The Debt & the Doormat (24 page)

‘Nah, I’m cool,’ Izzy says.

‘Me too,’ Grace says.

‘Ok, back in a minute.’

As soon as the door is shut, Grace swings her head back to us, an excited grin on her face.  I don't actually think I’ve ever seen her face be anything but mean.  It looks strangely unnatural. 

‘So guess what?’ she says, giddy with excitement.

‘What?’ Izzy says, excitedly clapping her hands.

‘I think tonight’s going to be the night with Ryan,’ she announces, twirling her honey highlights with her fingers.

My mouth drops open.  Did I just hear her right?

‘Do you think?’ Izzy asks, almost jumping up and down in her seat.

‘Completely,’ she smiles smugly.  ‘He’s been giving me the eye all day.’

‘Sorry?  Did I just hear you right?  You and Ryan are going to....’ I swallow the lump in my throat.  ‘You’re going to...sleep together tonight?’

Her expression instantly changes to a nasty disgusted look, as if she’s just smelt bad fish.

‘Sorry, but who invited you into the conversation?’ she sneers. 

‘Err, it's a bit hard to ignore when I’m in the same car as you,’ I retort defensively. 

‘Well maybe you should mind your own business,’ she snaps.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t talk about it in front of people!’ I say, my voice erupting in an angry growl.  I should be angry, but instead I feel I could burst into tears.

‘Gracie, she was just asking,’ Izzy protests.  I smile gratefully at her.

‘For your information, me and Ryan used to have a thing,’ Grace says, pulling out a mirror and inspecting her reflection. 

‘Yeah I know that.’

‘Well, then you’ll know that things have been hotting up recently.’  Her voice is rising in conviction.  ‘I keep catching him looking at me and I just know he’s picturing me naked.’

Oh my God.  Have I really been that much of a fool to think that he’d been staring at me?  He’s obviously into Grace.  I mean, who wouldn’t be?  She’s like a beautiful movie star.  I’ve even imagined her naked a few times – in a very heterosexual way of course.  Just purely from envy.  That's why Ryan let me down gently this morning. 

‘What about Tabitha?’

‘Please,’ she smiles, ‘as if she’s any competition for me.  They haven’t even slept together.’

‘Well, good luck,’ I say under my breath. 

‘I don't need luck honey,’ she smiles smugly.  ‘Look at me.’

She's probably right.  She might just snap her fingers and he’ll run into her bedroom and strip naked.  Then I remember his cruel words about her last night.  Surely he can't be into her if he’s talking like that?  For some unknown reason I suddenly feel sorry for her.  She can't help it that she’s obsessed with him.  Hell, if I can't help it how could she?  I should open a support group.  Call it ROL – Ryan’s obsessive losers.   

‘OK.  I just don't want you getting hurt.’

Her eyes bulge open and her throat physically retracts, as if she was taking a large intake of breath.

‘Me get hurt?  Oh, don't worry honey.  I know Ryan, unlike you.  If anyone’s going to get hurt it's you.’

‘Me?  What have I got to do with it?’ I ask in a flush of embarrassment. 

‘Oh, don't pretend I don't catch you looking at him, all pathetic and puppy eyed,’ she says, in mollifying tones.  ‘It's quite amusing actually.  Me and Ryan laugh about it sometimes.’

‘What?’ I ask, swallowing the second lump in my throat.  ‘First of all I don't know what the hell you’re talking about and second, you and Ryan are laughing at me behind my back?’

‘Let’s just say we find you very amusing,’ she smirks.

Oh my God.  Paranoia sweeps over me.  I’ve been so naive.  Such an idiot. 

‘Gracie!  Don't be such a bitch,’ Izzy says shortly.

‘Well, I’m sorry if the truth hurts,’ Grace snaps.  She turns back to the front just as Ryan opens the door.  He smiles at me, but I turn my head.     

‘Pops, I know you said you didn’t want anything, but seen as you are the birthday girl, I got you a little present.’  I turn my head in intrigue to see him holding out a pack of jelly babies.

I still feel sick from his betrayal.  I can barely look at him.  I turn to stare out of the window; ignoring him completely as a feeling of complete empty sadness takes over my body. 

‘O...kay.  I take it you don't like jelly babies then,’ I hear him say under his breath as he starts the engine.

When I get home I run to my bedroom and spend a good couple of hours crying alone in my bedroom.  Happy fucking birthday.  Why is it every year I get a terrible day?  Normally I just injure myself, but this year it's far worse.  To have my feelings hurt this badly.  I mean, I thought I knew Ryan.  Little did I know he just finds me amusing to have around.  Like a stupid little jester or something. 

I stare at my phone, declaring myself pathetic that no-one has text me to wish me happy birthday.  Not even my parents.  Does no-one in the entire world love me?  I scroll down to Jazz and press dial.  She’s bound to have planned something for my birthday.

‘Hello?’ she shouts, loud rock music playing in the background.

‘Hey Jazz, it's me.  Listen, I know I said I didn’t want to do anything for my birthday, but I’ve changed my mind.  Do you want to go out?’

‘Huh?  Sorry Pops, I can barely hear you!  I’m still stuck at this stupid festival.  To be honest, I don't actually think I’ll be able to make it back tonight.  Jake’s talking about staying for another night.’

I know her game.  She’s planned a surprise birthday party for me, I know it.  As if she would stay at a festival just for Jake.  Surely I’m way more important?

‘Oh yeah, is this your fake ruse?’ I say smiling to myself.  ‘It's ok Jazz, I want to celebrate my birthday now.  You can tell me all about the surprise party.  I promise I won't get mad.  I’m kind of looking forward to it actually.’

‘What party?  Chick, you told us not to do anything for you.  There’s no party.  I’m really sorry babe, but why don't we go out for lunch tomorrow to make it up to you?’

My stomach drops and the same depression begins to creep over me again.  No-one cares about me. 

‘Oh...OK.  Yeah I suppose that's great.’  I try not to sound ungrateful.

She doesn’t even have her usual high pitched Oxford acting voice on to make me doubt her.  She must be telling the truth. 

‘Great.  Can I call you tomorrow then?’

‘Yeah, fine.’  I just want to get off the phone so I can cry.

‘OK, love you babes.  Happy birthday.’

‘Thanks,’ but she’s already hung up.

I bury my head under the duvet and let out some loud sobs, hoping no-one can hear me through the wall. 

My phone rings again and I pick it up before checking who it is.

‘Happy birthday darling!’ my mum’s shrill voice sings down the phone, before I’ve even had a chance to say hello.

‘Hi Mum,’ I say, my voice flat and boring. 

‘Hi darling.  Well...are you running late or what?’

What is she talking about?

‘Huh?’

‘Your birthday lunch round Auntie Beryl’s.  We’ve all been here for about half an hour and I just wondered where on earth you are?’

‘Lunch?  I don't remember any mention of lunch?’

‘Darling I sent you an e-mail,’ she sighs heavily, as if I’m a massive inconvenience to her.

‘E-mail?  I never got an e-mail?’

‘Really?  I’m sure I pressed send?’  She doesn’t sound too convinced herself. 

‘Well you obviously didn’t Mum.  Did you not get Ollie to help you?’

‘Excuse me Poppy, but I am more than capable of sending an e-mail.  Since the college course, I’m what they call a whizz kid at computers.’

Meaning she can just about turn it on.

‘OK, whatever.  Look, I didn’t get it so I’m not sure if I can make it.’

‘Don't be so ridiculous!  I’ve baked a cake!  Well, I’ve bought one.  I’ll tell them you’ll be here in half an hour.’

‘But the train will take me at least forty-five minutes!’

‘See you soon darling!’ she sings, ignoring me.  ‘Oh and do me a favour and be careful will you?  We don't want any more accidents on your birthday.’

‘Bye mum.’     

When the taxi pulls up at the familiar white terrace house my stomach starts getting butterflies.  Why on earth are we having a birthday lunch round here anyway?  Probably Mum not wanting a mess at her house.

‘Thanks again Tony,’ I say to my regular taxi driver as I get out.

‘No probs love.  But remember, be careful today.  I don't want to be picking you up tonight and taking you to hospital like last year.’

‘I’ll try my best.’ I slam the door a little too hard and run up to the familiar yellow front door. 

Auntie Beryl swings the door open.  She’s wearing a floral pink and yellow dress which is far too short for her age group, and holding what looks like a flower vase full of wine.

‘Darling!  What took you so long?’ 

‘Sorry Auntie Beryl.’  I hug her tightly, suffocated by her strong floral perfume.  ‘But Mum forgot to tell me about it.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ she smiles at me before throwing her head back laughing.

I follow her through the house and breathe in the stir fry smell which always seems to linger in the kitchen, even though I’ve never actually seen her cook.  Her cookery books are dusty and yellowed at the edges from the sunlight, never seeming to have been touched.

Despite this, I love her house.  Even though the yellow wallpaper is peeling at the edges, with patches of damp, and the ceiling is just as yellow from the years of smoking, it reminds me of being younger.  It was modern then, everything brand new.  She used to get these massive sheets of paper, almost as tall as me and I’d spend entire afternoons drawing wedding dresses while her and Mum smoked and drank coffee. 

‘See!  She’s not a total tom-boy,’ she’d whisper to my mum.

‘Yes.  I suppose there’s still hope for her,’ Mum would say, sighing heavily.

The same pink happy birthday banner that they use every year hangs above the sofa. 

‘They’re all in the garden’ Auntie Beryl says, gesturing towards the French doors.  ‘Drink?’

‘I’d love a beer,’ I sigh.

‘You know I can't get you a beer in front of your mum.  I’ll get you a gin and tonic.’

She walks off towards the drinks cabinet and I walk through the French doors into the garden.  My three brothers and Dad are there grimacing, probably already sick of Mum’s constant moaning.  Some friggin’ party. 

‘Happy birthday love,’ my Dad says, hitting me on the shoulder. 

I put my hand up to my shoulder, it already throbbing, and smile.  I must get my awkward body language from him. 

‘Yeah, happy birthday Po Po,’ Ollie waves as he puffs on his cigarette. 

God, it's at events like this I wished I still smoked.  We used to always sneak off at family dos and have a cheeky fag.  My Dad would always come looking for us and end up having one himself while we all basically hid from my mother.

‘Here’s your drink darling,’ Auntie Beryl says, handing over my gin and tonic.

‘Darling!  Beryl just told me you asked for a beer?’

I turn to face my mum carrying out a Marks and Spencer’s birthday cake, dressed in linen trousers and a smock top exposing far too much cleavage.

‘You know you shouldn’t be drinking anymore,’ she says, shaking her head disapprovingly. 

‘Why not?’

‘You’re in your late twenties now darling.  You need to be drinking water.  It fights wrinkles apparently.  Oh and what are you wearing?’  She looks me up and down. 

‘Well I didn’t have much time.’  I cross my arms defensively, suddenly feeling like a boy.

‘Well you could have still made an effort.  And no make-up?  Where’s my make-up bag?  I’ll put some on you myself.’

She goes fussing around for it as I watch her and Auntie Beryl.  They couldn’t be more different, yet so similar at the same time.  Even though they have the ridiculous matching names of Beryl and Meryl (I’ll never understand my Grandma’s logic), they look so different. 

Unlike Mum, Auntie Beryl has short dark hair, which she always wears down, straightened to within an inch of it’s life.  Her big brown eyes are always painted in far too much eye shadow, and her cheeks, once as sculpted as Mum’s, have now gone a bit chubby.  Yet they both have the same attitude to life.  It's their way or the highway.  Their opinions are the right ones and everyone else is insane. 

‘Here’s your present anyway,’ Richard says, handing over a purple shiny bag.  ‘Annabel picked it.’

Right on queue Annabel walks into the garden wearing a pale green short summer dress which shows off her olive skin perfectly.  Hussy.

‘Happy birthday,’ she smiles innocently, wrapping her arm round Richard’s waist. 

‘Abbey sends her apologies,’ Henry smiles shyly.  

‘Cool.  Are you excited about the wedding?’ I ask, trying to make small talk.  At least she’s not another Annabel. 

‘Yeah, not long now,’ he says politely, as if I’m a work colleague rather than sister.

I’ve never been close with Richard and Henry.  They’ve always resented how much attention I got for being the much wanted girl, even though it turns out that I was a massive disappointment, refusing to wear a dress as soon as I could talk. 

The household seemed to be split into two camps almost as soon as I was born.  Mum’s camp consisted of Henry, Richard and obviously Auntie Beryl.  They were the over achievers.  Always striving for better – a better house, better car, and better appearance. 

Then there was my camp.  Me, Ollie and Dad, who are quite happy to get pissed and watch Eastenders.  Striving for better always sounded like far too much hard work.  Although it does stand to reason that Ollie still lives at home at the age of twenty-eight and I’m living alone, soon to be eaten by cats. 

‘I still can't believe we’re going to have a ginger in the family,’ Mum says, as she paints blusher onto my cheeks.

‘Mum!’ I shout, shoving her slightly and nodding towards Henry. 

‘What?’ she says, confused, as if she’s done nothing wrong.

‘Actually she’s strawberry blonde,’ Henry says, defensively, his arms tensely at his side.

‘OK darling,’ she smiles.  ‘I just hope that your genes take over and we don't have a ginger grandchild on our hands.  That would really be something!’

‘Mum!  You can't say these things,’ I almost shout, grabbing hold of her arms.

‘Why not?’

‘Strawberry blonde,’ Auntie Beryl mutters under her breath with a muffled snort.  ‘How ridiculous.’

I smile an apology over to Henry, feeling in some way responsible for our insane Mother. 

‘Anyway Poppy,’ Auntie Beryl suddenly shouts in excitement.  ‘What do you think of my new addition to the garden?’

Oliver and Dad roll their eyes as I search the garden desperately.  How the hell would I know what was new?  Every spare space in this garden is filled with something.  There are hanging wooden wind chimes, hanging baskets, decorative pots, butterflies, cat ornaments.  The concrete bench is filled with hundreds of multi-coloured scatter cushions with tiny mirrors and beads hanging from them.  Auntie Beryl’s still smiling wildly in anticipation.   

‘Um...I’m not sure,’ I admit.

‘Honestly Poppy!  It's the new lemon candles.’  She gestures to the centre of the table.

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

‘Yes, anything to warn off those bastard mosquitos that keep getting me.’  She narrows her eyes as she looks around the garden.

I’d forgot about the mosquitos which she’s sure stalk the garden, even though no one’s ever been bitten.

‘Anyway, let me give you my present.’  She hands over a blue card.

I barely open the envelope before she shouts out ‘It’s pottery classes!’

‘Pottery classes?  Since when did she retire?’ Ollie snorts.

‘Oh do shut up Oliver!’ she snarls at him before turning back to me.  ‘I thought that you might meet someone there.  You know, like in Ghost.  It could be very romantic.’  She stares off in the distance, a whimsical look on her face.

It's this very ridiculous romantic attitude that means she’s alone living with three cats.

‘Oh, thanks,’ I say, trying desperately to sound enthusiastic. 

‘But she already has a man!’ Mum corrects her. 

‘Oh yes, but I got it before the announcement,’ Auntie Beryl says, topping up both of their wine glasses.

‘What announcement?’ I ask, puzzled.

‘Oh...nothing,’ Auntie Beryl says avoiding my gaze.

‘I got you a manicure and pedicure,’ Mum says proudly.  ‘You need to start looking more groomed now you’re twenty-six.  It might have been fine to look scruffy at twenty-five but now that you’re on the wrong side you need to start looking after yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ I drool sarcastically.

‘That's why I told the boys to get you anti-ageing cream.’

‘Oh thanks for ruining the surprise!’ Richard huffs.

‘Anyway!  Let’s cut the cake!’ she says, ignoring him.  ‘But none for you darling.  Too many calories.’

‘Oh, before the cake, why don't we get the business out of the way?’ Dad says, turning to Annabel.  ‘Sign those documents?’

‘Yes, great,’ she smiles.

Shit.  I feel my insides clenching.  They’re going to sign them now? 

‘Let’s go into the study,’ Dad says smiling eagerly, ushering Annabel out of the room.

‘Doing business on Poppy’s birthday.  Ridiculous,’ Mum mutters under her breath.

Richard, Annabel and Dad start walking out of the room.  A new swoop of fear goes over me.  I stare at Ollie and he looks back just as panicked. 

‘We’ll be witnesses!’ I exclaim before I think if this can even be done.

Dad stares at me strangely before nodding.  We follow him in, Ollie’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his sockets.  He’s really not good in an emergency. 

‘So here’s the contract,’ Dad says, putting on his reading glasses and handing over a thick wad of paper.  ‘It's just what we discussed.’

There’s a fountain pen next to it on the table.  Ollie and I spot it at the same time.  He looks at me and raises his eyebrows.  I give him a nod.  His hand covers the pen as he discreetly slides it off the table and puts it in his pocket. 

‘I’m sure it's fine,’ Annabel smiles.

‘Great.  Where’s that pen?’ Dad asks, scanning the table. 

‘Beryl?’ Dad calls.  ‘Do you have a pen we could borrow?’

‘Don't worry,’ Annabel smiles.  She gets a pen out of her pocket and places it on the table.  ‘I have one.’

Crap.  I feel my jaw tighten.  My pulse quickens, my breaths become shallow. 

‘Could I see it?’ I ask, sweat trickling down my neck. 

I pick it up before I’ve had a response and pretend to scan over it seriously.  I inhale a deep breath and muster up the loudest, wettest fake sneeze I can, covering the contract in my germs.

Dad and Annabel look back at me horrified. 

‘Whoops!’ I laugh.  Even my laugh sounds strained.  ‘Sorry.  I think I ruined it.’

Dad snatches the contract back, his chubby cheeks red with frustration.  He wipes it with his sleeve.

‘No, I’d say it's still fine,’ he smiles, handing it back over to Annabel.

I’m suddenly ill with panic.  This can't happen, it just can't.  My stomach curdles at the thought of Annabel taking away my Dad’s business. 

‘I don't think you should do it!’ I shout, a little too loudly.  Everyone looks bad at me alarmed.  ‘I mean,’ I swallow, trying to calm myself.  ‘I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.  Almost like a...psychic feeling.  It's like....some greater force is telling me it shouldn’t be done today.’

Dad and Annabel look back at me confused.  Ollie walks to the other side of the room with his head in his hands. 

‘You have a....a psychic feeling?’ Annabel asks in disbelief. 

It's funny, but now she’s saying it back to me, I suppose it does sound kind of ridiculous. 

‘Yeah,’ I nod, looking down, hoping they won't see me as I swallow hard, trying to compose myself.  ‘And....well, I think its bad luck for business to be done on my birthday.’

‘But Poppy,’ Dad tries to reason, ‘this will take five minutes at the very most.’  He smiles warningly at me. 

‘Don't worry,’ Annabel smiles to Dad.  ‘Luckily I don't believe in superstitions.’  She picks up the pen, flicking to the back page. 

‘Has it been done yet?’ Mum asks, walking into the room holding a glass of wine. 

‘Almost,’ Annabel smiles, trying to find the right page. 

My insides are starting to turn to liquid.  I can't breathe.  The witch is going to ruin everything. 

‘But....but,’ I say, struggling for anything, absolutely anything that could help.

I look at Ollie, desperate for him to come up with something.  Annabel’s pen is almost touching the paper as little beads of sweat gather on my forehead.  He opens his mouth, but then shuts it again.

‘I’ve got a girl pregnant,’ Ollie blurts out. 

Everything happens quickly.  Annabel drops her pen on the table, Mum drops her glass of wine on the floor and Dad falls back into the wall.  I stare at him, dumbfounded.