Oh my God.  We can only see the back of her head, but I’m sure it was a kiss.

‘Oh my God,’ Cheryl says, clutching onto my arm as if she’s just been punched in the stomach.

I watch her as she struggles to breathe, her face drained of all colour.  The worst thing is that I know there’s nothing I can say to make this better.  Instead I grab her shaking hand and squeeze it.  She looks up to me and smiles gratefully between tears.  Poor Cheryl.

‘Maybe we should go?’ I offer, hoping she won't want to confront him.

‘No.  I want to see what else they do,’ she says, determined. 

Does she really want to torture herself?  We both turn back to them as they stroll hand in hand to the ice cream van parked on the green.  He buys an ice cream and licks it, offering it to her.  She licks it too.  My stomach turns.  This is too much.  Poor, poor Cheryl. 

They turn to walk towards us and I do a double take, feeling the blood draining from my face.  My breath gets caught in my throat and I physically shake my head, hoping my vision has blurred over and I’m wrong.

Because the woman he’s with is Annabel.  Richard’s Annabel.  My brother’s wife Annabel.

Oh.  My.  God. 

*                            *                            *

When I get home I head straight for my bedroom, not wanting to face anyone.  How could this be happening?  Why Annabel?  I’m not going to lie and say I’m shocked and that she’s a lovely girl and a close friend.  The truth is that I’ve never really liked her.  We’ve never seen eye to eye.  We’re different breeds.

She was always the girl at school that everyone wanted to be.  Popular, beautiful, clever.  But in reality she was a bitch who’d trip you up as soon as look at you.  I’m sure Richard would agree if he wasn’t the complete male version of her.  They’re the annoying perfect couple that everyone secretly hates.  I swear, even my Dad seems to find them annoying.