by Fox Brison
“Hi, Adam,” I called back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Adam.” She hung up and looked at me. “Sorry about that. So where were we? Ah yes, you were about to tell me why Mackenzie going to the opera bothers you so much.”
“It’s nothing, not really. She gives me funny looks.” Actually, I wasn’t a fan of the way she eyed Adele either, especially now I knew why, but that wasn’t my battle to fight.
“I know what you mean. She walks around with her nose so high in the air it’s a wonder she doesn’t trip. Mind you, her boobs are so fake she’d more than likely bounce right back up again without breaking stride. She’s harmless enough though, a little young but weren’t we all at her age.” She looked at me quizzically. “Your age. I can’t believe the two of you are the same age, you seem so much more, I don’t know… mature.” We grinned at each other. Adele was beginning to relax around me, and when she relaxed she wasn’t half as fearsome.
“One advantage of being raised by an alcoholic, you grow up real fast.”
She glanced at the pile of files Janine had brought in, before looking back up at me, her unguarded face for once displaying real emotion. “Joanne, I know I’ve put you in an awful position, but you’ve made me for…” she paused. “I find it difficult to communicate sometimes, and I hope one day you will forgive me for manipulating you. You’ve no idea how much I truly appreciate you agreeing to help me.” Adele was the embodiment of a Scottish summer; she still had more cold fronts than warm ones, but when those sunny days came around, they more than made up for the biting wind and stinging rain.
“It’s weird. I think if we’d met under any other circumstances we might’ve been good friends,” I suggested and she snorted in disbelief. “No? What I’m not good enough?” I said and laughed at her expression - it was two thirds McEnroe-esque ‘You cannot be serious,’ and one third Victor Meldrew ‘I don’t believe it.’
“The problem isn’t that you’re not good enough, it’s that you’re too good for the likes of me. I’m not girlfriend material. In fact, I’m hessian when it comes to any close relationship.”
“Hessian?”
“Yes, rough and scratchy, impossible to suffer for more than a couple of minutes.”
“Nah, you’re more like hemp,” I teased. “So you don’t have any friends? Not one?”
“Not really. I have a younger sister and she’s probably the person I feel closest to. But if it wasn’t for her moving to Dalkeith after she graduated, I wouldn’t see much of her either. I know you think I’m strange, but I’m happy in my own company.”
“I don’t think it’s strange.” I was on the end of another stare of utter incredulity. “Okay maybe a little. But not strange as much as different. I’m also a wee bit disappointed.”
“Disappointed?”
“Aye, because a small part of me had thought we might grow to become friends over the next month.” I smiled at her. It was the truth and I hoped she realised it.
“I don’t understand. You want to be my friend despite the way I’ve treated you?”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a lost cause.” I raised my eyebrows.
“Well this is new territory for me and I’m not known as an adventurous explorer, but I’ll certainly give it a shot,” she said softly.
“Really?” I hadn’t realised how bothered I was by the thought of her not wanting to be my friend until she said she’d try. I felt like getting up and gyrating around her office. “Then let’s consider this a new beginning for both of us. If you end up with your promotion and I end up with a new friend and my mum sober and out of rehab, I’d class that as a win win. So do we have a deal?”
“Sounds a much better one than the two I’ve offered you so far,” Adele said quietly. “I don’t have much experience with friendship but I’ll do my best, Joanne, I promise.” She turned back to her computer and I removed the Kindle Fire from my handbag. It was a basic model and may have been considered a dinosaur in the evolving world of tablets, but it was adequate for my needs. Silence reigned until Adele pushed back from her desk and declared, “Done and done.” She smiled at me. “Ready?”
“For my Pretty Woman shopping experience you mean?”
She laughed. “Is that what you’re calling it?” I merely lifted my eyebrows and she laughed again. “Okay, then yes, except Julia Roberts isn’t a patch on you.”
“Adele Jackson, you’re a bare faced liar,” I mock scowled and noticed a modicum of panic in her eyes. “You said you couldn’t flirt, but you’re doing a damn fine job from where I’m sitting.”
She blushed and it suited her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep the mark.”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Besides, if we’re meant to be madly in love, I think a little gentle flirting is crucial for authenticity purposes.” And in all honesty I really liked it, but I thought I would keep that little tidbit of pertinent information to myself until I had the time to dissect it privately.
Adele closed the door to her office and placing her hand at the small of my back, gently guided me to the lift.
Yep, this feeling definitely needed examining very, very closely indeed
Chapter 21
Adele
Confession time; I hate shopping. I hate all things associated with it, the crowds, the often frustrating and dispiriting attempts to find the right outfit, changing rooms designed to highlight every miniscule blemish…
Those I loathed with every fibre of my being.
“So I thought we’d start in ‘Chic to Chic.’” I proposed in the lift heading down to the ground floor.
“New Look,” Joanne argued. “They have a sale on.”
“Joanne, I meant what I said.”
“And so did I. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you buying me clothes,” she admitted honestly.
“I don’t want you out of pocket,” I said quietly. “I know I insulted you last night when I suggested we go shopping, but honestly it wasn’t my intention. This is important to me, not only because of the image I need to portray but also because I didn’t want you to suffer any extra indignity that may arise from being my date. I’ve learnt that looks and smiling words can be interpreted a million ways. At times they can cut you to the bone far more effectively than a scalpel but with far less precision.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” she said compassionately. She mooted it as a question, but I could tell it was a purely rhetorical one.
“Although most of my colleagues are sound enough, there are the odd few-”
“Like Mackenzie and Aileen?”
“Exactly, who will make you feel this high.” I levelled my right hand with the top of her knee. My left found my scarf and I gripped it tighter.
“Okay, how about we agree to disagree and start shopping.” She took off down the pavement and when I didn’t immediately follow, turned to look over her shoulder. “Well?”
“Fine, fine,” I huffed, but it was light hearted. Despite being about to participate in an activity I despised, I was remarkably relaxed, an unusual sensation for me. Never keen on leaving work early (and certainly not for something as frivolous as shopping) something had changed inside of me. I wasn’t sure of the what, but I was sure of the why. Joanne Cassidy. Yes I was guilty of trapping her in a loveless fake relationship, but she was being a complete trooper about it.
Another thing that had changed, seemingly overnight.
Shopping with Joanne was a revelation. We hit the ground running and never stopped. New Look was first, and I must admit, albeit reluctantly, it wasn’t as ‘plebeian’ as I imagined. However, they didn’t have anything that caught our eye so we eventually made our way to ‘Chic to Chic’, a designer boutique on the Royal Mile; Joanne was like a kid with the golden ticket – Charlie Bucket rather than Veruca Salt I might add. I encouraged her to try on everything her eyes and touch lingered on for more than a few seconds. It was amazing how something so simple could instigate such joy.
Joanne bounced into the changing rooms with an armful of dresses, each classic and elegant in their simplicity, and I was totally invested in her barely concealed excitement. Left alone with my thoughts, the incalculable emotions scrimmaging inside of me all added up to a heap of confusion, because some were rare beasts that had only been felt once or twice, whilst others threatened to overwhelm me.
“What do you think?” she asked, emerging from the dressing room like the birth of the goddess Venus. She owned a bashful look, but couldn’t disguise the obvious pride in her carriage. This was clearly the outfit she liked the most.
And in fairness it was sublime.
“I’m not sure thinking is an option,” I muttered, “because you look…” I appreciated the view again. “Joanne, whatever adjective I choose will be insufficient to describe how incredible you look.” I waggled my finger and she turned in a slow circle. Her curves undulated like rolling hills, and there was an unexpected tightening in my chest followed by a churning in my stomach. Was this… I shook my head in an attempt to clear it, but it was no use I couldn’t shake it. Damn you, Gemma. My sex drive, dormant for so long, heck, for so long extinct, had come out of a ten year coma.
“Stop it,” she waved her arm at my antics.
“No really, Joanne, that’s definitely the one.” ‘The one’ was a sleeveless floor length chiffon halter dress with large red peonies sprinkling the backdrop as if they’d been thrown haphazardly onto a cream silk cloth. “It’s formal, yet not overly so.” I reached out, my fingers itching to trace the flowers that complimented the natural shades in her hair, but pulled back; groping Joanne in the middle of Chic to Chic? Bad move.
“It also costs an arm and leg,” she exclaimed.
“Please, Joanne, can we not argue anymore. I want to do this. Think of it as part of the treating you special thing I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Come again?” She lifted her head and our gazes met and locked for a few seconds before I turned away. I had to, I couldn’t breathe.
“I downloaded an app; ‘Fake Relationships for Dummies.’ The first rule says spoil her rotten. Now I can’t break a rule, and especially not one as important as that.”
“Methinks you’re taking the proverbial ‘p’ but-” she sighed dramatically and inspected herself again.
“But you’re going to let me buy it,” I said smugly.
“Only because I would sell my soul for this dress,” she replied with a wistful sigh.
And in this instance I was the devil incarnate; although as I struggled to take my eyes away from Joanne I wondered if I might have to relinquish my title to her.
Because, quite frankly, she was slowly stealing my soul.
Chapter 22
Joanne
“I count my blessings every day that I live a mere twenty minutes from this wonderful city.” I said as Adele and I left the boutique and walked slowly along the Royal Mile, the area of Edinburgh which ran from the castle down to Holyrood Palace. The evening was fine, and I was lost people watching. However, I nearly jumped out of my skin when Adele unexpectedly took my hand.
“Sorry.” She lifted our joined hands. “Is this okay? I thought we should practise so it would seem more natural and you don’t suffer a heart attack if we have to do it in front of others.”
“Yes, I mean, I totally agree,” I said without a milliseconds hesitation. Now this I could get used to.
“And I one hundred percent concur with your assessment of our fair city. What’s your favourite part?” she asked.
“It seems a little predictable to say the castle but I do love it. And before you say anything, it’s not because I’m a hopeless romantic, there’s just something iconic about it.”
Adele nodded eagerly. “She proudly watches over us, her dark walls a hint to the past. A less than subtle hint. Sometimes, when the sun hits the brickwork, it appears red, as if it’s stained with the blood of a thousand dying soldiers.”
“Poetic. Macabre, but poetic.”
Adele chuckled. Her voice was smooth and silky when she discussed something she loved. It was reminiscent of an impressionist painting, full of swoops and shades that would take a lifetime to appreciate.
“What about you, what’s your favourite building?” I prodded.
“Oh wow, now you’re asking. There’s a few but if I had to pick only one it would have to be the Scottish Parliament building.”
“Why?” I was interested because that particular structure wouldn’t have come in my top ten, let alone number one.
“I guess… partly because of its originality, but mainly because I appreciate the contradiction. It’s a shame the architect, Enric Miralles, didn’t live to see its completion. It is something to be proud of,” she acknowledged with admiration.
“Pity it cost ten times what it should have,” I said critically.
“And again I agree. As an architect myself I aspire to create something…” she hummed and hawed for a minute, “something as original, as permanent.” Gently tugging on my hand, she avoided the oncoming pedestrians as we continued our conversation. “But you’re right, it’s also a lesson in mis-management, over running, over spending… and as an architect, that’s something I emphatically do not aspire to achieve. Only the truly egotistical expect a client to give them a blank cheque to create their vision.”
“And you know people like that?”
“Unfortunately.” She pursed her lips in disgust, obviously holding those colleagues in complete disregard. “One of Adam’s complaints about me is that I don’t communicate effectively. I’m rather brusque in my dealings with subordinates and have often been accused of having an ‘it’s my way or the highway’ attitude, but part of the reason for that is because the buck stops with me. I don’t ever want to be accused of wasting a client’s money; besides beauty doesn’t always have to come at a price. With a good eye and work practice you can achieve great designs without breaking the bank.”
“I didn’t realise you were quite so conscientious or thrifty, especially after the amount you just forked out at Chic to Chic.”
“That was totally different,” she said airily.
“How so?”
“You made the dress look beautiful, not the other way around.”
Oh my god, be still my beating heart. I wondered if she would notice me fanning my flushed face. Damn my colouring. I ordered a quick retreat back to neutral ground because Adele had serious game. “So, are you in favour of chrome and glass as building material?”
“They have their place,” she admitted. “The Scottish Widows building for example. There’s chrome and glass, but it’s tempered with a gentle curve and softened with pale yellow blockwork. However, despite loving the innovative architecture of the past thirty years, it’s the old within the city that holds a special place in my heart. I guess it’s a permanence and a solidity that I miss in my own life and in my own past.”
“I’d never thought of buildings in quite that way before,” I said in wonder. It was like I was seeing them for the first time.
Adele pointed to St Giles Cathedral, it’s distinctive crown steeple prominent in the skyline “Most people don’t see St Giles as the focal point of religion for the last nine hundred years, don’t consider that Giles is the patron saint of our fair city and also of lepers and cripples. All they see when they look up from their phones and tablets is utility, not beauty. So much is about the present these days that we’ve forgotten how to appreciate the toil that went into creating these landmarks, creating even something as utilitarian as a public convenience. Buildings are alive, living entities that evolve, age and survive.” Adele was far more multi-faceted than I’d given her credit for. Shrek… she’s like Shrek, not because I thought Adele was an ogre but because she had numerous layers and I’d barely scratched the surface.
If I kept on peeling, would it all end in tears?
***
>
I’m not sure Adele appreciated the insight she was sharing as we walked; I was getting to know her far more deeply than if she’d sat down and described herself to me.
“How did we meet?” I got back to business when we stopped for a glass of wine and Scottish tapas. I kid you not, Scottish Tapas, which consisted of mini bites of haggis on crusty bread, kippers rolled into tiny balls and square sausage sliced thinly served with Dunlop cheese. “Was it a blind date?”
“Oh god no!” She held up her hands, repulsed by the idea. “I tried that once… never again. The woman was a complete loon and I didn’t have anyone on speed dial to rescue me. How about the internet?”
“Would you do online dating?” I must have sounded sceptical because she chuckled wryly.
“I joined a dating agency once,” she admitted. “I was feeling… not alone. Maybe horny. And I can’t believe I just admitted that,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “I think we keep it as close to the truth as possible.”
“What? My drunken mother wrote off your car and I’m acting as your girlfriend to repay the debt?” I asked curtly, then tempered my acidity. “In fairness, I may have already mentioned the accident to Helen.”
“Moderate the bluntness slightly, Joanne,” she admonished but with a smile rather than a scowl. “I was thinking along the lines of the car crash happened, sans the inebriated parent, and things progressed quite nicely from there. That isn’t straying too far from the truth and Helen won’t call us on it.”
