‘That old chestnut,’ she said, moving off with a wink.
‘So what do you think?’ Tiff asked having explained the new ownership and her plans.
Jess looked out into the floor space beyond the office. ‘The walls are an easy do; they’re mostly plasterboard partitions, so we’d pull ’em all down and you’d start with a blank canvas. Flooring depends on the room usage; some’ll need to be sprung, but that’s no biggie. The extra changing room would need plumbing and tanks put in, but it’s all doable.’
Tiff beamed. She’d been dreading Jess saying it was a nightmare. She followed Jess to the stairs, expecting to head for the gym, but instead Jess’s eyes went up the next flight.
‘What about upstairs?’
‘Not sure yet. I um…I’ve never been up there.’ Tiff felt daft admitting it. The building had been hers for over a day and she’d not ventured beyond the office.
‘Really? Never?’
She shrugged. ‘Blackie locked it off after the old firm moved out.’
‘Any idea what’s up there?’
‘I believe there’s an open plan office, a few small offices, a kitchenette and loos.’
Jess gave her a mischievous look. ‘You got the keys?’
‘I guess so,’ Tiff said, thinking about the bunch Leonards had handed her.
Grabbing it from the desk, Tiff returned to find Jess missing. The upper stairwell was illuminated for the first time in years.
‘This floor gives me the creeps,’ she muttered, meeting her at the top.
‘How, when you haven’t been up here?’
‘Well, okay, but it’s always been dark up here.’ Tiff started trying one key after the other. ‘It’s the stuff of murder programmes.’
‘This is where we find Blackie’s sordid secrets,’ Jess said in a creepy voice. Tiff elbowed her, as a) Blackie was as straight as they came, and b) it wasn’t funny – it was flipping spooky up there.
The fifth key struck lucky, and the door swung open. Tiff was reluctant to be the first one in.
‘Get in, you wuss,’ Jess scoffed, but pushed her in ahead of herself, ‘they were insurers, not gangsters. We’d have heard if it was some torture den.’ Thankfully she flipped the light switch, and the room became less eerie. ‘You weren’t expecting me to carry you over the threshold, were you?’
Tiff didn’t answer as she was consumed by what she saw.
‘Look at that view,’ she said, crossing the room and resting her forehead on the glass. Considering there was only one floor’s difference this view seemed a world apart. She could see at least three roof gardens, and there, beyond the grey buildings were verdant fields. She took a quick wander along the window line, then stopped. This view; the one in the furthest corner looking out over the smarter part of town where she’d once lived, both with her parents and then with Gavin, the hills in the distance and hint of the sea beyond, was the view she wanted.
‘This’ll be the new admin office,’ she said, squaring off the space with her arms. ‘The rest of the narrow end can be a storeroom and staff facilities; we’ll update the kitchen and the loos.’ She swung around to the long broad side of the open plan office. ‘This’ll be the social space; cafe by day, bar at night. Somewhere to chill out after a workout. Can you see it, Jess?’
‘Easily.’ She turned to see Jess and the big smile plastered on her face. ‘The lights’ll look a treat too.’
Tiff imagined dusk settling over town and the cars switching their headlights on. Once it was dark, the uglier business buildings would vanish and only the lights from homes dotted on the hills would remain.
‘It’d be best from a works point of view if you did it all in one go, Tiff, closing the gym only the once.’
‘Absolutely,’ she said, only just managing not to bounce with excitement. ‘I want it all and I want it now.’
‘Makes sense to have Staff changing rooms above the Ladies downstairs, and we’ll locate that above the Gents on the ground floor,’ Jess suggested, looking about and making calculations. Tiff watched her, thinking she definitely wasn’t the teen she’d once known; Jess’d hardly said boo to a goose back then, and here she was being a professional, interpreting and improving her plans. ‘That’d give us the most economical plumbing.’
‘Economical sounds good,’ Tiff nodded along. ‘Thank you. I wouldn’t have known where to start on this.’
‘Nor did I until my dad showed me.’ Jess’s dad had clearly been more useful than hers, Tiff thought, but conceded her ability with numbers probably came from him. He’d known exactly what he was doing, even if it was morally wrong. ‘And the lads know what they’re doing. It’s more about management, although they know I can turn my hand to any of it now, if we’re stuck.’
‘Does that make a difference? Do they accept you?’ Tiff was thinking about Ron’s insistence that the boxers wouldn’t like her running the place. She was royally stuffed if they really intended to hold her gender against her.
‘I don’t give them a choice, Tiff. They’ve seen me do the same jobs. They know I have the muscles. I can shout as loud as my dad did, with a more scathing vocabulary. And I’ve the benefit of female charm too, when I need it.’ Tiff doubted any of the boxers had ever seen an ounce of charm from Ron, so maybe she was one up there. Jess’s experience said she simply needed to knuckle down. Thinking about it, all her bookkeeping jobs were in male-orientated businesses. One was a mechanic’s, the other a plumber’s merchant. Seen like that, she was already working in bloke-heavy environments, and she’d never had an issue. The thought buoyed her. ‘Can I quote for the job?’ Jess asked, digging her hands into her pockets and rocking back on her heels.
‘Jess,’ she said, shocked, ‘the job is yours. I mean, if you want it.’
‘Definitely.’ She was pleased, but then her face dropped. ‘Do you know any other builders? You should get a second quote for comparison.’
Tiff didn’t need to know other builders. ‘You’re hardly going to rip off your own club, Jess, and I figure you’ll do a job you’ll be proud of. You drive a shiny new van, so you probably aren’t constantly being sued.’ Jess shrugged, playing it down, but Tiff saw a glint of pride in her eye. ‘Besides that, your reputation here would be in the balance, and if you do a decent job, you’ll get more work. I’m assuming, of course, I can report to the other members what amazing value for money you are.’
‘Worked it all out, haven’t you?’ Jess said, knowing she’d been done.
‘Absolutely,’ said Tiff with a grin, ‘Plus if you aren’t quick about it all, they’ll be complaining to you directly. Works for me.’
‘Get some ideas down on paper, Tiff and I’ll look them over for a ballpark figure.’ She paused for a moment then added ‘Talk it over with Ron. He might have some ideas too.’
‘On it,’ Tiff said, meaning she’d already mentioned changes to Ron, but happy to make it sound like he agreed. The last thing she wanted was for the customers to feel there was division between them. She needed everyone onside if this was to go smoothly. ‘It’s early days yet, so keep it to yourself, OK?’ She didn’t want Jess discussing things with anyone too soon. Right timing is in all things the most important factor, Tiff – Hesiod. She hadn’t asked Gavin who Hesiod was exactly, but right now, Tiff was with him on this.
Chapter 11
Tiff and Jess raced down the stairs like a couple of school kids giddy from hatching secret plans. They came to an abrupt halt at the bottom, as they met Ron’s petulant face.
‘Some of us are working, Tiffanie. I’m not here to take deliveries for you while you’re messing around god-knows-where.’ Tiff felt more chastened than she ever had at school. ‘Jess, give me a hundred burpees. Your fitness is on the wrong side of slipping.’ Ron clearly wasn’t beyond taking his mood out on the customers too. Jess winced, but didn’t complain and with a quick ‘See ya’, hoofed into the sparring hall. Judging by Ron’s expression, Tiff doubted Jess would be moving as jauntily when he was done wi
th her.
Ron thrust Tiff a piece of paper, flicked his head towards a man standing in the doorway, and stormed off, back to the ring. Scanning the docket, she recognised the dispatch signature as Gavin’s. Seeing it made her pine for him. His smooth cursive was a thing of beauty.
The bed! The very concept of decent sleep made her slightly light-headed. Tiff’d expected Gavin to take ages sending it over, but the same day? He wasn’t kidding about being focused. He must be really keen to expunge her from his life.
‘Can we bring it in then?’ the delivery chap asked, consulting his watch. He was out the door again before she answered.
Standing in the entrance she examined the foyer space; essentially a largish hallway with doors to the changing room, the sparring hall, and the stairs leading up to the other floors, next to the knackered lift. Blackie hadn’t done much with it, except slamming a couple of the inspirational posters up and a notice board with fixtures and the club’s press coverage. She’d need a reception desk; something sleek and efficient. Probably someone to sit at it, too.
A kerfuffle brought her attention back to the doorway, where the delivery man and his mate were manhandling the delivery inside.
‘No,’ Tiff spluttered. ‘That’s not right.’
‘S’wot it says on the docket, love. The guy helped us out with it himself.’
‘No, no, no,’ she said, panicking. ‘It was the bed. The sleigh bed. Not the sofa.’
The men didn’t backtrack, but instead kept coming, manoeuvring the sofa into the foyer, with a steadfast ‘It’s on the docket.’
‘Yes, I understand it’s on the docket,’ Tiff acknowledged with frustration, studying the crumpled page from her pocket, vowing never to receive anything again without having scrutinised the paperwork. ‘But it isn’t what we agreed.’
‘You’ll have to take that up with the sender, love,’ said the first guy, the second apparently mute. ‘We just deliver.’
‘Can’t you take it back?’
‘S’already paid for. You’ll have to book it in as a new job. Number’s on the docket.’ He clapped his hands together washing his hands of the whole affair. Sensing this was not going smoothly they were intent on a quick exit.
‘But you can’t just leave it here,’ Tiff insisted. She wanted to stamp her foot.
Looking back over his shoulder, the guy appeared confused, ‘But it looks good there.’ He sprinted after his mate.
Tiff scowled at the sofa, positioned against the wall. Gargantuan monster that it was, it did fit the space perfectly and Tiff begrudgingly had to concede it made the entrance look smarter.
‘But it isn’t my bed,’ she lamented pitifully. ‘And I can’t bloody sleep on it there.’
She stomped up the stairs, before poking the digits on the desk phone, trying to imagine what the chuff Gavin was playing at. She’d been very clear it was the bed she needed. His hearing had always been very good. He’d never had any difficulty hearing when she’d turned the heating up – his alertness to the turn of the thermostat dial was sensitive to canine levels.
In spite of Gavin constantly having his phone to hand, Opportunity doesn’t make appointments, you have to be ready when it arrives, Tiff – Tim Fargo, it took twenty rings before he answered. Tiff wondered what Tim bleeding Fargo would have made of that.
‘Tiffanie,’ he said grandiosely, making her suspect he was within earshot of others.
‘Gav,’ she said carefully, set on sounding composed, ‘the sofa’s just been delivered here.’
‘Excellent. All in good nick, I trust. Check it before you accept it, in case they’ve damaged it. That cost a shed-load, remember. Designer Italian doesn’t come cheap, does it?’ He was definitely within earshot of others. ‘Write any damage on the docket.’ Tiff crushed the docket in her fist.
‘Gav, it wasn’t the sofa I was expecting. It was the bed. Remember?’ She was trying for soothing rather than seething, but it wasn’t quite firming up. The conversation sat at odds with her; being naturally disinclined to contradict him. ‘I asked for the bed. You never really liked the bed.’
‘No, Tiff. I love that bed. Always have,’ he insisted. ‘I know you mentioned it, but when it came to shifting it, it was a nightmare. The sofa on the other hand simply slid out, so it seemed a fair exchange. Actually, penny for penny, you’re better off.’
Tiff was still mentally scarred from the day the sofa arrived at the flat and all the hooing and haaing that came with getting the vast thing in.
‘The bed comes apart Gavin.’
‘It’s not a flat-pack bed, Tiff; hand-crafted doesn’t come boxed like Ikea,’ he pointed out, emphasizing hand-crafted for his audience.
‘No Gav, I distinctly remember it arriving in parts and slotting together. Agreed, it wasn’t flat-packed, but it does come apart and would’ve been easier to deliver than the sodding sofa.’ Stay calm, stay calm. The lack of sleep and the disappointment were pushing her buttons, the same buttons which had unleashed The Shouty at Mike. She couldn’t do that with Gavin; that wasn’t how they worked and wouldn’t help her end-game. She took a deep calming breath. She could weather this.
‘Tiff, I can’t see what you’re getting worked up about. It’s just furniture. Good designer furniture I agree, but only chattel at the end of the day.’
Chattel. God she hated that word. A mean, tight, wanky word estate agents and solicitors bandied between them, like people’s loved items were of trivial consequence.
‘If it’s only chattel to you then can’t I have the bed? Please Gav?’ she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Decent sleep had become her Holy Grail. ‘I don’t have a bed.’
‘Ohh, right, I see your point,’ he conceded. At last, she thought, raising her eyes to the ceiling in thanks. ‘But here’s the thing Tiffanie, if I send over the bed, then the delivery men’ll need paying again and one of us still has to buy a bed. But if you buy a bed, then the delivery will be included and there’s less hassle. Not only that, but the bed suits the room at home. You can buy a bed to suit your new room.’ She gritted her teeth. She was finding it tough remembering that in a negotiation there was always going to be some compromise. She was used to doing the compromising, and would normally have done so long before now, but something kept egging her on.
She tried another tack. ‘The sofa suited the lounge.’
‘Hmm, I’ve always thought it was a bit over-powering, all that black leather and very boxy. I’m looking at making it a softer space now.’
She could have cried. She’d made many Pinterest boards with her dream lounge furniture carefully divided by styles and colourways, but would he ever admit he’d made a mistake in picking it? Hell no.
‘What makes you think it suits my place?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t found a place yet.’ Perhaps a sympathy bid might make him change his mind.
‘Well that’s perfect! You can pick your new place with it in mind. Do you need me to send over some details on rentals?’ he asked, then lowered his voice, ‘I’ll forward the best ones before they go on the website.’
‘No thanks. I’ve got my own plans,’ she snapped, almost at the end of her rope.
‘Sure, sure,’ he said, not in the least offended. Estate agents had very thick skin. ‘Blackie won’t mind you storing the sofa there, will he? The lads can help you lift it.’
That stopped her in her tracks. He hadn’t heard.
‘Blackie’s dead, Gav. Buried last week.’ It gave her a pang just saying it. Tiff suspected somewhere inside her she still carried plenty more grief with Blackie’s name on, waiting to be addressed when she wasn’t struggling to keep her head above water.
‘Ah,’ groaned Gavin and took a moment to digest the information. He knew how much Blackie meant to her. ‘That is regrettable. Look, don’t reject the help of friends in times of need, Tiff – I’ll look for rentals in a lower price bracket instead. If I hear of any job opportunities I’ll tip you off. You hear all sorts when you’re showing people bigger pr
operties. You can check your emails at Shelby’s, yes?’
Tiff was speechless. She pulled herself up straight, provoked by his… his…god, everything about him peeved her at that moment. She normally adored every bit of him. Except the all-over waxing. ‘No need, Gavin. I can pick them up here at the club. It’s mine now,’ she said primly and with an uncharacteristic cocktail of pride and malice. ‘Blackie left it to me.’
Then she flung the receiver back in its cradle, ignoring it as it rang and rang and rang.
Chapter 12
A note was left on her desk early evening Thursday – WHO ORDERED THIS WATER MACHINE?! Obviously it had been her. Ron was spouting off.
Jess however stuck her head around the door to tell her it had been well-received.
‘It’s the least a club should offer,’ Tiff said, chuffed it was appreciated by some. As first moves went it was small, but now Gavin knew about the club, she needed things moving. ‘Not that everyone sees it that way,’ she mumbled.
‘He’s pissed off with the inheriting thing, isn’t he?’ Tiff hadn’t meant for Jess to hear, but she had. More to the point she knew what Tiff meant, which signified there’d been griping on the shop floor.
‘Pissed off with me or with Blackie?’ Tiff asked. Was it bad to hope it was the latter? Yes, yes it probably was…
‘Both most likely, although he’s prepared to forgive Blackie given he’s dead and that.’
Tiff sighed. Of course it was easier to blame the living. How fortunate to be dead in this instance.
‘Ignore it, Tiff,’ encouraged Jess, trying to be upbeat. ‘He’s just one of life’s grouches. If anyone gets lucky he’s the guy who grouses “all right for some”, rather than be pleased for them.’
‘He thinks Blackie should have left it to him.’
‘Yeah, he’s mentioned that, but nobody’s getting into it. So long as they can keep boxing, they’re happy.’
Sweatpants at Tiffanie's Page 9