Having a Ball
Page 2
"Of course."
In a bid to cheer herself up, Stevie splashed out cash she didn't have on sushi and a magazine. When she returned to the lunchroom there was already a group having their lunch, discussing Dragon's Den. Stevie sat at the other end of the table, where the Formica had chipped off in a large triangle, and turned her music up to drown out the conversation. She loved Dragon's Den. She and Marsh used to watch it together.
She squeezed the lemon over her sushi and gasped as the lemon juice stung a paper cut on her finger. That would teach her to take her thimble off in a fit of misguided rebellion. She stuck the fingertip in her mouth to suck the lemon off. There was a collective snigger from the men at the other end of the room. She rolled her eyes. This job was beyond awful. If only she had something else to go to, she'd walk out there in a minute.
Something chimed in the back of her mind. She tried to think back to the conversation before Marsh's announcement. There had been something else. Something Louise had said. She picked up her phone and sent off an email.
* * * *
From: Stevie
To: Louise Edwards
Lou. You mentioned a job in Oxford. Is that still available? Can you send me details. I know the money won't be good, but it might be good experience.
* * * *
She nodded to herself. That's what she could do. If she organised the event in Oxford for minimum pay, she could use it as experience. Maybe even meet some other people who might become clients. Okay, it wasn't as good as getting a job with an established company and moving up, but there was nothing wrong with freelance. She could start small and build herself up. Why had she not thought of this before? The very thought cheered her up. So much so, that she was almost smiling when she opened her magazine.
* * * *
From: Louise Edwards
To: Stevie
Stevie, details of job attached. It might be quite tricky to arrange the event at such short notice and on such a tight budget. Are you sure you want to have a go at it?
##
From: Stevie
To: Louise Edwards
Anything's got to be better than this shit hole.
Besides, I'm up for a challenge.
S
* * * *
One of the boys from across the room came up to Stevie.
"Hey Steph?"
"Stevie." She corrected him automatically, without bothering to lower her magazine. He was going to ask her out. Again.
"You doing anything Friday night?"
"Washing my hair."
"Is that what you do every Friday night?"
"Yes."
"Except last Friday night, right?"
She lowered the magazine a fraction and looked at him. Where was this going?
"Chris says you spent it banging each other's brains out." He grinned, making his spots crowd together on his cheeks.
Stevie glanced over to see Chris smirking at her from across the room. She raised her magazine again.
Before anyone could come up with a retort, Gloria materialised. "Your hour's up." She said, stopping in front of Stevie.
Stevie glanced at her phone. She still had ten minutes to go. This was one of Gloria's power games. It was no longer funny.
"I've got ten minutes."
Gloria leaned forward, her face close enough for Stevie to see the cracks in her foundation. "Listen. I'm the manager around here. And I say that your time is up."
"That's not--"
"I don't like your attitude, young lady. Now get back to work before I sack you." Stevie stared at the woman. It was unbelievable that such bullying went on. Gloria met her gaze.
"I could take you to court for bullying," said Stevie.
"What bullying?" Gloria turned to the men who were watching with interest. "Do you see any bullying lads?" The men all shook their heads and focussed on their meals. Gloria turned back to Stevie, triumphant.
Stevie blinked. Gloria smiled and turned away.
Anger that had been bubbling inside her all day coalesced into a point. Stevie decided she'd had enough. She picked up a leaflet that had come with her magazine. It was white on the reverse side.
"Gloria?" she said. "Can I borrow your pen a moment, please?"
Gloria half turned. "Certainly not. Get back to work."
Stevie sighed and fished a pen out of her pocket. She wrote I QUIT on the back of the flyer, and signed and dated it. She plonked the paper down on top of Gloria's precious clipboard and walked past her.
"You're supposed to give one day's written notice," Gloria shouted after her.
Stevie didn't stop. What were they going to do? Sack her?
* * * *
From: Louise Edwards
To: Tom Blackwood
Hi Tom. I don't know if your mum is interested, but a young friend of mine is just setting out in the event planning business and she might be interested and maybe even take a smaller fee as it will give her valuable exposure. She doesn't have much solo experience, but she has done work for me in the past and I can vouch for her being a bright, flexible and honest person.
Lou
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Louise Edwards
Sounds like a good idea. Is she any good?
Tom
##
From: Louise Edwards
To: Tom Blackwood
She did some work with me one summer. She's very pleasant and honest.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Louise Edwards
I notice you didn't answer my question.
Still, Mum's desperate and it's worth a shot. Send me her details and I'll pass them on to Mum.
* * * *
By the time Stevie reached her building, the feeling of elation had started to wear off. Leaving the job was all well and good, but that meant she had to find something else to do to pay the bills. She scowled as she jabbed the button on the lift. Life as an independent adult was turning out to be more difficult that she'd expected. First her brother got married, then the recession ate her trust fund, she couldn't find a job that didn't suck and her brother was keeping secrets from her. What else could go wrong?
She walked down her corridor, sorting through her keys for the right one. She put the key in the lock. It didn't turn. She tried it again. Then, she carefully turned the door knob. The door opened. Stevie stopped and stared at it for a moment. She was sure she'd locked it when she left. Cautiously, her finger on her phone ready to dial 999, she pushed the door open.
"Oh good, you're home."
"Marsh? What the hell are you doing in my flat?" She went in and slammed the door shut behind her.
"You weren't here, so I let myself in." He produced the spare keys from his pocket. "Just like I told you, in my message."
There had been several messages from him. She had deleted them without reading them. She had to get those keys off him. If she wasn't allowed to know about his wife's pregnancy, he shouldn't be allowed to have a spare key to her flat.
"What do you want?" She threw her bag into the corner.
"I wanted to apologise." He took a step towards her.
Stevie held up a hand. "I'm not interested in your excuses." She'd had enough of the whole day. She was feeling angry, tired and starting to panic slightly. All she wanted right now was to sit in front of the telly and eat ice cream.
"Look. I know I hurt--"
"I said I'm not interested." She put her hand on the door to open it. "I'm not having the best of days, so can you kindly get out of my flat?"
Marsh stared at her. "What's wrong?" he said. "Other than our little argument, I mean.
"
How did he do that? How could he tell that anything had happened?
"Nothing."
Marsh's eyes narrowed. "Is it something to do with work?"
She hesitated. Only for a fraction of second, but it was long enough for her brother to jump to conclusions.
"What's happened?" He studied her. When she didn't reply, he said, "Oh no. You've been sacked. Haven't you?"
"No. I haven't been sacked." She looked away. "I quit. Actually."
"Stevie!"
"I'll get another job. I can look after myself."
Marsh didn't look convinced. "Clearly, you can't. This is the third job this month."
"This is the third job this month." Stevie mimicked him. "Stop treating me like a child."
"Stop acting like one then."
That was what he always said. She had never found a suitable retort to that. Stevie wrenched the door open. "You have no right to come in here and tell me how to live my life. You're not my guardian anymore. And after the way you've treated me, I don't even want to call you my brother anymore. Now get out of my flat."
For a moment Marshall looked like he'd been stung. Then anger flared in his eyes. "Fine." He picked up his coat and briefcase. "Don't come to me when you need help."
"And give me back my spare key."
He threw it onto the kitchen counter as he walked out. The door slammed. Stevie stood still and listened to the sound of his footsteps receding. It was only when she was sure he'd gone that she let herself burst into tears.
Chapter 2
From: Dr. Evelyn Blackwood
To: Tom Blackwood
Hello Darling. Guess what, Dan's latest paper is going to be published in Nature: Biology. What a coup for his publication record. It will stand him in good stead with this new funding application he's involved in. I must open a bottle of wine when he's next around.
Will you be coming home this weekend? It's just that the lawn needs doing again.
Mum
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Dr. Evelyn Blackwood
I'll be home on Sunday.
Pass my congratulations to Dan.
Tom
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Mum just emailed me to tell me that golden boy is getting something published in Nature. Bloody Dan.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Tsch. Tsch. Green is never a nice colour.
Anyway, so what?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm not jealous. I'm angry.
I tell Mum about the Doha job (or, in fact, any promotion) and I get 'that's nice dear'. Dan gets his name in a magazine and she's telling everyone.
He's off gathering beetles or something again. They've left poor Alice with Mum again. Why did they have her if they're just going to ignore the poor kid?
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Evelyn's an academic, so she understands what Dan does. The business world is a little far removed from her experience. Don't take it to heart.
Anyway, aren't you supposed to be going to the doctors about now? You're not using your mobile phone in the waiting room are you?
* * * *
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Well? What did the doc say?
Is it just old age catching up with you.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm only 6 months older than you. Cheeky cow.
Doc says the headaches are probably caused by stress (he asked me if I had a stressful job, it was all I could do not to laugh in his face!). Apparently, if I take it easy, the headaches and insomnia will go away. He even offered to sign me off for a month. Since taking it easy isn't an option, he's given me some sleeping pills so that at least I can sleep a couple of nights.
T
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why exactly can't you take some time off? Sounds like you need it?
OG
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Don't be ridiculous. I can't take time off now. I've got two weeks to wrap up this project and I have to prepare my pitch for the Doha job. I need to do a good job. The competition is quite fierce. Dierdre is going for it too.
Also, I've got a second interview with Lambert Kassel on Friday. I'd much rather get the Doha job. More money. More kudos.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Money and Kudos isn't everything.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Okay, who are you and what have you done with Og?
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Sorry. Don't know what came over me there. Money. Kudos. Yes.
Besides, you can't let Dierdre win. You're better than she is and those white stilettos she has on today are just criminal.
* * * *
It was the sort of dream where she knew she was asleep, but she couldn't wake herself up. Stevie walked into the hall of the house she had grown up in. Looking down, she could see her pale legs appearing from under the grey school skirt. The house was exactly as she remembered. The nice portrait photo of her and Marsh had pride of place in the hall. A photo taken outside Marsh's student house was tucked to the frame. There were shoes collected under the coat rack. Post on the bottom step.
The photo was taken the last time they'd all been together. They'd gone to see Marsh at uni and were standing outside his student house. Less than a year later, her parents were dead.
Stevie looked up at the stairs, a feeling of dread starting to rise in her chest. She didn't want to go up, but her feet moved of their own accord. Her heart beat faster. Her hands felt clammy. She tried to stop, but her feet kept going.
As she got near the top, her sense of panic increased until she was breathing in shallow gasps. "It's a dream," she said, and tried to pinch herself. Her feet took her onward. Onward. Into her parents' bedroom. Onward. To the foot of their bed. And there they were. Lying peacefully side-by-side in their best clothes. Each with a lily held in white gloved hands.
Tears slid down Stevie's face and she knew she was crying for real. They were her parents, but not her parents. The thing that animated them, that made them more than just their bodies, was gone. She tried to study their faces and found them curiously formless. She knew they had eyes, noses, mouths in the right places, but she couldn't remember the detail of any of them. Each year, it became harder and harder to recall. Rarely, when she was least expecting it, something would trigger a memory so strong that it would knock her off her feet--a waft of aftershave, the clink of a wedding ring against a china cup, the smell of lapsang souchong--and then, just as quickly, they'd be gone.
Slowly, she backed away from the figures on the bed, half wishing, half dreading that they would sit up. Once she reached the door, she was able to run. She turned and fled to Marsh's room. Marsh. The only one she had left. He was lying on his back, white gloved fingers interlaced on his chest. Stevie reached forward, her hands shaking. Fingers outstretched, she reached t
owards his cheek. His skin was drained of colour. She stared at his chest, there was no sign of him breathing. Her fingertips were millimetres away from his face. Trembling, she leaned closer.
She woke up with her arms held out in front of her. Her face was hot and wet from crying. To be awake was a relief, but the realisation that her parents really were dead was always savage. She curled up into a ball and reached, as she always did, for her phone. It was turned off. Stevie frowned. She never turned her phone off. As she turned it back on and let the glow light up the hollow she'd made under the duvet, she remembered. She was avoiding Marsh's phone calls. As the phone came to life, she saw that there was another missed call from him.
Her hands were still shaking as she dialled in his number. Her memory was faster than the address book. Her thumb hovered over the dial button and she thought of him, in bed with his warm pregnant wife. He wouldn't drag himself out of bed to come and comfort her now.
She stared at the phone, debating. Finally, she hit cancel. She was alone now. All alone. She would have learn to live with it. She threw the phone to the bottom of the bed, curled up tighter and started to cry all over again.
* * * *
The next morning, Stevie woke up with a headache. She took two paracetamol and finally looked at her messages. There were four voicemail messages and three emails from Marsh, all of which she deleted without opening. There was also a message from Dr. Evelyn Blackwood, suggesting she came up on Sunday to meet her.
Stevie stared thoughtfully at the message. Louise had made it clear that there wasn't much money involved in the venture. However, it was a break. And a break was just what she needed, in every sense of the word. Oxford would be quite fun to explore. It would almost be a holiday.
She drew her shoulders back and sat up straighter. If she was to be all alone in the world, she might as well make a go of looking after herself. After all, she'd looked after her stressed out brother while he was doing his qualifying exams and managed to take her own GCSEs at the same time. If she could look after two of them, surely she could manage on her own. This project of Dr. Blackwood's could give her just the opportunity she needed. It also meant that she'd be spending a lot of time away from London, which made it even less likely that Marsh would catch her. That would show him.