Guilty Feet (5 page)

I vaguely recalled making him write it, as proof of his offer, but I shuddered now and tossed it aside. I realised that I should be grateful I’d come out of it all relatively unscathed, and that with a bit of luck I would never have to see that particular madman again.

I eventually dragged myself out of bed, and when I’d downed two glasses of water I filled the kettle and plugged it in. At least I was feeling like death warmed up in comfort, I thought, looking round my small but shiny and well-equipped kitchen. I wandered into the bijou sitting room, with its French windows that looked over the mud-coloured river. Everything else was in varying depths of gun-metal grey: the sky, the buildings on the other side of the River Aire—former warehousing, mostly, that, like the one I was looking out from now, had been converted in recent years.

I thought about opening the window, taking some fresh air into my lungs, but it all looked so bleak and the air wouldn’t be all that fresh anyway. It was a typical early November Leeds day—the sort that makes you think about crawling back into bed until April—but, vile as I felt, I knew I’d have to get on with it. I had about three hundred pounds in my current account, and the rent (a lot more than that) was due in ten days, so I needed to call in and see Marco and find out when I could start work at the café.

I heard the electric kettle switch itself off and went back into the kitchen and found a teabag. I made two mugs with the same bag, and when I’d added milk I took the mugs with me into the diminutive bathroom, putting them down on the closed toilet seat lid.

By the time I’d finished in the shower the tea was just about cool enough to knock straight back. I felt a bit better then, but the wardrobe mirror in my pygmy-sized bedroom told a very different tale. I looked exactly like someone who’d drunk far more than was good for them the night before.

I nearly gave in to the temptation of my unmade bed at that stage, but struggled against it. It took a considerable amount of make-up and some nifty work with my trusty diffuser to make me look passable—like someone who maybe just hadn’t slept very well, worried as they were about losing their job.

Since I didn’t need to put on a suit, I chose something cosy and comfortable to wear, then changed my mind about that because cosy and comfortable wasn’t the image I wanted to project—especially to Marco. So I got out my favourite dress, something I’d found in a charity shop years ago, long before lovely old clothes were called
vintage
. Beautifully hand-made from some beige silky-looking fabric back in the Forties, I think, it had intricate little pleats and cross sections that made it look incredibly expensive. It hung wonderfully, just skimming my knees, and Dan used to love it. I wore it on our very first proper date. We went to a bistro on his side of town, which was a pretty good ploy on his part. It meant we were handily placed for coffee back at his flat, and I never really left after that.

And although the dress was less suitable for a typical November day in Leeds, it made me feel good and that was what mattered.

By now it was five past twelve—which wasn’t, I realised, a good time to call at the café. They’d be up to their eyes in spaghetti lunches for people who had jobs and money to pay for them.

I wondered about calling Cass, to do my pleading over the phone, but I was afraid to use it because that was another bill that was due very soon. I decided I’d call at her office on the way to the café instead, the walk would do me good, and because I had time to kill now I might as well put on some music. I didn’t have a very big collection of CDs. I’d left all that stuff to Dan. And those that I did have were mostly purloined from his flat on that Saturday afternoon when I did my runner.

He’d gone off to interview some local band who were making waves in the business, apparently, and because I knew I wouldn’t have that long I called Cass to help me abscond. She wasn’t very happy about it. She liked Dan a lot and thought I should have told him what I was doing, that disappearing like that was mean and childish.

I had to remind her just whose friend she was supposed to be, which was mean and childish too, I suppose, but it did the trick. I stayed with her just over a week, and then, when Dan still didn’t call I moved in with my parents. Which was another reason I’d ended up taking a flat beyond the means of someone living under the threat of redundancy—because after a single day I was desperate to get away from my mother.

I didn’t take many of his CDs. Just enough to fill a small grey CD box I’d bought from Ikea. About twenty in all, and nothing he’d particularly miss.

I went through them now, wondering which album would work best on my spirits, and paused at the first compilation Dan had ever burned for me in the early days. He’d printed a proper cover for it on his PC and it looked quite professional.

It was made up of my favourite tunes of the time, tracks by the likes of Monaco, Embrace, The La’s, and I put it on straight away, on the cheap portable player I’d bought when I moved into the flat. I imagined how disapproving Dan would be if he saw it. He had this thing about ‘sound quality’, which I never quite understood, but then he could be very up his own bottom about that sort of thing.

It sounded perfectly OK to me as I listened to a snatch of ‘There she Goes’, and as I idly flipped the CD case over I noticed the dedication at the end of the track list.

For
Joanna
, it read,
to
play
‘til
her
heart’s
content
.

I searched through the remaining CDs, found the other two compilations he’d put together and went straight to the dedications.

For
Joanna
, read number two,
so
she
knows
how
I
feel
.

It had been ages since I’d looked at them, let alone played them, and when I glanced at the track list a quite distinct lump formed in the back of my throat. ‘You’re My Baby’, ‘She’s the One’ and of course, ‘Just the Two of Us’... which, despite the lump, made me smile because it was the Doctor Evil version.
Austin
Powers
—
The
Spy
Who
Shagged
Me
was the first film we ever saw together, and it was as we were leaving the cinema that Dan asked me to move in with him officially.

The last compilation he’d burned for me marked our first and only real separation during our time together. He had agreed to attend an important music writers’ convention in the States, and although he’d been quite looking forward to it the dedication said it all.

It’s
going
to
feel
like
a
year
...

I changed the CD and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. The first track was ‘Beautiful Day’ by 3 Colours Red, which always got to me at the best of times, but it was Al Green’s ‘Let’s Stay Together’ that finally had me snivelling.

So why didn’t we? Stay together, I mean?

It wasn’t as if we stopped fancying each other, I thought miserably. Then I stopped snivelling suddenly when I remembered that it was Aisling that Dan fancied now. Which quickly turned into a much darker thought. For all I knew he might have fancied her all the time. Since the moment she moved in downstairs.

And that was the real reason he hadn’t called me. The lying, cheating...

I turned the player off and sat there fuming for a few minutes. I felt so angry and frustrated, knowing what I thought I now knew but having no way of knowing for sure. And, worse, not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Unless—

I’d just remembered the e-mail he’d sent to Sarah and got up hurriedly and fetched it from my bag. I had no idea what to expect after her last message to him, but the important thing was that contact was being maintained.

And I got a very nice surprise when I read it. He wasn’t only keeping in contact, he was actually doing it pleasantly for a change.

You’d
get
on
well
with
my
mother!
it began.

Sorry
if I
wasn’t
very
helpful
at
first
.
If
you
really
want
to
upset
your
parents
I
recommend
No Direction Home
by
Robert
Shelton
,
though
I
still
think
you
should
leave
well
alone
.

Nice
of
you
to
take
the
trouble
to
write
to
me
,
by
the
way
.
If
you
read
the
musical
press
you
must
be
pretty
keen
on
music
.
I
presume
therefore
that
your
tastes
are
a
little
bit
wider
than
early
eighties
teen
pop?
And
,
yes
,
OK
,
‘Careless
Whisper’
is
a
good
song
.
I
even
remember
a
line
from
it
—
something
about
guilty
feet
having
no
rhythm!
Strange
,
but
I
quite
like
it
.

Dan

My hangover disappeared in an instant.

‘I love you Sarah Daly!’ I trilled aloud as I did a little jig of delight. The darling angel had come up trumps. He wanted to know what music she liked. She’d provided the opening I’d been angling for and I wasn’t going to let her down.

Then I realised something and stopped jigging about delightedly.

It had occurred to me that I no longer had daily access to a computer.

Chapter Four

But, Cass, I’m desperate: I said in the same wheedling manner that used to work on Dan. It still did on my father, but never had on my mother or Cass, so why was I bothering?

The firm of accountants she worked for occupied a floor of one of the ugliest buildings in Leeds. A concrete and glass Sixties sore thumb amidst otherwise reasonably attractive buildings. The interior had hardly fared any better. Thin partitions divided what had once been a huge open-plan affair, and what Cass described as her ‘office’ was in fact an eight-foot-square area of space that didn’t even benefit from natural light. The furniture and equipment was generally of the same period as the building, making Cass’s stylish iMac computer look as ill at ease as Doric columns on the Pompidou Centre.

I was doing most of the talking while Cass continued to work with her back to me. I had no idea what she was up to, but from what I could see on the screen it looked so deadly boring that I was almost relieved when she confirmed that there weren’t any jobs going at Fowler and Fowler’s.

I’d been telling her how badly I needed to have access to the Internet—ten minutes would do—but she wasn’t having any of it.

‘Find an Internet café,’ she said. ‘There’s bound to be one close by. You can use the phone book to look for one if you like.’ She jerked her head in the direction of a battered metal filing cabinet that was stacked with directories.

‘I can’t afford Internet cafés.’

She shrugged and continued tapping away.

‘Book yourself into the library, then. You can have Internet access there for an hour for free.’

I’d already thought of that, as a matter of fact, but since the library was quite a long walk across the city I’d been trying to persuade Cass to let me use her computer. I knew when I was beaten, though.

‘Can I call from here?’

‘If you must.’

I made a face behind her back and then moved round to the phone on her desk and dialled the number for directory enquiries because I couldn’t be bothered to look up the number. When they gave me the information I wanted, I parked my bottom on the edge of her desk and called the library. I was told that they didn’t have free space until five o’clock, which wasn’t for hours, but since it was a take-it-or-leave-it situation I reluctantly took it.

Cass stopped what she was doing and looked up at me when I’d finished my call.

‘God, you look rough,’ she said, not pulling her punches. ‘Cheers,’ I said with a disconsolate shrug.

‘Look Jo—’ she sighed ‘—I’m sorry about the job, but it isn’t as if you really are desperate, is it?’ (I’d told her I needed to get online to look for work.) ‘The job at the Italian will make a perfect filler till something more permanent comes along.’

‘I know.’ I sighed back, glad now that she was at least showing a little concern. The trouble with Cass Foster is that she is so No-Nonsense, which I put down to the fact that she is one of a very rare breed these days—the eldest of
six
siblings. She just gets on with things herself and expects everyone else to do the same. She was exactly the same at school—one of the sensible ones, not much given to the usual teenage angst and suffering. As I looked at her now, in her M&S baby pink twin-set, with her brown, neatly bobbed hair that made her look as if she was off to a talk on making jam at the WI, I remembered the day that we first got to know one another. We were both in the upper sixth form by then, with our own common room, where we hung out between lessons or sometimes, in my case, when lessons were going on. I was avoiding Geography that day, I think, and ever-diligent Cass was busy revising for our upcoming A level exams.

We’d been in the same class since we were eleven but I’d never really bothered much with her before. We belonged to entirely different groups—hers swotty, mine work-shy—and never the Shania (Shania
Twain
—
one
of Dan’s so-called music-biz jokes) had met. But since none of my lot was around that day when I needed them I decided that Cass would have to do.

I’d just had that bit of trouble with Nicola Dick and her boyfriend. She belonged to yet another group, the ‘Glamorous Set’—all five of them blonde, though not one to my knowledge natural.
Appearance
was everything to that particular group, and it didn’t begin and end with just looks. Having it known that someone like me had got off with her boyfriend must have been a very bitter pill for Nic to swallow, but I didn’t think about it like that at the time, of course.

Cass had listened to my complaints of unfairness with her eyes fastened firmly on her textbook. I hadn’t minded that much because I didn’t expect her to understand. I just needed to get it all off my chest. How it had been all Jon Braithwaite’s fault, how I didn’t even fancy him, and how nasty that cow Nic Dick was being to me, especially about my hair.

But she’d clearly been listening because eventually Cass had turned her full, big blue-eyed attention on me and told me not to be such a whinger. More or less, anyway. Her exact words were, ‘At least your hair is entirely your own, but if you really believe you’re being unfairly treated in this matter tell Nicola so. However, before you do that you might also consider the possibility that if you’d stayed sober none of it might ever have happened. In other words you should accept some of the responsibility and simply put the whole business down to experience.’

No one of my own age had ever spoken to me like that before, and when I got over my shock I actually laughed. It didn’t change anything between me and Nicola—we continued to hate each other until we left school—but for some reason Cass and I did engage in a sort of friendship after that. We stayed loyal to our own separate groups, but now and again we would meet up in our respective homes and make sarcastic comments about one another’s clothes and widely differing tastes in music.

I think we actually preferred each other’s homes. Cass loved the uncluttered peace she said she found in mine and I loved the chaos of hers. We lost touch for a bit when we left school, but one day I bumped into her again in Leeds, discovered she was living there too, and we just sort of picked up where we’d left off.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange how Nicola Dick ended up doing so well for herself?’ I said suddenly now. ‘I thought she’d get married before she was twenty to some rich middle-aged bloke who’d keep her in hair dye for the rest of her life.’

Cass was used to my sudden changes of subject and merely shrugged.

‘Must be more to her than meets the eye.’

I told her about Nic getting engaged and the Born Again bit.

‘I’ve got to admit that doesn’t sound much like the Nic Dick we used to know,’ Cass said with a frown. ‘He’s not a plastic surgeon, is he?’ she added, completely serious. ‘Maybe it’s all about breast augmentation.’

‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ I said, thinking of Nicola’s boyish figure. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why she’s gone all religious.’

‘Ah, well,’ said Cass, turning back to her screen, ‘people can change, I suppose.’

Cass plainly had a kinder view of human nature than I did.

‘Better go, then,’ I said, buttoning up my coat against the bleak November weather. ‘Do you fancy getting together over the weekend?’ I added as I picked up my bag.

‘Can’t,’ she said, tapping away again now. ‘I’m going home. Mum’s organised a family gathering for Saturday night. It’s my grandmother’s eightieth.’

‘Wish her happy birthday from me,’ I said, feeling a teeny bit peeved about not being invited. And try not to worry about me while you’re tucking into the sherry trifle.’ (Her mother did the best sherry trifle this side of the Pennines.)

‘You can come if you want,’ she said, picking up the vibes even though she was working away.

But I had my pride and I refused to be an afterthought. ‘Cheers,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Suit yourself,’ I heard her say as I turned to leave, and I pulled another face at her back before I left.

***

Marco was on his own when I went into the café. There was no ‘Bella Joanna’ today, I noticed. Just an anxious look over his shoulder towards the back kitchen.

It was one of their quiet times when I got there, and Marco came round from behind the counter and directed me to the door again.

‘I heard about Pisus,’ he whispered urgently. ‘So when can you start?’

‘I’m overwhelmed by your sympathy for the loss of my job,’ I said, automatically lowering my voice to match his.

‘Sorry.’ He managed a grin. ‘But it didn’t exactly come out of the blue, now, did it?’

I shrugged. ‘Fair enough, I suppose. Would Monday be OK?’ It was Thursday now, and I wouldn’t mind a couple of days to get my head round this career move of mine.

‘Monday’s great.’ He seemed unusually excited about something and I wondered again what he was up to.

‘I take it by all this secrecy that you still haven’t told Giovanna about me working here yet?’

He glanced round quickly towards the counter and seemed relieved that his mother hadn’t reappeared.

‘I didn’t want to say anything till you confirmed you could start. I’ll tell her later.’

One of his hands was resting on my shoulder, and with the other he opened the door.

Charming, I thought. And I don’t even get a chance to show my lovely vintage dress off.

‘I’m really sorry, Marco,’ I said, ‘but much as I’d love to stay and have a cup of your wonderful cappuccino, I’ve got a date with a PC.’

‘That’s a shame, Joanna,’ he said, clearly missing the sarcasm in his haste to get rid of me. He nudged me out of the open door and then frowned. ‘You’re seeing a policeman now?’

I grinned at him and shook my head. ‘Wrong kind of PC.’

‘Good,’ he said, ‘because when I get back I want to take you out.’ The old flirty charm was suddenly back and I felt my flagging spirits lift. In fact they lifted so much that I didn’t even make my usual excuses.

‘We’ll have to see about that,’ were my actual words.

He was so surprised by this change of tack that he seemed to forget all about his mother and followed me outside.

‘Then how about a trial kiss?’ he said. ‘To help you make up your mind.’

It was the middle of the afternoon in the centre of Leeds, and it wasn’t the place for kissing, trial or otherwise. But I had to admit I was tempted. It had been ages since I’d had anyone’s arms around me, and for some reason I was feeling vaguely reckless.

I think he expected me to laugh at such a suggestion, but he took advantage of my slight hesitation and grabbed me around the waist. And there, in that busy Leeds precinct, he planted his lips firmly on mine. He didn’t go as far as tongues, I am happy to say, but it did kind of shake me up. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was so unexpected or whether it was the actual kiss that did it, but when he pulled away, grinning at me, I found myself melting a bit.

‘I’ll call you,’ he said with a wink.

And me—well, I didn’t say anything at all.

***

I had to show some identification before I was allowed on the computer, but it seemed a small inconvenience for a free hour’s access to the Internet. It had rained lightly on my way to the library and my hair was a ball of frizz by now. I was just glad I was unlikely to see anyone I knew. I was still confused about that kiss, but having talked it over with myself I’d come to the conclusion that nothing had really changed with Marco. He might be a good kisser, but there’s more to fancying someone than that—isn’t there? And, yes, I was flattered by his attention, because he was very good-looking and he had a fabulous body, but just how shallow is that?

Besides, one thing at a time, I told myself, and it was Dan I was interested in just at the moment.

There were four computers available to the public. Two were currently occupied by a couple of kids dressed in school uniform and one by an elderly woman who was carefully copying something down from the screen by hand. It occurred to me that she would be better printing the information off, but I was the new girl on the block, and certainly didn’t want to gain the reputation of a know-all busybody, so I left her well alone.

I’d already worked out what Sarah was going to say to Dan in her latest message, so it didn’t take long.

Thanks
for
the
recommendation
but
I’ve
decided
to
take
your
original
advice
.
You’re
right
,
why
would
I
want
to
spoil
things
for
them?
(My
parents
,
that
is
.
)

I
have
to
admit
I
don’t
know
all
that
much
about
music
.

I had to make that clear from the start. I’d decided by now that my idea of turning myself into a knowledgeable music fan overnight was just too unrealistic. Besides which, I was afraid of being sussed as a phoney.