Naked in Knightsbridge (12 page)

So this is how people fail, she thought as she listened to Skuttle leave the squat and silence descended. They lose their jobs, lose their homes, lose their friends – then lose their minds from the stress of it all. She was either about to go insane, or she already had. If trying to sell yourself on miSell and thinking it would all be fine wasn’t insanity, it must be the closest thing to it.

Maybe she could contact Brad and work something out with him. It would seem strange, though, now that the formal aspect of miSell was gone, to actually have him hand her money and then go home with him.

The whole thing was starting to make her nauseous. But she needed to face the facts: the only way out of this mess was to put herself at the mercy of a stranger and become a kept woman.

There was nowhere else to turn.

Chapter 9

Dear Miss Julia M. Grand,

It is Royal Mail’s job to deliver the post; if we have knowledge of a correct address, we cannot simply overlook it because the recipient asks us to. May I suggest that if you no longer wish to receive post, you contact those trying to send it to you and ask them to cease. In the meantime, we will continue to deliver to the chute at the back of the bus garage.

Yours sincerely,

Edward Blatherwith

Director, Customer Services

‘
JOOLS, HAVE YOU completely forgotten that just a few months ago you had a job, a home and a firm grip on reality? What the hell has happened to you?’ The pixie-face was set in a deep grimace.

‘
I thought you’d be happy that my miSell days are over, Mel. I thought you might respect me again.’

‘
I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re no longer indulging your miSell fantasy. But even that wasn’t by choice! If they hadn’t booted you off you’d still be doing it. No, the real problem is this homelessness thing you’re doing now. It’s not funny anymore. Hell, it never was funny, for that matter.’

‘
It’s not a joke, Mel! I really
am
homeless!’

Mel called over the bitchy guy behind the counter at Mama Blue‘s and asked for two more takeaway coffees. ‘I’ve told you a thousand times to come live with me and Michel. How on earth could Michel possibly be worse company than that wino you’re living with? God, next thing you know, you’re going to be sleeping with him.’ Mel paused and squinted. ‘You aren’t sleeping with him, are you?’

Jools certainly wasn’t going to tell Mel that Skuttle had rejected her. The bitchy guy returned with the coffees, and they walked outside and started towards the bus garage. ‘You know, Mel, you don’t have to be such a snob. Skuttle is a good man and I’m sure there’s far more to him than we know.’

‘
Obviously. Broken home, mental institution, stint in prison. Take your pick. And what’s with that name – Skuttle?’ Mel made a face.

‘
He might look like a hobo, but he knows what he’s doing and he’s been nicer to me than anyone. He brings me food, he warns me about the really dodgy street people, he’s emotionally supportive. And he’s funny! When was the last time Michel did anything nice for you? Skuttle is a better candidate for marriage than anyone on miSell – including your own live-in
boyfiend
.’

They had made it to the chute and were standing in Jools’ living room.

‘
Yeah, Skuttle the alco sounds like a great catch.’

‘
What are you talking about? He never drinks!’

Mel pointed to the corner, where a large mound of crushed beer cans leaned against the wall. ‘Then what are those? Your bedding? An art project?’

‘
Oh. That. Well, you know I have so much time on my hands, and, well, it can be a little cold at night down here and beer is warming. And filling.’

‘
So you’re the alco? Jesus, Jools, this isn’t good. Come on, why won’t you live with me? It would be fun. We can stay up late drinking, but because we’re having a good time, not because we’re miserable and homeless.’

‘
I will move in with you.’

Mel‘s face lit up. ‘You will? Great!’

‘
But not until Michel is gone.’

The smile disappeared. Mel plonked herself down on Jools’ sofa. Thankfully, it had finally dried out and no longer made the strange squishing noise.

‘
Will you just tell me what you’ve got against him? I know about the other woman, remember? That’s why I left him in the first place.’

Jools was tired of trying to hold it all together. ‘Fine, I’ll tell you.’

Mel rolled her eyes. ‘Let me guess, you saw him bonking a coat-check girl.’

‘
No, not that.’

‘
Who then? A waitress? A shop assistant? His dentist?’

The voice inside her head screamed for Jools to stop while she still could. But somehow her mouth and the words flew out.

‘
Your mother.’

Mel’s own mouth dropped open. Then she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the putrid image. ‘You’re making that up. Just because he made fun of your jiggly arse you’ve decided to break us up. Using my mother is stooping to a new low, even for you.’

‘
It’s true,’ Jools said, already wishing she hadn’t said anything.

‘
Really, and you know this how?’

‘
Because, well . . . I saw them.’

Even though she’d tried to block the memory many times, her mind flashed back to the vision of Michel with Mel’s mum.

Jools had Mel’s keys for emergencies, and one day she’d run out of bleach while working at a nearby flat. She decided to run across to Mel’s to grab some. Mel wasn’t home so she’d let herself in.

And there, on the kitchen table of all places, was pinhead Michel. And underneath him – Jools had to bite back a yelp – was Harriet Smythe-Brooks. Ergh. She was old enough to feature in the Old Testament. Her legs in the air, his pimply naked body on top of hers, grinding away. If there was ever something to propel a person straight into therapy, that was it. Jools had crept out unseen,
sans
bleach.

And until today, she’d told no one.

But Mel was having none of it. ‘You’re delusional, you know. Really, Jools.’

‘
Me? Well, you’re delusional for not believing me, your best friend. I’ve never lied to you, Mel.’

They stared at each other. A whole minute passed. Then Mel gathered her things and headed for the chute. ‘All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and this is the thanks I get.’

‘
Mel, I promise you, I’m telling the truth.’ It was going to be tough to get anyone to verify her story, given that Harriet Smythe-Brooks and Michel were hardly going to offer themselves up.

She never should have told Mel. She was an idiot. A stupid, homeless idiot.

‘
Bye, Jools. I do hope your life gets better, even if you don’t deserve it.’

Jools felt so bad after Mel left that she needed to talk to someone. But who?

Although it was unthinkable just a short while ago, she rang her father from the phone Skuttle had hooked up – line and call costs courtesy of the bus garage. Maybe she could go to Ibiza for a while? If she could raise enough for the airfare, a nice spell in the sun might be just what she needed.

The phone rang ten times and just as Jools was about to hang up, he answered.

‘
Who the hell is this? I told you lot to leave me alone.’ A tad aggressive, but maybe that was the way Spaniards answered the phone.

‘
Hi, Dad. How’s Spain?’

‘
Joolsy! You’re a voice for sore ears! Listen, I need your help, alright sweetheart? I need you to testify for me. I’m being charged with trying to get it on with a thirteen-year-old. Well Christ, I thought she was nineteen! Now I want to come back home to avoid jail, but the Old Bill over ‘ere says I ain’t going nowhere. To be honest, I don’t really want to leave – the women here are amazing. Thought maybe you should get on a train or a plane and get down here and help me out of this mess. I can’t leave my pretty little Suze here alone! She’s a little angry about the, you know, the teenager. I told her, I said . . . ’

So much for relying on support from dear old Dad. She should have known better. Jools put down the phone, grabbed a bottle of cider that Skuttle had appropriated from the bins outside a house party around the corner, and prayed that if she actually fell asleep that night, she wouldn’t wake up.

Or worse, that if she did, she wouldn’t dream of her father molesting girls young enough to be
her
daughter at nightclubs.

*

Rodney was optimistic as he sat down at the computer to check the state of the auction.

The Party insisted he was a shoe in for the preselection and given he was in a safe Tory seat, in less than a month Rodney Wetherspone would become odds on for the role of MP for Kensington and Chelsea. His chest puffed up with pride as he imagined his parents’ faces.

Luckily, there was plenty of cash sloshing around his bank account, and no other reason why this wouldn’t work out. Even if that other bidder raised him to £100,000, he was liquid enough to handle it. Rodney took a deep breath, typed in his username and password, and logged onto miSell.

He had one message in his inbox.

A MESSAGE FROM MiSELL

Dear HotRod38,

The Auction ‘Girl for Marriage’ has been cancelled owing to a miSell policy violation. We apologise for any inconvenience, and advise that all bids have been retracted and are no longer legally binding.

Rodney read the words over and over again until his vision blurred. Cancelled? Against policy? He stood and paced the room angrily. All this time and effort invested into preparing for his marriage, his career as an MP, and now some idiotic policy was going to ruin it.

He tried to stay calm. Jools must be in the same position as him. This wasn’t over yet. They could do the deal face-to-face – all he had to do was track her down in person and make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Rodney didn’t know much about women, but he was fairly certain they liked money, they liked to feel pretty, and they liked security. He would come up with a package that was irresistible.

He gathered his coat and car keys and departed on a city-wide search for Jools. He would start in the neighbourhood of that nasty little caf and radiate outwards in concentric circles until he found her.

Thus keeping his MP dream alive.

*

After his initial shock, Niles decided the auction’s termination was not, in fact, a bad thing. It actually put him at an advantage because Jools and Brad had a personal relationship – maybe he could get her to agree on an outside arrangement?

Better still, his competition had been helpfully scuppered by miSell, giving him plenty of time to get his basement ready and to woo his future bride further. Even better yet, there was no doubt he could get her for less cash now. Maybe Jools wouldn’t even ask for money. He might be able to seduce her with the prospect of a fine cottage by a secluded lake in Wisconsin – before introducing her to the less-than-stellar reality of Slough.

Drafting his response, he finally had the perfect combination of words. Brad would implore her not to let the trivial laws of the Internet keep them apart. He’d suggest a meeting in London in two weeks. Plenty of time to get the house ready.