The Debt

by D A Latham

  “Are you driving?” I asked, frowning slightly. He shook his head.

  “Got a cab. I need a drink after the week I’ve had. He stared into the fire, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “That case I had to litigate for,” he paused. I stayed quiet. “It was a young fella, trying the same tack as you did.”

  “Probably read the same website,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I demolished him, just as I did you. He looked shocked, as though I’d punched him in the gut.”

  “I know that feeling,” I interjected.

  “I used to enjoy winning,” he said quietly. “All I could think of was him harming himself. I followed him out of the court, just in case. What I saw…” he trailed off.

  “What?” I pressed.

  “He had a wife and a baby. They were waiting outside for him. He was as white as a sheet, and she cried when he told her.” He stroked my face softly. “I feel like the biggest bastard who ever walked the planet.”

  “If it wasn’t you, then someone else who takes on those cases would do the job,” I reminded him. “The thing I’ve learnt about debt is that there is no escape. It walks with you everywhere you go. You carry it around like a backpack. It weighs you down at every moment of your life. It’s like my scars; always there, always making me feel inferior.”

  “Why?” he sounded incredulous.

  “Because every time I have something nice, I feel guilty. Instead of sitting here enjoying this lovely glass of wine, I should be having plain water and giving the money to MVDI.”

  “But I bought it for you, and MVDI owes me money, not the other way round.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” I muttered.

  “I don’t understand why you think living on gruel would help,” he said. “Anyway, I’ve sorted MVDI for you. It’s only a pound a month remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s still there. It hasn’t gone away. It still occupies my thoughts and I still panic about paying it back.”

  “Sir, madam, your table’s ready,” said the landlord, effectively ending the conversation. We followed him out to the dining area at the back of the pub. He handed us a menu each, which was thankfully written in English and consisted of mainly British classics and upmarket nursery food.

  “If you listen to that stupid voice in your head and pick the cheapest pasta dish, I’ll be bloody cross,” he said sternly. “You’re having either the filet steak or the sea bass. Take your pick.” He had a particularly stubborn curl to his lip that told me he wasn’t prepared to argue. I sighed, annoyed that he just didn’t understand.

  “I’ll have the steak please,” I muttered, snapping the menu shut.

  “Good girl,” he said approvingly, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  “Could you be any more patronising if you tried?” I huffed. He looked hurt.

  “I wasn’t trying to be patronising. I was trying to be nice, to look after you. I didn't see you being huffy when you needed me,” he reminded me, his face impassive. He had a terrific poker face when it suited him.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said, chastened. I’d leant on him repeatedly, and then blamed him for feeling he had to take charge of me. I resolved to be a bit less helpless in the future. My apology seemed to relax him, and he beamed a glorious smile.

  “Shall I order?”

  “Please. Can I have another of whatever that wine was too?”

  I sat back and watched as he motioned for the waitress. He treated her to a full-on dazzling smile. I saw her blush pink and get flustered as she wrote down our order. I marvelled at the ease with which he travelled through life with his self-confidence and beautiful face. Idly, I wondered if any of it would rub off on me.

  “Penny for them?” he asked. The waitress had scuttled off to get our drinks.

  “Just musing,” I said, noncommittal. He stayed silent, a tactic he used to get me to talk. I sighed. “I just wish I hadn’t been so needy around you. I’m forever going to be the stupid girl who needs saving from herself.”

  “Really? I don’t see it that way at all. I’ll admit I had to save you at Bromley South, but some of that was my doing. I was brutal in that courtroom; I know that. I’ve not had to save you since though.” He seemed puzzled, not really understanding what I was on about.

  “The wage issue, benefits, getting the sack. If you give me a bit longer I can give you a list.”

  “I didn’t save you from any of that. You got this job on your own. All the rest of the stuff would’ve happened anyway, regardless of me. Can I also remind you that you saved me from a life of celibacy, so I think we’re even.” He paused, “Anyway, why’re you in such a bad mood? You just got a new job, a new flat, and you’re about to get a filet steak.”

  “I love my new flat,” I said. “It’s the best place I’ve ever lived. It’s got a dishwasher and everything, not that I think I’ll use it much. I need to get some bigger bedding though, mine doesn’t fit.”

  “I see.”

  “And it’s got a decent-sized telly too, and a proper oven. I can learn to bake.”

  “So would you have rather sat in your flat tonight and practised making cakes?” his eyes were dancing with mirth. “So you’re pissed that I made you come out and eat steak rather than let you have a go at cooking it in your fancy new kitchen?” he was trying his best to keep a straight face. I didn’t reply, not wanting to admit that the smug bugger was indeed correct. I was saved by the arrival of our drinks, carried by the rather giggly, flirty waitress. I glared at her.

  Andy took a sip of his beer. "There'll be plenty of time for you to practice your cooking. I'm just pleased that things are improving for you. I saw Rupert earlier. He's going to be giving your old boss some bad news next week. Apparently you're due backdated pay of just over ten thousand pounds. If she doesn't pay it within twenty-eight days, he'll be issuing fines and interest."

  I reeled with the news. "Do you know how much Maria is due?" I really hoped her pay would be backdated too. He shook his head.

  "I didn't ask."

  "I'll be able to pay a chunk of my debt," I said. What I really wanted was to be able to go shopping, buy some warm clothes and have a small contingency fund, but with him being the lawyer for MVDI, I figured every penny would need to go to them. I wondered if he'd be telling them I had a better-paying job. I did a quick calculation, with the unpaid wages, plus my new rent-free salary, I'd probably be able to clear the debt in a year. I began to cheer up a bit.

  "Where did you live when your parents were alive?" Andy asked out of the blue.

  "Bromley South, why?"

  "I just wondered what happened to their house and stuff."

  I shook my head, "It was probably only rented. My uncle took care of it all I think. He gave me a few trinkets that belonged to Mum, but they were only costume stuff. I don't think my parents were rich."

  "What about the insurance? There must have been a payout?"

  "I don't think there was, well, I was never told about it. I don't even know whose fault it was; whether Dad hit the lorry or the lorry hit us. I was kind of unconscious through most of it; I can't even remember the actual crash." It was one of those things I didn't want to forage through my memory for. Even talking about it made me fidgety and uncomfortable. "If there was a payout, either the home got it or my uncle. I told you before I was forgotten. Plus, I was only eight." It seemed he was pressing home just another example of what a loser I'd been my whole life, that at age eight, alone and terrified, I'd not been able to take charge, negotiate a payout and supervise the disposal of my parent's belongings. At the time I'd been more concerned with making sure they hadn't chopped bits off me.

  "I'll look into it. It's been bothering me," he said.

  "It's been and gone. There's no point looking back, let's face it, if there had been anything, my uncle would've spent it."

  "Possibly. I'm more convinced it would've been placed in a trust, but the home forgot to tell you."

  Our food’s ar
rival interrupted us. The steak smelt amazing and was served with fat, homemade chips. I picked one up and tasted it, instantly I was transported back to my childhood. I recalled sitting at the kitchen table, eating chips with fish fingers and peas, my mum singing along to the radio as she stood at the stove stirring whatever she was making for their dinner. I felt my eyes welling up.

  Andy was watching me with his knife and fork poised to cut through his steak. "Are you OK?" He asked gently. I nodded.

  "Flashback," I whispered, unable to say more than that.

  "OK, let's change the subject," he replied, catching on straightaway. "Tell me about your new charges. What sort of dogs are they?"

  I relaxed immediately. "Two German Shepherds, both as spoilt as you like. The house manager gave me their care notes today. They're actually fed steak, can you believe it?" I'd been a little disapproving when I'd read it, not because I didn't agree with a raw meat diet for dogs, but because it seemed so extravagant. They'd have been just as happy with meaty bones from the butcher. "They're walked twice a day in the woods, fed morning and night, and I'll be responsible for making sure they're clean and healthy. Doesn't seem too onerous."

  "Sounds a doddle, unless they're particularly naughty. My mum has a little Maltese terrier who seems to rule the house with an iron paw. Mum always says that Lola's more work than all us boys were, put together. The bloody thing'll only eat Marks' roast chicken and is at the hairdressers more than Mum is."

  I smiled. "Terriers can be quite a handful. I've not been bitten many times at work, but on those rare occasions, it was always a nippy little terrier. The bigger dogs always seemed more careful of their bite. The two German Shepherds, Roxy and Bruno seem friendly enough."

  We chatted easily through the rest of our dinner, both having got over our earlier funk. Andy outlined the lawsuit he was bringing against the surgery on my behalf. He was taking them to an industrial tribunal for unfair dismissal, unpaid wages, breach of contract, and dismissal due to failure to pay the minimum wage. He told me that reducing my hours had been unlawful as there'd been no consultation beforehand. "I'm going for the jugular," he said. "Rupert's put in the unpaid wage and minimum wage amount, but even if she pays that to avoid all the fines he can impose, it still leaves the other issues on the table."

  "If I won, what would I get?" I asked.

  "Depends on a lot of factors. Unfair dismissal can be up to seventy-odd grand, but the average compensation is a year’s salary. In your case, that’s around ten thousand. The dismissal due to minimum wage breach and the breach of contract is probably worth a few thousand each. If she's clever, she'll settle out of court to avoid costs and fines. I'd suggest settling for around fifteen thousand on top of the amount Rupert's set."

  I gaped at him. If he could win it, my debt would be paid and I'd have plenty left over. "That would be amazing," I told him. The prospect of being debt-free, living in a posh flat and having spare cash to spend on nice clothes was tantalisingly close.

  "It could take several months," he warned. "The law works slowly." His words deflated me. In reality, nothing would change for the foreseeable future. I still had just £45 to see me through to my first payday.

  Andy was extremely impressed with my new flat, commenting on how much better it was than the bedsit. He seemed to spend a long time staring out of the window at the main house, which was again fully illuminated. "It's a beautiful house," was all he said, before turning back to me and kissing me hard, his hands roaming my body.

  We kept the little reading light above the bed switched on as we made love; its gentle light casting shadows around the room as our bodies joined with an erotic tenderness. Andy had proved to be a kind and gentle lover, touching my body with a reverence I'd never experienced with anybody else. He never just “fucked,” he always made love.

  We fit together perfectly, his hard, masculine body felt perfect against my soft, slender flesh. He liked to get closer than close, always holding me to him, as though he wanted to be inside me in every possible way. We made love for hours that night, delighting in the knowledge that nobody could hear us, either loudly performing our sexual gymnastics, or when we sat drinking tea and talking into the small hours.

  Andy talked a lot about the man he'd seen in court, I could tell it really bothered him. "How many cases do you have to attend court for?" I asked. We were sitting up in bed, and it was one in the morning.

  "To be honest, as I said before, yours was a fluke, I don't normally do the court attendances."

  "So why did you do that one?"

  He sighed loudly. "I needed to know if it would affect me again." I stayed silent and sipped my tea, silently urging him on. "Years ago, when I was starting out, I did a lot of those cases. I'd get a buzz out of winning. I knew those contracts inside out and off by heart, so could easily defend the card companies. After seeing what I did to you, I just felt as though I didn't have the stomach for it anymore. It's why I attended the Dixon case rather than send one of the lawyers. I needed to know.."

  He seemed in turmoil, wrestling with his conscience. "Those contracts you sign when you take out a credit card, they cover every base. The whole system is rigged against the customer. They know they put temptation in everyone's pocket, and then they rely on compound interest to really leech as much as possible. Seeing its effect with my own eyes, what its done to you, what its done to that family, I just don't know if I want to renew my contract with MVDI, with any of them."

  "Do you work for other card companies as well?"

  He nodded warily, "All of them. Alpha is the “go to” law firm for enforcement. We're retained by the top eighteen credit card issuers." He picked at a bit of fluff on the duvet cover, avoiding my eyes.

  "It's a job. If you didn't do it, someone else would," I told him. "Turning it down wouldn't make it disappear, so you may as well carry on if it's lucrative work. I don't blame you for my debt. I blame myself for being stupid, and the card company for being sneaky with the interest and charges. It's not like it's you getting the interest, is it?"

  He shook his head and smiled. "I'd be a very rich man indeed if I was. I do make money out of it all though."

  I knew he was referring to the three thousand pounds his firm had added to my debt. "Well, if you buy me enough meals out, I'll have it back in kind, won't I?" I joked, bumping him with my shoulder. I ran my hands over his pecs, twining my fingers in the soft curls of his chest hair. He lay back on the bed, his own hands threaded through my hair. I traced each nipple in turn with my tongue, marvelling at how silky his skin was. As I kissed my way down his treasure trail, his breath hitched and all talk was forgotten.

  We slept in late the next morning, luxuriating in the space the new bed provided. I woke first, my legs entwined with his. I gazed at his beautiful face for a while, trying to just soak in every detail of the moment, of feeling his warmth and presence. I struggled with the sense of him being just too beautiful for me, too clever and successful to want an ordinary mortal such as I. With those doubts always in my mind, I concentrated on living in the moment while I was with him, creating memories to look back on fondly when he'd left me for someone better suited.

  I pushed the thought aside as he opened his eyes, catching me in the act of admiring him. I was rewarded with a movie star smile. "Good morning beautiful."

  "It's almost good afternoon," I said, nodding at the clock on the wall. It was half-eleven. I hadn't slept in that late for a long time.

  "Bloody Hell is that the time? I need to be at my parents’ in an hour. I was hoping to get some errands done first." He rubbed his eyes. I slid out of bed and filled the kettle.

  "What errands? Anything I can help with?" I asked. He shook his head.

  "I was gonna go into Bromley and get my hair cut. It's not important, I can do it tomorrow up near work."

  "Where is it you work?" I asked.

  "Near Cannon Street," he said, "there's a barber nearby."

  He practically gulped down his coffee a
nd pulled on his clothes. "How do I get out of the gate?" He asked.

  "I'll need to come with you. I think the rule is that visitors have to be accompanied at all times." He rolled his eyes. I pulled on a track suit and trainers and grabbed my key, while he phoned for a taxi. He seemed to be in a dreadful rush to get out.

  It was a dull, slightly misty winter’s day outside. The wind whipped through my track suit jacket, freezing me to the core. We set off down the driveway to meet Andy's cab just outside the gates. We'd gotten no more than twenty yards down when I spotted Mr Pryce's car coming the other way. He slowed to a halt beside us and slid his window down. I thought he'd say hello to me.

  "McCarthy! What are you doing on my estate?" I glanced at Andy, who was stone-faced and clearly not happy to see him. Mr Pryce seemed surprised too.

  "I didn't know it was your place, Pryce. Who'd you rip off for this one then?"

  I was horrified. Andy had just insulted my new boss, and I hadn't even started work. I kicked his ankle.

  "Nobody at all. Don't tell me you're still sore about losing the captaincy of the cricket team to me? It was years ago McCarthy, it's time to get over it. Let your grudge go." He grinned wickedly at Andy's unsmiling face.

  "Fuck all to do with the cricket team and you know it." He turned to me, "why didn't you tell me you'd be working for this shyster?"

  "I take it you know each other then?" I said, which was stupidly obvious. Inside, I was panicking that either Aaron would kick me out, which would leave me homeless and jobless, or Andy would insist that I leave, which would have the same end result.

  "We went to the same school," Andy muttered sulkily.

  "And McCarthy here never forgave me for stealing captaincy of the cricket team from right under his nose, did you?" Aaron said, seeming to enjoy winding Andy up.