Chapter 8:: Malicious chair legs

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Chapter 8// Malicious chair legs

“If you just pull in here, that should be fine thanks Lois.”

Jennifer points out the windscreen towards a sign post parked conveniently in front of a sprawling urban household. The shutters are a deep chestnut brown, and the entire house is covered with wide windows showing sneak peeks of the glamorously decorated interior. Jennifer asked me this morning if I could potentially drop her off to visit her friend for the day, and looking at this house, said friend is some kind of a millionaire as well. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a little on the millionaire front, but the house is huge. I pull up neatly on the sidewalk, taking great precaution not to damage my paintwork as I edge past the signpost: I hardly need to broadcast my lack of driving skill any more than I have done already.

“I’ll grab the wheelchair Jesse,” I say, meeting his eyes in the wind mirror. “You work on getting Jennifer out.” After Jesse nods, I unclick my seatbelt and make my way out of the car, jogging around the cherry red sides towards the boot. I’m getting better and better at assembling this wheelchair, and at the speed of light I have the chair assembled and waiting for Jennifer at the car door as Jesse lifts her out. He’s lifted her into an awkward sagged bridal lift, with her cast straightened across his forearm. Straining with effort, Jesse leans forward to place Jennifer carefully in the wheelchair, although for Jennifer it doesn’t seem careful at all. She’s dropped the last few inches quite suddenly as Jesse loses his balance, and ends up with both legs slung over the right arm rest. She shoots an unimpressed look at Jesse, and huffs, swinging her legs into the correct position.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I ask conversationally, taking hold of the handles to push Jennifer up the long stone drive towards the house. I’ve built up the idea in my head that she’s a very posh British lady with some really posh name and title. How much of that will actually be true, I guess I’ll find out. “Is she British?”

“Her name is Rachel, and no she’s not British,” Jennifer gives me a strange look. She’s made a special effort today: wearing a loose fitting dress which manages to cover the top part of her cast quite considerably. Her hair, curled and hanging around her shoulders in angelic ringlets, bounces when she laughs. “She has a nice house doesn’t she? Maybe I should stay here all the time.”

“Can I join you?” I smile wryly. I stop at the door, letting go of Jennifer and bounding up the steps to press the doorbell. Suddenly my hoodie and leggings seem drastically scruffy- what on earth is the woman who opens the door going to think of me? And the worst part is, I haven’t got a fractured femur to blame my bad dress sense on.

Before me, the door swings open and a well dressed woman beams down on us. “Jennifer darling! How are you feeling?” Rachel’s hair is twisted upwards in a stylish chiffon, and her clothes are immaculate and no doubt expensive. Her steely cold eyes turn to me, running up and down the length of my body, and squinting slightly in disapproval. “Ah I see you’ve bought a friend. Who might you be?” She asks politely, although the distaste is coloured into her voice. I shift awkwardly, and push Jennifer forwards to hide me somewhat.

“This is Lois,” Jennifer turns her head to smile at me, “She gave me the ride here. She’s one of Jesse’s friends.”

“Lovely. Well I’m afraid we haven’t got enough food for a third person- I’m sorry about that,” Rachel replies rudely. “Now Jennifer, come on, let’s get you inside. You must be freezing out there with only a dress on!”

Well maybe. Apart from the minor detail, y’know, that it is in fact summer. My eyes narrow slightly: I don’t like this snobby woman one bit.

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