by Fox Brison
“Rachel, you need to calm down.” If my plan was to succeed I couldn’t show our hand just yet. I needed Mr Andrews to be overly confident and cocky, like the good little lap dog he was, and when his guard was down, that was when I would strike.
The problem was Rachel.
She was frustrated. And angry.
A fusion of emotions that was causing me to have some utterly unclean urges.
“You don’t understand, Devon, Mr Andrews said there’s nothing we can do. But if we show him these, we might have a half chance.” The distress in her voice was palpable and such a powerful statement of emotion you didn’t need language to understand it. I then noticed a smirking man in a dark blue suit watching. I narrowed my eyes.
I recognised both the man and the smug look he held.
Oh, Mr Andrews, prepare to meet your match, I thought as he swaggered over.
“I’m afraid your friend is quite correct,” he said, ignoring the file Rachel was waving in his face. “The matter is closed.”
“Closed?” I addressed him.
“Closed. It’s simply a matter of signing the relevant paperwork.”
Hmm, one peg or three? He was certainly about to be torn down a couple. “All the doors may be closed, Mr Andrews, and possibly even the windows. But did you check the cat flap?” I asked with a smile. I remembered someone from a tutorial in Oxford using a similar smile to good effect. She called it the shark look. However, this afternoon I was using it somewhat as bravado.
“Windows? Cat flap? What on earth are you talking about? And who exactly are you?”
I immediately bristled at his sneering tone.
“Devon Williams, legal representative for Homes for the Homeless.” He paled. And to tell you the truth it was quite an ego boost to see my reputation clearly preceding me, even in this little part of London. That’s right, Mr Andrews, you can begin to sweat now, knight takes pawn. “Before I arrived I began arrangements for first an injunction and then an investigation by the Department for the Environment. The blueprints submitted by Double M Property Development do not have the necessary planning infrastructure for ecological efficiency.” knight takes rook. Check. “I’m also considering a suggestion to the council that they investigate your handling of this application and the subsequent purchase of a rather nice three bedroom villa with private pool in the Algarve.” Knight takes king. Check. And. Mate.
I’d been involved in enough dodgy dealing to recognise when certain wheels had been greased. Still, it was a shot in the dark; he could have a rich wife or be a champion tipster. However, the consequent mumbling, nervous gulping and fine sheen of sweat peppering his brow told me I was spot on.
“There will be no need for any of that,” he growled, “I’ll inform the council planning permission has been revoked on this occasion, but rest assured Mr Miller will not take this lying down.” He glared as he stormed into the offices.
“Devon, I don’t know what to say!” Rachel was so excited she grabbed me around the neck and kissed me. “Come and meet the others.” She pulled on my arm but I was an immovable rock. “Devon?” I heard the question in her voice. I walked away from the building, and when I deemed we’d gone far enough I breathed a huge sigh, the panic attack staved off.
“I’m so sorry, maybe I shouldn’t t…tell you the t... truth.” I hung my head. I hated my stammer but it was indicative of the turmoil I was feeling. I’d left the family firm because I hated all the lies, hated what I was becoming, yet here I was using the same manipulative tactics and fabrications to get my own way.
“You can tell me anything,” she put a finger under my chin and lifted it. “Hey, it’s fine. You just saved the hostel and probably a few lives as well. There will be less people sleeping rough this winter because of what you did. Take a deep breath, sweetie.”
“I lied, Rachel,” I said softly. “I di… didn’t have any paperwork, not legal paperwork anyway, and certainly nothing we could use for an injunction. Hannah hacked Mr Andrews.” I spoke slowly, concerned about my stammer returning. Rachel’s thumb stroking the back of my hand also helped.
“Oohhhh.” Rachel said softly.
“I have seen companies do this many times, Rachel, I know their modus operandii.” I was much calmer now and my breathing grew easier.
“Devon, sometimes the only way to beat these people is to play them at their own game. It isn’t nice, it isn’t fair, but that’s the way the world turns now,” she shrugged sadly. “There’s a world of difference between you lying to get your pound of flesh and what happened here today,” she kissed my cheek again, “and don’t you ever forget it.” A smiling woman exited the council buildings and seeing her Rachel said, “Don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back.” I rubbed my cheek as she left.
Oh Devon Williams you have it so bad.
Chapter 17
Rachel
Tuesday 13th December, 2016
I used congratulating Susan Charmers from Homes for the Homeless as a distraction to allow myself some breathing space.
My head was in a spin.
I realised I’d done Devon Williams a huge disservice. After scratching the surface, I found that underneath the cold and gruff exterior beat the warm heart of a shy woman, who, not unlike myself, felt a need to protect herself from being broken again. Jesus, her brother was sleeping with her fiancée for goodness sake! Is it any wonder she’d closed herself off? And her reserved manner was less to do with arrogance and more to do with a defensive mechanism in dealing with a stammer that clearly embarrassed her, not that it should.
In no way, shape or form.
I noted how her speech patterns changed when she was a little flustered, they became more pronounced, much slower, which I shamefully misconstrued as condescension.
Since the first time we’d met in the café, I was so convinced Devon was judging me that I’d failed to realise it was actually me who was passing the judgement.
Book and cover sprang to mind.
She made me feel things I’d thought were gone and lost forever, something sent into exile seven years previously. I couldn’t allow it to return, because, quite frankly, losing it hurt so damned much I wasn’t sure I could battle past that sharp soul piercing ache and survive the numbing grief again.
I watched Devon as she answered her phone, the crease between her eyes deepened before her mouth did this little twisted thing which was a cross between a grimace and a pursing. It was possibly the cutest thing I’d ever seen. For some reason I thought this well dressed, accomplished woman needed looking after, and for an equally unfathomable reason (and despite every logical molecule in my body screaming at me nooooooo, do not get involved) I thought I should hand her my CV for the job.
Oh Rachel McTavers you have it so bad.
She raised her head and saw me staring.
Busted.
I covered my blushes by pretending to look at my watch. “Oh shit,” I quickly said goodbye to Susan and rushed back to Devon.
“Rachel? Is everything alright? I thought we might go out for, I don’t know, a cup of tea or something to celebrate-”
“Can’t Devon, I’m sorry” I cut in, “I’m running really late for Ruth. If I don’t leave now, I’ll never make it before home time.” The heavens opened. Again. It had been one of the wettest autumns since records began and for the most part, winter had followed damply in its shadow. I was praying for snow because at this rate I’d be growing gills and webbing between my fingers and toes before the feast of St Stephen.
“Can I give you a lift?” Devon pointed to a large SUV. Wow. It was all shiny and black and probably cost more than Eli’s Café’ made in a year. “I’m just parked over there,” she coloured, “I got here early.”
“No, thanks, I’m good. Rain check?”
She chuckled. “Are you sure? And I don’t think we need to worry about the rain.”
“I’m sure.” My teeth began chattering. “I’m not the wicked witch of the west, I won’t melt.”
The rain started to fall much heavier and it was practically bouncing up and hitting me on the nose. Devon gently took my arm and guided me towards the sheltered walkway next to the council building.
“It’s a foul day,” she said quietly. “Let me take you to pick Ruth up and drop you both at home.” Now chances were Devon wasn’t a psycho, she didn’t look like one, but then, that’s why most serial killers were successful. She seemed to read my thoughts. “I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to be p…p…pushy,” she pulled on her ponytail and water dripped. “At least take this,” she handed me her brolly.
As she began to walk away I gave myself a mental slap. “Devon! Wait!” I caught up with her. Standing in the rain our eyes locked raising goosebumps that had nothing at all to do with the weather. I was having my own personal magic movie moment. “Is the offer still open?” I asked softly.
“Absolute,” she replied with a wrinkle of her nose.
“I see what you did there, channelling your inner Frida.”
“My colouring would suggest I’m Mia.”
“So I’m Frida?”
“Yes, except you’re far more beautiful,” she replied with a beep. The beep was the SUV unlocking. I thought it was my heart about to give in.
My oh my, her car was luxury wrapped in opulence. For starters it was almost as big as my flat and the leather seats must have contained memory foam they cushioned my body that perfectly, while the pile on the carpet was deeper than the one on my living room floor. We set off into the traffic and after a few minutes I began to squirm. So there was no denying I was exceedingly attracted to Devon, but the sensation I was feeling was quite unlike anything I’d experienced before.
“Are you alright?” Devon said, concerned by my fidgeting.
“Er,” hmm, so how do put this… you make me feel like I’ve wet myself? Christ. No Rachel, get a grip, you sound like a sex starved nymphomaniac.
“Do you want it off?”
“Excuse me?” I won’t lie, that just got the juices flowing. But c’mon, this was neither the time nor the place for a proposition.
“The heated seats? They can be a little uncomfortable if you’re not used to them, but you were sh… shivering when you got into the car.” We both blushed, me because my thoughts immediately turned as blue as my toes and her because… well because of whatever thought was suddenly running through her mind.
All I can say is from the look in her eyes it must have been a bloody dirty one.
***
The school was quiet because most kids were picked up at three-thirty, whereas Ruth stayed behind for chess club. Devon and I entered the old fashioned primary school, the red brick building squat amongst the concrete high rises. Ruth hardly noticed me, she rushed straight to Devon for a hug and eagerly began showing off her pieces of work hanging on the wall, most with a big star next to them. Next came the grand tour of where she sat in class and where she hung her bag and coat… She was so excited she barely paused for breath and I have to say Devon appeared slightly shell-shocked, which was quite comical.
Twenty minutes later she was helping Ruth climb into the back of the car, before gently pulling the seatbelt over her shoulder, when I spotted a problem. “She’s supposed to have a booster seat.”
“She’ll be fine, you said it’s just around the corner.” I frowned. I didn’t think I’d said that, but maybe I had. “We’ll be there in a few minutes, plus I’m piloting a tank here.” She smiled reassuringly at me and I smiled back. It was an instinctive response, and one which I was slowly getting used to. Despite my reservations and my fears, there was something about Devon that made me trust her. She made me warm inside. Not as warm as the heated seats… okay I lied, she made me hotter, much, much, much hotter.
The traffic was backed up, just for a change, and the radio announcer from his eye in the sky helicopter declared the reason for the gridlock was the rain and the time. I scarcely thought a helicopter was needed to reach that conclusion. As if London’s air quality wasn’t bad enough, there was some clown flying around telling us it was raining! Devon spent most of the journey laughing and teasing Ruth. She was a natural with her.
“It’s the second turn on the right,” I said with a smile as Devon negotiated the frustrated honks and cyclists cutting in and out of traffic with composure and aplomb. Signalling right, we pulled into the car park next to the flats. “And here we are.”
“You live here?” she asked.
“Yeah. Why?” I said clenching my jaw.
She held up her hands, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Sure you didn’t.” I opened the car door.
“Rachel-” she started to say something quietly, but I interrupted.
“It’s a good place, it’s close to work and school. The people who live here, we keep an eye to each other. My neighbour calls it the Blitz mentality.”
“Mum made stew,” Ruth’s head poked between the seats. “And, she makes the best bread too, she has a machine.” It was a luxury from another time but it made the tastiest bread and I was able to set the timer on it. “Devon, are you going to stay and have tea with us?” The question was innocent.
Yet I was guilty. Guilty of once again jumping down Devon’s throat for no apparent reason. This woman had done nothing to warrant my belligerence. She’d gone out of her way to help Homes for the Homeless and save me and my daughter from a drowning, yet it had taken my seven year old to show me my manners.
“Oh… erm…” she clearly wasn’t expecting the invite. I could have given her an out, graciously thanked her and sent her on her way.
But I didn’t.
“There’s plenty,” I said. “It’s the least I can do, feed you, I mean, after all you’ve done.” My mind suddenly flickered onto another image of what I could do to thank her. After not thinking about sex for a very long time, suddenly I was having some sort of religious conversion, specifically about her. Yes, I wanted to worship at the church of Ms Hottie.
“Oh well…” she was nervous, unsure. Utterly adorable. “I haven’t eaten stew in years, so, yes, thank you. I’d love to stay for dinner.”
Chapter 18
Devon
Tuesday 13th December, 2016
So I guess I must have seemed shocked or something when I first pulled into the small estate where Rachel and Ruth lived. Ok there was no seem about it, I was shocked. Rachel was so together and super organised, I just couldn’t imagine her living somewhere like this.
However, after my initial knee jerk reaction, on second glance, the area wasn’t so bad.
The rain, thankfully, came to a sudden halt as we got out of the car, and I was able to see what my prejudices at first ignored. I expected to see litter, broken glass, burnt out shells of abandoned cars and gangbangers roaming unchecked as they sniffed out prey.
What I actually saw was pride.
Flower pots and beds strategically placed were planted with winter pansies and primroses brightening up the wet London evening. Still, when I noticed a group of teenagers hanging around the entrance to the flats I immediately stiffened, concerned about my car (hey Rome wasn’t built in a day) but I needn’t have worried. Rachel walked over to speak to them and a young man, his red hoodie covering most of his face, came over and shook my hand. I almost laughed at the sprig of mistletoe hanging over his head. He noticed my grin and replicated it.
“Your car will be fine here, Miss,” he said gruffly. “We board over there.” He pointed and I couldn’t help but admire the skateboard he held protectively under his arm. It was a pictorial rendering of Thor standing on blue and pink tinted storm clouds which were so vivid it was like you were looking up into the heavens and witnessing them in real life. The message in Thor’s eyes was simple - strength. There’s no way on earth this boy could have afforded what was clearly a piece of bespoke artwork.
“Your board is beautiful,” I said, slightly awestruck. “Did you do it?”
“I wish! No, Rache did it for me.” I m
ust have looked how I felt at that moment, amazed, because he laughed. “She’s awesome. You should’ve seen the mural she did on the wall in the subway. Bloody council painted it over. Said it were graffiti. It wasn’t. Seriously, it was… hey Rachel, what was the name of that painter?”
“Picasso? Degas? Toulouse-Lautrec?” she replied, quizzically. “I need a little more to go on, Ali… wait… are you talking about Manet? I know you like him.”
“That’s the man. Manet.” Ali turned back to me. “Rachel said it was like something he’d done, but she used poncier terms. Made me go to the bloody library and look him up. She was right, ‘cept I think hers was better, more real looking.” He hit his head. “Shit I’m a dick,” he reached into his pocket and I resisted the temptation to take a step back. “’Ere, I’ve a photo on my phone.” He wasn’t exaggerating, the mural was incredible just as good, if not better, than anything we’d seen at the National Gallery. “Good, ain’t it?”
“It’s divine,” I barely managed to breathe out. Just then I felt a tiny hand pull on mine. I glanced down and Ruth was smiling up and tugging me towards the stairs.
I was helpless to do anything but follow.
***
The smell of stew and warm bread hit me as soon as I entered the flat. The small flat. The terribly small flat. My living room was bigger than the whole of Rachel’s home – by a country mile and more. I’m not bragging, simply stunned that two people could live in such a small place. “It’s not much,” she whispered, “but it’s home.” Rachel was right. Where my flat was stark and sterile, hers was cosy and warm. It looked lived in, whereas mine looked like it was staged for a magazine article. I made the big mistake, the huge mistake of allowing my mother and ex free rein when I first moved in because I’d neither the time nor the inclination to do anything with it other than sleep and eat in it. Unfortunately, my tastes were considered too plebeian, too simple… too… I don’t know, normal? Warm? I wanted a soft sofa you could curl up on. I got a hard leather one that cost more than two arms and a leg. I wanted carpets you could sink your toes into, but got polished concrete and granite tiles. I wanted the smell of bread and stew, but got takeaway Thai and catered haute cuisine. I wanted…