Joker in the Pack

by Elise Noble

  “You took me to a strip club!” I screeched.

  “Shh, keep your voice down. There are other patients around.”

  Much as it pained me, she was right about that. “Fine. I certainly don’t want anyone else finding out.”

  Her cheeks coloured as she shuffled backwards. “It might be a bit late for that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Er… Perhaps you should get some rest.”

  “Maddie, what are you talking about?”

  “Okay, okay. Do you remember Mandy Clark? We went to school with her.”

  “That perky blonde whose life’s ambition was to bag herself a Premier League footballer?”

  She’d even learned what the offside rule was. We’d had a bust-up in year six when she’d said my accent was so posh it was stupid and I’d grabbed her Barbie doll and put its arm in the electric pencil sharpener, and she’d never forgiven me.

  “Well, she’s getting married. To a footie player, surprise, surprise. But she’s had to slum it. He’s only in League Two.”

  “Terrific. And?”

  “Well, she might have been at the cabaret last night. And she might have brought her camera. And one or two of those pictures may have found their way onto Facebook.”

  Oh, bloody hell. “Get her to take them down. Please!”

  “I tried, but it was too late. They’d already got over seven hundred likes and made it onto Twitter.”

  I closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

  “I didn’t know Mandy even had seven hundred friends.”

  “She doesn’t. She tagged you, so some of them are yours. Then the photos went a little bit viral. People have been commenting from as far away as Ecuador. The one where you were stroking the dude’s wotsit was particularly popular.”

  Bang went my plan of running away to South America. All that training, all that effort my mother had put in to turn me into a lady, and I’d just ruined it. I couldn’t even behave properly at a strip club.

  Still, on the bright side, the embarrassment I’d felt about Edward’s affair paled into insignificance beside this latest debacle.

  I was never going to another club. Never.

  On second thoughts, I wouldn’t even be able to set foot outside my front door again. I’d lock myself in my flat forever. Waitrose delivered, so I’d be fine. In sixty years, someone would find my corpse surrounded by empty chocolate boxes, mummified after it had lain undiscovered for six months.

  My obituary would be short.

  Olivia Porter, daughter of the late Frank and Victoria. Known for her lewd behaviour and her complete inability to attract a man. Survived by her seventeen cats.

  I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Maddie, I’m going to kill you. You know that, right?”

  “Gosh, would you look at the time? My shift’s just about to start. Gotta run.”

  Coward.

  An hour later, a doctor examined me, poking and prodding and shining a torch in my eyes.

  “You have a slight concussion, and we need to keep you in overnight for observation. If nothing worsens, you can go home tomorrow.”

  Was I supposed to be grateful for that? I guess so, but I didn’t fancy being alone in my flat, either. What was there for me? An underwhelming amount of work, a half-empty wardrobe, and a gaping hole in my life. So much to look forward to.

  “Leaving so soon? Are you sure that’s safe?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “We need the bed for patients who don’t inflict injuries on themselves.”

  His pursed lips told me the doctors hadn’t found Maddie’s tale of a strip night gone wrong very funny.

  The nurses did, though. By the time I was discharged, at least ten of them had asked about it, and they gave me a leaving gift of furry handcuffs and a bottle of baby oil.

  I tried to smile, but my sense of humour had all but deserted me. Every day, I became more like my mother. The only positive thing about the constant jibes was that when Maddie waved a white tissue taped to a pencil around the edge of the door in surrender, I was pretty much desensitised to the whole mess.

  “Are you still planning to kill me?” she asked.

  “No.” A sigh escaped. “I can see you were only trying to help, and besides, I’m not sure how I’d go about hiding the body.”

  Plus, I couldn’t drive, and she was my lift home.

  When we got back to my flat, she insisted on coming in and making me toast and a cup of tea before she returned to Dave.

  “That way I’ll know you’ve eaten something other than junk food. I bought you fresh milk and a few groceries.”

  At least somebody cared. “Thank you.”

  “It’ll all blow over, you’ll see. A celebrity’ll fall out of a club or something, and nobody’ll be interested in your video anymore.”

  “I hope you’re right. And I really do appreciate the food.”

  “We’ll do a takeaway next week. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  After Maddie left, I shuffled to bed. My head still hurt, and I craved sleep as though I hadn’t spent part of this week unconscious.

  Two days passed before I felt well enough to turn on the computer, and even then, a dull ache pulsed behind my eyeballs. The pain only got worse when I read my emails.

  Olivia,

  Several of my clients have shown me the video of your shenanigans on Facebook, and I can’t express how disappointed I am at your lack of professionalism. First the “bushes” faux pas and now this. Regrettably, I’ll be taking my business elsewhere.

  Camilla

  And it got worse as I scrolled down.

  Olivia,

  I need you to discount all tracksuit prices by ten percent immediately.

  Derek

  Then when I didn’t reply straight away…

  Olivia,

  I see you haven’t made the changes. Is there a problem?

  Derek

  Twelve hours later…

  Olivia,

  Are you ignoring me?

  Derek

  And the final message, timed at eight o’clock this morning.

  Olivia,

  As you’re non-responsive, I’ve found another web designer. He’s cheaper too. Send your final invoice to my secretary when you eventually get around to reading your emails.

  Derek

  That…that…asshole! Without their recurring fees, my situation had become even more dire. I opened up my spreadsheet and recalculated everything. If I ate nothing but oatmeal and didn’t use the heating, ever, plus picked up one more decent client, I could just about afford to live. As long as nothing else went wrong, that was.

  But what else could go wrong? My life disappeared down the toilet when Edward did the dirty on me. Taurus had only pressed the flush.

  For so many years, I’d worn a mask, working to give the impression that I was of the same social standing as Edward and my friends, but with one drunken mistake, that illusion had been shattered. I’d been revealed for who I truly was. Common little Olivia Porter.

  I’d been outed as an impostor.

  How could things possibly get any worse?

  CHAPTER 5

  A MONTH LATER, I stood in the kitchen, surveying the horrific mess that only a burst pipe could cause. My tears had only added to the puddles shimmering under the single light bulb, now bare because I’d sold the shade.

  I’d been out job-hunting when it happened. A day of futile sales pitches to small businesses in the local area had turned into a nightmare when I’d walked in to find Niagara Falls coming through a gaping hole in the ceiling and a furious downstairs neighbour hammering on my door.

  How the heck did I turn off the water? Shouldn’t there be a master tap somewhere? I panicked and called Maddie, who put me on to Dave, who told me about the stopcock in my airing cupboard. The neighbour was still yelling as I paddled through and finally stopped the torrent.

  Then the neighbour called the landlord, and he came around and shouted a
t me too.

  “Look what you’ve done.”

  I squelched across the carpet behind him as he examined the damage, cringing when I realised I’d left my underwear out on the bedroom windowsill to dry.

  “But how did it happen?” I asked. “How can a pipe just burst like that?”

  The plumber he’d brought with him tutted. “It probably froze overnight. It’s like the bloody Arctic in here. Is the heating broken?”

  The landlord obviously knew I hadn’t reported any faulty radiators, and he turned to glare at me.

  “I, uh, turned it off. I can’t afford the utility bills right now.”

  “So you decided to cause thousands of pounds worth of damage to my property instead?”

  “It was barely freezing.”

  “One degree below would have been enough. Bloody women!”

  Thousands of pounds? His words echoed in my head, and I felt physically sick as I sagged against the counter.

  “I can’t afford to pay for all the repairs at the moment. Maybe I could pay a bit back each month? As long as I get some more work, that is.”

  “I’ve got insurance to cover the building damage. Some of us aren’t entirely stupid. Your security deposit will pay the excess, but I’m not taking any chances on something like this happening again. I want you out by the end of the month.”

  “But it’s almost Christmas. How am I supposed to find a new place over the holidays? Nobody’ll want to move then.”

  “Not my problem,” the landlord said over his shoulder as he stomped out.

  My heart hammered as I stared after him. Obviously, the place was a mess, but surely he had to understand it was an accident? In the three years I’d lived in the flat, I’d always paid the rent on time and never asked him to fix anything, not even when a pigeon flew into the lounge window and broke it.

  Worry settled in my stomach like one of the bad Chinese takeaways I used to eat with Maddie before I met Edward. Homeless as well as penniless? Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, fate drop-kicked me into a lower level of hell. Now I needed to add finding a new place to live to my list of seemingly impossible tasks.

  I looked around the little flat I’d loved so much. From agonising over the colour schemes to selecting just the right vase for the sideboard, I’d put my heart and soul into it. Mother always said a tidy home meant a tidy mind, and mine both lay in tatters. Every time someone bid for one of my items on eBay, it felt as if my soul were under the hammer as well.

  “But I still don’t understand why you turned the heating off,” Maddie said as she helped me to sponge the living room carpet dry.

  Murky splodges covered every inch of the once-pristine cream pile.

  “You know how Edward liked the place tropical? Well, the electric bill came last week, and it ran to four figures.”

  “Over a grand?”

  I nodded. “Almost two. So I panicked and turned everything off.”

  “You should have said something, you daft mare. I’ve got a few hundred quid saved up.”

  Tired of life, I went to sit down, then remembered I’d sold my table and chairs. “I can’t take your money, not with it coming up to Christmas.”

  “You can’t freeze, either. What are you doing at night?”

  “Wearing lots of layers, and I’ve got two duvets on the bed.”

  At least I still had a bed. Apart from that and my desk and chair, the flat lay empty. The last thing to go had been the three-piece suite. My beautiful maroon leather sofa with its two matching armchairs. The guy who bought it had the cheek to try and haggle me down further when he’d come to pick it up. I’d stood my ground, but the whole experience left me drained.

  “Look at it this way,” Maddie said. “At least now you can leave this place and find somewhere cheaper.”

  “I won’t have a security deposit.”

  “We’ll sort something out. I’ve got tomorrow off, so let’s have a look at some adverts this evening. We’ll find you a new flat in no time.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Of course. Things’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Based on my newly revised budget, we found four places with the potential to be suitable. One flat, a tiny house, and two house shares. The house especially surprised me because I hadn’t thought we’d find anything that nice with my meagre finances.

  As I went to sleep that night, I felt the faintest glimmer of optimism for the first time in weeks. Perhaps Maddie was right and every black cloud had a silver lining after all?

  First thing in the morning, Maddie showed up with cappuccino and croissants, and we carried them with us on the bus as we travelled to viewing number one.

  For the past few years, I’d lived in Clerkenwell, and before that, Notting Hill, prioritising a good area over size when it came to choosing my abode. Now I couldn’t afford either.

  The closer the bus chugged to our designation, the more boarded-up properties I saw. Three in a row on one street alone.

  “I’m not sure about this,” I said to Maddie.

  “The listing said this area was up and coming.”

  “On what? The crime-rate tables?”

  Her grimace said it all.

  “Be careful, ladies,” the bus driver said as we went to get out. “You don’t want to be out after dark around here.”

  I clutched my handbag across the front of my body as we hurried along the road. Garden landscaping consisted of barbed wire and broken household appliances, with graffiti adding the odd splash of colour. Maddie stopped in front of me as I stepped over a pile of doggy poop, and I walked into her back.

  “This is it,” she said. “Number forty-three.”

  “It’s a chicken restaurant,” I hissed. Neon-yellow letters spelled out “Clive’s Chicken Coop,” and the red eye of an orange rooster blinked demonically as I tried to decide whether to laugh or cry.

  Maddie’s gaze went higher. “I think the flat’s on the first floor.”

  Sure enough, a flicker of light shone through one of the dingy windows above the garish facade.

  “How do we get in?”

  “Those stairs at the side?”

  “Do you think they’re safe to stand on?”

  The rusted metal creaked ominously as I put weight onto the first rung, and visions of the whole lot giving way and landing on top of me made me pause.

  “Let’s go one at a time, shall we?”

  At the top, Maddie knocked on the door and wrinkled her nose at the dirt on her knuckles. It swung open to reveal a man in a grease-stained “Chicken Coop” apron, and from the way his belly strained at the ties, he was a big fan of his own products.

  “You ladies here to look at the flat?”

  Why on earth would we be there otherwise? It wasn’t a neighbourhood one visited by choice.

  Maddie answered for me. “Yes, that’s us.”

  “Come in, come in.” He threw the door open. “It could do with a bit of a clean.”

  No, it could have done with being napalmed. Black mould grew up the walls, and the grimy carpet was a jigsaw of dark footprints. A film of dust coated the mismatched furniture, and the couch only had one cushion, not that I’d have wanted to sit on it, anyway.

  “Did you just see something move over there?” Maddie whispered.

  “Where?”

  “Under the pile of fast-food containers in the corner.”

  Even if I scrubbed for a month, I doubted I’d make a dent in the filth, and that wasn’t the worst part. I’d held my breath in horror as we walked in, but when it came to the point where I had to inhale or faint, I almost choked. The stench of chicken fried in rancid fat permeated everything.

  “It’ll be snapped up in no time,” the guy told us. “Last time it went on the market, someone rented it the same day.”

  Really? Did that person have an olfactory problem?

  Chicken Man grinned, revealing a row of brown teeth. “Just for you, I’ll throw in a ten percent disco
unt downstairs.”

  Vomit rose in my throat as I ran from the room and down the dodgy stairs. Air. I needed air. Maddie followed more sedately and met me on the pavement.

  “I told him you ate some bad sushi last night. That was a no, I take it?”

  “More than a no. An absolutely no way. How could you stay in there a second longer?”

  “Oh, I’ve smelled far worse things than that at the hospital. One time this guy with a bowel problem came in, and—”

  I held up a hand. “Please. Just don’t. Can we get out of here?”

  “It’s like that Arnie movie—The Running Man. You’ve seen that, right? Where people have to escape from the game zone without dying.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry. Let’s find a bus. And look on the bright side—the next place can’t be any worse.”

  CHAPTER 6

  A QUICK BUS ride took us to our second destination—one of the house shares. “Modern accommodation within easy walking distance of public transport and local shops,” according to the blurb. Thank goodness there were no fast-food outlets within sniffing distance, and the outside of the property looked just as it did in the advert, if not a little close to a road junction.

  At Maddie’s knock, a guy with dreadlocks opened the door and greeted us with a toothy grin. Light glinted off his gold incisor.

  “You here about the room?”

  “Yes, we are,” I said.

  He swung the door open wider to allow us in. “I’ll show you around. Do you like music?”

  “I enjoy Beethoven. And nothing beats Mozart being played by a full orchestra.”

  His eyebrow ring tilted to the side as he frowned. “How about rock?”

  We stopped short in the lounge. Or what had once been a lounge, but now seemed to be…a recording studio?