The Debt & the Doormat (10 page)

As I turn the corner I see a male figure sat across from his desk through the blinds.  I hate when he has early morning meetings that he doesn’t bother putting in the diary.  It completely throws me off.  He’ll probably want me to go to Starbucks and get them both breakfast.

Victor sits on his desk in front of his guest.  His pot belly is pressing against his too tight green shirt.  Any minute now I’m sure a button’s going to ping off and blind me.

‘Poppy, I’d like you to meet someone.’

I plaster my usual polite smile across my face and reach down to shake the man’s hand and introduce myself.  Only the face that greets me is a familiar face.  Oh my God.  Fear completely takes over my body and I freeze, trying to remain on my feet, the room moving around me. 

It can't be.  My bad luck can't have reached a new level already.  I got mugged last night for God’s sakes.

Staring back at me is what’s-his-face from the other night.

‘Poppy, this is my Son Hugh.’

His SON?

‘Actually Dad, we’ve already been introduced.’  Hugh smiles wickedly and licks his lips.

‘Oh really?’ Victor enquires, cocking his head up in interest.

Hugh smiles at me, enjoying my humiliation.  I feel my insides turn to liquid.  I need to be sick.  God, I can’t believe I ever thought I could sleep with a creep like this and get away un-scathed.  I mean, who do I think I am?  I am NOT Madonna.

‘Just through a friend,’ he answers coolly. 

Thank God he didn’t tell him.  My body starts to de-clench slightly.  But then, how would he?  Oh yeah Dad, we actually had wild sex the other night.

‘Actually, how is that friend of yours?’ Hugh asks me, cocking his head to the side.  ‘I heard she got a right roasting from some fella she met.’

‘Hugh!  Don’t use that kind of language around Poppy!’  Victor shouts at him, seeming horrified by his son’s behaviour. 

God, he really would be horrified if he knew what kind of language he used the other night.

‘I’m sure she can take it.’  He locks eyes with me, as images of him taking my bra off with his teeth flash through my mind.  I look down, completely ashamed.  Why did I ever listen to Jazz!

‘Well anyway,’ Victor says, clearing his throat.  ‘Hugh has just re-located here with his wife and children and–‘

‘Sorry, what?’ I blurt out, hoping I’ve heard wrong.

Wife and children?  Please don't tell me I slept with a married man.  I try to remember his hands.  I was sure there was no wedding ring. 

‘Poppy, are you unwell?’ Victor asks, seeming more annoyed than worried.  ‘You seem to be acting a bit strange.’

‘Oh, do I?  No...I’m fine.  Absolutely...fine.’  I clear my throat uncomfortably.  

I wish I could just run out of the office. 

‘So anyway.  As I was saying.’  He looks at me as if warning me to not interrupt again.  ‘Hugh has relocated and is going to be taking the new position of HR Director.  He’s going to help out with the redundancies.  From now on, you’ll also be Personal Assistant to him.  I hope that's ok.’

I go to open my mouth, but quickly shut it when I realise it was a rhetorical question. 

This is going to be a nightmare. 

*                            *                            *

I try to hide at my desk the rest of the day, but Victor calls me in again after lunch. 

‘Poppy, Hugh’s new office is down the corridor.  John’s old room.  I suggest you go and get yourself used to him.’

Get used to him?  If only he knew how familiar we were. 

‘Of course.’  I force a smile and hand over his coffee.  He doesn’t even look up, already dismissing me.

I walk up the long corridor towards John’s old office, feeling my heart beat fasten.  Calm down.  You’re a grown woman.  He’s probably just as embarrassed as you are.  Yet all I can think of is the thudding fear growing inside me.

I open the door to find him sitting with his feet up on the desk, a cappuccino in one hand and a paper in the other. 

‘Hello Hugh.’ I smile politely.  ‘Is there anything I can get you?  Stationary?  Maybe another drink?’

He looks up and smirks. 

‘Hi.  Sorry, what was your name again?’ he asks. 

Is he serious?

‘Poppy,’ I say through gritted teeth.  Resist the strong urge to throw his coffee over him.

‘Ah, yes that's it.  Actually, you could help me with my computer.  There seems to be a problem with it.’  He stands up, offering me his seat. 

‘Sure.’

Maybe he won't mention it at all.  Maybe that's why he asked my name.  He’s trying to pretend the whole incident never happened, if only for his wife and kids.  I walk round the desk and sit down looking at the blank screen.

‘So, what seems to be the problem then?’  I sense him close behind me and shift uncomfortably in my seat, my body clenching up.

‘Open up word and I’ll show you,’ he says, his voice low and sultry close to my ear. 

I do as he says, staring straight ahead waiting for more orders.  I will not turn round to face him.   

‘That’s it,’ he whispers into my ear.  When the hell did he get so close?  I literally feel my vagina tighten with fear and embarrassment. 

‘Open up a document called finance team,’ he whispers.  ‘Nearly there.’

He puts his hand on my shoulder and I swallow hard.  Please don't touch me.  His finger begins tracing a pattern on my skin.  I feel my insides turn to ice.  I stare ahead at the computer helplessly, feeling sick with fright.  I daren’t move a muscle. 

His hand quickly slips down underneath my dress to my breasts.  It shocks me into action. 

‘Get off me!’ I yelp, turning and hitting him in the chest. 

‘Ooh, feisty.  Not just in the bedroom but the office too,’ he winks.

I glare at him; feeling totally violated.  I stand up and fold my hands defensively over my chest.

‘Look, you better back off.  I’m still reeling from the fact that you’re married with kids.’

‘Don't let that put you off,’ he says, pushing me against the filing cabinet.  ‘You can always be my mistress.’

‘Get off me!’ I shout, trying to push him off with both hands, but all strength seeming to have left my body.  He keeps pushing me against it, his hands suddenly everywhere.  Panic takes hold of me.  What if he doesn’t take no for an answer? 

I retract my arm and slap him hard round the face, stepping into it, using my whole body for power.  It makes a loud whooping sound.  He stares back at me shocked. 

‘Poppy?’  I whip my head round to see Victor at the door.  ‘Did you just hit my son?’

‘Um....’

‘You better have a God damn good explanation!’

*                            *                            *

As I walk home from the tube that evening I’m contemplating killing myself.  I mean, how on earth do I manage to get myself in these stupid arsed situations?  Do I have a serious debilitating condition that means everything I touch turns to shit?  I barely escaped that situation pretending that there was a bee in the room I was trying to squat.  I obviously didn’t expect Victor to freak out as much as he did, jumping on the desk and screaming ‘I’m allergic to bees!’  I do personally think calling Bee Specialists in to check that we haven’t got a nest was slightly over dramatic.

Plus my bank tells me that it’ll take at least a week for new cards to be sent out.  Luckily they haven’t been used.  They must have just taken the cash.  All twenty pounds of it.  Bastard.  And my phone company won't send out a new phone for a couple of days.     

Izzy smiles at me from in front of the sofa, where she’s doing squats.  Does she never rest?

‘Hey Pops.  Have a good day?’

‘Yeah, bit of a random one really.’  I avoid eye contact, not wanting to explain the saga that is my life. 

I pour myself a much deserved glass of wine, hoping Izzy won't tell me off for stealing again.   

‘Anyway, I’ve got a surprise for you!’ she sings, clapping her hands together. 

‘Really?’ I ask wearily, wishing she wouldn’t get so excited over everything.

‘Follow me!’  She grabs my hand and leads me into my bedroom.

When I turn the corner my room is unrecognisable.  Where there were once piles of clothes on the floor I can now see carpet.  I mean, it is awful red and brown swirly carpet, but still!  My bedside table, once full of makeup and jewellery is now completely clear.  It's sparkling.  The furniture’s even been moved around. 

‘So, you like?’ she asks, seeming as if she might burst from excitement.

‘Oh, I love,’ I say, still staring in awe.  ‘Thank-you so much.’

I try not to let the disappointment show.  Is it sad that I kind of liked the way Jazz’s make up was sprawled all over her dressing table?  I kind of enjoyed the mess.  It’s so different from my flat.

‘It’s totally Feng shui now.  You’ll have much better harmony.’

‘Oh...great,’ I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

‘I’ve been trying to get Jazz to clean her room for ages,’ Izzy continues.  ‘It's really been stressing me out for ages.’

Stressing her out?  She must be a massive control freak.  Well, this house must well and truly freak her out.  I glance around the room and feel my stomach unsettle itself as I remember the letter to Him which was on the bedside table. 

‘Um...Izzy, there were a letter on the side.  Do you know where you’ve it?’ 

Don't panic.  I’m sure it's just safely put away in a drawer somewhere.

‘Oh yeah, don't worry.  I posted it for you.’  She smiles as she stretches, pushing her boobs in my face.

‘Posted it?’ I ask carefully, not wanting to let the words sink in.

‘Yep, posted it,’ she repeats as if I’m mentally retarded.

‘Did you...’ I swallow, my mouth dry.  ‘Did you notice one with a North London address on it?’  I feel my throat tighten.

‘Yeah I think so.  Was it in a pale pink envelope?’  She sticks her leg up on the dressing table and leans into it like a ballerina.

‘Yes!  You definitely sent that one?’ I ask, wiping the sweat from my sticky forehead.

‘Yep.  Why, was it important or something?  I only posted it at the box at the end of the road.’

‘No, no.  Don't worry, its fine,’ I say as the room starts to spin around me. 

Ok, don't panic.  Don't panic.  The post doesn’t get picked up till 6pm and it's only...ok, it's 5.58pm!  I dash out of the door, slamming it behind me.  When I reach the street I begin running blindly as fast as I can, aware of nothing but the seeds of panic already sprouting inside my mind. 

The post man isn’t there yet and I’m not sure if it's a good sign or a bad one.  I mean, what if he’s already been and got the letter?  What if it's already on the way?   

When I reach it I attempt to stick my hand through the tiny hole, in the hope that it’ll shrink and I’ll be able to pick it out.  No such luck.  I think I’m going to be sick. 

‘Poppy?’ a voice calls, breaking me from my panicked thoughts.  I look around and see Ryan leaning out of his car window.  ‘You alright?’  He looks at me strangely. 

‘Yeah...just waiting for the post man.’  I smile politely and turn away from him.  Please leave me alone.

‘Why?’ he asks.  I turn round begrudgingly to see him still stationary in his car, staring at me.

‘Don't worry about it.  Just go and park.’  I wave him off.

He parks right next to where I’m standing and gets out, intent on ruining my evening completely. 

‘Seriously,’ he says, standing next to me.  ‘What are you doing?  Should I be concerned and call the loony bin to cart you off?’

‘Oh shut up will you,’ I say shortly.  I really don't have time for his attempt at humour.  ‘It's just...Izzy’s posted something she shouldn’t have and I’m waiting for the post man to come.’

‘But, it's 6 o’clock,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘You must have missed him.’

‘No, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,’ I say trying to feel as positive as I sound.

‘Really?  I think maybe you should just give up.  What's in this letter that's so important anyway?’ he asks raising his eyebrows at me.

Why is he so nosey!

‘Um...’ I look around, desperate not to have to tell him.  ‘Oh my God, there he is!’  I point at the post van coming round the corner.  ‘I told you,’ I add smugly.

He looks at me unimpressed as the van pulls up on the curb.

‘You can go now,’ I say, trying to push him away.  I really don't want him to have to see me beg this man for my letter back.

‘No, it's ok.  I’ll wait with you,’ he says, smiling knowingly.  He knows I’m going to embarrass myself and he wants to watch.  What a sadistic arsehole. 

An old postman with greying hair gets out of his van, wearing blue shorts and a red hat.  I smile and brace myself.

‘Hi Mr Postman.’

He looks at me questionably, as if he’s wondering whether I’m taking the piss.  He turns and opens the post box.