Sweatpants at Tiffanie's

by Pernille Hughes

  ‘Sorry. I should’ve cleared my weights and I didn’t see you behind the bag,’ Jess said.

  Tiff shook her head insisting she hadn’t looked where she was going. Taking a look back towards the ring, she saw Ron hadn’t budged. He sent her a withering glance and turned back to his fighters.

  ‘Nice seeing you again, Jess,’ she said, checking her skirt, hoping she hadn’t flashed everyone in keeling over. ‘What are you up to now?’ Small talk. Yes that worked; inane small talk could cover all sorts of humiliation. Plus she was getting to know the clients. Ron couldn’t begrudge her that.

  Jess stood up straight with a proud smile. ‘I’m a builder now. Took over my dad’s business.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Jess,’ she gushed, enthusiastically. ‘He must be delighted to hand it on to family.’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘Oh god,’ she choked, plunging straight back into a state of mortification. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She reached out and gave Jess a sympathetic squeeze on the arm. It was rock-solid. The equipment definitely did the business. ‘I’ll see you around, all right? Stuff to do upstairs.’ Flailing, she pointed upwards, then to the door, then felt like a prat. Wobbling back across the gym, wishing again she wasn’t in heels, Tiff suspected she’d be hard pressed to make it more obvious she was way out of her depth.

  Her intention was to hide for the rest of the day. She worked through the admin, but progress was slower than normal, her mind getting distracted constantly. Finally she gave up, deciding to sort out her boxes and bags currently stashed in the storage cupboard next to the office. Shifting them had taken several trips up and down the stairs the morning after Mike’s nocturnal visit. She bristled at the thought of him. Seeing him stride in at Leonards’ made her want to gnash her teeth. And he’d shot her a cocky look which tempted her to hurl a ledger at him. So much for telling him to stay out of her life.

  If she was going to try the hotel tonight, she thought, dragging her cross thoughts away from him, she’d need some clothes and various nick-nacks for her overnight stay. The idea of living out of a bag depressed her. It didn’t feel like money well-spent either.

  Switching the light on in the storage room she took a proper squizz around. It was large – the club had never lacked space – and Blackie had been tidy. One corner homed a stack of exercise mats and the opposite wall was racked-out with shelves, half-filled with yet more files of outdated paperwork.

  Ditching the files would free up more shelf room for… well she wasn’t sure yet, but Storage space is gold-dust, Tiff. Hearing Gavin’s words in her head made her eyes sting. Blinking it away she looked at the mats in the corner. The way they were stacked reminded her of The Princess and the Pea. An idea started to germinate.

  So it was a bit grim, but there was shelving, space to move about and the door locked. That wasn’t much different from a hotel room. In Tiff’s mind it was a battle between a window at the Premier Lodge versus no cost here. Not having to pack up again was the clincher, she was sick of that already. The building was hers, and the store cupboard with it. If she was going to buy a flat when she finally found time to start looking for one – screw you, rental market – then she shouldn’t be spaffing the cash on a crappy hotel room. Seen like that, she could easily cope with temporarily living in a cupboard. A nice lamp and her duvet would make this quite cosy, she convinced herself, conveniently ignoring the strip lighting and the chipped floor tiles. A rug and fairy lights maybe…

  ‘You got a minute?’ Ron’s gruff voice ripped her away from her planning. He didn’t wait for her to respond and she followed him obediently into her office.

  ‘I should take it on,’ he said, rounding on her.

  ‘Take what on?’

  ‘The club. Watching you down in the gym I reckon it’d be best for all concerned, yourself included, if I took over the club.’

  Tiff’s jaw flapped but no words came. Ron went on.

  ‘I can’t see how Blackie didn’t see it; I’m far better qualified to run it.’

  ‘You’re head coach,’ she pointed out, finding her tongue. ‘As far as the clients can see, you are running it.’ Additionally, she doubted he had the money to buy her out. If it was the glory he needed, he already had it. There was no need to tie up his finances.

  ‘Yes, but let’s be honest, it’s only a matter of time before you start making unnecessary changes. You setting foot in the gym was one and look how well that went.’

  ‘I tripped over strewn kit. It was an accident.’

  ‘My point exactly. The gym’s always like that. We’re all used to it. You’re clueless.’

  This was grossly unfair, Tiff thought, taking a breath to say so, but Ron shook his head to stop her.

  ‘I’d been thinking about this before all of that anyway. I’ll rent the place off you. Blackie wanted this place to stay as it is, or he would have changed it himself. It’s what the lads would want too. I’ll run it as normal and pay you rent out of the profits.’

  Tiff hadn’t expected that. Not for a second. She didn’t know what to say. Instinctively she wanted to shout But it’s mine!, but his words had her stumbling. He thought she was clueless.

  ‘Think about it, Tiffanie,’ she noted she wasn’t Tiff anymore, ‘you could expand your bookkeeping business, you could keep the days here obviously – that’s two bites of the cherry given I’d have to pay you for that too – and then you could spend Blackie’s money and the rent on other things; shoes or whatever you women spend money on nowadays.’

  Tiff bit her cheek at the reference to Blackie’s money. She supposed every penny she ever spent hereon, anywhere, would be seen as Blackie’s money.

  ‘And no offence,’ he continued, though from experience Tiff knew any sentence beginning with ‘no offence’ was about to cause exactly that, ‘but you can hardly call yourself a poster girl for fitness.’ Tiff instantly looked down at herself. So fitness wasn’t her thing, but she wasn’t massively out of shape. Okay, maybe she was puffed scaling the stairs, but she could still recognise her sixteen-year-old self in the mirror. They might just not have shared clothes for a while.

  ‘Nobody joins gyms run by chubbies. Just saying.’ He said it with a shrug, and his face wasn’t twisted in the malicious sneer such a sentence should be accompanied by. It was his honest opinion. Embarrassed, she wanted to exit the room immediately.

  ‘You really don’t want me to do this, do you?’ she stammered.

  ‘It’s not a matter of want. I don’t think you can. I don’t want Blackie’s hard work and sacrifice wasted, when I can do the job.’

  His words plunged her right in the chest, but not like a sharp implement, rather something wide, blunt and far more devastating.

  ‘You think about it,’ he said, ‘but for the sake of getting on I’ll expect an answer by Friday.’ Tiff could only stare at him speechless. Ron took this as assent. ‘And Tiff,’ he said, more kindly now, like she was a sad child, ‘in the interests of health, safety and corporate image, best stay out of the gym, eh?’

  Chapter 9

  She desperately needed some fresh air. Some non-Ron air. Speeding down the stairs she hoped he wouldn’t spot her – or her chubby form – slinking out of the building in search of somewhere to hide.

  Indoors or out, she’d always seek out a sunspot. Gavin once said she was catlike when she did that. It’d made her feel desirably feline.

  The sun was shining on the side of the building, where Blackie had banished the smokers, refusing to allow their anonymously donated bench to sit at the front of the building. What kind of health message would that send? he’d demanded, before having an ‘In memory of those who smoked here’ plaque screwed to it.

  Dropping onto the seat, Tiff rested her head on the wall behind to stare at the sky. Really this should be simple. Blackie had given her a shot at something. Things were already established in one respect; there was a client base to build on and money coming in. But every time she thought about the plans she’d n
agged Blackie with, the task seemed huge. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to touch them with a shitty stick. And maybe Gavin was right about her not being ambitious. She had ideas, but maybe she didn’t have the drive to see them through.

  Was that what Ron was seeing? She’d wanted him onside. Whilst she hadn’t expected to inherit any of this, she hadn’t considered him having his eyes on it. Although maybe he didn’t harbour those ambitions at all – he seemed to think taking it on was his moral duty. He really had no faith in her. That hurt. A lot. Tiff had always given a hundred per cent to her work. She’d assumed Ron had a decent impression of her, when instead it turned out he thought her clumsy, incompetent and fat.

  She’d never considered the nature of hurt and how it could lie in layers. She was so hurt by Gavin’s decision it took her breath away. She had similar pain from ten years before when Mike walked away. It rested in her now like an old wound; prone to playing up in dank weather. Together the two sat heavily in her heart, making it difficult to engage with her normal self. This latest hurt of Ron’s rather changed that. It cast itself on the established layers, churning them up. It made her feel impotent while desperate to escape, rather like those dreams where she ran in terror through immobilising mud. And like those dreams, it was so very lonely.

  She closed her eyes to quell their prickling and inflated her cheeks to deflect the tears. Ron’s words were unfair. She hadn’t done a single thing but he’d already decided she couldn’t do it. And aside from the stinging hurt, what had her wanting to curl up in a ball was simply: what if he was right?

  Since she was a teen, Tiff had worked hard at the things she knew; the numbers and pleasing Gavin. Having precious little self-confidence otherwise, focusing on those things allowed her to curb her self-doubts. Not now though – they all came hurtling back. What had Blackie been thinking giving her the club?

  She hadn’t considered who would take over, she’d simply assumed at some point she’d have to hand over the keys and see if they wanted a bookkeeper who knew the business. Effectively, that was Ron’s offer. Her current work was fine; she could take the money and use it for something else. The rent could cover the mortgage for a small place. No more sleeping on lumpy sofas or sweaty PE mats. Or she could buy a bigger house and have a lodger. Maybe Shelby would—

  ‘Having a moment?’

  Tiff expelled the air from her puffed cheeks. Mike Fellner stood, hands in pockets, watching her, bemused.

  Oh. Bloody. Hell.

  ‘What is the matter with you? Can’t you follow simple instructions like Do one?’ She’d been pretty clear. And she’d made a concerted job of blanking him at Leonards’.

  ‘What you doing?’ he said, imitating a toddler, ignoring her barb. God, he was annoying. Had he always been this annoying? Perhaps she’d overlooked it while being ensnared by his teen good looks. ‘My smug battered mug was wondering.’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ she said tersely, ignoring his jibe right back. She had too many thoughts churning in her head to spare him any of them. She’d said her piece the other night. While she hadn’t been particularly in control of what came out of her mouth, it had been wonderfully cathartic. Her sleep afterwards had been the best in a week.

  ‘Sure,’ he nodded, like he saw loonies pulling faces on benches all the time. Keen to look vaguely sane, Tiff rose to sit upright, only her hair got caught on the roughness of the brickwork. She attempted to smooth it down without it looking too obvious. He still wore his well-cut suit from this morning, though he’d lost his tie somewhere, the top two buttons standing open, a glimpse of smooth collarbone peeping out the top.

  ‘You want the ring?’ she started. His face clouded at her sharp tone. Her intention was to move him along ASAP. He was, of course, entitled to take it immediately; the pro was she’d finally be shot of him, the con being it’d leave her ringless. In a boxing club. It didn’t take a genius to predict how Ron would react to that. He’d firmly place that cock-up at her feet.

  Mike scratched the back of his neck.

  ‘I, well, no actually. I wouldn’t mind a look at it sometime, a proper look, in daylight,’ he gave a small smirk, ‘but I was hoping I might leave it a while.’

  Tiff was conflicted; the being shot of him wasn’t working out, but the relief of having a ring won over. She kept her relief under wraps and her defences staunchly up.

  ‘No room at home?’ she snarked.

  ‘Actually, I’ve already got one at home. Sort of comes with the job,’ he justified, although they both knew not every boxer had space to accommodate, amongst life’s other essentials, a boxing ring. Unless, of course, he slept at the gym, like she did, which she suspected wasn’t the case. ‘I need a bit of time to get it dismantled.’

  ‘You’re going to use Blackie’s then?’ She couldn’t help but ask. Her fondness for Blackie dictated her interest in where his things went.

  ‘I couldn’t sell that ring. It was his,’ he said simply. Clearly didn’t need the money, Tiff noted, but then the cut of his suit and the way he held himself told her the Mikey Fellner she’d known – constantly skint – was purely a figment of her memories. He’d come a long way from the tired terrace houses of Delaney Row. Now he had a girlfriend worthy of OK magazine. Tiff’s eyes slid down her own body. Verity could fit twice in this skirt. Ron’s words still stung.

  ‘I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last, though,’ she said. ‘It’s seen a lot of wear.’

  Mike sent her a lopsided smile. ‘That’ll make two of us then. I don’t plan on putting her through too hard a time in the future. We can have our retirement together.’

  Tiff considered what she was doing, engaging him in conversation. Just seeing him made her bristle with … with… she wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t comfortable. But Blackie had always said it took more energy to be angry than not and saddled with her hurt and loneliness already, she resigned herself to giving up the angry. Didn’t mean she had to be nice though. Civil would do.

  ‘You’re retiring?’ She’d determinedly not followed his career, but she hadn’t envisaged a time when he wasn’t boxing. He was only twenty-seven. Gavin said these were the investment years, where you worked your balls off, so you could retire at fifty. Obviously Mike was on some fast-track.

  Mike pointed to his face.

  ‘You might not have noticed, but I took a patent beating recently. It’s called a sign of the times.’ The bruises had faded somewhat over the weekend, turning to mottled plum and autumnal yellow. The hints of thug were gone, now suggesting ‘unfortunate’ rather than ‘he had it coming.’

  ‘What, one fight and you’re out?’ she challenged.

  ‘It’s been a couple now,’ he shrugged, as if it really didn’t bother him, but she knew it would. He hated losing. ‘And I’m getting tired, Tiff.’

  His use of her name sent a small twinge through her. He said it like she was the only one to get it; to understand how far he’d come, how much he’d had to fight for, and the toll it had taken. It felt like an honour, only she neither deserved nor wanted it. It felt too friendly. And they definitely weren’t that. Civil or no, she still wanted to lamp him. She found herself studying a bird poo on the armrest for distraction. So much for being lucky. Now she thought of it, it was Mikey’s gran, Nanna Bea, who’d convinced her of that when an enormous seagull had unceremoniously shat on her new leather jacket. A huge-spirited woman, always keen to find the positives, Tiff wondered how the old lady was—

  ‘Congratulations, by the way. Inheriting the club,’ he said, changing the subject abruptly.

  Tiff’s head swung up to look at him. ‘Oh god, did you want it too?’ Was that what he’d planned for his retirement? Mike recoiled as if slapped.

  ‘No. God no. Why would you think that?’ Tiff saw her natural instinct was now to assume the worst. Argh, it was an awful state of mind, she hated it. It – he – brought the worst out in her. She shook her head to get a grip.

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first person today to
feel they’d be a better bet or were more entitled to the place. I think I’m feeling a bit tired and emotional about it. And shocked.’

  ‘Overnight vigils on office sofas aren’t helping you,’ he said, quietly. ‘Didn’t we once… on that sofa—,’ he started with an enthusiastic grin.

  ‘Don’t,’ she cut him off. She wasn’t going there. That was a scab she wasn’t unpicking with him. She knew her face was colouring – she’d remembered it many times when walking into the office. But that he could be so blasé about it really narked her. Tiff felt her temper simmering again and tried to regulate it back down in the name of civility. Soon he’d disappear back out of her life and she could forget all about him. Again.

  ‘Probably best. Blackie would’ve had my nuts if he knew we were doing more than holding hands.’

  ‘Blackie would’ve done his nut if he knew you’d found his secret key,’ she pointed out sharply, keen to take the conversation elsewhere.

  ‘I told you, he gave me the key, or at least told me where he hid it.’

  ‘Really,’ Tiff said, unconvinced.

  ‘Really,’ he insisted. ‘Wanted me to have somewhere to escape to.’ That left a gulf in the air. Everyone local knew how Andy Fellner had treated his wife and son. Some sounds couldn’t be masked from neighbours and word carried. While Blackie was unable to save Mike’s mother from an early grave, he’d made it his mission to equip the boy. That Mike had turned out to be a naturally gifted boxer, quick on his feet and in his thinking, had been a bonus.

  ‘So, what are you going to do with yourself?’ she asked to break the silence. ‘Retirement before thirty leaves some years to fill.’

  ‘Not sure yet,’ he said, his mouth forming a wide but flat smile. ‘I’ve invested here and there and TV have been asking me to commentate, but nothing really stands out.’

  ‘You sure you aren’t wanting my gym?’ she said with mock suspicion. She experienced an unexpected thrill at referring to it as her gym. She owned a gym. OMG.