Page 2 of Oz
He frowns. “I don’t know why I expected you to understand, anyway. We’re from two different worlds.”
“Is mine the one with morals?” I ask lightly, and he huffs crossly.
“Socialworlds,” he stresses as if I have some sort of learning impediment. “You and I are from two very different classes, Oz. You’re so very working class. It’s written all over you with your accent and your clothes.” He shrugs and his expression turns cruel. “You’re very pretty, but it was a bit like having a little pet for a while. Just not one I’d keep forever. I thought I’d made that very clear to you. You were only here for a convenient fuck.”
He shrugs off his dressing gown and starts to dress as I watch him. When he’s finished, he grabs a case that I hadn’t noticed and starts to wheel it out. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve got to go to New Zealand for a month. That should give you the time to clear your pathetic belongings away.” He smirks. “And find another job.”
Yes, you heard right. Did I forget to mention that James is also my boss? I’ve been his assistant for six months. I think that might make me an idiot.
He grabs his coat and, tapping his phone, he smiles. “My car’s waiting to take me to the airport. I’ll leave you to pack. Leave your key on the coffee table, pet. Have a nice life.” He looks me up and down. “If you can manage it with such a disadvantaged start.”
I watch him until the door clicks shut. Then I smile. “The trouble with keeping pets,” I say softly, “is that sometimes they bite.”
Checking my mobile for the right number, I grab his landline and punch some digits in. Pausing until I hear the dulcet tones of a woman announcing the time in France, I gently lower thehandset to the table. The sound of the woman sending James’s phone bill soaring is my soundtrack as I go into the kitchen and remove all the fish from his freezer. There’s a lot because he’s always banging on about the benefits of a healthy diet. I place these over the worksurfaces until you can hardly see the granite counter and the rest over the radiators in the flat. My final act is to turn the heating up to full. That should guarantee him a lovely aroma when he comes back in a few weeks.
I lay my keys gently on the coffee table and, grabbing my case, I walk to the door. Opening it, I look happily round at my handiwork. “Woof,” I say softly, and close the door.
An hour later I drop into a chair opposite my best friend, Shaun. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he’s wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and ripped jeans. He’s a roadie and has a never-ending supply of band shirts. He puts his pint down and looks at my bags. A worried look comes into his warm brown eyes. “Shit,” he says.
I laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Is there another way?”
I shrug. “I am now jobless and homeless, so no.”
An indignant look crosses his scruffy face. “That fuckwit chucked you out? He only moved you in a few weeks ago.” I smile at him, but he carries on obliviously. “I mean you can get on a person’s last nerve, Ozzy, but twenty-one days must be a new record.”
“Hey,” I say crossly but he carries on staunchly. That’s the only way to describe Shaun. Staunch. He’d have made a good corporal in one of those old black and white war films. Honest and loyal and completely oblivious to social cues like your bestfriend grimacing at you like a gargoyle. “He must have done something, Oz. This is the first one you’ve moved in with. You usually tire of men pretty quickly.”
“I do not,” I say crossly, and he shakes his head dolefully.
“Used to be if you were still talking after clean-up, it was practically wedding bells.”
“Well, there won’t be any wedding bells with James,” I say snippily. “I just discovered him giving my replacement at work a good dicking in our bed.”
“What the hell?” he breathes, his expression turning pink with rage. “What did you do?”
“I like the way you know I did something,” I say slowly.
He grimaces. “You’d never let anyone stand on you, let alone some rich plonker boss.”
“Well, if he has any second thoughts while he’s away, I think they’ll be killed stone dead when he gets home. Along with his sense of smell,” I mutter.
“Do I want to know?” he asks cautiously, and I pat his hand.
“No. You’d only disapprove.” It’s true. Shaun is the softest, most gentle person I’ve ever met. I love him fiercely and sort of think of him as my brother. A six-foot-seven gentle giant sibling who has always been my conscience.
“I only disapprove of the fact that you never loved him and moved in with him because according to you he was good at sex at first.”
“Well, there’s a reason for that,” I say glumly. “He was obviously getting a lot of practice.” I shake my head and rub my eyes. “I don’t even know what I was thinking of. That wasn’t me, letting someone move me in after a few weeks.”
“You want to be loved,” he says stoutly.
“No, I don’t,” I scoff but he shakes his head.
“Yes, you do, and Oz, you should be. You’re the best. You’re funny and clever and really, really kind.”
“No, I’m not.”
