Talking to Addison Read online

  So I tended to slog away on my own, pausing only to hurl abuse at Johnny or to point out things to the drooling girls along the lines of ‘Box – there! … You see box? Pick up box?’

  The smoking girls teased me because I’d been to college, particularly Tash, their queen, this scrawny girl with thick black eyeliner who had a real mother-smoked-in-pregnancy look about her. Tonight she sidled up alongside me, observed my work closely for several minutes, and then said:

  ‘Hmm, yes, I see now why that needed a degree – getting all those tulip heads in a line can’t be easy.’

  The rough boys all guffawed and I tried to laugh but couldn’t. I hated her, and I hated being bullied, and however rude I could be to Johnny it wouldn’t translate to this lot. They were rough as badgers’ arses.

  ‘Could you pass the sign-in sheet?’ I hated it but sometimes I just had to talk to her.

  ‘Sorry, love, I’ve only got a GCSE in general studies.’

  All the boys laughed again, and one of them shouted, ‘Oi, watch out, Tash, she’ll trip on the chip falling off your shoulder.’

  I grimaced and pretended to join in, boiling inside, but really I felt like when I was taken by some older girls to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show when I was eleven – it was all too trashy and I just didn’t get it, but I was laughing along anyway. They were mean, mean kids. Because I didn’t blow cigarette smoke out of my nose they called me TinBits.

  ‘Please,’ begged one of the lads, bending on one knee before me, ‘your exquisite virginal majesty, might I just for one second peek up your skirt?’

  ‘She’s got her knickers welded to her bottom,’ yelled Tash.

  I very nearly flashed my tits at him just to piss him off, but instead made a hasty vow to myself to apply for every florist’s job in a five thousand-mile radius.

  For the rest of the night, Tash contrived to make fourteen derogatory remarks, upset my flowers four times and spend at least an hour talking about me (I suspected) on prolonged fag breaks with the lads. I was being bullied! I couldn’t believe it! This wasn’t fair.

  My shift finished at 4 a.m. and I freewheeled home as usual, down the hill back to the big house. I crept in and saw the light on under Addison’s door. The urge to see him again was overwhelmingly strong so I wandered into the kitchen and made two cups of tea. I didn’t know how he liked it, so I put three sugars in for luck as I’d never seen him eat – he probably needed the nutrition. Then I ferreted around for a couple of biscuits to add to it, but the only thing going was a very lonely Penguin – Kate allowed herself one every fortnight. I took it anyway, planning to replace it, pronto.

  I knocked on the door softly.

  ‘Addison, it’s me.’

  The soft clicking noises stopped for a second. I could imagine him desperately trying to wrack his brains for a single person he could be expected to identify from a ‘me’.

  I pushed the door again and popped in.

  ‘I made tea!’ I announced, like a fifties housewife.

  His short-sighted – oh, but beautiful – eyes swivelled round to focus on me. His glasses were sitting on top of the mother-ship console.

  ‘Tea!’ I indicated by holding the cups up and motioning like a lunatic.

  He focused on the cup and followed its path as I went to place it beside him whilst I wondered if he was mentally subnormal.

  ‘Not there!’ he barked.

  ‘OK, OK, put the gun down. How about I hand it to you?’

  Slowly he extended his arm. I placed the cup in his hand, handle facing outwards – which meant burning a hole in my hand, but I didn’t mind because when he took it, the tips of our fingers touched, and I swear I felt a bolt of electricity shoot through me.

  I waggled the Penguin at him.

  ‘Penguin?’

  He stared at it for a bit then shook his head, so I ate it. After all, as he’d taken the tea, that implied a contract that allowed me to stay for a little bit.

  I leaned over. His computer screen was covered in bizarre symbols, just like in James Bond films.

  ‘What are you working on?’

  He tried to cover up the screen, but as his arms were like matchsticks, it didn’t have much effect. However, as the symbols meant as much to me as EC policy directives, it was a pointless exercise anyway.

  ‘Ehm, nothing. Thanks for the tea …’

  He sipped it, then tried to disguise his gagging reflex.

  ‘That’s all right. How was your day? Mine was shitty.’

  And so I told him all about the nasty boys at the flower yard. Mainly for conversation really, because I knew the second I stopped talking there would be complete silence.

  Much to my surprise he appeared to be listening – well, not doing anything else, which had to pass for it.

  When I’d finished, I took another sip at my tea and said:

  ‘So, what do you think I should do?’

  He looked at me for a second, then cracked an absolutely heartbreaking smile.

  ‘Not talk to anyone?’

  A sentence! Almost. I grinned back at him, then decided to leave on a high note. I nodded with my mouth closed, mouthed ‘good night’ to him, and retreated, leaving him sniffing suspiciously at his tea.

  ‘Success!’ I crowed to Josh the following evening. ‘He talked to me.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, he told me not to talk to anyone. But apart from that I consider it an outright success.’

  ‘Oh, speaking of outright success, did you steal Kate’s Penguin?’

  Shit; I’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘Mmmm … maybe.’ I surreptitiously checked round the outside of my mouth in case there was any chocolate left there from last night.

  ‘You’re in trouble.’

  ‘OK, OK, I’ll just go out and get her one.’

  ‘It’s too late. Plus, she knows it’s a blue one. I’d make myself scarce, if I were you.’

  Unfortunately I wasn’t working that night and, annoyingly, felt that cold thing you get in the pit of your stomach when you know you’re going to get into trouble later.

  ‘Argh! I am not in trouble! I am going to go out now and buy her fifteen Penguin biscuits and … and make her eat herself to death like in Seven. I am NOT going to let her intimidate me like this. She is so damn ANAL about everything.’

  ‘Which is why she’s one of the best corporate raiders under thirty in London –’

  ‘Just under thirty.’

  ‘I know what she’s like. Be nice to her. She has it hard enough at work. Everyone is really mean to her.’

  ‘Ooh, gossip? ’Fess up.’

  Josh was an indefatigable gossip, although he wouldn’t thank you for pointing out this particular trait.

  ‘Well, she just has an overwhelming inability to spot married guys. I mean, they can have a bloody suntan ring round their fourth finger and Kate believes them when they say it’s impetigo. And she’s seeing this guy now who only phones her in two-minute bursts from call boxes at eleven thirty at night, and they do a lot of their dating in their lunch hours … Any day now she’s going to find out he’s another louse. Deep down, I think she realizes they are and it’s all a big psychological mishmash.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘That whole big psychological mishmash thing.’

  And we each thought about our own for a second or two.

  ‘So,’ I resumed, ‘she’s grouchy all the time and it’s not my fault.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s that happy at having another woman around the flat.’

  ‘I’m not exactly a threat,’ I said, looking down at where the button should have been on my pyjamas. Fortunately, I’d known Josh a long time.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s a territorial thing.’

  I grunted. ‘What, like cats have? I thought there was a funny smell in my room. Maybe she’s pissed in it.’

  ‘Ssh,’ said Josh, as we heard the door open.

  ‘Shit! I’ve forgot
ten to go out and get the Penguins!’

  He winced at me as Kate did her normal arrival routine: an enormous sigh, an elaborate dumping of her expensive accoutrements, and a full-body lunge for the bottle opener.

  Josh winked at me, and I smiled manfully.

  ‘Hey, Kate, how’s it going?’

  ‘Shit! Holly, did you eat my Penguin?’

  I cringed, which wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to say something along the lines of, ‘Yeah – do ya wanna make somethin’ of it?’ and spit on the floor. Instead of which I said, ‘Yes. Look, Kate, I’m really sorry, I’ll buy you some more.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she sniffed, LYING. ‘I’ve only been out working for twelve hours, slaving over a huge offshore investment, which is almost entirely my responsibility, something unheard of for someone under thirty …’

  ‘Just …’ I said, under my breath.

  ‘… why on earth should I want or deserve a little bit of relaxation, which I’ve already bought and paid for, when I come home exhausted? I’m silly, really. I should just give it up and mess about with flowers and eat other people’s Penguins all day long.’

  She picked up the wine bottle and retreated from the room, continuing, ‘Really, I must just be so, so selfish.’

  Once she’d gone I beckoned to Josh.

  ‘Hand me that bread knife.’

  ‘Now, you remember what I said …’

  ‘I heard what you said, and now I am going to kill her with a knife. GIVE it to me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think you understand the situation: I am going to have to kill Kate with a knife, and I’m asking you to pass it to me.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, handing me a plate of couscous. ‘Ignore it. What else was Addison saying?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t sulk.’

  ‘No, I mean it. Actually, nothing. Has he ever spoken to you?’

  ‘Not really. He just turned up when we put the ad in, and he’d brought so much computer equipment we didn’t have the heart to send him away again. Plus, Kate thought he was cute.’

  ‘He’s better than cute. Oh, did she try and pull him and fail?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘No, she tried talking to him for ten minutes then ran out of attention span. Plus, also, he didn’t show any of the normal signs of bastardy.’

  ‘Ah, ooh, she is just SUCH a cow!’ I exclaimed again.

  ‘She’s fine. Now, go out and buy the biscuits.’

  ‘What! After all that – you must be joking.’

  ‘Unless you want “all that” every night for the rest of your life, I would go and buy the biscuits.’

  ‘Fine, fine, fine. I will go and buy the biscuits. Then, I will pee on the biscuits.’

  I ended up heading to the gigantic supermarket which is open all night, all the time. I think they keep the staff caged there, like animals. They all have rickets from being out of natural light for so long.

  I hate supermarkets. I can stand for hours in the shampoo section, stymied. Should I be putting fruit in my hair? What will happen if I don’t? What is shampoo, anyway? Are there any more foods just out there waiting to be discovered? Etc, etc. As usual, it took me three hours to collect a more or less random selection of products, plus fourteen packets of Penguins. I’d wanted Josh to come with me or, ideally, volunteer to do it himself, but he’d started to get a bit shifty and got out work files to do stern lawyer stuff with – like, as if.

  Finally I wandered home, feeling a bit mournful and stopping to put my bags down every five minutes.

  When I walked in, the house was very quiet. Josh was locked away in his room – I hoped it was with his Playstation – and Addison had disappeared. I had never even seen him go to the toilet. I liked that. He was too unearthly for bodily functions. Men, or at least the ones I’ve always known, think that it’s endearing to you if they fart a lot. Addison wouldn’t be like that. And then, they’d smell of angel dew.

  Feeling mildly nauseous, I backed my way into the kitchen with my sixteen bags, swung them round to dump them on the table and accidentally clobbered Kate on the side of the head. With the one with the tin cans in.

  ‘Ow!’ she growled at me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I cringed, though I wasn’t really. But I didn’t want her to think I’d done it on purpose.

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’

  ‘Oh, forget it,’ she said.

  I did a mental double take. That didn’t sound like Kate. Surely she should be demanding my first-born child and threatening to take me to court.

  ‘Really, I am sorry,’ I said again, putting the rest of the bags down. I saw her properly for the first time. Her eyes were all red, and she was doing the giveaway, back-of-the-mouth sniff. As a world-class crier myself, I knew what had been going on.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked, as sincerely as I could, which of course meant it came out sounding like I was a confessional TV host.

  ‘I’m fine, really.’ She sniffed properly, and patted down her immaculately glossy hair. Now, there was someone who knew a bit about shampoo.

  I started to unpack the shopping.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, casually, as if I was a trained counsellor and did this kind of thing all the time.

  ‘Nothing … nothing. Oh GOD.’ Her face completely collapsed into tears. ‘I HATE him. I really, really, really, really HATE him! And he doesn’t even CARE!’

  I put down the tin of Heinz spaghetti (where had that come from? Had I let a four-year-old do the shopping?) and sat down beside her.

  ‘There you go,’ I said, patting her lightly on the arm and saying the things you’re supposed to. ‘Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Absolutely, he’s a bastard.’

  ‘You don’t even know him!’ she snivelled.

  ‘OK, is he a bastard?’

  ‘YEESSS!’

  I patted her harder. ‘OK. Tell me, what happened?’

  Her sobbing slowed down a little bit.

  ‘I was seeing this guy, and I really liked him and I thought … well, stupid bloody me, eh, how dare I think that I could ever go out with someone who wasn’t MARRIED?’

  ‘Oh no!’ I thought of what Josh had said. ‘I’m really sorry. Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘He said he thought I knew. I asked him to come out for my birthday and he said he couldn’t, he had to take Saffy to the dentist …’

  ‘Who’s Saffy?’

  ‘That’s what I said. Then he coughed and said, ehm, it was his dog.’

  ‘A dog dentist.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘So you guessed from that?’

  ‘Ehm, no. I believed him.’

  ‘Ooh, nasty.’

  She hiccuped. ‘Then I went in to give him a surprise birthday present a day early …’

  ‘But it’s your birthday.’

  She ignored me and sniffed even harder. ‘And he’d left his wallet open on the desk … and I saw a picture of Saffy.’

  ‘Not a dog?’

  ‘A five-year-old girl!’

  ‘Well, kind of a bit like a dog then …’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He could be divorced, couldn’t he?’

  ‘He isn’t. I asked him. And now it’s all over.’ She started sobbing again.

  ‘Why did no one else in the office tell you this?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t really … talk to the girls in the office.’

  I bet you don’t, I thought. In fact, they probably set you up.

  ‘Would you like some Heinz spaghetti?’

  She thought about it for a moment.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  We sat and ate spaghetti in silence. I wanted to broach the topic of Josh, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Also, whenever I’m in Kate’s presence and trying to think of something to say, I always have a horrible compulsion that I’m about to accidentally mention Pop-Tarts, like Basil Fawlty and the Germans.

  Kate appeared slightly c
oy and lifted up her fork.

  ‘Ummm … would you like to come out for my birthday?’

  ‘Sure!’ I said. I was so relieved she wasn’t giving me trouble, I’d agreed before I realized what I’d just committed myself to.

  Josh wasn’t coming to Kate’s birthday do. He was on parental duty. His parents were officially now genteel poor, living in a huge house they could no longer afford to run. They’d been cleaned out by that, Josh’s education, and the education of his three sisters, who were all beautiful, and all completely stupid. Despite these extremely positive attributes, none of the girls had ever got married, which meant no new influx of old money into the fforbes’ family coffers. The family, though, were holding up very well, marching on with some good stories and a lot of dogs and gin and tonics.

  Which left, as far as I could make out, all of Kate’s City friends and, ahem, me. Actually, I wanted to go. Young, rich, probably good-looking men … I liked the sound of it. Obviously, I was going to marry Addison, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get taken to nice restaurants in the meantime.

  Unfortunately, everything I had to wear was grubby – the market was going to make you dirty anyway, so it scarcely mattered – apart from my pyjamas, and I didn’t think they would cut it. Finally, I dug up an old black summer dress which was so faded it could pass as grey, the colour du jour, apparently. It was too chilly, even in April, to wear it, and as I didn’t have a tan it gave me an air of being clinically dead, but it really was all I had, which depressed me more than I wanted to think about.

  I teamed it with my favourite daisy necklace and twirled in the mirror. I looked nine.

  I was meeting Kate and her gang at some posh pub over an ice rink near Liverpool Street station. It was mobbed and full of braying, identical young men, who had rather better skin than the young men I’d grown up with but were just the same old wankers – with money.

  ‘You’ve got to take it to the EXTREME!’ one rather red-faced young man was hollering to his chum, two feet away.

  ‘Quite!’ the other, equally stolid, chap bawled back. ‘That’s why I’m chartering a helicopter in the Canadian Rockies next season!’