Foxblood: Rise of the Hellion (WattyAward 2012 Finalist)

Part Eight

When I finally reached home, I climbed the stairs to the flat determined to be strong.

Mum came home shortly after my return. She looked tired and clearly deflated. I put the kettle on.

“No luck then,” I commiserated.

She shook her head. “I’ve got blisters on blisters, but there’s nothing out there. Not for me. It seems when you get past forty you’re on the scrapheap.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Mum. Something will turn up, you’ll see.” I only hoped I was right. My savings wouldn’t last long, keeping a family of three.

The subject of Mum’s lack of suitable employment arose again at dinner that evening.

“A beautiful woman like you should not have to do menial work,” said Hemming. Sebastian’s father was blatantly a terrible flirt. “Pass the salt please, Son.”

“Father, do you have to? It’s Sophie’s Mum. Please save the empty compliments for hitting on the dollies at work,” said Sebastian, handing the cruet to Hemming.

Mum smiled her first smile of the day. “Don’t stop on my account, Hemming. A girl can never have too many compliments.”

“Perhaps you could become one of my office dollies, Carol. Can you type?” Hemming tore at his steak with relish, and for some strange reason, I suddenly had an image of him doing the same to human flesh. My appetite was already faint after discovering that Marie was Connor’s dinner date, but at that moment, it vanished completely.

Marie was a petite girl, a couple of years my senior, who worked on reception at uni. She always dressed conservatively and usually wore her dark blonde hair scraped back into a pony tail. This evening was no exception. We’d met in the canteen at uni eight months ago, and although she’d never said it in so many words, I’d known for a while that she had a soft spot for Connor. He humoured her. I knew that. But never had I pictured him reciprocating her affections, and I couldn’t see it now. It was cruel of him to lead her on, especially if it was all for my benefit. From the corner of my eye, I watched her, fawning over him at the dinner table. It was more sickly sweet than the huge meringue lying in the centre of the table for dessert.

Not that I was jealous or anything.

Marie spoke her first words of the meal, “Speaking from experience, Mr Lovell, I’d say typing is actually pretty menial.” Bravo Marie.

“You’re absolutely right, my dear. I wonder…” He paused to offer the wine bottle. “Does Sophie get her artistic talents from you, Carol?”

Mum feigned mild amusement and declined his alcoholic offer. “I used to be able to hold my own with a pencil, but recent experience has been limited to a bit of impromptu window dressing.”

“Hmm.” Hemming thought. “Why don’t you enjoy the rest of the week off with your daughter, then report to our design department, 9.00am Monday? I’ll let them know you’re coming. We could use some fresh blood.”