“Frigging hell,” Maggie said.
“I’ll … buy you some more?” Efia offered.
“Come on, mate,” Ben said. “It’s not so bad.”
“It is so bad!” I managed to say.
“Give him a tissue!” Maggie told Ben.
“I haven’t got a tissue!” Ben replied.
Maggie threw her hands in the air. “Well, that’s a lesson, right there! Always have a tissue on you! You’ll always find a need for a tissue.”
“Have you got a tissue?” Ben asked her.
(I’m still bawling at this point, by the way, it being pretty obvious no one cared about me, it was all about the tissues.)
“Thank you, Benjamin,” Maggie sniffed. “I just used mine in the lav, someone used the last of the bog roll.”
“He’s still crying,” Efia said.
They all looked down at me, like a small rodent they’d just accidentally run over in their car, and they were debating whether to put me out of my misery or just let nature take its course. “I have such bad luck,” I sobbed.
Maggie sucked in a breath. “No such thing really, son,” she said. “People make their own luck, by and large.”
OK, so that didn’t account for all those innocent people killed by, I don’t know, shark attacks, or deadly pandemics, or even the poor woman at number twenty-five who got killed by a toasted sandwich maker, because none of those people deserved their bad luck through anything they did, but that aside, she was blaming me. Maggie was saying my horrible life was all my own fault.
I wiped my eyes with the palms of my hands. “All I … wanted was … to get a … huh … summer job, so everyone would … huh … leave me a-lone.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Listen, if it’s a summer job you’re after…” she sighed, “I suppose we could use another pair of hands, since it’s high season.”
I stopped crying like a kid offered candy, propped myself up on my elbows, and looked at her. “Really?”
Maggie glanced down at me. “Part-time, summer only, four pounds an hour, or four fifty if you’ll take cash-in-hand and keep it casual.”
“I could keep it casual,” I said, sitting up further.
“And you agree to drop any … claims against me or this place for your little … misfortune.”
So! Here was the trade-off. Was she only offering me a job to put a stop to me suing her? Did that mean she thought I had a good chance of sizeable compensation? But then there would have to be a big old court case, me in the witness box, doubtless being made to say things I don’t mean by some hotshot lawyer, branded an opportunist, a liar. The alternative was at least a guaranteed income and, um … working here with some nice people. And no, I didn’t mean specifically Ben, because I didn’t even know if he was (a) single or (b) interested in boys, so that would definitely have been stupid.
I nodded my agreement. “OK then.”
Maggie sucked on her electric cigarette again and blew another cloud of caramel steam in my face. “Start tomorrow then. Ben and Efia will walk you home – to make sure you’re OK after that little trifling bump, better safe than sorry.” She looked at Ben and Efia. “It’s quiet today, so you two can have the rest of the day off.”
Efia’s eyes lit up. “Paid?”
“Of course not,” Maggie said. “This is a zero-hours contract.”
“Oh, come on!” Ben said.
Maggie shook her head. “Works both ways, Benjamin. Flexible for me, when I don’t have the hours going; flexible for you when you want to get drunk and have sex with each other, or whatever teenagers normally do.”
I can’t be sure because I had my eyes closed in mortification, but I was pretty sure we all had our eyes closed in mortification.
“See if you can get up,” Maggie suggested. “Nice and slow…”
I opened my eyes, then put my left hand on the floor to steady myself for the heave up. Ben held a hand out for me to take, but like a muppet, I just looked at it, like he was offering me a random fish or something.
“Grab my hand,” he suggested.
So I did. And he pulled me upright.
“All right?” he said.
I nodded.
He smiled. Dimples. Bloody hell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This is me,” I said, stopping on the pavement outside my house. I would have invited them in – we’d had a nice enough chat on the walk over here – but I didn’t want them to meet Kendra. She would put them off me in a micro-second. “Probably just need to lie down for a bit and I’ll be fine,” I added, just to make it clear I needed to be alone and wouldn’t be offering them refreshments. I flicked my eyes across to Ben and gave him a small smile and a nod. Yeah. That’s about the extent of my flirting ability. Also, as you would probably expect, he looked even better out of the gorilla outfit. He was the same height as me, but a little broader, with a very slight smattering of freckles across his nose that I could quickly become obsessed with. Well, those and his dimples. And his brown eyes, they were nice too, and—
“Wanna do something later?” Ben asked.
“OK?” I said.
Ben shrugged. “Just hang out at mine for a bit?”
“Sure.”
“Bring a bottle,” Ben said.
“Really?” No, Alex, play it cool, can’t you?! “I mean, yep. Like … wine, or—”
“If you like,” he said. “Or whatever.”
“OK then.”
I had no idea. Did he just mean Sprite?
“My place isn’t as nice as yours,” he said.
Efia rolled her eyes. “Your place is fine.”
“Not as nice as this though.” He gave me a little smile. “Nice.”
I flicked my eyes away. I guess it is quite a nice house. It’s a Victorian semi, quite big, and Mum and Dad spent a lot of time and money when they first bought it doing it up, modernizing, so there’s a loft conversion, and an extended kitchen at the back. And since Kendra’s moved in, she’s continued in the same vein, paying to have the sash windows replaced, and putting two matching box tree shrubs either side of the front door. “Thanks,” I said, kicking my high-tops on the pavement.
“Seven, OK? Give you time to sleep off your headache,” Ben said. “I’ll message you my address.”
I nodded.
“Don’t bring wine,” Efia added.
“OK then.”
“Bring vodka,” she said.
At least I had firm instructions now. That was good. Less chance I’d mess up with firm instructions. I nodded my goodbyes to both of them and walked up to my front door, pretty pleased that I’d just been invited to some sort of party, which meant they must have liked me on some level.
“I know you don’t like curry, but we’re having curry,” Kendra said, busy unpacking two carriers of takeaway food as I mooched through to the kitchen, after lying down for a few hours.
I looked in horror at the silver containers on the counter, which had things like “jalfrezi” written on them. “I don’t like—”