by Gemma Rogers
‘There is a guy at work, the boss,’ I confessed.
‘At the launderette?’ Ashley licked her fingers and wiped them on her serviette.
‘It’s an industrial laundry! It’s massive, not a bloody launderette,’ I said with a shake of my head.
‘Sorry you did say. So is he older?’
‘Yeah, in his thirties.’ I slurped my tea, now lukewarm.
‘Well, let him chase you, make him bloody work for it.’ Ashley chuckled, her laugh infectious. We finished our sandwiches quickly, stomachs groaning in appreciation.
‘I’ve missed you so much.’ My bottom lip quivered, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry in public.
Ashley put down her mug and grabbed my other hand across the table, our arms stretched, hands clasped, mine icy cold as always. Her deep brown eyes bored into mine, desperate to convey every ounce of emotion. ‘I’m so sorry for what happened.’
‘It’s okay, stop apologising, you’ve done it enough. It wasn’t your fault either.’ I leaned forward, squeezing her hands.
‘I got you caught up in it.’ Ashley’s chin wobbled.
I couldn’t defend her there, it was true. If she hadn’t called me that night for a lift, it would never have happened.
‘How bad was it?’ Ashley whispered, shuddering as though someone had walked over her grave.
Before I could answer, the waitress came to collect our plates, chewing gum rhythmically and we released hands, sliding them back to our halves of the table.
‘I’ve had better holidays.’ I managed a smile.
Ashley grimaced.
‘Let’s not talk about it. Tell me all about university, I want to hear everything, so you’re not allowed to leave anything out.’
Two lattes and a shared slice of Bakewell tart later and all talk of my incarceration was forgotten. My jaw ached from laughing at Ashley’s outlandish stories of Freshers’ week; being locked out of her room wearing next to nothing, to waking up last summer in the local park with no memory of how she got there. I was surprised her liver was still functioning.
We slipped back into our routine of banter, the easy way we were together, like nothing had changed, although in reality everything had.
At five o’clock, we left the café, the waitress giving us evils as she wiped the surrounding empty tables. Ashley’s train was at half past five and I regretted not asking her to stay over. When I mentioned it, she said she had an early-morning lecture on Monday, and she was going to spend Sunday catching up on the studying she’d missed.
We looped arms to walk back up the high street towards the station, watching the shops start to shut up for the day.
‘It was fun though, wasn’t it, before Eddie, when we’d knock around with that lot on the estate.’ Ashley giggled as she spoke.
‘Yeah it was, got into a few scrapes, didn’t we?’
‘Remember the time Whizzie and, God who was the other one, bad acne?’
‘Gilby?’ His face instantly in my mind.
‘Yeah, Gilby, when they jumped out of the taxi on the way back from Brixton,’ Ashley said, and I sniggered, recalling my heart leaping into my throat as I had a crush on Whizzie at the time.
‘When it was still moving, yep I remember. Such idiots.’ I winced inwardly remembering the last time I saw Gilby, shouting at me in the street a few weeks ago.
‘Those were the days.’ Ashley bumped my hip and our bags swung, colliding together.
We reached the station and Ashley pulled me into a hug.
‘I’ve had a great day; it’s been lovely to see you. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks or you can come to me maybe?’
‘I’d like that.’ A change of scene would do me good.
I watched her disappear into the station before retracing my steps to wait for the bus. I could walk home, but my arms were already aching from the weight of the bags. I felt emotionally drained but as though a weight had been lifted. Ashley was okay, she was doing fine, and I would be too.
I didn’t have to wait long before the 151 came, taking me all the way home, past my mum’s house. The bus was busy, but I got a space by the window, my bags on my lap. As we approached the looming white hospital and the estate I used to frequent as a kid, the bus came to a halt, waiting to turn left. Craning my neck, I saw the frizzy curls first, before recognising Karla, her petite frame in Adidas tracksuit bottoms leaning against the road sign for Blenheim Court. She was laughing, her head thrown back, talking to someone, with their hood up.
The bus jerked forward and turned. Karla didn’t see me as we passed by, but when I saw the pockmarked face of her companion, I instantly recognised Gilby.
29
What was Karla doing with Gilby? I didn’t think she lived over this way; she lived nearer Bright’s. Had she told me that before? I couldn’t remember and anyway how did she know Gilby? Thoughts jumbled, I had meant to jump off the bus and pop in at Mum’s for a cup of tea but missed the stop.
When I got home, I pushed Karla from my mind and set about giving the bedsit a good clean, wiping all the surfaces, cleaning the fridge and changing the sheets. I borrowed Stuart’s hoover – something else I’d have to get of my own. He was more than happy to lend it to me when I handed over an envelope containing the next two months’ rent. I had to spend Terry’s money on something, and a roof over my head was vital.
Tomorrow I wanted to get a new phone, a smartphone. I was going to get back out in the world, back onto social media. I’d decided while I was out shopping with Ashley. I’d served my time and had to start living again. Fed up of being on the sidelines, coasting until my sentence was up.
Once the bedsit was clean and tidy, I gathered up my washing, ready to take to Mum’s, and looked at what food I had left. There wasn’t much, the fridge now empty, apart from milk, and my bread had gone mouldy. Another chore to do tomorrow.
Filling the kettle with water, I found a pasta sachet at the back of the cupboard that would do for dinner and rang Helen while I waited for it to boil.
‘All right?’ I said when she answered it, amazed it hadn’t gone to voicemail.
‘Hiya.’
‘How was your date, did you come over last night?’
‘No, he cancelled. Have you seen Stuart?’
‘Yeah, I just borrowed the hoover.’
‘Did he mention me?’
‘No, afraid not.’ I poured the pasta into a bowl, the powdered sauce spilling over the side.
‘Oh.’ Things must have obviously stalled on the romance front.
‘Did he say why he had to cancel?’ I asked and listened to Helen mumble something about his sister which I didn’t catch. It sounded like she was cooking, pans clattered in the background. ‘I’m going to come over tomorrow, can you ask Mum if I can use the washing machine again?’
Helen shouted my request out to Mum, who called back it was fine.
‘I’ve got to go, Mum needs feeding,’ Helen said brusquely and hung up. Her award-winning personality had resumed. I knew it was too good to be true. Mum didn’t need feeding, she wasn’t a toddler, Helen just had to cook a meal – she was so dramatic.
My mind returned to Karla. I knew it was a small world, but it was funny she knew Gilby. Did she know Whizzie and Eddie too? It reminded me I still knew nothing about Karla. She kept her cards close to her chest, never giving anything away. Was she like that with everyone, or just me? Maybe I was being paranoid. The photos and Terry’s wedding band had put my nerves on edge. I had no choice but to carry on, burying my head in the sand and hoping whoever it was went away.
On Sunday morning, I got over to Mum’s early to put the washing on. I had to nip to Tesco and offered to get Helen some bits too. I managed to get a new phone in the supermarket, sick at handing over such a large amount in cash for the cheapest Samsung smartphone they sold. I checked my account at the cashpoint, seeing I’d been paid, although I used Terry’s money to buy the phone. Squeezing it into my inside jacket pocket before I left the shop;
certain I would get mugged before I made it home again. I’d never spent that amount of money on one item before.
I struggled back with the bags, keeping my eyes peeled for Karla, but she wasn’t around. What relationship Karla and Gilby had was still niggling at me, I just couldn’t work out what they were to each other? Old friends? Something more? It was no surprise there was no sign of either of them. Most people my age would be in bed with a hangover, not surfacing until Sunday afternoon. I had deep red indents on my palms from the handles when I finally reached Mum’s, nerve endings firing in my arms even though my hands were numb.
Helen helped me unpack and I told her and Mum about my shopping day with Ashley. Mum was pleased that we’d met up again and said next time to bring her round, she’d love to see her. Mum always had a soft spot for Ashley, even after the accident. Helen was in a better mood as Stuart had called while I’d been out and arranged to take her for a Toby Carvery.
I offered to take Mum for lunch so she wouldn’t feel left out, but she didn’t fancy it, her leg ached, and she hadn’t slept well the night before.
‘Thanks, love, but I’d much rather eat here. I can stay in my nightie and Carry on Camping is on the TV this afternoon.’
‘Are they even still showing those?’ I sighed, remembering being forced to listen to Mum cackling every time a Carry On film was on.
‘I love them, reminds me of being a kid,’ she said wistfully.
I had no idea how to cook a roast, so I couldn’t offer Mum the same service at home, but I did cook spaghetti bolognaise, out of a jar, with garlic bread. Mum needed a bit of help with some unruly spaghetti, but otherwise it was great and once the film got going, it was like putting on a comfy pair of slippers. We sat back, giggling at Sid James. Now I understood all the jokes I was able to appreciate how funny it was.
‘They wouldn’t get away with half the stuff now, you know,’ Mum said.
After dinner, I set up the Samsung with the new SIM, getting my PAC code and sending it on to my new provider so I could keep my number. I spent ages downloading the apps I thought I’d need before transferring the handful of numbers across from the ancient flip phone.
‘Mum, who cuts yours and Helen’s hair?’ I asked, as I looked at the phone on my lap, my hair across my shoulders, all my split ends apparent. I hadn’t had a proper haircut for years.
‘Donna still comes every month.’
‘Really? That’s great, would you mind if I came by next time she’s here? I need at least two inches off; it’s got so long. I was thinking of doing the ends a lilac colour.’ Positive it would be a great contrast with the white blonde.
‘It’ll be on the calendar in the kitchen, love, end of the month, I think.’
I checked the calendar and on 12 February Donna’s name was inscribed in the box. I flicked back to January and saw right at the beginning of the year, JESS HOME had been written in capitals, followed by lots of exclamation marks.
Stuart brought Helen home a little while later and stayed for a cup of tea while I washed up. Mum hadn’t met Stuart yet, although she knew him as the ‘nice young man who had let her delinquent daughter live at his house’.
Helen floated around, her voice an octave higher than usual, as though butter wouldn’t melt. She had it bad for Stuart, but I just couldn’t see why. He looked okay, I guessed, nice enough, tall, dark cropped hair, a scar through his eyebrow which made him look rugged, although I believed him to be as soft as a teddy bear. I’d seen him chasing his nephews around on all fours in his front room.
He was different to Dan, who was shorter, more athletic, with harder features until he grinned and that’s when he looked like a naughty schoolboy. I liked him best like that. I bit down on my lip; I’d be seeing him again tomorrow. Was it sad I was looking forward to going back to work? Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. I’d forgotten until I heard Helen mention an Italian restaurant in town was taking bookings for a set menu. Dropping hints in front of Stuart, she was as subtle as a brick. Maybe I’d get Dan a card. No, that was too childish, plus I barely knew him and had already scared him off, it seemed. I was sure Stuart, who looked like a puppy dog making eyes at Helen, would be buying her more than a card. I swiftly decided it was time to leave.
Stuart kindly offered me a lift back home, which was great as I had my washing and food shopping to carry. The only price was having to endure him kiss Helen goodbye on the doorstep. The jar of bolognaise almost made an appearance.
He was chirpy, chatting the whole drive back about plans he had for the house. A new bathroom and kitchen eventually that he was going to do himself. I nodded in the right places, thanking him when he mentioned the rat poison he’d put on the roof to deter the pigeons. No wonder they hadn’t woken me for a while.
I hurried inside once he pulled up, desperate to create my social media profiles. I washed and towel-dried my hair, then put on make-up, and after around twenty attempts, finally took the perfect profile picture for Facebook. Gone was Emma Evans, the fake profile I’d created at the library. Jess Strickland was back.
30
Slouched on the bed, stomach still bloated from too much pasta, I wiped away the make-up I’d put on for just twenty minutes, while searching for people I knew on Facebook. I found Helen first and sent her a friend request; she was friends with Stuart, so I sent one to him too. Ashley was next and my phone rang seconds after she’d accepted, with her shrieking down the phone, excited I’d ‘re-joined the world’. Her enthusiasm was infectious and before I knew it, under her influence, I’d created profiles on Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram whilst chain-smoking cigarettes.
I found Karla on Facebook, remembering her last name was Grant from the personnel file on Terry’s desk. Her profile wasn’t private, and I was able to search through her friends, finding not only Gilby, but Whizzie and other names I recognised. Faces from the past, hardly having changed at all. A sinking feeling in my gut as I scrolled through them all. Had she grown up around the St Helier estate too? Had we mixed with the same crowd? I wracked my brain trying to remember but Karla’s face and name was unfamiliar. If she’d known Gilby and Whizzie then she must have known Ashley. That would also mean she’d known Eddie. My body stiffened at the thought.
Without hesitating I sent a friend request to Karla, perhaps once she’d accepted, I could bring it up without looking like I’d been stalking her friends list. I friended Agnes and Laura too, as they popped up as people I may know. I scrolled through the suggestions, friends of friends, until my blood ran cold at the image in front of me.
I tapped on it and a photo of Terry and Kim, all dressed up and clinking glasses, filled my screen. He had his hand on her shoulder, his fat fingers touching her neck. It took me straight back to being in his office. Where I’d been weak, his clammy hand on my shoulder, as he helped me onto my knees. Vomit shot up the back of my throat and I clamped my lips shut, waiting for the acid to withdraw. I lit another cigarette and swigged vodka to get rid of the taste. Both photos, including the crumpled one of Terry dead on the floor of his office, had been hidden under the mattress, where the rest of the money was. Not the most original hiding place, but there wasn’t an abundance of options in my tiny home and I wasn’t ready to get rid of them just yet. Before I did, I wanted to be sure who’d sent them. Who’d been targeting me as the photos were bound to lead to something. Blackmail maybe? I just had to wait until whoever it was got in touch.
I checked the time, it was eleven o’clock, and I yawned, stretching my limbs before finally giving in and turning my phone off, eyes stinging. I feared I’d now become a zombie like the other smartphone users who couldn’t tear their eyes away from the screen.
Sleep came quickly and so did the morning. One of those nights where you’ve blinked, and the alarm goes off. I resisted the urge to wear my new clothes to work, but I did put on another T-shirt I’d pinched from Helen. A black Hells Angels one that made me look a bit edgy. I had new trainers too, which were clean and not scru
ffy like the old ones. Applying a little make-up and with my hair in a messy topknot, I looked okay. Good enough to see Dan at least.
His number was on the business card he’d given me when we met, now stuck on my mirror, but I hadn’t been brave enough to text him over the weekend. Ashley said I had to let him do the work, he had to chase me. But what if he didn’t? Perhaps he didn’t want to get involved as I was his employee? I wasn’t worried about that, but maybe he felt he had a duty of care as our boss? Perhaps he was just busy, he was moving into a new place, so had a lot of things to fill his weekend.
I giggled at the ridiculousness of my stupid crush as I walked to work, soaking up the sunshine and the dewy morning air. Finally, I had a big fluffy coat fit for winter, the last few weeks of it at least.
I got to Bright’s with ten minutes to spare, so stood outside the café to have a cigarette, hoping Dan might be inside getting his morning caffeine fix but no such luck.
Karla came along a few minutes later, rubbing her eyes.
‘Morning,’ I said brightly, figuring the best way to find out more about Karla was to be as friendly as possible.
‘Is it?’
I rolled my eyes at her sarcasm. It wasn’t going to be easy to get closer to her. ‘Who peed on your cornflakes?’ I asked.
‘No one. Had a banger last night, that’s all, I’m suffering,’ she grumbled, stifling a yawn.
She pushed in the code and swung open the door, as we queued to punch our cards before heading to the lockers.
Dan wasn’t in the office and Karla sniggered at my look of longing as we passed.
‘Christ, you not fucked him yet?’
I gasped at Karla’s unfiltered choice of words. Was it so obvious?
‘Ssshhhhh,’ I hissed, quickly followed by, ‘and no, I haven’t.’ I scowled at my locker, opening it slowly. Thankfully, there were no surprises inside today. ‘Where are you living now, still sofa-surfing?’ I ventured as Karla put on her tabard. I had to find out something, anything. I needed to build trust so I could learn her background and broach how we’d mixed in the same circles but never realised.
