The Debt & the Doormat (9 page)

‘Well thank God that's over.’ she says, the colour already back in her face as we step back onto the street.

‘Yeah, let’s just get the hell out of here.’

The sky is suddenly pitch black, only moonlight and the occasional working street light guiding us along.

Jazz zips up her hooded tracksuit top and holds my hand as we begin to walk hurriedly along, keeping close to the street lights.  Just keep walking, I will myself.  Everything is going to be fine.  We just need to get on that train and we’ll be fine.  Yet my stomach is not one to be reasoned with and churns with nerves.  My face aches from the tension in it and I have to let go of Jazz’s hand every so often so that I can wipe the sweat from them on my dress.  It’s so hard to avoid everyone’s gazes as we walk past them.  I’m sure that if we catch their gaze they’ll turn on us like wild animals. 

We turn the corner and I spot the tube station sign, my body starting to release in relief.  Thank God.  Jazz beams at me, clearly as relieved as me.  We start to almost skip towards it, like school girls, the stress of the day leaving our bodies. 

We’re almost at the entrance when I lose my balance and feel myself falling forward.  I push my hands out in front of myself and scrunch my eyes up, knowing it's going to hurt.  I open my eyes a second later, feeling bruised and disorientated, to see that I’ve fallen face down on the pavement.  I try to pull myself up, but find my hands are grazed quite badly where I’ve tried to break my fall. 

Oh well, at least they did seem to break my fall;  this could have been my face.  Yet at that moment they start to sting fiercely.  Probably already full of pavement dirt and rat’s faeces.  I’ll probably get the plague.  Maybe I should have a tetanus?  God it stings. 

I look up to Jazz but she’s nowhere to be seen.

‘Jazz?’ I ask, pulling myself slowly up.

Shit, where is she?  Where the hell is she?  I look around, spinning in a circle, but I can't see anyone.  She wouldn’t have got the train back without me, would she?  She wouldn’t have left me completely in the dark in a shit hole like this, would she?  A figure suddenly appears running round the corner and I tense my body, ready for attack.  That is until I realise it's Jazz.  Where did she go?

‘I tried to,’ she says, doubling over, completely out of breath.  ‘I tried to chase him, but...wow, I’m really out of breath.  But he was too fast for me.’

‘Chase who?’ I ask confused.  I study her face, trying to read it.  ‘Am I missing something?

‘The bastard that stole your bag.’

I look down and sure enough my bag is no-where to be seen. 

‘I...I was mugged?’ I ask totally dazed.

*                            *                            *

When we’re back at the flat, Jazz forces me to have a brandy from the bottle Dad left here two Christmas’s ago. 

‘It's what they do in films isn’t it?  Have brandies when they’re in shock,’ she assures me.

I roll my eyes, but decide to knock it back regardless, the heat stinging the back of my throat.  I run my grazed hands under the tap, hoping Jazz won't find the savlon she’s gone looking for.  I just want to go back to the house and get into bed. 

‘Well, I better be off then,’ I shout through to the bedroom where I can hear her rifling through my drawers. 

‘Are you crazy?’ she says, sticking her head out of the door.  ‘You’re too shaken up.  Why don't you just stay here?’

‘No, I’m fine.  I just want to go home.’  I try to look brave and muster up the courage of leaving here alone. 

‘But this is your home,’ she says, her eyes widening, looking at me like I’m crazy.

‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’ 

‘I think you’re concussed.’  She puts her hand to my forehead.

‘No, I’m fine.’  I hit her hand away.  ‘I just want to get back and pretend this never happened.’

‘But this did happen.  You need to come to terms with it.’ 

‘Jazz, please just stop fussing will you?  You’ve been watching too much TV.  I’m totally fine.’

‘But why do you feel the need to go home tonight?  Why not stay?’

‘Because I have the feeling that if I don't go now I’ll turn into one of those crazy women that never leaves the house again.’

She looks at me unconvinced and goes into the bathroom sulking. 

‘Ok, but please get a taxi back?’ she shouts out.  ‘If just for my peace of mind?’

‘Ok fine, although there really would be nothing left to rob me of.’

‘Found it!’ she shouts, excited.  I turn to see her bounding out towards me.  She pulls my hands out towards her and sprays the savlon over them.

My hands tingle at first, turning quickly into an intense angry burning.  I think I’m imagining it at first, but within a few seconds a fire is ablaze, my hands shaking.  I look down at them in horror to see that they’re more inflamed than before.  I go to speak, but the pain is taking over me, cursing over me in waves, leaving me helpless.

‘H...H..Help!’ I stutter.  ‘Burning!  Burning!’ I scream.  I push her out of the way and run them under the tap, the water cooling it instantly. 

‘Whoops,’ I hear Jazz say behind me.  She walks over to the sink slowly.  ‘It wasn’t savlon.  It was mosquito spray.  My bad.’ 

*                            *                            *

As the cab driver pulls up at the house I feel sudden relief.  I feel so fed up I just want to be by myself and sulk in my bedroom.  But first I want a chocolate biscuit.  I open the door and head straight for the sofa.  Ryan is stood in the kitchen on the phone, his other hand in his hair, pacing back and forth looking anxious. 

‘There you are,’ he says when he sees me.  ‘Don't worry Jazz, she’s here now,’ he says into the phone before hanging up.

‘Hi,’ I mumble, exhaustion taking over my body, making my eyelids heavy.  I don’t know if I can make it to the biscuit tin.    

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he shouts, shocking me out of my trance.  ‘I called Jazz but she’s making no sense, just blabbing on about some guy she met.’

Ah, she was obviously trying to tell him the whole story.  His eyebrows narrow down on me, making me feel like a naughty child.

‘Sorry, but it's a long story.  Can I tell you later?’  I collapse onto the sofa.  God, this lumpy sofa never felt so good.  Now I just need to try and peel off these trainers. 

‘Tell me later?  I’ve been going out of my fucking mind!  I get home to black smoke and – ‘

‘Black smoke?’  My eyes widen in confusion.

‘Yeah; you’d left garlic bread in the oven,’ he says, with a blank, scary expression. 

‘Oh.  Whoops,’ I say, disbelief colouring my tone as I remember.  

‘So I get home to an almost house fire and see a half made dinner and you nowhere to be seen.  I don't have a number for you, so can't call you, and I can't get hold of Jazz either.  I thought you’d been abducted or something!’ his voice erupts in an angry growl. 

‘Oh Jesus, you’re a drama queen,’ I say flatly, too exhausted to muster any emotion in my voice.  ‘Plus there really is no need to shout.  I’m sorry about the dinner but there was an emergency.’

‘What emergency?’ he asks, still sounding more pissed off than concerned.

I stare back at him, struggling to think clearly, to find some way to explain.  As I search for the right words I can see him getting impatient, frustrated by my silence.  He starts to scowl.

‘I...I can't really tell you.’

He slams his hand down hard on the kitchen counter, making me jump, his brown eyes growing sharp.  What is his problem?

‘Chill out, ok.’  I hold my hands up to him defensively, terrified that I’m living with a psychopath. 

I discreetly start searching the kitchen for a weapon.  The hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me to be on guard, that this man cannot be trusted.  But then his expression quickly changes to one of worry.

‘Shit.  What happened to your hands?’ he asks in a softer voice.  He comes forward and grabs my wrists, bringing them closer to him to inspect. 

‘Oh, I got mugged.’  He really is quite rough.  Doesn’t he realise I’m a girl?

‘You got mugged?  Where?’  His eyes are wide with alarm.

‘At Pearl Cross.  I didn’t really notice until I got back up.  Jazz tried to run after him.’

‘Jesus, what the hell were you both doing there?  It’s the end of the world.’

‘I know.  I found out the hard way.’  I pull my hands away and attempt a laugh to lighten the mood.  It doesn’t seem to work.

He stares back at me, analysing, searching, and attempting to find out what's wrong with me.  

‘God, you really do have a way of getting yourself into trouble don't you.’ he says, more as a statement than a question.

‘Well I’m very sorry that I’m such a bother to you.  I don't know why you care anyway.  I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself.’

He snorts.  ‘Yeah looks like it.’

My lip curls up in anger. 

‘Why don't you just fuck off and mind your own business.  I don't need someone playing older brother to me; I have three of my own thanks.’

‘Well fine.  If you wanna be a bitch about it then I won’t bother next time.’

‘Fine!’ I snarl. 

‘Fine!’ he shouts. 

My fists clench and I turn on my heel stomping off to bed, ignoring my hungry, growling stomach.

*
                            *                            *

Ryan sneaks into my bedroom, a regretful pained expression on his face.

‘Poppy, I’m sorry.’

I look up to him and our eyes lock.  He looks at my face and moves to sit on the bed, close enough for me to hear his breath.  He takes my face in his hands and pushes his warm lips against mine.  I melt, pushing back the covers to invite him in.  He climbs in, his lips not moving from mine.  He reaches under my night shirt, searching hungrily for my breasts.  I begin to unbutton his shirt, feeling his toned stomach as my hand reaches to undo his belt. 

I wake up from the dream trembling.  What on earth was that all about?  I suppose I could blame it on that crazy day, but it doesn’t stop the disturbed thoughts running through my head, again and again.  I get up, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead and check my watch.  5.30 Am. Well, at least I have a few more hours sleep before I have to face the day.  I just hope I can dream about something else.  I throw the duvet over my head and breathe in Jazz’s familiar floral perfume. 

‘Poppy?’

I must be losing my mind.  Now I’m hearing voices.  I keep my head under the duvet, half scared that it's a ghost Jazz forgot to mention.  Maybe that's why she was so eager to swap homes.  This room is haunted by an old woman who likes to give you disturbed dreams and pester you at half five in the morning.

‘Poppy?  It’s me, Izzy,’ she whispers.

I throw the duvet back in disbelief.  She’s leaning over me dressed in pink jogging bottoms and a sports bra.  She can't seriously want to grab breakfast at 5.30 in the morning.  I mean, is she crazy?

‘Izzy – what the?  I mean...what is it?’ I ask, irritation showing in my voice.

‘You said to wake you in the morning remember?’ she whispers encouragingly. 

‘Yeah, but you said for breakfast.  So I assumed it would be at least 7 or something?’ I check my watch again.

‘Yeah I know, that was the plan.  But then I thought why bother sitting around doing bugger all when instead we could go for a refreshing power walk?’  She smiles enthusiastically.

‘Power walk?’ I laugh.  But then I realise she’s serious.  She’s wearing jogging bottoms and holding a water bottle.  She’s actually serious.

‘So...I’ll give you about five minutes to get ready.’  She smiles and pulls the curtains back exposing me to the early morning sunshine streaming in.  I feel like a witch who might melt under it.  The birds are tweeting loudly. 

I stare at her, still half expecting her to laugh and tell me she’s only joking.  But underneath that smiley, petite face she looks kind of stern.  I realise she means business and there's no way I’m getting out of this.

It can't be that bad, I think to myself as we leave the house.  I just hope I don't sweat all over my borrowed sports clothes.  It's only a walk.  I mean, how bad can it be?

It turns out pretty bad. 

‘So, what do you do then Izzy?’ I ask her, hoping she’ll slow down to answer.

‘I’m a personal trainer,’ she smiles.  ‘Come on, keep up.’ 

Well that figures. 

‘I’m...trying’ I say in between breaths. 

God, my chest is tight and my shins are starting to ache.  I’ve only been walking five minutes.

‘So, how long have you been a personal trainer?’

‘About two years now.  I love exercise.  I’m just so happy that I can do it for a career.’

‘How can you love exercise?’ I ask panting.  How could anyone possibly love this?

‘The endorphins it releases are like magic.  It gives me so much more energy,’ she beams.  ‘I always feel super-duper after a workout.’

Why would she want more energy?  She’s like an excitable puppy as it is. 

‘So...do you work at a gym or anything?’

‘I actually do a mix of both.  I do personal training at a gym, but also have my own private clients.  I like the mix, but I think that if I get a lot more private clients then I’ll go totally freelance.  I can set my own hours then.  I could make you an exercise plan if you like?’ she suggests barely out of breath.

‘Um...maybe.’

‘Yes!  That's what I’ll do,’ she says, her face lighting up.  ‘So anyway, what happened yesterday at work?’

I fill her in on all of the details and she happily laughs along.

‘Do you ever get any fit clients?’

‘Yep,’ she laughs.  ‘It's funny because sometimes the biggest fatties are hiding stunning faces.  Once they shed the weight it's really hard not to start fancying them!’

‘Yeah, it must be hard.’

Ryan pops into my head and I can't help but ask her about him.

‘So, what's the deal with Ryan?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, taken aback, but not meeting my eye.

‘I mean, he seems such an arrogant prick.  He obviously thinks the whole world is in love with him.’

‘He’s really not that bad,’ she says, quickly and curtly.

Whoops, I think I’ve offended her. 

‘Sorry.  I didn’t mean to be horrible or anything.’

‘No, its fine,’ she smiles, all signs of a bad mood gone.  ‘It's just that Ryan puts on this act for the world, but he’s actually been through a lot.’

‘Really? I ask, intrigued.  ‘Like what?’

‘Anyway, we’re back on our road now Pops.  I want us to run all the way to the door, ok?’

‘What?’

She’s grabbed my arm and is dragging me down the street before I have time to even realise what she wants.  We’re actually moving so fast that I’m scared I’m going to fall flat on my face.  It's like we’re flying, except my legs are thudding against the pavement, my blisters screaming in protest as they take the full weight of my thunder thighs.

‘You can have a shower first.  I’m gonna make myself a smoothie,’ she says, smiling at me as she opens the door. 

I stand there, panting and sweating profusely.

‘Tha – tha – thanks,’ I finally manage.  I’m so out of breath I honestly think I might die.

I grab my shower bag and walk up the stairs to the bathroom, my legs feeling like weights.  I long so badly for the heat of the water on my tight muscles, but the sound of running water stops me in my tracks.  Damn, somebody beat me to it.  I sigh in annoyance, turn round and begin to walk down the stairs when the door abruptly opens.

I turn round to face Ryan standing in the doorway holding a loose white towel around his waist, dripping wet.  His hair is curly from the moisture and I notice one particular drop of water trickle down his chest, past his belly button to beneath the towel.

‘Morning,’ he says, giving me a strange sideways glance.  Maybe I’m staring, whoops.

I meet his eyes and feel my cheeks burning.  The last time I saw him was in my dreams, when his hands were under my night dress.  My back arches as I remember the pleasure.  When I was touching what lies underneath that small little towel.

‘Poppy, are you ok?’ he asks, studying my face, seeming to be frustrated by my irrational behaviour.  ‘You seem kind of...ill?’

‘Yeah...I’m just...having a shower, you know,’ I mumble like an idiot. 

‘O...kay,’ he smiles tightly. 

I hate this.  It’s like he knows I had the dream and it amuses him.  My mouth keeps twitching, wanting to break into a big hysterical smile, but I keep biting my tongue to stop it.  I will not let him know what I’m thinking.  I will not give him any kind of satisfaction.  And definitely not the kind of satisfaction I dreamt about last night.

‘Anyway,’ he says, his voice formal.  ‘I was thinking about last night and...I think an apology is in order.’

‘Oh yeah, I agree,’ I say in surprise.

We both stare at each other expectantly.   

‘Well...’  He looks me dead in the eye.  ‘Go on then.’

I stare back at him bewildered. 

‘What?  Wait...you want me to apologise TO YOU!?’ 

Surprise flashes across his face. 

‘Yes.  Like I said, I think you need to apologise.’

‘I only agreed because I thought
you
were going to apologise.  Why would I apologise?  I’ve got nothing to apologise for,’ I shout, shocked by the loudness of my own voice.

‘Really?’  He narrows his eyes.  ‘So, nearly setting the house on fire doesn’t count then?’

‘Oh, whatever.  You were just a drama queen.’

We scowl at each other in silence.  I decide after a few awkward moments that I should be the first to speak.  I try to keep myself focused.  I’m in danger of being distracted by his livid, gorgeous face.  It's like trying to stare down a sexual God.  How can one dream make me suddenly like his face when in reality the only time he looks at me is to shoot me an evil look?

‘Now, out of my way.  I need a shower,’ I say icily, all politeness gone.

‘Yeah, that's clear,’ he says, looking at my sweaty appearance.  ‘It’s all yours.’  He steps to the side and gestures with his hand while the other one clings onto the tiny towel.

‘Thanks,’ I say through gritted teeth.  I walk very slowly past him. 

It’s taking all of my mental energy not to trip up or look at how loosely he is holding that towel.  It really could just drop any minute and he doesn’t seem bothered.  His fresh scent follows me as I turn and lock the door.

I shower quickly, trying to rinse away my thoughts.  My head feels like a whirlpool of confusion.  Why do I let him bother me so much?  Why did I have that crazy dream?  That's the last thing I need in my life at the moment - another complication.    Oh well, I only have to put up with him for a few weeks.  It's not like I don't have enough to worry about.  I’ve got another full day ahead with Venomous Victor.  And I need to cancel my debit cards.  And I still don't know who’s being made redundant.     

When I’m finished I wrap myself in a towel and walk down the stairs towards my bedroom, already making a mental to do list for the day.  I turn the corner at the banisters and almost bump right into Ryan, still holding his tiny towel.  Why can't he just get dressed?

‘Oh, sorry,’ I say, clinging onto my towel, suddenly aware of how nearly naked I am.

‘Yep,’ he says, ducking to the left.  I go the same way, and then we both go right.

He looks me dead in the eyes and the tip of his tongue pokes out, covering his upper lip.  Could someone like him ever get nervous?  His eyes hypnotise me, drawing me in.  I want to look away, I really do.  But it's like his eyes won't release me. 

He puts both his hands on my waist and I take an involuntary sharp intake of breath.  He clasps on harder and pushes me away to the right.  His hands linger for a second too long and then he walks away calmly as if nothing has occurred. 

Am I imagining the whole thing?  Maybe I do have concussion.  I stand there, panting from the wanting in my body.  How does he manage to do that?  Is he magic or something?  I feel a bit sick, like I might pass out and I steady myself against the wall.  I try to pull myself together and remind myself that I’m a grown up.  I’m far too old to be acting like a teenager, crazy hormones racing through my veins.  It was just a dream.  You should never think of it again.

*
                            *                            *

‘Morning Pops,’ Lilly says, perched on my desk, her long orange legs dangling off the side.

‘Hiya.’  I throw off my jacket and hand her one of the teas I’ve bought, while immediately pouring mine into my own china tea cup.  I just cant drink out of cardboard.  ‘Oh, and this is funny.  Whose bright idea was it?’ I ask pointing towards my desk.

It's covered in shamrock confetti, leprechaun teddies and a trophy which has a post it attached saying ‘International Irish Dancing Champion.’  Ha ha bloody ha. 

‘Don't know,’ she smirks.  ‘And no thanks, I’m off caffeine.’  She hands me her tea back, sticking her nose up to it.

‘Off caffeine?  Not another one.  My new housemate is trying to make me give it up.’

Izzy decided to give me a lecture on healthy eating before I left this morning. 

‘I’m on a detox.  No more cellulite for me.  All the celebs are doing it.  You should do it with me!’  She eyes up my arse as if I were twenty stone.

‘Oh thanks!  Nice to know you can count on your friends to make you feel better.’

‘Morning Poppy,’ Neville says, as he walks past in another frightening cartoon tie.  Bless him.

‘Morning Nev.  You look good today.  New tie?’

He looks delighted and glances down at the tie, as if trying to remember when he bought it. 

‘This old thing?  I’ve had it years!’

I actually know this.  He’s actually worn that tie nearly every week for the past year, but still.  It's nice to be nice isn’t it? 

‘Well it looks good.’

Lilly shoots me another warning look.  She hates me being nice to Neville.  Keeps telling me I’m leading the poor boy on and that he’ll get the wrong idea, but Neville knows it's just friendship between us.  Plus it's handy having someone you know in accounts when you need to get Victor’s expenses paid immediately or he won't be able to attend the Grand Prix.

‘Have you girls checked out those new hand dryers in the bathroom?’ he asks excitedly. 

‘I thought that was just a rumour!’ Lilly shouts in fake enthusiasm. 

I cringe as Neville looks at Lilly, trying to work out if she’s serious or not.

‘Ignore her Neville.’  I shoot her a look.  She really needs to stop being so mean.

‘Poppy!’ Victor yells. 

Neville and Lilly jump.  God, he never fails to catch us off guard and send me into a panic spiral.  I run to his door, notebook and coffee in hand.