Blokebusters Page 3

  “I’ll come and meet you here tonight,” he said. They stopped outside the large offices of the bank Georgia was auditing. It was a drab, grey, depressed slab of a building. The windows were the sort that didn’t open far enough for anyone to jump out.

  “Yeah – you can tell me all the details of your appraisal. I want to know everything – when you’re going to get promoted, how much praise they give you, what bonus you’re getting, pay rise – everything.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up – things have been quiet lately.”

  “It doesn’t mean the talented people should suffer. Get what’s rightfully yours. Be assertive.” She prodded his shoulder for emphasis.

  “I will,” he said – and they both knew he wouldn’t.

  *

  At lunchtime Georgia waited impatiently for Fiona outside the pub they’d picked, annoyed that so many people could walk past yet not one of them was Fiona. Fiona was one of those aggravating people who you could arrange to meet in their own kitchen and somehow you’d arrive before them. To her clients she was an ultra-efficient lawyer; to her friends she was tardier than an asthmatic tortoise.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Got held up.”

  Georgia nodded in a way that suggested Fiona shouldn’t bother to fabricate an excuse. They bought drinks at the imposingly large, horseshoe-shaped bar and took them through to the cramped dining area at the back of the building. In the summer months the dark wooden doors were opened up for outside dining but, if the weather was bad, by September they were bolted shut and rattled when challenged by the wind. The tables were packed closely together and reminded Georgia of a school dining hall. She sat with her back to the wall and waited for Fiona to stop fussing with her coat and sit down. The wooden tabletop was scarred with grey rings and Georgia idly ran her finger over them until, sensing eyes on her, she looked up. A man at the neighbouring table smiled at her, unaware of the piece of chive stuck to his front tooth. She smiled back.

  They browsed the menu and Fiona sighed.

  “After my Walnut Whip frenzy last night I should go for something healthy; especially now I’m back in the hunt for a man.”

  “I should keep it healthy too.” Georgia watched a waiter carry a plate past their table. “The salads look nice.”

  “Yeah, they do.”

  A waiter appeared and flashed them a charming smile, which looked rehearsed rather than spontaneous.

  “Are you ready to order, ladies?”

  “Yes. Double bacon cheeseburger with fries for me,” Fiona said, handing him back the menu.

  “Southern Fried chicken and fries for me, please.”

  “Anything else, ladies?”

  “We should probably get some onion rings too?” Fiona phrased it as a question, but didn’t mean it to be.

  Georgia nodded.

  “And some garlic bread as well please.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, we’d best leave some room for dessert.” The waiter took Georgia’s menu from her and held eye contact for a little longer than necessary.

  “He fancies you,” Fiona said with a combination of jealousy and glumness.

  “No he doesn’t.”

  “Does. He probably thinks I’m your mum. Look at me Georgia – I’m twenty-nine, you’re twenty-nine and somehow I look ten years older than you.”

  “No you don’t. We go through this every time you’re low. We both look the same.”

  “I was in Marks & Spencer the other day – I wanted to get the ready meal lasagne they do. They didn’t have the individual one, only the one meant for two people. I had no one to share it with so had to pick something else. How sad is that? You don’t know how lucky you are having Matt around to eat the halves you don’t want. He worships you – he’d probably eat half of something he didn’t even like just to keep you happy.”

  “I do know how lucky I am. And it’s mutual. I’d eat half of something I wasn’t keen on for him.” She reddened slightly at such a pointless lie and took a sip of her drink, a single thought demanding her attention. “Do you remember his idea last night? The one about getting a boyfriend tested to see if he’d cheat?”

  “Yeah. I thought about it on the train this morning. I still say that I’d be willing to pay for such a service.”

  “It is a good idea, isn’t it?”

  “Completely. I was surprised that Matt came up with something so shrewd.” She saw Georgia’s anger start to rise so hastily added, “No, I don’t mean he’s thick. He’s a dreamer, relaxed. I didn’t expect an idea like that to come out of him.”

  “It’s OK – I know what you mean. I thought it too.”

  *

  Georgia finished work at six in the evening. Matt was seated on a large sofa in reception but got up as soon as he spotted her. A cardboard box containing books and chocolate rested on the cushion next to him. Half of his t-shirt had pulled loose from his waistband making him look like a dishevelled schoolboy who’d been fighting in the playground. He threw his arms around her.

  “Am I pleased to see you,” he sighed.

  “Bad day?” She was aware that Matt hadn’t let go of her yet. He nodded. “How bad?”

  “I’ve been made redundant. As of today. Last in first out. Settlement of £2,000 plus any salary owing. All my stuff’s in that box.” His voice echoed in the empty office foyer and he wondered why the most important events often took place in such anonymous surroundings. In a year’s time he wouldn’t even remember which bank’s foyer it was, but he’d remember the feelings of inadequacy his redundancy aroused in him.

  “Oh Matt.” She hugged him closer. “It’s not your fault. We’ll be all right.”

  “Will we?”

  “Yes,” she said, unaware his sense of loss encompassed more than his job. He knew there’d be no baby when there was only one salary coming in.

  “I don’t know – firms are looking to cut back – they seem to be doing it by developing their websites in-house. Jobs are tough to get hold of. And keep.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Georgia kept her voice soothing. Inside she was panicking about the mortgage. It needed two salaries. She loved their home but for Matt it was more than that; it was his refuge. The one thing he’d never had throughout his childhood was a happy, loving home. When they’d bought the house she noticed him relax; he’d found sanctuary. Losing only his garden would mortify him, losing the whole shebang would destroy him. She couldn’t let it come to that.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said in a small voice and it pulled at her heart.

  “Sorry? What for?”

  “I should be the breadwinner.”

  “Matt – don’t be silly. You know I only married you for your body.” She grinned at him conveying an emotion at odds with the plunging sensation in her stomach. He forced a smile and she kissed him on the cheek. “Tell you what – why don’t we go to the Red Lion and have a drink – let the rush hour die down a bit before going home?”

  “Can we afford it?”

  “We’re not that broke.” She chewed her lip slightly. “Yet.”

  The pub was busy with people trying to drink the working day out of their system but they managed to get a table, which Georgia defended while Matt headed to the bar. Matt waited his turn to be served and tried to catch the barman’s eye; a suited man pushed in front of him.

  “Excuse me – I think I was next,” Matt said, but no one seemed to hear. He thought about repeating it in a louder voice but decided not to. He shuffled back to Georgia empty-handed. “It was a bit busy.” He pulled his chair closer to hers. “I’ll go back in a minute when it’s quietened down.”

  She nodded and waited until a minute or so had passed.

  “I’ll go – you stay with the table.”

  Georgia marched up to the bar and was served instantly. She carried their drinks back to the table.

  Matt stared into his pint.

  “Why has this happened to me? Why do I always get the crappy end of the stick? I’m nice to
people, I don’t whinge and moan. I’m not arrogant or offensive. I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  You’ve answered your own question, she thought, but chose instead to say, “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t want you to change.”

  He slouched in his chair, his long legs poking out from under the opposite side of the table.

  “I’m fed up with it all – do you know how I was described at work the other day? There was a new post boy and he asked someone which one I was – they didn’t say ‘he’s the tall one with dark hair’, or ‘the one in the Star Wars t-shirt’, they said ‘he’s the geeky-looking one’ – and the post boy came straight over, he didn’t need any further direction. It’s pretty damning to work in a team of eleven IT experts and get singled out as the geeky one – I haven’t even got a beard! I can’t speak Klingon! I’ve never worn sandals! Everyone thinks I’m a joke.”

  “No they don’t. Stop talking like that.”

  “Every time one of your colleagues meets me they’re stunned. Because they all think I’m not good enough for you. And they’re right.”

  Georgia squirmed. She hadn’t realised that he noticed their reaction.

  “Who cares what anyone thinks?” She hated seeing him morose and regretted burying his beloved Radiohead t-shirt in the dustbin under a pile of old newspapers before leaving the house; it felt like she was siding with his critics. Reaching across the table she held his hand. “We’ll be OK – we’ll get by.”

  His voice wobbled as he tried to swallow his emotions.

  “We shouldn’t be ‘getting by’ – I want you to have nice things, I want to be able to take you places – the theatre, cinema, concerts and have meals out. I don’t want you to be stuck in front of the telly every night because we can’t afford to do anything else.”

  “It’s not what you do – it’s who you do it with.” She tickled his hand knowing it would make him smile. “Remember when I first moved in with you in Wood Green? Me in my second year at uni, you’d just found your first job? We didn’t have a spare penny between us. We only had that crappy portable TV that you got off Billy – remember? It would only show ITV – Saturday nights were our favourite because Pop Idol was on. We went out once a week and that was to the student bar.”

  “Is there a point or are you reminiscing about the days when I had prospects?”

  “My point is that I can’t recall a single moment of that time when I was bored, when I wished I was somewhere else, with someone else. We’ll be OK – we can go on an economy drive.”

  “I hate the word ‘economy’.”

  “It won’t be so bad. We can eat your home-grown produce and save electricity by going to bed an hour earlier every night.”

  He perked up but she wasn’t sure which of her suggestions had done it.

  “We could only drink my homemade wine too?”

  “Let’s not be too hasty,” she said taking his hands and stroking them in a leisurely way, as if she knew that a lifetime of opportunity to touch him lay ahead of her and there was no need to rush.

  *

  That night in bed, long after Matt had fallen asleep, Georgia stared up at the ceiling and wondered for how long it would continue to be their ceiling. Matt might not find a job straight away. She didn’t doubt his talent but he lacked dynamism – people didn’t expect him to be good at anything, he carried an aura of failure. They could keep the mortgage going but not for more than three or four months. She had to think of a way they could earn some money, something she could fit around her job, and something that would earn a lot in a short space of time. Smart idea Georgia, she thought sourly, it’s not like anyone else is looking for the same thing.

  Matt twitched and draped his arm across her stomach.

  “Bespoke dolphins.”

  She let out a soft laugh and turned her face to look at him, then narrowed her eyes. Blokebusters. Fiona was willing to pay – she said someone should be offering the service. But Fiona wasn’t a good guide – she had more money than sense. Georgia realised how tense her shoulders had become and let them relax against the mattress. She made a mental note to call Fiona the next day.

  Chapter three

  Georgia irritably tapped her pen on the desk, waiting for Fiona to answer her phone. It had been diverting to her secretary all morning but this time she got through.

  “Fi, it’s Georgia. Can we meet for lunch? I want to run an idea past you.”

  “I can’t – sorry. I’ve got a lunch appointment.”

  “Who?” Whenever Fiona said she had a ‘lunch appointment’ it was always suspicious. If it were a client she’d have said so, if it were a friend she’d name them.

  “Oh, no one you know.”

  “It’s bloody Jason isn’t it? You’re not going to let him spin you some yarn about how he’d never met her before and she fed him a date rape drug before forcing him into letting her —”

  “You’ve made your point,” Fiona snapped. “What if I am meeting him?”

  “Then you’re more stupid than I thought. If that’s possible.”

  Neither of them spoke for a while. Georgia calmed herself.

  “Please, Fi. I want to talk something over with you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Matt. He’s lost his job. I need to talk. Reschedule Jason – show him you can call the shots.”

  She imagined the cogs whirring in Fiona’s brain.

  “I suppose I could. Make the bastard think I’ve cooled.”

  There was a knock on the doorframe and she looked up to the unpleasant sight of Jeff Cole. They had joined the firm on the same day and always viewed each other as competition, quickly realising that they were the two potential stars in their peer group. They had been promoted to management at the same time but their wariness and mistrust remained. None of it was very important in isolation; Jeff had expressed concern to their boss that Georgia couldn’t cope with one of her clients, Georgia had poached a client from under Jeff’s nose, Jeff had made lecherous comments and a very clumsy pass on a training course, Georgia had started rumours that he was impotent – all the usual office bickering. But somehow it had always felt charged with personal rather than professional nastiness.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing. Poor Matt.”

  She ignored him and typed ‘Jeff is a wanker’ over and over, as she always did when Jeff edged into her office. She longed for the day he’d lean over to pry into what she was working on. Her office was identical to his own and indeed every other manager’s in the building. Jeff sat heavily in the chair opposite her desk.

  “Remember that Christmas party when he asked the waiter at the Dorchester if he could take a cutting from the holly bushes they had in the foyer?” His mirthless laugh billowed a cloud of warm breath tinged with stale coffee and cigarettes into Georgia’s eyes.

  Georgia remembered it well. The waiter alerted security that a nutter had gatecrashed the party and it was only when Georgia identified him that they believed he was a guest. They’d let him take the cutting, it drew quite an audience, but it shrivelled in the pot when he planted it up.

  “How’s his job search coming on? Is he looking for more computer work or widening his net? Perhaps a career in vegetables?” There was something in Jeff’s tone that always hit the target with Georgia.

  “Actually, he’s in the process of setting up an Internet business. It’s confidential at the moment but I will personally notify you when he earns his first million.” By saying it out loud, and to Jeff of all people, she knew she was creating a no-going-back environment.

  “I look forward to it.” His eyes settled on her chest and she folded her arms to thwart his view. He whistled ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’ as he left her office, knowing it annoyed her.

  *

  “I’m sorry about Matt,” Fiona said as soon as she sat, partly because she was, but mostly to distract Georgia from how late she was.

  “Me too.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  Georgi
a merely shrugged her response. They both ordered omelette and chips, the speciality of the café. It was a popular haunt of City workers in the St Paul’s area as the service was speedy and the food tasted home-cooked rather than emptied out of a packet. The straight-from-the-skip furniture and dirty grey walls meant that tourists avoided it; people in suits occupied every table. The cutlery was a lucky dip, some days it matched, some days it didn’t. It was hard to reconcile the cheerful, hard-working staff with the slovenly setting.

  “I just wish I could stop him taking everything so personally – he’s so hard on himself. He sees everything as a rejection of him – and it isn’t. It’s economics – eleven staff and ten salaries. His parents have so much to answer for —”

  “I can’t take that again Georgia,” Fiona interrupted. “I know Matt’s past – only child, old parents, money but no love, boarding school, I’m so lonely, boo hoo. He can’t pin everything on that forever.”

  “Fiona!”

  “Sorry, but I can’t face hearing how being sent to boarding school at six is responsible for what’s happening to him in his thirties. A lot of people don’t get treated well by their parents – OK, them dying and leaving it all to charity is a bit mean but really! He should’ve gotten over it by now for God’s sake! He’s a married man!”

  Georgia let it drop. She’d never make Fiona realise how scarred Matt was by his childhood. Fiona only saw the money and the privileges, nothing else. She never saw all the things that weren’t there.

  “He’ll find something,” Fiona said.

  “It’s not looking good.” Georgia leant forward in her chair and her voice changed to a more business-like frequency. “Which is why I’ve decided to do something about it.”

  “Such as?”

  “How would you like the opportunity to be part of the most exciting venture this century?”

  “Me?” Fiona replied in a way that suggested she hoped Georgia was speaking to someone else.