by K. L. Jessop
Like he’s just poured ice over me, my body becomes tense before anger starts to trickle its way through. “What?”
“Spoke with her the other day.”
“Why the fuck have you done that?”
“Helping you with your commissions and stuff.” He takes the pieces of bread and butter and smears them around the egg yolk on his plate, not looking at me. He has good reason to not fucking look at me.
“I told you I don’t need anyone,” I growl, pushing my plate away as I’ve had enough. My hands clench at the thought of some stranger invading my privacy. My world.
“Dex, you—”
“I said I don’t need anyone. And I especially don’t want anyone in my house!”
“Pepper will spend the majority of her time working downstairs.”
“And with no bathroom or kitchen facilities, it will mean at some point she’ll need to come up here. It’s not happening, Emmet. I. Don’t. Want. Her.”
“You mean you don’t want her to see those paintings in there.” He points to the locked door behind him.
My gut twists and I glare at him, pissed I’m so easy to read when it comes to him and pissed that even with his knowledge of my reasons, he’s still gone behind my back and hired someone I don’t fucking need.
“She doesn’t have to see what’s behind that door, Dex.”
“She’s not going to see what’s this side of it either because I don’t fucking want a damn PA. So tell her she’s not wanted and don’t you dare pull that shit again.”
I need a drink.
He pushes his plate away with force and sits forward, his eyes locked on mine, his jaw muscles moving. It’s not very often I get his back up, which is surprising with the amount of shit I throw at him, but occasionally the grumpy Emmet comes out.
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life in this same existence, or do you want to earn a proper living and have things organised? There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, Dexter. I thought after everything we’ve been through, you’d understand this by now.” He glares at me and it’s that look that tells me no matter how hard I fight him on this, he’s not going to give up.
I do accept help: I accepted it from him when he found me at my worst, the only difference is, I’ve known Emmet for years and built trust along the way. With others, it’s harder.
“Give the girl a chance.”
“And if I don’t?”
“That’s not an option and you know it.”
Truth is, I know I can’t do this on my own. I don’t like the idea of someone wanting to know my damn business when it’s no body’s but my own. I’m a street artist, yes, but that’s as far as it goes, and the only thing others need to know. They don’t need to know how I got here. They don’t need to know my story and they sure as hell don’t need to know of the secrets I keep concealed behind those closed doors in the far corner of my place. They are private, they are personal, and they are all I have left.
“I’ll give her a week.” My chair scrapes around the wood floor as I push up to stand. I need JD.
“Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be.”
“She uses the single toilet by the top of the stairs, and if I find her a foot further in my space, she’s gone.”
He chuckles. “The single toilet when you have a decent bathroom. How generous.”
I place my plate on the kitchen counter and look in the fridge. “Next time, don’t go behind my back and organise something I don’t want.”
“Okay, Dad,” he jokes, and I look across the small place, glaring at him as I close the fridge door.
“Don’t be a prick. Now where the fuck have you put my bottle?”
“Do you promise to be nice to her?”
“I don’t make promises. Just tell me where the whiskey is,” I urge, needing the liquid to simmer the rage that’s threatening my thoughts, knowing I’m soon to have unwanted company.
“Dexter,” he warns.
“I need a drink, Emmet.” My palms begin to itch, my thoughts slowly starting to spiral and my irritability is becoming too much.
“Promise me you’ll try,” he asks, knowing I’m heading down this dark path that he’s seen me on so many times before but trying to keep my reality for as long as possible.
I’m losing control again.
My chest tightens and I squeeze my eyes as I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I’ll try. Where the fuck is the JD?”
“Alcohol is not the answer, Dex.”
“Jesus, Emmet. Please!” I beg.
He holds my gaze for a moment, and I loathe that edge of doubt in his eyes before he nods in acknowledgement. “Under the kitchen sink.”
Going to the cupboard to find the bottle, I fumble to undo the cap before I pour the poison down my throat and slide down to the ground, hoping that the neat alcohol will ease my racing mind while my vision clouds with nothing but her.
Chapter Three
Pepper
“Will you close your mouth please and help me find something?” I aim my question at my friend, Malcolm, who is currently sitting on my bed with his mouth agape at the story I’ve just told him while I try and find an outfit for when I start my new job tomorrow. I’d texted Emmet yesterday morning after leaving it a few days for him to tell this Dexter guy I was about to invade his space with absolutely no knowledge of street art. The only thing I have on my side is the fact I can use a computer and know the basics of organising schedules and appointments. I haven’t really been given much in the way of full job description from Emmet, but according to him in his text, Dexter is looking forward to meeting his new assistant, so I guess that’s something.
“Mal, it’s really no big deal,” I express, sticking my head in my wardrobe to pull out my black ankle boots from the bottom shelf.
“No big deal? A Police officer just gave you a job. I mean, I didn’t realise you could get into the Metropolitan Police so quickly, and inexperienced,” he jokes.
It still causes me to roll my eyes, and having found my boots, I turn back to him.
Malcolm is my best friend, and I love his big, very gay heart, but sometimes he jumps into a mental state of excitement before listening to the full conversation.
“Mal, I’m not joining the bloody Police force. His friend is an artist and needs a personal assistant.”
“And you’re considering?”
I gesture to the pile of clothes I’ve thrown on my bed. “Well I’m finding an outfit, aren’t I?”
Malcolm looks at the huge pile beside him and his eyebrows rise, clearly having not paid any attention to what I’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes since he arrived.
Holding his finger up, he gives me the best reply and words I’ve heard all day. “When shall I open the wine?”
“I like your thinking.” I smile, picking up my red tunic dress as he heads out of the room, swinging his hips as he goes.
I met Malcolm whilst at university, he, too, studying journalism as well as being a big campaigner for gay pride. I’d taken a liking to him the very first time I’d seen him. I’m a girl who loves to shop fashion and has every style going in her wardrobe, so when he’d walked into class wearing tight skinny jeans, an oversized rainbow-colour jumper with red glitter doc martins and his nails painted black, I’d known we’d be friends for life. The only difference between us is that I like to be a little more coordinated with my clothes.
“What about this red tunic?” I question when he comes back into my room with two glasses and a bottle of rosé wine.
“Too bold for the first day,” he says as he pours the drink.
“Isn’t being bold a good thing?”
“Not on the first day. You want to keep everyone guessing who the real Pepper Livewell is. Wearing that tells them you’re a confident woman.”
I frown. “So, I need to wear something that makes me look weak?”
“Something that tells them you have character.”
I frow
n even harder and turn to look at him as he hands me my glass of wine. “Sometimes you make no sense.”
“Trust me. You need to keep a man guessing. What creature you truly are is what they have to figure out.”
I chuckle. “Malcolm, it’s work. I’m not going on a date.” Placing my wine glass on my dressing table, I turn back to my wardrobe. This time I take out my box of hats and remove the lid, taking out my favourite: a big, black brimmed hat.
“Now that is what I’m talking about,” he voices, taking the hat from me and placing it on his head. “This is a character statement.” He goes over to my full-length mirror on the other side of my room. Placing his hands on his hips, he turns the top half of his body, rests his weight on one side and pouts.
I grin and shake my head at my friend. “Is that a yeah?”
“It’s a hell yeah. Now what to match it up with.” He comes back, this time looking in my wardrobe as he pushes items of clothes on the hangers across the rail. I take the opportunity to sit on the bed and let him play personal dresser while I think about what time I have to leave in the morning.
Dexter’s studio in Camden Market isn’t too far so it shouldn’t take me long.
“So, you never actually told me who this artist guy is,” Mal says, turning to place a pair of denim shorts on the bed before continuing with his search.
Who Dexter Wilson is is still a mystery to me. After Emmet had given me his details, I’d tapped his name into the internet and waited for all the information to appear on the screen, only what came up had been a little disappointing. There is no official website to view his work, no profile pictures of the man himself and the only social media page he has is an Instagram account that is private. The man is completely hidden from the world, and it had crossed my mind that there might be a reason for this rather than him genuinely needing a little help with getting himself in the public eye while he works.
“I don’t really know much, other than he’s a street artist based in Camden—”
“Not Dexter Wilson?” he blurts, eyes wide as he holds my black spotty top in his hands. I’m surprised he’s heard of him given the lack of information from my search.
“You know him?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“And? Have you seen his work?” I ask, curious to know more about this stranger who’s going to be my boss. “What have you heard about him?”
“Honest answer?” Malcolm says.
“Full disclosure.”
“His work is great. I saw a few paintings that were up for sale in some café a while back but…”
“What?”
“Apparently he’s an arsehole.”
Deflation from his words makes my shoulders drop, but then the conversation with Emmet rings in my mind about how he likes to help others, so I find I’m defending a man I’ve not yet encountered. “Half the population of London can be like that. Doesn’t mean he is one.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Fair point. Just giving you the heads up, in case.”
For a split second, I let doubt creep into my thoughts, and I wonder if I can deal with an arse when I’m still vulnerable from everything that’s going on in my life. But then I think of Persie and her words of wisdom she would give me if she were here right now. The Pepper Livewell that is still hiding in the very depths of my soul is bold and confident and gives back as much as is thrown at her. Therefore, if I want to find her again, no one is going to stand in my way.
Looking at the outfit Malcolm has pulled out for me, I smile with approval. “An outfit with character. I like it.”
“Most welcomes. You’ll rock it like always.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, looks me dead in the eyes before saying. “Last bit of advice, in case he tries to bring you down: put your big girl pants on and fire up your inner bitch.”
I cock an eyebrow, a sudden burn of determination runs through my blood. “Bitch please, I don’t need to fire anything up because she was never truly put out.”
He grins. “And there she is.”
Parking my little yellow scooter off a side street from the main street in Camden, I look up at the large building through the visor of my helmet. Scanning my eyes around the brick building that consists of large arched windows, I look up to the top. Several more windows line the construction, and to the right, there looks to be some sort of rooftop balcony. It’s bleak and bland and I reach in my jacket pocket for my phone to check the text that Emmet sent me with the address.
Right place.
Taking off my helmet, I run my fingers through my long dark hair and turn back to my scooter. Lifting the seat, I pull out my brown, leather satchel and my black brim hat, placing it on my head and smoothing down my clothes to make sure I look presentable. I’ve gone with the outfit Malcolm picked out for me last night. Black and white polka dot, batwing top, a pair of wash denim shorts, black tights and my black ankle boots. I’ve kept my makeup light: a little black eyeliner, mascara and a light-pink, matte lipstick. Taking a deep breath, I place my satchel over my shoulder, my helmet in my hand and walk around the side of the building to try to find a way in.
Camden lock is in view as I round the corner along with the bridge that arches over the canal. Trees and riverboats in different colours cruise along this picturesque canvas, and for a moment I stop and watch the world go by as I’ve never seen this tranquil part of London before. I’ve been to Camden—I’ve explored and experienced the markets—but I’ve never seen this little world amongst a busy city.
As I approach a large, metal shutter entry and a metal spiral staircase that leads up to a wooden door, I’m unclear which is the entrance I need to be at, but then like the gods have been listening, the shutter starts to open and I take a step back. The metal clangs and scrapes as it slowly lifts from the ground, and I’m soon greeted to a breath-taking Emmet in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, the wide smile on his face having my own beaming.
“Ah, you’re here. Good morning, Pepper.”
“Morning.” I smile and point up to the door above. “Sorry, I didn’t know which was the right door.”
“My bad. Sorry. That door leads to Dexter’s place.”
My brows rise. “He lives upstairs?”
“Yes. I’ll sort you out with a key once I have it cut, but in the meantime, if you lift that cap on that white box there, you’ll find the doorbell.” He points to a little square box on the wall.
“Right. I never saw that.”
Stepping inside the building, I’m amazed at the difference from outside. The large space is sectioned off into different rooms but ones that have no doors, making it almost openplan. The walls are clean brick, giving the place a fresh but traditional style, while long strip lights hang from the ceiling. Right at the back is an open, wooden door that I can see leads to upstairs—Dexter’s place no doubt. It is industrial yet welcoming; the floor is a little dusty and it smells of brick and paint.
“This place is not what I expected it to be like on the inside,” I say.
“I know, right? From the outside, it looks like a shamble. But we’ve worked hard to bring it to its best and clean it up. Come on, let me show you where you’ll be working.”
We enter another room, which has a big square opening in the wall that looks out to the area I’ve just walked from, still giving visual access to the entrance and whomever should enter. This place is like a maze, but with professionally produced window outlets in the walls. Placing my helmet on the table, I run my fingers along the basic stationary area that’s in front of me with a desk and computer chair. A laptop is open, and right behind us is another large table with a kettle, some cups and what appears to be a little fridge. It’s all very basic, and spotting the heater under the table only tells me that it’s going to get cold once winter really hits.
“So, this is it?” I question.
“Yes. Now it’s all very unfurnished and bland at the moment so don’t freak out.” Emmet smiles, his hands are in his pockets and he rocks
on his heels. Out of uniform, he is just as handsome. “Dexter has plans underway to restore it fully. Over where your desk is will be the main area in which you will work.”
“Along with the refreshments area?” I joke with a raised brow.
He smiles but for the first time since we’ve met, it’s a nervous smile. “Yeah, sorry. It’s all a bit cheap and cheerful at the moment until everything is fully underway.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” I reassure him. “These things take time. Do we have dates for when you’ll be fully up and running?”
“Anytime within the next six months.”
So, I’m going to freeze as we’re almost in autumn.
“Sounds great.”
“It won’t take too long, though, as all we need to have put in is the heating and a bathroom facility. I’m sure Dex will let you use his place for that though in the meantime. And the sooner we get moving on the plans, the quicker it will take place.”
“So where is the man himself?” I wonder where he is and why he’s not the one explaining all of this to me, given the fact he is going to be my boss.
“He’s not up yet. He’ll be down soon.”
My eyes casually fall to my watch to see it’s almost nine-thirty, and I can’t help but think how unprofessional it is when he knows I’d be starting today. I’m his new employee, and good manners would be to welcome me into the job.
“So how does this all work?” I enquire. “Is this place going to be a full-blown gallery with pieces to auction off?”
“To be honest with you, Pepper, I don’t know what he is planning on doing with it.” He sighs, his hands on his hips now, and he looks straight at me. “Dexter can be a little… complicated when it comes to his work. He originally started selling pieces in local cafés, which is when we established that he should make a living out of it. He sells pieces to get by, but in my eyes, he doesn’t sell enough, and I think that’s partly down to not having the knowledge of where to sell them in the outside world.”
“Which is where I come in?”
“Exactly. I can only do so much for him, but this sort of thing is out of my depth. I just know that he could do so much more than he already does.”