Spitting Feathers

‘No, I can’t. Now, open the door like a good girl, or I’ll just use my own key anyway.’

I sighed and pressed the buzzer to open the street door, alarmed for Sophie’s sake to learn that he had such easy access to the flat, and alarmed for my own sake that I was about to be alone with him. I could hear him dragging his feet over the uncarpeted stairs, and I opened the door before he reached it. I left it open, just in case I needed to make a fast getaway.

He was dressed in two shades of denim tonight—black jeans, blue jacket—and he was carrying a metal box that I assumed contained his tools. I managed a smile as it didn’t seem sensible to appear unfriendly.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ he said as he gave me the once-over.

I hesitated. I didn’t want him hanging around, and yet I didn’t want to antagonise him either. ‘Tea okay?’ I asked as I uttered a silent groan.

‘Tea’s good,’ he said.

He followed me into the kitchen and I switched on the already fullish kettle. ‘Better wait till it’s boiled ’cause I may have to switch the electricity off.’

I shrugged, and then busied myself with teabags and things as he plonked himself down at the kitchen table.

‘Had a helluva day,’ he said with a heavy sigh.

Unfortunately I felt some response was necessary. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, glancing around at him. ‘What have you been up to?’

The kitchen was poky, with hardly room for a table, and his presence was overpowering. He smelt of very stale BO and I wondered if I could get away with spraying some air freshener without offending him. I decided I probably couldn’t.

‘Having a row with the Social. They’re threatening to stop my benefits. Seem to think I might have some undisclosed income.’

I turned and looked at him properly. Like rent from a sublet council flat, I thought, but wisely didn’t say. His eyes were narrowed to a slit.

‘I’d be really upset if I thought someone had grassed me up,’ he said meaningfully.

‘Why would anyone do that?’ I asked as casually as I could manage. Luckily the kettle clicked off at that moment and I could get on with making the tea.

‘All sorts of reasons,’ I heard him say, ‘but none worth the trouble they’d come up against if I found out who it was.’

I put some milk in the tea, removed the teabag, and turned to ask if he’d like some sugar. When I’d added the requested three spoonfuls, I decided it was high time to change the subject. ‘So where do you live yourself?’ I asked chattily.

‘Not far,’ he said, in a way that sounded to me like an additional threat.

‘With anyone?’ I pressed blithely on.

He looked a little bit embarrassed now. ‘With my mum,’ he murmured quietly.

Suddenly he didn’t seem nearly so scary, this thirty-odd-year-old man with his big talk and his silly tattoo…who still lived with his mother.

‘Does she give you a hard time?’ I said, on a hunch.

‘Does the Pope say his prayers?’ Peter said dismally. ‘She’ll kill me if the Social carry out their threats. She’s forever nagging me to get a job.’

‘Why don’t you, then?’

‘Easy for you to say,’ he said huffily. ‘It’s hard when you ain’t got no qualifications.’

And I didn’t suppose that his appearance helped much either. He could be smartened up if someone tried very hard, and made to smell a lot better, but it would be difficult to hide that thing on his face.

‘Well, I haven’t worked for over a year,’ I said, to make him feel better, conveniently forgetting to mention that I’d been learning a trade for most of that time. ‘But I’m hoping my luck’s about to change.’ He wasn’t exactly first choice to share my news with, but I did it anyway. And to my surprise he seemed quite excited for me.

‘My mum’s a big fan,’ he said, shaking his head with the sort of indulgence that made me realise how fond of his mother he was, despite everything. ‘I’m not allowed to open my mouth when that American’s on.’ He looked at me slyly. ‘If you get the job, I’ll tell her you’ll bring him round for a chat. That should keep her off my back for a while.’

I didn’t dispel his hopes there and then, not when he seemed in such a good mood, but as he downed the last of his tea I reminded him why he’d come here. ‘Whose room did you think has the lighting problem?’ I said pointedly.

He got up reluctantly and went to Jemima’s room. Two minutes later he reappeared. ‘Got any lightbulbs?’ he wanted to know.

I didn’t have a clue, but guessed if we had that they’d be in the cupboard next to the sink. I was right, and I handed him one.

He was back again in less than a minute. ‘Thought so,’ he said with a slow shake of his bison-like head. ‘Silly bitch probably doesn’t know that you have to change them occasionally.’

And, don’t ask me why, but there and then I decided that I quite liked Peter Parker.

5

Sophie must have gone straight to work from Jerome’s place the following morning, and I couldn’t help feeling a little prude-like disapproval. That’s another thing I’ve reacted against. My mother remains so stuck in a Woodstock mind-set—all that free love and everything—that she insisted in putting me on the Pill on my fifteenth birthday, as if it was an accepted coming-of-age tradition. I was appalled, and deeply embarrassed, but for a quiet life I’d pretended to take the contraceptive while actually flushing it down the toilet. I would have been the envy of all my friends at school if I’d told them, for having such an enlightened parent, but I kept it to myself and secretly longed for the sort of mother who would lecture me on the folly of teenage sex.

I didn’t get around to actually doing the deed until I was eighteen—much later than most of my friends—but I still wouldn’t call myself particularly experienced by the time I moved in with Mal. As it turned out that was part of the problem for me. I kept wondering what it would be like with someone else, and it wouldn’t have been fair to cheat on him. It’s hard to know whether he’d have felt any better if I’d just told him the truth, but my guess is that it wouldn’t have made much difference. It added up to rejection, whatever the reason, even the one I gave him about feeling too young for settling down.

I made up for my shortfall a little during my year at photography school, but I’d guess I was still way down on the scoring average of most twenty-five-year-olds.

I arrived at the Front Page with ten minutes to spare, and had to endure being glared at by Amber as I waited in the reception area. I’d have liked to ask her exactly what her problem was, in the manner I’d expect Peter Parker to use, but I didn’t want to get into a slanging match in earshot of the boss’s office. Besides, I knew the answer to the question anyway. At least I knew what her current problem was where I was concerned. Not only had I wangled an appointment with Jerry Marlin, but I had also been last seen leaving the building with one of the hottest TV properties around at the moment.

I could tell she was bursting to say something, but I tried to ignore her by closing my eyes and concentrating on the spiel I’d prepared to dazzle Jerry Marlin with. However, I got only as far as the firm, confident handshake in my imagination, when I heard her speak. It sounded more like a hiss, actually, and a decidedly venomous one.

‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ she began, and I opened my eyes cautiously. She had moved round the desk and was perched on the front edge of it now, her skinny arms folded tightly round her concave chest.

I smiled enquiringly. ‘How so?’ I said.

‘With that TV chef.’

‘Taylor?’ I said, just to remind her I was on first-name terms with him.

‘Rumour has it he’s shacking up with Mary Deacon—you know, the producer who made him famous.’

I shrugged. I was sure she was lying, following my conversation with Taylor yesterday, but I didn’t want her to think I gave a damn either way. ‘What’s that to me?’ I said. ‘My only interest in Mr Wiseman is the possibility that he might put some work my way.’

She didn’t look as if she believed me. ‘If you say so,’ she said snidely. ‘But he knows where his bread is buttered, and if it came to a contest my guess is that you’d lose hands down.’

Until then I hadn’t seriously considered Taylor in the way she was hinting at. At least I don’t think I had. I thought he was attractive, of course, and I’d been flattered by the attention he’d shown me. I also thought it might be fun to work with someone who was adored by so many women, but I hadn’t seen it going any further than that. He wasn’t really my type, for a start. There was something a bit obvious about his good looks for my particular tastes, but to tell Amber that would only invite her scorn. Of that I was certain. I was also annoyed with the suggestion that I was out of his league. While I could secretly acknowledge that it was true, I wasn’t about to admit it to her.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ I said with what was meant to be a mysterious smile that I hoped would annoy her more than any further denials. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

She was saved from responding by the sound of the intercom buzzing on her desk. She kept hostile eyes firmly on me as she circled back round and took the call, then she told me, as if nothing had happened, that I could go in and see Jerry now.