The Whiskerly Sisters (11 page)

Jax parked her car in the centre of her driveway and made her way indoors. Throwing her coat over the banister, she ran upstairs into the spare bedroom and switched on her laptop. While she waited for the sluggish machine to wake itself up, she brewed herself a cup of coffee. She had forty five minutes before she was due in class and she wanted to read her emails before she left.

Excellent! She had five messages and one new hit from Desper Dates. She checked the newcomer out first. No photo – no interest. She deleted that message without reading it.

Young Andy was back. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, but here he was again, begging her to let him take her out and then bring him home for some punishment. As if!

An IT Manager named John, who had taken her to dinner a couple of times, had emailed asking when they would be able to meet again, but the truth was she just didn’t fancy him. She considered her options. She could accept and keep the poor guy dangling till he worked it out for himself, but then again, maybe it was better to let him go. In the end, she opted for leaving it a few days before answering.

The professor had been in touch again. At least, he started out by telling her he was a Professor of English, but further probing revealed that he was actually a village parson, trapped in a sexless marriage and looking for a pity fuck. She had spelt it out to him weeks ago that she was not prepared to go there, but they kept in touch because they shared a love of literature, in particular poetry, and she enjoyed their ‘over the airwaves’ conversations. He never failed to steer the topic towards sex and then would offer to come over to ease her lonely nights. She had to give him an A+ for trying; poor sod.

PJ had emailed. Jax really liked the guy, but he had proved to be very elusive in the meeting up stakes. She assumed he must be married. Under normal circumstances, she would have blocked him ages ago, but he had turned out to be both extremely intelligent and highly articulate. Jax was delighted. His message signalled the next instalment of a prolonged game of Sexy Jackanory involving vulnerable, yet horny damsels in distress, lascivious wolves and picnic baskets. Metaphor piled upon metaphor when PJ was online. Jax looked at the clock on the wall above her PC. Time was pressing. Reluctantly, she decided not to open PJ’s message. It was sure to be filthy and get her juices flowing. She would keep it for later; something to relish just before bedtime – better than cocoa! She was glad she had remembered to buy spare batteries – she would be certain to need them tonight.

Her final message was from Clingy Desmond, no doubt declaring his undying love and asking her to give up her life, move to the States, become mother to his child and rattle a tambourine in church on Sundays. Not a chance. She opened his email and began reading.

My angel, I pray this email finds you healthy and happy. I have been thinking of you all day and look forward to the day when we can be together as God intends. Today has been a very difficult day for me. The IRS has been in touch and it seems I must find $50,000 in the next two weeks to keep my business afloat. As a single parent running my own company, you will understand how difficult it is for me to manage this. So today I went to Church and I got down on my knees and thanked God for you Jacqueline, for the fact that I have you to share this burden with me, to support me in my hour of need. I know that with you beside me, I can overcome this hurdle. It is very important that I pay on time otherwise I will not only lose my business, but also I will have to lay off the men, some of whom have been with me for a very long time. The problem is that I am unable to get my hands on that kind of money at such short notice. If I could get a loan of the money, even just part of the sum, just for a few short weeks, I would be able to keep my business running, my workers employed, finish building the bridge that has been at the centre of my life for these many months and pay for you to come over to see me. I trust in your help and advice at this time, my angel. We are in this thing together my darling so surely we can come up with a solution that will benefit both of our long term futures. I know, I just know, my sweet angel, that you will help me. Trusting always in the Lord. Ever yours, Desmond.

Jax read the email twice over, chewing her bottom lip as she did so. Was she reading what she thought she was reading? She needed to think this through very carefully.

S
he was struggling into a pair of jeans in a dark corner of a Next changing room when it came through; ping, the text that changed their lives. She was to drop everything and come now, he needed her, where was she, he’d collect her, hurry up. And she did drop everything, throw on her clothes, run out of the changing room, race across the precinct to the car and into his waiting arms. And she mutely listened to all that he had to say and passively went with him to the garage and sat quietly while he explained the situation to the salesman, who duly filled out the forms and took his commission.

They had only bought a car together! A brand new car together!

She couldn’t believe they’d done it. Sorted the finance, signed the paperwork, shaken hands with the Deputy Manager, picked up the keys and left the showroom in a blur of exhaust fumes and grinding gears, laughing hysterically all the way to his flat and straight into his bed for a quickie before he drove her home to her dad’s place because there was live footy on at the Vic and his name was on the first round.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t drive.

It didn’t matter that it was her signature on the form.

It didn’t matter that they had given her bank account details.

It didn’t matter that the sex was over in minutes.

It didn’t matter that she was home alone all night.

It didn’t matter that it was a week before she next heard from him.

Did it?

Izza had met Tony through a friend nine months previously. She was seventeen and a half; he was twenty-one. He was of medium height with brown hair, hazel eyes and a wide smile. They flirted over Facebook for several weeks before she finally agreed to date him.

He came to collect her in his car. That would be a first.

He took her out to dinner. No one had ever done that before.

He behaved like the perfect gentleman. No one had ever done that before either!

He showed an intense interest in her and her family. Nor that!

He walked her home and gave her a chaste goodnight kiss on the doorstep. Gulp!

He sent her a medium sized bouquet the following afternoon. Double gulp!

He charmed both her mother and her father. Unheard of!

He had a six pack. Yo!

He texted her morning, noon and night until she finally agreed to be his girlfriend. They began seeing each other regularly and were sleeping together by the end of that month. He was adoring, attentive, fun, fit, sexy and a bully, but she loved him.

And she couldn’t see what was staring her in the face.

But then none of us do. Do we?

For six months, Tony played the part of the perfect boyfriend. He took her to the cinema, bowling, to the pub, shopping, to dinner. He bought her a silver necklace with a heart on it and, a month later, a matching bracelet. He took her for a weekend break at a Travelodge just outside Southend. He chewed the fat with her dad over a pint at the local. He charmed her mother by helping with the washing up after Sunday dinner. He played in the garden for hours with her brother’s step daughter. Even her hard-to-please sister thought he was okay.

Everyone believed he was one of the good guys and he was warmly welcomed into the family. Izza had snared herself a keeper. She hugged herself. She knew this was IT!

The family discussed him openly. Wasn’t it a shame about his own parents? His mother had turned her back on him, his brother had disowned him. His father had committed suicide and Tony, poor bugger, had been the one to find him, hanging, black tongued, from the rafters of his upstairs maisonette. Jax remembered seeing it in the papers and mentioned it to Izza’s father, her first husband. What a dreadful business. Her sympathies went out to the young man. No wonder he sometimes seemed a bit odd, a bit reclusive, a bit needy. He was only twenty one after all. What he needed was a warm, friendly, family environment.

And then he hit Izza.

It wasn’t his fault of course. It had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She had provoked him. He apologised profusely. It would never happen again.

Tearfully, she forgave him and he made her a giant cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows. He even missed the first fifteen minutes of the game in order to go to the corner shop and bring back her favourite cream egg as a treat. He didn’t want her getting fat, mind, but these were exceptional circumstances. After the game, he took her to bed and spent the next twenty minutes persuading her that coming too soon meant in fact that he loved her. He told her that he would have liked to take her to dinner to make it up to her, but, given the state of her face, he felt it best to borrow a score from her purse and ring up for take-out instead.

A couple of days later, he turned up on her father’s doorstep. Her father, who wanted to land the little sod one of his own, was persuaded over a bevy at the Vic that it was a one off; an aberration. He hadn’t meant to give his daughter a black eye. He would never do it again.

Tony took flowers round to her mother’s place where, over a cup of tea and a ginger biscuit, he begged for forgiveness and, as the tears streamed down his cheeks, he looked so forlorn and pathetic that she almost believed him. Almost.

Because no one ever slams their fist into someone else’s eye by mistake.

Do they?

Over the next few months, Izza changed beyond recognition. She stopped spending time with her friends or with her family. She spent long periods alone, sometimes not bothering to get dressed. She spend days trudging around the house in the same shabby pair of pyjamas, curling up under the duvet and watching puerile drivel on TV. She became sullen, withdrawn and unkempt. She was on edge all the time, defensive about Tony. Whenever anyone tried to talk to her about him, she blew up in their faces. They just didn’t understand him. They hated him. He had done nothing wrong. It had all been her fault. It was her family’s stuff. They were the ones with the problem. Leave him alone. Leave us alone. Leave me alone.

Her life, and by consequence that of her family’s, was dominated by her mobile phone. Its mere buzz could change the atmosphere in a millisecond from tranquil to ecstatic; from calm to despair. The rollercoaster ride of Izza’s love life was beginning to grate on her family. They had all learned to be afraid of the Nokia; to be very afraid of the Nokia.

On good days, he texted her constantly, demanding proof of her love, her fidelity, her loyalty, her availability and her obedience, which usually ended with Izza taking a sneaky trip to the hole in the wall for a quick withdrawal. On bad days, he didn’t text her at all.

Her mother tried to reason with her. Her sister suggested she talk to the doctor. Her father offered to pay for her to see a counsellor. They were rewarded with shrugs, cold shoulders and slamming doors.

They tried paying her more attention, encouraging her out of herself. Her mother took her shopping and they spent a wonderful hour choosing Izza a new outfit. While her mother queued at the checkout, Izza received a text. By the time, the clothes were paid for, Izza had disappeared. No explanation, no apology. Tony came first.

They tried ignoring her, leaving her to her own devices, struggling not to comment on the disgusting state of her jogging bottoms or her lack of hygiene. They left her to prepare her own food so she just raided the fridge and took whatever was there. Either that or she simply failed to eat at all.

Nothing worked. Izza was hooked and she simply couldn’t care less about anything else. Whatever it was that Tony had and, for the life of them, no one in her immediate circle, could imagine what IT might be, he had it and she wanted it. Even if it meant being broke, being crushed, being manipulated, being ignored, being used or being hit.

Just when the family thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Tony took her to a garage in a nearby town and persuaded her to buy him a new car. It was her name on the finance and his name on the logbook. The fact that she was only working part time at the time and could not afford the repayments was immaterial nor was it relevant that the paperwork was faulty and nothing had been dated. According to the powers that be, the debt was hers and she had to pay it.

Of course, Tony meant to contribute, but somehow he never had anything spare at the end of the month and so her father ended up paying the lion’s share whilst Izza grudgingly gave what she could out of her minimum wage at the supermarket.

Three months later, the car was mysteriously torched on Tony’s driveway. Nothing was ever proved and no arsonist brought to justice. Tony pocketed the money from the insurance pay out, bought a decent second hand car and dumped Izza till the heat died down. Everyone believed that Tony had set fire to the car himself – everyone that is except Izza, who blamed her father for the break up because he had gone to the Police to discuss what he considered to be a clear case of fraud. Nothing could be proved and so, with very little choice in the matter, Izza’s father stoically continued to pay the instalments. Despite the petulance and the indifference, he never failed to support his daughter and continued to hope for a happy ending.