The Debt & the Doormat (5 page)

‘Ok.  You need to go to agencies and get a job.  Any job – but a full time perm one – no more of this temp business.  And u need to ring your credit card & bank people & tell them you’re getting yourself sorted – they just need to give you some more time.’

I get an instant reply.

‘Ok, but wear something yello
w
xxx’

Wear something yellow?  Is she serious?  Is that all she can say to the list of demands I’ve given her?  I drag myself out of bed, my feet crying from the bruises and blisters, and start rifling through her wardrobe.  Amongst the tutu’s, sexy nurse’s outfit and zebra printed jacket, I find a pair of plain black trousers and a white t-shirt.  They seem to be the only things that aren’t every colour of the rainbow.  I cover it with the grey cardigan that I wore here and place a yellow Alice band on my head.  That should do.  This way I’m not
actually
breaking the promise.

That's all I’m doing.  My feet are too raw to even consider wearing high heels.  I slip on my old faithful black ballet pumps.  I’m definitely not going to ditch work.  I know I’m supposed to be doing what she says, but I can’t be totally irresponsible.  What would it solve, me getting sacked?  She’s hardly one to be giving out advice anyway.

I go into the kitchen and try not to retch from the cigarette stubs in the ashtray.  I vaguely remember getting in last night and trying to cook eggs on toast.  The fire alarm is still hanging open from where I hit it with the broom.  How embarrassing.  What a first impression.  I get out some cereal, not caring that it's not mine.  I mean, this whole life swap thing is really just to help her anyway.  My life’s fine.  Totally fine. 

‘How’re you feeling?’  I jump round, heart racing to see Ryan in his same position as yesterday.

‘Jesus, scare the crap out of me why don't you,’ I snap, startled. 

‘You’re a ray of sunshine this morning,’ he laughs, leaning back cockily in his chair. 

I’m in no mood for this arsehole.

‘Whatever.  I don't have time for this.’

I throw my cereal bowl in the sink and flinch when it cracks in half.  Shit.  I planned to bolt out of the door, making a triumphant moody exit, but now I should clean it up.  I walk over to it, then decide I should still go.  Or should I?  I hover over it for a second, thinking over my options as I feel my cheeks redden.  Ryan looks up from his cereal.

‘I thought you didn’t have time for this?’ he smirks.

I feel my temper flare up, all the more because of the hangover I’m nursing.  I glare at him quickly before making the triumphant moody exit I planned.  Well, apart from the small trip.  I really wish I hadn’t tripped. 

*
                            *                            *

I get off the tube and spot a familiar flash of bright red hair in the crowd.  Lilly from work is one of my best friends.  We’re both PA’s at the same firm that sells head lice treatments for kids (possibly the most boring and un-sexy place to work ever), so have spent many a late evening ordering pizza while we work on presentations for the next morning. 

We used to just be work colleagues, but our friendship was finally cemented when she tried some diet pills and ended up farting and accidentally shitting herself at work one day.  She said the way I locked her in the toilets and rushed out to buy her new tights and a skirt made her realise I was a friend to keep.  That and I’m sure she was terrified I’d tell anyone. 

That night she invited me round her flat and we watched her favourite all time film, Thelma & Louise, to make her feel better.  I don't really get it to be honest.  Sure, Brad Pitt’s in it and its fun, but then they kill themselves.  I guess I just don't really see that as a happy ending.  That night we ate so much pizza, ice cream and, ok, a bit of white wine, I ended up vomiting on her carpet.  We knew we had to be friends after that.  However, I still think it was cruel to post the picture on Facebook. 

‘Thelma!’ I shout over what seems like hundreds of commuters.

‘Hey baby-doll,’ she smiles, waving.  Her bracelets jangle loudly as she weaves her way through the crowds. 

Her round chubby face is plastered in its usual fake tan.  She’s got fake eyelashes on, which frame her wide set blue eyes and so much bright red glossy lip gloss on her lips that they’re practically dripping.  Her un-natural red hair is blow dried perfectly with lots of volume and massive diamante earrings dangle from her ears.  She’s wearing a tight fitting burnt orange crochet dress, which is high necked and goes just below the knee.  To say it's slightly too much is an understatement. 

‘I really don't feel like work today,’ she shrugs.

‘I know, me too.’ 

‘What do you say?  Run away from our lives and drive off a cliff in a convertible?’ she grins.

Jazz’s text flashes into my head.  ‘We could always just ditch it.’

She looks at me in complete confusion.

‘Ditch?  You mean, do a sickie or something?’ she asks, her eyes widening with interest.

‘Yeah.  I can't promise any wild adventures, but I’ve got tea and biscuits?

‘Tea and biscuits!  Why the hell didn’t you say!  Let’s go!’  She breaks into her deep, husky laugh.  ‘But seriously, since when did you become so reckless?’  Her face twists into a confused smile.

‘It’s a long story.  So are you in?’

‘Yeah, why not.’

We go into the station toilets and take it in turns to call into Mandy the receptionist.  I feel my heart in my throat as the phone rings in my ear.

‘Good morning, Nits R the Pits.  How can I help you?’ Mandy drawls, sounding half asleep.

‘Hi, it's Poppy,’ I croak.  ‘I’m so sorry but I just feel really, really ill.  I don't think I can make it in today.  I need to be close to a loo....but, oh God, I’ve got so much work to do.  Maybe you could...bike my computer and desk over to me?  I don't know,’ I say, my voice fading.  ‘Ring me or text me....about anything.  I’ll keep the phone by the bed.’

‘Nah don't worry Poppy, I’ll tell Victor.  Feel better.’

I let out one more moan before hanging up.

‘We did it!’ Lilly exclaims, shocked by our own excellence. 

We skip onto the tube, giggling like school girls.  I feel so naughty, as if I’m bunking school.  I can’t help looking over my shoulder all the way home to check that I don’t see anyone from my work. 

We go back to the new house and I flick the kettle on, glad that Ryan seems to have moved from his eternal chair.  I start opening cupboards, searching for biscuits.   

‘So, what are the new housemates like?’ she asks as she perches on the kitchen table, having been filled in by me on the ride back.

‘Ugh!’ I sigh.  ‘One of the girls seems sweet, but the other ones a right bitch and there’s a guy.’

‘A guy?’ Her eyes light up with interest.

‘Yeah, a
guy,
’ I drool sarcastically.  ‘He’s a bit of an idiot though.’

‘Yeah, but is he fit?’ she asks searching around, as if I’ve hidden him under the sofa.

‘I suppose in some way.  Not my type.  All shaggy hair and attitude.’

‘Mmm, sounds yummy,’ she licks her lips.

‘He’s not a dessert,’ I laugh, putting tea bags in the mugs.  ‘And by the look of things we’re not even having biscuits.’

‘Don't they have any?’  She starts rifling through their cupboards. 

Victor suddenly flashes through my mind and an urgent flicker of panic goes through my body, starting in my stomach and ending up buzzing in my brain.  What have I done?  He’s going to find out I’m lying.  How could I be so irresponsible?  He’s got two meetings today.  Who will he ask to make drinks?  Maybe Cheryl.  But what if Cheryl’s better at my job and they decide to get rid of me completely?  Oh God, what have I done!? 

‘I’m going back,’ I declare.

‘What?’ she yells, sticking her head out of the cupboard, completely surprised.

‘I’m going back.  I’m sorry Lil, but I just can’t bear it.  We’re going to get found out.  I just know it!’ I edge towards the door as panic starts to rise in my throat.  He’s going to fire me. 

‘No!  You can’t go back.  If you go in after you called in sick they’re gonna know that you were faking.  And they’ll know we did it together!  They’ll put two and two together and we’ll both get fired!’ she screams, shaking my shoulders with desperation.

I’m getting hysterical now, imagining Victor’s face as he sacks me tomorrow.  God, I can't bear it.  My stomach weighs with worry and dread.  Why did I ever think this would be a good idea?  Victor’s going to go mad.  He might even smack me round the face.  I think I’m going to be sick.     

‘I don’t care!  I have to go!’ I shout, throwing her hands off me and running for the door.

‘No!  Please!’ she begs, pulling on my arm like a child. 

I break free again and run towards the door, struggling with the door handle, not used to its ancient lock.  She grabs my arm again, this time twisting it back in agony.  She throws me face down onto the smelly carpet and climbs on top of me, locking both hands behind my back.  I try to wriggle free but my head only gets pushed harder into the carpet.  How can she be so strong?  I knew I should have done that Body Combat class with her.  I feel her tie some sort of fabric around my hands, restraining them in place.   

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I yell, with a mouth full of carpet fluff. 

She lifts me up and drags me towards the banister.  I shake my body violently, trying to release myself as she pulls tighter on the fabric, almost cutting off circulation in my hands.  After a few seconds she stands back and blows a strand of hair off her face.  I try to move towards her but I’m attached.  There’s no getting loose.     

‘Lilly!  Please don’t tell me you just tied me to the banister!’

‘Ok I won’t,’ she smiles sweetly.

‘Lilly!  Let me go!’

‘Can you promise not to leave?’

‘No!  I’m going straight back to work.’

‘Well then I’m sorry.’  She grabs her purple tote bag and leaves.

A clicking sound pulls me out of my deep trance.  I stare at the door, never in my life being so pleased to hear a key in the lock.  Please say it's Izzy. 
Please
be Izzy.  But of course, it's Ryan. 

I tried to get loose, I really did.  I tried everything!  First I tried to undo the several knots she’d created, but that bitch must have been a girl guide or something.  There was no way I was getting through that.  Then I tried to kick the banisters apart, which you’d think from how old they look would be an easy task, but all I got from that was a throbbing leg.  My last resort was to try and chew my way out.  Suffice to say, I’m still here.

I’m actually so hungry that I almost ate a bit of fluff on the stairs, sure that it was a chocolate covered raisin.  I still have the taste of dirt in my mouth.  If I were at work I’d have had a full lunch and about ten Jaffa cakes.  Lilly and I normally celebrate Monday’s with a Cornish pasty and some chips.  But instead, I’ve been trapped here, bursting for the loo and planning how I’m going to kill Lilly once I’m free.  I’m torn between strangling her with my bare hands and battering her to death with my keyboard. 

Ryan stands still, staring at me, his mouth ajar.  I try to ignore the fact that I must look like a monster and concentrate.

‘Ryan!  Thank God.  Please un-tie me,’ I plead, feeling utterly ridiculous, but past caring.  He and I aren’t going to be friends anyway, so who cares?

His face is unreadable as he stands there, looking me up and down.  God, if he laughs I think I will punch him in the face.  Well, as soon as he unties me.  I start to clench my fists in preparation, my jaw hardening.  Who the hell does he think he is?  But then his features re-arrange themselves to a look of concern.

‘Who the hell did this to you?  Are you ok?’ He hurries over and struggles with the knots.

‘I’m fine.  It’s...a bit of a long story.  It was my friend Lilly.’

‘Your
friend
did this to you?’ he asks, puzzled.  ‘Wow, I’d hate to see what your enemies do.’

‘Ha ha bloody ha.  Just un-tie me will you,’ I snap.  I’m so sick of his wise cracks.  He’s such a smarty pants.   

He continues to struggle with the knots in silence and then looks at me, frowning thoughtfully. 

‘Quite a few knots,’ he nods.  

‘Yes.  Thank-you for the clarification,’ I bark.  He ignores me and carries on trying to un-tangle them. 

‘There you go princess.’ he snarls sarcastically as he finally releases me.

I resist the strong urge to punch him in the stomach and run to the toilet before I wet myself, already feeling it releasing from my bladder.  Thank God he didn’t actually find me having soiled myself.  That really would have been something.

I walk back down the stairs feeling about a stone lighter.  He’s still in the hallway waiting for me, a blank expression on his face.  He probably just wants to swim in my embarrassment.  I walk down the stairs, tensing my body, ready to tell him to get lost.  He smiles crookedly and catches me off guard by grabbing my hand. 

‘What are you doing?’ I shout, throwing his hand off.

He turns round in disbelief, his forehead wrinkled in anger and confusion as I glare at him.  He grabs my hand again, roughly this time and practically drags me down the hallway into the kitchen.

‘Get off me!’ I shout, wriggling to get loose.  I’ve had enough of being dragged around today.

‘Just sit down here will you,’ he says, almost throwing me on one of the kitchen chairs. 

I hold my hand protectively and look down to see that it's red. 

‘You’ve bloody bruised me, you idiot!’

‘Oh
please.’ 
He rolls his eyes.  ‘Anyway, omelette, fried or scrambled?’  He holds up two eggs from the fridge, smiling angelically.

‘What?’ 

What is with this erratic behaviour?   

‘I’m offering to cook you some food.  Do you want some or not?’ he asks slowly as if he were speaking to a toddler.

‘Oh, um...yes.’

Why the sudden kind gesture?  Maybe he’s a manic depressive who has different personalities.  Maybe I met Ryan yesterday but now I’m speaking to Freddie.

‘Which?  Omelette, fried or scrambled?’ he asks again, sighing heavily, as if to portray what a massive inconvenience I am to him.

‘Oh, um...scrambled would...be perfection,’ I blurt out, my tongue almost shaking with nerves. 

Scrambled eggs would be
perfection
?  I could have said ‘yes, I’ll have scrambled eggs please,’ or ‘whichever you prefer,’ but no-no-no-no-no.  For me, scrambled egg is
perfection
.  I loathe myself.

‘Do you want a tea?’ he asks, flicking the kettle on as he smiles to himself.  Smiling at what an idiot I am. 

‘Yes please,’ I say cautiously, watching him carefully.  I’m totally un-nerved by how nice he’s being.

‘Do you take sugar?’

‘Yeah, four please,’ I say absentmindedly as I carry on surveying my sore wrist.

‘Four sugars?  Fuck.  No wonder,’ he snorts.

‘No wonder what?’ I demand. 

Freddie has left the building.  What is his problem?  If I wasn’t so starving I’d tell him to stick his food up his arse.  He mutters something under his breath and, although I can't hear it, I’m sure it's not something complimentary.

I sit in awkward silence watching him whip up scrambled eggs on toast for both of us.  He places it in front of me and, although I’m terribly fussy, I actually approve of them.  People tend to either do them for too long, letting it go rock hard or not enough and serving yellow snot.  But his are perfect.

‘Do you...’  I stop myself, wondering if he’d take the piss out of me if I asked for ketchup.

‘Do I what?’  He gets ketchup out of the cupboard and squirts it all over his eggs. 

Oh my God.  I don't know anyone else that does that.  He looks at me confused, and I realise I must look like a social retard.

‘Oh...nothing,’ I say trying to sound in control.  I squirt the ketchup all over my eggs and then tuck in, feeling like I haven’t eaten in days. 

‘So…’ he says, suddenly serious, ‘I guess Jazz told you that I’ve had previous things with Izzy and Grace?’

Things with Izzy and Grace?  What does he mean by that?

‘But I just wanted to let you know that you’re safe,’ he winks, his mouth full of eggs. 

Oh.  Oh, I see.  Jazz never told me I was moving in with a man whore. 

‘Oh thanks,’ I say sarcastically, trying not to gag from the way he eats.  Where was he raised, the zoo? 

But wait, did he mean I was safe because he wasn’t attracted to me?  Obviously, I don't care, but am I that ugly that there would never be any attraction?  That he would laugh about how ridiculous the idea would be?  Well that's a bit mean isn’t it?  Besides, I’m shocked he’s managed to sleep with them.  He’s a total slob.  What on earth did they see in him?

‘So...do you not work?’ I enquire, breaking the awkward silence.

‘Not at the moment.  I’m looking into a few things, but nothing solid.’

‘So, how do you live here?  Are you on the dole?  Or do Mummy and Daddy pay the rent?’ I add bitchily. 

‘Neither actually,’ he replies scathingly. 

Neither?  How does he pay the rent?

‘Do you work?’ he asks.  ‘What am I
saying
!  Of course you work, that's where you stormed off to this morning,’ he says, clicking his tongue.

‘Well...I’m not very good in the mornings.’  I suddenly feel ashamed at what a bitch I must come across as.

‘Well that's clear.’  He smiles amused.  ‘But then, if you work why did I find you chained to our banister?’

‘Well...it's a bit of a long story.’ 

He smiles at me, exposing perfect white teeth and I’m suddenly aware of every muscle in my body and how close he is to me.  The atmosphere quickly turns awkward and a stupid grin takes over my face.  I bite my tongue, trying to remove it, sure he must think I’m a window licker.  It's almost like when I was at school and the popular boy talked to me.  No.  I’m wrong.  This is completely different.  It's just that he’s a weirdo.  He finds it amusing to watch people squirm. 

‘I have time.  Like you said, I’m not working or anything,’ he sneers.

I look down at my eggs, embarrassed at being such a judgemental bitch.  Maybe I am turning into my mother.

‘That was a quick job you managed to get,’ he continues.  ‘Especially when you’ve just moved from Spain’.  He raises an eyebrow, a tight smile on his lips.

I take it back.  He’s a smug bastard.

‘Ha ha, bloody ha.  You know I didn’t come from Spain.’

‘
No
!’  He puts his hand up to his mouth in mock shock.  ‘You’re not from Spain?  I feel totally cheated.’

‘Was I that much of a bad actress?’ I ask, a tiny laugh escaping despite myself.

‘That...and I know Jazz’s best friend is called Poppy.  She talks about you enough.’

‘Oh, right.’

I wonder what she says about me.

‘She...talks about me?  What does she say?’ I ask, intrigued.

‘Not much.  But she never mentioned anything about you moving to Spain to design handbags for Jessica Simpson.’

Not much?  Why does he have to be so mysterious?  I stare at my tea wondering if it's because there’s not much to tell about me.  I’m such a bore since he left. 

I glance back up to find him watching me intensely.  He looks hard at my face, starting with my mouth, slowly moving up to look into my eyes.  I feel my body freeze and shut down; my mouth suddenly dry.  He doesn’t seem embarrassed to be lingering, but the goose pimples on my arms tell me I’m not comfortable with this.  His eyes are dark brown, I notice, the colour of Bourneville chocolate.  And when he doesn’t have food in his mouth I suppose he could pass as not completely ugly.

‘Your eyes are really green,’ he says, holding my gaze.

‘Oh....thanks...I guess.’  I try to look coy and cute, but instead I snort and spill my tea.

‘It's strange against your black hair.’

Then without another word he turns and walks upstairs.  Well, that was weird.

*
                            *                            *

When I un-lock my flat door I feel a massive relief.  Finally I’m safe.  The smells of my perfume greets me instead of dry rot and damp.  An enormous urge to run to my bedroom and jump into bed takes over me.  I’d happily never resurface from the layers of warm duvet. 

‘Pops?’ Jazz’s voice bellows from the sitting room. 

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I say, suddenly excited to see her. 

I almost run into the sitting room with my arms open.  It feels like years since I’ve seen her. 

Jazz’s panicked face greets me as I turn the corner, her normally loose curls pulled up into a rough bun.  She’s wearing dungarees with a bikini underneath.  She keeps looking down at her feet and back at my face.  Why is she looking so worried?

‘I wanted to wait until it was finished before I showed you,’ she says, smiling warily. 

‘What?’  But before the word is even out of my mouth I realise. 

I look around the room, my mouth on the floor.  Dust sheets are on everything, newspaper on the carpet.  There’s a paintbrush in her hand.  The walls are red.  Red!  Post box red.  My gorgeous magnolia walls are gone.

‘Oh my God,’ I gasp, suddenly out of breath from the shock.

‘Please don’t over-react,’ she pleads.  ‘It’s not finished yet and when it is it will look fab.  I promise you.’

I sigh heavily and collapse onto the sofa, the dust sheet crumpling underneath me.  ‘Didn’t you think to ask?’ I sigh again, exhausted from her un-predictable behaviour. 

‘It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it!’ she laughs, carefree as always.

‘Oh, whatever.’ 

There’s no point in arguing with her when she’s like this.  She’ll get her own way in the end anyway, a product of parents that spoilt her rotten.  I look at the tins of paint, trying to work out if she’s planning on painting the entire room this colour.  I’m hoping it's just a feature wall.  Then it dawns on me that she must have spent a fortune on it.  She’s not supposed to be spending!

‘How did you pay for this?  And don’t tell me, you’ve been so busy doing this you haven’t had a chance to go to the agencies or ring your credit card people?  Bloody typical.’

‘Are you quite finished?’ she asks, smiling smugly.  ‘Because I have been to the agencies.  Not only have I been, but I’ve had an interview...’ her smile brightens, ‘and I’ve got a job!’

‘What?’ I shout excitedly.  ‘You’ve got a job already?’

‘I know!  It’s fab isn’t it.  I thought I’d be searching for ages, but they sent me straight to this interview and offered it to me on the spot.  They seemed a bit desperate, but who cares, right?  I got it, that's the main thing.’

‘Totally!  I just can’t believe how lucky you’ve been.’  Only Jazz could be this lucky.  ‘What’s it doing?’