Chapter 10
CLARA
‘But you can’t go back out,’ Minty shouts at me as I push past him on my way up the stairs. ‘You’ve only just got in.’
Sometimes, my brother is the master of the understatement.
I stop and give him a hard stare. He’s standing at the bottom of our narrow staircase, his hands filthy from changing oil on some jalopy. The sooner this planet gets itself eco, the sooner our bathroom won’t end up looking like a grease monkey’s paradise every night.
‘You do a quick turnaround on the night out front all the time,’ I say.
In reality, he never stops working. His nights out are normally with Tim in front of the TV with a beer, which is not a night out. His idea of a great date is for a girl’s car to break down. Not so that he can take advantage, no, so that he can get his head under the bonnet and get the thing fixed.
‘That’s different,’ he says, massaging his fingers with a rag so dirty it doesn’t belong in a domestic dwelling. ‘You work too hard, Clara. You’re always stuck behind a desk.’
‘No.’ I take a moment to pause on the stairs and turn towards him. ‘This new job is different. Flexible hours, a lot more independence and responsibility.’
‘They given you a contract?’
I clear my throat awkwardly. ‘Not yet but…’
‘It’s not a job then. No contract, no job.’
Minty is always being done over by people wanting a quick fix, so he’s wary of anyone standing in part-time.
I know my unpaid, uncontracted promotion is going to be a tricky thing for him to digest. He’s happy with me in an office – secretarial work, reception – and being paid for the hours that I clock in, but he has a problem with jobs that promise big titles but end up spiralling into unpaid overtime and promises that never come to fruition.
So, I’m keen to avoid discussion. I don’t need Minty to tell me that my move to the seventeenth floor could be temporary.
If Marco and Co find out it was me that left the door open, I’m toast. Betsy will take joyous told-you-so delight in giving me the boot.
Once that CCTV footage comes in, being helpful isn’t going to stop my speedy decline.
But maybe that’s all beside the point. Maybe I just need to live for the moment.
I’m about to go out to some fancy club with the most gorgeous man I’ve met in ages.
Strike that – the most gorgeous man I’ve met in my life.
Okay, so he’s bad-tempered, moody, arrogant, a little too fond of the bottle, and is in the habit of throwing stationery.
However, putting all of that to one side, Marco is the first man who’s had my heart racing in forever.
‘You would not believe the day I’ve had.
’ Minty leans on the banister below me. He always says this.
I truly believe that I know exactly what kind of day he’s had.
It’ll involve boiler suits, an inability to get a part, and a long tirade about the price of rubber.
Unfortunately, tonight, he’s in no need of an interested ‘Oh?’ from me.
He’s already dashing forward with the next subject in hand.
The topic he is refusing to let drop – me and my evening plans.
‘So, who are you going out with?’ He sniffs, and I get the distinct feeling that if Minty isn’t satisfied with the answer, he might, despite the fact I’m in my twenties, attempt to ground me.
‘The boss,’ I say, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible when my heart is racing faster than a drummer in a rock band finale.
‘A man?’ His eyes narrow.
‘Sure, why not?’ I shrug. ‘It’s just work related.’ I turn and head up towards my room. I don’t have long to get myself glammed up.
‘What about Robin?’ My brother calls after me.
‘Minty!’ I stare down at him from the landing. ‘I told you. Tonight is business.’ This is kind of true. ‘Besides, Robin’s not my type.’ This is absolutely true.
My brother looks confused, bordering on dumbfounded, as he follows me up the stairs. ‘He’s a nice lad. His mum speaks highly of him.’
That just about says it all, but apparently not because Minty is now in my bedroom. I raise one eyebrow. ‘Bro, I don’t have time for this. I have a work do. I could be on for a promotion.’
He shakes his head solemnly. ‘But they need to give you a contract.’
‘In hand,’ I say, keeping my tone short. ‘They were talking about it just a few hours ago, you know how these things take time. And if I do get a pay rise, I promise there’ll be strawberries in the fridge every week.’
His smile runs from ear to ear. Minty is a man of childish pleasures and moral codes that can be bought off with a multitude of cheap treats. He’s a true love. Give him a punnet of fresh fruit, and he’ll be yours for life.
‘So.’ I widen my eyes and swish my hands towards him in an attempt to usher him out of my room. ‘I need space.’
But curiously, Minty’s not moving. ‘What’s he like? This boss. How old?’
‘In or out?’ I say firmly. ‘And if you’re staying, I warn you, I’m going to be swanning around in undies and lacquering on the hairspray.’
‘Ew.’ He backs out.
I don’t need any more of an invitation. I shut the door on him.
‘And you’ll be back early?’ his muffled voice asks through the closed door.
‘Absolutely.’ I loosen the belt on my office dress and go straight for my wardrobe. ‘I’ve got work in the morning, and I’ve been at it all day. This is not a late one.’
‘Okay,’ Minty says. He doesn’t sound happy, but he doesn’t sound like he’s going to treat me to the ‘none shall pass’ routine on the stairs.
I throw back my wardrobe door. My clothes are packed in way too tightly, there’s so much stuff you can barely see what you’re looking for.
Suddenly, I don’t feel quite so full of myself anymore.
Sure, I’ve got lots to wear, but not one thing suitable for a night on the town with Marco Delagado.
The only expensive, decent clothes I’ve got are the things I wear to work.
Then again, he hasn’t seen me in those because he has his own lift and doesn’t come through reception, not unless I happen to be wearing a goblin mask!
Okay, I think to myself, sinking down on the bed and running my eyes across the evening’s possibilities.
I improvise. I can wear one of my work dresses.
I have a smart shirt dress with gold buttons and a neat collar that I bought last year in a sale.
It’s only had a couple of outings behind the reception desk.
It might not be high fashion, but it’s the most expensive, least worn-looking thing that I’ve got.
I’ll just jump in the shower, do my hair, and all will be fine.
I grab my luxury washbag with my night out treats and head to the bathroom. The sink is filthy.
‘Minty! How many times… Do not wash off in here after work,’ I shout.
‘What?’ Minty grunts from somewhere downstairs.
‘Use the garage for washing your hands. Don’t…’ Oh, what does it matter? He’s so un-house trained. He’s over thirty. There’s no hope. I switch on the tap. It’s cold. Icy cold.
‘MINTY!’
I hear him thundering up the stairs.
‘There’s no water.’ I could practically cry. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long, hard, and confusing day, and this is the last thing I need.
‘There’s no water,’ I repeat, but this time with a sob.
He glances guiltily at the shower, at the black sink, at the rags he’s left on the floor. It’s a mess, and the blame lies totally at his door.
Sheepishly, he hides his hands behind his back, dropping his head in a don’t-notice-me attitude. ‘I’ll, ugh, I’ll put the immersion on.’
I feel myself biting the insides of my mouth to try and avoid blasting him out of the universe. ‘Yup. You do that.’
That is when the light in the bathroom goes dead.
My dear sweet and infuriating brother glances nervously up at the fitting. ‘Could be the bulb.’
But the hallway is dark, too. ‘Minty, did you pay the electric bill?’
‘Um.’ He chews his bottom lip. ‘I meant to. I just.’
‘Grrr… Out. Out. Out!’ I push him back through the door, slamming it in his wake.
* * *
MARCO
She’s standing there in front of me – Clara. The girl we hired today. The one with the blonde hair and all the curves. She went home to get changed. That’s what she said. She told me she was going to get dressed up.
‘No,’ I say simply. We’re supposed to be going to RJ King’s, one of the best jazz clubs in town; if the voice on the tape is singing anywhere in the city, that’s where she has to be.
I’ve got the tape. King must know the girl.
He’s like a walking encyclopaedia on talent.
The music industry is just worlds within worlds.
Everyone knows everyone. But this isn’t going to work because she, the girl, this Clara, is wearing…
Hmm, I’m not even sure what you’d call it.
Office wear. Librarian wear. Euthanasia-appropriate attire.
And then there’s the hair. What in the hell happened to the hair?
‘What…’ She glances down at herself.
The way she does it, the uncertainty, it is actually quite endearing. Fitz would give me a black eye if I tried to interfere with her fashion choices. Then again, Fitz knows what to wear and when.
I steeple my hands in front of my face. Clearly, I’m going to have to spell out the problem.
‘We’re going to a nightclub, an expensive nightclub.
You can’t look like you’ve just come straight from work.
’ It’s some kind of shirt thing, slightly fitted, which is nice, but it’s a dull-as-ditch-water grey and the obscene eighties-style gold buttons shot down it like a military general make her look as stiff and uninteresting as said military general.
She blushes, and I guess I’ve hit the nail on the head. This is exactly what she wears to work. The blue outfit she’d been sporting earlier was just a lucky dip out of the closet.