Chapter 2 #2
I first came here with this guy I’d been on a couple of dates with.
He was a bit of a twat but harmless enough—a finance bro who asked me out when I was working in a coffee shop in the City for a while.
It was quite a baller move for him to bring a date to a sex club, but I owe him a lot, because I got talking to a lovely blonde lady at the bar that night, who turned out to be one of the founders, Gen.
She was basically the club in human form—expensive and gorgeous—and she offered me a job on the spot.
I couldn’t say no when I heard what the pay was.
The guy didn’t last past that night, but I gave him a pity fuck next time he was in. It seemed like throwing him a spot of commission was the least I could do for helping me land this epic gig.
It feels weird being here in the middle of the afternoon.
Rose and Lily have netball after school today, so they’ll be home later than usual, and a sweet neighbour is watching Dawn.
I asked Gen if I could have a quick chat with her during office hours.
The guys who run Alchemy with her—Rafe, Zach and Cal—are lovely too, but I prefer talking to Gen.
And, given she’s the one who took a leap of faith on me and gave me my big break, I owe it to her to update her directly.
She hands me a lovely cuppa in a chic white mug that I’m sure costs a fortune, and we sit on the huge, modular sofa in the beautiful, airy front room on Alchemy’s ground floor.
There’s barely anything in here apart from this sofa, a big glass coffee table, and a pink stone sculpture of a vulva that lights up, but in a classy way.
Apparently it’s onyx. Through the double doors, which Gen has tactfully pulled shut, are the founders’ desks.
‘How are things at home?’ she asks, blowing elegantly on her coffee.
Everything Gen does is elegant. She totally reminds me of a younger Hannah Waddingham, all platinum hair and spectacular curves and a fuck-tonne of sass.
She’s married to this hot billionaire tycoon called Anton Wolff, but if I hadn’t seen the way he dominates her in The Playroom, I’d assume she wore the trousers in that relationship.
I think she does wear the trousers outside of their sex life, to be fair.
And today she is literally wearing the trousers—fabulous white wide-legged ones.
Her tank top is a metallic beige-coloured knit, and she’s dripping in diamonds, and she looks like she should be walking onto a yacht right now.
But she’s so incredibly kind and so awesome in general that it’s impossible to resent her for it.
Anton Wolff is a lucky man.
I blow on my tea, less elegantly, and grimace. ‘Not good.’
‘Ahh shit, Ivy. I’m sorry.’
She knows all about my home life, and she’s been amazingly supportive.
Far more supportive than she should ever feel obliged to be for a random member of staff.
She’s the reason we started getting weekly home visits—she had some high-up friend unleash hellfire on the NHS when she found out Dawn wasn’t getting any at-home support.
I shrug, because it is what it is, and we both knew this was coming.
‘She’s going into a care home the week after next.’ I let out a shuddery breath. ‘Which is a good thing.’
Gen stands and comes around the huge sofa to sit next to me, plonking her mug down on the table so she can squeeze my hand.
‘That is a good thing, and not just for your stepmum, but for you. She needs specialist care, and you need to reclaim your life.’ She stops abruptly, no doubt remembering that reclaiming my life will involve me officially stepping up as the full-time parent to Lily and Rose.
‘Yeah. I know. I’ll have to quit when it happens, though.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She squeezes my hand harder. ‘It’s all so shite for you. You’re such a little rockstar.’
Here’s the problem. Deeply uncomfortable though I have been about leaving the girls with Dawn, and leaving Dawn with the girls, these past few months as things have deteriorated, I didn’t really have a choice.
The money here is just too good. So I’ve paid carers to watch Dawn during my shifts, which eats into my earnings.
But it’s the right thing to do, and Alchemy pays well enough to still make financial sense.
I’ve always said, though, that I wouldn’t leave the twins on their own once Dawn was moved to a home.
They’re barely fifteen. Putting themselves to bed every night, having no parent figure around until I stumble in in the early hours of the morning, is not a proper upbringing.
And I won’t do it to them, especially after everything they’ve been through, and especially when school has restarted and they’ve just begun their GCSE syllabus.
The woman they know as their mother isn’t really there anymore.
Not often, anyway. Their father is dead.
At a decade older than them, I’m the only parent figure they have, and I’m not about to blow my chances of securing official guardianship by working at a sex club and being physically absent most evenings.
Ain’t gonna happen.
I just have no bloody clue what we’ll do about the money side of things.
‘She’s being moved a week on Friday,’ I tell Gen now, ‘so my last night would have to be the Thursday.’
She releases my hand and picks up her coffee. ‘You know, you’re always welcome to come back on Saturday nights if you want to make a few quid.’
‘Thanks,’ I say lamely.
‘Do you have a job lined up?’
‘Not yet. I’ve applied at the job centre, so let’s see. And I’ve been asking around at local cafés and shops.’
She’s silent. We both know the job centre won’t come up with anything that pays a fraction of what Alchemy pays.
‘I’ll have a think,’ she says. ‘I mean it. I’ll see what I can drum up. But actually, I was going to ask you on your next shift if you’re interested in working a special party next Wednesday. It’s out of London—Oxfordshire, I believe—but they’ve agreed to bus you all home at the end of the night.’
‘Possibly,’ I hedge. It would mean a later return home than usual, probably. Not great for Dawn or the twins. Sounds like a bit of a hassle, to be honest.
She twists and shoots me a mischievous grin. ‘Should be a fab event. A Grosvenor-themed party.’
‘Oooh.’ Grosvenor is one of my all-time favourite TV shows.
It’s set in the Regency era and is so sumptuous and glamorous.
I rewatch the first season all the time, which is a super spicy story about an arranged marriage between a duke and his new duchess.
Sigh. The chemistry between those two was, like, insane, which isn’t a surprise, given the actors went on to marry in real life.
‘Exactly. One of our members is throwing it for his brother at the family pile—they’re a pretty high-profile family. Benedict? Does that ring a bell?’
I think. ‘I might recognise him if I saw him,’ I say, which is a polite way of saying I’ve probably shagged him, but who the hell knows?
‘Well, anyway, it sounds lavish. Benedict tells me the budget is limitless. He wants some of the Alchemy hosts there to help liven things up, essentially. They’ll kit you all out in full costume before the party kicks off. Oh, and it pays well.’
She drops a number so fantastical that I gape at her.
‘Bloody hell. Seriously?’
‘You interested?’
‘Yeah,’ I mutter. ‘Sign me up. I’ll make it work.’
Even without any tips on the night, that figure would put a serious dent in Dawn’s first month of care home fees.
She gives me a real smile. ‘That’s the spirit. I know you’ll be a fantastic addition. We’ll muddle through this. And maybe a day out of London will be just what the doctor ordered. A fabulous swan song for you.’
It will take a lot more than a few hours cosying up to rich fuckers to fix my current ailment, but who cares?
For that much money, they can have whatever they want. I’ll be the life and soul of their posh, boring party for the whole bloody evening.
Even if, behind my Party Ivy persona, I’m dreaming of oil paint and water lilies.