In the early days, she’d loved his joy in life, not realising until everything went wrong how heavily he’d depended not only on a fresh pile of money hitting his bank account each month but bonuses coming along twice a year to wipe clean his credit card excesses. It became obvious that saving up had never been in his psyche.
With a sigh that matched any of the pitiful ones Aidan had been heaving down the phone, she blinked open her eyes, unclenched her fists and used the fingers of her gloves to wipe stray tears from beneath her eyes, then looked up and saw Joe standing motionless on the outside staircase that rose up the side of the building. Watching her.
She jumped, then, hoping he’d been too far away to overhear her conversation, forced herself to smile and call up to him. ‘Hello. Are you lost? Those stairs lead to some kind of private apartment. The landlord keeps it separate and Oggie says it’s not in our lease.’
He glanced down at the staircase beneath his feet. ‘Right. Thanks. That would explain why up here wasn’t included in your tour.’ He ran lightly down to ground level. ‘Oggie said to talk to you about the Christmas show. He thinks you might like lighting and sound taken off your hands.’ Joe looked much more self-possessed than he had this morning, even if he talked slowly, quietly, as if he were testing every word before letting it loose.
‘Would I ever. I’ll take you through what you need to know,’ she said promptly. She didn’t bother reminding him he wasn’t supposed to be wandering around unaccompanied, because she hadn’t given any thought to his whereabouts after he’d gone off to the admin office during dance rehearsal and probably she should have. Georgine gave a last sniff and pushed Aidan and his troubles into a mental ‘worry about this when I’m not at work’ box. ‘I’m going for lunch. Shall we walk over together?’
‘That would be great.’ Joe flashed a smile. It was so unexpectedly warm that she grinned back as if she’d known him for much longer than a few hours.
Lunch break was half over and tables were freeing up when they reached the cafeteria, though the noise level was only a couple of decibels below deafening. Georgine was convinced that some students sat two tables away from their friends just so they could shout conversations like, ‘Have you done any of your Christmas shopping yet? No, me neither. Got to get some money first.’
Three lads were picking at guitars, apparently trying to master a tricky bit of fingerwork. It wasn’t unusual to see students turning any spare spot in the college into a rehearsal room.
She went ahead of Joe in the queue in case he wasn’t sure of the system – not that it was hard. You chose your food and drink and paid by scanning your pass, having already credited the cafeteria account linked to it. Accounts could be topped up online, pleasing parents who suspected their kids would use meal money to buy cigarettes or sweets if the actual cash was put in their hands.
Even at staff rates it was an economy to eat a hot meal in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Georgine would content herself with a sandwich or a bowl of soup at home in the evening.
‘Oh,’ said Joe, ruefully, when they got to the head of the queue and he saw Georgine hold out her pass card to be scanned by Celine, who was on the till today. ‘I was supposed to collect my pass from Fern before lunch and I forgot.’ He turned to Celine who, in her blue smock, was waiting patiently. ‘Can I pay in cash today?’
Regretfully, Celine shook her head, complete with hat and hairnet. ‘I’m sorry, darlin’, it’s not a cash till. We don’t have actual money.’
‘Oh.’ Joe dropped his gaze to the contents of his tray: pasta and the biggest latte on offer, garlic bread he’d already taken a bite from and a cereal bar. His face reddened. ‘Erm, I can’t really put this back.’
Celine turned to Georgine. ‘Shall I put it on your card? Then he can give you the cash.’
‘Would you mind?’ Joe switched his gaze to Georgine too, expression hopeful and relieved.
From the scalding in her cheeks Georgine was pretty sure she’d turned every bit as red as him. She didn’t have much choice but to say, ‘Not a bit,’ and proffer her card again, but her heart began a slow descent to her chilly toes.
Celine passed the card beneath the scanner. It beeped angrily. She flashed Georgine a look of surprise, then returned the pass with a shake of her head. ‘I bet it won’t go through twice in a row as some safety precaution.’ She tapped at the till’s screen then said to Joe, ‘I’ve voided your bill for now. Get your card and account sorted and you can pay us tomorrow. You look the honest sort.’ She scribbled down £6.38 on a torn-off receipt, gave it to him with a big smile and moved on to the next in the queue.
Hurrying off towards a half-empty table, Georgine felt as if she’d just missed being hit by a speeding car. She knew very well that the card hadn’t scanned because there wasn’t enough in her cafeteria account after paying for her own lunch. The balance of about four pounds was barely enough for a meal tomorrow, Wednesday, without coffee. The account would top up on payday, Thursday.
For a horrible moment she’d feared Celine would shame her by saying, ‘Not enough money on your card, darlin’.’ But the woman’s eyes had held an apology. She’d realised she’d dropped Georgine in it. Georgine had swung from dread to gratitude in a heartbeat at the way Celine had covered up.
She made a mental note to add her to the ‘gets chocolate brownies at Christmas’ list. She baked a lot of Christmas presents rather than buying them.
Joe cleared his throat as they took seats at a table. ‘Thanks for trying to save my blushes. I feel as if I’m wearing a big sign saying “can’t pay for his own lunch”.’
Seeing that he was genuinely upset, and completely empathising because she hadn’t been able to raise the small sum to pay it for him, Georgine tried to shrug it off. ‘It makes you feel conspicuous, but it’s only an admin issue. Induction days are usually better organised than yours seems to have been.’
Georgine had chosen a vegetable frittata with salad. It was one of her favourite lunches, but today the subject of money was under glaring spotlights in her mind.
Two more paydays till Christmas. She was only able to claim mileage and other show-related expenses retrospectively so she hoped she could afford the extra trips back and forth to Bettsbrough. She was having Dad, Blair and Blair’s boyfriend, Warren, for Christmas dinner. Luckily Mum and her husband, Terrence, would spend Christmas in their French holiday home, so she wouldn’t have to drive to their posh house on the Northumberland coast for a festive visit, but buying Christmas gifts for them was a trial. Terrence was careful with his fortune. He released money for Christmas gifts, but he expected something worthwhile in return. Last year Georgine had bought their presents from charity shops then parcelled them up in dark red tissue paper and stencilled on ‘The Vintage Shop’ in gold, because calling stuff ‘vintage’ increased its value to the power of ten. They’d actually been impressed and Terrence had displayed his wooden letter rack behind glass in their vast sitting room. Luckily, Georgine’s mum, Barbara, never now set foot in Middledip, Bettsbrough or even Peterborough, so couldn’t demand to be taken to the non-existent ‘Vintage Shop’.
Mum and Terrence had bought Georgine cashmere jumpers. She’d run her fingertips over them admiringly, but she’d rather have had winter boots with fleece inside, or a couple of pairs of jeans. She didn’t live a cashmere kind of life.
Joe’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. ‘Do you live in Middledip?’
She blinked, realised her frittata was getting cold and hastily dug into it, nodding while she chewed and swallowed. ‘I did a year at the University of Manchester, but I’ve always lived here otherwise. I rented for a while, but then managed to buy a starter home in the new bit of the Bankside estate.’ And it represented security, at least for so long as she could afford the mortgage.
‘What did you do at uni?’ Joe picked up his mug of latte.
‘A foundation year in performing arts. I would’ve specialised in dance with some singing if I’d stayed, so I co
uld do musical theatre.’ She paused. ‘My parents split up and it was hard for Dad to keep me at uni so I opted to become independent. It’s difficult enough to make a living in the performing arts with a degree so, without one, I didn’t even try. Far too perilous financially! I did lots of teaching assistant stuff, and am dram and open mic in my free time, and then I got this job. I love it so much that I’m just happy I got here, whatever my route. For a long time I regretted not getting the chance to finish uni, but I’m lucky that the qualifications for this role are more about enthusiasm and ability than a degree.’
Joe looked as if he were paying close attention, his brown-eyed gaze steady through his glasses, a perplexed frown puckering the skin at the bridge of his nose.
‘What about you?’ she asked politely, keen to change the subject from the various messes she’d made of her life.
He dropped his eyes to his lunch. ‘I lived in Surrey and London for a lot of the time.’
‘Which part of London?’
‘Various. Camden for the last few years.’ He put a forkful of pasta in his mouth.
She watched him eat it, noticing the firm line of his jaw. ‘Isn’t London crucifyingly expensive?’
He shrugged. ‘If you can shoehorn enough people into one house the rent becomes manageable between you.’ He loaded his fork again. ‘Tell me about the theatre where you’ll put on the Christmas show.’
Georgine was happy to talk about Acting Instrumental and everything attached to it. ‘The Raised Curtain? It’s part of the Sir John Browne Academy, but it’s put to a lot of community use outside school hours. We’re lucky that they let us hire it the week before Christmas. It’s unusual for a student run to last for six shows but we’re ambitious here.’ She went on, Joe asking an occasional question. He was so relaxed and normal now, Georgine felt as if she must have been towing a cardboard cut out of him around this morning. Who would have thought that in a few short hours they’d be well on the way to establishing a rapport?
Chapter Four
Georgine ran home that evening, her backpack bumping in rhythm with her stride and the winter chill nipping at her ears. A hot shower was her first priority. She’d just finished getting dried and dressed when her doorbell rang.
She paused.
When the bell rang again she crept to the head of the stairs, heart jumping. A silhouette at the glass wrapped its arms around itself and hopped from foot to foot. Georgine waited. The silhouette was unmistakably female and none of the collection agents who’d harassed her to date had been, but was this some new gambit to see if she’d be less cautious with one of her own sex?
The silhouette raised her arm, the fist appearing hazily against the glass as she knocked. ‘Georgine! Are you there? Georgine!’
Georgine let out her breath with a whoosh, almost laughing at hearing the impatient tones of her sister, Blair. ‘I’m coming!’ After hurrying down to the hall, she fumbled with the lock and chain and threw open the door.
‘Brrrrr!’ Hunching theatrically, Blair scurried in. ‘It’s like a fridge out there!’ She paused to give Georgine a big chilly hug. ‘Lovely to see you, sis! What are your plans tonight? I’m hoping you don’t have any and we can order a pizza or something. Isn’t your heating on?’ She paused at the thermostat on the hall wall to turn it up.
Georgine, following, turned the thermostat down again. It gave a disappointed click. ‘No money for takeaway.’ She made a mental inventory of the contents of her kitchen. ‘I could make pasta with cheese sauce and a few bits of veg, if you’re not feeling ultra-fussy.’
‘Hmm.’ Blair had reached the kitchen and was already filling the kettle. She turned and gave Georgine one of her beautiful smiles. She took after their dad’s mum, Patty France – pronounced ‘Paddy’ by the American side of the family. Both possessed the same high-wattage smile that made others feel almost lucky to be smiled upon, and melting brown eyes to keep the world under their spell. Patty’s hair had long since turned white, but had once been brown and curly like Blair’s. ‘Got any wine?’ Leaving the kettle to boil, Blair opened the fridge and inspected its contents. Or lack of.
Slowly, she closed the door and turned around to gently run her hands up and down Georgine’s arm, her expression dismayed. ‘You’re not still broke?’
Georgine made a face. ‘I’d be OK if Aidan hadn’t left me in the poo. I get paid on Thursday so I’ll be able to stock up then.’
Blair switched the kettle off. ‘Pop your coat on. Let’s nip to Booze & News for a bottle of wine. My treat,’ she added, picking up her bag.
‘Are you sure? Melanie’s prices are a lot steeper than a supermarket.’ As Blair merely rolled her eyes in reply, Georgine fetched her coat from its usual home on the newel post and zipped it up as they stepped out under the street lights. Top Farm Road was edged by the parked cars of villagers home from work.
‘So you still haven’t paid off the mess sodding Aidan left behind?’ Blair slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat, a colourfully embroidered Joe Brown number. Temperatures had plummeted in Cambridgeshire the moment the calendar flipped to November.
For Blair, Georgine usually made light of her problems, financial or otherwise. Neither of them had ended up with the life they’d expected and the knowledge that Georgine had played a part in their change of fortunes lay between them like a dozing dragon, liable to breathe fire when disturbed.
But fatigue swept over her. She was tired from running to and from work, tired of hiding from creditors she hadn’t wronged, tired of an empty fridge two days before payday. And tired of pretending everything was fine.
‘I’ve made inroads into the outstanding utility bills. The utility companies are only too used to this carry on and they’re letting me catch up the arrears over time,’ she admitted wearily, making for the turn onto Great Park Road and the footpath to Ladies Lane. ‘But now I’m being hunted by debt collectors.’ The final sentence was out before she could run the words through her inner censor. Realising from Blair’s stunned stare how dramatic she sounded, she tried to soften it by adding a laugh.
But the laugh wavered.
By sheer will she forced the tears to the back of her eyes, her throat tightening until it hurt, her fists clenching in her pockets. As the ground was firm and frosty she chose the route over the playing fields instead of turning the corner onto Main Road. There was enough light from surrounding houses to light their way. ‘I try,’ she croaked. ‘I really try not to let the financial situation get to me, but anything to do with debt makes me panic. I relive that implacable lack of sympathy and it makes me feel alone and frightened.’
‘Oh, Georgine!’ Blair gasped, tugging on Georgine’s arm to bring her to a halt. ‘That’s awful! Can’t you report them to someone? They can’t harass you for Aidan’s debts. Tell them to piss off!’
Glad that there was nobody about on the playing fields on this wintry early evening, Georgine buried her face in her sister’s shoulder, the fabric of the stylish coat warm against her cheek. ‘I’m scared to talk to them. Scared that if I say he doesn’t live here now they won’t believe I don’t know his current address – which he won’t tell me! And it’s such a freezing November. The inside of my house feels like Narnia but I daren’t turn the heating on. I su-suppose pipes will begin to burst next. And that can’t happen because I couldn’t afford the payments for the contents insurance so if my carpets get ruined, they stay ruined.’
Blair’s arms tightened around her as she said, ‘Shh,’ comfortingly and ‘Oh, shit, Georgine,’ less comfortingly.
Georgine recovered enough to disengage herself from Blair’s sisterly hug and find a screwed-up tissue in her jeans pocket to trumpet into. ‘Sorry. Things are getting on top of me.’ She made another attempt to laugh, finding it hard to meet her sister’s troubled gaze. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ll get through this.’
‘Right.’ Blair sounded unconvinced.
‘Honestly, I’m all right,’ Georgine insisted as they res
umed their march towards Booze & News. Except for a bone-deep fear – despite Aidan’s probably well-meant but actually empty assurances – that somehow she’d be pulled deeper into his problems and lose her little house. She couldn’t! It was just a modest inner terrace with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a lounge-diner and a kitchen, but it represented the tiny amount of progress she’d made.
She linked arms with her sister, nodding to a dog-walker passing the other way with a snuffly pug. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m being a wuss.’
‘You’re never a wuss. You’re so brave and resourceful that I suppose anxiety is something I generally think is reserved for other people,’ Blair said quietly. They passed the Angel Community Café, tinsel at the window and lights still showing.
‘Usually is.’ Georgine pushed open the door to Booze & News with a ting!
‘Hello, folks,’ said Melanie from behind the counter. Her eyes fell on Georgine’s face like a missile homing in on its target. ‘What’s the matter?’
Instantly, Georgine wished she’d made Blair come in on her own. Melanie was good-hearted but also uncomfortably inquisitive and red eyes would instantly attract her attention. ‘Nothing,’ Georgine said defensively.
‘We need wine!’ Blair declared dramatically. ‘What’s on promo?’
With a last look at Georgine, Melanie allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about merlot and Chianti while Georgine pretended to be fascinated by the display of tinned goods near the door. Blair chose the Chianti and paid.
Georgine called, ‘Bye, Melanie!’ and turned for the door.
‘I’ve won a cake,’ Melanie called out, halting her.
When Georgine reluctantly turned back she saw Melanie was holding out an orange raffle ticket, her expression sympathetic. ‘Here,’ Melanie said gruffly. ‘I won it in one of Carola’s everlasting raffles and I’m doing Slimming World so you’d better eat it instead of me. You need to take this to the Angel Community Café. If you go now you might get them before they close.’
A Christmas Gift Page 3