‘Sit down Shelby and help me sort something out.’ Shelby sat with a wince and a groan. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘RSI,’ Shelby grumbled, getting comfortable.
‘Repetitive Strain Injury? From waxing and plucking?’
‘Repetitive Sex Injury. From dating and f—’
‘Stop. I do not need to know,’ Tiff cut in. There were things Shelby had told her over the years that made her want to bleach her ears. ‘Back to the helping me, please.’
‘Seriously Tiff, what’s to sort out? He ditched you, he’s a tool, you’re better off without him but you can’t see it yet. Yada yada yada. Can’t we skip to the bit two months from now when you acknowledge I’m right and you’ve wasted weeks pining over someone who wasn’t worth it? Do a sky-dive, a bungee jump, get so wasted you wake up in the gutter with your knickers flapping off a lamppost. Whatever. Embrace your new life however you want, but can we just fast-track to it?’
‘Have you considered counselling as a career, Shelbs? Your compassion and empathy is truly a gift,’ Tiff said, pushing the muffin over to Shelby, who was eyeing it with intent. Unleashed, she made short shrift of it and Tiff made the most of her mouth being occupied. ‘Actually, that’s not what I need help with. Blackie left me the club.’
The next few moments were spent sorting Shelby out as she first pebble-dashed Tiff with muffin crumbs in the initial exclamation of ‘No. Fucking. Way’ and then gasped the remainder back into her throat and started choking when Tiff neatly added ‘and all his money.’
Tiff waited patiently while Shelby composed herself, brushing the last crumbs off her uniform. It was quite a novelty seeing Shelby stunned for once. Lord knew that didn’t happen often.
‘Bloody hell,’ she finally managed.
‘I know, right?’
‘OMG, that’s like, amaaazing. You are so bloody doing this, Tiff. You’re going to rock that place.’ Shelby’s enthusiasm was instant. Her confidence in her friend was absolute and it made Tiff feel touched but also self-conscious.
‘I think Blackie just didn’t want his bloodsucking ex to get it.’
‘Stop it. He knew you could sort it out. He knew you have good ideas for it. And maybe, he thought it’d be the kick you needed.’
Tiff’s mouth pulled up to the side. Given Blackie trusted her with the figures and the admin, would it be so unreasonable to believe he trusted her to adopt his life’s work and develop it?
‘But I was just spouting off about the things he should change. I wasn’t saying I was the one to do it. I’ve got zero experience in that sort of thing.’
‘Stop over-thinking this, Tiff. You set up your own business before and you didn’t have experience of that either. You know all this, you just don’t dare flatter yourself. You’re convinced life’ll bite you in the bum if you big yourself up.’
Was that what she did? She knew how it felt to take things for granted, to think she was the bee’s knees, only to have it slapped back in her face. It wasn’t something she particularly wanted to experience again. Pride comes before a fall, Tiff – The Bible.
‘You can do this Tiff.’ Shelby put her hand on Tiff’s arm. ‘You’ll kick butt. Blackie thought so too.’
‘But he gave it to me like it was my dream. And it really isn’t.’ Tiff had to whisper as she felt so ungrateful. Shelby sat back, considering this.
‘It’s a business, Tiff. Might be a different flavour than you’re used to, but it’s still a business. You get the chance to make something bigger and hopefully better. You can further yourself as a business woman.’
‘But I don’t have ambitions like that,’ she said exasperated. She liked her life as it was – well, not right now, but before. She didn’t have the confidence for all this. ‘I—’
‘Stop. Stop right there. I know what you’re about to do. You’re about to allow Gav the Tool’s words to cockblock your big break. And the answer is no, sorry, no dice. You’re going to do this, if nothing else to prove how wrong he was, how after ten years he still couldn’t read you properly. And, so help me Tiff, if, when you are riding high as a proper Lord Sugar, you so much as think of going back to him when he comes sniffing – and I guarantee you he will – I shall break your legs.’ Shelby drained the last of the latte before adding, ‘His too. But that’ll be just for kicks.’
She looked at her watch.
‘Crap. Gotta go.’ She was out of the seat before Tiff could even think. ‘You can do this. Love you babes,’ she said, planting a kiss on Tiff’s head, and was promptly gone. If Tiff hadn’t already been in a daze, then Hurricane Shelby would have done the job.
Shelby’s words rang in her ears as she walked back towards Blackie’s. For all her best mate’s encouragement – which was heartening even if she still had Gavin all wrong –Tiff didn’t know if she had what it would take, because it would take a lot, and right now she hardly had the energy to shower. When she got to the club car park she stopped and took a long hard look at the place. She owned all this. A building and a business. If she wanted it. It could be a future too. If she wanted it. But looking up at the sign above the front door, she didn’t know whether she could fulfil Blackie’s faith in her. Hadn’t Gavin said she wasn’t a striver? And didn’t he know her better than anyone?
But. But but but. The words kept bouncing on her lips. Like Leonards said, Blackie wouldn’t have given his club away to just anyone. She knew that. He believed she could do something with this place. ‘Capable’ Leonards had said. She liked being seen as capable. Shelby thought so too. She’d like to remind Gavin that she was capable – not only in his interior design needs. Heading for the doors she wondered whether this was the universe sending her a way to show Gavin he was wrong. About all of it.
She felt a splat on the shoulder of her coat. Bird poo.
That settled it. She had it on very good authority being crapped on by a bird was lucky. Given how the last week had gone, she’d take any good omen she could get.
Smiling, Tiff ran her hand lightly across the door pane. ‘Mine,’ she mouthed.
‘Y’know, this place will turn to shit.’ The low snarl made her jump. She hadn’t heard his approach. Spinning around she found herself almost nose to nose with Aaron. He had little perception of personal space, no more than he had for his personal hygiene. Tiff instinctively took a step backwards, but was met by the door. Aaron didn’t budge. Ah, it wasn’t that he didn’t care about personal space; he wanted to intimidate her.
‘Blokes won’t join a boxing club run by a woman. A woman who doesn’t box.’ He was repulsive, from his sneer to the gopping nails of his nicotine-stained fingers. Tiff reminded herself she had Blackie’s backing. It didn’t quite cloak the fact he was bigger and wider.
‘You think they’d be more attracted by a bloke who doesn’t box? At least they’ve seen me in the building. They know Blackie liked me.’
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, obviously liked you a whole lot to leave you everything. That how he pegged out, was it? You riding him for the inheritance?’
‘Don’t be disgusting!’ Tiff exclaimed. ‘Your stepdad was a lovely man. He knew my grandad.’
Aaron merely shrugged. ‘Age doesn’t bother gold-diggers, does it?’ Tiff resisted suggesting he asked his mother. He moved a step closer, so his mouth was right up against her ear. ‘The older the better, right? Then you don’t have to keep it up so long.’ He sniggered snidely. ‘Bet Blackie couldn’t even do that.’
Appalled, Tiff turned and scooted through the door, keen to get it closed between them. Was that what people would think? She tried to quell the nausea.
‘That business should be mine. I was his son,’ Aaron shouted right against the door pane. Spittle splattered on the glass.
‘Stepson and a rubbish one at that,’ Tiff muttered. She didn’t have a plan if he chose to storm the building, but instead he walked slowly backwards, staring at her. ‘You should have been kinder to him while he was around then,’ she said lo
uder, so he’d hear.
‘Like you did?’ he sneered, giving her a filthy leer before turning and swaggering away. Tiff watched him cross the car park like he owned the place. He didn’t look back. He’d come to rattle her, and he’d done the job.
Chapter 8
‘Afternoon.’ Ron stood in the doorway to the office. Tiff froze with her mug of tea halfway to her mouth and looked at the clock. It was still morning. He was having a dig.
‘I was at the will reading.’
Ron’s brow furrowed. ‘That was today?’
‘Nine o’clock.’ The scowl on his face told her exactly how he felt about not being invited.
‘What’s the score then?’ He needed to know whether he had a job or not. Whilst he was a grumpy bugger, Tiff knew he worked hard. He’d have a job if he wanted it. She tried not to think about how much she was depending on him if she was going to do this. He was her continuity.
‘You’d best sit down,’ she said. Ron slumped in the corner armchair, an apprehensive look on his face.
‘Is it closing?’
‘No,’ she said, adamantly. Whatever happened, she’d do everything to keep it open. Blackie’s legacy demanded it.
‘Being sold?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Ron’s face perked up. ‘See, Blackie left the place to me.’
‘You?’ he asked, incredulous.
‘Me.’ There didn’t seem much to add. She could desperately start justifying it, but she didn’t want to come across as panicking. And she was panicking.
‘Didn’t see that coming.’ Tiff didn’t take it as a compliment, nor had Ron meant it as such. To be fair she hadn’t seen it coming either.
‘You and me both.’
‘You don’t box.’
‘No.’
‘You don’t even follow boxing.’
‘No.’
‘And you’re a w—’
‘Yes.’ Tiff considered having a feminist debate with him but didn’t have the strength. What would be the point?
‘What the hell was he thinking?’ Ron exploded, expecting her to share his outrage.
She tried to placate him. ‘Um, perhaps he was thinking I didn’t need to box or follow the sport,’ or have a penis she added, but only in her head, ‘to be a business manager. Perhaps he thought, having worked with him, I knew enough about the place to keep it going, to progress it, and more importantly give proper consideration to the people who work here.’ Tiff gambled Ron’s primary concern was his own job.
‘Too right. About the staff, I mean.’ Neither mentioned that beyond themselves, the sum of the staff came to precisely one, in the form of Vonda the intermittent cleaner. ‘He should have told us what he was planning.’
‘Well, he liked his surprises,’ was all she could think to say.
‘This is going to have a major impact on the business. The lads aren’t going to like it.’ She hadn’t really considered that bit, but his prejudgement seemed a tad unfair.
‘Apart from Blackie’s absence, the clients shouldn’t feel any difference, Ron. Blackie’s will stipulated that your job should be safeguarded, if you still want it.’ She’d hoped to see relief in his face, but he’d moved on from that. ‘I’m hoping you do want it, Ron,’ she added to be clear.
‘Well, I’m sure you do. A club without a trainer isn’t much of a club, is it?’
‘No, of course not.’ He was talking to her like she was an idiot. She wanted to show him she wasn’t. Vision. Vision and ambition, that was what impressed people. ‘Going forward,’ she said, feigning confidence, ‘I’ll be looking to modernise the club, but it will always be a boxing club at heart, and you’re integral to that.’
‘Blackie didn’t want to modernise it. It works perfectly as it is – provided I’m here to make it work – so what’s the point?’ Ron was sporting a fine display of outrage. ‘Don’t mess with things that aren’t broken, Tiffanie. Why do women always do that?’
Tiff bit her tongue.
‘He left you everything?’ Ron double-checked, with an air of disbelief and a hint of resentment.
‘The building, the land, some capital,’ she detailed, feeling uncomfortable. She tried to divert the conversation. ‘The ring goes to Mike Fellner as some penance for the past – don’t ask, I don’t know – so I’ll need a new one ASAP. All the sappy pictures with the moody shots and emo texts go to Aaron. For guidance apparently.’
That raised a wry smile from Ron.
‘Nice one, Blackie. He always liked a subtle jab to the nuts.’
‘So Ron,’ said Tiff, making her first managerial move, ‘if you’re on board then the title of Head Coach is yours and obviously there’ll be a salary increment attached.’ She tried to sound as professional as possible, until she saw his eyes ker-ching at the money, which caused her to falter a little, ‘The exact details of which to be confirmed once I’ve checked the figures.’
Ron stood up, nodding. His staying was a massive weight off her mind.
‘Glad you can see sense, Tiff. You leave running the club to me while you crunch the numbers and things will be fine.’ He left the room shaking his head.
Watching him disappear down the stairs and finally having a large gulp of her tepid tea, Tiff couldn’t help but feel her first step into her future had lacked any clout or elation.
Tiff’s lunch hour mainly involved staring at the office in fear and disbelief. It was all hers, from the walls to the bins. Yet little plan-bubbles were beginning to form. She’d be thinning out the glut of furniture for a start; navigating the office was an obstacle course in itself. The posters on the walls were going, which would expose the fade of the paintwork, adding another thing to the To-do list. Still, with their phrasings of Dream Big and to go Above and Beyond, she’d happily lose them. They annoyed her. They were Gavin’s clearly destructive life-coaching DVDs in paper form.
Getting into it, she wandered down the corridor and stairs, surveying her domain until she found herself standing outside the sparring hall door. It was years since she’d set foot in there. She’d spent hours in there as a teen, watching one Mikey Fellner, but that had stopped when he’d left. Coming to work for Blackie she’d still managed to dodge it; there was nothing urgent enough in the bookkeeping to force her in there.
‘’Scuse me, love.’ A client moved around her and entered the hall. The open doorway blasted Tiff with the squeaks of footwear on the polished floor and also a potent waft of testosterone and sweat. She couldn’t think of a space smelling more of bloke. And yet it was a nostalgic odour to her. She’d never minded it back then.
It took her a moment to realise the guy was holding the door for her.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said, scurrying through. This was hers now. She needed to know it again.
Brick walls and wooden floor, it wasn’t a million miles away from a school gym, with the exception of the massive ring at the far end, with its white ropes keeping the boxers in, and the royal blue pelmet to hide the supports. Ron hung over the ropes barking at the two fighters for being a couple of wimps and not being worth his time if they weren’t going to ‘put some bloody effort in, ya pair of pansies.’ In the rest of the space, boxers trained with skipping ropes, weights and punch-bags until it was their turn to vie for Ron’s approval. Tiff suspected they’d more chance of winning Miss Universe than winning his praise.
Walking around the perimeter of the room, the sound of her heels drew attention. She didn’t feel unwelcome as such, the guys just got on with what they were doing, more out of place and surplus to requirements. She had no role in there. She got half-way around the room, before Ron abruptly acknowledged her.
‘Need something?’
Ron’s glare forced her to fabricate something. He made her feel she was trespassing. ‘Um, yes,’ she said, clip-clopping up to the ring. She didn’t want to shout, she wanted to sound in control. ‘The new ring. I wanted to check the required dimensions.’
‘Twenty by twenty. Feet. No point having anyt
hing smaller than competition size if this lot are to have any sense of space. RingPro is the best make.’ He turned back to his boxers. Tiff wondered whether they needed the best. Best usually meant most expensive. But she didn’t have the spuds to question Ron. His glare was pretty ferocious and it would be remiss to doubt him in front of the clientele. Instead she fingered the fabric of the pelmet. ‘RingPro. Is that what this is?’
Ron tutted loudly as she distracted him again. ‘Are we compromising on quality now?’ She cowered at his hostility. Clearly he’d been mulling the news and his mood had turned sour. Sourer.
‘You don’t need to worry about quality, Ron. We’re on the same side here,’ she said. She pulled herself up to full height, but it didn’t help when he was already three feet off the ground. She took a couple of steps back to create a clear line of sight between them, without the ropes getting in the way. ‘I’m not here to cause havoc, Ron.’ Her next step back caused her to trip over a discarded kettlebell. Tiff felt her balance going, instinctively twisting, bringing her face to vinyl with a swinging punch bag.
‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ She opened her eyes to see a relieved face. ‘Are you okay?’
Tiff nodded, trying to convince her eyeballs to align.
‘It’s Jess.’ She was looking Tiff over intently. ‘You passed out.’
‘Umm..?’ Tiff knew her, but she couldn’t place the face. It was a sweet elfin face, severely framed by cropped red hair. She understood and helped Tiff out.
‘Jessica Dent. Akehurst Street.’
Tiff’s eyes widened. ‘Whoa, didn’t you grow up,’ she said, now recognising the features of a girl she’d tutored when she was eighteen. Last she’d seen Jessica, she’d sported a dodgy perm.
‘I box here. With Amina.’ On cue, they were joined by another woman, gorgeous with tight cornrows on her head, who rested her hand gently on her girlfriend’s shoulder.
‘She okay?’
Tiff nodded vigorously before Jess could answer, embarrassment setting in. She pushed herself up from the floor, keen not to look a complete lemming.
Sweatpants at Tiffanie's Page 6