by Fox Brison
“She’s keen. Want me to come?” I heard the buzzer at the factory; time for work to start. The hum of machines started playing in the background, the rapid ch, ch, ch of the electric needle stitching collars onto jumpers. Damn how I wished I was there.
“No thanks, I can’t ask you to do that. Plus Greg would have a fit if we both took a sickie.”
“If you’re sure you’ll be alright?”
I wanted to deal with this myself. I had to deal with this myself. “It’ll be fine, we’re meeting at her office. Ashleigh-” I stumbled to a halt.
“Jo? Are you okay, hen?”
“Aye. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m sorry...”
“Hey stop. If you hadn’t been there when I gave birth to Jack I might not have made it through to the other side. You changed his nappies and fed him at night so I could get a few hours kip. Do not ever be sorry. Whatever you need I’m here for you – always.”
“Thanks, Ashleigh.” I put the phone down and rubbed my eyes wearily. I needed to be on the ball for this damned meeting, but lack of sleep and worry made that impossible. I would simply have to run with it and hoped I wasn’t making even more trouble for myself.
Problem was, I kinda knew inside my troubles had barely started.
***
Staring dispiritedly into the meagre contents of my wardrobe I chose a flowing gypsy skirt and peasant top. It was summer and honestly, unless I wore the dress I bought for my granny’s funeral, it was the smartest outfit I owned. I didn’t budget for clothes, what was the point? I never went anywhere and didn’t exactly have a great deal of disposable income; Matalan may as well have been Harvey Nicholls on my wage. Checking myself in the mirror I scowled. Maybe shackles and a toga would be more apt. I ran down the stairs when I heard the door open and the familiar clacking of a walking stick along the laminate flooring.
“Hey Mrs Simpkins,” I whoofed to catch my breath when I reached Ashleigh’s mother already in the kitchen with the kettle on.
“Oh, Jo, you’re still here. Sorry, Ashleigh gave me her spare key.” She pulled me into a hug. “How are you both?”
“Mam’s asleep,” I said succinctly.
“Right. Ashleigh said you have to meet the lassie your mam hit. Do you think it was the photie in the Advertiser that set her off?”
“Photo?”
“Aye. Of Stuart and his wife at their daughter’s wedding.”
“Stuart? Who’s… oh you mean my dad?” So that was a blast from the past. I hadn’t thought of him in years… well that was slightly untrue. Most times when my mum got drunk I thought a little of him, but mainly in the ‘I’ll kill the bastard’ sort of way. So that explained that. My father, the gobshite as Ashleigh and I affectionately called him, left me and my mother when I was five years old. Unbeknownst to her, he was having an affair with a woman in Leith. He even had a couple of kids with her, one literally born a few months after me. Finally he grew a pair and left my mam; the grass was patently much greener in Leith. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad, but he actually upped sticks on my birthday. Or rather, he hadn’t turned up to my birthday party and it wasn’t until my mother had called around every hospital and police station that his brother eventually told her the truth.
My mother was never the same again.
One love, her soulmate, the man of her dreams. And he left her without as much as a word.
From that day forward, Dad never tried to contact me, not even on my birthdays or at Christmas. I wasn’t bothered, not really. My gran always promised if I wanted she would take me to meet him and the rest of his family, but I wasn’t interested. Even from a young age I owned a determined sense of pride, and decided if he didn’t want me then I wouldn’t want him.
“I didn’t know,” I said sorrowfully. “Fuck...” I blushed. “Sorry, Mrs S.”
“Don’t be doll, I’ve used worse language when it came to your Dad, believe me. Jo?” She held my hand. “You’re not bothered by that bampot, are ye?”
“No, Mrs Simpkins. But if I’d known I wouldn’t have left mam alone, nor would I have…” I faltered. I felt terrible for the way I’d spoken to her.
“Wouldn’t have what?”
“I told her I should have… well I basically said I wished she was dead.”
“Oh, hen, we all say things we regret in the heat of the moment. You didn’t mean it and when your mam is right again, she’ll realise that.” Mrs Simpkins patted the hand she was still holding.
“I hope so. Look there’s stuff in the fridge for a butty, help yourself. I should only be a couple of hours-”
“Don’t you worry about us, we’ll be fine. Worry about yourself for once.”
If only…
***
I stopped in at Patterson’s the newsagents before catching the bus into the city centre. The chocolatey goodness of a Galaxy was mandatory whenever I was nervous, depressed, anxious, happy... essentially most days I found an excuse. “Oops, I’m so… Geoff!” I exclaimed in surprise. Engrossed in ripping open the gold foil, I hadn’t noticed my tutor from college entering the shop. In fairness it was more like he was blocking the doorway. “I didn’t know you lived around here?” I said.
“I don’t. I was passing and fancied something sweet. And here you are.”
Okay, that was another of his patented cheesy lines. “And here I go,” I replied cheerfully. “See you next Tuesday.”
“Not working today?” He moved further into my path which pissed me off; it was days such as today I wished I practised Buddhism or was a yoga aficionado, although with my flexibility I’d barely manage a downward facing cow never mind anything remotely difficult like a wounded peacock.
“Not today, no.”
“How fortunate. Would you like to grab a coffee and continue our conversation from last night. I think I have a couple of prospectuses in the car?”
Here we go again. “That’s kind of you, Geoff, but I have a previous engagement.” I sidled past him, which was difficult because damn, he was a broad shouldered Orc of a man. “Excuse me,” I murmured and tried not to gag when I couldn’t help but brush up against him. I sensed his eyes following me and never, in all of my living days, had I been so pleased to see the number 57 draw to a wheezing stop. It was chocka, and even though I had plenty of time to wait for the next one I jumped aboard. Glancing back, I saw Geoff’s eyes still fixated on me.
I’d stand all the way to the Outer Hebrides to escape that leer.
Chapter 11
Joanne
The bus dropped me off at the top end of Princes Street and I sucked in a lungful of air as I hurried through the crowds. Navigating the sea of people reminded me of driving on the motorway. There were clear lanes and overtaking manoeuvres at really stupid points, some in such a hurry they even risked their lives by stepping onto the road to get by. I settled in the slow inside lane; that way I could window shop and lust after things I couldn’t afford before going to Adele’s office to surreptitiously ogle something else I could never find the money for.
Even though I was resigned to my fate, I was still furious with my drunken mother and couldn’t help but resent Adele for painting me into a corner. Last night, in the wee hours when I failed to find sleep, I calculated how and when I could pay her back once we knew how much her car was going to cost to fix. I had two and a half grand in savings and, hopefully, the repairs wouldn’t come to much more than that. If they did, well then it would have to be plan B.
I shook my head. I didn’t really have a plan B.
Stop running before you can walk, Jo, you have to get through Friday first, then you can start worrying about finances.
I reached Cameron, Shaw and Carlisle Architects, just before eleven. The offices were exactly how imagined them. A smart atrium bordered by aloe vera plants, was complimented by chrome and glass tables with architectural and design magazines strewn on top and black leather club chairs randomly dotted here and there. It wasn’t regimented like a doctor’s, n
or casual like a hairdressers. It was the office equivalent of smart casual clothing. Front and centre was an ebony lacquered curved desk, and sitting behind it was the customary receptionist, complete with ear piece and computer monitor. She welcomed me with a courteous, “Good morning, can I help you?”
“Oh. Erm. Hi. I hope so. My name is Joanne Cassidy and I’m here to see Adele Jackson,” My voice was edgy and anxious. This is what it must have felt like in the Coliseum antechamber whilst waiting to face the lions.
“If you’d like to take a seat, Miss Cassidy, I’ll let Ms Jackson know you’re here.” She smiled politely and I stepped away from the desk. The walls were lined with pencil sketches and I tilted my head as I examined them. Some were boring, seriously, I mean how many ways can you make a tower block look unique? But there were a couple, one in particular, which caught my eye. It was beautiful. Stark, but beautiful. I checked out the label below. Oh my god. Adele’s name was underneath. I wondered if it was ever built and made a note to ask her. Maybe we could go and see…
What the hell is wrong with me? This isn’t a first date, we aren’t loves young dream. I’m pimping myself out to save my mother from the lock up; it’s hardly the stuff of romance novels.
I turned over the white envelope in my hands. It was physically light because it only contained one sheet of paper, but symbolically the weight was unbearable, as if it possessed the keys to the kingdom of Gomorrah. Inside was a model contract outlining my role and responsibilities as Adele’s girlfriend for one night.
“I’m Janine Brightman, Ms Jackson’s PA. She’s in a meeting with her junior architect, but she’ll be finished in a minute.” Adele’s personal assistant smiled at me warmly and I returned the gesture, quickly standing to follow her to the lifts. I can do this. I willed myself to believe it, even if every part of me was screaming just say no…
***
Adele’s office door opened and a couple of men exited, both looking relieved to have escaped with their lives. Adele’s low tones carried to where I was sat waiting and they were… terse. “Mackenzie, let me see what you have.” This was followed by a moment’s silence and I noticed Janine pause in her filing duties.
“Look, I know this brief is difficult, the owners want a cross between a castle and the Pompidou centre with a dash of the Gherkin thrown in for good measure, but these resemble something drawn by a blindfolded Edward Scissorhands!” I had no problem hearing Adele that time.
“I’m sorry-” another younger and softer voice tried to speak but Adele was having none of it.
“Sorry won’t cut it. Do you understand the concept of a deadline? There’s nothing here I can work with. If you don’t sharpen up your game, Mackenzie, and damned quick, you’ll find yourself designing public conveniences for the rest of your life! Which, to be totally candid, is all these plans would be good for,” she spat disparagingly. “I want three new designs on my desk by tomorrow. For once try thinking outside the box instead of drawing one!” A few seconds later the woman on the end of Adele’s tirade emerged; I didn’t get a good look at her, shorter than my five foot four, brunette and thin as a rake, but I did get a good look at her tears.
Dear God, Adele Jackson was a monster!
I wanted to leave but before I could, Janine was leading me into the office. “Thank you, Janine,” Adele said, then added, “why don’t you take an early lunch?”
“If you’re sure?” Adele acceded with a sharp nod and Janine left us alone.
“Joanne, I appreciate your promptness, I have a really busy day-”
“I don’t particularly want to spend the evening with you, socially or otherwise,” I interrupted and she sat down with a weird expression on her face. Realisation. Resignation.
Rejection.
“I see.” It suddenly felt like the aircon had been cranked up to full blast. “Then there really is no other option. If you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make to my insurance company, who will no doubt, along with the police, be in touch with you and your mother.” Her eyes were now a controlled storm, the grey darkening to match a leaden sky.
“You’re blackmailing me, Ms Jackson. How the hell-”
“Blackmail is such an unpleasant word,” she smoothly cut across me. “I prefer to think of it as a trade off.”
“A rose by any other name… and this particular trade off only involves one of us whoring ourselves out!” I exploded in frustration.
“Once again I can assure you sex is not part of this deal.”
“Damn right it’s not. Out of curiosity, what happened to make you such a cold hearted bitch? Did someone piss in your caviar?”
“Cold hearted?” she said softly. “If I was truly cold hearted your mother would be drying out in a prison cell.”
She had a point but it was also why this whole thing was bothering me so much. I couldn’t figure out her motives. My lips curled into a snarl. “Don’t you see… no I don’t suppose you do. You probably had a canteen of silver cutlery when you were growing up, never mind a bloody spoon.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you, simply give me your answer and then we can move on.” Her tones, if possible, were even brusquer.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Of course you do,” she snorted. “People always have a choice, Joanne. Does your mother stay at home and have another dram, or does she choose to get into a car and nearly kill someone? Your choice is somewhat less drastic. No life or death, no worries about the future or the past. You can accompany me to the dinner, or your mother can go to jail. See? Choices everywhere should you look closely enough.” She shrugged and I prayed I’d see at least a flash of compassion but there was nothing.
“Fine,” I said crossly. “Here,” I thrust my demands at her and she read them through.
“Fine,” she mimicked. “Do you want me to sign this and make a copy for your records?” It was obvious she was being sarcastic. Two could play that game.
“Of course. I need to protect my interests.”
Adele left to use the printer/copier in her assistant’s office and I seized the opportunity to gather my wits and examine her natural environment in more detail. Dian Fossey eat your heart out. It was actually really nice, less sterile than I imagined. Mind there was nothing personal apart from a couple of certificates on the wall, and one graduation photograph of her standing between what I assumed were her parents, although from the vacant looks and distance between them, they didn’t appear close in any sense of the word.
“Have you heard back from the garage yet?” I asked when she returned.
“Hmm?” she was reading the contract. Seriously? Was she that pedantic?
“The garage. Repairs. The crash.”
“Oh right, no nothing yet. Donna, my mechanic, said it would be Monday at the earliest. She needs to price parts and bodywork. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
“Good.” I stared out of the window. “You’re not a furry are you?” I blurted out. It had been on my mind ever since Ashleigh put it there the night before.
“A what?”
“Furry. You know. Dress up and pretend to be an animal. A furry.”
“Do I look like someone who has those sorts of proclivities?”
“Well no, but you can’t be too careful. You never know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“I can assure you dressing up in a leopard print onesie and licking myself or anyone else for that mat…” She blushed. Yeah she heard what I heard. “No I am not a furry, that is definitely not my idea of a turn on.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her what was when the door opened abruptly. “Adele, oh I’m sorry,” the man who’d entered quickly apologised, “I didn’t realise you were with someone, Janine isn’t at her desk.”
“Adam,” Adele tensed. “No, she’s taken an early lunch.”
He smiled at me quizzically. “Hi, I’m Adam Carlisle, Adele’s boss. If I waited for her to introduce us, I’d be collecting my pension.”
>
“Hi, Joanne, Joanne Cassidy.” Adele turned her back on us. Crap. Rock. Hard place. Joanne. Put them in any order you want they all added up to me being hung out to dry. I smiled wickedly to myself. I could really do a number on her… but I wasn’t as cruel as she was, so instead I offered my hand and he shook it warmly, “I’m Adele’s politer girlfriend.” That worked. Adele relaxed and joined us. She stood behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder. I felt her racing pulse when I put mine on top. Apparently we were really doing this.
Definitely no turning back now, Joanne, hen.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joanne. Adele kept you very quiet.” His eyes narrowed.
“Oh you know what she’s like, Adam,” I said. I didn’t have a clue but hoped my assumption wasn’t far off the mark.
“I do, I do,” he chuckled and I sensed Adele’s heart rate slow and the tension in the room fizzled out. “So we’ll be seeing you on Friday?”
“Friday?” I tilted my head up to look questioningly at Adele.
“Yes, darling, remember I told you about it last night,” she said with a loving smile.
Darling? That’s going to take some getting used to. “Oh the dinner, yes. Wouldn’t miss it. I can’t wait to hear all about this one.” I nudged Adele in the ribs, maybe a little harder than was warranted, but hey, every little helps, right? I felt as sick as a dog that needed a seeing eye friend; going into this totally blind I required as much guidance as I could get, but Adele was as forthcoming as a ventriloquist’s dummy. Face it, Jo, you’re screwed; best case you’ll look like a fool, worst case she’ll renege on her promise and call the cops.
“Vice versa,” he said winking at me.
“Anything else, Adam?” Adele put a stop to our little bonding session.
“Ah yes. Grant is moving the timeline forward and-”
“I finished it this morning,” she said shortly. “It’s on my desk.”
He picked up the drawings. “This is excellent, Adele, really excellent. Congratulations you’ve managed to turn a white elephant into a thing of beauty. You can count on my backing in the meeting next week, and if Grant still doesn’t think they’re suitable he’s an idiot.”
