I swallowed. “Actually, this is my first.”
“Eh?” His eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. “You’re joking.”
I shook my head.
“You’ve had training, though, right?”
I shook my head.
His face reddened. “You haven’t?”
I shook my head.
“None? Not even the safety stuff?”
I bit my lip, shook my head yet again.
He pushed a button and brought the bucket to a swinging halt. “And Scott kens it?”
“He, um, might have guessed.” I knew full well he’d guessed. I’d seen the expression on his face. I’d heard the challenge in his words. He’d guessed, all right, the bastard.
“Then what the hell’s he daein’?” he demanded, his accent rapidly thickening. “Christ! If ye die up here, it’s my ba’s on the line.”
Seriously, if I died up here I had more than his ba’s, whatever they were, to worry about.
“I think he was playing a joke on me,” I offered.
“On me, mair like,” he muttered. He leaned over the edge of the bucket and roared, “Scott!”
Scott turned and waved.
“What ye givin’ me a fuckin’ virgin for?” he yelled.
Sadly, I understood that too darn well. As did half of Edinburgh, who now thought I was a thirty-something sexual novice. Just kill me now.
Scott grinned. “Is she?”
Danny shook his fist at Scott. Then, wiping a hand over his face, he turned back to me. Hesitated.
I waited.
He chuckled. “Guess you’re doing the inside windows, then.”
We began our descent.
“Guess I am,” I said, more relieved than disappointed.
“Nice trip?” Scott asked as we reached the ground.
I felt played. “Short and sweet.”
“Sorry, Dan.” Scott gave him a playful punch. “Couldn’t resist it.”
Danny shook his head. “I bet. Give me a bit of warning next time, eh?”
“Not likely!” Scott turned to me. “Why did you tell me you’d done high-rises?”
“I thought you meant . . .” I trailed off. Looked down at my feet; the feet of the most stupid person on the planet. I couldn’t tell him what I’d thought: he’d laugh himself into next week.
“Don’t worry.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I worked it out from the form.”
I looked up at him sharply. “Why’d you send me up there, then?”
He shrugged. “Pay-back.” With a grin for Dan, he expanded with, “Dan’s a bit of a practical joker. He deserved a fright.”
“Hey, no problem. Any time you want to play a joke on someone, just feel free to dress me up like a clown and parade me around in mid-air.” I folded my arms and glared at him. “I hope I’m getting paid for this, pal.”
He winked. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll give you a full day’s work, plus a bonus for the mid-air thing. Sound fair?”
More than fair, actually. I unfolded my arms and smiled.
“We really are short-staffed, as you know. But I can’t have you doing high-rise work. Health and safety. You’ll have to stay inside.” Then, to Dan, “Paulie can run the inside team. I’ll join you on the high-rise stuff.”
Danny nodded, clamping a cigarette between his lips.
I shot Danny a smile. “Thanks for the joyride.”
He lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply. “Nae problem, hen,” he said through a smoky exhalation, his accent back to full strength. “Next time, don’t wait ’til the fourth floor to give me heart failure.”
* * *
“Thanks.” I pocketed the cash Scott proffered. “I enjoyed today.”
Surprisingly, I had. Grandma would be amazed.
“That’s good,” said Scott. “You were a great help.”
He saw my scepticism. “No, really. I mean it.”
I acknowledged his words with a shy smile. “Do you need me tomorrow?”
“If you’re available, yes. I’ve advertised for a high-rise worker but it’ll take a couple of weeks to get a replacement.”
“Okay. I don’t have anything else yet, so I’m happy to help out.” I shrugged on my coat.
Scott pulled a bag of sweets out of his pocket.
I stared at it, mesmerised. Jim’s maltezers.
“You want some?” He jangled the bag my way.
“Thanks.”
I took a couple and, before I’d even thought about it, tossed one up in the air. My heart rate cranked up, as if it were Jim beside me instead of Scott. Come on. This time, please. Just let me catch the stupid thing in my mouth and prove I wasn’t a complete waste of genetics.
Down it came, closer, closer. I was right underneath it, watching, waiting, ready for it, all lined up . . .
It ricocheted off my lip. I blushed. “Rats.”
I should just ring Jim and be done with it. Less embarrassing.
“Unlucky,” said Scott.
Yeah, that was me all over.
“Want another one?” he asked.
I shook my head. Pulled on my hat and gloves. Changed the subject. “Is it hard to find high-rise workers?”
“Sometimes. Mid-winter’s always tough.”
“And if you don’t find anyone?”
“Well, then I guess we look at training someone.”
“Oh.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. Thought about it. “Is it hard?”
He grinned.“Not if you’re a rock climber.”
My heart tripped. Matt was a rock climber. Which didn’t make much sense, given his fear of heights. Except, knowing him, the fear was probably exactly why he did it. To test himself, force himself outside his comfort zone.
Pity he hadn’t done that with me.
Scott was still speaking. “You’ve got to be pretty confident with heights, of course. Are you offering?”
Who, me? Make like Spiderman? My laugh sounded brittle. “No. Fat chance.”
* * *
I craned my neck and watched the climbing instructor scale the wall. He made it look so easy, but I wasn’t fooled. That was high.
Not that the height bothered me. What bothered me was my weight. How could I possibly hang on to that sheer face by my fingertips, supporting my entire body?
He abseiled down and landed gracefully beside me. “Your turn.”
I hitched at my safety harness. It felt awkward and uncomfortable and I just knew it turned my legs and butt into squashed-up sausage-meat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
Would I? Climbing a sheer face for the simple joy of touching a circle of paint at the top, entrusting my life to a flimsy scrap of rope? Madness.
About as mad as getting sucked in by Scott’s ‘Are you offering?’.
But one thing was certain: I shouldn’t even consider high-rise window cleaning if I couldn’t attempt this piddly little wall.
I looked up again. What on earth possessed people to do this stuff?
“We’ll take it real slow,” he reassured me. “One hold at a time.”
I looked at him, harnessed up and every bit the rugged hot male, and felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. What must he think when he saw the likes of me, all squidgy untoned thigh, squeezing into a harness and throwing myself at a wall?
I knew what I thought: I’d done it the wrong way round. I needed to get fit first, then try climbing. Maybe I should start swimming again.
Only then I’d have to get back in the water.
“Okay,” he said, aiming for Instructor Of The Year, “watch carefully. You’re going to do this”—he demonstrated—“then this, then this . . .” His hands and feet moved in total synch, and within a micro-second his whole body was higher than my head.
I stared up at him, amazed.
He grinned then leapt down from the wall, landing with feline grace beside me. “Ready?”
No. “Sure.”
I attempt
ed a smile, wiped clammy hands down my T-shirt, then experimentally grasped a jutting bit of rock.
“Nice. Now, where are you going to put your foot? And think about your other hand, too.”
Cripes. Move and think? I bit my lip.
He pointed to a couple of handhold options. “Try those.”
I did.
“Great work!”
What, with one foot still grounded? Imagine his excitement if I actually gained height.
I took a deep breath and held on tight. Lifted the other foot and toe-tapped the wall until I found purchase.
“Awesome! Don’t look down. Look up and find your next holds.”
Don’t look down, don’t look down.
I looked up, found a hold, whipped my left hand out. My body slipped. Heart pounding, I grabbed the rock and clung there, limpet-like.
Don’t look down, don’t look down.
“You’re doing just fine.”
He reminded me so much of Matt. Matt used just this tone, just this manner, with his College and Kinetix students. Matt had a gift for getting the best out of people. This guy wasn’t bad, either.
“Now move your foot.”
I found another foothold. Then realised what I’d done: I’d found another foothold. Far out! I was climbing the wall!
I wanted to shriek and yell and leap around, but then I’d land in a very un-cool heap at my hot instructor’s feet so I focused on the task. Hand, foot, hand, foot, don’t look down.
“Keep close to the wall. Your backside, too.”
Charming. His butt was taut, toned, and rather deliciously Matt-like. Mine was rather more . . . sticky-out-y.
“I’ve got a sway back,” I called out.
“Doesn’t make any difference.”
He would say that.
If only Matt could see me now. We could’ve gone rock climbing together. Travelled to exotic rock climbing destinations. Had rock climbing babies.
My arms began to shake with the strain. “Okay, tired now.”
“Let go, then. I’ll lower you down.”
Let go? I broke out in a sweat. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
I glanced down and immediately regretted it.
He grinned. “Guess you’ll find out.” Then, “Yes, it’s safe. Lean backwards, the way I taught you. I’ll do the rest.”
I let go of the rock, transferring my grip to the rope. Then, with a silent prayer, I leaned backwards.
Panic ripped through me, every nerve in my body screaming that this was all wrong, pain was imminent, death was certain—and as he gently lowered me groundwards it took a couple of seconds to register that, actually, this felt great. I was weightless, free, a bird on a downdraft.
“Well done,” he said. “Want another go?”
“Sure. Just let me catch my breath.”
I clenched and unclenched my hands a few times to get the blood flowing, then we did it all again. The downward trip was just as exciting second time round.
Maybe high-rise windows were an option, after all. Spiderwoman meets Sadie The Cleaning Lady. Yes. Why not?
The instructor looked at his watch. “Time’s up. I’ve got another booking, but I’ll pair you up with someone if you want to keep going.”
“Not today, thanks.” I grimaced. “I’m not as fit as I used to be.”
“Sure. Best not to overdo it.” He unclipped my harness from the rope. “You’re a natural, you know. Have you done this before?”
Oh please. Who was he kidding?
“No. The closest I’ve got is listening to my”—How should I describe Matt?—“er, workmate talk about it. He’s a big rock climber.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “He lectures Recreational Tourism. Runs a weekend confidence course for disadvantaged kids.” Matt’s pride and joy. I’d wanted to show him I could conquer that high-wire challenge. No chance of that now.
“Really? Where’s that?”
“Down in Surrey.”
He drew his brows together. “You mean the Kinetix Centre?”
“Yes.” I looked at him, surprised.
One side of his mouth tugged up. “I know Matt Frobisher.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
My heart thudded hard and fast. “You do?”
My climbing instructor nodded. “I worked down south for a while. Helped him set up the Kinetix Centre. Small world, eh?”
“Yes.” Too small. We headed back to reception.
“How’s Matt doing these days? He had it pretty rough for a while there.”
Fresh adrenalin kicked through my body. What was he about to say?
“Mmm,” I said, über-casual.
“What kind of mother does that? I couldn’t believe it.”
“Me neither.” My mind raced. What exactly had his mother done?
“Sure, Matt had left home, but what about his little brother? The kid was totally dependent on her and she just took off.”
“Cerebral palsy,” I murmured. Cripes. Had Matt’s mother abandoned Stef?
He shot me a speculative look. “Matt doesn’t tell many people about Stef. You must know him well.”
I didn’t answer. Did I know Matt well? I’d thought so—until Dublin. Then I’d changed my mind. And now—now I was just plain confused.
We reached the front desk.
“Back when I knew him,” the instructor continued, “he held down a full-time job and cared for his brother. Wouldn’t have been my choice.” He shrugged. “I was too busy screwing everything that moved, but that was the last thing on Matt’s mind.”
“His father had died.” My throat constricted. “It was down to Matt.”
“Yeah. At least, that’s how he saw it. He got guardianship in the end, but he had to really fight for it. You’ve got to respect a guy who puts family first like that.”
The R-word ricocheted around my brain. How did I feel about respect and Matt? I watched the instructor slip out of his harness.
He looked up at me. “Did he ever get together with anyone?”
My heart staccatoed in my chest. I ducked my flaming face, ignored the question and busied myself with my own harness.
“Matt deserves a good woman.”
I yanked desperately at the harness straps. God-damn boa constrictor.
“Here. You need to loosen it here”—he reached around me and showed me how—“and here.”
“Thanks.” Avoiding his eyes, I stepped out of the harness. “I’d better go. I’m late.”
* * *
I sat in the cab, jaw clenched. He could’ve told me he didn’t do trust, didn’t do love. He could’ve told me I’d have to fight his demons as well as my own.
But he hadn’t. Matt had strung me along then cut me loose when there was a bit of work involved.
Hell, if he’d valued what we had the least he could’ve done was stop to ask a few questions.
Maybe that was the point. Maybe he hadn’t valued what we had. Maybe, deep down, he hadn’t really believed in us. If he’d really believed in us he would’ve made more of an effort, right?
Well, screw him. I had the rest of my life to live and I was better off without Matt and all his baggage.
“Baggage?” bleated a pesky little voice in my head. “Look who’s talking, Sunshine.”
I told the voice to shut up, but it kept taunting me.
“Think you’re any better? How much of an effort did you make?”
“He couldn’t trust his mum. Why would he trust you more?”
I chewed on a nail. Forced myself to stop. Looked out the window, saw nothing but Matt’s cold, cold eyes.
“Are you just going to sit there and sulk, or are you going to sort it out?”
I looked down at my hands, thought about my miserable new life up here.
Had I tried hard enough with Matt? Really?
“What street is it, again?” The cabbie eyed me in the rear-vision mirror.
“Here.” I handed him the scrap of paper. “I’m looking at
them all. You choose.”
He glanced at the list, nodded. “Right.”
Flats to view: three. Likelihood of success: nil. They’d probably all be awful—but what if I liked one? I folded the address list into the tiniest square, unfolded it, did it all again. Should I sign up? Commit to a long-term lease?
But that sounded . . . permanent. Did I really want to settle in Edinburgh? What about Matt?
Number one was nightmarish. I took in the ripped curtains, holes in walls, ancient stove. Politely declined.
Number two reeked of—what? Urine? Something chemical? Maybe living out of a suitcase wasn’t so bad.
Number three had potential. It was big enough that I wouldn’t feel cramped, small enough that I wouldn’t feel lost, and cheap enough that I wouldn’t feel bankrupt. I bit my lip. Tried to imagine myself living there. Could. I bit my lip harder.
“Well?” the agent prompted. “What do you think?”
On the downside, it looked grubby. Worse-than-Jim grubby. Nothing a good scrub wouldn’t fix, though.
“I like it, but . . .”
Was I scrubbing Matt out of my life too soon?
“It will, of course, be professionally cleaned when the current tenants leave.”
“Ah.” I eyed up the kitchen. Shuddered. Would a professional clean be enough? And, cleaned or not, would this ever be home?
The agent must have sensed my indecision. “If you’re interested, I suggest you sign up now. I have five more clients viewing today and, as you know, flats of this quality are extremely hard to find. Oh.” She glanced out the window. “There’s the next couple.”
My shoulders sagged. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
* * *
“Hi—Scott? Hi, it’s Becky Jordan here. I’d like to apply for your high-rise job.”
Silence.
I suppressed a nervous giggle. I’d expected surprise but not speechlessness.
He cleared his throat. “You would?”
“Well, I’d like to do the training, at least, and see how I go. You don’t have to pay me until I prove myself.”
“Well. We’d love to have you.” He hesitated. “I have to warn you, though. Physically, it’s fairly demanding.”
A Heat of the Moment Thing Page 28