‘Thanks,’ he said as he handed them to me. Gestalt Therapy. Existential Depth Psychology. The Little Book of Chinese Proverbs. He grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Will you call me?’
I dropped my eyes to the books, away from him, away from the temptation.
‘Think about it? Please. I can’t rely on fate anymore, although it seems to be working in my favour.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
He leaned in, held my face in his hand, and kissed me softly on the cheek. On instinct, I pressed my hand against his, closed my eyes, and let myself feel.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, and my body sagged and slumped and buzzed at the anticipation of seeing him again.
Just as friends.
19
Matt
‘Thank you for coming, Mr Shaw.’
‘Matt,’ I replied. ‘Mr Shaw is my father.’ I glanced to him and tried to ignore his frosty stance. Arms crossed, a scowl on his face. He popped a mint in his mouth and sighed.
‘We’ve drawn a support plan together to cover Owen’s care at home for the next three months,’ Doctor Ashcroft, dad’s specialist for the last four months, said.
‘What happens after that?’ I asked.
‘We review the plan; see how it’s worked and if it needs to continue in the same guise.’ He looked at my dad before scribbling some notes. ‘We advise that some form of contact continues. It could be through counselling sessions, group therapy—’
‘No,’ Dad said firmly and all eyes fell on him. I shook my head lightly, warning him to take it easy. As I did, a cold shiver of dread trickled down my body. He’d be leaving the safety of Merryweather next week. It was the first time since he’d been admitted that I felt I was in over my head. Surrounded by quicksand and unable to get air into my lungs.
Sink or swim, Dad?
‘He’s participated well in group activities and one-to-one sessions during his stay. We’ve been very pleased with him.’
‘I am here, you know.’
‘Ah, that great sense of humour is shining through.’
No, Doctor, he’s just a cantankerous fuck but you get used to him after twenty-six years.
‘I don’t want anyone to babysit me when I go home,’ Dad replied. ‘I’ll see Rachel, my counsellor…that’s it.’
‘It’s imperative that he accepts full support,’ Doctor Ashcroft said, handing me the plan. I checked the figures first and almost choked on my coffee.
‘This is the cost for three months?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just three months?’
What are they offering? Personal sessions with the Dalai Lama himself?
‘It covers all aspects of care we think will keep him focused on his goals.’ Doctor Ashcroft turned to my dad. ‘You’ve done well, Owen. You should be proud. None of us wants to see you fail.’
‘Can I see this bloody plan?’ he said, leaning forward. The doctor slid a copy across the table. He plucked his reading glasses from his top pocket, one side fixed together with black electricity tape. ‘Twice weekly home visits? A counselling session and group therapy every Friday? Who’ll be doing the bed bath and arse wiping?’
‘Dad, for God’s sake.’
He blew out a breath, taking off his glasses before placing them down on the table. ‘This seems a bit much,’ he said. ‘Do you really think I need this?’
The doctor cleared his throat. ‘We want to see you succeed, Owen. You’ve done well here, but it’s very different when you return home and you’re faced with the temptation of your addictions.’
‘Fine,’ my dad muttered, and I started to panic, overwhelmed with the need to help him and knowing that we had a long road ahead. Bumps and potholes right in the middle. If I didn’t have the help from professional doctors and specialist counsellors, how could I support him myself? I had visions of handcuffing him to the fridge. Locking his bedroom door every night and sitting on him when he lunged for a can of cider or betting slip.
‘The cost is huge,’ I rushed out. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to cover this.’
I did know. I’d have to step up the escorting, putting myself out there again, and advertise for new clients. I had been way off with my estimation of how much the continued support for Dad would cost. Way off by a couple of zeros. I could kiss goodbye to study time and needed to consider putting my degree on hold until we were through the thick of it. I would also lose all hope that Stacey and I could be anything more, if I was unable to give up the one part of me she couldn’t accept.
‘Dad, I can’t pay this.’
‘What do you mean? You’re still working, aren’t you?’ Dad asked.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Is there a problem with finances?’ Doctor Ashcroft asked.
‘Possibly,’ I replied, seeing the life I wanted with Stacey vanish in front of me and the life I always seemed to get pulled back into came into focus again. Large like a magnifying glass right under the sun until a bright angry fire was a lit and…fuck me.
Stacey had already had a devastating impact on my finances.
Since meeting her, I’d put off dates with clients, or cancelled them completely because it all felt …wrong. I was picking and choosing, only agreeing to dates where I knew sex wasn’t part of the deal. I’d been the decoy date at school reunions and weddings, and I suddenly found myself with a diary full of lies. I’m studying. I have a family commitment. I need to sort through my sock drawer. Although we were nowhere near being an item, in my head it felt like we were, and I was cheating on her every time I placed a kiss on another women’s cheek. Anything more than that made me want to shed my own skin and throw it on a bonfire.
And that wasn’t good for business.
Isn’t that why we met in the first place? My skillset? My hope to bash the stereotypes and make escorting more socially acceptable? Now, I couldn’t wait to leave it behind me. Didn’t care if I made a woman feel good about themselves. Get in, get out as quickly as possible. The follow-up article should be titled, ‘How the Escort Lost His Mojo but Found his Girl.’ Christ, I hoped so.
‘I can’t work any more than I am,’ I replied. ‘I’m studying too, Dad.’
‘Studying?’ Dad asked with confusion. ‘What the bleedin’ hell are you studying?’
‘Psychology.’
‘Are you havin’ a laugh?’
‘No, Dad. I can’t study and do more work.’
‘There are other options if money is an issue,’ Doctor Ashcroft said. Dad looked down at the table, no further reaction.
‘You mean, like a finance plan?’ I asked.
‘There’s support available for free through the National Health Service. There’s also Alcoholics Anonymous, they have a buddy system that’s particularly successful. I can make a referral to relevant services but there will be a waiting list,’ he said. ‘Quite a lengthy one. Usually six months plus, meaning support won’t be available when your dad leaves—’
‘Next week.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were studying, son?’ I glanced at Dad sitting next to me. He looked confused, broken even. A man on the edge on something, and I couldn’t work out if the outcome would be good or bad.
‘You’ve had a lot going on,’ I mumbled, and he gave a silent laugh. ‘I didn’t tell you because you’d think it was a waste of time. Flowery voodoo that meant nothing and didn’t work.’ You’d laugh because you’d be fucking drunk. ‘“Psychology?” you’d say. “What a load of old cobblers.”’
He looked away, his mouth in a firm line as he started tutting and shaking his head. Trying to delay what I thought might be…tears? ‘This boy,’ he said, struggling to get his words out, and the doctors and counsellors couldn’t fail to be moved by his rare show of emotion. He pointed to me. ‘Done me proud.’
I clasped my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into me. We didn’t do hugs, hadn’t since I was a child. A firm slap on my back told me everyth
ing I needed to know. He was proud, he loved me, and he was fucking thankful for everything I’d done for him.
‘I’m doing this for you,’ I said, still locked together with my dad.
I tried not to think about what this meant for me and Stacey. She was an image in my mind that was fading away with every trembling breath of his I felt against my chest.
I’d never let him down.
I always came through.
We’d come far, and I couldn’t fail him now.
‘We’ll go ahead with the support,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the money.’
20
Matt
To: Matt Shaw
From: Anna Gilmour
Subject: Proposition
Dear Matt,
Please make arrangements with my PA to see me at the office. I have a proposition for you which could offer you substantial financial gain.
Best.
Anna Gilmour
Editorial Director
Upfront Magazine
It wasn’t every day I got an email offering substantial financial gain, and I had to admit I was more than interested. The countdown was on. Dad was leaving rehab on Monday morning and I had bills to pay. I’d spent the last few hours looking at escort websites and sending emails, hoping they’d put me on their books. I was in a situation where I needed money fast and any extra would help.
Which is why I was intrigued by Anna’s email.
Substantial financial gain.
I wondered if Stacey had spoken to Anna about the sex and relationships class idea and if Anna had come up with a plan that would not only benefit me but their readers as well. The same day the email arrived, I arranged an appointment with her PA, and spent the next couple of days dreaming up possible scenarios and hoping for good news.
‘Good morning, can I help you?’
‘Yes, I’m here to see Anna Gilmour,’ I replied to the receptionist at Upfront.
‘Mr Shaw?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please go through. Take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.’
I walked into the busy hub of the office. People were on phones, typing, gathering together to talk about ideas for position of the month. I didn’t know that for sure, it just made me smile to imagine the meetings that took place to discuss new and exciting sex positions.
I looked over to Stacey’s desk. It was empty. No beautiful, flame-haired woman of wonder. I couldn’t deny I was disappointed, and hoped she’d gone off to make a coffee or grab a flapjack and would be back at her desk in the next three seconds.
Before I had time to sit down, Anna appeared from her office. ‘Matt, how lovely to see you. Please come through.’
‘Hello again,’ I replied, taking the seat in front of her desk. ‘How are you?’
‘Wonderful, wonderful.’ I didn’t remember her being so cheery at our last meeting. The word ‘intense’ was the first one that sprung to mind. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee…mimosa?’ She laughed, pouting her lips.
‘Err…isn’t it a bit early for that?’ I replied, looking at my watch. Eleven a.m. was not cocktail time.
‘I joke, I joke,’ she replied, whimsy and so not her. ‘Or do I?’
She arched her eyebrow and pulled open her desk drawer, which had two bottles of wine resting on a stack of previous Upfront publications. I looked around her office, half-expecting a camera crew to leap out from behind a cupboard, telling me this was all a set-up because I was having a hard time understanding why she was looking at me like that and why I was here.
‘You’re funny,’ I said, pointing to her. She rolled her head back and gave an unnecessarily loud laugh. She started fanning her face. Hot flush, maybe? I wasn’t sure.
‘Soooo, when I was talking to Stacey, reading her notes, approving the article, I had an idea I’d like to share with you.’
‘I think I know what you’re going to say.’
The classes. It must be.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. Stacey mentioned something—’
‘Oh…she was extremely complimentary about you.’ Her eyes scanned my face, my shoulders, my torso. Hooded eyes proceeded the scan. ‘In more ways than one.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Thanks?’
‘I think it’s wonderful that you’re using the money to pay for your Psychology degree,’ she said, sitting back in her chair. ‘You really want to make something of yourself, don’t you? Fantastic.’
Dread filled my stomach, making it heavy, like stones and bricks had been piled up right under my ribcage.
‘That’s the plan,’ I replied, waiting for her next move. Years of caring for an alcoholic father with a gambling addiction had given me a super sense for sifting out bullshit, and this was going in a direction I didn’t like.
‘But that’s not all you’re doing it for, is it?’ She leaned against her desk and clasped her hands together.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Before we interview anyone, we do some brief background checks, run a few searches. We need to be sure that nothing will come back to bite us after publication.’ I swallowed, the penny finally dropping. ‘I know your father is currently a resident of the Merryweather Rehabilitation Centre and goodness, those places aren’t cheap. I know from experience. My husband has been in there twice.’
‘I hope he’s well, now,’ I replied as she stared at me across the desk.
‘He’s a work-in-progress.’
‘Aren’t they all?’ I shifted in the soft leather of the chair, looking across at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the blinds partially blocking my view of someone gorgeous, with red hair, legs crossed, and biker boots with pearls around the ankle. Stacey. ‘Can I ask where we’re going with this?’
‘All information is kept confidential, I wanted to reassure you of that.’
‘How very kind of you.’
Her lips lifted into a smirk. ‘University fees. Living costs. Rehab payments. Ongoing support from the facility. No wonder you’re escorting.’
‘I’m not doing it for the good of my health,’ I replied, focusing on Stacey’s legs to help me keep calm and carry on.
‘My proposition is quite simple,’ she said, licking the corner of her mouth. ‘I want one night with you.’ Fuck. ‘In return, I’ll pay any outstanding fees for your degree in full, with an additional lump sum to cover your father’s support costs.’
I watched her for a few seconds, mouth open, shock coursing through my body. I had many thoughts and I didn’t know which one to go with first. I started speaking. Stopped myself. Leaned in to the table. Tapped my finger against it before I started to speak, only to stop myself again. Movement caught my eyes. Stacey got up from her desk, waving to someone. I saw her face, warmness falling from her. What the fuck would she think about this? Her boss, not just a nameless face, propositioning me.
Would she care? Of course she would. Wouldn’t she?
‘What are your thoughts?’ Anna said, flicking through her emails on an iPad, like this was a normal business meeting.
Thoughts. Thoughts. There were many, but I went with the most important one. ‘Why?’
She cocked her head. ‘My husband sleeps with other women, Matt, always has. I’ve found bills for prostitutes and brothels, meals for two, sex toys. He hasn’t fulfilled me sexually for many years. It’s my time now. I want my fun, with someone who knows what they’re doing.’ She rushed through it, like she’d rehearsed or was so used to saying it now, it just fell from her mouth.
‘I understand,’ I replied, still confused. This couldn’t be my life. How could this be my life? ‘But women hire me for a few hundred pounds a night. You’re offering me’—I closed my eyes and tried to pull out some numbers but failed spectacularly—‘a lot more.’
‘I want to help,’ she replied, peering at me from over her glasses. ‘We know each other. I’d rather do this with someone I know and find deeply attractive.’ I wanted to vomit. Urgh. Vomit was on its way. ‘Matthew, sweet
heart, I’d like you to fuck me like one of my husband’s whores.’
‘Jesus,’ I whispered, covering my mouth. Anna had issues. Her husband had seriously messed with her head. The Psychology student in me wanted to ask more questions, while the escort side of me wanted to run away as fast as I could. But the son of a recovering alcoholic side of me knew one night with Anna would be a quick answer to my financial prayers. I would be in a position where I could consider give up escorting and get a part-time job. I’d do anything: a coffee shop barista, a waiter, even go back to dog walking.
I could hear Stacey’s laugh through the glass walls of Anna’s office.
This could be my way to her. Escorting finished. No longer an issue. Happiness to follow.
‘One night?’
‘One night,’ she repeated.
‘That’s all you want from me?’
Why are you considering this?
A knock on the door stopped her from answering. Stacey, the woman I adored and would do anything for was behind it. My heart leapt like a horse in the Grand National.
I could do it for her. She didn’t need to know. We could finally be together.
Anna flashed her eyes at me and smirked. ‘Come in.’
‘Anna, I’m about to work on the piece regarding sustainable fabrics,’ she said, staring at her notepad before looking up and finding me. ‘Fuck! Crap. Oh, my life. Sorry.’ She looked from Anna and back to me.
‘Hey, y-y-you,’ I stuttered.
Her bright smile bloomed. ‘Hey.’ She put her hand on her head. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘A few last-minute checks,’ Anna replied as I sat with my mouth open, ready to answer but not finding any words.
‘But the magazine comes out tomorrow,’ she said, tapping a pencil to her mouth.
‘I had some questions. Everything’s sorted now,’ I replied.
‘Good,’ she said, looking to Anna. ‘I’ll come back later.’ She backed away slowly. ‘Stop by my desk before you go?’
‘Planning on it.’ Her smile burst as she closed the door, and my eyes stayed locked on it, even though she wasn’t there anymore. I heard a cough and turned back to Anna. ‘She can’t know,’ I rushed out, squeezing my eyes shut at this crazy idea I know had the ability to save me but bring me toppling down too. ‘If we go ahead, that’s one of my ground rules.’
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