by Cathy Glass
‘It’s a black Peugeot, 1600cc. There’s a special deal on at the moment. It comes with free insurance, a three-year warranty and breakdown cover. It’s a really safe and comfortable car, Mum. You’d love it. It’s on special offer at fourteen thousand pounds. I was hoping you and Dad could lend me the money.’
‘That’s a lot,’ she said, unable to hide her shock. ‘Surely there are cheaper cars, second-hand.’
‘There are, Mum, but they’re crap.’ He quickly corrected himself. ‘They’re rubbish. You remember the trouble I had with my old car? How it kept breaking down on the motorway? It was so unsafe, and I ended up throwing good money after bad to have it repaired. It makes sense to get something decent that will last, and is safe to drive.’ He thought the safety angle was a good one.
She hesitated. ‘Even so, love, it’s an awful lot to spend on a car. I’m not even sure we have that sort of money.’
‘I’ll pay you back each month as soon as I return to work. It shouldn’t take more than a year. I could pay you some interest as well if you like.’
‘No, love, we wouldn’t charge you interest!’ she said with a smile. ‘Of course not.’ She paused again and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘And you’re set on this model?’
‘Yes, Mum, it would make me so happy.’
She could see how happy he was now. What a difference the thought of a new car had made already. ‘Let me have a chat with your father. I think it’s better if I talk to him and explain.’
‘Thanks, Mum. You’re a star.’ He kissed her cheek again. ‘You really are the best.’
That evening after dinner Jacob lay propped on his bed, laptop balanced on his stomach, typing as he listened to the raised voices of his parents coming from the living room below. He’d eaten with them, which had pleased his father, and then he’d left them on the pretence of needing to rest, but really so his mother could speak to his father about the car loan. He’d thrown her a conspiring look as he’d walked from the room and she’d winked back. His father had seemed in a good mood, pleased Jacob was at the table, and even more pleased when he’d asked him about his day and mentioned he was thinking of playing the organ again in church. But now he was being an absolute prick. Jacob could hear most of what he was saying and it wasn’t good. Half an hour later when his mother came up with his tablets he knew what the answer was.
‘I’m so sorry, love,’ she said, red-eyed. ‘Your father says he’ll help you buy another car when you’re back at work, but not such an expensive one. You see, love, morally, he doesn’t think it’s right to spend so much on a car when there are people starving in the world. You do understand, don’t you?’
Her feebleness irritated him. ‘And you can’t lend me the money?’
‘I haven’t got it. I would if I could but I don’t have an income. All the work I do is voluntary.’ Which he knew. ‘I’m so sorry. I know how much it means to you.’ He ignored her and resumed typing.
She hesitated, and then leaving his pot of pills and glass of water on his beside cabinet quietly left the room.
Shit. Fucking shit! He didn’t have a plan B but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He needed a car and had his hopes pinned on a decent one that would make him proud. His old car had been small, unreliable and lacking in distinction. To feel really good about himself, big and powerful, he needed a car that reflected the new him.
He typed his dilemma into the chat room: Need wheels but no fuckin money. Various solutions were immediately offered by others, including stealing a car. Apparently Hellboy could show him how. Holding up a corner shop – Snake knew someone who could get him a gun – easy man. Then Chez popped up: have a smoke, man, and it will all become fuckin clear. This suggestion appealed. He signed out of the chat room and took the packet of weed from his jacket pocket together with the papers and lighter he’d bought while in town, and then sat in the chair by his desk. With a book beneath to catch any bits that might fall – this stuff was too expensive to waste – he began rolling the joint. He’d never smoked before, let alone rolled a joint even at uni, but he’d watched an online video so he knew what to do. Even so, it took a fair bit of concentration and a few goes before it was good enough to light.
Crossing to the bedroom window, he opened it as far as it would go and lit up. He inhaled deeply and to begin with felt nothing apart from hot smoke and a vague sense of déjà vu, as though he might have done this before. Then the weed hit his brain and he started to drift, the world slowed and the sounds around him became far-off and unreal. The tree outside his window seemed friendly and was waving its branches at him. He smiled and waved back happily. Thoughts came and went, some familiar – he could trace them back and tie them down, but others so bizarre it was almost as if they’d come from someone else. An alien maybe? He laughed. He saw a small pile of dried bird shit on the windowsill and thought the bird should have been more careful. He tried to pick it off, but his finger was too big and clumsy and he laughed at his attempts. He took another drag and another, and the feelings intensified. A buzzing sound filled his head and time vanished. Desperately thirsty, he drank the water his mother had left. He looked at the alarm clock. Over an hour had passed; it didn’t seem possible. He returned to the window as light as a feather, flying with his thoughts. Then suddenly, miraculously, he had the answer to his problem just as Chez had said would happen. ‘Hey man, that’s cool,’ he said out loud. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ And he laughed because of course he had.
Chapter Sixteen
‘You can go first,’ Jacob said to the guy standing behind him in the queue. ‘I’m waiting to see a particular cashier.’ He stepped aside to allow him to pass.
‘Thanks, mate.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He was in a good mood.
Rosie must know he was waiting to see her. He never saw any other cashier now. He waited at the front of the queue, letting others go first until she was free. He’d seen her flush and grow self-conscious as soon as he’d walked in. She always did. God, she was attractive, it gave him a boner just looking at her and thinking what he’d like to do to her. The old woman Rosie was serving was taking ages, fluffing around in her handbag, trying to find a form, and then her purse, and finally paying the bill. As soon as she moved away Jacob went to the counter.
‘Hello, gorgeous, how are you?’
Rosie smiled, beautiful and demure. ‘Hello, what can I do for you today?’ It was his fifth visit and each time they’d become a little more familiar with each other.
‘I’d like cash please. Two hundred pounds. I know the ATM is working but I’d rather you gave it to me.’ She laughed; it had become their little joke.
He held her gaze seductively as she passed him the card reader.
‘I was wondering if you were free for a coffee today? It’s your lunchtime soon isn’t it?’
‘How did you know?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Ah. I’ve been watching you,’ he said roguishly, and entered his PIN. ‘You have your very own stalker.’
She laughed again and retrieved the card reader, then entered the transaction into her computer.
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said.
‘I don’t have long at lunch.’
‘I know, and you like to go for a little walk first before you return to the bank to eat.’ He’d seen her doing so.
‘You really have been stalking me,’ she joked.
‘Go on, Rosie,’ her colleague said. ‘You know you want to.’
Rosie met his gaze as she passed him the money and the receipt. ‘I’ll be free in ten minutes.’ Which he knew.
‘Great. I’ll wait for you outside.’ He grinned and then left the counter so she could serve the next customer.
Outside, he stood on the pavement examining the receipt for the money he’d withdrawn. There wasn’t much left; his balance was exactly £31.04. The stuff he was now buying regularly from Chez had drained his bank account dry, and Chez wouldn’t be moved on price. Ja
cob had already tried to bring him down. He was seeing him later today and would ask him again if he could give him a better deal now he was a regular, and if he still refused he’d set about trying to find a cheaper supplier. But Jacob knew you had to be careful online as you didn’t know who you were talking to in chat rooms. One of the guys said he’d been busted after chatting to an undercover cop.
Five minutes later Rosie came lightly down the steps of the bank, her long hair flowing freely around her shoulders. She smiled at him.
‘Hey, my lovely,’ he said, and kissed her cheek. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.’
She laughed, but he could see she’d liked it. Women liked assertive, dominant guys who took the lead.
‘I thought we’d go to The Coffee Shop,’ he said.
‘Yes. I like it there.’ She fell into step beside him.
‘I’d offer to buy you lunch but as you saw from my account I’m a bit short of funds right now.’ Good move, he thought, introducing the subject of money straightaway.
‘A coffee is fine with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll have my sandwiches at the bank later.’ They continued down the street, close but not quite touching, making light conversation.
Being the gentleman, Jacob held open the door to the café so she could go in first. It was busy at lunchtime but as they waited at the counter a table became free. ‘You grab that,’ he said, pointing. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’
She did as he directed and a couple of minutes later he joined her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking a sip. ‘The coffee here is nice. I come here sometimes after work.’ He didn’t let on that he knew – that he’d seen her come in here with her colleague.
‘That’s something else we have in common then,’ he said, smiling charmingly. He could be such a smooth talker when he wanted to be. ‘So tell me a bit about yourself. Have you always worked in the bank? And more importantly, do you like it?’ He took a gulp of his coffee, which wasn’t bad but was nothing to get excited about.
‘I started at the bank straight from school,’ she said. ‘They trained me. Some days I think I’m in a bit of a rut, but most of the time it’s all right. My colleagues are nice, and the salary isn’t bad so I can’t complain.’ He nodded, interested. ‘What do you do?’ she asked.
‘At present I spend a lot of my time being prodded and poked by a team of doctors and nurses who take my blood, and a physiotherapist who tortures me on a treadmill.’ She looked at him questioningly. She was supposed to. Women liked a bit of intrigue and humour. ‘I’m recovering from a major operation,’ he said, then explained about his heart transplant. He knew she’d be impressed; everyone he told was.
‘That’s amazing,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known anyone have a transplant before.’
‘No. We’re an elite breed,’ he said smoothly.
‘You seem very well. Are you fully recovered now?’ she asked, sounding concerned.
‘Everything is working as it should be,’ he said suggestively and held her gaze again. She looked away, embarrassed, and he knew he needed to ease back a bit. Be more subtle. She seemed the type that would appreciate a bit of tact. ‘So what do you like to do in your free time, when you’re not at the bank?’ he asked.
‘Oh the usual things, read, listen to music, go to the cinema, or to a friend’s.’
They continued talking and very soon he learnt that she lived alone in a rented flat and her last relationship had ended three months ago. She didn’t own a car but was saving up for one.
‘That’s a coincidence,’ he said. ‘So am I. Well, actually I’m hoping to get a loan to buy one. Living out in the sticks a car is essential. The buses take forever and taxis are expensive.’
She nodded. ‘Where I live is only a ten-minute bus ride away.’
‘Lucky you. Would you be able to arrange a loan for me at the bank?’
She laughed. ‘I wish!’ And just for a second he felt a niggle of irritation; he didn’t like being laughed at. But already he was realizing his plan was crap and wasn’t going to work. He’d found before that ideas and decisions made while stoned fell apart in the cold light of day.
‘Perhaps you could put in a good word for me?’ he tried.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any say in those matters. You’d have to speak to the financial adviser. I could make an appointment for you to see her.’ She was trying her best.
‘I might take you up on that,’ he said amicably, although he had no intention of doing so. Unless she could pull a few strings for him, which it appeared she couldn’t, it would be a complete waste of his time. If a finance company wasn’t going to loan him the money then a reputable bank certainly wouldn’t. The conversation had fallen a little flat so he changed the subject and told her her hair looked lovely, which she appreciated.
They continued talking for twenty minutes, then as they finished their coffees he looked at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s time for you to go back to work,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You need to have your lunch.’
‘I could stay a bit longer,’ she offered. But Jacob knew that Chez would be texting soon to say he was in town.
‘You must eat,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘I’ll walk you to the bank.’ He was impressed with himself; he could be such a fucking gentleman when he wished.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and he opened the door for her as they left.
When they arrived outside the bank he told her he’d like to see her again, and then, kissing her cheek, said goodbye. She smiled, but looked disappointed. He knew she’d been expecting him to ask for her number, but that would wait until next time. Treat them mean and keep them keen was his new maxim for women.
Jacob waited until she’d gone back into the bank before he checked his phone. He had it set on silent and had felt it vibrate in his pocket as they’d walked. As he expected the text was from Chez, telling him he’d meet him at the usual place in ten minutes. He headed off along the High Street towards the disused depot. Once he’d got the stuff from Chez he’d catch the bus to the hospital and then after his check-up it was a taxi home paid for by his mother. He’d stopped her coming to all his appointments now.
He wasn’t looking forward to going home, not one bit, not after all the arguments. They were getting worse, creating a bad atmosphere. Why they didn’t just leave him alone he’d no idea. The Rev, as he now referred to his father, and his wife were really cramping his style and getting right up his arse. He’d been so angry with the Rev this morning that he could have hit him, and his mother had irritated him beyond belief as she’d pathetically tried to smooth things over and get them to apologize. As if!
‘Up yours!’ he’d yelled, giving them the middle finger as he went. It was time he moved out, he thought. Moving in with Rosie would be nice. She’d admitted she liked her flat but got lonely sometimes. Well, he could fix that for sure.
Chez was already waiting and appeared from behind a skip as soon as he walked in. ‘Hey man, I told ya ten minutes. Where you been?’
‘None of your fucking business,’ Jacob said. He took the money from his pocket and Chez took out the packet of weed. ‘I want a better deal, man,’ he said, holding the money and pulling himself to his full height. ‘I’m paying through the nose for this stuff.’
‘No, you’re not, man. You get the same deal as everyone,’ Chez said, but he was twitching nervously.
He looked really shocked as Jacob grabbed him by his throat. His eyes widened in alarm. ‘Don’t do that, man, you’re hurting me.’
‘I intend to,’ Jacob sneered. He was a skinny little runt, a foot shorter than him and wasted. It was easy to lift him by his throat so he had to balance on his toes to breathe.
‘OK, man. Give me ninety,’ he said, real fear in his eyes.
‘Eighty,’ Jacob said, squeezing his throat.
‘I can’t. The boss will kill me.’
‘Not my problem.’ He squeezed harder.
‘OK, man. Eighty,’ Ch
ez squeaked.
‘Excellent,’ Jacob said, and released him.
Chez gasped and rubbed his throat and gave Jacob the packet of weed.
‘It better be the full weight you little skunk,’ he said, tucking the packet into his jacket. He’d learnt a lot since he’d started buying the stuff, more than Chez realized.
‘Of course it is. I wouldn’t fleece you, man,’ he said, his voice unsteady.
‘Good, or else.’ He counted out the notes and stuffed them down the front of Chez’s hoodie, then walked away.
‘Arsehole,’ Chez yelled as he went. ‘You’d better watch your back, man. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when I tell the boss.’
Giving him the V sign, Jacob continued to walk in the direction of the town. ‘Go fuck yourself,’ he shouted as he left. He didn’t look back.
Chapter Seventeen
As the cab pulled up outside the rectory, Jacob took out the money his mother had given him for the fare and paid the driver, keeping back the tip she’d added. Money was tight. He needed every bit. He got out and made his way up the path, loathing the prospect of having to go inside. The sooner he persuaded Rosie to let him move in the better. All these arguments weren’t doing him any good and he blamed them. His blood pressure had been up when he’d had the check-up at the hospital and the oxygen level in his blood down. Dr Shah had said it was of a similar level to that seen in smokers. ‘You’re not smoking are you?’ he’d asked.
‘Of course not. I never have,’ Jacob replied indignantly. Which was true – he hadn’t ever smoked the cigarettes he assumed the doctor was talking about.