42. FORTY-TWO
Poppy was just falling asleep curled up against Roscoe’s side like the world’s most satisfied cat when her phone rang. Grumbling, she reached for it irritably, then frowned at the name on the screen.
“Mum,” she said, answering it. “Hi. Everything OK?”
Beside her, Roscoe flipped on a bedside light, and sat back against the headboard, his expression asking the same question: Everything OK?
“No, Poppy,” her mum said. “It’s not. I’m sorry to bother you with this. But Liam lost his bloody job. They sacked him today. He’s only just rolled back in the flat. He’s been drinking, the idiot, like that’s going to help. I’ve only just managed to get the story out of him.”
Poppy sat upright, stiffening with anxiety. Liam’s salary wasn’t huge, but it covered the utilities, was almost a third of what her family needed just to get through each month.
“He used his bloody staff loyalty card for a friend,” her mum explained. “That idiot Jackson talked him into it with some sob story about his mum’s birthday present— No, I’m being unfair. I know she’s been ill and he just wanted to treat her, but I’m fucking livid. He used the discount once, Poppy. Once. And they’ve sacked him. He’s been there two years.”
It was a big chain department store, and all of the staff got a ten per cent discount card—about the only perk of working there. But it was to be used only for their own purchases. Never anyone else.
“Can he appeal?” asked Poppy. “If we pay back whatever it was?”
But she knew it was hopeless even before her mum let out a defeated sigh. “No. Remember what happened to Pat? And she was there for fifteen years. Six months from retirement and they kicked her out without a backwards glance. This is why I’m so furious with Liam—he knew. He knew what would happen. And you know what he’s like, he didn’t exactly go quietly, started mouthing off. They won’t even give him a reference.”
Poppy let out a breath, trying to steady her racing heart. “OK. Look. Tomorrow’s Sunday, but Monday he can go down the job centre. He can start looking, sign on for benefits in the meantime.”
“They take ages to come through. And it’s not going to be enough. Not even close to enough.”
“I know. I know. It’s OK. Don’t stress, Mum. I’ll sort it out.”
“How, Poppy?”
“I have some money,” she said vaguely. The money she saved on not having to commute—the money that was going to let her go part-time and do her course. And if she moved back in with her mum, moved out of Roscoe’s place—her heart shied away from the thought, but she forced it onward—if she moved in with her mum and didn’t pay Roscoe the token rent they had agreed on. But then, how would she get to work…?
Fuck.
Liam would find something eventually. It just might take a while. Especially with no reference.
She reassured her mum as best she could, promised to see her tomorrow, then ended the call. Roscoe reached for her, pulled her back against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. Comfort, strength, security. When had she last had any of that? It brought tears to her eyes, but she pushed them back, swallowed before she spoke, kept her voice calm.
“Did you hear?”
She felt his nod. “Most of it. I can help. If your brother needs some money—”
“No. No, don’t. I’m grateful but… I can’t ask that.”
“I’m offering.”
“You’re already worried about being my boss and my landlord. Let’s not add money and loans into the mix.”
“Not a loan. A gift.”
But she shook her head, resolute, and Roscoe stopped pressing the matter, seeming to realise he wouldn’t get anywhere. “I’ll drive you to your mum’s tomorrow morning,” he said. “Get some sleep now.”
The drive back to London went quickly, Poppy preoccupied with her family’s worries—worried a little, too, about the man beside her and the slight hurt and frustration her refusal to accept his help had caused.
He had offered again twice that morning. It was nothing to him, he told her. He could pay their rent for a year. He could buy them a house mortgage-free. But she refused to contemplate it. Something deep inside her baulked at the idea. Neither a borrower nor a lender be had been one of her Grandad’s favourite expressions. And her Grandmother’s had been, Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves. Of course, life wasn’t that simple. It didn’t cooperate—didn’t acknowledge good intentions and reciprocate in kind. It just did what it bloody well wanted. But still. Her Grandparents had been hard-working and proud, and she had learnt the lesson deep and early—that there was something important about being able to stand on your own two feet, not beholden to anyone.
Was it just pride that made her refuse Roscoe’s help? Stubborn pride. Maybe she didn’t want to be the poor girl sponging off her rich boyfriend any more than he wanted to be the big boss sleeping with his secretary. Maybe they were both too proud to bend to stereotypes.
But it was also simply too much. Too much to ask and too soon.
I love you…
She glanced at him as he drove, and her heart skipped over. She must love him, too. There wasn’t any other word that seemed to capture what she felt. Like was laughably small. It was closer to obsession. Roscoe Blackton in her very veins, speared through every part of her, and all she ever wanted was to pull him deeper still. Get even closer. Bind him with her soul. Possessive and greedy, the way he had half-joked with her. But it made sense that they would love in the same way. They may have come from different ends of the universe, but where they met in the middle, they were one.
She shook her head, bemused at her own thoughts. Definitely love, if she now thought and felt like that.
Roscoe glanced over, sensing her amusement. He smiled, and she knew it was because he was glad that she had smiled. “Alright?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m alright.”
He spared his hand momentarily from the gearstick, gave hers a squeeze. “And if you’re ever not,” he said, “let me know. I’m right here with you.”