Wildest of All Read online

  ‘I’m okay.’

  She flinched as he reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘Oh, I forgot. You British girls are so uptight, aren’t you. It’s nothing. It’s just a little touch, that’s all. Your hair, it is better this way. These British boys, they don’t notice these things, but I do.’

  She touched her hair self-consciously. ‘It’s fine,’ she replied, trying to hide her embarrassment. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Normally you are so… ‘ he waved his hand vaguely. ‘… so well put together. Not this scruffy mess. Have you been – how you say – burning the candle at both ends?’

  He was so close she could smell his aftershave, a faint musk that invited her to breathe in a little more deeply. She noticed the stitching on the lapel of his coat was beginning to unravel. She wondered what would happen if she were to pull on the thread.

  ‘You like to party, I think,’ he said, dragging her attention back to him. There was amusement now in his eyes, which transferred inexplicably to Sissy, despite her self-consciousness. She shrugged, tried to keep her face straight, remembering this was her boss talking.

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted. He flashed a grin at her, the first she’d seen.

  ‘Me too,’ he said, then writing on the back of a business card, he put down details of a club he would be at that evening. He held the card out, but before she could take it, he pulled it back.

  ‘Just between you and me, understand? Otherwise all these…’ He indicated the world beyond the staff room. ‘They will be coming too. I have enough of them through the week. And also, I am your boss so… careful, yes?’

  She nodded, pleased and baffled. She took the card and slipped it in her jeans pocket, the argument in her head already starting up: she wouldn’t go, he was her boss, how old was he anyway? At least ten years older. But on the other hand, why not? She presumed it was a straight club he’d given her the information for, so it was unlikely Rik would join her. Cam obviously couldn’t be invited and wouldn’t come even if he was. She returned to her booth and carried on with the day’s new batch of calls, but through every conversation her thoughts were somewhere else.

  Putting on her coat at the end of the day, she noticed Pascal lingering by the exit. People streamed past him in a hurry, excited for the weekend, while the evening shift trooped gloomily to the vacated office chairs for four hours of calling people at home. It was the grimmest shift on earth. No one wanted to answer surveys at the best of times, but Friday nights were particularly tough. A combination of tiredness and alcohol made the British public more belligerent than usual, it seemed. It was impossible to time the calls so you finished on the stroke of nine. You could finish a survey at 8.57 and have to keep dialling until the big hand hit the magic twelve. After an evening of hostility, it was plain bad luck if someone decided to answer your questions at two minutes to nine, but you had to keep on with it and suck up the mockery from your workmates on their way out the door.

  As she approached, she realised he was trying to entice members of the dayshift to stay on for the evening. The occasional person about-turned, but the majority left with an extra spring in their step, knowing they’d put one over on their boss for once.

  ‘Not you,’ he said. ‘You go home. Get ready.’

  She ducked her head as she slipped past him and hoped he hadn’t seen the smile spread across her face. That was it then. She had to go because she’d just passed up the opportunity to tell him she couldn’t make it. He was expecting her. She couldn’t risk pissing him off and losing her job. By the time she arrived home she’d made a pact with herself not to tell Cam or Rik where she was going. Cam had been bitter enough towards her recently. He really didn’t need to hear she was spending time outside work with his despicable ex-boss. Rik, however, had other ideas and badgered to be let in on the secret.

  ‘Just some people from work,’ she said, wondering why she hadn’t said that in the first place.

  ‘Who?’ asked Cam. ‘Some of them were alright. Maybe I’ll come too.’

  ‘You don’t know them,’ she replied, almost tripping over her words. ‘They just started when I did. Anyway, thought you were skint?’

  Cam flinched and Sissy experienced a wave of self-loathing as she saw his embarrassment. She pushed it aside. She’d offered to take him out on more than one occasion by now. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t get along with people. As though sensing her disloyalty, the dogs next door began to bark. Grateful for the distraction, she seized her opportunity.

  ‘For God’s sake, those poor bloody mutts. They’ve just gone right back to their old ways, haven’t they? Want me to try talking to May, Cam? See if they’ll let you take them back out again?’

  A derisive puff of air was all the reply he gave, which she was glad about, because the last time she’d seen May in the street the woman had picked up pace and hurried past without saying hello. Jimmy still spoke to her on the odd occasion their paths crossed but it was in a sneering, derogatory way that left her no doubt about her low status in his world. She suspected he was the reason May refused to talk to her any more.

  ‘Anyway,’ Rik was saying, as he prepared his evening meal of a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle, ‘I’ll say the same to you as I said to her. Walking a dog is not the same thing as having a job. When are you going to sort yourself out? Sometimes I think I’m the only grown-up in this place.’

  Sissy and Cam exchanged a look and then smiled in recognition of their chastisement. For a moment it was almost like the old days when their friendship surpassed everything, even their feelings for Rik, but almost as quickly as the light between them appeared, Cam’s face darkened again and he recoiled from Sissy’s smile.

  ‘Well, despite the fact I have the means to join you because, you know, I work, I’m actually not going to,’ Rik said, ‘even if I had been invited, and by the way, I know I wasn’t, which I actually find pretty rude, to be honest. Even if it’s only some yawn place for straights, it’s nice to feel included, you know? Some of us have money to spend, even if some others of us don’t.’ He nodded theatrically at Cam. ‘But as I say, I will not be joining you because I have plans of my own.’ A brief pause. ‘Aren’t you going to ask? Does no one care? I’ll tell you anyway.’ A pause for dramatic effect and then Rik swung his arms and pretended to skip on the spot. ‘I have a date.’

  ‘A date?’ Sissy said. ‘Like, a date date? With an actual person?’

  ‘I can’t shag around forever, can I? Or can I?’ Rik’s smile ran from ear to ear as he pretended to weigh the benefits of monogamy against promiscuity. He carried on chattering in between mouthfuls of noodle, not noticing Cam’s mood steadily sinking, or how Sissy stared at the kitchen clock and willed the hands to speed their way round to the point she could leave for her train back into town. Through the wall, the dogs’ incessant barking seemed that little bit louder.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Various Brightly Coloured Wrappers

  The club Pascal had directed her to was up a side street from Leicester Square. Unsure whether to go in or wait outside for him, she lingered self-consciously a few hundred yards from the entrance. As more people arrived and a queue began to form, she began to doubt she’d be allowed in. Wearing her usual clubbing mix of jeans and trainers, she felt distinctly under-dressed. Judging by the women in the line, heels, make-up and hair was the order of the day. She took out her lipstick and gave herself an extra coat, though she considered it akin to going into battle with a kid’s plastic sword.

  London was neon. The lights from advert hoardings almost turned night into day. Tourists snaked through and around each other, some on their way home, others just getting started. Sissy shivered in the cold night air and cursed her cowardice. She’d have brought a jacket if she’d known she’d be hanging round street corners like a wuss. If only she had a number to call. She checked her phone for messages – he had access to her file, after all – but there was nothing. Sh
e eyed the growing line, and the thick-set bouncers dressed in black at the end of it, and decided to go home.

  She turned around and smacked straight into Pascal who was rounding the corner just as she was leaving. She stepped back and apologised before she realised who he was. He caught her by the wrists and laughed.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going, ma cherie? Friends, allow me to introduce my new compadre. Her name is Sissy.’

  It was only then she realised two other men were with him. They looked at her with bored expressions and sailed past her towards the venue. Pascal shrugged and said, ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Pascal, I’m sorry, I should have googled the club. I’m underdressed. They’ll never let me in…’

  He placed his arm around her shoulder and began to walk her towards the doors, all the time quietly nodding his head as she gabbled on about how woefully ill-prepared she was. He led her past the line, past the judgemental eyes of polished women, the non-seeing eyes of predatory men, and with a nod to security, he led her straight into the club, through a set of double doors, around an almost empty, circular dance floor, and sat her at a small table behind a roped area in a raised part of the room, before going to order drinks.

  A mixture of R&B and drum ’n’ bass boomed from the DJ’s decks. It wasn’t what she was used to in a club. Give it a chance, she thought, it’s still early. Her eyes landed on Pascal who was talking to a waitress (a waitress in a club!). He was still wearing his work clothes. His lack of effort relaxed her a little, though she also noticed a small part of her was irritated by his arrogance.

  He sat back down beside her and a moment or two later a bottle of champagne arrived on a tray. A separate waitress brought a metal stand with an ice bucket. The first waitress poured the drinks, the second one placed the bottle in the ice.

  Sissy winced at the taste of the champagne but sipped it anyway. She would have preferred a WKD or shots, or even a beer, but she knew to admit that would be to admit her inexperience, and she most definitely didn’t need to advertise that.

  The club gradually began to fill, though the dance floor remained stubbornly empty. Men and women sat at separate tables. It was like they’d come in packs. As the night wore on, the men became more boorish and the women found the courage to step onto the dance floor, holding on to each other for balance in their precarious footwear.

  The music made talk impossible, particularly as Pascal was preoccupied with some business with one of the men behind the bar. He was up and down all night, each time casting an apologetic glance to Sissy as he left, who was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The VIP area was positioned to dominate the room. People sat there to be seen. Crossing her Converse-clad feet beneath her, she lifted her freshly filled glass to her lips and wondered how long before she could reasonably make her excuses and leave. She took her phone out to check the time just as Pascal returned, breathless with yet more apologies. His eyes locked onto her phone, and then her, and she immediately felt guilty, though she knew she shouldn’t. He lifted the champagne bottle and held it to the light. She was surprised to see it was almost empty, but then the waitress had never been far away, topping up her glass, giving her a friendly smile whenever Pascal stepped away from the table, but it was always just such a small amount, it seemed like nothing.

  Waggling the bottle at her, Pascal said, ‘I see you’ve been busy.’

  The strangeness of the evening was at last too much for her; his rudeness, her clothes, that club, those people. She stood up intending to leave but immediately fell into the stand holding the ice bucket. Even through the banging music, the clang of metal on the hard floor was loud and out of place.

  ‘Whoops,’ Pascal said, catching her arm.

  ‘I like your style, Frenchman,’ a male voice said. ‘Champagne in one hand, a woman in the other.’

  Sissy turned to see one of the men Pascal had been with earlier looking at her. She didn’t like him; tall, well-built, too sure of himself. One of those guys who look too clean, who act like their shit doesn’t smell. The kind of confident guy who demeans everyone around him just by his presence. She snatched her arm from Pascal’s grasp, keener than ever to get out of there, but he let her go too quickly and she stumbled backwards and fell to the floor with a bump. The noise and flashing lights whirled around her aggressively.

  Pascal knelt down with a look of concern on his face. She was grateful he wasn’t laughing at her and allowed him to pull her up. She leaned against him, dimly aware of his arm around her back, enjoying the sensation of being tucked into him.

  ‘My God, you’re so fucking pissed. It’s okay. Come with me.’

  He led her through a door by the bar to a place where the air was cooler and the violence of the music fell away behind them. Then through another door into a room with a desk and a sofa.

  ‘Beat it,’ he told the guys in there, who jumped up and skipped out before Sissy even saw their faces.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so drunk,’ Sissy mumbled, as he lowered her onto the old leather couch.

  ‘Yes. Yes, you are. And I am far too sober. It is not a fair arrangement but we will sort that out.’

  He pulled over an office chair on wheels and sat down opposite her, clearing a space on the small coffee table between them. The lighting was stark compared to the club. Sissy had to blink a few times to get her bearings. The room looked like some sort of ramshackle office, with receipts and invoices pinned to a noticeboard behind the desk. Beside the door was a bookcase full of thick ring-binders. An old-looking music system and a small round table with an array of spirits next to some glass tumblers sat beside the couch.

  Pascal reached into his inside coat pocket and Sissy began to giggle. He paused and looked at her, arm half-in, half-out, like a Napoleon impersonator.

  ‘You didn’t take your coat off,’ she was saying. ‘In the club. You kept it on.’ She’d no idea why it was so funny but she fell sideways laughing. His straight face only made her laugh harder.

  ‘One moment, actually,’ he said, and rose. She stopped laughing long enough to see him take two long strides to the door. He turned a key in the lock and sat back down.

  Without looking at her, he took a small clear bag from his inside pocket and placed it on the table. He reached for a CD box, inspected it, wiped it on his sleeve, and inspected it again. Then he opened the bag and reached in with his pinkie finger. Gathering up a small pile of powder, he dropped it onto the CD box. Then, taking a card from his wallet, he separated and chopped the powder into lines and slid the CD case over to her.

  ‘You see how polite I am? I let you go first. Uh, wait. One moment.’

  He stretched over to the drinks table and lifted a straw, which he cut in half using scissors from the desk.

  ‘Use this. Cleaner than a note.’

  Sissy took the straw and paused, unable to decide how she felt about this turn of events. Her head told her to get out of there, but the sofa was so low and squishy and her body had already demonstrated an unwillingness to do her bidding.

  ‘It will straighten you up,’ he said. ‘Go on. Just that little one there.’

  They all looked the same size to her. What the hell. She leaned over and sniffed, leaving a messy trail which he scraped into another line. Her eyes watered but she was surprised by how easy it was.

  Pascal’s head was bent over the table now, first one nostril, then the next. He whipped his head back, his fingers flying to his nose to stop any escaping. Then he looked at her with an unnerving focus.

  ‘I expect you’re feeling better now.’

  When she didn’t reply straight away, he slid the CD case back to her.

  ‘Do one more. Do it, do it,’ he said, impatiently. She might have said no had she been able to arrange her thoughts in a proper manner. Instead she leaned over and snorted another line.

  Pascal was on his feet now, not quite dancing, not quite marching on the spot. He clapped his hands together and announced his work for the evening was over. Th
ey should have some fun.

  Sissy didn’t know how to describe it. She felt very awake. The room seemed brighter than before, though as far as she knew no one had changed the lighting. Somehow she had sobered up considerably, though she wouldn’t say she felt straight, exactly, but she did feel very in control, and she thought Pascal’s suggestion about having fun was a very fucking good one.

  She followed him back to the club but didn’t return to her table, choosing instead to mingle with the disparate groups on the edge of the dance floor. She didn’t care any more about how she was dressed, in fact, the women in their short skirts and high heels looked ridiculous, tottering around waiting for some guy to buy them drinks. Imagine coming out to dance dressed like that, she thought. And the make-up made some of them look like guys in drag. Thick, black eyebrows painted onto foreheads that barely moved at all, hair extensions, manicured nails, fake tans. Sissy saw through it all. People stole sly glances at her, but she didn’t mind their whispers. She was real. She was authentic. She felt powerful.

  Pascal, despite having announced his work for the evening to be over, was interrupted on a regular basis by the two guys Sissy had seen him with earlier. She assumed he was dealing the same coke he’d given her for free. He had an air of importance, like the whole room wouldn’t function unless he was in it. She liked that she was with him. She liked that he kept his long black coat on, wearing it like a robe. He was the king and that made her – well, she didn’t exactly know what it made her, but whatever it was, she was confident in that position. She recognised she was subservient to him. It made perfect sense. He was older, he was her boss, and most importantly, for whatever reason, he was acting like he really, really liked her.