Nothing but Trouble

CHAPTER 1 AS I SCURRIED back to my desk, my boss, Barry, blocked the way, tapping his watch. “Seven minutes, Ellen. You’ve taken seven minutes. The rule for a bathroom break is five minutes. What have you got to say about that?” Six months I’d worked there, and he still couldn’t get my name right. I avoided his eyes, and instead focused on a glob of jam clinging to the second of his two chins, a remnant from his eleven o’clock donut. He ate one every morning with a cup of coffee, which was perhaps why he bore more than a passing resemblance to one of the doughy balls. Minus the sugar, of course. There was nothing sweet about Barry. “I’m sorry, sir,” I mumbled. “It won’t happen again.” “It had better not. With you swanning off tomorrow morning, we’re already going to be behind on our targets this week.” I seethed as I crossed the stained grey carpet to my seat. Swanning off? I was going to a funeral. It wasn’t like I’d be enjoying myself. I slumped into my chair and adjusted my headset, trying to gulp back the tears that threatened to fall. Sue leaned over from the next desk and pressed a tissue into my hand. “Here you go, love. Keep your chin up.” I was trying, I really was, but when the closest person I’d had to family had just died, it wasn’t easy. Still, I didn’t have time to grieve, not when the switchboard was already flashing with another call for me. “Payright Insurance, how may I help you?” The voice on the other end launched into a monologue about how he’d driven out of his driveway on his way to work yesterday morning, straight into the path of an oncoming bus. As he was in a Peugeot 106, it didn’t take much imagination to work out who won that tussle. “So how long does it take to claim compensation?” he asked. “Sir, I’m afraid if the accident’s your fault, you can’t claim compensation.” “But it wasn’t my fault.” “I thought you said the bus was on the main road?” “Yes, but it was five minutes early.” His tone left me under no illusion who he believed was the stupid one in our conversation. In the end, I just typed everything he said onto the form and sent it off to the claims department. He’d undoubtedly call back when they threw the claim out, but at least I’d bought myself a couple of weeks. The calls came endlessly, and by lunchtime, my throat burned and my voice was cracking. I scooted off to the break room and unwrapped my sandwiches, grateful to have a few minutes away from Barry’s withering gaze. Sue popped in a few minutes later and flumped down next to me. “Was it a full moon last night? It’s like the entire population of England decided to go out and drive into something,” she said. “Seems so, doesn’t it?” “Profits’ll be down. Barry said if we had another bad month, we’d have to start bringing in our own tea bags.” Great, something else to look forward to. On the table in front of me, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. A kitten wearing a feather boa popped up on the screen—the picture I’d assigned Jasveer, my best friend and another of Barry’s reluctant army of call-centre minions. She’d had a family emergency today and begged for a few hours off, which was something else that sent Barry stomping along on the warpath. If there was a prize for the least understanding boss ever, Barry would be the undisputed champion. “How’s Stevie?” I asked. Stevie was Jaz’s two-year-old. If I ever thought about having a child of my own, thirty seconds in a room with Stevie was enough to send my uterus running for cover. His hobbies included retuning the television, feeding Lego to the cat and attempting his own version of the Mona Lisa on the living room wall. This morning, he’d got hold of a pair of Jaz’s earrings, and she’d had to take him to A&E to have a cubic zirconia removed from his ear canal. “He’ll live.” I heard the unspoken “unfortunately” at the end of that sentence. “The doctor gave him a sheet of stickers for being such a brave little soldier, and now they’re stuck fast to the headrest. Do you know what gets glue off leather?” It wasn’t a problem I’d ever had with my bicycle. “Sorry, I’ve got no idea.” “I can’t get hold of the childminder and Amir’s working, so I’ve got to stay home. I hate to ask, but could you tell Barry? If I phone him, he’ll get in one of his moods, and I might be tempted to tell him what I really think of him.” If she ever did that, you’d have to bleep most of the words out. I’d heard her let fly after a glass or two of wine, and she covered every four-letter word as well as making up a few of her own. “Okay, I’ll do it.” “Thanks, doll. I’ll be back in tomorrow for definite.” Her voice softened. “You take care of yourself in the morning, okay? Take as much time as you need. I’ll keep Barry off your back.” “I really appreciate it.” With us still being a person down, the afternoon was just as busy as the morning, but when the clock finally ticked round to five thirty, I wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or sad. Usually I’d have beaten Usain Bolt out the door, but today the reality of going home to an empty house hit me, and I dithered around as I turned off my computer and tidied my desk. “How are you holding up?” Sue asked, concern showing in her eyes. “I’m…” I started to say I was okay, which I’d made my standard response. But Sue had known me for too long, and I knew it wouldn’t wash. “I’m all trembly inside. I can’t believe she’s gone. I keep expecting to get home and find her making a batch of chocolate chip cookies or watching Top Gear. And when she isn’t, I can’t stop the tears.” Sue squeezed my arm. “It’s grief, Ella, and there’s not much you can do about it. I’m sure Edith wouldn’t have wanted you to mope around, though. She’s probably up there planning a carnival.” Sue pointed skywards. Well, ceiling-wards. The dusty strip light above us glowed yellow, complete with a cluster of desiccated moths destined to spend eternity gracing its plastic cover. I managed a smile because she was right. Edith had probably convinced the man upstairs to install a disco ball so she could keep busy teaching the angels how to do the Macarena. She never did grow old gracefully. “I know, but I’ve never had anybody close to me die before. It was a bit of a shock.” “I bet. If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know.” “I will. Thank you.” I said that, but I wouldn’t. I never asked for anything, not after being let down so many times. If the care system taught me one thing, it was not to hope, because hoping only resulted in disappointment. I set off home, dreading the stillness of number seventeen Horsefield Road. When Edith was alive, it had felt like a home. She’d filled it with warmth, laughter, and quite often the dulcet tones of the smoke alarm as she got distracted by online bingo and burned dinner. Now it had all the atmosphere of a morgue, but without the company. I didn’t know what was worse—the fact I was living there on my own, or that I wouldn’t be able to stay for much longer. The house had been Edith’s, you see, and I only rented a room. Now she’d gone, I was effectively homeless. It was only a matter of time before I’d have to venture out into the big wide world, and that thought terrified me. Edith had been like a grandma to me since she first found me at age ten, crying on the pavement outside her house. My foster sister’s bike lay next to me, and I wasn’t just bawling because I’d scraped my knee. I was panicking because she’d be furious I’d taken her bike without asking. Edith had helped me into her kitchen and cleaned up my cuts, then walked me home. She even stayed while I fessed up to my foster mother, a woman with all the personality of a dead fish, who didn’t care what any of the kids did as long as she got her cheque from the council each month. Over the years, I spent more time at Edith’s house than my own. She always had a plate of cookies waiting, and I could sit and read a book in peace without one of my foster siblings pulling my hair or poking me. When I turned eighteen and my foster family absolved themselves of all responsibility, it was Edith who’d taken me in and made sure I carried on with my education. Although when I recalled the day I’d just spent at the call centre, I did wonder how much benefit I really got from my three year English degree. I’d have been better off taking a course in how to speak i***t. I sighed as I opened Edith’s front door. Was I destined to spend the rest of my life as a representative of Payright? I shuddered at the thought, but the unknown scared me. I already needed to move to a new home. A new job was a leap too far for the moment. I needed to take things one step at a time. In the kitchen, I set some spaghetti on to boil then ran through my final checklist for the funeral tomorrow. Helping to organise that had left me in tears countless times over the past week. Edith’s friends had rallied round, but I’d done most of the work myself, from choosing the casket to arranging the flowers. I felt I owed her a good send off. Yes, everything was done. The service would be at the church Edith had attended on Sundays, and she’d be buried in the churchyard afterwards. She’d chosen the plot herself many years ago, right next to her late husband. He’d died in a car crash long before I met her, and she’d never found anyone to take his place. “There’s one true soul mate out there for everyone. I was lucky I found John young and had twenty good years with him,” she said. “What if I never find the one that’s meant for me?” I asked. “If it’s meant to be, he’ll find you.” Well, he hadn’t so far. All I’d managed to do was waste two years of my life with a man who did the dirty on me. And not just with anyone. No, when Terry decided he needed a little excitement in his life, he’d found it with a stripper called Miss Demeanor. No wonder he’d always been broke, what with most of his money going on lap dances and hotel rooms. Stupid, stupid me hadn’t suspected a thing. It wasn’t until Amir went on a stag do and spotted him licking whipped cream off the girl that his indiscretions came to light. When I confronted him, he’d tried his best to convince me it was nothing. “I was doing research for my next novel,” he told me. “Last week you said you were writing a modern-day version of Pirates of the Caribbean?” “Er, yeah, I did, but that was until I thought of this one. It’s gonna be a hit, I know it.” “But why did you have to get a lap dance?” “I’m taking the method acting approach, except with writing. I want to experience everything my characters do.” He could be very convincing, and I might even have believed him if it wasn’t for Edith. When I told her what had happened, she poured me a glass of sherry then pulled on her winter coat and got her car keys down from the hook. “Where are you going?” I asked. “The Pink Panda.” “You can’t just walk into a gentleman’s club!” “Of course I can, dear. I’m almost eighty. Someone will help me up the steps.” And that was exactly what she did. She got back three hours later, covered in glitter and wearing a feather boa. “That place is something else. Some of those young ladies are ever so bendy. I had a go on one of their poles, and let me tell you, it’s not as easy as it looks.” I stifled a groan. Sometimes I thought we’d ended up in the wrong bodies. At twenty-two, I preferred to spend my evenings curled up with a book while Edith partied the night away, taking full advantage of her senior citizens’ discount. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Edith had two hip replacements, and she wasn’t quite as sprightly as she liked to think. “Oh no, one of those hunky young men who opens the door for you helped to hold me up. Anyway, I found the girl that Terry’s been playing away with. Demi’s really quite sweet. She even did my eyelashes.” Edith fluttered her new additions, which were royal blue with silver tips. “Very nice,” I said hollowly. “Terry told her he was single, and not only that, he claimed to be a best-selling novelist. When he took you to the cinema last week, he said he was meeting his agent about a movie deal for his latest book.” I sat down with a bump. How could I have been so stupid? It had never occurred to me that Terry might be unfaithful. I’d always thought we were so well matched, ever since we met in my second year at university. We’d both wanted to check out the same book from the library—Lord of the Flies—and as a compromise, we read it together over a pizza and a bottle of wine at his place. He was the first man to ask me on a date, and after we’d been out two or three times, we were smitten with each other. At least, I thought so. With hindsight, Terry was perhaps more attracted to the money I earned from my part-time job and my willingness to help edit his dystopian fantasies. A tear ran down my cheek, and Edith passed me one of her frilly hankies. “Keep your chin up, dearie. You were too good for him, anyway. We’ll find you a better one.” She’d tried, bless her. Before I could blink, she’d signed me up on Plenty of Fish, and men were sending me photos of parts of their anatomy I really didn’t want to see. “Ooh, look, another one,” Edith said, as the third such message popped up on my inbox. She leaned forward and squinted. “I’ll need to get my glasses this time.” With her encouragement and a bit of a push from Jaz, I’d been on two dates. The first ended in embarrassment as a waiter swept past and accidentally knocked the man’s toupee into his soup. The second guy produced a box of condoms after desert and invited me to pick my favourite flavour. I put my foot down when Edith tried to set me up a third time. “I’m not wasting another night out with a weirdo.” “But I worry about you spending so much time in the house. You’re only young once. You should be out on the town, not stopping in with an old lady like me.” “You’re good company, Edith. I couldn’t ask for a better dinner partner.” Those words were the truth. I didn’t know what to do with myself now she was gone. She and Jaz were the only people I could truly talk to, and Jaz was so busy dealing with the tornado that followed Stevie around, I only saw her outside of work once a week. So that night, after a quiet dinner alone, I curled up in an armchair. I only had my book boyfriends for company now.