by Rae Shaw
Turning Whathisname down was the right decision. It wasn't due to sin, right or wrong. Sleeping with him would have been a stupid thing to do and swiftly regretted. That kind of relationship wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was the same thing she had felt when she had cut herself, but without all the questions that came with it. Of course, she had the answers. However, they, those responsible adults who had ruled her life until she left home, hadn't known that and they'd treated her like an imbecile.
She floated into sleep on her merry-go-round. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. She should give up drinking.
The journey home on the train the next morning was uneventful. Her friend wasn't really sober. They were both delicate and not daring to speak in case something unspeakable came up with their words. How did alcoholics manage?
Back at home, she confessed to Freddie she had almost slept with a stranger. She typed the words out and, without reading them back, hit send. Clasping her hands in her lap, she waited for his response. After a few minutes, she gave up and headed upstairs to knock on Nicky’s door.
‘Hiya, kiddo, come in.’
Ellen navigated her way past the piles of un-ironed clothes, the weights and the empty takeaway cartons.
‘For fuck’s sake, Nicky.’ She picked up the rubbish and dropped it into the trash can. ‘Don’t you want a boyfriend?’
‘Yes. A very domesticated one. Good wedding?’
‘Yes. I got very drunk and danced until three in the morning. The rest is a haze.’ Why lie? There was no shame in saying no to sex. Nicky probably did, when it suited him. She had lied because she wanted sex to be an unimportant thing. Nicky didn't care who he did it with, why should she?
‘So, you're okay?’ he asked.
‘Honestly, Nicky, I’m a bit hungover and emotional. Can we make some space in your pigsty and watch Netflix or something? I want company, that’s all.’ And, for the headache to go. She rubbed her temples.
‘Sure, honey.’ He removed a few things from the couch. ‘Can't seem to keep on top of things.’
‘Lazy queer!’
Nicky's eyes narrowed.
She shouldn't have said it. Only gay people used that word, didn't they? ‘I... I…’ She felt sick again. She turned to leave.
‘Forget it. I'm just crabby. Hormones.’ He grinned. ‘I'm not lazy. I am queer, though.’
She laughed with relief and collapsed onto the couch. Nicky bounced onto the cushion next to her and picked up the TV remote.
Ellen fell asleep halfway through the film, her cheek against Nicky's shoulder. She woke to the enchanting aroma of coffee and hazelnut; one of Nicky's specials. She washed dishes in the sink while he pumped his weights up and down. It was a performance, without the usual boom of his beatbox, and just for her benefit. Sweat trickled down his face and his biceps bulged as he flexed his muscles. She never asked for anything more from him and he never expected anything in return, other than perhaps a spot of cleaning. Both of them would be embarrassed if they tried to made a thing of it. So sad, and frustrating: her first love was unattainable.
He wiped his face with a towel. ‘I'm meeting somebody,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I should freshen up.’
‘Not here?’ She had done a reasonable job of cleaning his kitchen.
‘No.’ His cheeks glowed brighter.
Nicky's other life, the one he had before he had moved into the block, was as off topic as her own. He mentioned a rough time with gangs and drugs. He had broken free and maintained a squeaky clean lifestyle of exercise and diets. The fringe of this new life bled into the old one. If he had hinted at anything it was the bikers, or his brother, Jed. Jed Redder, the name made her laugh. Nicky hadn't laughed with her – the brothers didn’t share the same father.
She had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss one of those flushed cheeks. Goodbye kisses on the lips were out-of-bounds.
Trooping downstairs, she leaned on the door of her flat to shut it. The room felt icy. Soulless. She had always planned to share a flat with some chirpy girl, but she hadn’t met one yet. London seemed to lack what she sought. It was a huge disappointment. The negative vibes festered and grew with each passing week.
She checked her messages. Mark still hadn't called, but Freddie had replied.
You should feel proud of yourself.
There it was, as expected, a pat on the back.
The telephone buzzed. Mark was calling. Now she was fielding both men at the same time.
‘Mark. Hi,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Yes. Very, in fact. Immeasurably better than I anticipated.’ He sounded chirpy. It had to have been a good night for him; Mark preferred measurables. ‘How did your wedding go?’
She stared at her iPad. Freddie wasn't always free. In fact, getting hold of him recently was often a struggle.
‘I got exceedingly drunk. I'm now very hungover.’
He chuckled. ‘Comes with it.’
‘I guess.’
‘Can we meet? I've got an idea to help you save some money.’
She pushed the iPad off her lap. ‘Sure. I'm all for more money.’
‘Good.’
They made arrangements to meet at his place. He was specific about that.
‘I know you're not interested, or so you say, but there's a chance I might be getting help with Dad's appeal. Somebody who has connections.’
‘You're right, I'm not interested. Don't expect me to contribute to the funds.’
‘I guessed you'd say that. Oh, something else,’ said Mark. ‘Jackson Haynes, my boss, has invited us to his club one evening. Don't know when. Soon, possibly.’
How awful for both of them. If they shared one thing, it was a dislike of loudness and brash behaviour. Mark used to do Mrs Haynes's accounts. Ellen assumed her presence was important to Mark, if only because his boss had commanded it, and who said no to Jackson?
‘Jackson Haynes is taking a keen interest in you. Us. Why?’
A sigh and a pause. ‘Don't know.’
Liar. He had some inkling as to the reason. ‘He doesn't know about Dad, does he?’
‘I doubt it. I've not said anything. He might know about Haydocks though. It would be on my resume.’
‘Haydocks?’
‘Where I worked as an accountant after I graduated from Oxford.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It didn't exactly end well. It's why I left Manchester and came here to London.’
‘Shit happens,’ she said. What did he do – sleep with the wrong person? Forget to send off his tax returns? She discounted the second silly idea, but the first was definitely in Mark's territory. When they were kids, she had shared an adjoining wall with Mark's bedroom and what Deidre didn't know was best kept that way. The walls might not have had eyes, but Ellen had ears.
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘I fucked up.’
‘I'm sorry.’ What else could she say?
‘I wanted a promotion. It went very wrong. It's probably wise, Ellen, to never take anyone at face value.’
‘Jackson Haynes included?’ And our father, what of his worth? She held her tongue. She had said it all before.
There was a pause. She’d hit another raw nerve. Everything she said today dropped mini bombshells on other people's sensibilities.
‘Probably. He's got something on me, Ellen. I'm sure of it.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘It's not easy to answer. Sometimes doing the right thing looks bad.’ Mark sighed again; he sounded like a deflating balloon. ‘Don't worry, Ellen. It's nothing to do with you. Or Dad. It's just business. Money. Fucking money.’
‘Why not leave? Get another job?’
‘I don't want to. I like what I do. It's a dream job for me. In any case, I'm probably being paranoid about Haynes. Mum keeps—’
‘Nope. Don't bring her up.’ Ellen wasn't that patient. Mum was always lurking behind Mark's woes, just like Dad was behind hers.
He had to stop sighing. She found it irritatingly self-serving.
> ‘Let's leave it at that. See you soon.’ He rung off without waiting for a goodbye.
She threw the phone onto a cushion. ‘Damn it.’
On the iPad she typed a message. I'm glad you think I made the right decision. Because it feels like nothing I do is right.
What's gone wrong?
Mark. Keeping secrets.
About the appeal?
No. Although he's getting help from somebody.
Really?
It won't make a difference. What he's more worried about is his new boss.
Haynes?
Yeah. And something to do with the last company he worked for. Haydocks.
There was a lengthy delay before Freddie dropped the next line.
Sorry. Phone call. Always somebody wanting my advice. He added a smiley. Haydocks? Not heard of it.
His last job in Manchester. He was very cagey about it. Said he'd fucked up on something and had to leave.
Mark must be battling his conscience. You kept your dignity and resisted temptation last night. Be proud.
The word proud jumped out of the screen. He was labouring a point.
She clutched her iPad. Another message from Freddie popped up, following straight on from the last. He had written a sermon about the importance of virginity. It wasn't the first time he’d lectured on the subject of playing safe, but he hadn’t framed it with references to purity and abstinence. He came across as more sanctimonious than ever.
Freddie the priest was back. For fuck's sake, why now? She wished she had never told him. It wasn't about sex. Didn't he get it? She could so easily tell terrible fibs just to have somebody talk to her, touch her, heal her fractured heart. Her anger spilt over, down her arms into her fingertips.
I'm getting pissed again. You can't stop me. Can you?
Freddie?
An hour passed. She had drunk half a bottle of wine, which on top of a hangover was having a peculiar effect on her vision and stomach.
I can't, he replied, finally. I can worry about you. Wish you were here with me. I would hug you and tell you it’s going to be fine, Ellen. Everything will be fine. Somebody special is out there waiting for you.
~ * ~
Ellen arrived at Mark's apartment in a sequinned dress and the same high-heels she'd worn to the wedding. The silver necklace adorning her neck had been a gift from Uncle Tim. She rarely took it out of its box; it reminded her of Manchester and another life.
Mark complimented her on her appearance. ‘Stop looking glum. You look fab.’ He straightened his collar. No tie tonight.
She didn't want to go to Razzles. Just the name of the club was off-putting – how retro was it going to be? Jackson Haynes wasn't a young man, and hardly likely to sponsor a rave. Was the club a front for some dodgy deals, or a vanity project? And then there was Mark's determination to scrambled up the career ladder to escape something he had done at Haydocks.
‘Mark, I'm not sure,’ she said.
He poured her a glass of wine. ‘Drink. Loosen up.’ He left the glass on the kitchen counter. She eyed it suspiciously.
He tapped her arm. ‘Before we go, I want to show you something.’ He led her to a door. ‘This is the spare room.’
It had a bed, but nothing else. What struck her was the space. Her bedsit could fit inside this one room. Stacked in the far corner were cardboard boxes with sealed lids.
‘I know you're trying to save. I'm suggesting you move in with me.’ He stood in front of the boxes.
‘What... live with you?’ She left her mouth hanging open. He had to be kidding; they hadn’t been under the same roof for years.
‘Temporarily, of course. But just think. I live closer to your work. You'll save on fares. Plus, I'm out, a lot.’
Meaning, he wasn’t keen on spending time with her, which she found equally unappealing. ‘I'll live with you? So, like, I'm going to cook and clean?’
‘No!’ He dragged her by her arm to another door. ‘En-suite. Your own. We'll have a rota for cleaning. Cooking, if you like.’
The bathroom was petite. However, it was clean. Spotless, in fact. He shut the door behind them.
She needed to save, and he probably worked long hours for Haynes. ‘I can't pay you much.’
Mark moved, and she saw the labels on the boxes: William Clewer. Appeal hearing. Mark wasn't stupid: he had set a trap for her, and it was good one. A tempting one.
They returned to the living area.
‘I'm trying to help you, Ellen.’ He wrung his hands together. ‘Give me what you can afford for rent.’
‘So I can save, just that?’
‘Yes. Go to university, whatever. Like I did.’
She hadn’t anticipated he carried that guilt so heavily.
‘Why, why now?’ She gave the apartment a fresh appraisal: modern, simple and a good location. She could never afford it on her own. And she would rather share. Better her brother than a strange girl, even a chirpy girl.
A sudden flare of exasperation swept over his face. ‘I want to get to know you.’
He was lying. He wanted something from her and she had a good idea what it was. Just because she had suffered living with their mother after he had left didn't make her a useful conduit for relaying the latest instalments of Mark's ineptness at managing the appeal. She and Deidre were utterly estranged and Mark knew it. In the end, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't inept, merely useless at appearing sanguine.
‘I'm not sure.’ She sighed, adding in an indecisive eye roll to extend the ruse a little longer.
‘Think about it, Ellie.’
He used to call her that when he bribed her with sweets. Two lollipops for each time she lied to Deidre about his whereabouts. The rate was five for Dad. Deidre was easier to fool.
‘I have to give notice. The landlord's a crook—’
He smirked. ‘Aren't they all.’
‘And, I need my deposit back.’
‘There's no rush. As I say, I'm spending my time elsewhere.’ A hint. A bad one too. The place smelt of roses.
‘I have friends...’ Hardly any. She would miss Nicky.
‘Friends can visit. You're a grown woman.’
Yes, I am. She said nothing. She would tell him her answer another time.
‘Shall we go then?’
She was about to step into an exclusive, if possibly dated, night club. If she moved in Mark's circles, who knew what other fortunes might drop into her lap. He collected his jacket and had one last check in the mirror. Mark was more vain than she’d realised. On the way past the kitchen, she swallowed a mouthful of red wine to bolster her nerves.
Razzles turned out to be far from dated; the Mayfair venue featured all the trimmings of money with its velvet-clad decor, soft purple lighting, glazed floor, and seamless panelling. She immediately felt a buzz in the air, the energy of countless exhales mixed together. Unfortunately, the music was deafening and the bar ridiculously expensive. Mark bought the first round of drinks.
‘There's Jackson.’ He pointed to a tall man in a cordoned off area of the floor. An audience fanned out around him like a fast-flowing current avoiding a boulder. He wasn't alone; somebody, a brick-shaped man, filtered who got near.
Mark, his hand on her elbow, steered Ellen through the crowd, and they walked past the minder, who gave a curt nod to Mark.
A green-eyed, stunningly attractive woman hooked her arm through Mark's. ‘You came.’ Her pearl necklace was as white as her teeth.
‘Hi, Hettie. You're perky,’ Mark said. A liquid smile sped across his face, as if Mark was trying to harness all the charm of a James Bond star.
‘First time in months that I've been here. I'm going to have fun. Even a drink or two.’ She lifted a glass and it reflected her glossy lips.
Ellen was lost for a second in the magnetic appeal that came with celebrities. She’d seen this woman in a magazine, one of those with pictures and no substance. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
‘Mark used to be my acco
untant. I miss him so much.’ She squeezed Mark's arm. ‘His replacement is so boring.’
Mark turned a shade of mellow pink. ‘Hettie, you’re too dazzling for me.’
‘She dazzles everybody, doesn't she?’ said the tall man blocking out the spotlight behind Hettie. ‘Is this Ellen?’
Before she could offer it, Jackson Haynes scooped up Ellen's hand. She expected him to kiss the knuckles, Godfather style. Instead, he gave a momentary shake and released it. The impression he left lasted longer than that swift touch. He hadn’t dropped his gaze.
‘Mark said you're a keen archaeologist.’
There wasn’t a question mark at the end of that sentence. He already knew a lot about her. Ellen shot a fiery glance at her brother. Now he had pink ears. What else had he revealed about her? ‘Amateur and relatively untested. I’d like to study.’
‘My brother Luke and I know somebody, a professor.’ Jackson’s eyes twinkled under the lights. ‘He’s well connected.’
Ellen said nothing again. Mark fidgeted with his beer glass.
She and Mark moved to explain to another new person who she was – always Mark's sister, but not everyone knew Mark. He was a newcomer too. The introductions grew quicker, less involved. She was an appendix, always attached to him and framed by his friendship with Jackson and Hettie. Mark's boss was surrounded by a skilled group of sycophants, fawners of wealth and power. She hid her disgust. She was a fish out of water and drowning. Although it was more like suffocating. She briefly bumped into Hettie again. Razzle dazzle Hettie with her charm and her effervescent spirit. A mother free from the chains of babies, she shone under the lights. Mark couldn't stop looking at her. So, he fancied his boss's wife. The infatuation might explain his desperate need to be part of Jackson's fan club.
As for Jackson Haynes, he had to have a hidden agenda regarding Mark. And her, too, because Haynes watched her almost as much as he tracked his wife about the club.
Ellen wasn't enjoying herself. While Mark hobnobbed his way up the social ladder, she drifted, aimlessly circulating. One bald man, who introduced himself as Graham, wanted to know what she had dug out of the ground. She should have listed shards of pottery, coins, smashed roof tiles, clay pipes amongst the unexplained, including the fragile pieces of an iron age weapon – her greatest find and now on display in a museum in Manchester. Instead, she blurted, ‘Knives. I find knives.’ She turned on her heels and hurried to the bathroom.