I Know Your Every Move

by Diane Ezzard

  “But Dad…”

  “I want nothing more to do with you. I’m disowning you.” His face had gone purple by now.

  He stopped speaking to me there and then and we didn’t speak for another twelve months. I used this as the springboard I needed to make the move I’d been yearning for

  I started working for an accountancy firm in Manchester and it wasn’t anything like I’d expected. The company was based in a modern block in Piccadilly in the centre of town. There were about a hundred people worked there. I was being shown around on my first day by my boss, Jasmine. We came to the end of my tour of the offices.

  “This is the restaurant, Sophia.” It was a canteen. I wanted to correct her and tell her my name was Sophie but there was something about her demeanour that slightly scared me. At least she wouldn’t struggle with my surname, Brown. With her posh Cheshire accent, it sounded more like Brain when she said it though. The way she spoke to me, I thought she was already looking down her nose at me.

  “There is an area at the back for people who bring their own lunch, which you may prefer to use. The food here is so dated, darling. Sadly, you won’t find any tofu or halloumi on the menu and if you ask for quinoa, they look at you as if you’re speaking another language.” Jasmine looked over at me, her expression serious.

  I gave her a nervous smile. She wasn’t joking.

  “That’s okay; I’ll bring something from home. It’ll be cheaper.” I looked back at Jasmine, waiting for her approval. She studied me closely and then frowned.

  “Darling, this place is subsidised. It’s hardly likely to break the bank. Unfortunately, the low prices also mean poor quality.”

  “So how long have you worked here for, Jasmine?” I asked, keen to change the topic of conversation. I didn’t want her to sense my feeling of awkwardness.

  “It’s two years and three months, ha. I’ve made a few welcome changes to the place. I started up a bridge club for staff members and a few of us meet once a month. We go to the opera or a ballet and we have fun.”

  Who on earth plays bridge these days? I’m more of a pie and a pint with an afternoon down the footie, sort of girl. I coughed nervously.

  “I…er, I’ve never been to an opera.”

  “What!” Jasmine looked aghast. She pulled down the glasses that had been resting on top of her neat French pleated hairstyle and popped them to sit on the edge of her nose. She peered at me over the top of them.

  “You’re joking. Surely you must have seen Don Giovanni or the Merchant of Venice?” Jasmine’s mouth gaped open. I shook my head.

  “No, never.” This wasn’t going well.

  At least I wasn’t just the office junior brewing up and filing all day and I hoped I would grow to enjoy the job. There was an Irish doorman who manned the entrance. It amused me that the only time I saw him watering the display of plants outside the main doors was when it rained. He had a lovely personality and with his charming Irish lilt, always made me welcome.

  “Good morning, Sophie my dear. How are you this fine bright morning?” He always sounded so cheerful.

  I shook my head and replied, “Morning Joe. It’s neither fine nor bright. It’s chucking it down outside.” His joviality made me laugh.

  “Oh don’t be like that, to be sure. It’s a grand day today. Don’t allow any negativity to cloud your judgement. It’s looking wonderful outside. Look, there’s enough blue in the sky to make a pair of sailor’s trousers. It’s going to be champion.”

  That always made me smile because my Nan used to say the same thing. I looked up though, and the sky appeared to be pretty grey to me. Joe always talked about the weather. His happy disposition got even brighter if there was ever a day when it didn’t rain.

  If it hadn’t been for him and Becky, I don’t think I would have stayed as long as I did at Freedman’s. Becky was the one person there on the same wavelength as me. There were other young people worked there but the rest of them were similar to Jasmine, all quite snobby and I wasn’t used to that. Becky was more like me. We sat and made fun of the others, mocking their posh accents. She was shorter than me and bigger in stature, with a pretty face and shoulder length blonde hair. She came from Ancoats, a Manchester girl through and through.

  She’d had a tough upbringing and wanted to better herself. I was surprised when she told me her boyfriend was a lot older than her. He had been married before and had two children. I thought she was a confident, intelligent girl, and she worked in the PR department. We’d got talking together one day at lunch time. It was a shame she lived the other side of town from me. We socialised occasionally when Becky’s boyfriend had his kids. I didn’t think Becky got on that well with them. We always sat at the back of the room as far away from the others as we could get.

  “Those two have been making my life a misery again, Sophie.” She often told me over our lunch breaks how Danny’s children were mean to her.

  “What’ve they done this time, Becky?”

  “Oh, it’s just kid stuff. It’s so annoying.”

  “Go on tell me,”

  “They sneaked cornflakes in my boots again. When I came to put them on, it felt disgusting.” Becky wasn’t amused.

  “I don’t know. It sounds like a good laugh to me.” I said.

  “It wears thin after a while. I try getting them back sometimes but they end up in tears and then there’s a big fall out. I don’t think it’s done in fun, either. I think it’s malicious. They can’t get used to the fact I’m not their real mum.” Becky looked thoughtful.

  “It must be hard having a boyfriend like Danny who comes as a package with a fully fledged family,” I said.

  “Yeah, it is. Oh, look Jasmine’s over there with her posse. What on earth is she wearing today?”

  “I know and I bet she thinks she’s the bee’s knees. She doesn’t suit that mustard colour or that multi-coloured skirt.” We gave everyone’s appearance a hard time. We complimented taste as well but there were always more people we tore to pieces. It was a good job they didn’t know what we were saying about them.

  A month after I started work, I moved into my first home, a grotty bedsit in Salford. It was close to Moor Lane, a predominantly a well-to-do area and was similar to where we lived in Whitefield. Any resemblance stopped with the inside of the property. My bedsit made our Whitefield home look like a palace. The place I rented consisted of one room in a large six-bedroomed old house, with a separate kitchenette and toilet. Each of the rooms in the building had been turned into a bedsit, with the front door leading off the hall. I was in a downstairs room. It was a rundown, creepy old house that would have made a good location for a horror film.

  The landlady lived upstairs so she could come and collect the rent each week and keep an eye on the tenants.

  “I’ll be there on Friday evenings at six o’clock sharp for the money. If you’re not in, you can post it through my letter box,” she said. “And I’ll not put up with any nonsense if you’re late paying, you’ll be out of here quicker than I could say Jack Robinson.”

  Her teeth were yellowed and rotten. She looked grotesque. She would always be seen modelling an old stained apron that looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. Similarly, the dirty handmade maroon coloured cardigan that she wore every day was equally gross and unflattering. I was pretty sure the bleach stains on it weren’t there intentionally. She often sported a runny nose which she wiped on her sleeve reminding me of Fagin in Oliver Twist. She liked to snoop about and normally watched when anyone came in. I would hear her shuffling around in her slippers in the hall and on the landing at all hours. I found her as creepy as the house and thought they made a good match.

  I tried to look at the positives. It was my own place with my nice new bedding and crockery along with a few second-hand items that Mum offered me. The lino peeled off the floor and the boards creaked whenever I walked over the threadbare carpet. The smell wasn’t so great but the mustiness, I masked with air freshener. What was a bit o
f damp when I’d got my own place? It wasn’t long before the loneliness started to hit me. I wasn’t used to being on my own and the silence sometimes overwhelmed me, especially if I didn’t have enough money to put into the electric meter. When that happened, I would get into bed in the dark, fully clothed and listen to the radio until I fell asleep. Far from being paradise, I still thought it was preferable to the way I had been living. I’d been constantly hounded and criticised by Mum for long enough. At least I wasn’t going to be verbally abused again, or so I thought. Sadly though, I didn’t have my sister close by anymore.

  Stephanie met Tim, her partner at a club in Manchester. He was a few years older than her. His family lived in Surrey in a large house. He worked up North and stayed in a friend’s apartment in Withington. Tim and Stephanie hit it off straight away. When he returned home, she made many trips down South to see him. She got on well with his folks and the pair of them got engaged after three months.

  Their wedding twelve months later was a fairly lavish affair. Mum and Dad insisted on putting up the lion’s share of the costs which they obviously couldn’t afford. I was annoyed with Stephanie for allowing them to pay as much as they did but she didn’t seem to care. She just wanted the best for her special day. There were almost two hundred people at the wedding. Every known relative came out of the woodwork to attend, some I had never met before. They came from Ireland and South Africa to be there. The ceremony took place at St Mary’s Church with a reception afterwards at Mitton Hall in Whalley, a stunning setting. It was a beautiful day and everything went perfectly.

  As chief bridesmaid, I ended up getting very drunk for the first time in my life. The next day I was mortified. I had been sick all over my bedroom floor. Mum wouldn’t speak to me.

  “Don’t you ever do anything like that again. You’re a disgrace, our Sophie.” I was full of remorse.

  “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t realise how much I’d had to drink.”

  I hoped I hadn’t done or said anything to upset anyone. After a couple of hours of the silent treatment, Mum’s resolve caved in and she forgave me. She was too excited about the previous day’s events. She wanted to talk about it and look at the photos with me. Stephanie and Tim went to the Seychelles for their honeymoon, a wedding present from Tim’s mum and dad. I was going to miss Stephanie. She had fallen on her feet with Tim. He was a good man.

  Not long after the wedding, he landed himself a really good job in the City, so they moved to London They bought a small apartment in East Dulwich thanks to a loan from Tim’s parents. Stephanie started working for a charity, which she loved. I was pleased for her most of the time. Occasionally, I got pangs of jealousy when I looked at how my life turned out and compared my rotten luck with her good fortune.

  Chapter Eight

  THEN

  The novelty began to wear off from having my own place and I was having second thoughts about my job. My motivation for being there was the money. I was grateful for my good friend, Becky although most of the time I enjoyed my own independence. Going shopping, I hated it if Becky came with me. She tried to influence my choices, and I always came home with regrets. I either bought something I didn’t like or came home empty-handed on Becky’s advice. I wished I’d listened to my own judgement. I’d sit for days pining for a new top I’d seen the previous week until the next pay day when I would rush back to Manchester, only to find it was sold out.

  One Saturday, I’d gone into town and hadn’t seen much to take my fancy. I was loath to come home empty handed so bought a nice eye-catching pair of Bart Simpson socks. I liked to follow the latest trends and socks with cartoon characters on were my idea of in vogue, whatever I looked like in them. Satisfied that my trip hadn’t been unproductive, I headed for the bus station, catching the 97 bus from the Arndale Centre. It was wet and windy and I was glad to be somewhere dry.

  I climbed the stairs to the top deck as I didn’t like sitting with the gossiping women and it was always quieter upstairs. Some guys got on and sat behind me. They were quite boisterous. I ignored them as I wiped down the misted up window so I could look out at the damp Salford weather. The bus was busy and at each stop, I was jerked forward, banging into the rail of the seat in front of me. I was annoyed with the driver who was using his brake pedal a little too effectively for my liking. I turned around hoping I’d see someone else unhappy with the jerking bus rhythms.

  “Hi, what’s your name?” came a voice from behind me. I tried to see who was speaking. I wasn’t sure if they were talking to me so I didn’t reply.

  “Oh, she’s a shy one,” said another voice. I sensed the butterflies building up in my stomach and got worried now their words may be meant for me.

  “Where do you live?” As soon as I realised the questions and comments were definitely aimed in my direction, my face began to redden.

  “Oh look, she’s blushing.”

  I didn’t know if it was possible to feel any more uncomfortable than I did. I prayed that it was nearly my stop. Looking up, I glanced out of the window and saw Park Lane approaching in the distance. I sighed with relief. My prayers had been answered. I rose to leave the bus. Grabbing hold of the rail, I peeped back at the boys giving them a nervous smile. I didn’t want to appear rude but nor did I wish to engage in conversation.

  I stepped down from the bus, put up my umbrella and began the brisk walk home.

  “Hi, not so fast, it looks like you’re going my way.” I turned around to see where the sounds came from. Catching up with me was one of the guys from the gang I’d seen on the top deck. He was grinning. He had a cheeky looking face with a turned up nose and fine brown hair with blond streaks. Even though he was in his mid-twenties, his hairline had already started receding. I felt the intensity of his dark brown eyes on me.

  “Isn’t this weather bobbins?” He popped his head under my umbrella. I wanted to move the umbrella away but didn’t.

  “What’s your name?” he enquired.

  “Sophie,” I said. I didn’t ask him his.

  “Do you live close by?” He was still smiling. I wasn’t.

  “Yeah, down the bottom of Radford Street,” I said reticently.

  “Oh good, you’re walking my way. Don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  “No.” I didn’t think I had much choice.

  “So do you live with your mum and dad?” He was very inquisitive. I wished I was someone who could make up stories on the spot. I wanted to tell him I lived with my boyfriend and get rid of him, but I didn’t.

  “I live on my own.” He looked surprised.

  “Oh, you don’t look old enough.”

  “I’m seventeen,” I said.

  “And I’m Jay. Pleased to meet you, seventeen,” and he held out his hand to shake mine. At this, I smiled and accepted the welcome. His handshake was firm. It felt like he was holding my hand in a vice.

  “So where did you go to school?” he enquired.

  “In Whitefield. How about you?” I asked.

  “Oh, you don’t want to know about me. So what was your favourite subject at school?”

  “Maths,” I said.

  “Maths,” he said at the top of his voice. I looked around embarrassed in case anyone had heard. “No one likes Maths.” He was still smiling.

  “Well, I suppose I liked it ‘cos I was good at it.”

  “So how come you’ve left home then?” he asked

  “I wasn’t getting on with my mum and dad.”

  “I know the feeling. So do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’ve one sister Stephanie. She’s just got married and lives in London.”

  “Oh, cool. I like London. So do you work?”

  “Yes, I work for an accountant’s in Manchester,” I said with pride. I felt really grown up saying that.

  “So you really are a smart cookie, aren’t you, Sophie?” I blushed.

  “I’m a trainee accountant. How about you?”

  “Oh, I don’t do anything fancy like y
ou. A bit of ducking and diving that’s all.”

  “So, you’re a bit like Arthur Daley, wheeling and dealing are you?” I laughed

  “Something like that.”

  He continued with a barrage of questions about my life. I furnished him with further details about my family, growing up and going to Blackpool every year for our holidays. By now we had reached my bedsit, and we stood outside the path chatting for some time. I felt pretty certain he didn’t live down my way as there were only a couple of other properties further along. After that, it was a dead end, and I had never seen him before.

  He told me his name was Jason really, but that friends called him Jay as he didn’t like his name. He invited himself in for a cup of coffee. He was pushy. I tried at first to protest that I didn’t have any coffee but he said tea would do. He had a persuasive nature. He looked me up and down.

  “You’re a bit of alright, aren’t you Sophie?” I went red.

  “I’d like to marry someone like you, Sophie.”

  I chuckled to myself that he was probably moving too fast there but agreed to let him in my place. I thought, at this rate, we’ll be divorced before I finish making the brew. We talked for a couple of hours. He opened up to me and got quite emotional when he mentioned his father.

  “My dad isn’t a nice man. He treats my mum like shit. He has a violent temper. He hits her a lot. He’s a rough Scotsman from the Gorbals in Glasgow.” I was shocked.

  “So how do you deal with that?” I asked.

  “It’s horrible watching Mum getting beaten up all the time. If me and my brothers try to intervene, we get it as well.”

  Jay confided in me how difficult his home life had been. I told him I understood. I didn’t, really. My upbringing had been heaven in comparison to his but I did know what it felt like to be unhappy at home.

  He wanted to stay the night. I dug my heels in and said no. He only agreed to leave if I promised to see him again the following day. I said I would. He gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared into the night. He hadn’t given me his phone number, but I somehow suspected that he would be back. I didn’t know what to make of him but I was excited and I had to admit I enjoyed the attention he showed me.