The Debt & the Doormat (34 page)

‘Granddad said you had a cut on your face and I can see your scar.’

Oh, well that's embarrassing. 

‘I love your top – it really suits you.’

‘Thanks.  Well...I know nothing about you, so why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?’

God, I sound like Cilla Black on blind date.

He goes on to tell me that he’s twenty-nine, works as a marketing manager and has recently got out of a long term relationship.  This guy really is lovely and he’s quite sexy, but all I can think about is Ryan.  And I can't help fighting the feeling that in some way I’m cheating on him by being here tonight, which I know is ridiculous. 

‘So, I had a great time tonight,’ he says, as he pays the bar bill.

‘Yeah me too.’

Oh God, I can feel it coming.  He’s going to ask me out again.

‘Um...well, if we’re going to see each other again I need to tell you something,’ he says, suddenly shy.

‘Oh, OK.  What is it?’ I ask, hoping it will be something that I can use as an excuse not to see him again.

‘Well, my Granddad likes to think he knows me well, and I mean to some extent he does.  But, well, the thing is...I’m actually gay.’

‘What?’ I almost shout.  A few people at the bar turn round to stare at me and I laugh nervously.

‘I know.  I’m so sorry for wasting your time Poppy.  But my Granddad was adamant I had to take you out and I just wanted to please him, you know?’

‘Actually, I know exactly how you feel,’ I say imagining my Mother.  ‘So, your long term relationship, that was with a guy?’ I ask intrigued.

‘Yep.  Paul.  We were at the stage where we were either going to move in with each other or break up and...Well, it just seemed he was scared of commitment.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.  And I’ve kind of been there myself anyway,’ I smile.

‘Well, you actually seemed kind of relieved when I told you.  Was I that much of an awful straight man?’ he asks smirking.

‘No!  It's just that...’

‘There's someone else isn’t there?  You’ve got that puppy love look in your eyes,’ he laughs.

‘No!  Not like that anyway.  But...well, I like someone.’

‘Oooh, really?  Do tell!’ he says, suddenly very camp.

‘Well...oh, why not!  It's my housemate, Ryan.  He’s actually your Granddad’s friends Grandson.  If that makes sense,’ I say realising how confusing this must be to him.

‘Ryan Davis?  You’ve got a crush on Ryan Davis?’ he asks, his eyes widening.

‘Oh my God, do you know him?’  Shit, I should have kept my big mouth shut.

‘Yes, of course.  We practically grew up together.  He was actually a great help at school.  Thugs used to pick on me for being...well, shall we say flamboyant?’  We both mutually laugh.  ‘He used to stick up for me and saved me getting my arse kicked a few times.’ 

‘Oh God, he’s so great.’  I physically swoon at the thought of him.

‘I know.  I actually had a crush on him myself at one stage.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah, but can you blame me?  That jawline, with those abs – wow!  But...’

‘But what?’ I ask, intrigued by his sudden change of facial expression.

‘He had a rough time about a year ago.’

‘Really?  Before he went travelling?’

‘Yeah.  That's actually the reason.  He had a long term girlfriend, was mad about her.  Anyway, she suddenly ran off and got married to his best friend.’

‘Oh my God, that's terrible.’

‘And then his friends that he’d spent years building up, they were all suddenly gone, not caring if he were dead or alive.’

‘Oh my God.’

I really can't believe this.

‘Yeah, my heart broke for the poor guy.  But he was back to his old self when he got back from travelling.  The guy I used to know before he got swallowed up in all of that corporate bullshit.  He’d gotten so serious and stuffy.’

‘I think he’s pretty serious now,’ I laugh.

‘Yeah, he comes across as that.  But that's only because he’s a massive thinker.’

‘Oh.  I don't know why I’m bothering anyway.  I haven’t got a chance.’

‘It's not something you can control.  He just has something about him.’

‘I know,’ I swoon, despite myself.

‘Well, anyway, I have to scoot.  But it was so lovely meeting you.  We should go shopping or something soon.’

‘Yeah I’d love that,’ I say as he kisses me on the cheek.

‘Oh and good luck with Ryan.  Maybe get a push up bra?’

*
                            *                            *

When I get home I throw my shoes off at the door and stumble into the kitchen to make myself some toast.  I flick the kettle on and jump when I see Ryan still up at the kitchen table.

‘Fuck!  You scared me!’

‘You’re so jumpy,’ he says, rolling his eyes as if I’m a massive inconvenience.

I sigh and put some toast on, trying not to stare at his massive black eye.

‘So...how was your date?’ he asks raising his eyebrows in interest.

‘Yeah, good thanks,’ I say not feeling generous enough to elaborate.

I get some hot chocolate powder from the cupboard and start mixing it with water.  I need the sugar.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks.

‘Making a hot chocolate.  You want one?’

‘No thanks, I’m thirty-two,’ he says, sniggering to himself.  I turn back, choosing to ignore him.

‘Which grandson was it anyway?  Lewis or Graham?’

‘It was Lewis,’ I say, busying myself by buttering my toast.

‘Oh’ he laughs.  ‘So...do you think you’ll see him again?’

I wait, pretending I haven’t heard him for a second while I butter my toast.

‘Well?’

‘Look, you obviously know he’s gay, so just stop winding me up OK!’

‘Lewis,
gay
?  I don't believe it!  Tell me it's not true!’ he says, being sarcastic and mocking. 

The front door slams and Izzy comes skipping in.

‘Hey,’ she sings, smiling at both of us.  ‘Oh God, Ryan!  What happened to your eye?’  She rushes over and fusses, while he attempts to push her away.

‘Why don't you ask Poppy,’ Grace says, as she walks into the kitchen in just her bra and knickers.  Is it really that hard for her to put clothes on?

Izzy turns to stare at me with a quizzical expression as I attempt to back out of the door. How could he tell her!? 

‘You...you punched Ryan?’ Izzy asks, her mouth twitching into a smile.

‘No!  Of course not.’

‘Thank God for that.  I thought you’d lost the plot’ she says, relaxing.  ‘What happened then?’  She looks between me, Grace and Ryan.

‘I’m knackered.  I’m going to bed,’ I sigh, not feeling up to him telling them all it was my fault.

I’m barely in my room when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey,’ Ryan says, walking in.

‘Look, if you’ve just come in here to have a go at me, don't bother.  I’ve been punished enough tonight,’ I say as I crawl into bed.

‘Your date was that good then?’ he asks, amusement showing in his voice.

‘What did you tell them?’ I ask from underneath the duvet.

‘Who?  The girls or work?’

‘Fine!  Rub it in even more.’  I push the covers back.  ‘You hate me, I get it!’

‘God, only you could turn this round so it's me feeling sorry for you.’

‘I don't want your pity,’ I practically spit to him before turning to face the wall.

‘Well, I told Grace the truth.’

‘You total fucking traitor!  Of all people, Grace!’

‘Alright, calm down drama queen.’

‘Like she doesn’t hate me enough as it is.  Now I’ve gone and broken her boyfriend’s beautiful face!’

‘How many fucking times!?  I’m not her boyfriend.’

‘Whatever.  Didn’t you spend the night with her?’ I ask before I can stop myself.

‘Spend the night?  What the hell do you mean by that?’  He looks offended.

‘You know exactly what I mean.’  I sit up in bed to glare at him.

‘No,’ he insists, moody.

‘What, have a headache did she?’ I say like a bitch.

‘Oh shut up.  Surely you could see that
she
was kissing
me
last night.  She cornered me.’

‘Well, I didn’t see you beating her off,’ I say, pretending to inspect my nails.  ‘Or was it another girl tonight?  I can't keep up with your conveyor belt of women.’

‘Well I would have stopped her if you wouldn’t have come in and smashed glass all over the floor like a clumsy idiot.’

‘I’m very sorry for being such a massive inconvenience,’ I snap. 

We both glare at each other in silence for a minute.

‘So, were work really mad?’  I hadn’t had a chance to go into it properly earlier.

‘Work?’

‘Yes!  About your eye,’ I say, annoyed that he can't seem to keep up.

‘My boss was actually really impressed that I’d stopped an old lady getting mugged.’

‘Oh, well, you see!  You might end up getting a promotion over it.’  I smile, glad that something has worked out.

‘That's what I thought.  I was going to thank you actually.’

‘Great!  See!  Some things happen for a reason,’ I say smugly.

‘That was until he was so impressed he organised for the local paper to come round and do a story on it.’

‘You are joking?’ My face drops.

‘I wish I was,’ he says, smiling weakly.  ‘He thinks it’ll be good for the company.  Lawyers You Can Trust.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ I sigh heavily.  ‘It just seems that everything I touch lately turns to shit.’

‘Pretty much,’ he says, smiling and walking out of the room.   

What a charmer.  No wonder I fell for that one.   

The next morning at work I’m ringing the airlines desperately trying to change Victor’s flights to later in the day so he can go to his stupid hair appointment.  I’ve finally managed to do it, but I still need to go to the E & L depot to collect Victor’s visa.  Stupid courier people still sent it to the work address so I have to treck all the way down there.  I just hope I have enough time.

I grab my bag and am nearly away from my desk when Tiffany, a young temp with glossy red hair and too much blue eye shadow, comes by my desk.

‘Hi Poppy.  I just heard something hilarious,’ she says, smiling widely.

‘Really?’ I enquire, intrigued despite myself.

‘Yeah.  Neville said he’s going out with you,’ she snorts, holding onto her sides, while she’s overtaken by uncontrollable laughter.

Oh, for goodness sakes.  I’d almost forgotten about that drama. 

‘Oh.  That.’

‘That?’ she asks confused.  ‘You’re not actually going out with Neville are you?’ she laughs.

‘No, of course not.’

‘I was gonna say.  I mean, what a freak he is!  I totally laughed in his face when he told me.  As if he could get anyone!’

What an evil bitch.  Who the hell does she think she is?  She’s hardly Elle MacPherson herself.  He may have gotten it all deluded in his head, but Neville is a good person.  He doesn’t deserve little bitches going around laughing at him. 

‘It's just too funny,’ she says, continuing to laugh as if it's the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

‘Actually it's not that funny,’ I snap, feeling embarrassed on behalf of Neville.  ‘We may not be going out, but...but we’re having sex.’

‘What?’

Yeah, what?

‘Yes!  We’re having hot, passionate sex.  And let me tell you, don't let that sweet innocent look fool you.  Behind closed doors he’s an absolute animal!’

Tiffany stares back at me completely stunned.  I should stop.  Stop there.  Just let her imagine the rest.  But I can't.

‘Oh yeah, it's true.  And he’s hung like a donkey.  I thought I’d had orgasms before him, but my God I had no idea.  The doors he’s opened to me.  I’m so thankful to him,’ I gloat, flicking my hair around as I imagine a sexual goddess does.

‘Are you...are you serious?’ she asks, looking as if her head might explode any moment.

‘Oh yeah.  He’s such a generous lover.  I mean, I
wish
he’d go out with me!  I begged him, I really did!  But he told me he didn’t want to be tied down.  He said he’d play along at work if I told people.  That's probably why he told you.’

She nods, her eyes darting helplessly from side to side, trying to make sense of it all.

‘To be honest, I don't know if I’ll be able to move on from him.  I mean, I think he may have ruined me for any other man.  They’ll never be able to satisfy me like him.’

‘Wow,’ she gasps.  ‘I had no idea.’

‘Yep.  They always say it's the quiet ones.’

She nods, completely in awe.

‘Anyway, I have to go.  Promise me you won't tell a soul?’ I ask, fully aware that it will be around the entire office within the hour.

‘Of course.  I won't breathe a word,’ she promises, her mouth still gaping open.

‘Bye!’

I run out of the room, round the corner and almost straight into Neville.

‘Neville!  Come with me!’ I shout grabbing him and dragging him into the lift.

I close the doors and push the emergency button, suspending the lift in the air, as Lilly and I have done many times in an emergency.

‘Poppy, are you OK?’ he asks, seemingly concerned that I’ve lost my mind.  Maybe I have.

‘Listen, I’m too rushed to be sensitive, OK?’ I say, conscious of the time.

‘OK,’ he nods.

‘Neville, we’re not going out.  I love you as a friend, but I don't see you romantically like that.’

‘Oh.’  His face drops.

‘But I’ve lied to people and told them we’re sleeping together.’

‘What?’ he asks in surprise.

‘I’m gonna help you out.  If anyone asks you any questions you are only to say “a gentleman never tells”.  Do you understand?’

‘A gentleman never tells,’ he repeats slowly.  ‘OK, got it.’

‘Nothing else, promise?’

‘Promise,’ he smiles.

‘Cool.  I’m taking you shopping tomorrow lunch and giving you a makeover.’

‘Really?  Do I need one?’ he asks looking over his tartan shirt and green dickie bow.

‘Yes,’ I say bluntly.  I don't have time to beat around the bush.  ‘Will you meet me?’

‘Yes.  I’ll be there!’ he says with fresh enthusiasm. 

‘Great.’

‘But Poppy, why are you doing this for me?’ he asks, as I press the emergency button again making us move.

‘Because you’re a good guy Neville and a lot of the little bitches here need a lesson teaching to them.  It's just all about good PR.’

The door pings open and I quickly wrap my arms round Neville’s neck and plant a quick kiss on his lips.  I turn round and as I predicted, Tiffany is already at reception telling the receptionist Suzanne my gossip.  They both turn to stare at us, their mouths gawking open.

I pretend to straighten my hair, wink at Neville and then run out, hearing Tiffany say ‘I told you!’

*                            *                            *

I arrive at the passport place at 11am.  I’ll make it.  I just need to make sure I don't get delayed.  The lady on the phone said I just need to quote the order number and they’ll give it to me.  As long as I’m in and out I should get to the airport in time.

‘Next!’ a lady behind a glass counter yells.

It's a bit like a normal post office really.  Hopefully they’ll be as efficient as Harry from ours.  And not make so many racist jokes. 

‘Hi.  I’m here to pick up a package for Victor Darlington.  It had attempted delivery last night.  It's order number 2398JLK.’

I smile up at the moody woman.  She’s about forty with blonde frizzy hair and crooked teeth.

‘I’m afraid only Mr Darlington can collect it,’ she drawls, yawning.

‘Sorry?  You must be mistaken.  I called up three times.  They said I could just quote the number.’

Please God, let her be mistaken.

‘Sorry, but the computer says no.’

Did she seriously just say “computer says no?”  Am I on a hidden camera show?  Is this a massive joke?

‘You can't be serious.’

‘Afraid so.  Sorry.’  She looks anything but sorry. 

‘Can I speak to your supervisor please?’

‘She’s on a break.’

‘I’m willing to wait,’ I say, standing my ground.

‘Fine,’ she snarls through gritted teeth.  We glare back at each other until I finally lose my nerve and look away.

‘Please stand out of the way madam.  Next!’

‘I don't think so!  I’m waiting here until I can speak to your supervisor.’

‘Excuse me,’ a young girl with plaited brown hair says, trying to barge me out of the way.

‘No, sorry!  I’m not moving until I get my package.’

‘Why don't you just go,’ plaited girl says to me giving me a little shove.

Did she seriously just shove me?

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, shoving her back a little harder.

‘I think you need to wait your turn!’ she growls, pushing me away hard.

How can she have so much attitude for a nineteen year old?  Who does she think she is?  Probably here to collect a Polly Pocket toy from her pen pal in Austria. 

‘Why don't you just back the fuck up,’ I shout, channelling my inner ghetto princess. 

I shove her as hard as I can.  She flies back, falls over and hits her head on the top of the desk.  Maybe a little too hard in hind sight.

‘Oh my God, are you OK?’ I ask, rushing over, a sickening feeling creeping into my stomach.

I didn’t mean to kill the bitch.

‘What on earth is going on?’ a deep authoritative voice says.

I look up, panicked.  Please don't say it's a police man.

I look through the glass window at a bulky mixed race woman with long black curly hair.  I recognise that face.  I swear I do.  Her stern face breaks in recognition too.

‘Poppy?  Is that you?’

Shit.  What's her name?  I went to school with her.  I sat next to her in French.  She went out with Barry Reynolds and lost it to him in a ditch in the countryside on our sponsored walk.  But what the hell is her name? 

‘Oh my goodness.  Is that...you?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it's me!  How strange, I was just talking about you the other day,’ she squeals, full of excitement.

Crap.  Did I do anything horrible to her?  Trace back your mind.

‘Oh really?’

‘Hello!  Has everybody forgotten about me?’ plaited girl shouts, still leaning her head dramatically against the counter.

‘Oh pipe down,’ I hiss.

‘Yes.’  She lowers her voice to a whisper.  ‘I heard through the grapevine that you’re knocked up.’

Oh dear.  What has my mother done?  No, what have I done?  One little teeny weeny lie and it's multiplied and spread round London like the plague.  I still need to speak to her about stalking poor unsuspecting Ryan Smith. 

‘Err...’  I don't know what to say.  I’m literally lost for words.

‘You’re preggers?’ plaited girl says, horrified.  ‘Pregnant women shouldn’t be going round starting fights.  Especially when they can't end them.’

‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t go around pushing pregnant women,’ my long lost friend says.

‘But...I...,‘ plaited girl protests, stamping her foot.

‘No buts.  I think you should go to the next desk before I call the police and tell them you’ve been hitting pregnant women.’

She huffs and puffs, before stomping off, flicking her plaits in my face.

‘Thanks,’ I say, picking plaited girls hair out of my lipstick.

‘You poor thing.  Heard he’d left you as well.’  She leans her head sympathetically to the left.

Now I remember.  Felicity Dunbar.  She was always a smug bitch.

‘You’re trying to pick up someone’s package?’

I nod, still unable to speak.

‘Well we don't normally do that,’ she says, clicking her tongue.

‘But I rang, three times!  Is there nothing you can do?  For an old friend?’

‘Well, I’m not sure.  It is procedure.’  She studies her nails, clearly enjoying the power trip.

‘Come on Felicity.  For old times?  Remember French class?  Please!  Or should I say s’il vous plait?’

‘I’m really not sure.  I could be fired if anyone found out.’

‘Well I’m not going to tell anyone.  It can be our little secret,’ I whisper, smiling as nicely as I can muster.

She still looks slightly unconvinced.

‘It's just, I’m so stressed at the moment.  Being knocked up and everything.’  I quiver my chin and discreetly poke myself in the eye, trying my best to look like I’m on the verge of tears.

She looks at me, as if she’s trying to work out a calculation in her head.

‘Well...OK?  Here it is.  Good luck with the baby.’

I grab it greedily and run out of there.

‘Thanks!’ I shout back. 

So what if I maybe confirmed I was pregnant?  So what if she used to be the biggest gossip in school?  That doesn’t necessarily mean that she’ll tell e
veryone
I went to school with.  Maybe a few of them will be on holiday.

*
                            *                            *

I arrive at the airport at 2pm, slightly flustered.  How did I know the bus would break down?  I’d planned to get here earlier and be totally calm and composed.  I’d be sitting in Starbucks with a tea, reading the paper when Victor would come in all panicky.  I’d smile, hand over his documents and tell him I need a raise.  Well, that's clearly out of the window.

I get myself a tea and struggle to get a seat, weaving through everyone’s suitcases.  A man gets up, answering the phone and bumps into me, spilling my tea down my shirt.  Damn it. 

Where is Victor?  He was supposed to meet me here.  By 14.05 I’m starting to get anxious.  By 14.18 I’m panicking.  By 14.30 and four voicemails on Victor’s phone later, I’m having a meltdown.  Where the fuck is he?  He can't board the plane without me.  Has he had an accident? 

My phone rings and I pull it out frantically.  ‘Hello?’

‘Poppy, I’m zzzzz late zzzzz flight zzzzzz do?’

‘Victor?  I can't hear you.  It's a really bad line.’

I get up and weave through the people, trying to get a better reception.

‘I said zzzzzzzzzz flight zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz visa.’

God, this reception is awful.  I can't make out a single thing he’s saying.  I leave the Starbucks area and go into the middle of the airport.