What Fresh Hell

by Lucy Vine

  YOU LIKE ME, YOU REALLY LIKE ME!

  Us. I mean us.

  It has to be enough to save FU.

  So we’re all marching over to the council offices now, unannounced, to take on Mr Canid. The building isn’t too far away from my work, and I wonder for a second why I haven’t turned up here before to try to speak to him in person.

  I guess I was too scared.

  Duh. Of course I was too scared.

  I walk taller now, thinking how much braver I’ve become in the last few weeks. You do one small brave thing, and then you feel like you can do a slightly bigger brave thing. And then, before you know it, you’re leading a pack of people to confront a scary bureaucrat with a stupid unpronounceable name. Without an appointment.

  Ooh, I’m such a bad girl, somebody arrest me already. Again.

  I’m at the front of the group, striding confidently, and behind me trails Franny, Ethel, Annabel, Lauren and Joely. Molly is also with us, even though she wasn’t invited. She’s trawling alongside the group on her mobility scooter, shrieking at everyone to go faster.

  We turn the corner and there’s the ugly, sixties block of a building.

  Here we go.

  I breathe deeply and head towards the revolving doors.

  Everyone piles in at once.

  ‘Oh, come on, guys, don’t do that,’ I say weakly, shoved up against the glass as six people try to cram into the same section of door. ‘We don’t all have to come in at the same time. This is how people die in revolving doors.’

  There is some panicked pushing and shoving, and from outside behind us, Molly shouts at everyone to wait for her while she parks the scooter.

  Nobody does, and after some limb rearrangements, we all make it into the foyer. The security desk is manned by two amused-looking men, who have watched our stupid Laurel and Hardy routine with the doors. I suspect it hasn’t inspired the professional air I was hoping to arrive with.

  ‘We’re here to see Mr Canid,’ I say, trying to sound official and important anyway. ‘Please tell him Delilah Fox is here to speak to him and it’s vital he come down to see me immediately.’

  The nearest of the two nods and picks up a phone, speaking in a low voice.

  ‘He says you can go up,’ he says, and there is mild surprise in his tone. I guess I’m not coming off as quite so important as I’d hoped. ‘He’s on the twenty-second floor. He’ll be waiting for you by the lift doors.’

  He is, and I’m surprised and more than a little bit disappointed to find Mr Canid is neither fat, nor old. In fact, there is, inconveniently, nothing really physically wrong with him that I can pick on. I had planned to get so personal when this descended into a shouting match, I had my list of insults all ready. My parents have given me very little in the last few years, but they’ve definitely improved my insults vocabulary.

  ‘Ms Fox?’ he says to me, and there’s that familiar voice I’ve come to know and truly loathe.

  I take his hand, nodding sternly.

  Actually, if I could see through my hatred, I might even say Mr Canid is quite attractive. Mid-thirties, dark hair, nice shirt. But obviously I hate him, which makes him hideous.

  ‘Mr Canid?’ I say, as politely as I can.

  ‘It’s Canid,’ he says and I bristle. But he’s smiling.

  ‘Follow me,’ he says, peering around, a little confused at the whole group. ‘Er, all of you, this way.’

  He leads us down a beige council-offices-type corridor and into his large office. Franny and I take the seats in front of his desk, while Molly, Annabel and Ethel collapse loudly on the sofa. Lauren and Joely hover nearby, and I note with irritation that Joely has that look on her face she gets when she fancies someone and is close to taking her bra off to throw at them. In fact, she is definitely wearing fewer clothes than she was in the lift and I don’t even know how that’s happened because she was already fairly skimpily dressed. What a traitor. At least Lauren has my back, just like she always has. She gives me a steady nod and a wink, as I turn to face the dickhead.

  ‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Canid,’ I say, and I clear my throat, readying my speech.

  ‘Oh, no problem,’ he says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. ‘It’s nice to put a face to the name, Ms Fox. Here’s a fun fact for you: did you know my surname means a mammal of the dog family? That includes foxes. I feel like we’re practically related!’ He laughs nicely and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is all a bit too bloody jovial and friendly. I need to stay on message: he’s a prick and I hate him.

  ‘Right, well, that’s as may be,’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. In fact, I expect you know why we’re all here.’

  He nods encouragingly, so I carry on. ‘I don’t suppose you saw Friday’s episode of Quiz Monsters: Live Celebrity Special, but—’

  He leans in. ‘Ooh, no, I didn’t. Was it good? Should I get it on catch-up?’

  ‘Well, yes, you should . . .’ I am flustered. ‘But that’s not the point either. I mean, yes, watch it, definitely because it was promoting our cause and it’s a really good show that everyone should watch anyway. And Twitter was full of—’

  ‘Twitter, eh!’ he says happily. ‘I’m not on Twitter but my little sister loves it. She’s always trying to sign me up. She’s called Annie. Let me show you a picture of her.’

  He leans across the desk with his phone held up and I sigh with frustration. This is so annoying. I had my whole speech thing ready. I was going to call him all the bad words. My parents’ hatred was finally going to be useful. Why’s he being so nice? What an unbelievable arsehole.

  ‘Oh, she’s beautiful!’ Ethel, another traitor, declares from the sofa.

  ‘How lovely. What age is she?’ Annabel throws in.

  I hastily cut the conversation off before he can answer. ‘Look, Mr Canid, we’re here about the youth club building and Fuddy-Duddies United. I’m here to tell you face-to-face that you can’t shut down our building. You’ve been unreasonable on the phone and ignored all my emails with alternative suggestions, so—’

  ‘Your emails?’ He looks surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ I say impatiently, and he leans into his computer monitor, clicking through and then leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Oh, bloody IT,’ he moans, and it’s the first hint of the grumpy cat I thought I’d be meeting. ‘They promised they’d fix my spam filters. I can see you’ve sent me quite a lot of messages, Ms Fox. I’m sorry. You must’ve thought I was a right prat ignoring you!’

  Wait, what?

  Oh FFS.

  I put my head in my hands. All that research and time spent looking for options. All that wasted emotional energy thinking he was deliberately blanking me. But he was still horrible on the phone . . . er, wasn’t he?

  Um. I mean, I probably wasn’t really in the best frame of mind for our very few conversations. Falling out with my best friend, sabotaging my own relationship, panicking about work and the FU . . . It’s a tiny bit possible I was projecting some hostility onto this perfectly nice chap.

  ‘Having said that,’ Mr Canid says, firmly but nicely, sitting forward in his chair again, ‘I still can’t help you, I’m afraid. It’s too late, the order is in. Everything is already underway to demolish the building. I wish I could do more. I’m sorry – I can see you’ve done a lot of work trying to get this project changed.’

  ‘Wait, please listen to us before you say that,’ I say, pleadingly. ‘Look, we’ve been inundated with support since we went public with this. People don’t want to lose Fuddy-Duddies United. We’re important to this community. And there’s so much more we could do if we had the chance.’

  I scramble for the piece of paper in my pocket, unfolding it and pushing it across the table to him.

  ‘This is how much we’ve raised so far on our crowdfunding page. That’s sin
ce Friday and the donations are still coming in. Ask your sister about all the tweets we’ve had.’

  He looks at the figure written down and then up at me. He cocks his head.

  ‘The community donated this much to a trivia club?’

  I shake my head. ‘We’re not just a trivia club; we’re way more than that.’

  ‘Yeah, we make jam too,’ Ethel shouts unhelpfully.

  ‘I mean, we do a lot of charity work as well,’ I add, rolling my eyes. ‘Which I think is probably more in need right now than ever before. Look, people care.’

  Beside me, Franny nudges me, ever so subtly.

  ‘Oh,’ I say hurriedly, ‘and of course Granny Franny is pretty well known around here. She’s kind of a big deal, so that helped draw in donations too.’ Franny puffs up self-importantly and a rumble starts behind me from Molly, so I quickly add, ‘Er, as are all the wonderful women at FU. Especially those members here today. Molly here –’ I turn to gesture at the ladies on the sofa – ‘she worked in the local post office for forty-five years. Everyone knows her. Ethel there was a volunteer with Amnesty International when she was younger, and travelled all over the world helping with humanitarian crises. She’s a hero in the community. Annabel has volunteered in the local homeless shelter for half her life. She’s the reason we started doing our charity work in the first place. These women matter and they can’t be thrown out onto the street like they don’t. It’s not right.’ I take a deep breath and look Mr Canid dead in the eye. ‘Last week I saw young people working alongside pensioners, all for a common cause, and it was wonderful. They loved it. It expanded horizons on both sides of the age divide. There was so much connection, so much excitement and interest. I feel like we can learn so much from each other . . .’ I falter, knowing I’ve crossed over from normal levels of enthusiasm to Tom Cruise jumping up and down on Oprah Winfrey’s sofa.

  But I keep going anyway. ‘I want this to be our chance to expand the FU group, open it up to younger members. I want us to include more of the community again – and Molly won’t stop us this time.’ I pause to pointedly ignore Molly’s harrumph. ‘I want us to get out there and help each other. I want to give the club a makeover, to get the youth and the elderly to spend time together. If you shut us down now, we can’t do any of that. It would all be a waste. All those connections made will fade and people will forget how important this was – how important it is.’

  Mr Canid has been listening carefully, watching my face as I talk. He sighs now and looks down at the figures on the scrap of paper again.

  There is a long, tense silence and everyone holds their breath.

  ‘OK,’ he says at last, resignation in his voice. ‘I think there might be something we can do. You’re very convincing, Ms Fox, very passionate! I’d offer you a job on the council if you’d take it.’ He smiles. He isn’t serious, but I still feel the warmth of the compliment.

  ‘It’s clear people around here care about your club, and I don’t want this new park to get in the way of such a wonderful thing—’

  Molly interrupts from behind me. ‘Wait, young man, did you just say . . . park?’

  He nods slowly.

  I turn to see Molly’s eyes have both started watering. ‘You mean . . . you mean, you want to turn the youth club building back into . . . fields?’

  Molly, Ethel, Annabel and Franny all look at each other.

  He smiles. ‘Well, I mean, it’s a park, not a field,’ he says. ‘But yes, we at the council feel that too much land has been overtaken by unnecessary and derelict buildings in the area. We’d like to see a bit more of what we used to have around here – more open spaces – don’t you think?’

  The women behind me are close to tears. If they were thirty years younger, they’d no doubt be trying to have sex with Mr Canid on his desk right now.

  Actually, I’m surprised Franny isn’t.

  ‘Anyway, you were saying . . . ?’ I prompt him.

  ‘Well,’ he smiles again, ‘how about if we build you a new youth club, in the park? We can make it bigger and nicer, with better amenities. That place you’re in at the moment is a mess and practically falling down. We can make the new building your official Fuddy-Duddies United headquarters, and you can use it to work on this idea of yours to expand the charity and youth-centric side of things.’

  Is this really happening?

  He hands me back the piece of paper. ‘I’m really impressed with your fundraising efforts, Ms Fox, but you can keep the money. Invest it in the club.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘Maybe we could even work together on it? I’d like to talk to you more about that – bringing the young and old together. It sounds intriguing. I’ve been looking for something like that as a charity project to work on. It could even be a nationwide campaign. Would you be willing to work with me on this? I might actually really offer you a job, Ms Fox.’

  We smile at each other and the group cheers behind me, talking excitedly among themselves.

  Mr Canid leans across the desk to me. ‘Ms Fox, I’m sorry we’ve had issues over the phone. I know I’ve been difficult. I’ve been told I have very bad BRV.’

  Oh God, what on earth is that? Is it some kind of medical condition that I should know about? Maybe we could donate some of the funds we’ve raised towards helping BRV?

  ‘Bitchy Resting Voice,’ he adds, and then he barks out a laugh.

  I beam and put out my hand to shake his. He looks at it.

  ‘Oh,’ he says, and I swear he sounds a little disappointed. ‘Are we finished then? I should’ve dragged this meeting out a bit longer, shouldn’t I?’

  He is twinkling at me. Twinkling as he slowly shakes my hand. He is FLIRTING WITH ME.

  ‘Oh, I, er . . .’ I stutter. I am wholly unprepared for flirting. Wholly unprepared. Especially flirting from someone I thoroughly hated until about twenty minutes ago. My hand buzzes against his palm – it literally buzzes, I swear. Like static electricity. I fight the urge to take off my clothes.

  ‘We better go. I have to get back to . . . life,’ I say, standing up.

  ‘Right then,’ he says, coughing and suddenly looking a bit vulnerable and awkward. We look at each other and I realise I’m still holding his hand. I let it go and he looks disappointed again.

  We all stand and crowd out of his office, shouting happily at each other. Ethel, Annabel and Franny race each other to the lift, while Molly grumbles behind them. Lauren and Joely sing ‘Eye of the Tiger’ in loud, out-of-tune voices at each other.

  Mr Canid and I bring up the rear. I have never been so aware of another person standing near me before. He clears his throat as we follow everyone slowly down the corridor.

  ‘Well, now that’s settled,’ he says in a low voice, his hand tingling on the small of my back, ‘Ms Fox, would you consider . . . do you want to go on a date with me sometime?’

  ‘What?’ I say stupidly.

  Franny glances back at us and smiles. She’s twenty feet away; there’s surely no way she could’ve heard him.

  I think fast as he continues. ‘A date. A drink. Dinner, maybe, if you’re into eating food in the evenings.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I whisper, bewildered.

  He stops walking and I stop too. ‘Completely serious,’ he says, studying me. ‘I’m told I don’t have a sense of humour, so I must be serious.’ He smiles again. ‘I know it’s a little unconventional and I would probably get into trouble for asking while I’m on official business, but there we go.’ My stomach goes a little funny. ‘Honestly, Ms Fox, I’ve really enjoyed our phone conversations, impassioned as they were. They’ve been a bit of a highlight for me. You won’t be surprised to hear that things can get a little dreary in the council offices on occasion, so you’ve brightened things up a bit. I even told my sister Annie about you! I’ve always liked people who aren’t afraid to tell me what they think and stand up for themselves. I al
so very much enjoy a good shouting match from time to time.’ He pauses and I see a flash of amusement. ‘Plus, I really like how you pronounce my name. It’s so exotic.’

  I think for a second. A date. Dinner with this man who isn’t Will.

  I have to admit, I’ve been oddly enjoying our phone arguments too.

  Maybe I should go for it. Maybe this could be . . .

  Will’s face flashes in front of mine for a moment and guilt fills me.

  No, I can’t do it. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let Will go just yet. Even if he’s long since let me go.

  ‘Um, my situation is a little bit complicated at the moment,’ I say reluctantly, fiddling with my shirt buttons. I go on. ‘I’m kind of in the middle of a breakup. Sort of. I mean, I got dumped a few weeks ago, but I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted I’ve been dumped yet, if you see what I mean.’ I feel flustered, and add, ‘Sorry, you really didn’t need to know that, sorry, sorry.’ I feel myself going red and stutter as I continue. ‘I am very flattered, and think you’re . . . well, you’re . . . And at another time . . . if you asked me . . . It’s just not really the right moment for me to be dating. I’m sorry.’

  There is a moment of silence before Mr Canid takes a step away.

  ‘OK, I understand,’ he says, his professional face back in place. ‘I guess we’ll have to cancel the Fuddy-Duddies United plan after all.’

  I gape at him, and for a second I think he’s serious.

  Then he laughs. ‘I’m just joking!’ he says, his hands raised defensively. ‘Maybe I do have a sense of humour after all.’

  That is debatable.

  22

  ‘The truth is . . .’ Elizabeth pauses dramatically before shouting, ‘I’M NOT REALLY ELIZABETH.’

  We all gasp and Lila Fowler – AKA Lauren – doubles over, laughing so hard she is genuinely struggling for breath.

  ‘Elizabeth’ whips off her blonde wig to reveal her own brunette hair underneath, and we all break into applause on the street. She fixes the group with an evil stare and continues talking loudly. People walking past stop to watch. A man holding a pint of beer in a plastic cup shouts, ‘Get your tits out.’