by Fox Brison
“She’s fine. Thanks,” she added apologetically and her tone softened.
“How about if I give you a lift home and we can talk in the car?”
“Fine, if it’s that important you can’t tell me over the phone,” she finally relented.
“Listen I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
I disconnected the call and steepled my fingers together. My eyes narrowed and I wore a small smile on my face; was I happy because she’d conceded to my request? Or was I happy because I was going to see her again?
Head out the clouds, Adele, focus on the Chrysler Building, The Statue of Liberty, and Central Park.
And not on a small council house in Dalkeith.
***
“Adele?” Gemma, my younger sister, was confused when she answered my rat-a-tat-tat. She had every right to be, I think it was the first time I’d visited her house without my arm pinned behind my back. “Are you alright?”
“Hi. Yeah I’m fine but I need a favour. This woman, Joanne Cassidy.” I handed Gemma the business card on which Joanne’s number and email address was scrawled. “Her mother is on the waiting list for a rehab centre.”
“She is? Do you know her name? Why don’t you come in?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have time,” I prevaricated because inside I was cursing myself. It dawned on me that I had been so preoccupied with my needs that I hadn’t bothered to ask my date something as basic as her mother’s name, especially because of the situation I had crowbarred us into. “I presume her surname is Cassidy. I’ll find out her first name tonight. I’m picking Joanne up from night class,” I said abruptly. “The thing is, I need to get her into Miller Galbraith.”
“Adele, I’ve only been there a few months, I don’t have that kind of clout,” she said regretfully.
“Gem, I really need this favour. Joanne’s mother was the one who crashed into me. She was drunk and… well I didn’t report it to the police. I’m terrified that if she doesn’t get help, she might really hurt someone next time.”
“Jesus, Dell, why didn’t you report it?”
“I’ve kinda started dating Joanne.” Of course I didn’t tell her it was so I could win a promotion, that was on a need to know basis and she really didn’t need to know.
“What?” Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. Even her eyebrows had risen like quicksilver.
I frowned at her response. What was it with everyone thinking I was so damned awful? “Is it so surprising that your big sister has a girlfriend?” I asked.
“Quite frankly, yes! You’ve been living like a nun for the past ten years and the person that manages to break your self-enforced vow of celibacy is the daughter of a drunk driver who crashed into you?” Again, Gemma didn’t hide her incredulity, in fact she was a little over the top in my opinion.
“Yes, so will you do it?” I asked impatiently, totally disregarding her scepticism. It was already half past eight and I still had to go home and change before picking Joanne up.
“Did you bump your head because this sounds like one of those stories you hear about, you know, when a person suffers concussion and they wake up being able to play the piano or speak Mandarin, but in your case you now have a libido.”
“I knew coming here was a mistake,” I growled and turned to leave. Shit. This wouldn’t work without Gemma’s help.
“Wait, Adele, I’m only teasing. I think it’s sweet of you to look out for her, but it’s not as simple as-” Gemma suddenly smiled. “Was she the mysterious girlfriend dad kept going on about on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“It must be serious if you told Dad about her.”
“It is,” I said as quick as a flash, and the scary thing was I didn’t think it was a total lie.
“Okay I’ll see what I can do… on the condition you offer a quid pro quo,” she said with a glint in her eyes. Apparently the coercion gene was strong in the Jackson clan.
“Explain,” I said irritably.
“Our art therapist is going on maternity leave…” she hesitated again.
“Don’t look at me, I didn’t impregnate her!”
“Funny. No I was thinking you’re pretty decent with pencils and a paintbrush…” she looked at me expectantly. “A couple of times a week. Please?”
I quickly thought over my schedule. “It’ll have to be Thursday evening and either Saturday or Sunday,” I warned.
“Done.” My capitulation clearly intrigued Gemma but I left without giving her the chance to satisfy her curiosity.
I felt like the protagonist in a badly written thriller and was beginning to wonder whether this bloody promotion was worth it.
Chapter 18
Adele
Your starter for ten: what do you wear to convince your ex fake girlfriend to take you back? Was it casual attire, or did I make more of an effort to impress? I blew the air through pursed lips making a noise resembling a pregnant walrus. Jeans and a pale blue silk shirt would do the job. I rifled through my pile of scarfs and tied a matching navy geometric patterned one around my neck; I didn’t bother checking myself in the mirror, mainly because mirrors and I had a chequered past. When I was fourteen I broke every single one in my parent’s house, and now I only owned one tiny one in the bathroom for applying my make up and a second that remained secreted in the spare room, only coming out when I felt the masochistic need to torment myself.
I instinctively fingered my scarf.
Society seeks perfection, whether it’s the latest iPhone, or supermodels in magazines. In this era of Instagram and selfies and the veneration of celebrities, it didn’t matter if you were vulgar and as thick as shit, as long as you conformed to societies’ norms of beauty, you were idolised. Don’t get me wrong, what happened to me when I was a kid was traumatic, but as a result every action from then on focussed sharply on that one event, even though ostensibly the scarring was inconsequential, to my mother’s reasoning at least. She blamed herself for my accident and endeavoured to assuage her guilt by ensuring I lived as normal a life as possible.
Unfortunately her normal and my normal were two completely different animals.
I did as I was told but inside I began to wither away, building a façade on the outside of cold indifference. The looks and pitying gawks that accompanied each event I was forced to attend only served to reinforce my need for solitude.
I despise those askance glances.
The flush when a stranger thought they’d been caught staring…
The hurried change of topic when an acquaintance perceives they’ve made a faux pas by daring to mention…
And as for love… I’d learnt the hard way it wasn’t for me.
***
Picking up the chocolates I’d bought, and snatching the car keys off the bureau, I left to collect Joanne from college. I wondered, momentarily, if the chocolates were necessary, and concluded I needed all the help I could get. From what I gathered on Friday Joanne didn’t drink, so I considered handmade Belgian confectionary a fair exchange for the bottle of Chablis I initially chose. I grimaced at my twisted reflection in the bevelled glass of the front door, making me appear like a monster from a Japanese cartoon.
When did I become so calculating?
The college was practically abandoned when I arrived. “Sorry,” I said, checking my watch, “am I late?” Not by my reckoning.
“No, our regular English tutor was out sick so we got away a little early,” she explained.
As we walked back to the car park I tried making convivial conversation, buttering her up before I hit her with a quick one two bill/bribe combination. Joanne was coiled tightly with tension. What was I doing? The twinge in my stomach was a sharp pang of regret. I didn’t like myself and I especially didn’t like my plan at that precise moment, but with a deep inhalation I steeled myself. Eyes on the prize. “What are you studying at college?” I asked.
“I want to be a nurse.” By now we were in the car and she was pressed against the passe
nger door. I wondered if I’d forgotten to apply deodorant, but soon realised she was avoiding any accidental touches when I changed gear or pulled on the handbrake. The electric car I’d hired that afternoon was very small.
“That’s true?” Shock coloured my question because I simply assumed that she was either a competent liar or quick on her feet.
Or both.
“Yes, it was true!” she exclaimed exasperatedly. “Not everything I said and did the entire night was a fabrication, Adele, only the part where I thought the sun shone out of your-”
“I get it,” I interrupted sharply.
“Look, Adele, you strike me as the kind of person who prefers cutting to the chase. You said the garage finally got back to you about the cost of the repairs. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just email me or text me.”
“I thought you should have copy of the quote for your records.” I handed over the estimate before pulling away.
“You’re fucking joking?” She glanced down at the paper and then at me. “I cannae afford this.” Her brogue deepened and her eyes immediately took on a vacancy behind the sheen that sprang into them.
“It’s okay, you’re insured aren’t you?” Suddenly becoming very phlegmatic, Joanne stared out of the window. “What’s wrong?” I asked slowly.
“I… the insurance… it’s why I didn’t have the car that night. The insurance I mean. I couldn’t afford it this month,” she stuttered out her explanation.
Say what? My jaw clenched tightly. Here I was feeling utterly guilt-ridden about my actions, and Joanne had shrewdly been playing me like a Stradivarius. “I cannot believe how unreservedly foolhardy you and your mother are! Clearly good sense and fiscal responsibility aren’t visitors to your door.”
“Now hang on,” she argued hotly, “don’t talk about us like that.”
“I suppose you want me to feel sorry for you? Boo hoo. So how does this pan out? You turn on the water works and get off scot free. What sort of chump do you think I am?”
“I’m not asking you for anything, I have a few thousand in savings and I can pay the rest off monthly,” she retorted angrily, whilst glowering at the roof as she did the calculations in her head. “I can give you one hundred and fifty a month. Maybe more if I stop coll… take on some overtime.”
Stop college? Calming down a smidgen I began to do a little calculating of my own as we drew to a quiet humming stop outside her house. Things couldn’t be working out any better if I’d drawn up the designs myself.
“I suppose you’d better come in,” she said sullenly.
I ignored her mood because securing her mother a place in rehab had unexpectedly become the icing on the cake. I was about to get exactly what I wanted and ultimately come out smelling like a fragrant rose in the height of summer, rather than the horse manure spread around its roots.
***
Joanne’s house was your typical small two bed council dwelling. Inside the front door was a long passage leading to the kitchen, with a lounge on one side and stairs to the second floor on the right. It was tastefully decorated, and someone clearly took pride in it. I guessed Joanne. “You have a nice home,” I observed.
She shrugged. “It’s nothing special. But my granny used to say a home is what you make of it. You might live in the shittiest neighbourhood in the world, but once you shut your front door you can be in paradise.”
“That’s a good philosophy,” I said.
“It’s a philosophy,” Joanne laughed sardonically, “and one which I adhered to once I finally grew up.” She showed me into the front room where I sat on the sofa and she took the armchair. “My first attempt at decorating was a complete disaster, the floor was like something Jackson Pollack produced in a drunken rage, and the walls were shiny.”
“Shiny?”
“Yep. After Ashleigh found me crying on a dust sheet, she took me in hand and explained the difference between matt and gloss paint.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked, my eyes wandering the walls, imagining what it must have looked like. Awful, was the one word which instantly filled my thoughts.
“I do now!” she chuckled wryly.
“I got these today.” I waved the box of Belgian chocolates in the air.
“That’s nice?” she replied quizzically.
“They’re for you.” I thrust them forward and nearly smashed her in the face. It was becoming somewhat of a habit.
“Oh thank you, that’s very sweet, I’m a bit of a chocaholic,” she said automatically, “but you shouldn’t have, a box this size must have set you back a week’s wages. I’m sorry, where are my manners.” She stood up, obviously still acting on rote. “Do you want something to drink, tea, coffee, squash or fizz? We don’t have anything stronger for obvious reasons.”
She was babbling and rather than grating it was adorable. “Coffee would be great, I’m driving so-”
“For the love of god!” she blustered.
“What? Oh wait. No. Sorry. I always seem to put my foot in it. I honestly didn’t-”
“Of course, you didn’t. I’ll be right back.” She wasn’t gone more than a few minutes when she returned with two mugs and a plate of rich tea and bourbon biscuits.
This wasn’t going to plan. Instead of ingratiating myself I was alienating myself. I huffed because this was precisely how I’d behaved for well over twenty years, and I could see how the conditioned learning may have been subliminal, but bloody effective. “The bosses at work were very impressed with you on Friday,” I began
“That’s good,” she said, clearly confused by my sudden segue. “Listen, the money-”
I cut across her; it was time to get down to the nitty gritty. “Before asking you to be my date I first considered hiring an escort.”
“Wow. Okay. Did not need to know that, but thanks for sharing.”
Joanne was staring at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted a second head that looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. “No what I mean is an escort would have cost me five hundred pounds per night, and that was for the basic model.”
“Seriously? Shite, I’m in the wrong job.” She shook her head regretfully. “But, Adele, I don’t know what any of this has to do with me and what I owe you.”
“It has everything to do with you because I have a proposition.”
“Another one?” she joked but couldn’t disguise the tension in her voice.
“Yes, I need an escort, and you need cash-” I said stiffly and Joanne did a double take. “Wait. That came out wrong.” In truth, it was pretty much spot on. “Let me start again. It transpires I require a girlfriend for more than just one night.”
“I’m totally lost here, Adele. What are you getting at? Wait…” She looked at me sideways.
“I’m proposing a simple business arrangement. Instead of an escort, I’m suggesting I hire you,” I clarified
“I’m not going to pay you in kind!” Joanne jumped from her chair. “I’m not a prostitute. I’ll pay you back, I just need more time!”
“Dear god how often do I have to repeat myself! I. Am. Not interested in you as a sexual partner. The promotion alone is worth well over twenty thousand per annum in basic salary. Add to that the bonus I’d receive for securing the Jordan Golf contract and it would far outstrip any pecuniary disadvantage I would incur. If you agree to be my companion, every time we go out I will take five hundred pound off what you owe me for the damage to my car. A maximum of eight evenings, Joanne. Eight.”
She narrowed her eyes and then snatched the estimated bill from the side where she’d chucked it when we first arrived. “This?” She waved it at me agitatedly.
“I promise you it’s bona fide. My sister’s wife made it up, and trust me when I say she’d not do me any favours.”
“Jesus Christ, Adele.” She sat back down and glanced at the estimate once again. Her skin was ashen and she appeared haggard and careworn.
“This idea surprised me too when I first deliberated its merits, but it’s perfect. Yo
u’re beautiful, kind, and clearly get on well with people, all the attributes I’m looking for, or should I say, all the attributes my prospective clients are seeking. Apparently, being a top rate architect isn’t enough anymore,” I sneered.
She snorted and bit her nail whilst considering what I said. “Okay, I get how you might and that’s a very dubious might by the way, think the first thing. But the other two? You don’t know me.”
“I know you were willing to do just about anything rather than see your Mum go to prison. And you went way above and beyond what I expected on our first date when you could easily have just done the bare minimum.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged.
“What is there to think about?” I barked frustratedly. Jesus, it really was a no brainer. “I’m not asking you to negotiate a peace treaty between The United States and North Korea. It’s a few dinners, a night at the opera, the company picnic.” Rehab, the iconic Amy Winehouse tune, began to play in my head. Calm down, Adele. You have her on your line, time to reel her in. “What about if I sweeten the deal?” I said far more equably.
Joanne narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”
“Agree to this and I will swing it so your mother is offered a place at the Miller Galbraith Rehab Centre.”
Joanne’s head snapped up in shock. “How?”
“That doesn’t matter, the question you should be asking yourself is do you love your mother enough to go out on a couple of dates with me?”
“I know nothing about you.” She pursed her lips, deep in consideration. “Maybe you’re not my type.”
“Joanne, I don’t give a rat’s arse if I’m your type or not; we both get something out of this. I give my boss what he wants and you won’t have to end up selling everything you own to pay for my car to be fixed and your mother gets the help she needs.”
“Adele, seriously, think about it. We just about got away with it on Friday but what if someone asks me something personal? I wouldn’t have a clue.”
“Like what?”
“Oh I don’t know… when your birthday is, if you have any siblings, what your favourite colour is…”
