Naked in Knightsbridge (35 page)

The Chanel suit and Dior handbag she’d managed to extract from Rodney’s clutches were in near-perfect condition. They might just fetch enough to keep her going until she found a job that didn’t involve rats or urine.

With no time for a long, drawn-out auction she opted for ‘Buy Now’ and set a fair price for the items.

After conning the café operator for a credit for the remaining 15 minutes, she left the café and managed to sneak into a local cinema to watch some guys try to blow up other guys.

Or more accurately, to sleep in relative comfort.

A few hours later, she logged on again and was shocked to discover that both items had already been purchased by someone called
MysteriousSSSS.
That was remarkably quick.

Then again, high-end designer at high-street prices was always in demand, wasn’t it?

At last, something was going right.

Jools wasted no more time wondering about the identity of the buyer. There was enough to pay Rocco three months’ rent in advance – hopefully on something a tad more salubrious than the pit she was in now.

Maybe her old flat was still available?

If so, she would be right back where she started. Oddly, the thought was more comforting than depressing.

Chapter 29

Dear Lady Margaret,

With reference to your letter that Rodney was kind enough to throw at me on my departure, I respond as follows: I will not be paying the £19,500 because I don’t have it and can’t afford it. If, however, you insist, I will sell the story of your ongoing coke habit to the highest bidder, allowing me to pay your invoice, and in all probability giving me plenty to live on for the next year.

If I don’t hear from you, I will assume the debt is wiped.

Julia M. Grand

THE BUYER had used PayPal, so Jools went straight to Rocco and said she could transfer money from her account to his immediately, as long as he had a place to rent in her old building, not Rat Villas.

Rocco had been slightly surprised – no doubt fully expecting her to submit to his will (and slave-labour cleaning) again. Well, that was over. Jools was taking control of her life, and no one was going to push her around or threaten her again.

‘Dare I ask what you had to do for it?’ he asked, handing over new keys to her old flat.

‘None of your business,’ she said.

‘Three months ain’t long, Joolsy. You got some dosh in your pocket now, sure, but what will you do when it runs out? You’ll be back to your same old routine, eh. Desperate, penniless and begging me for mercy.’

Jools didn’t even respond. Turning and walking out of Rocco’s office, she heard him snort through a mouthful of kebab. What if the bastard was right? Having just sold the last of her high-priced belongings, she’d better find another way to make money soon, or in three months she’d be scrambling about in rubbish bins again.

It’s good to be home, she thought, swinging open the door to the old flat to be greeted by a familiar, dusty smell. She breathed it in deeply, happily realising she’d never been totally comfortable in Rodney’s place. Like being an intruder marking time until the real occupants appeared and evicted her.

The suit and bag fetched quite a tidy sum and even after paying her rent, Jools had enough left over to stock up on some essentials at Sainsbury’s. Walking the floodlit aisles, she paused in front of the cupcakes, chocolates and doughnuts, saliva pooling in her mouth. No. She forced herself to walk away.

No more junk food, ever again. Well, maybe on special occasions. Or once a week. Perhaps just one packet of HobNobs today if there was a pound or two left.

No. No. No. Jools was determined to stick to her new plan of sensible behaviour.

Surprisingly, it felt good to stock up on lo-cal canned goods and non-perishable items. When the unpacking and restocking was completed, there was barely room to edge past the breakfast bar into the kitchen. At least I’m ready for a nuclear holocaust, she thought. It did sort of feel like she was preparing for something, but had no idea what.

Never mind, with a roof over her head and enough food for a month, everything was under control. And this time, she was going to make it on her own.

Well, she kind of had to, didn’t she?

She bought a small microwave from the pawn shop and was pleased to find that it worked. Preparing a treat of frozen fish fingers and green peas, she sat on the floor and declared to thin air it was good to be home.

Sure, her new place was a total pigsty but at least it was
her
pigsty. Nobody was going to kick her out – well, not for three months anyway. She could come and go as she pleased, keep things as messy or as clean as she wanted them and eat whatever she desired without the worry of someone, anyone, noting she was starting to look like a heifer in denim.

As happy as she was to be back in her old life, two staples were missing: Mel – and Skuttle. She couldn’t shake the sad truth that she was completely alone. She missed her best friend, and it seemed Skuttle had vanished. No Hunk of No Fixed Abode to perv at from her little window anymore. It was tragic.

All by myself,
she crooned tunelessly at the scarred walls,
a la
Bridget Jones,
Don’t wanna be . . .
Wait a minute!

She sat up. There was no reason to be alone. Skuttle might be gone, but she and Mel could make up. They couldn’t let a man (if you could call Michel a man) keep them apart. They were better friends than that, weren’t they?

The next morning, full of determination, Jools got up off the blanket on the floor that doubled as a bed, dressed in her Juicy Couture tracksuit, and headed for Mel’s.

It wasn’t an easy task given the bus had been cancelled and there were roadworks at Notting Hill, but finally she got to Kensington.

Eagerly, she raced up the stone steps to Mel’s flat, but to no avail. No one was home.

She waited, pressing the buzzer intermittently for an hour before finally conceding defeat – and being told to ‘piss off or I’ll hose you down’ by the porter.

So much for the tearful reunion she’d been expecting.

Jools dragged herself back to her flat,
All By Myself
playing on a never-ending loop in her head.

Somehow, she’d always thought she and Mel would get through this, like they’d got through everything in the past. Mel had always been there for Jools, through thick and thin, and the thought of spending the rest of her life without her best friend took away even Jools’ appetite. She walked in her front door, looked with dismay at the fallen stack of bean tins in front of her (just something else to clean) before turning away and flopping on the floor.

A little while later she paid a visit to the Internet café, where more bad news greeted her.

Her father. Emailing to say he was leaving the country – again. Full of curses and blame, his lengthy message made it clear Jools had ruined his chances of living as a free person in his homeland. But Jools was beyond caring. She had no desire to see him ever again. Even living in Rocco’s concrete rat hotel was preferable.

I’m leaving with a group of Ukrainians I met at a hostel I had to go when my own daughter told me to bugger off from her wedding.

From what she could decipher, he was going to an ex-Soviet Union state in the back of a biscuit lorry, where the law was of no consequence and he could live freely with whomever he wanted. He would not be bound by the laws of so-called civilised society any longer and if she chose to pass this email along to the authorities, she would surely rot in hell for betraying the man who had given her life and supported her emotionally and financially much longer than she deserved.

The nerve! Dear old Dad definitely had to be locked up, in an insane asylum if not jail.

With him and Mel out of the picture, Jools wondered if Skuttle was truly lost to her. There had to be a hobo registry or something, surely? Skuttle was the only friend she’d ever had who loved (okay liked) her no matter what. He’d always seemed to put Jools’ needs above his own, and in the person-eat-dog world of the streets, that meant a lot.

Jools racked her brain to think of something but decided there was no way to find her Hunk of No Fixed Abode.

She was alone. No choice but to accept it. Taking a deep breath she decided Rocco was right. Time to get real, to find a real way of living, instead of relying on get-rich quick schemes and online sales.

A job was what was required. Immediately. Something that didn’t involve rodents or excrement.

As she wasn’t about to go back to cleaning, a new career path was required. But with no office experience, a corporate job was out of the question. She’d never waited tables or worked at a bar. Her computer skills were limited to the most basic of tasks and to top it all off, the only ‘suitable for job interview’ suit she had left was in the boot of the BMW confiscated by Rodney.

Suddenly, a large sign on one of the buses outside caught her eye.

Wanted: competent drivers. Good rates of pay. Immediate start. Apply now
.

Brilliant! How hard could it be to drive a bus? Should be easy enough to convince the bus company she could handle an oversize vehicle. After all, she could steer herself around well enough, couldn’t she?

Getting dressed in the best skirt and top that she could find in her bags, she swung out of the window and down into the bus station, heading for the sign that said ‘OFFICE’.

‘Yes, love, can I help?’ The bloke in the office considered her with the interest of a bargain shopper at a penny bazaar. He had a bulbous nose and bloodshot eyes and was almost completely bald save a circle of fine black hair that wound its way over his ears and to the back of his head where it was tied into a loose ponytail. And he was more overweight than her.

‘Look, can’t you train me and then I take that test? You always hear about bus driver shortages. I have a valid licence and I’m a good driver, so I’m sure I could get whatever other licence I need to drive a bus.’

‘It’s not just about driving. It’s so, so much more than driving.’ He shook his head solemnly.

‘Well, what’s it about then?’ she asked. ‘Steering? Opening the doors? Swearing at passengers? It can’t be all that complicated.’

His mouth plopped open and his eye twitched as if he was stunned by her ignorance.

‘I just don’t know,’ he said, eyelid fluttering and head shaking. He lit a cigarette and began to puff. Jools thought it was illegal to smoke in offices, but didn’t want to risk being set on fire by saying so.

‘Please? Give me a shot? I promise to impress you.’

‘Save the big-eyed routine for the boss,’ the man said, mellowing slightly. ‘He’s the one you need to impress.’

‘Fine.’ Wishing she had worn her busty Topshop dress instead of the solemn shirt and skirt ensemble, Jools leaned over the table.

‘Just give me five minutes. I’m sure I can convince him.’

Pushing her off his paperwork, the man stood up and walked over to a door at the back of the office. He rapped sharply and waited.

Finally, a well-spoken voice answered ‘Yes?’ and the man went inside. Jools held her breath.

‘He’ll see you in an hour,’ the man said, emerging a few moments later. ‘You can wait here. Help yourself to some food and so on, if you like.’

Jools liked. She headed for the garage canteen and got herself a cup of coffee and a couple of donuts. But the coffee’s tinny taste made her grimace. She’d got used to the special blend Rodney imported directly from Kenya. And after one bite of the donut she felt sick. Far too much sugar, given she had been sticking to more filling, savoury foods like beans.

Time to get real, she reminded herself as she flipped through the pages of a tatty old Penthouse. She was going to get this job and make a new start. Maybe Rodney would let her pay back the money week by week, with interest. Okay, it would take about 2000 years on a bus driver’s salary, but if he refused the deal, well, he would have to sue her, wouldn’t he?

Happy there was at least one magazine whose cover she hadn’t graced, she skimmed the salacious tale of a buxom school teacher and a mailman as she waited.

Finally, Jools pulled away. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ She eyed the packet of crisps and the bottle of fizzy drink in his hands. ‘Skuttle, you need to be careful nicking things from here.’

She cast a furtive glance rearwards to make sure no one had seen. ‘Put those under your coat so no one sees you leaving with them.’

Skuttle smiled and did as he was told. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Jools,’ he said. ‘The press have been sniffing around. It was worse last week but they’re still popping up every now and again.’