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The odd formality of it made her smile. ‘You too, Charlie. Thanks for not arresting me back there.’
‘What? Oh, my pleasure.’
She watched him leave. The feeling of being totally alone swamped her and she quickly picked up her box and left.
Regan hurried through town clutching her belongings like her life depended on it. When she reached the market, it was in full swing: stallholders shouting out the day’s best bargains; elbows out enabling others to get to the front; busy people swerving in and out on their way to somewhere important. The burger van hissed as a fresh batch went on the griddle and a chill wind blew through the stalls, making all the coverings slap about wildly. Everyone and everything had a purpose. Apart from her. She was surrounded by bedlam and yet she’d never felt more alone in her life.
Regan wasn’t sure if it was the brandy, but her head started to swim. The noise, the bustle and the smell were all too much. She was going to pass out. She reached for a stall, but she wasn’t close enough. Her legs buckled and she dropped her box, but someone grabbed her securely around her waist and kept her upright. She shook her head to clear it.
‘You’re not well. You need coffee,’ said a kind voice.
‘Kevin?’
She was about to protest but the feel of something wiry under her fingers pulled her concentration. Elvis was standing the other side of her, his head under her hand. He looked up, his sad eyes appearing concerned.
Kevin and Elvis guided her out of the main thoroughfare and to the Hug In A Mug coffee shop. Kevin took her inside.
‘Customer,’ he called. ‘You’ll be all right now,’ he said, and he scuttled out of the door before Penny appeared.
‘Hey, what’s happened to you?’ asked Penny, coming from behind the counter. Regan didn’t know where to start: from nowhere, the tears started to pour. She had always been irritated by crying – in her mind it served no good purpose. She didn’t believe those people who said you’d feel better after a good cry. It made your face blotchy and your nose run and quite often it gave you a thumping great headache to make you even more miserable.
‘Sorry, no tissues.’ Penny offered Regan a bundle of serviettes instead, which she took gratefully. ‘I’ll get you a coffee and you can tell me all about it.’
Regan took a moment to pull herself together while Penny made her a coffee and left the other waitress to field the couple of customers who had come in. ‘Here,’ said Penny, handing Regan a cup and pulling up a chair.
A loud bang on the glass right behind Regan’s head made her almost jump off her seat. She spun around and came face to hairy face with Elvis. Kevin popped his head round the coffee shop door, pushed Regan’s box inside and gave her a tentative thumbs-up. ‘You okay?’ he asked.
Despite everything, she couldn’t stop the smile appearing. She responded with a thumbs-up and Kevin beamed back at her. Kevin really did have nothing and no-one, and yet he was still able to smile. It touched her that he’d come to her rescue and gone back to pick up her box, which she’d all but forgotten about. Penny opened her mouth but Kevin took the hint before she said anything and retreated outside to join his dog.
Penny was lovely, but Regan didn’t want to spill out the whole story again. What good would it do? The more she went over it the more stupid it made her feel. What an idiot to have been taken in by such a moronic prank. She waited until she felt a little better, thanked Penny and headed off.
Hugging her old paper box to her chest, Regan tapped on the glass of her dad’s front door. She’d taken some time in the coffee shop to order her thoughts and calm herself down. More than anything it had been an almighty shock – one that it would probably take her a while to recover from – and in the meantime she needed a roof over her head. She knew she could go back to Jarvis’s flat, but as he hadn’t called or messaged her since their earlier conversation, he obviously wasn’t desperate to have her back; plus she didn’t like the idea of using him just because things had gone spectacularly wrong, and if she went back now that would be all she was doing. She also had a large dose of stubborn pride that was stopping her: that, and the thought of having to put her tail between her legs and admit she’d messed up again – no, she couldn’t go back to Jarvis’s. The sentiment that had underpinned her decision to end their relationship was the right one, although the timing could have been so much better. They had been treading water for a while and, whilst this approach was most definitely more akin to ripping off the plaster rather than soaking it off gently, it was still the right thing to do.
The chill of the April breeze made her shiver. She took a deep breath and tapped on the door again. She could see movement through the opaque glass.
‘Who is it?’ Her father sounded annoyed.
‘It’s me, Dad.’ He opened the door and hastily beckoned her inside. He was wearing his dressing gown but had socks on his feet. It was an odd combination for the middle of a Monday afternoon – or at any time, come to that. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Er, yeah. I’m fine. What can I do for you?’ He tightened his dressing gown cord and hovered near the door. Her father lived in the same one-bedroom maisonette that he had bought after her mother had left him and taken everything (except Regan) with her.
Regan balanced her box on the back of his sofa. ‘I’d kind of like to stay if I can?’
Her father’s eyes widened. ‘What? Here?’
It wasn’t the welcome she’d hoped for. ‘If that’s all right.’ It was feeling very much like it wasn’t all right at all. She knew she’d be on the sofa, but that’d be fine for a few nights while she licked her wounds and sorted a few things out.
‘Have you had a row with Jarvis? Because I’m sure you can sort that out.’ Graham adjusted his dressing gown again whilst his eyes darted about. There was definitely something wrong.
‘Not exactly, but—’
A noise from the bedroom stopped her mid-sentence. She turned to listen, and then turned back to her father. He was biting his lip. ‘Is there someone else here?’
He nodded sheepishly. ‘Tara just popped round …’ He broke eye contact and Regan surveyed her father’s attire afresh.
Tarty Tara was there. Regan knew exactly what she’d popped round for. She suddenly had a horrible thought that under his dressing gown he was probably not wearing anything at all. She almost knocked her box to the floor in her haste to snatch it up. ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered something.’ She lurched for the door, desperate to escape before embarrassment ate them both alive.
‘Right. Okay then,’ Graham called after her, enthusiastically. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Yes. Certain. I’ll be fine.’
‘Maybe next time give me a call first?’ he said, hiding behind the door as he opened it for her.
‘Yes. Good idea. Thanks. Bye.’ Something made her pause. She leaned round the door and kissed his cheek. ‘Love you, Dad.’
‘Um, yes. You too, Regan.’ He gave her an awkward smile before closing the door. She heard hysterical laughter erupt behind the glass and rolled her eyes at them behaving like teenagers.
That was her only family member in a fifty-mile radius. Now what?
Chapter Six
She trudged back to her car and sat there thinking. Her phone pinged to indicate she had a message. It was from Alex.
V sorry. Hope UR OK.
Regan shook her head and deleted the message. Worst-case scenario; she could sleep in her car. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she wouldn’t be joining Kevin and Elvis on the streets tonight. Although it would still be a bit chilly in the car. A thought struck her. Perhaps she’d sit it out? Tarty Tara would likely be off home soon. Yes, that was a good plan. Wait for Tara to clear off, then she could try to explain again to her dad what had happened and kip on his sofa. She reclined her seat so it was a bit more comfortable, and she waited.
Two hours later her phone rang, pulling her from a delicious dream about swimming in an infinity pool with a pet hippo and Liam Hemsworth. Her neck was stiff and she wasn’t sure where she was for a moment. Then she remembered, and a little dark cloud seemed to hover above her. She picked up her phone – it was Jarvis.
‘Hi, Jarvis.’ She prepared her resolve.
‘Regan, I just wanted to check you’re not having some sort of breakdown.’
Regan closed her eyes and tried to keep her irritation levels at a manageable level. ‘No, I’m fine thanks, Jarvis. But I am sorry if it was all a bit sudden.’
‘No, not at all. I mean I was a little surprised that it was you instigating it rather than me, because I’ve been considering it for quite some time … I just didn’t know how to broach it.’
Great, thought Regan, another blow to my dwindling self-esteem. ‘Well, I’m glad you finally approve of one of my decisions.’
‘Anyway, I don’t think I should be responsible for giving your belongings to charity. I don’t want to get caught out legally. So I’ve packaged them up for you to collect whenever suits.’
‘Thanks.’ It was a small thing, but at least she had her stuff back even if she didn’t have anywhere to put it.
‘When would you like to collect it?’
So much for whenever suits you. ‘I can come straight over now.’ She glanced up at her father’s front door. There didn’t seem to be any sign of Tarty Tara leaving; her tarty Toyota was still parked outside. Maybe she’d be gone by the time she got back.
‘Great. I’m off to Waitrose, so please lock up properly and push your key through the door.’
‘Will do. Bye.’ It was some consolation that she hadn’t broken his heart with her phone call this morning – although had he been a little more upset, it might have helped her feel a bit more valued than she currently did.
Regan was dashing about Jarvis’s kitchen when Cleo FaceTimed. Her phone was on the counter so she hit the answer button.
‘Regan? You there?’
Regan picked the phone up from the counter. ‘Hiya, I’m just … I’m …’ She realised she couldn’t drop all her woes on Cleo – she’d only fret. And what could she do when she was thousands of miles away? ‘How are you?’ asked Regan, trying to sound bright and carefree.
‘I’m okay.’
‘You at another party?’ It looked like a hotel lobby in the background.
‘Yeah. I’ve stepped out for a bit of a break.’ Cleo looked like she was stifling a deep sigh, or a yawn.
‘What time is it there?’ Regan opened and closed kitchen drawers.
‘Nearly three in the morning.’ She looked tired. ‘I could go but I loathe being in a hotel room alone. I think I might be a bit homesick.’
‘Blimey. Ow!’ Regan was only half listening. ‘Bloody skewers.’ Regan sucked her finger.
‘Are you cooking?’
‘Don’t look so surprised!’ said Regan. ‘No, I’m not cooking, but I could be. I’m looking for a corkscrew.’
‘What else are you doing? Remind me what normal people do.’
‘It’s riveting. I’m having a mug of soup.’ Regan held up the mug as evidence whilst she moved around the flat picking things up and stashing them in a black bag.
‘Soup?’ Cleo chuckled.
‘Yeah. It’s hot and nutritious.’ And I don’t know when I’ll get to eat again, she added in her head. Regan squinted at the screen. ‘Is that Elon Musk behind you?’
‘Oh, I expect so. I’m so bored with celebrities. Oscar wheels me around like a kid in a supermarket trolley introducing me to anyone who might get us more social media coverage. They’re like playing cards. On one side is a pretty picture: bright, colourful and engaging; but on the other there’s very little at all and what’s there is bland and functional.’
‘Wow, that’s deep,’ said Regan, pausing with a gin-scented candle in her hand. It was hers, but did she really need it?
‘Unlike most celebrities,’ quipped Cleo.
Regan watched a parade of beautiful people mill about behind Cleo. That could have been my life, she thought dreamily. ‘Oh, Cleo, you’re so lucky.’ Cleo opened her mouth to protest. ‘No, please don’t get me wrong; I know you’ve worked so hard for this, but to get the chance at a life like yours is millions to one and I’m so happy for you. Tell me how fabulous it is?’ She knew she was staring at her like a child anticipating a bedtime story.
Cleo took a moment to answer. Her smile seemed forced. ‘Yes, of course it’s fabulous. Let me show you the view.’
Regan made a series of awestruck noises as Cleo panned around the sights of Hong Kong harbour. It was quieter outside and Cleo found somewhere to perch.
‘Okay, well you’d better get back to the party,’ said Regan. ‘Have a brilliant time.’ Still holding her soup, Regan moved out of the kitchen and into the hallway – she didn’t have long before Jarvis returned and she wanted to avoid a face-to-face confrontation if she could.
‘Hang on!’ Cleo’s voice sounded a bit desperate and it drew Regan’s attention. Cleo was silent for a moment as if trying to think of something to say. ‘How did it go with the plumber?’
Regan shrugged. ‘Fine.’
‘Er … Any difficulties?’ Regan shook her head. ‘All fixed then?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you locked it all up properly?’
‘Yep. No problems. The studio is all locked up safe and warm.’ Regan frowned as a thought struck her. ‘It’ll be there empty just waiting for you to get home.’
Cleo appeared sad for a moment. ‘I guess so. I miss my little studio. It’s my safe place, where I feel most at home.’
‘Actually you could live there if you wanted to. Couldn’t you? It’s got virtually everything a person could need.’ Regan could feel her eyes widening as she spoke.
‘Not really. It’s against the terms of the lease so I’d get kicked out. And there is a loo but there’s no shower. No cooker, no washing machine, no—’
Regan was waving at her to stop. ‘Right, well, I need to … um … dash,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Cleo peered at her through the screen.
‘Me? Yes, brilliant. Top banana! Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll check on the studio for you if you like?’ Regan leaned in closer to the camera.
‘No need.’
‘It’s no bother at all. You leave it with me. Anyway, cheers!’ said Regan, holding up her mug and liberally splashing soup over herself and the screen.
‘You’re bonkers! Cheers,’ replied Cleo, holding up her champagne glass. The call ended.
‘Shitterama …’ Regan stared down at her feet and at Jarvis’s beloved rug. The pale cream wool was now liberally doused in tomato soup. A few more trickles dripped from her hand, landing like paint on a new canvas. She rushed back to the kitchen in a panic, knowing that Jarvis would think she’d done this on purpose.
How on earth am I meant to clear this up? she thought, scanning the cupboards for something to clean it with and grabbing a cleaning spray and a cloth. The quicker she acted, the better chance she had of saving the rug. She sprayed the cleaner liberally over the stain but on the third squirt she halted mid-squeeze. ‘Green!’ The cleaning fluid now overlapping the orange soup stain was bright green. ‘What the …’ She checked the label. ‘Oven cleaner.’ Discarding the bottle, she began rubbing the orange and green together in the valiant hope the green would somehow magically eliminate the orange. It didn’t. After a few minutes she leaned back on her haunches and surveyed the rug. It looked worse than when it was just the soup stain. Now, thanks to her vigorous rubbing, the stained patch had a certain fluffier quality than the rest of the rug. She shook her head. This was hopeless. As usual, she was only making things worse.
In desperation, she laid the best part of a roll of paper towel on top of the rug in an attempt to draw out all the moisture whatever its colour. That seemed to help a little bit. She put some fresh kitchen roll on top. There was nothing else she could do – she could almost hear Jarvis’s voice telling her sarcastically that she’d done more than enough.
She fired off a quick text to him: Sorry. Had a bit of an accident in hallway. Take care and be happy. Regan. This way it wouldn’t be a total surprise and hopefully he would realise it wasn’t her being vindictive. She quickly grabbed the bin bags Jarvis had left, as well as a few more essentials she needed like shampoo, coffee, biscuits, the Easter Egg she’d not scoffed yet and his spare razor – whatever happened, she liked to keep her underarm hair under control. She also took the pen he kept by the phone – not because she needed one, but because she knew when he went to use it and it wasn’t there it would drive him disproportionately crackers.
She hurried from the building trying not to think about the good times she’d had there. It would only upset her and she needed to stay positive and look to the future. She grinned to herself as she headed off – not towards her dad’s place as she’d originally planned, but instead towards her Plan B, which she was mightily proud of.
Chapter Seven
This time Regan was thinking ahead. The alarm code for Cleo’s studio was now Regan’s birthday, so she could at least remember it. Once she had managed to sneak all her stuff in to the studio without attracting any attention she shut the door and waited for her racing pulse to settle, feeling like an MI5 agent on a top-secret mission. She looked around Cleo’s studio. This was to be her home for the next two months, unless of course she got discovered and kicked out. That absolutely must not happen, she thought. Cleo would be terribly upset if she lost the studio – Regan knew how much she loved it, having been with her the day she’d found it. Back then it had been a dirty, dusty sanctuary for spiders and rodents, having been used previously as a store for a nearby garage. Now it was clean and critter free – thanks to a lot of TLC from Cleo.
She sat herself down in her friend’s comfy chair: an oversized, slouchy, modern affair. Perfect. She could definitely sleep here, she thought, pulling out the teddy bear throw she’d taken from the flat and drawing it over herself. Cosy … What more could she need?
She smiled to herself. The place was a bit paint-splattered but otherwise clean and dry. Her eyes landed on Cleo’s latest canvas of a large nipple and the smile became a pout. That was a little off-putting. It felt as though it was studying her … Judging her. She closed her eyes but it was no use – she knew it was there. She opened one eye. The nipple was still staring at her. Regan pulled off the throw and huffed. She’d have to move it. Carefully, she lifted the nipple picture and leaned it, nipple side down, against the opposite wall. Much better, she thought, and snuggled back under her cosy cover to try to get some sleep.
She woke up super early. Typical: on the one morning she could actually have a lie-in; although lie-in was stretching it, given her position was more hunched up than lying down, but that wasn’t the point. It was the first time in years she wasn’t meant to be up and out for work, and she’d woken up mega early. What sort of sick reality was that?
Her positive mood from the night before was apparently only temporary. She felt weighed down with a sense of impending doom that was no longer impending but fully in situ. She hadn’t got much sleep because her mind had been far too busy panicking about the situation she was in. One that – for once – was not entirely of her own doing. Bloody cockwombling Alex, she thought. A fresh wave of anger and injustice engulfed her and she paced the studio saying out loud all the things she wished she’d thought of yesterday. Why did the perfect insult always wait twenty-four hours before appearing in your head?
She threw insults around like pebbles but they didn’t make her feel any better. This was all so unfair. And on top of everything, there was no milk, so she’d had to have black coffee again.
She stomped about the studio for quite some time until she got tired and the adrenaline powering her subsided, at which point she flopped into the chair. The fury that had kept her going had turned to despondency as the reality of the mess she was in truly hit home. She no longer had somewhere to live. The studio was a very temporary setup until Cleo came home; even more temporary if anyone caught her living there.
She no longer had a boyfriend – although if the latest stream of texts from Jarvis were an indicator, she would be hearing from him again very soon via his lawyer regarding what he termed the criminal abuse of his rug.
She didn’t have a job, and that meant she had zero income. She also didn’t have any savings as such – just a few quid in her bank account that she had been holding onto so she could buy Jarvis a birthday present. At least that was something.
She was also surprised to discover that, on top of everything else, she’d lost her purpose – and this was most shocking of all. She hadn’t liked her job, but then who did? Moaning about bosses, colleagues and too much work was par for the course, but when it suddenly wasn’t there it left a great big nine-to-five-shaped hole.
Regan spent a while mulling over whether to call Nigel and ask for her job back. Eventually, she swallowed her pride and rang Nigel’s number, but as soon as she’d been put through to him he went into corporate mode, listing all her faults and making it very clear that returning was most definitely not an option. She thanked him kindly and hung up.
Regan sat there staring at one particular brick in the bare Victorian wall. This brick wasn’t like the other red bricks; it wasn’t a perfect little clone like the rest. The surface of this one was rougher; pock-marked, almost. It didn’t have defined angular corners and sharp edges. They were worn and rounded, partly due to it being slightly out of alignment. It didn’t quite fit, so someone had chipped bits off it in an attempt to wedge it in, but had simply managed to scar it instead.
That brick was her. She was damaged and scarred. She didn’t fit.
She closed her eyes. She was losing the plot. She needed to get out before she went totally Jack from The Shining.
She’d been pleased that her dad was at home when she’d telephoned, and frankly delighted to hear that he was alone and she was welcome to pop round.
After the usual niceties, she followed him into the kitchen and he put the kettle on.
‘What’s up, Regan? You never come round in the daytime.’
It was like the time she got found out for smashing next door’s greenhouse; he was giving her the same look of disappointment.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said, remembering too late that her defence of the greenhouse situation had started with the exact same words. ‘I thought I’d won the lottery and it turns out I hadn’t, but because I thought I had …’ He was watching her intently. She swallowed hard. ‘I dumped Jarvis, quit my job and moved out of the flat.’ She bit her lip and waited for his response.
‘Coffee?’
Not the response she was expecting. ‘Er, yes please. So …’
He shrugged his shoulders in a slow movement. ‘That wasn’t very smart. Was it?’
And the award for stating the bleeding obvious goes to Graham Corsetti. ‘I know that, Dad, but like I said I thought I’d won the lottery.’
‘Money’s not everything, Regan.’
‘I know.’ It was like being in a parallel universe. Why were parents so obtuse sometimes? And especially when you needed them to help you get to a solution ‘So what do I do?’
‘Get another job?’ His face was stoic.
‘Yes.’ That was the most logical thing. ‘What else?’
He scratched his greying temple. ‘I don’t know.’ He brightened up and squeezed her arm. ‘You’ll think of something.’
She blinked rapidly. Clearly he was not comprehending the huge shitstorm her life had become. In fact, shitstorm didn’t really cover it – this was more global shit tsunami with extra-large fans.