by Nina Kaye
I exhale with relief. He watched a recording. That could have been any time before DVDs came along, so opens the playing field right up again. As I’m typing the shortlist for my favourite film into the chat app to share with Graham, I miss the fact that someone is approaching me from behind.
‘Hey, beautiful. That you chatting with your pal from uni again?’
I jump with fright, dropping my phone on to my gravy-soaked plate, as Josh casually slides into the seat next to me. ‘Josh! What the… you scared me half to death.’
‘Sorry.’ He grins, reaching over and guiding my chin towards him with just one finger. ‘I still get a kiss though, right?’
‘Only after I’ve cleaned this mess up.’ I pull away from him and tentatively lift my phone out of the puddle of gravy.
‘Here, I’ll do that. It was my fault.’ Josh tries to take my phone from me, causing me to panic and haul it out of his grasp.
‘No. It’s fine. I’ll see to it. Back in a sec.’
I get up, flustered, and rush to the hand sink where I use wet paper towels to clean the gravy off my phone. As I do, I glance at my home screen and see there’s a message from Graham asking if I’m still there. Shit. I can’t reply now Josh has appeared.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I return to the table and sit back down, allowing Josh to plant a kiss on my lips. ‘It’s your day off.’
‘Had some training budget figures to work through ahead of a meeting with Aaron tomorrow,’ says Josh. ‘Didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday. Thought I’d see if you were around before I headed home.’
‘That’s what I call commitment – on both counts.’ I smile, letting him pull me in for another, more lingering kiss, my agitation suddenly forgotten.
We chat and flirt for another ten minutes or so, until it’s time for me to head back to the bar. As we’re walking back through the corridor from the canteen, I realise I need to get rid of Josh, so that I can message Graham back.
‘Right, I’ll leave you here.’ I jab my thumb towards the locker room. ‘Just need to put my phone in my locker. See you tomorrow?’
‘I’ll wait and walk you back to the bar. Means I can have another few minutes with you.’ He gives me a little wink.
I’m aware that I should find this sweet and feel flattered, but instead I become flustered again, and a little irritated. More at myself though, for getting into this situation. I’m careful not to give this away.
‘OK, sure,’ I say. ‘Just give me a moment.’
I dash inside the changing room, open my locker, and frantically tap out and send a message to Graham before Josh comes looking for me.
MissGinFizz: So sorry. Got hijacked by a colleague and now my break time is over. Will be finishing late. Chat tomorrow?
I replace my phone in my handbag, slam my locker shut and head back to join Josh, feeling tremendously guilty that I just referred to him as a colleague. I’m now getting in the habit of lying to both of them. This really is getting out of hand, and I badly need to sort it.
As Josh and I wander along the staff corridor in the direction of the bar, he’s even more affectionate than usual, and I find myself falling in sync with him once again. We’re just yards away from the door to the main hotel, enjoying a particularly gooey, intimate moment, when Aaron strides through it.
Just about expiring through fright for the second time in as many minutes, I pull away from Josh guiltily, my face flaming.
‘Aaron… err… hi,’ I say, flustered. ‘How are you?’
I glance at Josh, who looks mildly put out that I’ve leapt about five feet away from him.
‘Good evening to you both,’ Aaron addresses us in his usual clipped tone and continues to walk past us without even hesitating, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he goes. ‘No need to stop on my account. Just remember the rules – don’t take it past that door.’
Mortified, all I can muster is a squawk-like ‘sure’ in response.
‘Oh, man, that was so embarrassing,’ I moan to Josh, once Aaron has disappeared out of sight. ‘I can’t believe he caught us snogging.’
‘Why?’ Josh gives me a hurt look. ‘Are you ashamed of me or something? I thought you were OK with the age thing.’
‘No. No, of course I’m not.’
‘You’re not ashamed of me? Or you’re not OK with the age thing?’ Josh is scrutinising me.
I feel a sudden swell of empathy for him as I realise how I’m coming across. I step towards him and take his hand.
‘I’m not ashamed of you. Far from it – you’re amazing. And I am OK with the age thing. I’m totally over that. It’s just… well, I’ve never had an ‘at work’ relationship, and I’m just a bit uncomfortable with it. I’m actually surprised that you’re so cool about it.’
‘Maybe it’s a generational difference,’ Josh huffs.
I search his face, trying to think of a way to make this better, but then I realise he’s putting it on to tease me.
‘Oh, see you.’ I give him a playful push. ‘You had my heartstrings to breaking point there.’
‘Should have played on it a bit longer then, eh?’ He grins and scoops me up into his arms. ‘Don’t worry. Think I’m just more laid-back about it. That kind of thing doesn’t bother me.’
‘Maybe I need to learn from you then.’ I lean in for a last delicious smooch. ‘Right, I’d better get back to the bar. I’m late. See you tomorrow?’
‘Can’t wait.’ He keeps hold of my hand, gripping it affectionately, stopping me from leaving until I finally tug it away and disappear through the door to the main hotel, blowing him kisses as I go.
Chapter 25
I finish my shift just after 1 a.m., and after saying goodnight to Reyes and Amir, retrieve my things from my locker. I pull my phone out of my handbag and, as expected, see that Graham replied not long after I sent my last message.
GrahamLeeton: No problem. That’s the annoying thing about workplaces. They have other people in them. And very little privacy. I’ll be up late so feel free to message when you finish.
Pleased to see that I’ll have virtual company for my bus journey home, I let him know that I’m finished, and we immediately resume our earlier conversation.
GrahamLeeton: So, your favourite movie?
MissGinFizz: I can only give you a shortlist. Couldn’t whittle it down to just one. I love a good thriller that keeps you guessing. Gone Girl is right up there, as is Rear Window – it’s old but a real classic…
MissGinFizz: And, much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid I’m also a sucker for a romcom. Love Actually and the Bridget Jones movies are some of my faves.
MissGinFizz: Oh, and I still love Grease, even though I’ve seen it about forty times.
GrahamLeeton: Decision-making not a key strength of yours then. ;)
‘Cheeky,’ I mutter under my breath, then realise that, given my current predicament, he may have a point.
MissGinFizz: I’m going to be kind and let that one slide. Next question. What was your favourite childhood sweet treat?
GrahamLeeton: I get the distinct impression you’re fishing for clues about my age again, so I’ll put you out of your misery. Partly. I tick the age 25–40 box on questionnaires…
GrahamLeeton: And my favourite childhood sweet treat was a trip to the Woolworths pick’n’mix. Not that it happened often – probably what made it such a treat.
I’m so elated about Dylan’s late middle-aged man prediction being wrong, I almost miss the follow-up message Graham sent straight after sharing this revelation. As I’m reading it, I find myself reminiscing fondly on my own rare memories of the Woolworths pick’n’mix – but with Dylan’s mum as chaperone. Mine never took me anywhere nice; not that I remember anyway. I do have hazy memories of being very young, and my mum being more caring and protective of me. But it’s hard to know if those memories are real, or a fantasy my mind concocted out of sheer longing for parental love and affection. Because if it was there at some
point, it meant I wasn’t completely unwanted, and it could return. As these thoughts are swirling in my head, something twigs in my mind. I scroll back to slightly earlier in our conversation, stopping at Graham’s statement related to his favourite film. I read and reread the text in front of me.
GrahamLeeton: Nope. Watched it at home on a VHS recorder borrowed from my uncle (I assume you’re old enough to remember those?). Cinema trips weren’t something my family could afford. Same question back at you, what’s your favourite film?
He’s mentioned things being tight when he was a child, not once, but twice. Either he’s unaware of this, or he’s trying to give me a hook into a conversation that’s more personal. But if it is a hook, do I want to follow up on it? If I probe about his childhood, he might ask about mine. I’m not sure I want to go there.
Realising that the next stop is mine, I put my phone away, get off the bus and use the brief walk along Bonnington Road to weigh things up. If I want to get to know this guy properly, I can’t hide who I really am. The good thing is that I can reveal it without having to look him in the eye and see his reaction. But it’s just too painful, the still raw part of my mind protests. I don’t want him to know that I grew up in my own filth, that my mum was continually hounded by social services for serious neglect; that my dad was a vicious and violent man. Even if Graham grew up with not very much, it’s unlikely it was as bad an environment as mine. It sounds like at least he may have had parents who loved him.
As I’ve been battling with this dilemma, Graham has been waiting for a response and is clearly wondering what’s going on.
GrahamLeeton: Not disappeared again, have you?
Realising I need to reply, I let myself into my apartment, hang up my coat, and quickly send a response.
MissGinFizz: Sorry, no. Was walking last bit home. And also contemplating something.
GrahamLeeton: Well the Woolworths pick’n’mix is a deep topic. You take your time. ;)
I let out an involuntary giggle as I hop onto the couch and power up my laptop so I can shift the conversation to it. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Liv. This guy – whoever he is – he’s spent hours talking to me, exploring the issues of the world with me, making me smile and laugh. I’ve connected with him mentally and emotionally in a way unlike anyone I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone I can share my shame with, it’s him. But maybe I’ll just dip my toe in at first. I need to know his circumstances before I even think about sharing mine.
MissGinFizz: Ha ha, very funny. Actually, I had just noticed that you’ve made a couple of references to things being a bit tight when you were young.
I leave it as a statement, allowing him to share if he wants to, but also to change the subject if he doesn’t.
GrahamLeeton: Did I?
GrahamLeeton: So I did. Yeah, my childhood certainly wasn’t one of milk and honey. Made me appreciate the good things when they came along though. Some kids have so much these days, it just baffles me. How do they learn the value of anything when they start off with everything?
MissGinFizz: I think the answer is: they don’t. Unless they’re left to fend for themselves when they grow up – rather than being propped up by wealthy parents.
GrahamLeeton: Well, I may have grown up in a high-rise block, where the paper-thin walls meant there were no secrets. I shared a tiny bedroom with my two brothers, wore their hand-me-downs and played with old tyres on a derelict building site. But I understand and appreciate having a more financially stable life now. I don’t want more and more. I’m happy with what I’ve got. Unlike a lot of people, it would seem!
MissGinFizz: I get the impression you feel quite strongly about this. :)
GrahamLeeton: Yeah, sorry. Went on a bit of a rant there. :)
MissGinFizz: Not at all. I liked it. So your family struggled then?
I wince as I read my question back, wondering if I’m pushing things too far, but Graham seems quite happy to share.
GrahamLeeton: We did, yes. But we stuck together, especially after my mum died. That was when my brothers and I were still in primary school. My dad had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, as well as looking after us. Our neighbours were our saviours, caring for us when Dad was out at work.
MissGinFizz: Right, wow. I’m so sorry to hear this. No wonder you feel strongly about this stuff.
GrahamLeeton: You don’t need to be sorry. The only thing I’m sad about is that I hardly remember my mum. The way I grew up made me who I am. I’m really proud of where I came from. And very open about it – I actually use my story to help inspire young people in similar situations.
I suddenly feel all shivery and goose-pimply as I read this last comment. And to my horror my eyes begin to well up. I have to tilt my head back and blink furiously to stop them spilling over. He’s been through hell in his life, but he’s proud – and making a difference. I feel quite overwhelmed and confused by this. I’ve never felt proud of my background. I’ve always tried to bury it, too ashamed to admit that my family were losers who had nothing, who didn’t even try to fight through, and just thought they should be handed the solutions. I guess that’s the difference. Graham can be proud of his parents. I can’t be proud of my mum or dad. And I can’t possibly share my own situation because I don’t have a story that’s anything like that.
Feeling simultaneously relieved and confused, I try to lift the conversation to a more general level to avoid any questions about me.
MissGinFizz: Well, good for you. That’s so admirable. I’m sure we’ve said before that those who grow up with it easy haven’t the first clue what it’s like for others. They live in a different world entirely.
GrahamLeeton: Absolutely. So, what about you, MissGinFizz? I seem to remember you feeling quite strongly about this stuff before as well. Do you have a story to share?
For a few moments, I can’t breathe. My attempt to divert the conversation has failed. Now I have three options: tell the truth, lie, or avoid the question entirely. I know choosing the latter two will probably only cause me further issues in the future – if I actually have a future of any kind with this guy.
Agonisingly conflicted, I eventually realise it’s for the best if I’m honest. I also note that Graham hasn’t stepped in and recused me from my discomfort this time. He wants me to open up. I agitatedly tap my finger on the edge of the keyboard, trying to figure out the best way of approaching this, and realise there isn’t one. Taking a deep faltering breath, I rapidly compose a similarly summarised version of my own ‘story’ and hit send before I have a chance to change my mind.
MissGinFizz: OK, here goes… like you, I grew up on an estate with very little, but unlike you, I had useless parents. My mum lived on benefits, drank herself silly daily and barely ever left the house. My dad was a violent waste of space who spent more time in jail than out, and blamed the world for his problems. The cupboards were always bare, and the flat was always freezing – I basically had to fend for myself. So, unlike you, I don’t have a story I can be proud of. Only one that makes me feel shame.
As I read back what I’ve written, I feel a sudden, desperate urge to delete it and pretend it never happened. But I know there’s no point. He’s seen it now. I can’t undo it. I wait anxiously for his response, almost unable to bear it. After what feels like an eternity, a message pops up on the screen.
GrahamLeeton: Why does your story bring you shame, MissGinFizz?
I blink at the screen. Is he for real? What part of what I’ve just told him isn’t a reason to be ashamed? Who would want to admit that they grew up being regarded as the vermin of their neighbourhood? His parents were loving grafters. They created a home out of so little. Mine created little more than a doss house.
I can feel my stress levels rising. Why did I bring this up? I should have kept my bloody mouth shut. Or spun the same line I’ve used for the last ten-plus years, about having had a rather ordinary upbringing in a three-bed semi in the burbs. Nobody ever questioned that. It wasn’t an in
teresting enough story to pursue. And it was my safety blanket. Things were going so well, and now I’m on the verge of ruining them. He’s going to want to know more; I just want to shut the whole conversation down.
Just respond as if it’s a difficult PR question, Liv. You know the drill: take a step back. I let my mind tick over for several seconds, fingers poised on the keypad, then tap out my response. Unfortunately, on reading it back once I’ve hit send, it isn’t nearly as balanced and impersonal as I had intended.
MissGinFizz: Because families like my mine are seen as the scourge of our society. Looked down upon by so many. Some people would rather we didn’t exist, or were shipped off somewhere out of sight and mind. I can’t be proud of any of that. My story is completely different to yours.
Annoyed with myself for such a personal and emotional response, I lean back on the couch, clasp my hands across my midriff and wait resignedly for Graham to start to make his excuses. Chances are he’s now got an image of me in his head that’s not quite so desirable.
I wait for several minutes. Just when I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s not even going to bother with the pleasantries, my laptop pings with a message from him.
GrahamLeeton: Your story is sad, no doubt about that. But it is not one of shame. I understand that you can’t be proud of your family’s story, but you can be proud of yours. It’s clear to me that you are quite an extraordinary woman. On the limited information you have given me, this is how I see it: You have, against all the odds, defied the statistics and not followed in either of your parents’ footsteps. Not only have you committed to creating an honest and hard-grafting living for yourself, you also have a genuine writing talent. You have had the courage to branch into something new and I hope you are already reaping the rewards. You were not accountable or responsible for any of the failings in your early life. You were a child. An innocent child who depended on her parents, and they let her down. Society may judge your parents, but I will not. As we’ve discussed, there is so much inequality in this world. Your parents are probably to blame to some extent, but if all the disadvantage and postcode lotteries, and all the great imbalances in our country didn’t exist, then maybe they might have had more of a chance in life. Consider your circumstances within the parameters of the many discussions we have had about the wrongs of the world. You were strong enough to fight through; not everyone is. By allowing the leech of shame to suck you dry, all you will bring yourself is a lifetime of unnecessary pain and suffering or running away from the truth – when you could simply face it and put it to bed. I can’t say this strongly enough: do not ever carry the shame of anything you had no influence or control over.