The Debt & the Doormat (4 page)

Did I notice sarcasm in his voice?  Does he know I’m lying?  Am I that transparent?

‘Oh my God!  How cool is that!  Did you get to meet her?  Could you design me a bag?’ she squeals in excitement, her big brown eyes nearly popping out of her head.  Well, she clearly believes me.

‘I...err...’

‘Jesus, Izzy, give her a second!  She’s barely walked in the door and you’re harassing her.’

‘Oh shut up.  She’s probably dying to tell someone all the gossip, aren’t you Poppy?’ she says, grinning broadly.

‘Actually, I am kind of knackered.  Probably jet lag, you know.’  Hopefully now she’ll leave me alone.

I notice Ryan smirk out of the corner of my eye.  Oh, come to think of it, I probably wouldn’t have jet lag from a two and a half hour flight.  What an idiot.

‘Well, I’m Izzy,’ she sings.  ‘Let me show you to Jazz’s room.’

She picks my bag up and dances out of the kitchen.  Ryan gives me a vicious stare and I stare right back.  Who does he think he is anyway?  I follow her, not wanting to be left in the same room as that arrogant prick who is clearly not going to be my new best friend.   

‘Here we go,’ she smiles opening the door next to the kitchen. 

I stare back at her.  She must be confused.  Surely that’s the sitting room.  My bedroom must be upstairs, no?  She opens the door and I quickly realise this is my room.  Jazz’s crap is thrown all over the room, barely leaving any floor space, and every surface is covered with make-up.  I kick away some jeans so that I can make a path towards the double bed. 

‘Well thanks.’  I flop onto the bed, hoping she will leave me alone. 

She smiles and hops out of the room.  Christ, she’s like a ballerina the way she dances around everywhere. 

I stare at the ceiling while loud music starts playing through the walls and my stomach contracts with nerves.  I’m living in a strange house, with strange people, telling them random lies about designing handbags.  Why on earth did I ever agree to go along with this?

‘Poppy!’ 

The sound of my name being called wakes me up.  I sit upright and look at my watch.  Its 7pm – I must have slept for hours. 

‘Poppy!’ the screech comes again. 

It sounds like that Izzy girl and she seems quite persistent.  I get up and walk into the kitchen in my crumpled clothes, removing the sleep from my eyes. 

‘Ah, there you are.  We were thinking about going out for a few drinkies.  Are you up for it?’ she asks as enthusiastic as ever.

‘Sorry, but who is she?’ a loud husky female voice asks.   

I turn around to follow the voice and find a gorgeous woman in just her bra and knickers.  She walks into the kitchen and takes a seat next to Izzy at the kitchen table. 

Wow.  She’s so breathtakingly beautiful I can't help but stare.  Her long black hair is tousled, as if she’s been having sex all afternoon.  She has cheekbones you could sharpen your knives on and eyes so dark brown that they’re almost black.  She’s got dark olive skin, possibly Cuban, but I really can't work it out.  Her pale pink lace bra shows of her amazing boobs, which I’m not sure are real.  Her waist is tiny but her hips and butt are curvy.  Her figure is probably better suited to FHM than this grubby kitchen.  She takes a cigarette out of the packet on the table and lights it, leaning back casually, surveying me disapprovingly.

‘Poppy,’ Izzy says, miffed, as if she’d already told her twice.

‘Poppy?’ she smiles.  ‘What, were you born on Remembrance Day or something?’  She laughs, her voice raspy, as she looks at me up and down.

‘Err...no,’ I laugh awkwardly.  ‘My Mum just liked it I guess.’

‘How amusing.’  Her full dewy lips turn into a wide smirk.

I hate her.

‘Gracie!  You should really try and be friendlier.  You come across as such a bitch sometimes.’

‘Sorry, but we can’t all be miss sunshine 24 hours a day like you,’ she roars.  ‘Anyway, I’m Grace.  It’s nice to meet you Poppy.’ 

She extends her hand and shakes mine formally.  Her hand is so cold that it sets the hairs on the back of my neck up.  Her black painted nails press into my skin as she squeezes it tightly.  What is with this chick?  She reminds me of the beautiful bitches at school, always waiting to trip you up.  Her face does mesmerise me though; it really is enticing.  She could be a model.  Maybe she is.  Maybe I’m now living with a house full of models.  Sure fire route to suicide... or at least bulimia.   

‘So, are you up for coming out then Poppy?’ Izzy asks, smiling hopefully.

‘Um...yeah, ok.’  I try to sound half as upbeat as her. 

‘Sweet!’  She jumps up and down, catching me off guard by hugging me.  God, she clearly has no problem with physical contact.  She swivels round.  ‘Ryan!  Are you coming too?’

I look around a wall and find a tiny two seater sofa with a TV in front of it.  Ryan is sprawled out over it, still in his dressing gown, his long hairy legs dangling over the edge. 

‘Yeah cool,’ he grunts barely looking up. 

Great.  He’s going to ruin my evening. 

‘Super-duper,’ she beams.  ‘We’ll leave at about 8, ok?’

‘Yeah sure,’ I say, exhausted at the thought of it.  God, I wish I could just stay in and watch a DVD.  I barely feel like I’ve had any sleep at all.  I pull out my phone and text Jazz as I walk back to the bedroom.

‘Going out as you wish.  Remember to stay in and watch a film.  There’s food in the fridge.  Do not get a take-away!  Even if you think you can sweet talk Raj for a freebie!  Do not spend money!xxx’

I go into the room and open her wardrobe.  What on earth am I going to wear?  As if reading my thoughts I get a text back from her.

‘Great – wear my yellow one-shoulder dress with the pink shoes.  I will be miss boring tonight.  But remember you have to be naughty!  Flirt, laugh and get drunk!  Xxx’

Responsible as ever I see. 

*                            *                            *

When the taxi pulls ups I look outside the window at the queue of young girls in sequins, all seeming desperate to get into what looks like the door of a grotty garage.  I take a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in my stomach.  It’s been ages since I’ve been on a proper big night out and I’m not sure I’ll fit in.  I mean, what if everything is different now?  What if there’s a whole new ritual and it doesn’t involve dancing around like a twat? 

Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m going out with three models.  I haven’t actually found out what they really do – they could be important accountants for all I know – but for now, in my head, they are models.  I’m not used to hanging around with such gorgeous people.  I mean Jazz, of course, is gorgeous, but even she has slight imperfections, like her almost invisible upper lip and scar above her left eyebrow from trying to pierce it herself.  But these people, they’re like aliens.  It makes me feel sick every time I look at them.  Especially when I compare it to my own average complexion in the taxi window.  I feel such an ugly duckling.  Especially with half a can of dry shampoo in my hair.

‘Come on,’ Izzy sings.  She smiles widely and takes my hand to help me out of the taxi. 

I’m glad for the help.  These ridiculous shoes that Jazz has made me wear make me feel like I’m wearing stilts.  Plus, I’m wearing so much make-up I could possibly enrol in the circus as Bobo the Clown.  Note to self: must Google how to apply eye shadow.  Or stop attempting. 

Jazz’s yellow dress is so florescent I could pass as a street cleaner on first glance.  And it barely covers my arse.  Great – a mix between a street cleaner and a high end prostitute.  I was seriously considering changing but then Izzy bounded in telling me the taxi was outside. 

Izzy has on a leopard print boob tube dress which makes her look like Gisele, but has teamed it with casual converses.  She looks so cute and sexy at the same time it makes me sick.  If I tried to wear that outfit I’d look like a stuffed sausage.

Grace has on a stunning black bondage dress.  It's basically ripped and completely see-through everywhere, apart from a tiny patch by her vagina, ass and her boobs.  She can't be wearing any underwear.  It shows off how slim her tiny waist is and her long brown legs seem to go on forever.   Her hair is tied into a pony with a backcombed quiff at the front.  Her eyeliner is heavily applied, done to make her eyes feline like a cat.  She’s basically dressed as intimidating as her personality. 

Ryan on the other hand is wearing a pair of dark denim jeans and a v necked black t-shirt.  The only effort it seems he’s made is to have a shower.  This guy clearly thinks he’s too cool for school.  What a knob. 

We get straight in, avoiding the long queue of people, as apparently Grace ‘knows’ the bouncer.  More like used to shag him; she practically licked his ear when she said thank you.  What a giant slag. 

After walking through a long corridor, we enter a dark room with a high ceiling and massive glass windows showing the night stars.  The bar is lit up with purple and green lighting and bar men are throwing bottles back and forth to each other while the DJ plays funky jazz. 

I try not to gasp.  I look at the others expecting to find their mouths ajar too, but they seem totally unimpressed.  Jesus, if this is the place they come for a Sunday night drink I dread to think where they go when they want to create real carnage.

‘Shots please!’ Izzy yells to the barman. 

‘Oh thanks, but I’m off shots,’ I shout over the music.

They all stare back at me, making me feel like the new girl at school.  They look at each other amused and then burst into fits of giggles.  Sorry, am I missing something? 

‘What?’ I say, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks.  Please don’t blush.

‘You don’t do shots?  Where do you come from, outer space?’ Grace says condescendingly.  Her eyes narrow and something inside me shivers, as if she’s penetrating my soul.  My throat chokes up and I pray I won't burst into tears.  I use all of my mental strength to lose her gaze.

‘I’m still a bit rough from last night.  But...ok, I suppose one can’t do any harm can it?’

Within an hour I’m terribly drunk.  Izzy’s been pouring vodka into our lemonades all night, saving me from having to take out a personal loan.  I nearly passed out when I saw the drinks menu.  I’m grateful to Izzy for sneaking the bottle in her handbag, but it means I’ve lost track of how many drinks I’ve had.   

Izzy is my new best friend.  Sure, she may have been really hyper and annoying at the start, but now she’s a riot!  At least she wants to dance.  Ryan and Grace are just being weird and boring, sipping their drinks and shooting me the occasional dirty look.  What is their problem? 

I feel nice and floaty, a drunken buzz taking over my body, which means maybe I’ve had...four drinks?  Five?  Oh God, all I can think about is it being a Sunday.  I have work in the morning and my boss will have me running around all day.  How am I going to do this?

‘Come on – let’s dance!’ Izzy shouts, her hand motions getting bigger by the second.  ‘I love this song!’  She takes my hands and pulls me towards the giant dance floor, alive with beautiful people pouting and pretending to enjoy themselves. 

Maybe it’s not the drink.  Maybe it’s hanging around with Disco Barbie Izzy that's making me so happy and outgoing.  I mean, I am dressed like a Barbie doll, so maybe this is how I’m expected to act. 

I start shaking my moves to the beat; ignoring the strange looks I get from some blonde girls as they basically dry hump each other.  What is it with girls like that?  They’re always too busy checking who’s looking at them to really have a good time.  They need to let loose like me.  I’m pretty sure I could currently have Shakira in a dance off.   

I’m so into the music that I barely notice when someone’s hands appear on my waist.  I turn around, assuming that it must be Grace or Ryan but I instead find a gorgeous man with olive skin and dark hair.  He smiles and licks his lips suggestively.  I almost lose my footing.  He’s so ravishing I think I might faint.  He must be a male model.  And he’s dancing with me! 

I look back at Izzy who’s now dancing with Grace and she smiles back, giving me the thumbs up.  Grace, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to spit with jealousy.  Imagine this – another girl jealous of me!  I’m so flattered that I barely notice her shooting daggers at me from all directions.

His hands grip tighter on my hips, pulling me closer to him.  A quiver of excitement shoots through my body.  I sway along to the music feeling a bit uncomfortable and strange.  He hasn’t even said hello.  Is this how it works these days?  I’ve been out of the dating game for so long I’m really not sure.

He moves his head towards me as if to engage in conversation, but instead he catches me off guard by pushing his lips against mine, pulling me hungrily into him.  He quickly plunges his tongue into my mouth and I’m over-whelmed by the forwardness.  I mean, whatever happened to someone buying you a drink first?  I push him off and try to take a breath, but he pushes himself onto me again, his hands suddenly everywhere.  Wow, this is a bit much.  I know he’s handsome but he’s quite forceful and I’m feeling a bit too drunk to be into anything like this.  I just want to dance to Beyoncé.

I try to push him away again, but feel weak against his strength.  Damn those shots.  Ok, don't panic.  He’ll eventually have to breathe and then I can run.  I relax my mouth and start counting to pass the time.  One, two, three, four.  His weight is suddenly off me, so quickly that I almost lose my balance.  Thank God, he’s got the hint.  I look up, relieved, to see Ryan holding him back by his shoulder. 

‘Are you bothering her?’ he shouts aggressively over the music.  His eyes are almost black with anger. 

Mr Hotty looks at him horrified. 

‘No,’ I shout.  ‘He wasn’t bothering me.  I swear!’  I put my hands up in defence, scared that Ryan is going to murder him right here on the dance floor.  Mr Hotty stares at Ryan with his mouth open, his eyes wide with horror.

‘Oh.  Ok, sorry.’  Ryan releases his grip on him, glances at me, as if to double check I’m ok and then stomps off. 

I watch him, my mouth still gaping open, as he walks away.  So that must be why they keep him around.  He’s handy in an emergency.

Mr Hotty looks at me, still seemingly in shock.  What should I do?  Should I just walk off?

‘Can I have your number?’ he shouts in my ear.

Oh, ok – that sounds fairly normal.  He hands over his phone and I type in my number, sure he’ll never contact me again.  I hand it back to him and walk off to find the girls.  I notice Ryan from the corner of my eye glaring at me.  What the hell is his problem?

*
                            *                            *

My body aches as I turn my alarm off at 7am the next morning.  It’s been a long time since I’ve danced all night, especially in five inch heels.  As I switch it off I discover a text from Jazz.

‘Task for today – ditch work.xxx’

I sigh heavily, too tired to argue.  I mean, is she crazy?  I can’t just ditch work.  Even though my feet are heavily blistered and the thought of me squashed between hot bodies on the tube repulses me, I can't let my boss down.  I haven’t had a sick day in four years and I’m not about to start now.