She presses the cigarette into the glass ashtray. The dying smoke dissipates into nothing. “How was your first day at work?” she asks. There's a brightness to her voice that sounds false.
“It was fine.” For a minute I think about confiding in her, telling her how everything went wrong. But she can't understand why I feel the need to get a degree, and I don't want to hand her any ammunition. “When I got home there was a guy looking for you.”
She doesn't meet my eyes. “I know, Alex called me at work.”
My head snaps up. “He did? Why?”
Mum sighs. “Oh I don't know, Amy. Who knows what goes through your brother's head? But I'll tell you what I told him, there's nothing to worry about, he's just an old friend. I'll ask him not to bother you again.”
“How much do you owe him? I've got some savings...” I can't believe I'm saying this, but she's my mum, and I'm not going to leave
her to flounder.
She reaches out and grabs my hand. “I don't owe him anything.” Another curl of bleached blonde hair escapes from her bun. “He's just somebody I used to know.”
“He knew my name,” I say. “My real name. And he looked a bit menacing.”
“He won't come here again,” she promises. “I won't let him. I'm sorry he scared you, sweetheart, but he won't do you any harm. You're safe here, you know that.” For the first time she smiles. Her lips are dry, her teeth stained with nicotine, but it's still genuine. I have no reason to disbelieve her, but I’m still not wholly convinced.
I pick up my now-empty bowl and rinse it under the tap. The kitchen window is dappled with rain, obscuring the view of the street. “You'd tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn't you?” I ask. “Because I could help, or Alex and Andie could. You don't need to be seeing people like that. Not any more.”
Mum laughs, and it quickly turns into a cough. I wince at the way her chest wheezes. This is precisely why she shouldn't be smoking.
“I don't need your help,” she says when the paroxysms die down. “Sometimes I think you forget who the parent is around here.”
I shake my head. “How could I forget you're my mum?” Leaning down I kiss the top of her head. “I've got to go to work now, I'll see you tonight, okay?”
She squeezes my hand. “Have a good day. And remember what I said, there's nothing to worry about.”
Oh sure, I think, as I leave the house, nothing to worry about at all. Unless you count a boyfriend who should be an ex, a weird man hanging around the house, and a back that feels as though it’s been beaten with a mallet.
With worries like that, it's almost a relief to be heading to work.
5
At 7:30 a.m. I walk into the office with two steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee. I bolster myself with the determination to make this a better day, to create a better impression. Maybe I can become indispensable to Mr Callum Ferguson.
My resolution lasts for less than two minutes. Long enough for me to hang my damp coat on the stand that rests in the corner and toe my handbag under my desk. That's when I carry Callum's coffee into his room, where of course he's already on the phone, and find a three-inch space on his cluttered desk to put it down.
Turning to me, Callum covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “What's that?”
“It's a monkey.” My voice is as tart as a lemon.
He rolls his eyes. “I don't drink coffee before nine.”
Stupid, ungrateful bastard of a boss. “You're welcome.”
Three vertical furrows form between his brows as he stares at me. “Are we having the same conversation here?”
I sigh. There doesn't seem to be any way for the two of us to be civil with each other. Which is fine for him, because he's in charge, but for me it's a few steps away from queuing up at the unemployment office. Or at my tutor's door.
“I don't know. Is it the conversation where I buy my boss a coffee and he's grateful I've spent my hard-earned wages on him?” I want to take back my sarcastic words as soon as I say them, but it's too late. He hangs up on his call without saying goodbye. Someone, somewhere in the world, is talking down an empty telephone line. I know how they feel.
Callum rubs his eyes, and I can see the skin around them wrinkling. There are shadows beneath them, blue-black as bruises. “Thank you for buying me a coffee, Amy. It was kind of you to think of me.”
He brings his gaze around and any sharp retort dies on my lips. He really does look tired. I feel regret for walking in and immediately having a go at him when he's obviously not sleeping well.
“You're welcome.” I say again, but this time my voice is small. Picking up his cup, I turn to leave his office. “I'll get rid of this.”