Guilty Feet (4 page)

It must be over six months since Steve had last made his way up north, and now he was asking if he could come and stay at the weekend, but Dan wasn’t too sure about this. There was the book to think about, and then there’d be explanations to give about Jo. He decided to sleep on that one as well, but—since he wasn’t accomplishing much—he made up his mind to reply to his favourite wacko.

Jedski, as he called himself, had been e-mailing Dan since he first started publishing his address. He had no idea what he looked like, of course, but pictured him with long, thinning lank hair, and Crypt Factory tattoos all over his skinny arms. He was obsessed with the band and wrote at least twice a week as part of his tireless campaign for More ‘Factory’ Respect. He didn’t believe they got their due in the general musical press, and no amount of Dan directing him to the specialist publications seemed to get him off his back.

His e-mail today was entitled:
Country
Bloody
Music
.

Dan
the
Man

I
see
the
NME
did
a
big
piece
on
some
bird
called
Faith
Hill
this
week
now
I
ask
you
how
come
they
give
that
much
space
to
a
talentless
minority
act
that
no
one’s
ever
heard
about
and
still
ignore
Factory
there’s
definitely
a
conspiracy
going
on
here
and
I’ll
get
to
the
bottom
of
it
if
it’s
the
last
thing
I
do
.

J

Dan smiled and whipped off a quick reply. Jedski didn’t go in for punctuation any more than he went in for logic, and he decided to respond in kind for a change. He couldn’t be bothered to point out that Faith Hill had sold millions of albums in the last year while Crypt Factory had sold about twelve.

You
might
be
right
Jedski
it’s
more
about
looks
these
days
and
beautiful
women
increase
circulation
.

D

He was just about to open an untitled e-mail from someone called dalysarah when the telephone started ringing. He reached for the receiver, already guessing who it would be.

‘So,’ said his mother, ‘how are things with you?’

‘Can’t complain. You and Dad OK?’

‘Good, thanks. Your dad’s got one of his meetings tonight but he said to send his love. And what about Jo? I haven’t spoken to her for ages.’

Dan felt his face colour, as if he was a boy again and just about to be caught out in a lie. He was glad his mother couldn’t see him or she’d have sussed him in a moment.

‘She’s fine. Down at the gym, as usual. She’s become addicted.’

Thank God he’d invented that bloody gym. It was the only plausible explanation for Jo’s constant absences from the flat. Why he hadn’t told his mother the truth yet he didn’t know. To begin with he’d hoped it might still work out, that she’d come back, so rather than go into all sorts of unnecessary explanations he’d come up with the gym story. Of course if his mother had only known Jo as well as he did she’d have realised it wasn’t a very likely tale. Joanna Hurst loathed all forms of physical exercise and she never stuck to anything for longer than a couple of weeks.

‘She must be very fit by now, and toned as well.’

‘Yeah, I suppose she is,’ he mumbled.

‘It might not be a bad idea if you joined her. All that sitting around every day—you could do with some exercise.’

‘Maybe,’ he said uncomfortably, wishing she’d get off the subject. Thankfully, she did.

‘Talking of which, how’s the work going? Earning enough to pay the rent?’

He hadn’t told her about the book for the same reason he hadn’t told anyone else.

‘I’m doing fine, Mum.’

‘Good. Well bring Jo down to see us whenever you can. I know what busy lives you lead, so if I don’t see you before it’s definitely still on for Christmas, I hope?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘Wonderful. Well, that’s it, then, I think. Give my love to Jo and get her to ring me some time. I miss our little chats about you.’

‘Will do, Mum. Take care.’

He felt guilty as he replaced the receiver. He was going to have to tell her the truth about Jo soon, especially now that she was with someone else and Christmas was only a few weeks away.

He sighed and looked back to his screen. He opened the untitled e-mail and after frowning at the contents for a minute or two knocked off another quick reply.

Chapter Three

I didn’t know what to make of Dan’s reply to Sarah, which was waiting for me the following morning. As it turned out I’d been too tired to do all the reading I’d planned, and had decided to leave it till I knew how Sarah had performed. Which wasn’t very well by the look of the response that she’d got from Dan.

It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. It didn’t sound like Dan at all, in fact, and for a brief moment I even entertained the absurd possibility that I’d accidentally e-mailed someone who was trying to double-bluff me, who was posing as Dan.

Sarah
, it began. Not ‘Dear’ Sarah, and somehow I quite liked that. The fact that he didn’t bandy his ‘Dears’ around all that freely. It was the only bit I did like, though.

Just
be
grateful
your
parents
have
good
musical
taste
(my
mother
had
an
unhealthy
fixation
on
George
Michael
when
I
was
growing
up)
,
although
I’ll
admit
they
do
seem
to
be
stuck
in
a
time
warp
.
But
why
shatter
their
harmless
illusions
?
I
recommend
you
buy
them
something
for
their
garden
,
if
they’ve
got
one
,
that
is
.

Dan

It sounded so... cynical and condescending. (Had Aisling done this to him?) As if he thought Sarah a fool and wasn’t about to suffer her gladly. And, yes, all right, I know I thought she’d sounded a bit silly and naïve myself, but I felt quite defensive about her now. She’d only asked him for a bit of advice, after all! She didn’t deserve a snotty reply. I also felt protective towards Jean, Dan’s mother—so what if she had been a George Michael fan? I really like Jean. She was just so easy to get along with, so genuine. Not like my mother, whose first question whenever she met anyone new was not ‘How do you do?’ but ‘
What
do you do?’ She judged everyone on their job title, and if it didn’t come up to scratch in her eyes then that was it as far as she was concerned. There could be no redeeming themselves after that.

She could never quite get her head round what Dan did for a living, and for that reason she was unable to take him seriously. I think she preferred to believe he was just my flatmate rather than my boyfriend, and when I told her I’d left she kept up the pretence. ‘About time you had a place of your own, darling. You were never going to meet anyone nice when you were sharing a place with another man.’

Hopeless.

I felt guilty for not having been in touch with Jean, and a bit hurt that she hadn’t tried to make contact with me. On the other hand, though, how would she know where I was?

I’d briefly considered dropping her a line, but decided against it in the end. I didn’t want to make things awkward for her now that Dan was going out with Aisling.

Nothing was happening in the office, so I decided to compose a response to Dan. In draft form. I didn’t want to be goaded into shooting directly from the hip, as I was very tempted to do. I needed to consider this long and hard. So I did. I considered it so long and hard that it wasn’t until just after four o’clock that I actually clicked on
Send
.

In the meantime Sid had told me that something was definitely brewing. I guessed he was trying to make up for getting his predictions so wrong yesterday and didn’t take very much notice of him. Then Susan, dumpy forty-seven-year-old bit-on-the-side of Rob, thirty-one, stirred things up a bit by bursting into tears and storming out of the building. Rob left himself half an hour later, and that all had to mean
something
.

And later still, at about two o’clock, several strange men in expensive suits had appeared in Reception. They’d asked to be shown to the MD’s office and there they remained as I sent off my e-mail.

Dan
, it began. (I’d changed my mind by now, and if Sarah wasn’t ‘Dear’ to him then he wasn’t ‘Dear’ to Sarah.)

What’s
wrong
with
George
Michael?

Give
me
‘Careless
Whispers’
sooner
than
‘Blowin’
in
the
Wind’
any
old
day
of
the
week
.

I didn’t even bother to sign off.

Of course the stress and uncertainty of the past few weeks could not be ruled out as a possible reason for my inability to express myself better, but the fact is I was really fed up. The tension was thick in the office now, and Sid, who kept hovering around my desk like the grim reaper, had ‘I told you so’ written all over his child-like face.

And he was right. At exactly four-fifty (I’d been watching my watch for over an hour) the company MD appeared with the expensively suited men and announced that we should all clear our desks immediately. He didn’t even bother to use the word ‘regret’, and there was certainly no mention of monies due.

I considered enquiring whether I might take my computer in lieu of remuneration, but quite honestly I didn’t have the bottle. One glance at the stony-faced Suits and any hint of bravado vanished immediately.

Still, I could do one final check on my e-mails, I supposed. Maybe Cass would have replied to my pathetic pleas by now with an offer that I couldn’t refuse.

She hadn’t. But when I did a last-minute visit to my Hotmail account, to see if my mother had sent me any more glad tidings (she hadn’t either), I checked Sarah’s mail too. And found a reply from Dan.

I was startled by the speed of his response, but I didn’t have time to read it now so I printed it off and slipped it into my bag.

We were actually escorted out of the building by the Suits. And as we gathered, hunch-shouldered in the persistent drizzle, we half hoped, I suspect, that someone might come up with a plan. I had flashes of putting myself forward as leader. Of giving a speech so full of passion that they’d all be putty in my hands. I’d suggest the old tying ourselves to the railings trick (if there were any railings), or storming the building, holding hostages if necessary, until some bugger agreed to pay our wages.

Only I didn’t, of course. I imagine everyone entertained the same kind of mad idea, briefly, but in the end they didn’t do or say anything either. It was just a fact of life these days. Tech companies folded and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it.

They don’t come much more steady than my father. He’d worked for British Gas for thirty-three years, and even he had been affected. He’d taken out a technology-based ISA only three months ago and so far it had quartered in value. My mother never stopped griping about it, making Dad feel an inadequate, reckless fool for doing what she’d encouraged him to do when it looked as if they might make a fast buck.

At least I’d only lost a couple of weeks’ wages.

Since no one even suggested we went for a farewell drink together, we eventually began to disperse from our collective stupor. Staff had come and gone so frequently at Pisus UK that I didn’t know any of them all that well, and to be honest it wasn’t going to break my heart knowing I’d never see any of them again. With the possible exception of the Child Sid, that is.

I sought him out from the disconsolate, disbanding throng and gave him a Marco-style hug. He seemed pretty stunned, but not unhappy.

‘Do you fancy getting something to eat?’ he said, and it didn’t seem too bad an idea.

‘Kentucky Fried Chicken or Burger King?’

‘How about going mad and doing Pizza Express?’

When I hesitated, thinking about my already overstretched budget, Sid seemed to read my mind and insisted on paying. And I hesitated no longer.

He had a Soho and I had a Caprina—fancy names for very small, but very good pizzas. We’d managed to put away the best part of a bottle of their finest house red by the time they were placed in front of us. And I’m not very good with red wine on an empty stomach.

I could hear myself slurring as I asked Sid if that was his real name. And I knew I was in a bad way when he said that it wasn’t, that his real name was hard to pronounce at the best of times and that I had no chance in my particular state. I hadn’t really taken it on board before, but it suddenly clicked that Sid’s dark hair and eyes were due to the fact that he had Asian blood in his veins. But it was his age I was really curious about.

‘How old are you?’ I asked, carefully now, after I swallowed a morsel of my Caprina.

He didn’t smile very much, didn’t Sid, but he managed one now.

‘How old do you think?’

I put my knife and fork down and considered this. I also considered the fact that everyone seemed to eat their pizzas sissy-style in Pizza Express, with knives and forks, instead of the usual tear and finger method. And, because I didn’t like to draw attention to myself, I was doing the same.

‘I presume you’re over school-leaving age,’ I ventured, ‘and you’ve worked for Pisus UK for nearly six months, so you’ve got to be sixteen and a half, I suppose.’

‘I might find that quite insulting if I didn’t know you were drunk.’

‘I might find
that
insulting if I didn’t know you were as well,’ I replied, quick as a flash. ‘Well, go on,’ I said, ‘put me out of my misery.’

He gave me what my mother called an old-fashioned look.

‘I’ll be twenty-two in January, but when I tell my dad I’m out of work I might not make my birthday.’

‘That’s a bit unfair,’ I said. ‘It isn’t your fault the company folded.’

‘My dad will think differently. He’ll say if I was as good at my job as I tell him I am I could have saved it.’

‘Has he always been that unreasonable?’ I asked, feeling a bit sorry for Sid now. Maybe having an unreasonable father was the reason he always looked so glum.

‘The fact is I think I
could
have saved it if I’d been allowed to do what I wanted to do.’

I’m sorry to say that I laughed in his face. ‘You’ve having me on,’ I said, when his expression remained poker-straight.

He shook his head. ‘I’m serious, Joanna. I went to see the MD soon after I joined the company. I could see what was going wrong and I made suggestions he chose to ignore.’ He popped a piece of Soho delicately into his mouth and chewed it solemnly.

He really was serious. Either that or he was a little bit mad.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said when his mouth was empty again. ‘But I also know that I’m right. In fact I know I’m
so
right that I’m going to make an offer to the receivers for the company.’

The drink was clearly getting to me. For a minute there I’d thought I heard him say he was...

‘I mean it, Joanna, and if it comes off I want you to work for me.’

‘Me?’

‘I’m not promising anything definite just at the moment, but I might even give you a percentage incentive. I’ll have to think about it.’

I suddenly felt quite sober.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘You’re the only account manager that managed to hang on to your clients. You’re very good at what you do—you just don’t believe it.’

It was true. I didn’t believe it.

Sid poured the remaining dribble of wine into our glasses and looked at me. ‘Admit it, Joanna. You think you’re a fake, don’t you?’

I admitted it. For the past year I’d felt like an impostor. I’d been waiting to be found out at any moment and given the boot.

‘Then maybe your parents didn’t do as good a job on you as mine did on me,’ he said. ‘My father might be tough but he believes in me, always has, and that’s made me believe in myself.’

That put the dampers on things for a while. I started getting morose then—blaming my Gilbert and Sullivan-worshipping parents for destroying my self-belief. It took another bottle of wine to cheer me up again.

***

When I woke up in the morning—believing that death was a preferable option to how I felt then—I found a note that Sid had written for me on a Pizza Express paper serviette. It was scrunched up on my bedside table and when I straightened it out it became clear to me that I had spent the previous evening in the company of someone suffering from a bad case of Juvenile Delusional Psychosis. (If there was such a condition.)

I
,
Sid
,
confirm
that
Joanna
will
be
first
on
board
(and
may
be
offered
a
percentage
incentive) when
I
secure
ownership
of
the
company
formally
known
as
Pisus
UK
.