Hooked By Love (6 page)

Amber

Just before eleven, we finished with the preparations. Proudly, we stood in the cocoon of the new décor, born from our magic. Even Kat had stayed right till the end, sitting on the floor in the corner, staring at her curtain work. I got us all some apple juice to celebrate, because the weak tea was our daily suffering, not our celebratory beverage.

I lifted my plastic glass in the air, ‘I’d like to propose a toast.’

They all followed suit.

‘No matter how today turns out, I want you all to know that we were a success for getting all this awesomeness accomplished to revamp our little nest here. Regardless of what Josh and his company decide, we know that we did everything …’ My words caught in my throat, ‘Everything in our power to keep going. We busted our balls to stay alive. To us.’

‘To us!’
Their voices resounded as one, apart from Kat’s, who improvised with, ‘And our balls.’

Harry and I chuckled, but Kat didn’t even crack a smile.

‘I’m late for my session with Lydia,’ she hummed in her monotone apathy and made her way to the office down the hall.

‘Beam of sunshine, that one,’ Christina mentioned before slurping up her juice.

‘He’s here,’ Jennifer said from the door. A bolt of lightning shot through me. The moment of truth had arrived.

As gracefully as I could, I descended the steps to the reception. In the entrance stood an overweight forty-something businessman, who took off his sunglasses as I reached out my hand.

‘Amber Cross, manager of Young Minds.’

‘If you say so, sweetheart,’ he replied and started up the stairs.

‘And you are Mr. O’Neil?’ I asked, taken aback by his lack of propriety.

‘Yup, that’s me. Craig O’Neil,’ he said without looking at me. ‘Now show me the place so I can decide if we should bother to keep it open.’

Where the hell is Josh?
Withholding my rising need to throw his fat arse out of my charity, I persisted with my sales pitch. I watched the darting glances of my colleagues, who went about their business but kept checking on my status with the landlord. Their attention made me feel even more pressured.

‘Can I get you something to drink, Mr. O’Neil?’ I asked, wondering where his charming brother was, the one I’d seen on TV.

‘Whisky,’ he said, checking out Jennifer’s form when she bent over to fumble with her computer tower.

‘Um, we don’t serve alcohol, Mr. O’Neil.’ I giggled to keep things mellow. ‘As you of course understand, we deal with teenagers—’

‘Then I don’t want anything to drink. I’m not a teenager, am I?’ he scoffed, looking at my cleavage without even trying to conceal it.

‘No, you’re not,’ I recovered. ‘Let me introduce you to our staff and explain what their roles are.’

I went about the office, introducing one colleague after the other, from our volunteers to our full-time counsellors, our administration side and the tiny call centre that took care of people in duress who did not want to come in to the centre.

‘And we also have workshops every month for parents who need advice and support when they feel they’re unable to connect with their children.’

I gestured for him to follow me to our back office.

‘Gay and lesbian teenagers pretty much come to us for anything they might feel overwhelmed by. Most come to talk about how to find acceptance or about the hostility they may encounter from their families,’ I recited in my most professional manner, wondering if anything was getting through to him.

‘How about a session right now?’ Craig asked.

‘Oh, our sessions are usually by appointment only,’ I explained.

‘No, doll, you and me. Horizontal tango. Right here on this nice big table.’ The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a sneer.

My hand itched to wallop him across the face, but I refrained for the sake of the centre and its staff.

‘Not today, Mr. O’Neil.’ I laughed, trying not to sound awkward about the vile proposal. ‘I have a schedule.’

He sniggered at my reply, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. ‘Do you offer sex workshops?’

I knew what he was steering at, but I had to maintain my professionalism and give him the information.

‘We do offer sex therapy …’

‘Do you? I’m sure you’re well qualified in that, hey Amber?’ He grinned like an imp.

I felt like a seven-year-old girl trapped in a locked room with a sex offender.

‘Shall we move on?’ I said cheerfully and quickly walked out of the empty boardroom. I could feel him fucking me with his eyes and it sickened me.

‘I tell you what, Amber.’ His words sounded like the prelude to a deal and I perked up to hear what he had to offer. ‘Why don’t you and I discuss the outcome of this building over dinner tonight? Maybe, if you play your cards right, we can work something out.’

There was no denying what he was actually suggesting and I’d had enough of it.

‘I’ll tell you what, Craig. How about no,’ I said plainly, surprised by my reaction and how little I cared for what he thought of me. ‘I’m not that desperate, and I really don’t appreciate you wasting my time with your impotent attempts at flirting.’

‘What did you say?’ he sneered.

‘I said, it’s a good thing you’re stinking rich, because money is the only thing that could ever afford you sex. The upside is that it’ll buy you just about the right type of woman you deserve, because you’re of low moral fibre, at best.’

Everyone in the call centre peeked over their partitions, putting their calls on hold to ascertain if what they’d heard was really happening. There I was, the manager of the centre, standing toe to toe with the new landlord and telling him his fortune, and by the looks of them, they must have thought I was a right bitch, but they didn’t know what the arsehole had said to me seconds before.

‘Are you sure you want to insult me, girlie?’ he asked raucously, pursing his lips.

I detected a quiver in his voice and tremors in his hands. Craig O’Neil was livid at my rejection. Odd, since I was sure it was something he was used to.

‘It’s not an insult, Mr. O’Neil, it’s an observation,’ I retorted. ‘You’re paying this charity lip service and nothing more. You clearly don’t give a damn about this organisation and you only showed up to solicit your own affairs.’

‘You have a slippery mouth for someone who lives on the charity of others, Cross,’ he shouted. ‘Well, guess what? Your charity depends on blokes like me, sweetheart. I can have you on your knees begging just by flashing my wallet.’

‘Not likely, pal,’ I said. ‘Not even if my life depended on it.’

‘Your life does depend on it and you just pissed all over any chance of this building surviving. Do not fuck with me. I am the master of your fate and your attitude just proved what kind of ungrateful bitch you really are. I hope for your sake you have a cushy job lined up, because you and your centre are done.’

‘Get the hell out of here,’ I ordered.

He straightened and tugged down on his jacket with both hands.

‘Oh, don’t you worry, I will. And don’t expect me to give a shit about your lost cause.’ A vein throbbed in his forehead and his face turned scarlet as he glared at me, eyes bulging. ‘No wonder you turned me down. You’re probably a fucking dyke too. No wonder this place is struggling to stay in business. It’s run by a bunch of fags and carpet munchers who wouldn’t know
moral fibre
if it strangled them.’

My body literally vibrated.

‘Get out, you homophobic prick. There are still some old leftovers waiting for you in Soho. Hurry, ‘cause it’s almost Happy Hour!’ I shouted after him as he ran down the stairs and stormed towards the front door.

He gave me the finger and left.

I’d done it—that I owned up to. But now I had to tell the others all our efforts and long hours had run down the drain because of my inability to control my temper.

‘Jennifer, please call a meeting … urgently,’ I asked as I headed for the ladies’ room, fastening my blouse buttons all the way to the top.

‘Jennifer?’ Jen asked. ‘Oh my God, full name means there’s big trouble.’

I rammed the door open and rushed to rinse my face with ice-cold water. The mirror, as wide as the wall, was impossible to ignore and I was faced with the cause of Young Minds’ unfortunate fate: me.

I stared in disbelief at myself, unable to justify what I’d done, disappointed for acting the way I had, but I couldn’t tolerate his insolence and obnoxious manners one more minute.

‘What have you done?’ I said to my reflection. ‘Do you realise how royally effed these people are? People who were relying on you?’

Taking a deep breath, I prepared to face those I’d let down. I had to tell them sooner rather than later, if the call centre hadn’t gossiped already. As I walked into the meeting room, I could cut the atmosphere with a blunt knife. They sat in silent anticipation, their faces full of expectation of something I couldn’t tell them. They were hoping for good news, I think, because when my shoulders slackened, they started shaking their heads ever so slightly.

‘Guys, I wish I were jesting, but I’m not. I failed miserably to sway Craig O’Neil and he is more adamant now than ever to sink us,’ I revealed.

It was as if I’d dropped a bomb on them. Faces sank, so did chins, as they all looked down in defeat.

‘But now we have a choice, people,’ I continued. If I thought I felt awful before, it was a hundred times worse now. ‘We can give in and let it go, start looking for other jobs and so on, or we can fight for the centre to get the eviction notice overturned. It’s entirely up to you. Shall we vote?’

Unanimously, without doubt, they voted to fight it out in the boxing ring.

‘We’ll fight,’ Christina said. ‘We believe in you, Amber.’

I bowed my head in gratitude for their support, but I wasn’t sure if fighting was such a good idea anymore.

Zack

I hadn’t seen my uncle so livid since the day of my mum’s funeral, where he’d had words with Uncle Craig. Maybe he’d reached the breaking point like I had.

I still couldn’t believe the cops had nicked me for drinking a few cans of beer in public. I wasn’t even being a nuisance. Two wannabe ‘filmmakers’ had thought I’d make for an entertaining ‘punch and kick a stranger’ YouTube video, but they’d got more than they’d bargained for when I retaliated. The martial art lessons I used to take with my uncle had paid off. Predictably, I was the one who got collared and accused of being drunk and disorderly
for defending myself.
What a joke.

I’d tried to push the experience to the back of my mind by playing my Xbox, but it only worked while I was occupied. Times like now, when I’d had enough of killing zombies, I kept seeing the image of Uncle Josh in my mind when I’d shouted at him about wishing he was dead. I’d regretted it the moment I’d said it, but it’d been too late to take it back. I’d just wanted him to feel my pain, which wasn’t likely. He had no problem funnelling his attention into his work and leaving everything else to the side. It wouldn’t make things right, pretending my mum had never existed. She had and just because he didn’t speak about her, it didn’t mean I’d somehow forget her.

I laid the Xbox control on the floor beside me and rose to my feet. Maybe it was best if I went away so I wouldn’t be a constant reminder about the unwanted responsibility he’d been left holding.

Suddenly, a plan came to me. I walked to my door and popped my head into the hallway. Pots and pans clashed from the kitchen below. Good. I could be in and out of my uncle’s office and she’d be none the wiser. I was sure most of the time she only pretended to be busy keeping the house in order so she could spy on me and give my uncle a running commentary of my movements for the day. For the first time in days, I regretted getting suspended for my rudeness toward a teacher.

I headed down the hallway and pushed the door open to my uncle’s study. The room smelt strongly of his citrus aftershave and for a minute, I thought he might walk in behind me and give me a bollocking for entering his office without asking. Just in case, I glanced behind me and stared into an empty space. Good.
Now where has he hidden my passport? I won’t get far without it, if I intend to leave this prison.

I searched in his desk drawers. Nothing. I then moved on to the file cabinet, not expecting it to be open but was pleasantly surprised when it was. I flicked through the tabs, startled to see one named ‘Craig.’ Why was Uncle Josh keeping tabs on his brother? I withdrew the folder and pulled out the plans for the new development and sheets of financial papers with red question marks plastered all over them. My uncles were up to something.

I slid onto his office chair and fanned the papers out in front of me, carefully scrutinising each and every one of them. Sometime later, I leant back and ran both my hands through my hair. Oh boy, this was like waiting for a car crash to happen.

Thoughts of what I had originally been searching for were forgotten. What my Uncle Josh was looking into was far more interesting.