by Mo Fanning
Fourteen
Pages churn from the machine opposite Brian’s open office door. Thankfully, there’s nobody around, so I grab them and go to escape when someone speaks.
‘I think that might be my fax.’
It’s Brian. His face set in a lopsided grin.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I think they’re all mine.’
I glance at the wad of paper in my hand. The first page is a brewery invoice. The machine has already whirred back into life and is churning out another pile of paper. Everything moves in slow motion as Brian reaches for the first page.
Papers fly as I hit him square on in the chest with such force that he falls against the wall. I stumble and land at his feet. Sensing I’ll not escape with a shred of dignity, I grab at the papers and then struggle to lay claim to those still printing.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s confidential and I needed to get it before anyone else. HR stuff, you know? Data protection.’
He pauses before asking if everything is OK.
‘It’s just ... well you seem a bit stressed.’
‘Stressed? Me? No? Of course not.’ I laugh manically. ‘Everything is fine. Isn’t the weather dreadful lately? I mean, all this rain. I’m sure it’s true that Manchester gets more than its fair share.’
I shuffle the two fax messages to make sure I separate exposed male members from VAT invoices and try for a smile.
‘See you on Friday then,’ he says.
My stomach flips.
‘Friday?’
‘Dinner at Rimmingtons?’
I try not to display horror, but clearly fail as the atmosphere grows awkward.
‘Unless of course, you’ve remembered you can’t make it,’ Brian says.
That’s so brilliant of him to offer me a get out.
‘I’ve done something stupid,’ I say.
‘Join the club.’
‘No, really stupid. I forgot all about Friday and now I’ve gone and invited everyone to a leaving do for Andy.’
I’m genuinely ashamed.
For a second, Brian looks disappointed, before his smile returns.
‘As long as I’m invited too?’
He cocks his head to one side and I find myself nodding.
‘It’s a date then’ I say and feel my face boil. ‘Not a date, date. Just a few beers, you know. And sandwiches.’
‘I know,’ he says and vanishes into his office.
Well done Lisa, I think. You handled that one like a pro. That wasn’t awkward at all.
I rush back into the box office, red-faced and stuff pictures of naked men into my desk drawer.
‘Fancy going out for lunch?’ Sharon says.
‘OK, how about Loaf ?’
She looks around as if checking nobody else heard my suggestion and nods.
‘Get your coat then,’ she whispers.
We’re no sooner out in the street than the questions start.
‘Is Brian having an affair with Nina?’
Rumours tend to travel fast in the theatre and unless I nip this one in the bud, chances are by mid afternoon, I’ll be involved in some bizarre ménage a trios.
‘Why ask me?’
Sharon stops and looks me in the eye. She studied body language a few years back and reckons it gives her a window into someone’s soul. I’ve only to scratch my ear and she assumes I’m up to no good.
‘He’s your friend,’ she says.
‘Hardly.’ I walk on. ‘Now what are you getting for lunch?’
She catches me up. ‘So if it isn’t Nina, who could it be? Oh my God,. She stops again. ‘He’s not gay is he?’
‘Brian? No of course not. He’s married to Audrey.’
‘Yes but it happens all the time. Married men with secret double lives. They try to deny the truth, and then one day out it comes and before you know it they’re wearing leather trousers and singing show tunes.’
‘Who said he’s having an affair anyway?’ I say
‘Andy rang while you were upstairs.’
I don’t know who to be more annoyed with. Andy for blabbing or Sharon for listening.
‘Let’s just get lunch,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you all I know.’
I pick at rare beef and mustard on oregano bread and tell Sharon first about the dinner party from hell and then lunch at The Greenhouse. Along the way I mention Audrey’s miscarriage. Throughout, she stays quiet. I end with Brian’s invite to dinner.
She sits back
‘How do you feel about him?’
‘Me?’
‘It’s an easy enough question.’
For an easy question, it throws up too many answers.
‘I don’t feel anything, he’s my boss.’
‘You had to think about it,’ she says. ‘You must feel something.’
‘I honestly don’t.’
I know my face is red.
‘It is OK to like someone.’
Sharon shakes her head and I want to press her for an answer, but Angela from accounts takes the next table.
‘Hello you two,’ she says. ‘I’m having cottage cheese and spring onions. Low fat.’
We both nod and her eyes settle on my neglected sandwich.
‘Are you eating that?’
‘My eyes are too big for my belly.’ I say and go to push it away, but she leans across to scoop the leftovers into a napkin. She shoves the package into her already bulging handbag, prompting a rustle of what sounds like sweet wrappers.
‘I’ll take it for Penny,’ she says. ‘Jean’s having her tubes tied so we’re short staffed and she’s stuck manning the switchboard.’
‘She’s going to be the size of a house,’ Sharon says when we’re outside. ‘I wouldn’t care but she spends every waking hour tutting if anyone around her so much as sucks an extra strong mint.’
‘At least she hasn’t gone on a sponsored slim again this year.’
We link arms and make our way back to the theatre. Just before we get there, Sharon reaches for her bag.
‘I need to get a paper.’
She turns to go, but stops to look back at me.
‘Give him a chance,’ she says.
‘Who?’
‘Brian. Give him a chance.’
‘If you’re trying to play matchmaker, you’re wasting your time.’
‘Whatever,’ Sharon laughs. ‘You know I’m right.’
The afternoon passes in a haze and Sharon’s words replay in my head. Telling her about the past few weeks put things into focus. Why not accept Brian at face value - as a friend in need? I vow to be nicer. Everyone needs friends.
Buoyed up by my new world order, I decide to pick a male stripper Their dead-eyed faces grin from the pages. All glistening chests and angry shaved crotches. Making sure nobody can see, I fan the pictures out, close my eyes and point at random.
Our entertainment for the night will come from Dick Rock.
I praise myself on a job well done and decide to end a productive afternoon by tracking down Andy to suggest we meet for a swift pint.
We arrange to meet in one of the latest style bars to spring up in the gay village. Every one of them is the same. Bare brick walls, pretentious slogans and self-absorbed bar staff.
I wave a ten pound note to catch the attention of a spiky haired guy who seems more interested in his own reflection. I cough, stamp my foot, move closer and even, to my great shame, rap a coin on the counter.
Someone touches my arm, it’s Andy.
‘I can’t get served,’ I say.
‘Leave it to me,’ he says and turns to point through the big windows. ‘Ooh look Lisa, isn’t that Crystal off Big Brother?’
The b
ar boy’s empty eyes scour the street for any suggestion of celebrity. Andy pounces.
‘Two vodka tonics, please,’ he says. ‘We’ll be over by the window.’
We’ve no sooner settled than Andy pulls out a pack of cigarettes and announces that he needs to nip outside.
‘You don’t smoke.’
‘I’ve started.’
‘You always said smokers smell like filthy ashtrays.’
He purses his lips.
‘Kevin smokes.’
‘Kevin?’
‘My character in the film. I’m going method, darling. If it’s good enough for Johnny Depp ...’
He flounces out and I watch as he lights a cigarette and sucks hard, before choking half to death. After dropping the cigarette on the ground and grinding it out, he comes back in. His eyes stream and he looks ready to throw up.
‘I think I’m getting there,’ he says. ‘Did I look sexy?’
‘That’s not the word I’d have used.’
‘You used to smoke. Teach me.’
I ignore a vague sense of shame. I only ever started smoking to impress a boy. Kevin Perry used to smoke. He was mean and moody and came to college on a moped. He looked like John Travolta in Grease. I dreamed of being his girlfriend. Mam was furious when she found a pack of Silk Cut in my coat and gave me a ten minute lecture on the evils of smoking. For a quiet life, I quit.
‘Please teach me, Lisa.’ Andy’s eyes plead. ‘I can’t afford to lose this part.’
‘They won’t drop you for not smoking.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like. You have to have as many strings to your bow as possible in this game.’
The music gets louder, drowning out a pleasant hum of conversation. I snatch up Andy’s cigarettes.
‘Outside. Now.’
I take a cigarette, light up and inhale deeply. The heat melts into my chest and my head spins, until my chest catches and choking blue fumes cause my eyes to water.
Andy looks triumphant.
‘It’s not so easy, is it?’
Determined not to admit defeat, I take a second hit and this time, don’t cough. The head buzz settles to a familiar gentle hum and I smoke it down to the filter.
‘Right, I think I’ve got it,’ Andy says and lights one of his own, only to set off another coughing fit.
Passers-by stare.
‘Could your character be trying to give up?’ I say. ‘Could Kevin have some sort of thing going on with nicotine patches and be a bit crabby?’
‘I could ask.’
Back inside, we order a second round of drinks - this time from a far more pleasant girl and I tell Andy about lunch with Sharon.
‘Hallelujah, finally, someone else who can see what you’re too blind to notice,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The man is smitten. He was from the first day he clapped eyes on you.’
‘What?’
‘Come on Lisa, surely you’ve noticed how he looks at you? He’s been admiring you from afar for years.’
‘What about Audrey?’
‘Their marriage is nothing but a tired old sham. What were her words?’
‘She doesn’t love him now and she never really did even on the day they married. If she had her time again, she’d have run away to Paris with her sixth- form art teacher.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said he cares about her, but that their marriage was over years ago.’
‘And he’s a good-looking bloke. You said so yourself.’
‘I said he wasn’t a bad-looking bloke, that’s not the same thing.’
Andy waves away my objections.
‘Well, it’s not going to happen,’ I say. ‘He’s my boss. That’s all he is and that’s all he’s going to be.’
‘Yeah right.’
‘Yes, right,’ I say, determined to win the argument.
There’s an uncomfortable pause where we both sip angrily at our drinks. Andy and I have this strange competitive edge to our friendship. Neither of us likes to lose.
‘I’m off to see Mam on Sunday,’ I say to break the silence.
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve got to go for a dress fitting. Helen rang just as I was coming to meet you.’
‘So you won’t be around to see me off at the airport?’
‘Afraid not, but you’re a big boy now, you can do it on your own.’
‘I know I can.’
He sounds put out and I feel bad, but now I’ve said it I have to follow through on my threats. Otherwise he’s won.
‘We’ll still say our goodbyes on Friday. I’ve got a humdinger of a party lined up.’
Andy mumbles something.
‘What did you say?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Well why say it then?’
‘Forget it.’
‘Tell me what you said.’
I’m aware both our voices have grown louder.
‘I said you’ll end up on your own if you keep worrying about what people think.’
Andy’s voice carries and people shuffle in their seats. My face burns with fury. Without a word, I grab my coat and bag.
There’s a taxi outside.
‘Are you free?’ I say and he nods.
Andy is still at the table by the window as we pull away.
Fifteen
A hastily arranged visit to see Mam meets with suspicion.
‘What’s gone wrong?’ she says before I can take off my coat. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Drugs then, is it drugs?’
‘Hardly.’
‘Have you gone and taken out one of those pay day loans and lost everything?’
‘Can’t I just come home for a weekend.’
‘You can,’ she says tartly. ‘But you never usually do.’
I ignore the knowing looks she keeps throwing my way and make a pot of tea.
‘I had a load of holiday to take. I can’t afford to go anywhere nice, so this will have to do.’
‘Charming,’ she mutters. ‘Just because you’ve come home, I’m not doing anything fancy. It’s pie and mash for tea, go wash your hands.’
The idea of pie and mash and of having someone tell me to wash my hands fills me with happiness. When the whole world seems to be going mad, Mam brings me back to earth. Standing in the bathroom with a bar of Imperial Leather and the sound of the kitchen radio in the background, I’m ten once more. And secure.
The last minute nature of my announcement meant a round of calling in favours and making wild promises to swap shifts.
Telling Andy I had to go for a dress fitting was a way of winning points in a silly argument, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I’ve called Helen to catch up on gossip. She was thrilled.
As the train pulled away from Manchester, part of me considered never coming back. Andy was going away, Sharon has her own life. Everyone I know has someone. Except me. Full of misery and self pity, I switched on my iPod to find Andy had wiped my soundtrack to misery in favour of Kylie Minogue’s greatest hits. A smile surfaced and all was right with the world.
Until my phone rang.
‘Is this Lisa Doyle?’
I sort of knew the voice. The accent was familiar. Someone from home. Surely it couldn’t be ...
‘This is Ginny Baker, remember me?’
My heart pounded and my mouth went dry.
‘Well, clearly you do. Helen tells me you’re coming down for a fitting. That should be fun. Can’t wait to see if what you’ve put down on paper matches up.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be around.’
‘Helen and I are the best of friends these days.’
‘I see.’
‘Now about this hen party. Did you truly not receive my mail?’
‘I can’t remember seeing it.’
‘That would explain it.’ She waited a beat. ‘Though why on earth your computer would send mine a receipt to say you’d not only received, but read the message, is anyone’s guess.’
‘Helen asked me to organise it.’ I tried to keep my voice even.
‘Oh did she?’
‘Yes and I’ve done what she asked, so if you don’t like it ...’
I ran out of words. She could what? Go stuff her head up her arse?
‘Do go on, dear,’ Ginny mocked. ‘If I don’t like it, what can I do?’
‘All I was going to say is you don’t have to come.’
‘I’m sure Helen wouldn’t like to think that one of her dearest friends is being told she can’t come to her hen party.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I know dear, but context can be a wonderful thing. See you soon.’
The line went dead. One simple call from someone who shouldn’t even matter any more left me wretched.
‘Penny for them,’ Mam says as I push my dinner round the plate.
‘Do you think people can really ever change?’
‘Who in particular?’
‘Ginny Baker?’
She seems to think for a minute.
‘Pauline Baker’s daughter?’
I nod.
‘No,’ Mam says. ‘Some people are rotten all the way through.’
I want to ask what she means, but there’s a tap at the back door. It’s my big sister Sue with her dog. Bertie’s a mix of Labrador and English terrier. White except for one black ear and a patch over his left eye. His tail helicopters as he runs around the room, barking, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints.
‘I’ve just mopped,’ Mam cries as Bertie jams his head up her skirt, to take a long snuffly sniff.
