Being Shirley (4 page)

Nikolos, the baby, was perched on his mother’s hip and Mateo stood in front of his parents, who each had a restraining hand resting on his little shoulder. Both boys had an unruly shock of black hair and an impish grin to match their Bambi eyes. They looked every inch as cheeky as the tales their mother relayed in her letters.

Annie sighed and blew the family a kiss before she flicked the light off. She’d dearly love to give those two little boys a hug from their honorary New Zealand aunty but a visit to Greece wasn’t on the cards. Not with saving for a house, and the never-ending bills that went hand in hand with the cost of living. Who knew? There might be a wedding to organise too, one day, one day very soon if she had her way.

“We’ll get there, Jazz,” Annie murmured and scratched behind the old tomcat’s ear. He’d curled up on her lap as she typed her email. At the sound of his beloved’s voice, he sighed contentedly, opened one beady yellow eye and fixed it on her. “Well, actually, you won’t but don’t fret. I’d never leave you for longer than a couple of weeks and Best Cats is rated a five-star in the world of catteries, so you’d be well looked after.”

Jasper narrowed his eye, not liking the sound of the word cattery before he stretched and left one paw dangling lazily in midair. Annie looked down at his tattered gingery fur. He’d never win any cat beauty pageants, that was for sure, but he’d needed a home and she had needed the unconditional affection he provided.

When he’d disappeared for three whole weeks after the second big earthquake they’d had back in February 2011, she had been beside herself. It was enough that the city she had grown up in had been destroyed in a fateful few minutes but people had actually died too. So, trying to make sense out of something that made no sense at all, she had pounded the pavements, night after night. She called Jasper’s name and pictured him quivering in a corner of some stranger’s garage or worse, crushed by the bricks of a falling chimney. She’d all but given up hope when she got up one morning to find him sitting at the back door, looking none the worse for his extended walkabout. Although she had been over the moon to see him, scooping him up and smothering him with kisses, Tony had been nonplussed to see his nemesis staring smugly at him from his vantage point in his fiancée’s arms once more. “Look who’s home!” Annie had exclaimed excitedly. She decided to take his return as a sign that maybe things would be okay after all. “Say hello to Daddy, Jazz.”

Jasper had hissed.

“Oh, don’t be a nasty boy.” She’d known full well the pair’s relationship would always be strained, thanks to their dodgy start. Shortly after she had moved in with Tony, Jasper had made his feelings at having to share his mistress’s affection very clear by piddling in Tony’s work boots.

She smiled at the memory of the expression on Tony’s face as he had stuffed his foot inside the sodden boot. Annie got to her feet and tucked Jazz under her arm. “Come on, you. It’s time to go out.”

Tony drew the line at sharing a bed with Jasper.

As she opened the front door a crack, she saw the night was misty with the onset of cooler weather. Jasper mewled his protest at leaving the warmth of the house behind. But then something caught his eye and he jumped out of her arms and ran out the door with a speed belying his years and disappeared into the inkiness. She hoped she wouldn’t be presented with a dead mouse or worse, a rat, on the doorstep in the morning. She shuddered at the thought as she turned and padded up the hall to the bathroom.

Annie picked her wide toothed comb up from where it nestled next to Tony’s razor in the vanity drawer and tugged it through her hair. She sighed. Her hair frizzed out around her face, like Little Orphan Annie, her namesake, but if she didn’t stick to her nightly ritual, she’d wake up to a headful of ginger dreads in the morning.

When she was satisfied there were no knots left, she moved on to Step Two. She pulled a facial wipe from the near empty packet and took off her make-up. As she peered into the mirror, her newly naked green eyes grew wide as she spied something she didn’t like the look of. She leaned in even closer to the mirror and frowned. What on earth was that angry red monstrosity on her chin? Homing in on it, Annie gave it a squeeze for good measure. Ouch! Yes, it was definitely a spot. Surely at thirty-one years of age, she should be past getting corkers like that? Apparently not, if that monster glaring back at her was anything to go by. Nope, there was nothing else for it: she’d have to nuke the bugger. She smeared toothpaste over the raised lump. She was sure she had read somewhere that toothpaste dried pimples out. It must be all that menthol, she decided, as she cursed Attila. It was all her bloody fault: stress played havoc with your skin, everybody knew that. With one last sigh, she brushed her teeth.

She smelled like a tube of Colgate as she tiptoed out of the bathroom and pushed open the darkened bedroom door. Tony was asleep, so thankfully she wouldn’t have to launch into an explanation as to why she smelled so minty fresh. She slid in next to him and warmed herself against his slumbering bulk for a moment before she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be manic at work. There was the much anticipated signing-off of an account Manning Stockyard had been wooing for months and her boss, Attila, did not work well under pressure, which in turn meant she was going to need all the sleep she could get. Annie cleared her mind of all thoughts of work and drifted into one of those vivid half sleeping, half waking dreams where she told Attila she had a face on her that could curdle milk. When a loud oink of a snore erupted from Tony, she jolted back into wakefulness. Her leg twitched under the covers as she contemplated kicking him but she resisted the urge. She knew from past experience that a good boot would only make him more restless. Instead, she counted sheep.

Annie caught a glimpse of her hair in the reflection off the big glass doors of the Albrect Building where she worked in Victoria Street, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. Her mass of curls had, in the twenty minutes it had taken her to get to work, escaped Houdini-style from the bun she had secured them into. Instead of the efficient PA to up-and-coming advertising guru and extremely horrible boss, Adelia Hunnington, she had portrayed upon leaving the house that morning, she now looked like a madwoman. The toothpaste on the spot had not been a good idea, either, as she now had an angry red pimple on her chin that was also surrounded by flaky skin. Suffice to say, it was not shaping up to be a good hair or face day, which from prior experience Annie knew did not bode well for her general working day.
Bloody Tony and his snoring!
She sent him a mean telepathic message.

His grunting like a stuck pig had been the root cause of her tossing and turning most of the night and she needed her sleep. Not just for beauty purposes, either, although the fact she’d aged ten years in the last six months was down to Attila and her workaholic tendencies. She’d had her working through half her lunch break most days and always managed to pop out and waved some urgent document that had to go out that night just as Annie put her coat on to go home. She sighed at the injustice of it all and she had finally drifted off into a deep sleep just as Tony got up at his usual ungodly time of six o’clock, which meant she’d ignored her alarm for a good twenty-five minutes when it had shrilled an hour later.

She glanced at the stairwell and momentarily contemplated taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor offices where she had spent the last few years of her life in full-time employment. It would be good exercise and her skirt did feel on the snug side today but oh sod it, she decided and headed for the lift instead. She wasn’t that keen on the stairs since the earthquakes; actually, she wasn’t that keen on the lifts either. It was a bit of a problem really. Half a second later, she wished she had opted for the stairs, though, as a familiar nasal voice sounded behind her.

“Morning, Annie. You’re looking lovely as always.”

He could only see her rear view, so Annie could only assume that Pervy Justin from the accounting firm on the floor above hers was in fact referring to her bottom. She ignored him and stepped into the lift. He wasn’t deterred by her silence.

“It’s going to be a cold day out there if that frost this morning was anything to go by. Brrr.” He shivered for effect and rubbed the tops of his arms. “You probably should have put a warmer top on.” He felt his way around until he hit the number five button. His eyes never once strayed from the thin fabric of her blouse.

Annie sighed and pulled her jacket closed. She really should lodge a complaint with someone about him but that would take energy and lately all her energy reserves had been zapped. It was the same every year: the emotional build-up followed by the exhausted aftermath of Roz’s birthday. It wasn’t as though she was consciously thinking about her sister during this time. She was just there—a constant on the periphery of her mind. She took a step back from Justin so she was pressed up against the railing and silently willed the numbers to hurry up.

Tammy on reception didn’t look up from her iPhone as Annie called out a cheery good morning to her. The greeting was not given because she meant it—Tammy was an uppity little madam whose main focus in life was the electronic gadget currently in her hand. No, it was given automatically, done out of habit. The receptionist mumbled the same token pleasantry back, not bothering to peek out from behind her waves of brown hair as Annie breezed past the screen behind her into the typing pool area.

Once upon a time, it had been a nice place to work with its floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a smattering of Christchurch’s high-rise buildings and the Avon River. Nowadays, the only constant in the outlook was the river. Slowly the buildings were pulled down around them and at present, the vista resembled what she imagined a postwar zone would look like. It was hard to visualise the bright, new modern city the powers that be assured them all would rise up from the rubble. She had nothing to complain about, though, she reminded herself as she did every morning, because she was one of the lucky ones and life really does go on. That was a lesson she had learned years ago.

She pulled her eyes away from the window, slung her bag down on the ground and barely had time to drape her jacket across the back of her chair when the door opposite her desk was flung open. Attila made a beeline for her secretary. She was resplendent in head-to-toe taupe. “Annie,” she barked, “I want this contract re-typed and on my desk in an hour. The Crunch n Go people are due in at eleven for signing off and I’ll need to proof it before you run a final copy off.” She smoothed her chignon but needn’t have bothered because no hair on her perfectly coiffed head would dare make a bid for freedom. As she dumped the stack of papers she’d been carrying down on Annie’s desk, they sent a waft of cold air up but she was oblivious of the sudden chill as she fixed her PA with her steely-eyed stare. “Understood?”

“Consider it done, Adelia.” Annie resisted the temptation to stand, click her heels together and salute, and hoped that the expression she had forced her face into wearing was a sweet smile and not the constipated grimace it felt like. She glanced down at the papers; she knew it would be heads down, bums up for her if she was to get it done in time.
Oh yes, it was definitely going to be one of those days.
She flipped the birdie at her boss’s retreating back.

“Did you hear that?” She sat down heavily and turned to Sue, who sat at the desk next to hers. “No good morning, Annie, how are you today, Annie? Or even better, you look nice today, Annie. Followed up with a polite request to type this load of old codswallop up by ten o’clock.”

Sue blinked at her from behind the thick lenses of her glasses. She reminded Annie of a near-sighted frog. She sighed for the second time that morning.
Why did she bother?
Sue had the personality of cold porridge. Annie settled herself down for the morning; her fingers flew over the keyboard. She only came up for air to answer her phone.

“Hello, Manning Stockyard. You’re speaking with Annie Rivers. How may I help?”

“Hi-ya babes, it’s me. Have you got a sec?”

The “me” on the phone was Carl and his singsong voice down the line made her smile. It was funny, she’d muse from time to time, how the two people she counted on as her very best friends in the whole world were Kas and Carl and they had both been her sister’s friends first. “Not really. I have to get the contract from hell typed up and on Attila’s desk in half an hour, and I am only a quarter of the way through it.”

“Multitask while I talk then, sweetie. You girls are supposed to be good at that.”

Annie laughed and cradled the phone in the crook of her shoulder. She glanced at the contract and carried on tip-tapping. “Okay then, for you, I will attempt to multitask. Now what’s up?”

“Not a lot. It’s far too cold where I am for that kind of carry-on.”

Annie didn’t bat at an eye at the double entendre; they were par for the conversational course where Carl was concerned. “Where are you?”

“I am freezing my butt off on New Brighton Pier, that’s where. I tell you, Annie, that easterly is a bitch and quite frankly so is Cassie.”

Carl did not feel that his job as freelance fashion photographer should extend itself to model therapy and he had no time for the temperamental moods of some of the girls sent his way.

“She’s probably just hungry, Carl. Offer to go get her some food. A Big Mac and fries should do it.”

Carl laughed. “Does that work for Attila?”

“No but then she’s not a stick insect, just a complete cow.”

“Touché, sweetie. Anyway enough of all that. I am ringing to see if you have thought any further about going to try the dress on?”

“Of course! I’ve made an appointment for seven o’clock Thursday week. Are you keen to come with me?”

“Do you need to ask? Listen, I have a bit on between now and then, which means I will be incommunicado so why don’t we go for an early catch-up dinner beforehand. Nothing that will make you bloat, mind, so your beloved Indian is out, sweetie. How about Thai? If you stay away from the Beef Massaman Curry you should be fine.”

“The Lemongrass Diner’s supposed to be good and it’s just down the road from Modern Bride. Shall I book it for say, five thirty—or is that too early for you?”

“No, five thirty will be perfect.”

“I can’t wait! The dress is a one-off design original according to the lady I spoke to, by Julianne someone or other.”

“Not Julianne Tigre?”

“That’s her.”

“Better start saving, sweetie—
Cassie, I said I wanted windswept and moody, not cold and constipated—
give me patience! Listen, I gotta go, hun-bun. See you Thursday week. Be good.” He blew her a kiss down the phone and then the line went dead.

Annie’s mood was much improved as she hung up. She glanced at her screen and saw she had typed in
a
Big Mac and fries should do it
. She quickly backspaced over the text that she didn’t think would go down too well with the health conscious Crunch n Go CEO, and she got back to work.

At one minute to ten, she pushed her chair back and clasped her hands together, flexed her fingers. It felt good and she wondered how much money she’d get if she were to hit the company with an RSI suit. Or, even better, a personal liability suit on Attila. Annie gathered up the contract, marched over to her boss’s office and rapped on the door.

“Entah.”

She rolled her eyes.
Who did the woman think she was, the Queen of England?
“I have the Crunch n Go contract ready.” Annie opened the door. As she stood in front of Attila’s desk, she couldn’t help but feel like she was back at school being raked over the coals by the headmistress for having her skirt too short or some such misdemeanour. Attila’s glasses were perched at the end of her nose as she looked over the top of them to check her watch pointedly. Satisfied Annie had completed her task in the specified time frame, she took the proffered papers. “Don’t disappear on me. I’m probably going to need you to make some more changes to this but in the meantime I’d like a coffee.”

“Sure.” Annie’s teeth were gritted as she mentally added,
a please would be nice
.

“A proper coffee, not that weasel piss you usually make.”

She turned on her heel before she could say something she’d regret. Annie marched out of the office and closed the door forcibly behind her the way she used to as a teenager so her mother was never sure whether it could be classed as a slam or not. She stomped past the other secretaries and pushed open the cafeteria door, relieved to find the room empty because she wasn’t in the mood to make conversation.

I hate my job.
She flicked the switch on the kettle before she bent down to fish Attila’s special mug out of the cupboard. Actually, that wasn’t true; she didn’t hate her job. What she hated was working for that cow.
Oooh, someone had bought choccie biscuits.
The unopened packet next to the mugs distracted her. She grabbed it as her inner voice told her sternly, “You really shouldn’t, Annie Rivers. Your skirt was feeling tight this morning, remember.” To which she silently replied, “Get stuffed.” Annie ripped open the packet. She instinctively knew that one wouldn’t cut the mustard, not with the morning she was having. It was definitely a three biscuit day.
Oh, make it four.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was headed her way. Round it up; she’d always preferred even numbers. Satisfied the coast was clear, she bit into one and relished the sweetness for a moment as the chocolate melted on her tongue. She felt better already; it was true chocolate really did possess stress relief properties.

Attila was simply not human and that was all there was to it, she decided as she munched away. Before her arrival six months ago, when the mild-mannered and good-humoured Mel Humphries had left to go on a year’s maternity leave, Annie had enjoyed her job. She and Mel had often lunched together or partaken of a Friday night tipple after they’d put in a hard week until Mel had gone and gotten pregnant. Yes, she used to arrive at work each morning with a spring in her step—okay, that was an exaggeration, but she had been happy enough.

There were worse firms around than Manning Stockyard, that was for sure, but these last few months she had been feeling… Annie paused with her teaspoon hovered in midair.
What had she been feeling?
She couldn’t put a label on the unsettled sensation at the bottom of her stomach. It wasn’t down to the four biscuits she had just snaffled either because it had happened before. Lately, it seemed to flare up more and more. She shook her head and decided not to delve too deeply into that one. Besides, she always got a bit antsy around this time of year. The fug that descended in the week leading up to Roz’s birthday didn’t just disappear; it hovered over her for days afterward. Telling herself that she knew better than to try to analyse this new feeling, she turned her attention instead to stirring the acrid brew you could stand a spoon up in. She was positive that it wasn’t blood that flowed through her boss’s veins but rather Nescafe.