The Debt & the Doormat (14 page)

‘Well, I think it's pretty clear that I’ll never be able to give birth.’

‘Why the hell would you want to?’ Jazz says.  ‘So anyway, have you decided what you want to do for your birthday yet?’ 

‘What?’ I groan, the stinging still not dying down.  ‘How many damn times do I have to tell – ‘

‘Ok!  Jesus,’ she says, putting her hand up in defence. 

‘When’s it your birthday Pops?’ Izzy asks, obviously already having fantasies about pink bouncy castles. 

‘It's next Saturday,’ Jazz informs her.  ‘But she hates celebrating it because she always has bad luck.’

‘Really?’ Izzy giggles.  ‘Worse than normal?’

‘Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it,’ I snap, the memories still raw.

‘Well I still think you should do something.  Actually, Jake and I are going to some festival next Friday night with a few of his friends.  Why don't we all go?  It can be your half arsed birthday celebration.’

‘Yay!  Let’s do it!’ Izzy squeals.

‘Festival?’  Images of mud, baked beans and peeing in bushes flash through my head.

‘Yes, f-e-s-t-i-v-a-l,’ she says, slowly as if I’m retarded.  ‘Apparently they go every year and they’ve got a few spare tickets.’

‘Oh, you’re really selling it to me.  Sounds
well
popular.’

‘Stop rolling your eyes, it’ll be fun!  And I’m taking that as a yes,’ Jazz confirms. 

‘Do I even have a choice?’

‘God, you’re so dramatic.  Of course you don't have a choice.  You wanna come shopping with me to get some camping gear?’

‘Camping gear?  What the hell do we need?  Plus, I thought you weren’t supposed to be spending money!’

‘Oh yeah, but if it's a necessity.’

She’s a nightmare. 

‘Are you girls OK in there?’ Ryan asks, knocking on the door again.

‘You can come in now,’ Jazz announces.  I quickly make sure my dressing gown is done up.

He pops his head round the door.  ‘You want some chips?’

‘Only if you can feed all of us,’ Jazz challenges.

‘Of course,’ he laughs.

I quickly slip on some tracksuit bottoms and a vest top, before following them into the kitchen.  He places down onto the table a massive tray of chips and some bread and butter. 

‘Did you know we were coming?’ Jazz asks.

‘Let’s just say that I had a hunch you’d want feeding,’ he laughs.

‘You mean you thought Jazz would be getting high?’ I ask.

He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t answer.

‘Jazz, when the hell are you gonna stop smoking that crap?’

‘Maybe you should start,’ she says, ignoring my gaze like a sulky teenager.

‘Tell me when,’ he says, as he spoons chips onto my plate.  He keeps pausing after each spoonful, but there’s hardly any chips on my plate.

‘Keep going,’ I say, irritated at his slow pace.

‘I like a girl who eats,’ he says grinning. 

‘From what I hear you like all girls,’ I say before I can stop myself, my mouth half full with bread.

Jazz and Izzy chuckle.  Oh great Poppy.  Why did I say that?  It makes me sound like a jealous pratt. 

‘Well, the ones I know normally don't eat,’ he says, smiling.  ‘Especially not to
this
extent.’

I roll my eyes.  ‘Well I grew up with three brothers.  I’ve learnt to eat while I can.’

Jazz winks at me.

‘So anyway, how is that creep from work?’ Jazz asks as she refuses a second spoonful from Ryan.

‘What creep at work?’ Ryan asks with a mouthful of bread.

‘Oh...it’s nothing,’ I shrug, trying to kick Jazz under the table.

‘It's hardly nothing,’ Jazz exclaims.  ‘She found out her one night lover is her boss’s son and now he’s touching her up.’

‘You are joking?’ he says, his tone slow and serious.

‘It's no big deal,’ I shrug.  My eyes sting with sudden urgent tears.  Do NOT cry in front of him.  It must be the wine.  ‘I got myself in this mess by being a reckless little slut.’  My chin wobbles with the threat of bursting into sobs.

‘Oh, Pops.  Don't get upset.  It’ll be ok,’ Izzy says, resting her hand on my shoulder.

‘Our Poppy likes to be a bit dramatic,’ Jazz laughs.

‘I only bloody did it because you told me to!’ I shout, unable to stop myself breaking into a light sob, my nose suddenly full of snot.  Why couldn’t I be a pretty crier?

‘Sorry?  Jazz is pimping you out now?’ Ryan asks darting his eyes between us both.

I stuff a mouthful of my chip butty into my mouth and hope this will stop me from having to answer.  Yet when I look up he’s still staring, analysing, searching for some kind of explanation.  Didn’t anyone ever teach him it's rude to stare?

‘You know I’m in control of Poppy’s life at the moment,’’ Jazz says, leaning back, leaving her food and lighting up another cigarette.

‘Sorry?  So you decided that she should sleep with him?’

I don't like how they’re talking like I’m not here.

‘Well...yes.  And I mean, at the time, she didn’t really put up that much of a struggle, let me tell you.’  She winks at me.

I glare at her as I drop a bit of ketchup onto the table.  Damn it!  Why am I such a klutz?  And why am I allowing them to discuss my sex life?  Ryan hands me a tea towel and I snatch it off him, annoyed at myself. 

‘I was just glad to remember how to do it!’ I laugh, suddenly feeling the effects of the wine again.

‘Remember it?  Why?  How long have you not had sex for?’ Ryan asks, his eyes penetrating me in disbelief.

‘Um...’

‘Ryan!’ Izzy shouts.  ‘That's rude to ask her!’

‘She’d practically gone back in time and become a virgin again,’ Jazz chuckles.

‘Thanks Jazz!’ I shout, kicking her under the table.

‘Wow,’ he breathes, completely shell shocked.

‘I’m sure that the concept of no sex for a slut like you seems ridiculous but I don't make a habit of sleeping around,’ I bark.

‘And I do?’ he says, taken aback.

‘Well...that’s what I’ve heard anyway.’  I risk a look at Izzy who avoids my gaze.  I take a large glug of wine, needing it’s calming reassurance.   

‘I can't believe this guy at work though.  I think someone needs to have a word with him.’  His eyes turn fiercely protective.

‘Don't worry.  I can handle myself,’ I say, suddenly worried that he’s going to hunt him down.

‘Well, I’m not so sure about that.’  He smiles and points to a bit of ketchup that's stained my top.

‘Why are you so worried anyway?’ Izzy asks, intrigued, as I struggle to remove the stain with a bit of kitchen roll.

‘Am I?’ he asks vaguely.

‘Well...you just seem kind of...worried about her,’ Izzy says, her voice full of hidden questions.

I drop my eyes immediately in a flush of embarrassment. 

‘Well, from what she’s proved so far, I’d say it's a normal reaction from anyone around her,’ he smirks.

‘Oh thanks!’  I kick him hard under the table.   

His eyes flick up at me from under his lashes, the hint of a smirk on his face.  He stares, his eyes hypnotising me, enveloping me, putting me under his spell.  My breathing starts to quicken and I remind myself not to lean in.

I break away from him and notice Jazz smiling at me suspiciously.  A sickening feeling creeps into my stomach, the tension growing by the second.

‘Well...I better go to bed.’  

My body feels tingly all over and a stupid grin threatens to break across my face.  The same grin I used to get when I fancied boys at school.  Why does he make me feel like a teenager?  Jazz keeps looking at me, a hundred questions on her face.  I avoid her.

‘It's early,’ Izzy protests.  ‘Why don't you chill for a bit longer?’

‘No thanks.  I’m tired.  Tonight was enough excitement.’  I smile knowingly at both of them.  

Ryan looks at all of us suspiciously. 

‘I should get to bed too.  Got an interview tomorrow,’ Ryan says, getting up as I do.  ‘You girls can wash up, right?’  He walks quickly behind me before they can protest.

‘Well, goodnight,’ he says, once I’m outside my door.

I stupidly get the feeling that I’m on a date and he’s dropping me home.  I look up to him, his gaze mesmerising me.  He puts his hand up as if to touch my face, hovers it for a second and then tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, sending shivers up the back of my neck.  I hope he didn’t notice.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he says, his face serious, towering over me.

My breathing gets faster and faster, but I’m frozen.  I literally cannot move a muscle.

‘Yem,’ I mumble. 

Fuck, did I just say yem?  I’m literally losing the skill of speech.

He turns and bounds up the stairs, an amused expression on his face.  I go into my room before Jazz can assault me with questions and throw myself under the duvet.  I lay there, still trembling and panting, not sure if I want to get sick or have another dream about him.  Ok, now I get it.  I’m suddenly aware of how he pulls so many women.  

‘I’m afraid that we’ve had a complaint about Hugh,’ Victor says the next day.

‘What?’ I ask, totally thrown.  Where did this come from?  I haven’t said anything. 

‘Yes,’ he says, biting his thumb nail.  ‘HR received a phone call this morning from a solicitor, warning that he had a client willing to take the company to a tribunal for sexual harassment.’

‘You’re joking?’ I ask, trying desperately to keep a straight face and seem shocked.

‘I’m afraid not Poppy.  Dreadful business.  I’m also afraid that this isn’t the first time I’ve had such a complaint about him.’

‘Really?’

Victor exhales sharply.  ‘He was previously working at the Hertford office, but I had to move him when I received another complaint much like this one.’

Oh my God.  I slept with a sex pervert.  I shudder at the thought of it.  Note to self: ring Jazz and tell her I’m never listening to her advice again. 

‘But obviously, this must remain between us.  We can't let such a scandal get out; it could ruin me.’

‘No, of course not.’  I nod professionally.  ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I really don't know.  I’ll have to speak to him, obviously, but I just hope his wife will be so forgiving.  She was furious that they had to move because of his behaviour.  This might really be the end for them and to be frank I couldn’t blame her.’

‘That's terrible.’  I purse my lips together sympathetically and try not to smile.

*
                            *                            *

As soon as I’m back at my desk I whip my temporary phone out of my bag.  Izzy gave me an old phone the weight of a brick. 

‘Was that you?  Were you the solicitor?’
I text him.

I drum my fingers on the desk impatiently waiting for a reply.

BEEP BEEP.

I nearly drop the phone in excitement.

‘Maybe’

Is that all he can reply?  God, you have to seriously drag information out of him.

‘Ok, well thanks.  Good luck 2day in your interview’

That's not too desperate, right?  I mean, maybe I should have been totally indifferent and not bothered texting back.  Left him wanting more or something?  When it beeps again I notice Cheryl eyeing me suspiciously.

‘Lots of beeping going on over there.  Got a fancy man, have you?’ she asks, smiling smugly.

You’d think that finding out your husband is shagging someone else would make you reflect on yourself for a while.  But no.  I haven’t even had a chance to ask her if she's OK and already she's acting as if nothing happened last night. 

‘No, no, just a friend thanks.’  I smile politely through gritted teeth.

‘Thanks.  I’ll prob be knackered after so can't be bothered to cook.  You want to catch dinner?’

I nearly pass out in excitement.  He wants to take me out to dinner!  Why am I getting so excited?  Calm down Poppy, get a hold of yourself.  A friend is asking you to dinner.  You don't get this excited when Jazz asks you out to Pizza hut.

‘Oh, you young ones.  Carefree and single; I remember the days,’ Cheryl says, smiling off into the distance.

‘Actually Cheryl, you’re only a year older than me.’

‘I know sweetheart, and look at the difference between us.’  She smiles sympathetically.  ‘I’m married with a gorgeous baby at home and you’re still...painting the town red.’

Sorry?  Your husband is cheating on you?  And gorgeous baby?  Shrek called - he wants his baby back.  But I obviously can't say this to her.  She must be in severe denial.

‘Yes, well.  We have very different lives,’ I retort.  Why can't she leave me alone so I can just text him back in peace? 

‘And such a shame.  You were so close to getting it all with Stuart.’

God, his name hits me like a dart to the heart every time I hear it.   

‘Yeah thanks for the reminder.  Now, if you don't mind, I’m actually really busy.’

‘Ok cool
’
I text back, my fingers shaking with excitement.

‘I’ll book a table and text you details later’

I’m going to dinner with Ryan!  How exciting!  I turn my attention back to Cheryl. 

‘How are you anyway, Cheryl?  You know, since last night?’

‘Last night?’  She flutters some papers around her desk as if she's very busy.

‘Yes, last night.  You know...’ I lower my voice to a whisper ‘when we
saw
them.’

‘Actually Poppy, I’d appreciate it if you kept out of my marriage.  It really is none of your business.’

‘Wow.  You were the one dragging me along yesterday,’ I say defensively.

‘I’m afraid I’m very busy.’  She turns away from me, already typing an e-mail.

I hope it's to your divorce lawyer, you horrible bitch.

*
                            *                            *

My good mood is short lived when Victor tells me to sort out the bad smell coming from the kitchen.  After thirty minutes of investigation, Lilly and I have finally decided the stench is coming from the back of the fridge. 

‘So, they’re alright.  Just alright?  I need a bit more information than that please,’ Lilly begs as she pulls the fridge out from under the worktop.

A fresh bout of potent smell wafts through the air, so strong that my nostrils burn and my stomach clenches in disgust.  I swallow convulsively, my stomach heaving.

‘Oh shit, that's fucking vile,’ Lilly coughs, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. 

I nod, trying to think calming thoughts, but the smell keeps creeping into my mouth, trying to gag me.  I look behind the fridge, sure to find a skunk covered in his own vomit, wearing a smelly sock.  But there’s nothing there. 

‘What is it?’ I say in an in-breath, desperate not to consume any of the air. 

‘I don't know,’ she says, clearly a lot stronger than me.  She grabs a bottle of Cif and starts attacking the area.  ‘So come on, what are they like?’

‘Who?’

‘Your housemates!  What are they like?’  She pulls out the fridge a bit further and starts inspecting the back of it.

‘Izzy’s a girlie fitness instructor.  Grace is a big breasted bitch of a beautiful model.  And then there’s just Ryan.’

‘Ryan?’ she asks quizzically as she puts on some yellow marigolds.  ‘Ah yes, the beautiful man!  What's he like?’ she probes, her eyes widening excitedly.

‘Stop making me talk!  I’m gonna be sick!’ I wail.

‘Just tell me!’ she snaps, not bothering to look at me.  ‘Anything to take my mind off this.’

I honest to God don't know how she is so close to the smell.  Victor gave me this job, but I’ve been pretty useless; just gagging occasionally and running to the sink because I think I’m going to vomit.  Lilly is going to make a great Mum one day.  Things like this never faze her. 

‘He’s ok.  Nice...I guess.’ 

God, I really can't think with this smell.  Is something dead?

‘Oh my God,’ she says, leaning away from the back of the fridge with a serious face. 

‘What?  What!?’

She’s found a dead rat, I just know it.  I start backing away into a corner.  I can't see it.  I’ll drop dead in shock.  I’ll never recover.  My dreams will be invaded by rats and I’ll wake up screaming.  I’ll imagine them following me down the road.  People will call me ‘that rat woman’.  I’ll have to have years of therapy. 

She leans in and studies me seriously.    I stare back at her in confusion. 

‘What?’ 

She smiles wickedly.  ‘You
like
him.’

‘No I don't!’ I shout, inhaling some stench in the process.  I gag and drop my eyes in a flush of embarrassment.  Perhaps I was a bit too dramatic. 

She raises her eyebrows.  ‘The lady doth protest too much me thinks.’

I feel my cheeks redden and I pray they’ll stop.

‘Oh shut up.  He’s just a horrible boy, a player actually.  I’m really, really not interested.  Now, where’s the smell coming from?’ 

‘Oh please!  You’ve gone all red.  You really need to learn how to lie better.  Either that or stop bothering.’

‘I’m not lying!  Now what is the smell?’ I shout, starting to lose my temper.  I still can't believe we’re even doing this.  What other PA’s have to do this sort of thing?  It's ridiculous. 

‘Found it!’ she shouts in triumph.  She pulls out a tray from the back of the fridge and presents it to me.  It looks like some milk has leaked into it and slowly rotted away, it now black and mouldy.

My stomach flips and I swallow back my convulsion.  She looks at the tray and then back at me.  What is she up to?  She smiles before thrusting the tray under my nose.

‘Oh my God!’ I scream, pushing it away from me. 

‘You tell the truth and I’ll sort this out for you.  You continue to lie and I leave you here to sort this mess out yourself.’

Is she serious?  She can't honestly think I could clean this up myself?  It's beyond gross. 

‘It's up to you’.  She edges forward, the tray closer to me.  I’m backing away in horror, realising I don't have any options.

‘Ok!  I’ll tell you!’

‘That's my girl.  Spill.’  She throws the tray in the sink, covering it in fairy liquid and hot water.  She rubs her hands together like a witch.  ‘So?’

‘Ok, well I suppose he is totally gorgeous.  But in an arrogant, I’m God’s gift to women kind of way.  I never really know where I stand with him.  I’m sure he’s not interested in me.’

‘Err, why the hell wouldn’t he be?  The fool would be lucky to have you.’

‘You have to say that because you’re my friend.  I don't know if it's worth the bother anyway.  I act all stupid around him, like a teenage crush or something.  Jazz has warned me off him too.’

‘Why?’ she asks, her playful face changed to one of worry.

‘Because she says he’s a player.’

‘Oh.’  She looks a bit deflated.  ‘Well maybe if Jazz is warning you off him...maybe you should listen.  She normally likes them like that.’

‘Yeah I know,’ I say feebly.  ‘Oh just shut up and clean, wench.’

*                            *                            *

‘Good evening.  Have you booked a table?’ the glamorous looking lady behind the desk asks me.

‘Um, yes.  My friend booked it.  It’s under Ryan...’  Oh my God, I don’t know his surname!

‘Sorry?  Ryan...is there a surname?’ she asks, narrowing her false eyelash coated eyes at me.

‘I...I don’t know it,’ I admit.

‘Don’t worry,’ she smiles kindly.  ‘I know what these blind dates are like.’  She glances down at the list.

Blind date?  Do I look that desperate?  I’m only wearing tight black jeans and one of Jazz’s green tops with heels, not wanting to be over dressed.  Surely I don't look that desperate?  I spent ages trying to deliberately look not desperate.  Maybe I should go home and change?  Would I make it home and back again in time?  But then what would I wear?  This isn’t exactly the place for baggy jeans.  Calm down, you’re getting hysterical.

‘Here we go.  There’s a Ryan Davis for two people.’

Davis.  What a beautiful surname.  Poppy Davis.  I now pronounce you Poppy Davis.  Mrs Davis, your table is ready.  No!  Stop it!

‘Yes, that must be it.’

‘Well, the table’s just finishing up.  But you could wait in the bar area.’  She smiles, already dismissing me.

I walk over to the red and black bar and sit on one of the white leather bar stools.  I order myself a vodka, lime and soda and sip it; the bubbles instantly making me feel a bit giddy.  I scan the room feeling a bit self-conscious to be alone.  I purse my lips together and lick them, my usual nervous habit.  I pick up a strand of hair to twirl, but stop myself.  The restaurant is packed with smartly dressed people laughing about their day, happy for the weekend to have begun.  So am I.  Thank God I won't have to deal with Hugh anymore. 

As I scan the room further, I notice that most women are in little dresses.  Actually I’m the only woman in jeans.  Maybe there’s a strict dress code and everyone is actually laughing at me, thinking what a tramp I am.  Maybe I should go home and change. 

Then I spot another woman in smart jeans.  I smile over at her warmly and she responds by looking away alarmed.  Great.  She probably thinks I’m a lesbian trying to come on to her.

I look around some more, annoyed that Ryan’s making me wait.  I mean, what time is it anyway?  I’ve been waiting here forever.  I glance at my watch and realise he’s only two minutes late.  Nothing to be alarmed about.

I continue scanning the room, making up life stories for the people.  The bald man in the corner is shagging his secretary and is trying to persuade her friend to join in.  The woman in her forties is working out a way to tell her husband she’s leaving him for another woman.  He’s working out when to surprise her with the plane tickets to the Bahamas.  The group of men drinking bottled beers work in the gherkin and have a secret.  They’re in a love cult together.