Wimpy Jane nearly fainted. ‘You mean . . . steal it? She’ll go ballistic.’
‘More or less ballistic than when she sees what you’ve done to her seagull?’
Wimpy Jane folded without a fight. ‘Good point. I should go. Now.’
‘What?’
Wimpy Jane cast aside the shackles of years. ‘I’m going.’
There’s nothing like suddenly giving yourself permission to do something you haven’t dared to do nearly all your life to catapult you into a vortex of panic and indecision.
I ran to my room. Halfway there I thought I’d better clear up the mess and veered off towards the stairs for a dustpan and brush. Halfway there I suddenly thought, what are you doing? Leave it. She’ll see what’s happened and at least then you won’t have to bother with an explanatory note along the lines of:
Dear Granny,
I broke your bird and by the way I’ve hated every moment here, and you claiming my carer allowance for yourself for my board and lodging was a really mean trick so I’m running away. I’ve taken the housekeeping in lieu of non-existent wages and I can promise you’ll never see me again.
Jane.
PS The seagull head is under the chest of drawers. Don’t think you’ll be able to reach it. Hope it doesn’t start to smell. Goodbye.
On second thoughts . . . why not? Why not leave a note just like that?
I left it lying on her pillow. Right next to where the housekeeping used to be.
My heart was thudding fit to burst. I think I was terrified she’d come home early and catch me. She never had – she paid what she always classed as ‘an enormous sum’ of money to the Centre to take her and feed her and entertain her and she’d never leave until she felt she’d had her money’s worth. I had plenty of time.
I made myself slow down, select stout shoes, something waterproof, warm clothes and some underwear. I stuffed the money – I hadn’t had time to stop and count it – into my toilet bag and shoved the whole lot into a carrier bag, because I never went anywhere, so why would I have a suitcase?
I threw on my coat, flung open the front door and ran down the path. I heard the door slam behind me and realised I’d left my key behind.
Now I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.
I see I’ve begun in the middle but the seagull thing was a truly major event for me. It changed everything. Fear, coupled with shame and anger at being so afraid, propelled me from the house and out into the street and then deserted me completely. I found my way to the High Street and stood on the pavement watching the world go past. Where to go?
I couldn’t stay here. Everyone knew my grandmother, therefore, everyone knew me. I turned left for the airbus station. I would buy a ticket to . . . somewhere. In the meantime, I needed to survey my resources.
Actually, I was astonished at the really rather large sum of money I’d grabbed. Given the way she doled it out in pitifully small amounts whenever I went shopping and snarled at me if she thought there was insufficient change, there was a lot of money here. I could go almost anywhere.
I stuffed it all back into my bag before anyone saw it, bought myself a coffee and sat down on a bench to think. There was one of those holographic news and advertising boards on the wall. I sipped my coffee and watched the adverts slide by. Cheap airship travel, the latest blockbuster holos, Parrish Industries, cheap loans, national news, international news – image after image flickered by while the words slid past at the bottom of the screen. It was all on a continuous loop and I think I watched it twice before it registered.
The Time Police were recruiting. And they especially wanted women.
I don’t know at what point it occurred to me that this could be just what I was looking for – a job with living accommodation provided. I watched it go by a couple more times – I was worried in case they changed their minds suddenly and took it down, but they didn’t so I caught the airbus to London and enlisted.
Luke
The bleeping woke me. I had a message coming through. I blinked and tried to focus. Blinked again, tried again, blinked again and gave it up, hoping the whole thing would go away.
It didn’t.
When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I sat up and waited vainly for the pounding behind my eyes to go away, until I was finally able to focus on the read-out.
Hey, what do you know? A message from dear old Dad. Had he remembered my birthday? A bit of a first for him. And it’s not as if he had any excuse – he had armies of people to remind him about things like this. There it was, though. His name flashing on the screen.
I hadn’t heard from him for quite some time, and actually I’d rather been expecting to be on the receiving end of massive parental displeasure over the Tannhauser business, but there had been complete silence and since that had been some time ago now, he’d obviously missed it.
Like an idiot, I was pleased to hear from him. I thought he was messaging me because today was my birthday. Celebrations had begun last night – hence the pounding head this morning – and were due to continue for quite some time. And then I read the message and thought – shit.
It was a bit of a bugger getting the girl out of bed and I couldn’t remember her name. Dianna? Dinah? Yes, Ruth – that was it. Actually, it turned out her name was Deidre so I wasn’t that far out. But calling her Ruth would account for her snippy exit.
Heroically and despite the hangover, I made a real effort to clean up my apartment. Well, technically, I just shoved everything into a black bag and hurled it into the incineration chute. I can’t think why people find housework so difficult. It wasn’t wonderful, but thirty minutes later things did look considerably tidier. He’d never been here before so I wanted to make a good impression. It would be nice if he liked the place.
I’d just selected Scottish Heather for the air conditioner when the doorbell rang. He was here.
No, he wasn’t. He’d sent his PA, Ms Steel, instead.
I don’t like Ms Steel. Steel by name and steel by nature. She is extremely good-looking in a severe sort of way. It really gets my goat that it’s OK for Dad to surround himself with shit-hot women but not me. Anyway, there I was, staring gormlessly at the severe but sexy Ms Steel. I really wouldn’t have minded easing her between my sheets – freshly changed after Ruth, before anyone gets the wrong idea – but so far that opportunity hadn’t been granted me.
There was no opening preamble. No ‘Hello, Luke, how are you? Do you fancy a spot of afternoon delight?’
‘A message from your father,’ she announced, laying a whole rainforest of documents on the table.
A bit environmentally irresponsible, as I pointed out and she ignored me. I did try a quick squint at them, but my head was still pounding and quite honestly, my eyes weren’t focusing that well, either.