Sweatpants at Tiffanie's

by Pernille Hughes

  ‘Tell us babes, tell the doc what you can see.’

  ‘Shapes, colours, but it’s very blurry. The left eye is worst.’

  ‘The left eye took the most paint,’ the doctor explained, ‘so that’s to be expected. It’s early days, but seeing shapes and colour is very encouraging.’ He tilted her chin up and towards him. He shined a light in her eyes, making her wince. She did the follow-my-finger thing. He seemed happy with her responses.

  ‘Will it come back totally?’ Her mind was loudly filled with a desperate please, please, please!

  ‘We’ll have to wait and… we’ll have to wait. The signs are good though.’ He briskly tucked his lightpen back in his breast pocket, promising to return tomorrow. If Tiff wasn’t mistaken, she saw the form of Shelby’s free hand reach out towards his bottom as he left.

  ‘Fwoar. Doctors. Yum.’

  ‘Were you about to goose him?’ Tiff asked, momentarily distracted from her fear.

  ‘You saw that? That’s good. I should go and tell him.’

  ‘Shelby, no.’ Tiff clung on to her hand. ‘You’re not jumping my doctor. Not before I’m signed off. Agreed?’ Spurred by the doctor’s optimism, Tiff decided regaining her sight was a new goal, and it was calming to let the ambition override the worry. Keeping a rein on Shelby was just the first step.

  Shelby ungraciously agreed. There was a mutter of ‘selfish’.

  ‘I wasn’t going to goose him. I just wanted to see under his white coat.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Butt fitness.’

  ‘Give me strength.’

  ‘More soup?’

  A knock at the door announced another visitor. Tiff deduced it was Natalie; extremely short and in a duck-egg blue fleece. Tiff gave her a brief rundown of her diagnosis.

  ‘What was that – a private kick-boxing class?’ she asked, plumping herself down in the chair. ‘What were you thinking, you looney?’

  ‘I asked that,’ Shelby chipped in.

  ‘He was breaking my club. I didn’t really think. It was all a bit fast.’ Tiff couldn’t explain it further. She remembered her anger in the moment, that someone was destroying what she’d worked for. She remembered the rage and the defensiveness kicking in. She’d do it again. She knew she would. She didn’t share that though. Shelby would punch her lights out.

  ‘How bad is it? Have you been in?’ she asked Natalie. While her key concern was still her vision, Tiff’s mind was now feeling sharper, and ready to think more widely. She prayed Aaron had only got to reception and not started his destruction in the gym.

  ‘It isn’t pretty. I guess you interrupted him. Apart from the window, he hadn’t broken anything yet. The walls though, they’re a mess. Not quite the welcome you want.’

  Tiff winced. ‘Does it say stuff?’ Natalie didn’t answer at once. ‘Tell me, Nats. My imagination will only do its worst.’

  ‘Okay, so across the full back wall, above the sofa, it says “FAT FUCKING BITCH”.’

  ‘Well, he clearly hadn’t seen her recently,’ Shelby said, patting Tiff on the leg. ‘You’re quite the skinny bitch now.’

  ‘“Fat fucking bitch”,’ Tiff turned the words over in her mouth, ‘not quite the slogan I was planning to launch with.’

  ‘Otherwise it’s willies and swear words, some misspelled, across the other walls, the sofa, the plants. I think he was going for impact rather than artistry.’

  ‘Right,’ Tiff said, nodding. She wasn’t sure whether she’d been expecting better or worse, but knowing helped.

  ‘And the press? I guess they have a nice shot of all of that?’ Neither of her friends spoke. A morsel of hope rose in her. ‘They didn’t turn up? Result.’

  ‘No, they came,’ Natalie said, glumly. ‘They got well excited. Thought it was a much better story.’

  ‘And?’ Another silence. ‘Dish it.’

  ‘We should come back tomorrow,’ Shelby said abruptly, withdrawing her hand. ‘You’re looking tired, Tiff. Need me to bring anything?’

  ‘The paper, Shelb. I need to know what they wrote.’

  ‘Sure, sure.’ Shelby got up to leave. Tiff had the distinct feeling she’d forget the paper.

  ‘Is the building secure now, Nats, and did you let them in to deliver all the equipment?’ Tiff asked, settling into the pillows. Now Tiff was thankful Colin had delayed the delivery until the last minute.

  Natalie cocked her head. ‘Nothing came yesterday. The police left and I swept up the glass while Ed fixed a board over the window, but there was no delivery.’

  Tiff felt her mouth dry.

  ‘The police probably turned them away,’ Shelby said, matter-of-factly. ‘It’s a crime scene right? They’ll redeliver next week.’

  ‘Oh!’ Natalie suddenly said, a thought hitting her, ‘I forgot. You might have extra time to get everything sorted.’

  ‘Like how?’

  ‘Ed’s mate Steve said Ron was effing and blinding as he’s been let down by his supplier. You know, the ring and training kit he’d ordered? Supplier’s gone bust. He’s lost the money and has them all doing sit ups and burpees until he can sort another plan.’

  ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,’ Shelby muttered. ‘Bastard.’

  ‘So the pressure’s off a bit, right Tiff? If you can get things moving this week, the guys might be tempted back sooner.’

  Tiff wasn’t ready to get excited yet. She wasn’t exactly in a state to be hoofing up and down the stairs in the club. And the competition wasn’t her prime concern. ‘Bring me the paper, read me what they wrote and we’ll see what we’ve got.’ Nat was right; this was a much better story than just a gym opening. With violence and almost a family feud, it was perfect gossip fodder and it made her shudder. As soon as they left the room she pulled the blanket up over her head and hid.

  Waking, she knew she wasn’t alone. She could hear his breathing again. Steady and deep.

  ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’

  ‘Want me to go?’ Mike asked, blithely, not sounding as if he would.

  ‘No. I’m just worried you have houseplants or vegetables that need tending.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Just you.’ He poured her a glass of water. ‘How’s the peepers, Tiff? The nurse says you can see things.’

  ‘Shapes, colours, movement. But everything’s blurry.’

  ‘Look at me, Tiff.’ He said it so gently, so tenderly it made her want to weep. She’d been keeping them shut so he couldn’t see them. She hadn’t asked anyone how she looked, because obviously she must look rough as hell. Her nose throbbed like a clown’s hooter. Her eyes would only make the general picture worse. But she opened them. Because he wanted her to. Because he’d found her, looked after her and sat by her.

  It was night outside, but the room was well lit. It was clearly his face. The wonk in his nose was helpful. Close as he was, she sensed his eyes were roaming her face.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, having never felt more naked.

  ‘Still beautiful,’ he said, running a fingertip down her cheek. Tiff decided there and then some lies were totally acceptable. ‘How about your sight?’

  ‘I think someone’s broken your nose at some point,’ she said, and watched as the line of his mouth spread. His jaw was definitely more shadowed than normal. His shirt, the top two buttons undone, was the same he’d worn at the funeral.

  ‘Well, you’re not getting points for that one.’

  ‘I can see more than when the bandage came off. I think.’ She didn’t want to say too much in case it tempted fate and this was as good as it got. She pushed the thought aside, determined to stay positive, even though her chest constricted every time her mind considered the possibilities. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you see? A proper assessment this time, please.’ The doctor hadn’t described how her eyes were actually looking. The nurses were consistently vague. She trusted him to tell her the truth.

  ‘Eyewise, you look
like a demon, Angel. Beyond the swelling, they’re bloodshot to hell.’ Her mouth pulled in as she took in the words. ‘Doc said that should pass. From where I’m sitting, you still have gorgeous brown eyes though. Rest-of-you-wise, you’re one bruised fruit. You look like a rejected plum.’

  ‘Probably best I missed the photoshoot then.’

  ‘They’ll do a follow-up when you’ve opened, Tiff. That’s two stories for the price of one. They’ll be delighted.’

  ‘I doubt they’ll be kind, Mikey.’

  He sighed deeply and considered it.

  ‘Paper won’t be out until tomorrow, Tiff. I imagine it’ll be front page stuff. The journo was waiting out in the hall when I came in earlier. Thought you might be up for telling “your side of the story”, as if there is more than one. I sent him packing, little scrote. The questions he was asking weren’t about the gym facilities, Tiff. It was your dad’s history, and how you’d got enough money to own a gym. Said it was a human interest story now. I told him to talk to your lawyer. Thought it might scare him off a bit.’

  Tiff had closed her eyes again when her dad got mentioned. She’d hoped the paper would send some junior to the opening, who’d take nice shots of the studio, maybe the staff out the front, then potter off with details of opening times and classes. Instead they’d been handed a juicy story and for once decided to turn investigative. She’d been lucky they hadn’t picked up on the arson story. Now though, the paper would relish the chance to put her in the spotlight, for the town to point at and pillory all over again.

  ‘This is where you’re supposed to say all publicity is good publicity,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘You’re partially blind, not deaf. You’d spot that lie a mile off. But hey, you’re right, people will know there’s a new gym in town.’ He didn’t sound as peppy as his words.

  Depressing as it was, this was another thing she couldn’t do anything about. Other things however…

  ‘Mikey,’ Tiff said, ‘I need a favour.’

  ‘Foot massage?’ That stumped her. That sounded amazing, and possibly with a better outcome than her actual request.

  ‘Yes to that, but I also need you to investigate something. I didn’t want to ask Natalie because the news might affect her, and I need to know first.’

  ‘Tell me and it’s done.’

  Tiff briefly summarised how the kit hadn’t arrived, and Colin had gone AWOL. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Ron’s supplier had let him down.

  Mike made the connection instantly. ‘How much have you paid him?’ Her eyesight must have improved as his wince was quite clear when she told him.

  ‘I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out. But only on the condition you leave it with me and don’t lie there worrying about it. I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll tell you then. Until then you have to concentrate on you, OK? They won’t let you out to sort things until you’re fit.’

  ‘You think I can sort things?’

  ‘Tiff, you just demolished a guy trying to maim you. I’d call that sorting things.’ He stood and started pulling on his coat. ‘And I know you’ll pull things together at the gym. It’ll be open in no time. But you need to rest, sort your bones, lose the bruises so you won’t look scary on the publicity shots.’

  He made her smile. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyelids were drooping and her mind beginning to drift. Turning for the door, he hesitated, then moved back to kiss her on the forehead.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel.’ It was the best thing she’d heard all day.

  Finally she remembered the thing she wanted to tell him and as she sighed into sleep the words released, in time with both her eyelids and the door closing.

  ‘I love you, Mikey.’

  Chapter 33

  She’d convinced them to let her out. Not discharged, just outside. The room faced out into a small quad, nothing pretty, simply paving and a weather-worn bench dedicated to Grandad. Eye-maimed or not, Tiff could still sniff out a sunspot. Shuffling out there hadn’t been pretty either and required both assistance and many swears. Wrapped in her blanket, she managed to find an acceptable position, where she could enjoy the afternoon sun on her face, the warmth easing the ache of her closed eyes. The specialist was happy with her progress; things were gradually less blurry, but her eyes were still sore. Seeing improvement, she’d allowed herself to accept his optimism that she’d make a full recovery. That’s what specialists were for, wasn’t it? Parking the terror for now freed her mind to tackle all the other things she had to think about.

  She was itching to get out and back to the gym. She needed to know the state of play. She had things to fix, calls to make and equipment to locate. Venturing into the fresh air was her first step, but pleasant as it was, she was still frustrated.

  ‘While it’s good seeing you up and about, sitting there worrying isn’t helping you, Trent.’ Mike stepped out from her room and sat beside her. She deigned him a single opened eye, then added the other as he literally was a sight for sore eyes. Clean-shaven now, fresh shirt and jeans, he also brought the scent of his cedar aftershave with him, which was a blessing over the smell of hospital. He’d obviously made it home. No doubt he’d been back to pack and prep. It was Monday. He flew tonight. Her worries about the gym were instantly muted as it dawned on her this was the goodbye visit. ‘Don’t bother denying it. I’ve been watching the cogs turning out here, from the window.’

  She liked the notion of Mike watching her. She wanted to tell him so. He ought to know. She was going to tell him what their one night meant to her and she wished she could make it more. Only, she couldn’t quite work out how to segue into it.

  ‘I got treats.’ He held up a sparkly red gift bag and a bunch of red roses. He’d clearly picked the colours for maximum visibility.

  ‘I like treats.’

  ‘I know.’ He held up a Greggs bag. ‘Three iced buns. Don’t spend them all at once.’

  ‘You are officially my Hero of the Day,’ she said, the first proper smile in days spreading across her bruised face. ‘The cape is optional, but I’d personally prefer it if you refrained from the pants-over-tights.’

  ‘Hmpf,’ he said, delving further into the bag, ‘I’d look mighty fine in tights and pants. Here, there’s more. But these are only if you get desperate. Think of them as medicinal.’ Mike waved a Pot Noodle and a bag of scampi fries in her face before dropping them back in the bag. Oh this man. ‘Maybe I should leave those two with the nurse.’ She slammed her hand down on the bag so he couldn’t move it. He laughed. She’d have been prepared to wrestle them off him, ribs or not.

  ‘Iced buns and misery food, Mike. I’ll assume the news is bad.’

  Sighing, he stretched his legs out in front of him and slung an arm around her.

  ‘It’s not all bad news.’

  ‘Really?’ Thank chuff for that. ‘What’s the good news?’

  ‘Everyone sends their love.’

  Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Tiff stifled her desire to wail into his shirt.

  ‘Brilliant,’ she mumbled. It was the best she could do. ‘The bad stuff then.’

  He hesitated. Which she took to be a piteous omen. ‘Bad or worse bad first?’

  ‘When you put it like that Mike…’

  ‘Honestly Tiff, shouldn’t you wait until you’re out? Either can wait. You need to focus on the recovering.’

  ‘Mike, you might as well hit me with it, because it’s doing my nut in sitting here thinking about it, not knowing what I’m really thinking about.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  ‘It does. You know what I mean. Tell me where it’s at and my brain can start processing and planning.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m going to tell you fast, like tearing off a plaster.’

  ‘Bring it.’

  ‘Colin went bust. The kit’s with the receivers. The money’s gone.’ Tiff took several starts at a sentence, but gave up each. Her gym was half empty; no spinners, no treadmill
s, no rowing machines, and she didn’t have the money to replace them. She felt like someone had taken a crowbar to her kneecaps and gone to town. Mute, she twitched her fingers desperately at the bag, until Mike understood and fished out the scampi fries. Shovelling a couple into her mouth like pills, she told herself she could get through this. She’d suspected this was a likelihood, so it was more devastating disappointment than shock.

  Still, it took some calming breathing before she managed to squeak ‘Was that the bad or the worse bad?’

  He see-sawed his head from side to side, weighing it up. ‘Depends. There’s this too,’ he said reaching back into his bag of treats and retrieving something which definitely wasn’t a treat. He let the newspaper unfurl like a theatre curtain in front of her. She could make out a familiar building in the picture, the Tiffanie’s sign spray-painted to read fanie’s and the headline which screamed FRAUDULENT BANK-MANAGER’S DAUGHTER BEATEN, but she hadn’t the sight or strength to read on.

  Mike read it and made her weep.

  The nearby birdsong was muffled by Mike’s arms around her. Tiff’s face was securely buried in his armpit. If he hadn’t before, then Mike knew all the tawdry details of her dad’s crimes now, which brought her an extra layer of shame and dismay.

  ‘It’ll be chip paper tomorrow, Tiff. I promise. The press are bastards, but the readers will forget.’

  ‘No, they won’t, Mike,’ she insisted. ‘It happened ten years ago, and they still remember. The paper runs a story like that – with a headline which could suggest I’m the fraudulent one – because it serves their sales to remember. I can’t fight this. I could build the world’s best club – one with a ring for a start—’

  ‘You can have mine, Tiff,’ he cut in which gained him a snotty thank you sniff and pat on the arm as she went on.

  ‘— but if they think I’m dodgy, no-one will join. Aaron, the paper, Ron, they’ve already won and I haven’t even opened the doors.’

  Mike handed her another couple of scampi fries which she horsed, before bursting into another round of tears.

  ‘Tiff? Angel, please?’ He sounded so sad. God, she was embarrassing herself. He’d have to change that shirt too before he flew. Snot stains in First Class was probably not a thing.