Hooked By Love (5 page)

Amber

I couldn’t believe how the night and morning flew by when there was so much to do. Many times, I’d mused over the oddities of time, how a minute in the gym could feel like two hours when I had six push-ups to go, yet when I was drowning in work and people were counting on me, there weren’t enough hours in the day to use the loo or have a cuppa.

Wednesday was one of those days. Laying down the gauntlet in the public arena had worked. After a few rescheduled clashes and several phone calls between Jen and the secretary of Berkley-O’Neil to arrange the impending meeting, we finally set a day that suited both parties. Not only was I mentally ready to answer any questions the new landlords would pose, but I also felt good physically. I’d been too nervous to have dinner the night before, but now I was elated that I’d fasted. My senses felt sharp and my mind even sharper.

Just after 9:00 a.m., I rushed in with the new curtains I’d borrowed from Mrs. Marsden, who lived two doors down from me, just because I’d got her husband a delivery job through my uncle. Delivering parcels sent him off for hours at a time, and Mrs. Marsden was ever grateful, because she needed the extra time away from his annoying pursuit of his cello prowess since retiring. She told me that if I ever needed anything she could help with, to just give her a shout, and I did.

It was imperative that we spruce up the centre to impress our visitor, not for his approval, but to give the sanctuary of so many lost and despondent people a fresh and hopeful look. We often got so caught up in our work that the place took on a transient feel, when it needed to look like the warm and welcoming haven it was.

My colleagues and volunteers cheered up when they heard we were changing the place around a bit. Working together on a project always reminded us that we were a team, aiming for one goal.

I planned to look exceptionally good and professional for Mr. O’Neil, so I’d packed extra make-up, courtesy of my neighbour, Mandy. Never mind what she owed me for. Let’s just say that doing good things for people usually paid off in the end when I needed it most. I also folded my suit neatly under my freshly ironed white-tapered blouse, which was a tad revealing in the
thin fabric
department, but I was pulling out all the stops to save the centre. Besides, it wasn’t too obvious that the top button had been skilfully removed to make the shirt look more feminine.

Mr. O’Neil would be here by 11:00 a.m. to learn about how we operated, so I rounded up everyone and delegated like never before.

‘We’ve been here since seven, Amber,’ Harry said casually. His pressured voice was ineffective and he knew it, but he had to say his piece—adorable.

‘That is so responsible of you, Harry. Well done, laddie.’ I tapped him on the arm with a wink of endearing patronisation that watered him down into a scoff and a shrug.

‘We really have been here since early this morning, but if you need more people to help, a few of our clients offered to clean up in the corridor and hoover the offices, if you’d believe it,’ Christine informed me.

I gawked in genuine surprise. ‘Blimey, I guess miracles do come with a little nudge over the deep-end edge, don’t they?’

The young people we catered to were good kids, but they were hardly the chore and responsibility types.

‘Who, exactly, volunteered? Probably Arnold and Barbara.’

‘Them too, yes. But you won’t believe this,’ she rambled, skipping sideways next to me up the stairs to see my face. ‘Kat said she would hang the new curtains with me.’

I gasped. ‘No. You lie.’

Imagining the super-intelligent Goth-cutter doing chores to help a cause made the corners of my mouth twitch.

‘I shit you not, Amber,’ Christina said. ‘She slouched up to my desk just before admin closing yesterday afternoon and mumbled that she would “hang the curtains” if we needed her. There is a God.’

Kat, or Katherine Hester Crompton, was a seventeen-year-old, anti-social, closeted lesbian, who was in counselling because her sixteen-year-old girlfriend had threatened to break off the relationship unless Kat ‘came out’. After a year of counselling, Kat still wouldn’t budge an inch and her girlfriend had finally tired of waiting and dumped her. Kat’s counselling sessions had gone from once a week to three times a week now that she was suffering from a broken heart on top of everything else.

We laughed heartily about the unlikely development as we entered my cramped cubicle of hell and folders. The morning sun was pale but lit up the offices and hallways enough so we could work with ease.

‘I brought some Bruno Mars to work,’ Paul said proudly as he brought in some tea on a tray.

‘Jesus, I’d rather do with some speed metal to shift me into gear today,’ Jennifer whined, leaning heavily against the doorway. She looked beyond fatigued and her normally perfect nail varnish ran just a little too far over her cuticles—a true sign that her game was off; Jen was pedantic about her nail varnish.

‘Megadeth might just kill us, Jen.’ I laughed. ‘Can you imagine what this place would look like if everyone here were charged with some good old-fashioned Speed Metal?’

‘Ouch,’ Christina said.

‘Precisely,’ I said. ‘Let’s not excite our …
workforce
today. Not until they’ve changed this hole into Buckingham Palace, anyway.’

‘What happened to you, Jennifer?’ Paul asked as he sipped his tea.

‘Long night. Lots of … Judas Priest.’ She winked.

‘So you had a shag,’ a low scratchy voice, brimming with nuances of seething indifference, said from behind her. ‘Whoop-de-fucking-doo.’

Without turning, Jen said ‘Good morning, Kat. Lovely to hear your voice so early in the morning.’

‘Hi, Kat,’ I said with perhaps too much joviality, but I had to stop whatever war of words was about to ensue between those two.

‘Good morning, Amber,’ Kat said listlessly. ‘What do you want me to do?’

I wasn’t about to let the chance slip away to see Katherine jump into something proactive for once in her life, so I responded instantly. I gave her the newly sewn patterned curtains to start on and asked if she knew how to hang them. After earning a look that could kill, I assumed Kat knew how to hang the curtains and sent her off to get started.

I rushed through my notes and lined up all the pertinent financial and social files, sweat trickling down my back and my heart pumping more rapidly with every shift of the seconds’ arm of the wall clock.

‘If this doesn’t change his mind, then he’s either a dim-witted prick … or plain evil,’ I told Jen as she forced the mountain of archived folders into the dusty cabinet by my door.

‘I vote for the latter, or a combination, like a dim-witted evil prick.’

Jen groaned as she shoved the doors of the cupboard hard and slapped the padlock through the bolt before the folders could counterattack and tumble to the ground. Victorious, she clicked in the lock and grinned at her feat like a champion.

How could I not reward her? I stood up and applauded her and she gave a terribly clumsy curtsy in return. Times like these made my struggle in this place worth it. I mean, watching Jen give a bow and witnessing a reclusive seventeen-year-old hanging curtains alongside a super brash nineteen-year-old was sweetly absurd. And yet such things would have never happened when I first came here.

In the last five years, I’d busted my balls with next to no money to build this charity’s reputation, offering help to our benefactors in return for their kindness, making sure we offered extramural social courses to garner more public interest and showing the people of London that all was not lost in the line of one tragedy. Carefully and tactfully, I’d built up the centre’s status to where anything was fixable, where nobody was beyond salvation or assistance, and foremost, where love and patience meant more than funding.

We operated on a staff of only five councillors who shared the administrative and cleaning duties. Only when our successes became public did people start sending in money, running fundraisers or introducing our little sanctuary to newspapers and schools. Yes, we had many setbacks, some fatal, others legal and financial, but we always carried our name on the premise that nothing was ever completely lost. Nothing was irreparable and no one was turned away or rebuked.

And with that at heart, I was desperate to change Josh O’Neil’s mind about demolishing the building for financial gain. I couldn’t bear the guilt or sorrow if he went ahead with their plan to gut this place. Regardless of whether I was offered any of the positions I’d applied for, I would do anything in my power to salvage what little hope these teenagers had in us.

‘He’ll be here in T minus thirty minutes, Cinderella,’ Jennifer gushed dramatically. She held one of my high-heeled shoes that she’d taken from the sports bag I’d brought with my
professional
clothing in.

‘Jen, stop playing with my only good pair,’ I reprimanded with a roll of my eyes. She gave me a look somewhere between horny and amused.

‘I heard that just last night, you know,’ she said, giggling.

Her naughty puns overshadowed my apprehension about the one chance I had at impressing Josh O’Neil, which was a welcome relief, but soon I’d have to say just the right things at just the right times to ensure we didn’t lose this precious London commodity to the sharks. Had I not popped a little medicinal helper to calm my nerves, I probably would have spun out of orbit. Never before had I ever been this nervous. Never before had I so wished that I weren’t the manager, but just a volunteer.

‘Give me my stuff and make yourself scarce, madam,’ I told Jen and pointed her out of my office. ‘I have a wardrobe change to perform.’

‘Pop on down to Kings Cross. They have a phone box there especially for heroes like you,’ she teased as she closed my door behind her so I could lock it and get dressed for Josh’s long-anticipated visit.

Josh

Sunshine eluded Chelsea, even though the forecast didn’t predict rain. From my bedroom window on the second story, I watched the shadows the clouds cast ebb and flow over the bushes in my garden. I was excited beyond measure for my meeting with that feisty beauty from the youth centre and my favourite marmalade on toasted Italian bread only made my morning better. I stripped naked and made my way to my en-suite bathroom.

Minutes later I enjoyed the tranquil atmosphere that crept over me like a soothing cool stream as I emerged from the shower feeling like Valentino.

After I shaved, I checked for any ingrown hairs, just to make sure nothing needed patching up. My eyebrows looked unusually heavy and I found myself spending too much time scrutinizing them while quietly talking to myself.

‘You look like an owl, pal,’ I noted, looking at the pronounced natural frown between my eyes and the way my dark eyebrows ran upward toward my temples. It only accentuated my big grey-blue eyes, giving them an unsettling, staring quality. No wonder my lovers always told me my eyes pierced their souls. ‘No, you look like Spock … without the fine tweezer work.’

‘You’re going to be late, Josh. Talk to yourself in the car, dear,’ Agatha called out. No doubt she’d exclaimed her words with a grin or a shake of her head.

Feeling especially stupid, I shoved aside my beauty reviews and decided to act like a man and toss all care out the window. But then Amber’s face came to mind once more and I knew I had to care what I looked like.

I opted for jeans, Italian leather shoes and a loose button-down shirt, paired with my leather jacket. Finally I could wear my hair in the scruffy way God had intended. I pulled the strands out from their customary ear-tuck position and fluffed it to frame my face. A raised eyebrow in the mirror sealed the deal.

‘You might just be the most fetching owl-man in the world,’ I flirted with my reflection. Then reality hit me. ‘Oh my God, you have such an imagination. Grow up. You can’t behave like a bloody high school boy at your age.’

I grabbed my car keys and took the plate of toast crumbs down to the kitchen.

‘Okay, Aggie, I’m off,’ I told her. ‘Remember to tell Gareth to pick up the garden refuse, please.’

‘Already done, good sir.’ She took my plate. ‘Good luck with that fetching lass.’

My heart jumped at Agatha’s words. Had I really forgotten about Amber for a few minutes? That was unusual, because she hadn’t stopped haunting my thoughts and daydreams since I got the confirmation we were to meet in person.

My mobile phone rang.

‘Probably my secretary,’ I told Agatha and answered the anonymous call. ‘Josh O’Neil.’

I didn’t catch the first part of the conversation, just the end: ‘We have your nephew in custody for being drunk and disorderly.’

My stomach cringed. With no less than two sentences, my day had fallen to pieces.

‘Jesus,’ I uttered, at my wits’ end.

Agatha frowned as if to ask what was wrong, but soon after her expression changed and I knew she’d guessed it.

‘I’ll be there straight away,’ I told the police officer, my core temperature shooting up to a near fever. ‘The little shit. He just had to mess up this important day, didn’t he?’

I punched in another number on my phone. Agatha kept quiet and dried the dish she’d washed.

‘Craig,’ I said when my brother answered.

‘What is it?’ he asked, annoyed. ‘I’m right in the middle of a meeting.’

‘Of course you are. Just tell her to powder her nose for a minute while I talk to you,’ I retorted. I usually never took that tone with his temper at stake, but I was quite livid myself. Being pissed off was strangely liberating.

‘What is it?’

‘Listen, the coppers have Zack. I have to go and sort this shit out.’

After a considerable silence with no insults or condescension, for a change, Craig said, ‘Where exactly are you when he gets into trouble? He lives with you, after all.’

‘I don’t have time for this. Just go to the centre and show your face so our company’s already putrid reputation doesn’t earn the labels of unreliable and cowardly as well, okay?’ I ranted. ‘And for Christ’s sake, look interested.’

I hung up before he could reply, knowing he wouldn’t have anything constructive to say, plus I was in a hurry. Agatha nodded as I flew out the back door to the garage to go perform my duties as guardian for the boy I couldn’t get through to.

Traffic was horrendous, as it always was when I had to get somewhere in a hurry. I weaved through the lanes on my way to the police station, feeling defeated. Perhaps Craig was right. I had a problem with keeping the boy on a straight path, but I’d tried everything. What was I missing?

‘Sorry, Amber,’ I said out loud. ‘Looks like we’ll have to postpone destiny.’

When I arrived at the station, a tired-looking desk officer met me. She was busy talking to someone on the phone and when she finished, she looked at me with a friendly expression.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, adjusting her clothing and her hair.

‘I’m here to pick up my nephew, Zack O’Neil,’ I said politely.

I made a point of not exploding in a torrent of words when Zack strolled into the waiting area, guided by a tall, bald police officer with huge light blue eyes and reddish skin. He reminded me of an army sergeant, a man who took no shit from teenagers for sure. His nametag read, ‘Cartwright.’

‘Mr. O’Neil, I believe you’re Zack’s guardian?’ he said in a robust voice that sounded coarse and sore.

‘Yes, I am, officer,’ I replied, slightly intimidated by the man.

‘We picked him up at Highbury Station, drunk and causing all manner of bother.’ He sneered, glancing at my nephew.

Zack was dead quiet. Judging by his pallor, it wasn’t so much the inebriation as the intimidation that kept him silent. He was rightfully wary of Cartwright, which was good; he needed a man who made him think twice.

‘I’ve told young Zack here that he should be kept in overnight to teach him a lesson. I don’t believe in rapping on the knuckles, Mr. O’Neil. I believe in stern reprimand and a bit of discipline the first time round. You would be amazed how few second-time perpetrators we get if we teach them the ugly side of life on the first turn.’

‘I agree. I’ll make sure that he’s punished accordingly,’ I threatened.

Zack didn’t look at me. He hung his head, his wild hair unkempt and wet from the beer that seemed to have made its way onto his head. I refused to enable him by asking what had happened, knowing interest in delinquent conduct could be misconstrued as attention. He wouldn’t get that from me at the risk of provoking similar outbursts.

‘Good,’ Cartwright almost shouted in his stout way. ‘Good show. If I see him here again, there will be a more severe penalty.’

Zack looked up at Cartwright as if to challenge his statement. The officer read Zack’s body language like the Bible and pushed his chest out.

‘Yes, boy, the next time I will misplace your uncle’s number for a few hours while you are in holding over there,’ he bellowed aggressively, pointing toward the holding cells down the hallway. ‘In there you will learn the true meaning of attention, my son. We’ll see how quickly you want to come back after a bit of a dance with our other guests. They don’t have uncles who have their backs, you see? They don’t have anyone to come and pick them up when they misbehave.’

The officer obviously didn’t know Zack’s background, including his current emotional turmoil, but he was beginning to badger my nephew and I felt he’d had enough.

‘There you go,’ I said in a lighter tone. ‘We should get going, hey Zack?’

I took hold of Zack’s arm with one hand and shook the officer’s hand gratefully with the other before we marched out of the building to avoid any more of the officer’s unforgiving lectures.

Inside the car was another matter. Here, I was the warden. At least in part, Officer Cartwright was right about scaring boys enough the first time round.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ I asked as we travelled home.

‘Just leave me alone. You don’t give a shit anyway,’ he mumbled. The fumes of stale beer wafted off him.

‘Leave you alone? Really? Would you really want that? Because if I leave you alone, pal, you are messed up for life,’ I snapped at him.

‘Like you would know. You grew up with everything, right? Your life is perfect with Mummy and Daddy’s money.’

‘You listen to me,’ I retorted loudly, trying not to shout—yet. ‘Had it not been for my Daddy’s money, you’d be way worse off than you are. And I’ll tell you, kiddo, there’s not much farther you can sink before you’re buried.’

He looked out the window as we drove up the lane that came into our street.

‘Oh, and we haven’t talked about your suspension. Don’t think I didn’t know,’ I told him, but he simply ignored me.

Before I even parked the car, Zack opened the door and tumbled out.

‘I’m talking to you,’ I said from my car door as I locked it.

‘Listen, you’re never home anyway,
Uncle
. What do you care?’ he shouted at me. ‘I wish you were dead instead of my mother. At least she was there when I needed her.’

He ran into the house.

His words had sliced through me like a cleaver. I couldn’t say much to that. Maybe Zack was right. Maybe it should have been me, and I swear, if I’d had a choice, I’d switch places with Claire any day.

Unfortunately, Zack was stuck with me, the arsehole who had just as much trouble getting over Claire’s suicide. I hadn’t been there when she’d needed someone.

The least I could do was to save her son from the same fate.