Jersey Girl

by J A Heron

  “Yes, you did, and perhaps you’re right.” She tenses her shoulders.

  “We just had coffee, that’s all. He’s really sweet.”

  “Sweet is not a word I’d use to describe him. He looks like a gangster.”

  “You know we shouldn’t judge people solely on their appearance. He happens to be nice. He wants to see me again, and I’m excited, so please don’t rain on my parade.”

  “I won’t.” She sighs.

  “Thanks again for the jeans. Perhaps I could wear them tomorrow.”

  “Good idea. He’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Or he could be eating something else.” She winks.

  “You really are disgusting.” I frown, but quickly follow it up with a massive grin and a chuckle. “I should be so lucky.”

  We both fall about laughing.

  “Just to let you know, Mum and Dad will be here in an hour.”

  Oh, shit.

  “You know what that means?” I ask.

  “I do. Action stations!”

  We move fast, like a carefully co-ordinated military operation. Vacuuming, floor mopping, wiping down the bathroom, plumping pillows. It’s all going on, faster than anyone has ever cleaned and tidied in the history of housework.

  Benny’s parents are strict, and they’ve never approved of our friendship. They continue to support Benny, I just come as a package deal. Benny defends me all time, whenever we’re in their company. They keep out of the way of us and our business most of the time, as long as Benny behaves how they want her to.

  They live on the island of Guernsey, a neighbouring island, and although they can be here in less than an hour, they always respect our privacy and call before they drop round. They are in the process of buying their own boat. When that purchase goes through, they could turn up any time they like. This scares me. If they saw the state we live in from time to time, they’d cut us off. I’m pretty sure Mr and Mrs Reese-Wilson only keep this roof over our heads for appearance sake. They love to brag to their socialite friends.

  Our little palace is as spick and span as possible for such a quick spruce, so now we only have about ten minutes to do something about the way we look. They don’t say anything to me, but they get a bit tetchy when they see Benny dressed in sweats or jeans. She quickly changes into one of her many winter dresses, ties her hair up in a chignon, and smears her lips in the bright pink shade reserved only for her visiting parents.

  “Phew! Five minutes to spare.” She flops down on the couch then quickly remembers we’re keeping the space tidy. She re-plumps the cushion she’s just squashed and sits with her back straight and her hands in her lap.

  Benny’s parents paid for elocution lessons and a tutor to teach her all the traits taught in finishing school. She tried so hard to rebel against their wishes, but they always found a way to get their way. It mainly consisted of bribery and blackmail. Benny got wise though. She only behaves in a ladylike way when in their company, and I often wonder how long she’ll be able to keep up the charade. She’s managed it for the last few years I’ve known her, but sometimes I wonder if one day she’ll be caught out. Living on such a small island, a tight community, and the amount of people the Reese-Wilsons know, it’s only a matter of time before she’s busted. It makes me chuckle when I see her morph from an ordinary working-class commoner into the debutant her parents always wanted her to be.

  Bernadette Reese-Wilson has almost been married off to aristocratic young gentlemen on several occasions. She would attend so many balls, polo matches, and horse races, she eventually got fed up with the whole thing. She promised her parents she will eventually marry someone they approve of, if she has a connection with him. She pleaded with them not to just pick anyone. She wants to feel loved in a marriage, not just form a union for the sake of aristocratic society. They agreed apprehensively, and gave her the freedom to live on her own. She had to fight for those things though, and she made a multitude of promises. Promises she only keeps when they’re around. If they knew what happens as soon as they go back to Guernsey, she’d be in hot water.

  A knock at the door announces the arrival of the Reese-Wilson’s, and Benny suddenly starts to hyperventilate.

  “Deep breaths,” I tell her. “I’ll get it.” I smooth down the skirt I changed in to. It’s not as pretty as Benny’s attire, but I always try to make an effort for my friend’s sake. They don’t judge me, the way I dress, or the way I speak, but I’m not their daughter. They’re expressions, as slight as they are, are enough to let me know they disapprove of our friendship.

  I must remember to call her Bernadette.

  My only jobs when they are around are to make sure I call her by her full name, and offer her emotional support during and after their visit.

  “Mr and Mrs Reese-Wilson. How lovely to see you again.” The immaculately dressed couple stand before me. They look a little wind swept, but generally, they look like they’ve both just stepped out of a salon. We only live a stone’s throw from the marina. A five-minute walk is all it takes to reach us.

  “Katherine.” They nod in my direction, barely giving me the time of day, and make their way through the hallway, clearly on a mission to get to Benny as soon as possible. I don’t like the way they enter. They’re here to cause chaos, I can sense it.

  Experience tells me this isn’t a social call. They’re on official meddling business.

  I begin my well-rehearsed duty of making a pot of tea. I’ve done this so many times, it’s second nature.

  I can hear them talking, but their voices are hushed. The open plan living space is not that compact, so hearing people’s conversations isn’t easy. Benny will fill me in.

  I place the tray of tea - in a tea pot - milk jug, and sugar bowl on the coffee table. I can’t help the little curtsey as I stand up straight. Benny giggles, and Mrs Reese-Wilson tuts.

  “This weekend, you are to come home. We’re having a small gathering. Just friends, friends of friends, that kind of thing.” Mrs Reese-Wilson’s tone suggests she’s not requesting Benny’s attendance, but demanding it.

  “Of course, Mother.” She stares at her fiddling fingers. “As long as Kat can come too.”

  Mrs Janine Reese-Wilson gives me a sideways glance, but doesn’t answer right away. I really wouldn’t mind if she were to say no. “So be it.”

  Really?

  I know what this means. We’ve done this dance so many times, I’ve lost count. This isn’t just a night. This is a whole weekend of torture. And from past experience, they usually have a trick up their sleeves. Benny knows not to try and get out of it, she just takes it.

  “How is your job going?” Mr Reese-Wilson asks.

  “It’s amazing, Daddy. I’m enjoying it.” I can tell Benny is lying through her teeth, but this is another condition set for her by her parents.

  She works as administrative assistant at one of the high-class hotels in St. Helier. It’s not her dream job, more like forced into something as closely related to following in her father’s footsteps as humanly possible. Mr Reese-Wilson earned his fortune by working from the ground up, opening a chain of successful top end hotels all over the Channel Islands, one in Paris, and one in London. Benny is being groomed to manage the most lucrative hotel here in Jersey, and she’s not happy about it. Mr Reese-Wilson wants Benny to one day, take over the Reese-Wilson empire. But he insisted she start from grass roots, working her way up to manager, then one-day CEO of the whole kit and caboodle. I know she wants to be a writer, working on a novel, or writing for a newspaper or magazine. That’s where her passion lies, not assisting with the day to day running of her father’s hospitality business. She continues to write, and I know she’s working on a novel. She’s writing under a pseudonym, mainly because she doesn’t want these people sitting before us knowing what she’s up to. Her degree in English Literature, and English Language, would certainly put her in good stead for that career, but the Ree
se-Wilson’s fundamentally disagreed with her chosen career path.

  She’s miserable, and it usually takes a good few hours to pull her out of her overbearing parents’ stopover. This instance will be no different.

  Luckily for us, there is a new bottle of rum hidden in the cupboard above the sink. It’s calling my name, and I’m eager for their brief visit to be over soon. They never stay long. They like to check in, make sure we’re not living like pigs, demand things, make our lives miserable, then leave. They’re like a tornado, sweeping in, causing a mass of destruction, then all is calm again. It’s my best friend duty to comfort Benny in the aftermath of the storm, but we always pull through, usually with the aid of our favourite alcoholic beverage.

  I’m looking forward to tomorrow, keen to know when Connor will make an appearance. I intend on taking him for a walk along the marina, and although it’s winter and the temperature is well below freezing, we can make our way to the run-down café and indulge in a fabulous hot chocolate to warm us up.

  Thankfully, my daydreaming has meant that I’ve missed the last conversation. Spoken words have ended, but I’m alert enough to hear Mrs Reese-Wilson’s next orders.

  “Buy a new gown on the credit card we pay for.” She always makes sure we’re clear on the fact that she pays for everything. “Then we’ll see you on Friday evening. Don’t arrive before seven p.m. I’ll be finishing off my needlework discussion group with the ladies, and we wouldn’t like to be disturbed.”

  Such drivel. I can’t wait for them to leave, but I’m dreading spending another full weekend being something I’m not. If I could get out of going, I would, but with all that Benny does for me, the least I can do is be her date. It’ll be a night filled with squirming, adjusting uncomfortable gowns, nodding in all the right places, and standing around like we have steel rods shoved up our arses.

  Oh, the joy.

  We’ve done the double air kisses farce, and finally, Mr and Mrs Reese-Wilson have left. We make our way into the kitchen, pour a rum and Coke over ice, and slump down on the sofa. A sigh in unison is all that’s uttered.

  I stare at the wall, trying to come up with an excuse to get out of this weekend. I come up short, mainly because I’ve probably used them all before.

  “Sorry,” Benny whispers through the silence.

  “Don’t be. You never know, it could be fun,” I say sarcastically.

  The laughter is deafening.

  “More like torture, laced with an infinite desire to be in Hell instead.” A little melodramatic, I know, but she speaks the truth.

  “It will be Hell, and we both know it.” I place my hand on top of Benny’s, offering a little comfort.

  “We’ll just have to make the most of a dire situation, like we always do.” She sighs again, deeper this time.

  We change into our nightwear and relax, drinking copious amounts of rum, until the whole bottle is empty.

  Ouch. My head.

  Another heavy night of drinking and I feel like crap. How much did we have last night?

  The smell of bacon wafts across my nose, letting me know my friend has cooked breakfast again. I’m certain a fresh brew will be available too.

  I contemplate bailing on Connor considering I’m suffering with the hangover from Hell, and I have no idea what time he’ll show up. If I eat breakfast and shower, perhaps I’ll feel a little more human for when he does make an appearance. Perhaps he won’t show up at all.

  “Come on, eat,” Benny orders.

  “Keep your knickers on, Bernadette!” I laugh, knowing how she hates being called by her proper name. “How much did we drink last night?”

  I hold my head in my hands, feeling like it will explode.

  “You drank most of it. I only had three or four.”

  “Get lost! I did not drink two thirds of a bottle of rum to myself.” Annoyance causes me to clench my fists.

  “I swear. You were knocking it back like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “I’ve never lied, nor will I ever lie to you,” she asserts, not breaking eye contact. “I need to take this and run. I’ll be late.”

  “You finish at six?” I ask, not sure of her working schedule this week. It changes all the time.

  “Yeah. I thought we’d have take out tonight. Pizza? Chinese?”

  “I’ll text you.” I smile.

  I’m still perturbed by the rum fiasco. If anyone should be swilling rum, it should be my best friend, considering the visit from her parents yesterday.

  “Enjoy your date,” she says, then grabs her keys and leaves for work.

  “That’s if he shows,” I say to the now closed front door.

  Showered and changed a little later, I feel more human, and ready to face another human being. I keep myself busy, doing a little laundry and generally keeping the apartment clean and tidy.

  A few thin layers will keep me warm underneath my padded winter coat, and I lay my hat, scarf, and gloves on the coffee table. Three hours pass, and no sign of Connor. Perhaps he’s changed his mind. We should’ve set a time, then I wouldn’t be sitting here torturing myself, wondering if he’s changed his mind or forgotten about me already. If we’d said three p.m., then come four, I could safely say my instincts were right.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  My heart jumps into my throat, and not wanting to seem too keen, I count to ten before I get up to answer the door, although I feel like breaking the land speed record.

  Pulling the door open, I’m taken aback with the gorgeous sight before me, a silly grin appearing from nowhere. “Hey.” I meet his smile with my own. I’m surprised at myself for not tripping over my tongue, even though it’s a one word greeting.

  “Give me a minute,” I say, holding up a finger. “Step inside if you like.”

  I grab my coat, wrap myself up in my woollens, then join Connor at the door. “I thought we’d go for a walk. That okay?” I say.

  “Sure. Where’d you have in mind?”

  “The marina is my favourite place. Fancy taking a look? They serve some great hot chocolate down there.” I smile.

  “Sounds great.”

  The sky is a clear blue, not a cloud in sight, yet it’s freezing cold. There will be a sharp frost tonight. As we walk along the wooden slats of the jetty, I admire all the boats moored up. Some are little boats, used for short trips around the islands, but most are huge luxury yachts, and you sometimes could be mistaken that you’re in Monte Carlo, or Monaco, they’re so exquisite. The tide is in, so the boats are bobbing gently on the lapping shore. When the tide is out, the boats lay on the silt of the sea bed.

  We walk side by side, passing some of the now empty units that line the marina. Most are used by residents of St. Helier to repair broken boats, or renovate them, a bit like a mechanic uses a garage to repair or renovate a car.

  I admire some of the houses on the other side of the road, overlooking the marina. It would be so cool to wake up every morning to such a beautiful view. Benny and I live not that far away, and our view is great, but nothing compared to how it could be. One day, perhaps.

  “Are there houses for sale around here?” Connor asks me.

  “Yeah, a few. Why? You thinking of moving here?”

  “Not really, but I like property. Buying, fixing up, then leasing; that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, you’re a property developer?”

  “No, not as a career. More like a hobby.”

  “I see. Well, the estate agent is in the town. Perhaps check them out.”

  “I will, thanks.” We’re silent for a moment.

  “Let’s get inside, warm ourselves up. Hot chocolate?”

  “Coffee for me, thanks.”

  We enter the decrepit coffee shop, that’s badly in need of a lick of paint, and take a seat by the window. I pull my purse out of my bag.

  “I’ll get these. What would you like?” he asks.

  “Hot chocolate, extra cream and marshmallows, please.�
��

  He laughs. “You got it.” I watch as he walks away, loving the way his bottom moves as he strides. I feel cheeky for taking a sneaky glance.

  He returns, sits opposite me, and we wait for our drinks to come.

  “How long are you staying in Jersey?” I ask, not sure if I’m being too forward.

  “I’m here until next Monday.”

  “Visiting with Fred?”

  “Yeah. I’ve not seen him for a couple of years, and feel like I’ve neglected him. I managed to get some free time and decided to come see him.” I can see the sadness in his eyes.

  “I know how busy life can get. I’m sure Fred knows that too. I’m sure he gets it.”

  “He does, but I still feel awful. I’m his only living relative. We only have each other. I have friends and such, but he only has me.” The sadness in his eyes has cranked up a notch.

  “He seems happy enough. Whenever I see him in Grumpy’s place, he seems to enjoy his alone time. He doesn’t really speak to any of the staff there.”

  “He’s always enjoyed being alone. Never married, fought in the war. He loves me though, like that’s any consolation.” He bursts into laughter, making me smile. “So, you work in Grumpy’s bar?”

  “Yes. It was never a lifelong dream to work in a stinky bar. But he’s my boss, he gave me job when I was desperate, and over the years, we’ve become friends.”

  “Circumstances are set to try us.”

  “They are indeed.”

  “What do you do?” I ask, hoping I’m not prying.

  “I play in a band, and like we’ve already established, I like to dabble in property. Property is my passion, music is my obsession.”

  “What instrument do you play?”

  “Lead guitar, and I sing backing vocals.”

  “Wow, that is so cool. What kind of music?”

  “We cover rock classics mainly, but we do gigs now and then, covering all kinds of songs. I have a gig here in Jersey this weekend. The guys are coming Thursday. I came early to spend time with Fred. It was the perfect opportunity, and Fred did help us get this gig.”