‘I’m a businessman, Tiff. A good salesman always makes the best of an opportunity,’ he said defensively. ‘The important difference here is you stand to gain from my help. It’s win/win for both of us. I don’t see why you’re getting in a tizzy.’
‘You should go now, Gavin,’ Tiff said as calmly as possible. Her heart was singing a sorry lament in her chest, and yet the rest of her; her head, her skin and every morsel of sense, forced her to head for the door and stand by it, fists clenched behind her back, glaring at him until he got the hint and left. She stood like that, trembling, until she heard the front doors slam in his wake. Then she hoofed it into her storeroom, and threw herself onto her makeshift bed, cursing its firmness as she landed with a face-smacking thud, and finally let out the hot disappointed tears.
Her heart had just broken all over again. Only this time, rather than a gaping ragged wound, Tiff felt the chasm fill with fire-spitting molten resolution. For once she saw value in one of Aaron’s pictures, one that hung in the stairwell: Know your limitations and then defy them. She’d show Gavin what she could do. Her bloody cart would be the one which turned into a horseless carriage, and his stupid horse would be put out to pasture, or something. His metaphors were moronic. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
She was going to make a success of this place, but not to wow him, simply to show herself the sky was her limit.
Chapter 16
They met in the entrance of the community centre on Adey Street, under the sorry glow of the lone street lamp, looking somewhat awkward.
‘Can’t believe you’re making me do this. We are supposed to be friends,’ Shelby griped.
‘I’ll remind you of that next time you make me lie to a date you’ve double-booked,’ said Tiff, sternly. Since she’d seen Gavin, she’d upped her game and was taking no prisoners. ‘This is what friends do. They help out in times of need.’
‘But, honestly? There are limits,’ Shelb insisted. Natalie watched the exchange silently, eyes wide. She was apparently resigned to their imminent fate. Or else she was too freaked out to speak, having left Ed in the gym. Tiff had simply collected her, not giving her any chance for excuses.
‘Get over yourself, Shelb. It’s just a Zumba class. One class, to see what it’s about, what they do and how it makes you feel.’
‘I can tell you all of that for free. Fu—’
‘I said I’d pay for us all,’ Tiff defended herself, but Shelby was not to be placated.
‘It’ll be a hot room full of fat women trying to imitate a gorgeous skinny-arsed dancer and failing miserably. There’s going to be grunting, sweating and absolutely no co-ordination whatsoever.’
‘I thought you said you hadn’t been before?’
‘Of course I haven’t,’ Shelby sounded insulted.
‘Then how do you know all of this?’
‘I saw it on the Six o’clock Show. That was enough.’
‘Stop whinging. We’re going in,’ Tiff said, moving towards the door.
‘You owe me,’ grumbled Shelby, following. ‘Like, huge. Big time.’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatevs.’ Perhaps bringing Shelby was a mistake, or an unnecessary pain. She wasn’t expecting miracles from her classes.
Of the many people milling around in the hall, few were fat. There was a wide spectrum of sizes in fact, not the solid mass of plus-sizes Shelby had prophesized. Tiff made this point to her friend who suddenly developed a case of selective hearing. Noticeably Shelby claimed a spot in the back row, next to a man who was more padded than others.
‘Would Ed and the lads do this?’ she asked Natalie, who answered with a simple snort. Enough said.
The lights dimming made Tiff feel infinitely better, although she wouldn’t have said no to a paper bag for her head. This was so not her thing; the exercising in front of other people. Dancing in clubs with Shelby, she’d been known to do that, but this was different. She was going to have to memorize the steps, keep up with the pace, not faint. She’d have to discretely keep checking herself for sweat patches too. In summary, she was feeling self-conscious. The sulky expression on Shelby’s face said she wasn’t alone. Shelby had at least been smart in picking a spot by one of the large industrial fans, whose very presence Tiff found ominous.
Natalie though was clearly feeling the buzz. She was straight in when Leonie, the instructor, kicked things off from the stage, bouncing on her toes before the music even began. She had an innate sense of rhythm and could pick up the routines quickly. Either she’d had some dance classes in her early years or she was the lovechild of a Salsa king. But what was even clearer to Tiff was Natalie loved being out in an environment like this. Though fiercely concentrating on the instructor and her directions, her face was lit up in a way Tiff hadn’t seen before. Unlike at the gym, here she was thriving as she merengued around in circles, or jumped like a warrior in the African routine. Her insane grin got wider and wider with each command Leonie shouted down her headset mike. She wasn’t so much sweating as glowing.
‘You’ve got to have a class like this,’ she gasped at the halftime break, her cheeks like two shiny red apples.
‘Aren’t you knackered?’ asked Tiff. Tiff was puffing, bent over, trying to not die. Natalie’d definitely been working at a different level from both her and Shelby.
‘Not yet. I’ll be exhausted by the end and I’ll feel it tomorrow, but my heart’s going like the clappers and the music just takes you along, doesn’t it?’
‘It can take me along right out of the door,’ grouched Shelby, her pink fringe plastered to her forehead. Tiff took a moment to affectionately brush it to the side with her fingertips.
‘Shush now, Grumpy, think of the calories we’re burning.’ That look Gavin had given her, appraising her shape, kept flashing across her memory and spurring her on.
‘Right. I’ll think of it as clearing way for the bag of chips I’m buying on the way home.’
Their conversation was interrupted by Leonie’s shout for everyone to get back in the mix. She scurried into a Beyoncé routine which involved more gyrating than Tiff had done in years. Judging by how some of the women were twerking, Tiff wondered whether she was missing some vertebrae.
Over the course of the rest of the lesson, two things became obvious to Tiff; firstly, she was incapable of moving her feet and clapping at the same time, or in time. Looking around, she seemed to be alone in this impediment and vowed to practise in the solitary confines of her storeroom. Secondly, even when unable to breathe, Shelby could still swear like a trooper.
As Tiff was about to keel over during the warm down, the instructor made the final upward stretches and brought the class to an end. She was feeling spaced from the exertion.
Spaced or not, Tiff still managed to keep to her business agenda. She took a note of the make of Zumba sticks. And the fans. She was going to check all the windows in the studio could open as soon as she got back. She’d given up monitoring her armpits a while back, but then everyone in sleeves was sporting sweat-patches by the end. For the first time she saw the point in those vesty tops, other than purely to smugly show off toned arms.
‘So what do we think?’ Tiff asked as they hit the cold air outside and groaned their way back down the street. ‘Is it a goer?’
‘What’s the criteria?’ asked Shelb, ‘Torture, near death, misery?’
‘Pretty much. That’s what gym activity is, isn’t it?’ Personally, she’d always resisted the urge until now. But now she’d done it – and looking beyond the fact she could hardly breathe properly, she was drenched in sweat and if her makeup was anything like Shelby’s then she looked like a clown – she’d rather enjoyed it. ‘Let’s be honest Shelb, it was all right. It didn’t kill us, and I’m feeling smug for having done it. Smug counts for something, doesn’t it?’ She hooked an arm through Shelby’s, giving her a small cajoling nudge.
‘That’s the halo effect,’ Natalie piped up. ‘It’s like some lunatic law that time in the gym makes you a better hu
man being.’
‘Well, I’m happy to milk the smug factor,’ Tiff said. ‘I don’t have any qualms about that. I’m not picky about anyone’s motives, so long as they come.’
‘There’s your ad campaign, right there,’ Shelby said, wryly. ‘We don’t give a tosh, just bring your dosh.’
‘No,’ Tiff said, horrified. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not here to judge anyone for why they’re coming. It should be a place people can feel comfortable, at home even. If they’re clinically obese and want to shed pounds, or if a husband said something daft about muffin tops, then we can help without making people feel bad. And if they want to come to meet other people, they should be able to do that too, without feeling like they’re Billy-no-mates. See?’
‘I’d come to be with Ed,’ said Natalie, ‘which I suppose others might judge too, but I’ll be doing my own thing.’ Tiff smiled to herself. Even if Natalie didn’t take the job, she was willing to use the building to help her and Ed move forward.
‘That’s great, Nat. So I’ll sign you up for a Zumba class then?’ she asked, turning them back to the original question.
‘Oh yeah, that was a hoot. I haven’t laughed so much in ages. I’m going to hurt tomorrow, but right now, I feel great.’
‘I feel sweaty,’ muttered Shelby, as if she was dirty.
‘Aw, poor baby,’ cooed Tiff. ‘Not used to breaking a sweat painting nails or plucking eyebrows, are you?’
‘Girlfriend, I’ve broken more sweats than you’ve had hot dinners,’ retorted Shelby sassily, ‘I just prefer my exercise under the covers and not on my own.’
Having been TMIed for years with Shelby’s sexploits, Tiff was tempted to say she’d expect her to be half the size then. Obviously sex didn’t burn off as many calories as Shelby thought.
‘Well, maybe a body-toning class would be better for you then, Shelby, to dove-tale with your sexercise regime.’
‘Maybe I’ll stay in the bar and find willing training partners for that regime,’ Shelby said.
‘I’ll take a finder’s fee.’
‘Pimp.’
‘Slut.’
‘Now, now girls. Play nicely,’ said Natalie, gathering Tiff and Shelby had been bantering like this for years, but without being quite comfortable with it. Neither girl could understand the other’s lifestyle; Shelby’s insatiable appetite for different men and Tiff ostensibly being satisfied with one man for so long. Yet secretly Shelby wanted to find The One, and Tiff had once in a blue moon caught herself wondering whether there was more to it than her and Gavin’s playbook.
‘I think it’s definitely worth a go,’ decided Tiff, mentally slotting it into the schedule, ‘The Zumba.’
‘Definitely,’ agreed Natalie. ‘I’d come and some of the girls from Iceland might.’
‘So I’ll have to find a teacher. What did we think about Leonie? I’ve got her card, though she might not be available. Maybe we should try out some others?’
‘No!’ stated Shelby. Was that panic? ‘Leonie was good. If you like that sort of thing,’ she quickly qualified. ‘She was personable, but strict. She took no crap, but she let you do as much as you could manage. She’d be great.’
Tiff smiled. She’d thought so too, but a second opinion was helpful. Other people supported her plans. She told herself daily that Gavin was wrong about her. From now on she was listening to her allies. Life was already better, felt more positive for it.
‘You just don’t want to trial another class,’ she said.
‘True, but purely because I can spot quality when I see it. I don’t need to shop around after that class.’
Tiff squeezed Shelby’s arm fondly.
‘You’re so full of it, doll.’
‘Ha!’ said Shelby. ‘I found you, didn’t I?’ And that was true; Shelby had adopted Tiff in college, finding her sitting alone in the darker corner of the cafeteria and dragging her reluctantly into the light. Tiff would always be grateful for that, even though she saw it for what it really was; the new-to-the-area less-than-svelte loud girl and the scarred local pariah forming an alliance. She’d seen enough teen movies to astutely identify that scenario.
She pulled Shelby closer, pulling her along, ever-thankful to have her on Team Tiff.
Chapter 17
With the chippie himself having caught Shelby’s eye, Natalie and Tiff ambled back to the club, Natalie to meet Ed, Tiff supposedly to finish some paperwork. The full car park was pleasing. People clearly didn’t only come because of Blackie. That, at least, should keep Ron happy.
Vigilant after her run-in with Aaron, the lone figure in the shadows near the entrance caught Tiff’s eye, only the shape didn’t match his, nor the usual physique of the gym clientele. It kept turning in circles as if confused. Reaching the door, Tiff saw it was an old woman dressed in a floral dress, green cardy and burgundy velour slippers. She kept looking at the door, deciding to go in, then changing her mind.
‘Can I help you?’ Tiff asked, gently. The woman looked at her and her face lit up.
‘Ah Tiffanie, honey. I’m looking for Michael. His dinna’s gettin cold.’
‘Nanna Bea?’
‘Yes, child,’ she said, as if this was obvious. But Tiff hadn’t laid eyes on Mike’s grandmother since they were dating. Tiff remembered a huge force of a woman, tough as nails but soft underneath and fully able to smother an adult with her enormous bosom. Now Tiff saw a much smaller woman, sunken with age and fragile, her once-dense, black hair wispy and grey. The fierceness in her eyes had waned too, but they still looked as pleased to see Tiff as always. Tiff had scoffed hundreds of dinners at Nanna Bea’s table; she’d done the best home-cooking and her door had always been open.
‘I tell him to be home for dinna, but he forget. Jeezam, that boy!’ Tiff had always loved the lilt of her Jamaican accent. Mike’s impressions had been hysterical, particularly when Nanna had clipped him around the ear for his cheek. Andy Fellner had walked out when Mike became big enough to punch back, leaving Nanna to pick up the pieces of a broken daughter whose fragile heart would shortly give out and an angry grandson who wanted to fight the world. Aside from showering him with her love, Nanna’s remit to bring him up had also included a keen interest in his manners. ‘He only has boxing in his head. And you, fi sure,’ she added and laughed, though it wasn’t half the deep raucous laugh Tiff recalled. ‘He love you so much, Tiffanie. Any fool can see that.’ Nanna Bea started for the door.
Although determined in her task, the old woman was confused.
‘Nanna, how old is Mikey?’ she asked softly.
‘Why Tiffanie Trent, don’t you be teasin’ me, girl. You know full well he just turn seventeen; you buy him that digital watch yourself.’
‘Right. Sorry Nanna,’ Tiff said, contrite. While Nanna’s long-term memory was obviously intact, her short-term cognition seemed to have gone west. Tiff now understood at least one of the things Mike was back in the area for. Why hadn’t he said? Obviously not while she was shouting at him, but when they’d met after the will reading? She’d have looked in on her. He must have known she’d have looked in on her. Tiff stopped. Of course he wouldn’t. They hadn’t spoken in years, and Tiff had cut the old lady off without so much as a goodbye, because she’d been angry and ashamed.
Not that Nanna seemed to be holding it against her. It was lovely to see her. Then Tiff remembered she hadn’t even asked after her when Mike’d lent an ear to her woes. She felt herself colouring with shame.
‘Nanna? Come up to the office while we find that grandson of yours. I’ll make some tea.’
Tiff lead her up the stairs and settled her in her chair, keen to make amends.
‘Still take sugar, Nanna?’
‘Jus a toops, sweetie.’ Though she asked for just a little, Nanna meant three spoonfuls. Tiff felt a spark of delight as she remembered.
It was clear Nanna Bea had wandered off from either her own home, or a care home. The slippers and lack of coat suggested no prior planning. But th
ere were many old people’s homes around town and short of working through the phone book, she didn’t know where to start.
Glancing at her bag she saw her phone sticking out of it and remembered what it now had on it. Mike’s number. Bingo.
‘Tiff,’ he said, like it was a fact. Doh. Her number was programmed on his phone too.
‘Mike.’
‘Well, this brings back memories, hearing your voice down the phone line.’
‘Phone lines? Now you’re showing your age.’ He laughed at that. She envied him his ease in their exchanges. They had her jittery.
‘Do you want rid of the ring already?’
‘No. Nothing like that. I’m having a blast from the past of my own actually.’
He drew a breath, but didn’t say anything, waiting instead for her to elaborate.
‘I’ve got Nanna Bea here in my office.’
‘What?!’ Now he’d found his tongue.
‘She wants you to know you’re late for your dinner.’
‘Jerk chicken, wid black beans, and plantain, tell him,’ Nanna interjected. ‘His favourite.’
Tiff’s stomach growled at the memories.
‘It’s jerk chicken, with black beans,’ she repeated.
‘And plantain,’ Nanna prompted with a frown at Tiff for editing. Always particular with her information, was Nanna.
‘And plantain,’ she amended, earning her a prim nod and smile.
‘She’s supposed to be safe in the home,’ said Mike.
‘Well, I think she’s been out for a walk,’ Tiff said calmly.
‘I come to get him,’ the old lady insisted.
‘Yes, but he’s fighting away today Nanna, which is why I’ve had to telephone him,’ Tiff told her, which seemed to placate her.
‘I’ll get the home to collect her. I’m an hour away. Can she stay with you for a bit?’
‘Sure. They’ll need to bring a coat and outdoor shoes. She’s in her slippers.’
‘Oh god,’ he said. Tiff instinctively knew he’d put his head in his hand. ‘It’s dementia, Tiff.’
Sweatpants at Tiffanie's Page 13