‘Blimey.’ Tiff was surprised by his brusque summary. He’d distanced himself from it all. She wondered if that was how he dealt with the hurt. ‘So I’m guessing you’ve told them where to put their job.’ He must be quite adamant if he’d let it end his relationship, especially when it sounded like an amazing offer.
‘Well, I… let’s just say my agent tore me a new one and convinced me to consider it. Job starts in the Autumn, they need an answer in two weeks, for pre-schedule planning.’
‘Oh.’
‘Exactly. So right now, I’m concentrating on not thinking about it.’
Recently befuddled by huge decisions herself, Tiff quite understood.
‘So, back to Nanna,’ she said, focusing, ‘might you be visiting her this weekend?’ Having got to the easy bit of the call, Tiff felt comfortable enough to multitask and, pulling the post pile across, started sorting through it, sliding the bill-ish ones aside for braver times.
‘Well, my diary is particularly empty currently. What gives?’
‘I was wondering whether you’d help with the ring.’ Tiff explained about the refurb reaching the hall, not being able to dismantle it by herself and preferring to streak around the car park before asking Ron for assistance, particularly as she fully expected him to give notice the following day. ‘Plus it’s yours and I’d prefer you broke it rather than me.’
‘Don’t you want me to take it away?’
‘No, I can house it,’ she said, slitting an envelope open, ‘Unless, of course, you want it.’ Someone had written from Nigeria offering to share an inheritance with her. How nice. But given she’d been lucky enough on the inheritance front already Tiff skipped the opportunity in the bin.
‘Honestly, until I work out what I’m doing with the house here, I’m in no hurry for it.’
‘You’re selling?’
‘It’s pretty big for one, and Verity’s taste isn’t exactly what I would have chosen.’
‘You could redecorate.’
‘True, but I can do that somewhere new too, somewhere without the memories.’ So he was sad about it ending. Tiff wondered whether Gavin had felt the same. She hadn’t noticed a ‘For sale’ sign hanging off their old place.
‘Okay, I’m happy to babysit it. I’m not sure when mine’s arriving and if I want a boxing club here, I need a ring.’
‘That would be helpful.’ The new issue of The Ring was next in the post pile, and there was Mike’s face – a less recent, triumphant shot with no bruises – grinning at her, the headline predicting his retirement. Typical. She could have done with seeing that earlier.
‘Yeah, I sort of shot my mouth off to Ron about the replacement, too.’ She didn’t mind confessing to him. Looking at his printed bonce in front of her, it almost felt face-to-face.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Told him I’d ordered the “ring of kings” apparently.’
‘The king of rings, Tiff. The other is a body part. RingPro?’
‘Oh yeah, RingPro, that’s right. He was giving me grief about neglecting the boxing in my plans and it’s the same make as downstairs, so I guessed it was safe.’
‘Good choice,’ he mused. ‘Way more than you need obviously, but quality.’
‘And expensive. I nearly choked when Colin told me the price. Four grand!’ She binned a letter offering bookkeeping services, feeling grateful for the saving she could at least make there.
‘You could buy a different one. You don’t actually need one worthy of Wembley.’
‘Too late,’ she said glumly.
‘Change your mind. Cancel it.’
‘Yeah Mike, because, as we know, that’s how pride works. Ron would love that.’
‘Ah yes, pride. Life might be far more straight-forward without that gene.’
‘And cheaper,’ she said with a grim laugh.
‘Definitely,’ he agreed wholeheartedly. ‘I’ll be at Nanna’s Saturday morning, Tiff. I’ll come after that. What time do you open?’
‘Well technically we don’t, because we’re closed for refurb, but then you always manage to let yourself in.’ So far, neither locked doors, shouty rants or direct requests to stay away had stopped him. He’d never liked being told what to do.
Clamping the phone between her ear and shoulder she wrenched open the final bit of post, a jiffy bag, then, whilst grinning back at his face on the magazine, she said goodbye. Plunging her hand inside, the moistness on her fingers registered simultaneously with the stench hitting her nose. Oh god. Someone was now sending her faeces.
Chapter 23
‘Ready to sort you out downstairs,’ Jess said, catching Tiff staring into space in the office. She’d been working on autopilot for the last day, since she’d finished manically scrubbing the dogshit off her fingers. Convinced the smell still lingered, she kept surreptitiously sniffing her nails. Meanwhile, she kept obsessing over who was doing this to her.
Her prime candidate was Aaron. It was exactly his nasty style and he had motive. Well, he could get stuffed. She wasn’t surrendering her business over some silence and poo.
It couldn’t be Ron. He’d been right next to her during one of the calls and if he was going to send her poo, he’d be better off doing it once he’d resigned.
She considered it being the second Mrs Black, still aggrieved about Blackie’s money. Instinct told her it wasn’t though, not least because the amount of jiffyed poo suggested an enormous dog. Tiff couldn’t envisage Mrs Black owning anything bigger than some tea-cup pooch which pooped mini-pellets.
That assumed, of course, it was just the one person. Tiff shuddered. The thought of numerous people out to intimidate her was too much. It’d land her right back to her teen years, when the phone kept ringing with heavy breathing or silence, and the post also brought dead and disgusting things. She slammed the thought into a mental box called Denial and closed the lid.
The phone company were investigating blocking the nuisance calls, but the withheld number complicated things. In the meantime, they advised simply placing the receiver on the desk in the event and leaving the room, to frustrate the caller and run up their bill. The shitty jiffy bag lay sealed in a zip-lock bag, under police instructions. They’d said they’d look at the labelling, but had been rather vague on the timing. Tiff wasn’t holding out much hope; realistically, there were more urgent crimes in town than an envelope of excrement.
Leonards was the only person she’d told. Like her, he thought Aaron was an obvious choice, but without proof he couldn’t send a Cease and Desist letter. He’d assured her she’d followed the right procedure, but hadn’t dispelled her fears. In his mind she simply locked up and left each night. Knowing otherwise, Tiff felt more insecure than ever living away from Gavin. She’d even considered staying with Shelby, but the thought of confessing it all and the dreaded futon spurred her to stay. Having sunk all the remaining money into the club, staying at the Premiere Lodge was ruled out too, and Tiff simply had to console herself with the knowledge that the poo-poster didn’t know she was there at night.
‘Tiff? What do you think of it?’ Jess prompted. Tiff pulled herself together and focused. Jess was eager for her appraisal of the rooms beyond the office. And rightly so, because she’d nailed it.
The duck-egg blue Tiff had picked, with the black for all the trimmings, made the whole gym look like a Tiffany gift box. At least, that was her aim. She already had large black and white stills from Breakfast at Tiffany’s to go on the walls of the bar. She saw more aspirational values in those pictures – who wouldn’t want to look like Audrey Hepburn or George Peppard? – than any of Aaron’s sappy posters. Sending them off in a van to him had been a pleasure.
Diverted from the gloomy thoughts, a huge smile rose on Tiff’s face. Fresh paint on the walls had brightened everything, giving it a new lease of life. It showed everyone she meant business. It would show shit-senders she wouldn’t be cowed. When it came to following omens, she’d be sticking with the bird poo.
&
nbsp; ‘It looks fabulous,’ Tiff said, her eyes on the large space with the windows. The bar was in. Once she had the furniture and a commercial espresso machine, she’d be open for coffee. She added Barista to her list. More staff. Eek.
‘You’re doing an excellent job, Jess. Drinks are on me when you finish.’ Jess was a bona fide slave driver and with only one week to go, her team were on schedule. The builder beamed at the praise as she sauntered away, leaving Tiff alone in the office once again.
Beyond the poo paranoia, and her legs being seized up from the Pole-fitness, Tiff had already been feeling tense. It was Friday and Ron hadn’t mentioned resigning. She harboured a bad feeling he might simply not show up the following week. Based on recent form, she wouldn’t put it past him, but a small part of her wanted him to prove her wrong, to have him do this in a professional manner.
She loitered around the office towards the end of the day, but still nothing. Finally, her bladder got the better of her, so she hobbled to the loos for a speed wee before racing back as quickly as her unhappy leg muscles would allow, only to find a scrawled envelope propped on her desk. Ripping it open, there it was; a solitary line, tendering his resignation.
Fury exploded in Tiff’s gut. Amplified by the shitfest of the last twenty-four hours, it welled up inside her with such force, it carried her down the stairs at an astonishing velocity to wrench open the doors to the sparring hall. The guys all stopped at her dramatic entrance, as the doors sprang back on her, whacking her into the room.
She swallowed a swear and straightened herself out.
‘Ron here?’
‘Gone to the pub.’ No-one looked her in the eye. They all knew. She didn’t swallow the next swear, but at least said it low as she swung back out of the door with as much dignity as she could manage, dodging a vicious door spring.
Her mobile rang as she stormed inelegantly across the car park.
‘Babes.’
‘Not now Shelbs. I’m about to murder Ron.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Heading to the pub where he’s about to breathe his last. He just resigned while I was in the loo and buggered off. Wanker. I need to give him a piece of my mind.’
‘Oh crap.’ The line went dead. Weird.
Stalking down the street towards the Pig & Whistle, adrenalin muting the wail of her muscles, Tiff muttered through gritted teeth all the words she wanted to pelt at him. She needed to tell him what she thought of him. She needed to vent her rage at the mystery intimidation, and he was copping that too. It might not be fair, but she was incensed. Tiff felt herself grow taller with each stride, channelling the confidence she’d harnessed in that Pole-fitness lesson, and it carried her forcefully through the pub doors.
She spotted him at the bar and tapped him briskly on the shoulder although she was inclined to punch him in the ear. He turned to look at her and scowled, which topped her anger up nicely.
‘That’s it? One line? I’m off?’
‘That’s not what I wrote,’ he said, gruffly. The bar was half empty and immediately the other patrons started to earwig, but she didn’t care.
‘May as well have done. I hereby resign with immediate effect,’ she spat, reading the paltry words aloud to him. ‘No “thanks for having me, I’ve enjoyed my time but fancy a change”, no “I’m off to start my own club and poach your clients”, no “best wishes for the future”?’ Ron’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’ she carried on, ‘you think I didn’t know? I’ve known for days.’
He shrugged. ‘You could have kicked me out.’ Surly as he was, he still scanned her face, slightly unsure of her. He wasn’t used to vehemence from her.
‘Blackie promised you a job as long as you wanted. I’m too principled to deny him that wish. But you know nothing about principles.’
Ron’s face adopted a stone-like expression.
‘Think what you like. You and your ridiculous ideas. I didn’t wish you luck, because I don’t.’
‘No surprises there,’ Tiff snarled.
All eyes were on their slanging match. There wasn’t much else by way of entertainment in this neighbourhood and Ron was fairly well known. Normally the attention would have been the last thing she wanted, but today she wanted them all to know the snake that he was. It encouraged her.
‘Blackie would have been disappointed in you.’
‘Not half as disappointed as I am in him. I’ve given years to that club.’
‘And now you’re looking to bring it down. I hope you can look yourself in the mirror, I doubt Blackie would’ve been able to look at you.’
He started moving past her with his pint. ‘May the best man win,’ he said. Was that a smirk? Yes. Yes, she believed it was. She wanted to slap it right off his face.
‘Or woman,’ she said, defiantly. He stopped and half-turned towards her.
‘What?’
‘May the best man or woman win,’ she stated. ‘I could win, and I’m not a man, so in the interests of gender equality, and you being a misogynistic dick, I’m saying “may the best man or woman win”.’ Tiff had no idea why she was picking now to highlight Ron’s sexist tendencies – Lord knew she’d had many other opportunities – but she was livid with him and for once had the inner strength to take on all comers.
‘Right. See, that’s never been a phrase, has it?’ he sneered at her, ‘There’s a reason for that.’
Two things happened then. Firstly, her hand flew up to smack the bottom of his pint, sending his beer all over him. Secondly, she was grabbed from behind by two strong arms which hauled her backwards, out of Ron’s reach.
‘Enough Babes. He’s not worth it,’ Shelby soothed. While sending a pint over someone was absolutely Shelby’s MO, they both knew it wasn’t Tiff’s style.
Ron stared at her, beer dripping from the tip of his nose. His gaze narrowed. ‘First rule of boxing, Tiffanie; never lose your rag. Clear sign of weakness.’ He placed his empty glass on the bar and tucked his Daily Mail under his arm. ‘They’ll all see it soon enough: you aren’t cut out for this.’ He departed with an arrogant wave. ‘Cheerio Tiffanie.’
He didn’t give her a backward glance and Tiff felt the fight subside. She wished she’d had some pithy and brilliant cut-down as the final word, though. She was overjoyed to see the back of him, but it still felt like a safety line had been severed. She was more on her own with the club than ever. And yet…
Ron was right; she had lost her rag, but it hadn’t felt like weakness though. It was strength. She might not have been particularly controlled by the end of it, but Tiff had experienced a side of herself she hadn’t properly known since she was a teen, one which had been doggedly trying to resurface over the last few weeks. Finally, euphorically, unleashed, Tiff knew while Ron would never have confidence in her, the only real vote of confidence she truly needed to make this happen was, in fact, her own.
Chapter 24
‘I like what you’ve done with the place,’ Mike said, looking around the upper floor.
Tiff glowed. ‘Me too.’ After her run-in with Ron the night before, she’d got up early and surveyed her building. Her euphoria hadn’t waned, the doubts hadn’t come crawling back in the night. She viewed the place with a newfound sense of achievement and was ridiculously chuffed about it. ‘It’ll look even better with the furniture and I plan to add a balcony for the summer, but the structural bits need checking.’ It was a clear crisp day, and the view out over the rooftops was as good as this end of town got. Turning, he took in the rest of the space; her office, the staff facilities, the locked door at the end.
‘That’s my um…,’ she began.
‘Bedroom?’
‘Storeroom,’ she confirmed with a nod. Why was she blushing at the acknowledgement of a bedroom? He already knew about it. She’d already done the shame part. What was that all about? ‘One day it’ll be something else. Not sure what yet.’
Mugs of tea in hand, they moved down to peruse the middle floor.
Tiff leaned against th
e wall watching Mike examine the changes. He moved gracefully, fully at ease in his body, using it in a highly efficient fashion. He might have let his training slip by his own standards, but Tiff couldn’t see any detrimental effects. She couldn’t help but correlate her view now to the Facebook pics. His back was broad and taut, his arms were muscular and toned. She caught herself leering. When had she become a Mills & Boon novel, savouring a man’s muscular arms? Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed.
‘I’ve always wanted to do this,’ he said, sticking his head inside the Ladies changing rooms.
Tiff laughed. ‘Perv.’
‘I prefer opportunist,’ he countered, his easy smile spreading across his face. That smile had always charmed her when they were younger and yet, she might like it even more now with the additional years. The small scar at the edge of his mouth was new to her. She wanted to know how it got there. She liked to think his few wrinkles had come with years of smiling. Her own had definitely come with years of frowning. One of them certainly had Ron’s name on it. She gave Mike a quick summary of their run-in.
‘The pint was a nice touch,’ he said.
‘I was wound up and frustrated. I’m glad he’s gone, I’m only anxious about having no coach.’
‘I’m putting feelers out,’ Mike said, sticking his head in the studio door. ‘Do you think you’ll fill three studios?’
‘One’s going to have the big machines. The other two, I hope so, with classes. But if not, then that wall pushes back so it becomes one big room. Zumba gets the full space.’
He nodded. ‘Good thinking.’
She moved for the stairs so he wouldn’t see her face fill with what? Joy? While it was great to have found her self-belief where the gym was concerned, she enjoyed having others reaffirm it. Shelby had total faith in her and told her so regularly. Jess was making it happen without any issues. Natalie gushed delight at each new development, diligently updating the running blog on the gym website Tiff had charged her with setting up. And apparently, Mike’s opinion mattered to her too. Allies, she concluded, made taking chances far less scary.
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