by Fox Brison
I was starting to regret my decision to share. Instead of feeling better I felt a million times worse. “You’ve been watching too much Sky Atlantic. She didn’t give me that impression,” I said with a lot less certainty than I would have a few minutes earlier.
“Because you’re such a great judge of character?” Ashleigh looked at me over the top of her mug and I smiled ruefully. She was referring to Moira, my ex-girlfriend. Now there really was a car crash of a relationship.
“Maybe if we stop looking at it as weird and creepy and more like, I dunno, don’t you think it’s like that film?” I suggested in an attempt to reduce the ickiness level of the whole scenario.
“Pretty Woman?”
The cheeky grin on Ashleigh’s face made me chuckle weakly. Immediately the tension eased. “No, muppet. There will definitely be no sex involved. I made that abundantly clear.”
“Oh wait, The Proposal?”
“I’m not an illegal immigrant-”
“Mah mam loves that one, with Andi McDowell. Do you mean that one?” Ashleigh was launching random rom com hand grenades at me. I’m not sure if it was intentional but it certainly distracted me. “No, wait, I’ve got it.” She clicked her fingers. “The one with him out of Will and Grace.” She was so proud of herself and I hated to disabuse her of the notion she was right.
But I did.
“Definitely not.” By now I was laughing so hard I could hardly catch my breath. I was nigh on hysterical, a culmination of the night’s proceedings, but it felt good to let it go. “Ash, never mind the film…”
“So you’re gonna do it?” she said when the giggling finally subsided.
“What choice do I have?”
“Well looking on the bright side,” she said softly, “she is the type you go for. Femme bordering on butch.”
I thought about what Ashleigh said. Adele Jackson was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw, and grey eyes that screamed stormy. “Oh purleese give me a break. This isn’t love at first sight! Loathing, maybe. Disgust?” I sighed. Was I being unfair? Sure Adele’s request may have been unreasonable, but then so was being rear ended by my drunken mother.
“You’re right, this isn’t a time for teasing.” She took a pen and pad out of her humongous handbag, and laid them carefully on the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“If this is going to be a business arrangement, we’re going to do it properly. We’ll draw up a contract stating what you will, and more importantly will not, do. So first things first, exactly what level of physicality is she expecting?”
“Someone’s been watching the rugger again!” I teased.
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for cauliflower ears.”
I snorted. Ashleigh really could find the humour in any situation and I was eternally grateful she was my best friend. “Nothing more than hand holding. She wants me to accompany her to a works do and from her car and clothes, I’d say it’ll be pretty high brow.”
“Yeah for a drug mule.”
“Stop!” I laughed.
“Them posh types are the fuckin’ worst. Put it in writing Jo. She might be a furry and demand you walk around on all fours purring whilst she feeds you cream off a saucer.”
“Furry? Seriously?” I sipped my tea which was growing cold and she glared at me. “But you’re right, I’ll jot it down.” We spent the next twenty minutes highlighting several other questions, each one more outlandish than the last until the tears were rolling down my cheeks. “I am not going to ask her if she’s proficient with tools! This contract is meant to protect me, not give her ideas!”
“Better to have too much information than not enough is my motto.” Ashleigh glanced at the small clock on the mantle. “Shit, Jo, I’d better be off or my mam will think I’ve done a runner and left her with the kids.” She stuffed her notebook in her bag and picked up her car keys, jangling them.
“Would you ask her if she’d mind sitting with my mam for a few hours tomorrow? The first few days coming off the drink are the worst.”
“Nae worries, Jo. With the way Jack’s been acting up lately, watching your mam will feel like a luxury holiday in the Bahamas!”
“He’s getting a mind of his own,” I grinned. “Like mother like son!”
“No, he’s assimilating those little brats he goes to school with. He’s after an iPad at eight year old!” She turned and hugged me. “Now don’t worry, hen, we’ll sort this out together. Try and get some sleep; everything’s better after a few hours kip.”
“Thanks, Ashleigh, I’ll see you at the bus tomorrow.” I glanced at the clock too. “Or rather later today.”
“Aye see you in the morning.” I saw Ashleigh out and got myself a can of coke zero from the fridge. After swallowing half of it one gulp, I grabbed my phone and sent Adele a text before I could change my mind.
No going back now.
Chapter 9
Adele
“Do you need to see a doctor?” Donna asked, interrupting the distasteful thoughts detailing my rapid escalation from wronged car crash victim to blackmailing fiend. To paraphrase Frank Sinatra, regrets… I’ve had a few…
“No, I’m fine,” I said firmly.
“Are you sure?” she pushed.
“I said I was fine,” I insisted sharply. “Just drop me off at the corner and I’ll make my way from there.”
“I don’t think so,” Donna argued with a short bark of laughter. “Gemma will file for divorce if I don’t make sure you get home safely.”
“And what Gemma wants, Gemma gets, right?” I said disdainfully.
It had been that way ever since Gemma burst into my life when I was ten years old. She was my parent’s second chance, their salvation, an opportunity to show the world that they were good at raising children… or at least at raising their younger daughter.
The stark disparity in attitude was best illustrated by the differences in mine and Gemma’s coming out experiences. My mum and dad were of the silent homophobic generation, so when I told them I was a lesbian it was one of those tumbleweed moments that will go down in history along with the Charge of the Light Brigade as a monumental error of judgement.
In my parent’s eyes anyway.
I’ll never forget the classic ‘but you’re too pretty to be a lesbian,’ nor the ‘you just haven’t met the right man yet,’ (despite me protesting ad nauseam that the gender was totally wrong) they were sure this paragon would see past the imperfections tarnishing my golden skin.
My skin that was more like an abstract painting than a marble statue.
Fast forward ten years later when their little angel Gemma exploded out of the closet, and it was as if I was the only one in the family without a cool new superpower. We went from prayer circles and exorcisms to rainbow cakes and pride marches. And most days I was okay with that, but sometimes…
Donna overlooked my sarcasm – perhaps she was cutting me some slack because of the accident. “That’s bull and you know it, Adele. Gemma loves you, you know. Would it kill you to make an effort and come to dinner now and again?”
“I’ll try.” And yes that was purely lip service. The truth was I’d stopped making an effort a long time ago, I’d been burned too many times now. We drew to a stop. “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could keep this accident between us.” I received a grunt for a reply and with a mumbled thanks, I got out of the truck and entered my house.
Immediately my shoulders relaxed.
Seconds after silencing the beep of the alarm with a hurried tapping of the four digit security code onto the keypad, the purring started. I smiled affectionately as my two cats ingratiatingly wound themselves around my legs. Bow and Arrow were ginger, a girl and a boy, and no matter what time of day as soon as I arrived home, and the alarm was disarmed, they would appear.
They were all I needed.
They preceded me into the kitchen, our nightly routine so familiar all three of us could have done it wit
h our eyes closed. I opened two tins of Gourmet Gold and the noise emanating from my furry babies rivalled the hum of my BMW’s engine. Placing their bowls on their mats, I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured myself a large glassful. I kicked off my shoes as Joan Armatrading’s distinctive voice came through the integrated music system and checked my emails.
Sitting with perfect posture on my sage green sofa (my mother would be so pleased that my deportment lessons finally paid off) I tried not to move my neck; it didn’t hurt so much as it was sore. A couple of ibuprofen and a glass of wine would soon sort that out, and hopefully send me off to sleep in the process.
Half way through my third glass of Pinot Noir, reality began to sink in. Actually, it began to pound me in the head, slap me in the face and generally question both my intelligence and parentage. Fuck what have I done? I’d basically let a dangerous woman walk free for personal gain. What if she does it again? And the next time her victim may not be as fortunate. What if she hits a child? Was I really that callous and self-centred? I shook my head again and instantly regretted my actions. No, I did the right thing. That poor woman needs help, not a prison cell. Tomorrow I’ll insist Joanne gets her help… rehab… therapy… even that bible camp would be better than nothing.
I was a master at assuaging my guilt.
My thoughts quickly reverted to Joanne. She was stunning but that wasn’t the reason for my ‘altruism.’ Nuh huh, no siree Bob. Ultimately it was watching twelve years of hard work circling the drain that was responsible for, what some might call, my temporary insanity. I wanted that contract and promotion; hell I needed them and I was prepared to use whatever means possible to secure both.
The doorbell interrupted my relaxed drift towards dreamland. It was half past twelve at night and I was loathe to answer, but after checking the camera and seeing my baby sister hopping around the doorstep, I knew she’d be there with her finger on the bell all night if I continued to ignore her and the buzzing drove Bow and Arrow loopy. One trait my sister and I shared was pig headedness – we inherited it from our father.
That’ll teach me to call a different garage next time. “Gem,” I said resignedly when I opened the door. “Are you coming – yes of course you are,” I mithered as she pushed past me and stormed into the kitchen.
“Oh god, Dell, are you alright?” She ran her fingers over my face and peered into my eyes. “There’s no concussion? What about whiplash? I’m staying the night.” It took me a few seconds to break down her continuous train of words into component parts. The one thing that jumped out at me was her statement that she intended to sleepover.
Oh I don’t think so! Unless it was life or death, I didn’t share my personal space with anyone.
“There’s no need for that, Gem, I’m perfectly fine. This is why I didn’t want Donna to tell you, I knew you’d overreact.”
She swallowed me into a crushing hug. “She’s my wife and you’re my big sister, of course she was going to tell me. I get that you’re this superhero who needs no one but herself, however, the next time you’re in an accident call me.”
“Gemma, please. I promise if I’m in an accident and need your assistance, I’ll call you.”
“You should have been a lawyer,” she scolded teasingly. “I know you won’t call me, I just wanted you to know you could.” She sat on the stool next to the breakfast bar and waited expectantly.
Oh great, it appears we’re going to have a conversation. At nearly one in the morning. Normally I’d have struggled to hide my expression, but the three wine/two ibuprofen combo had mellowed me out somewhat. “And I appreciate the sentiment but you should go home, I don’t want Donna up all night worrying about you.”
“Why the sudden concern for my wife’s well-being?”
“I need her to look at my car first thing; I have to get a quote ASAP.” So I wasn’t averse to using familial connections when it suited, but if I had to put up with unannounced visits I wanted something in return.
“You nearly had me there, I thought you were actually considering someone else’s feelings for once!” she said acerbically.
“I didn’t mean-”
“Yes, Adele, you did,” she said wearily, almost as if she’d finally conceded she was fighting a losing battle.
I seized my opportunity to get rid of her. “Look, Gem, it’s late and I’m tired.” I stood and walked to the arch leading into the long parquet floored hall. Surely she’d take my less than subtle hint.
“Okay, but call me tomorrow, please? Just so I know you made it through the night.”
Can anyone say drama queen? “I will, I promise.”
“And I truly believe you think you might,” she said softly. “I love you, Dell.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and I responded with a half hearted one armed hug slash pat on the back, and as soon as her foot was off the front door step, I closed the door firmly behind her. I was alone again.
Just how I liked it.
***
The following morning I set off at five a.m. for my jog. It started off bright, but as soon as I continued my usual route around the mean streets of Dalkeith, grey clouds began to thicken. The darkening sky did not bode well for yours truly as I had hoped to use my Harley (my third major purchase) to get to work. Bike in the rain will mean changing at the office. I scowled as my feet thumped on the concrete pavements, and cold sweat dripped down my back, which had nothing at all to do with the three miles still left to get back home. C’mon, Adele you can do this. Changing at the office is no big deal. I kept a spare set of clothes there just in case. I’d only used them once and was nervous to again; Mackenzie had walked in on me but luckily she’d been too busy looking at plans to notice anything else. It was a close call and the reason for my reticence now.
Perfect preparation, Adele.
My father’s voice melded with Adam’s… perfect preparation, Adele… be nicer, Adele… don’t be a waster, Adele… not good enough for promotion, Adele… I flicked off my cheesy listening playlist and replaced it with my hard rock one, an attempt to drown out the voices in my head.
And sprinted for home.
I stepped out of the shower, dried off and then let my towel fall to the floor, before sitting on the edge of the bath. Goosebumps instantly appeared as I opened the bottle of bio-oil and squeezed it onto the palm of my hand. Slowly, I began to massage my shoulders where the fire had burned the hottest. I repeated this action over the remainder of my body, trailing over craters and crevices I knew were there, yet hadn’t seen for years. Grudgingly I accepted I wouldn’t be riding my bike to work.
I could barely change jackets at the office let alone a whole outfit.
My final task was to apply the oil to the pink scar marking the left side of my neck, the only indication of the severity of my disfigurement when I was dressed.
Hence the diverse and numerous scarves adorning a special hanging section in my wardrobe.
The puckered, taught skin never appeared to grow any looser, and I was sure the oil was nothing but a placebo, still I persevered. The ‘wash’ of memories which started in the bathroom continued in my bedroom…
Mrs Jackson, we need to see your daughter… that’s right… let her go…
Adele, shhh, it’s going to be alright… this cream will stop the burning…
Just one more operation to make you beautiful darling, one more skin draft and then you’ll be Maid Marion again…
Stand up straight, Adele, show the doctors your back…
Mr Jackson, plastic surgery will never completely eradicate your daughter’s scars…
My parents never accepted this was now who I was. A deep and long exhale followed. Forget the past. Focus on the present. Fight the phantom pain, endure the ghostly memories.
Suffer the heartache…
Why couldn’t they just love me?
Picking up the phone, I called the car service the firm used.
I pulled on soft grey trousers that hugged my thighs and a white shirt, my
ubiquitous white shirt, which was made of a silk hybrid. It was the only thing that didn’t chafe. I completed the ensemble with a green silk scarf to add a splash of colour. I shook my head at my disingenuous behaviour. I wore the scarf to ensure I was hidden.
It was my Clark Kent glasses.
It was my mask.
Chapter 10
Joanne.
Seven am and after scarcely closing my eyes all night, I blew on my black coffee and tentatively took a sip. My dreams were filled with crunching metal, shattering glass and the dull thud of a two ton vehicle hitting a child. I spent the remainder of the night too terrified to sleep and thanking our lucky stars no one was killed.
My mother was still catatonic and probably would be until the next day, if past experiences were anything to go by. It was infuriating; she was doing so well yet the temptation would always be there. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. Still, even I was shocked by how intoxicated she was last night, and that’s saying something. The landline rang and I reluctantly went to answer it, no doubt another of my mother’s ‘friends’ asking how she was. “Hello?” I said and received nothing in reply. “Hello?” I repeated and was greeted with even more silence. “Who’s there? I think you might have the wrong-” I heard the dial tone. “Number.” They’d hung up.
My mobile beeped and I cast it a cursory glance, before reaching for it with a weary sigh. Adele. I’d programmed her number in last night after she’d called to check I hadn’t given her a fake one. It must be terrible living in such a cynical world.
Be at my office, 332 Princes Street, 11 am sharp.
Crap. I couldn’t afford to take the day off, but my insomnia wasn’t going to improve until this mess was cleared up. I didn’t need to be a psychic to know this was going to take a hell of a lot longer to straighten out than the kitchen, that was for sure. I quickly phoned my understanding supervisor and then Ashleigh. “Did you ask your mam if she would come over?” I asked.
“Aye. She’ll be round just before ten.”
That put my mind at ease for all of about two seconds. “That’s handy because Adele just texted me. I’m meeting her at eleven.”
