Playground Cool

by Sinclair, Jamie

  Playground Cool

  By Jamie Sinclair

  http://the24hourjazzcafe.blogspot.com/

  Copyright 2011 Jamie Sinclair

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Extract from All the fun of the Fair, available now for Kindle

  Prologue

  Rhia sat downstairs in front of the television, waiting until he was asleep. This evening had been typical of recent evenings, culminating in a blazing row and him storming upstairs to bed, whiskey glass in hand. She had almost told him tonight, she’d been so mad. That would really have shut him up, but she’d held her temper, thank God. Despite their problems, despite what she’d done, she still loved him and didn’t want to see him hurt.

  She went upstairs, making no effort to be particularly quiet; once he fell asleep he wouldn’t stir until morning. She threw a few things into an overnight bag and grabbed her make-up case from the bathroom, then stopped for a moment to watch him sleep. His dark, almost black hair, though cut short, still managed to stick up on one side. She smiled as his eyelids flickered.

  As she left the room, Rhia walked over to the bed and covered his exposed feet with the duvet. It was duck-egg blue with a pattern of small darker blue squares; she’d bought it to match the colour they’d planned to paint the walls, though he still hadn’t got round to decorating. He’d never liked that duvet.

  Downstairs she picked up her briefcase and keys from the table in the hall. Then she went outside, threw her things on to the back seat of her car and drove away.

  Chapter One

  Ben didn’t think he’d ever forget the feelings he had in those first few moments of what he now referred to as Tits-up Tuesday.

  Disbelief.

  Shock.

  Anger.

  Misery.

  Fear.

  The day began simply and ordinarily enough, in that Ben gradually became aware of himself and the sounds around him and slowly opened his eyes to confirm where he was. He was in bed in his house, alone. This in itself was not particularly unusual since the woman he shared a bed with, shared a home with, and had shared the past three years of his life with, often woke before him and got up, saying he made the bed too hot to sleep in. Rhia liked to be up in plenty of time to get ready for work properly, as opposed to Ben’s half-hearted efforts of a thirty second shower and a quick cup of tea before dashing out of the house.

  This morning felt no different apart from a worse-than-usual headache, and even less desire than normal to drag himself into the waking world from that wonderful place where his six foot frame didn’t have a beer belly or pasty white skin or large dark bags under its eyes. In this place Ben lived in a castle with Jennifer Aniston and a team of the finest porn star servants. Then the alarm went off.

  He was prepared for the noise of the radio playing loud rock music which made it impossible to stay in bed. He almost always woke about a minute before the alarm shattered the silence, as a lot of people do when they get into a routine, to avoid that instant back-from-the-dead feeling, like having just emerged from a pool of water at speed.

  It’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s…It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel…

  Sounded like REM. He turned off the radio, propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed his brown eyes with the ball of his other hand. It was at this moment, 7:45 exactly according to the clock radio, that the phone by his bed rang. Ben frowned. Who the hell could this be? Pessimist that he was, Ben always assumed that anything unexpected was going to be bad news, either a family tragedy or someone wanting money. He hated surprises.

  ‘Hello?’ he managed, running a hand absent-mindedly through his hair, which he wore short to avoid drawing attention to the slight thinning at either side of his forehead. In a few years, he would be left with a patch like the grass in the centre of a dual carriageway.

  ‘It’s me.’

  Ben should have recognised the voice instantly, but it took him a second to realise who it was. He didn’t associate this voice with being on the end of a telephone first thing in the morning.

  ‘Rhia?’ The feeling that something wasn’t right was already growing inside him, even at this early point in the proceedings.

  ‘Well done,’ said Rhia, the woman he shared his life with, who he’d assumed was downstairs getting ready for work.

  ‘Where are you?’ Ben asked.

  ‘At my sister’s for the moment, but don’t rush round since I’m on my way to work as soon as I put the phone down. I’ll be around in my lunch hour to pick up the rest of my stuff and I’ll leave the keys on the kitchen table. I’m really sorry about this Ben…’

  ‘Rhia, what…’

  ‘Please don’t.’ She sounded upset. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay, I think… Goodbye Ben…I love you.’ The phone went dead in Ben’s hand.

  ‘What the fuck!’ Ben rolled off his elbow and back on to the bed, a look of bewilderment on his boyish features, greyed with too many late nights. Tits-up Tuesday had begun.

  * * * * * *

  Katie sat on the toilet in the end cubicle, the one against the wall furthest from the door. There was no particular reason why she always chose this cubicle except perhaps a subconscious desire to be near a solid wall. She was peculiar that way. She also couldn’t sleep with her bed in the middle of the room, always had to have a wall on her right hand side or she’d be up all night. Even in hotels, she’d move the bed so that it touched a wall.

  She rested her forehead on the balls of her hands. Katie was confused. At least she thought she was. Maybe she was just worried. She wasn’t sure, which, she supposed, meant that she was indeed confused. She’d received a voice message from Dave, her boyfriend, saying that he wanted to talk. In her experience, when a man wanted to discuss a relationship, it usually meant he wanted to end it.

  Sighing, Katie stood up and walked over to the row of three sinks. She washed her hands in the one nearest the wall and scrutinized herself in the mirror. She looked tired, but constant early starts would take their toll on anyone. Her naturally curly chocolate brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, as she hadn’t had time to dry it properly. As she re-applied her Clinique lip-gloss, she noticed a few pimples on her chin and dabbed a few blobs of liquid foundation over them. Maybe he didn’t fancy her anymore.

  When she arrived home from work, tired and feeling grubby after the journey home on the bus (the only way to keep public transport clean, Katie had decided, would be to exclude
most of the public from using the service unless they met strict hygiene standards) Dave was waiting for her.

  He looked nervous. He was pacing around the living room, his faded denim coloured eyes avoiding hers. She noticed that his sun bed tan was fading too, making his hair seem darker than usual. Perhaps he was ill?

  They had countless opportunities to talk so why was he so adamant that it had to be now, when she was tired, fed-up and just wanted to take off those bloody shoes that cost a fortune and were grating her heels to nothing?

  ‘Can’t it wait ten minutes while I get changed?’ She asked.

  ‘Not really, pet, it’s quite important actually.’ Dave rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers.

  ‘Oh, what then?’ asked Katie, exasperated. This had better be good, she thought.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of moving out for a while. In fact, I am moving out…for a while. Just until…Just while I…’ Dave stuttered to a halt and looked down at his trainer-clad feet.

  ‘What?’ Katie fired back, having taken a moment to digest the words. ‘What the hell do you mean you’re moving out? Where the hell are you going to go? This is your flat; it comes with your job!’ Katie was pissed off now. Dave’s timing was particularly crap as she was in a bad mood already and he knew she really hated being called ‘pet’. Her name was Katie or Kat at a push. She was not, as she’d reminded him on numerous occasions, his fucking pet.

  ‘I know. I’m going to stay with someone from work, just for the moment. It might be best if you went back to your own flat since I can’t afford another place. I’ll be working away for about a month anyway. The company are opening a new bar and want me to oversee the running of it for a while.’

  It dawned on Katie that Dave was throwing her out. The stupid bastard was telling her that when he came back from God knows where; he didn’t want her to be in his flat.

  She’d been reluctant to move in with him in the first place, not wanting to get too serious too soon. His flat, on Fairfax Avenue in Didsbury, was further out of the city centre than hers, but it was bigger, and, since it came with his job, it was free.

  When Katie had moved in the flat had been soulless and functional and she’d felt like a visitor. Now it was much cosier and homely, her home. She’d removed the threadbare carpets in favour of bare floorboards. Dave had sanded and varnished them and she’d bought a few Moroccan style rugs. There were pictures on the walls, including her favourite print of The Singing Butler by Jack Vettriano above the bed. Her big, battered, comfy brown leather armchair was positioned at a right angle to the couch and there were always vases of flowers around the room. She’d also bought new bedding to replace Dave’s awful black duvet and her blue canvas wardrobe stood next to his, the black pine effect reminding her of a coffin.

  ‘Bastard!’ she shouted and slapped him hard across the face with her right hand, ‘Stupid selfish bastard!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Dave, ‘I don’t think it’s working between us. You’re at the office all day and I go to the bar as you come in. When I get back from work you’re always asleep.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for having a job to go to. What would you prefer? Do you want me to wait in all day for you and have your sodding tea ready for you when you come in the front door?’ Katie was screaming now and she knew tears were on the way too.

  She had surpassed being pissed off. She was livid. Livid with Dave for being so pathetic, livid with his unbelievable timing and livid with him for trying to blame her.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, since he’d said nothing since her outburst, ‘You’d best fuck off then. I assume you have a bag packed?’

  ‘Yes. Right, then. I’ll see you, pet.’ He shuffled past her, perhaps fearing another slap, picked up a bag that she hadn’t noticed when she’d come in and left.

  After he’d gone Katie took off her work suit and turned on the shower, utterly numb with shock, a part of her still wondering if he’d been joking. She took a large towel from the cupboard in her bedroom and wiped away a tear from her cheek. More tears spilled down her face, as she climbed into the shower, sank to the floor and let out a grief-stricken wail.

  Ten minutes later Katie was wrapped in a towel and curled up on her bed, sobbing and blaming herself, when the telephone began to ring. She waited for the answering machine to get it, holding her breath. After the third ring the machine came on and she heard Dave’s voice informing the caller that nobody was home so leave a message and ‘if it’s someone we like then we’ll call you back’. Arsehole, she thought.

  ‘Hi, Katie, it’s me. I was just ringing to remind you about that meal tomorrow night. We’ll meet you at the restaurant as arranged. If there’s any change, then…’

  Katie dashed across the room to pick up the phone. ‘Sorry, Jen, I’m here.’

  ‘Oh, hi. How are you and Dave, then? Still mad keen?’

  ‘There’s been a change of plan for tomorrow,’ she said, starting to cry again.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ Jen’s tone grew cautious.

  ‘Dave’s left me. Tonight. In fact about half an hour ago, actually. He says he wants me out of the flat, his flat, in the next few days and he’s taken a bag and gone.’ She was sobbing again. Big bubbles of snot popped out of her nose. Her eyes stung and her skin felt wet and clammy.

  ‘Oh, Katie, I’m so sorry. Shit. I can’t believe it. Where’s he gone?’

  ‘He wuh…wouldn’t tell me,’ wailed Katie.

  ‘Bastard. I’ll come round and you can fill me in. I always thought he was a bit of a dick.’ Jen said scornfully.

  Katie didn’t reply. She just sat holding the phone and crying into it. Jen said she’d be there within the hour and put the phone down. A moment later Katie did the same and then just sat on the floor next to the phone and continued to sob.

  Chapter Two

  ‘…finished with that?’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ asked Ben, becoming aware of the tentative voice next to him. He’d been lost in thought ever since Rhia had demolished his day before it had even started, not to mention his life.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d finished with the sweetener, only you’ve been stirring your coffee for a couple of minutes and…’

  This was Em, the latest recruit at J.D. King, of Deansgate, who had been assigned to his department for training in internet selling. Pretty without being too obvious had been Ben’s first impression, tall with long, straight mousy-coloured hair that would look great if she did anything with it; not at all like Rhia with her long blonde curly hair, cut so it framed the chiselled bone structure of her beautiful face. Em was timid to the point of being aggravating.

  ‘Here,’ said Ben, handing her the jar of Candarel and walking past her without picking up his cup of coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied behind him. ‘Oh, you’ve forgotten your…’ He didn’t hear the rest as he moved out of earshot of her feeble voice.

  A couple of minutes later Em appeared at Ben’s desk with his cup in her hand.

  ‘You forgot this.’ She placed the cup on the coaster and scurried away.

  ‘Thanks,’ he called and she turned back to face him. ‘Sorry I was a bit short with you. I’m having the worst day ever.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine,’ Em’s face lit up at the friendlier tone. ‘Everyone has bad days.’

  He watched her walk away across the long, open-plan office and for a moment the sight of Em’s backside wrapped in a pair of tight black trousers eclipsed all thoughts of his shattered domestic life. Good arse, Ben thought. Very good.

  Ben worked as a department manager in domain sales, which basically meant that he made sure his team sold enough web site names to meet their targets each month. His third floor office was quite narrow, but long. It had recently been decorated a pale, uninspiring green and his team of thirty staff had complained bitterly. Each desk had three panels around it to create the illusion of privacy, apart from his which was in the centre of the room.

  He spent the rest of
the afternoon staring either at his desk or around the office, trying to get a grip on the morning’s disaster. Why the hell had Rhia left? Ben had come up with several possibilities including that she had simply had enough of the relationship or that she wanted more from him. The favourite of the day, however, was that she had met someone else and didn’t have the guts to tell him.

  Ben glanced up at the big clock on the wall opposite his desk. Two minutes to six. Normally he’d be home by now, whether he’d completed his day’s tasks or not. But today, as he watched his colleagues drift out of the office, chatting, he remained fixed to his chair by dread.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Ben turned to see Em, holding a bag in one hand and pulling on her coat with the other.

  ‘Fine thanks, Em. Just a bit preoccupied.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.’ Em stood there with what Ben supposed was a helpful smile on her lips. He wasn’t the problem-sharing type, more the pretend-everything-is-fine type, whose idea of therapy is to get drunk and pass out once in the confines of home.

  ‘Well,’ he began, unsure what he was going to say next.

  ‘We could go to the Ape and Apple on John Dalton Street. Some of the others go after work. We could go there for a drink if you like.’ Then, as if worried she’d said the wrong thing, she added, ‘Unless you’d rather not. In fact, you probably want to be left to get on with whatever you were doing. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry if…’

  ‘It’s fine, Em. Really,’ Ben interrupted her. ‘I think a drink might just help if you still want to?’

  What was he thinking? Not only did he never share his problems with anyone, especially not personal problems; he also found Em aggravating. He would admit that she was pretty and he had noticed the way her shirts always seemed to be a little tight around her chest, but she was so quiet and timorous. Ben always went for confident, outgoing women. Like Rhia.

  ‘Great. If you’re sure?’ Em’s face glowed with nervous delight.