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“Soon,” he replies. “Tomorrow, probably.”
“Not tonight?” I’m disappointed. I’d assumed he would share my bed from now on. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Keep everything warm for me.”
I bite back any further words of protest. I can play it cool if I have to. Well, I can try.
* * *
Two and half hours later, I make my way to the bathroom, take a quick shower, and pull on jeans and a jumper. The cellar needs some attention, not my favourite task, but the sooner I get my head round it and my sleeves rolled up, the sooner I can get out to the cash and carry to stock up on pork scratchings and glace cherries. My customers are traditionalists and fond of such delicacies. I like to keep them happy.
My phone is in my back pocket, and the vibrations when a text arrives remind me of that heady interlude last night. My bottom is still a little sore. It feels remarkably good.
I check my mobile. Unknown number. It could be Tony. He never gave me his number but maybe he’s calling to let me know he’ll be back today after all. That would be nice.
I hit ‘reply’. “Hello?”
It isn’t Tony. An unfamiliar male voice rattles down the line. “Jenna Delaney?”
“Yes. Speaking.”
“Mr Fuller wants a word wi’ ye.”
“Mr Fuller? Who—?” I don’t think I know a Mr Fuller.
A different voice takes up the conversation. “You owe me,” is the stark comment.
“Do I?” I’m baffled. “Who is this?”
“Don’t ye play dumb wi me, lass. Ye owe me seven grand. Seven an’ a half now, wi interest.”
The penny drops. Sort of. The poky office at the warehouse. “Mr Fuller. Yes, I remember now. But the repayment isn’t due yet. We agreed a month.”
“Well, it’s come forward. I want me money today.”
“You can’t. I don’t have it yet.”
“Ye’d best get it, then. It goes up by five hundred every day ye’re late.”
“I’m not late. You can’t just change the rules like that. We agreed—”
“I can do what the fuck I like. Are ye goin’ tae pay up, or do I need tae send someone round there tae explain the problem a bit more clearly?”
“I know what the problem is,” I grind out. “You’re a robbing streak of shit who can’t keep to a deal.”
“An’ ye’re a gullible wee lass who should’nae be let out on ’er own, but there ye have it. Pay up. Today. Or I’ll need tae be sendin’ someone round an’ ye will’nae like that.”
The phone goes dead. I’m left staring at an empty screen. I briefly consider returning the call and telling this Mr Fuller he’s wasting his time and I’ll pay him at the end of the month, as we agreed. There are two problems with that little plan, though. First, he’s a loan shark and wouldn’t listen. And second, I’m not too sure I can pay off the whole amount then either, without getting into debt with Mr Savage again. I’d been planning to ask for an extension, but the prospect of the bill going up by five hundred pounds a day is frankly terrifying.
My legs are weak, suddenly. I sit on a barrel to think. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve yet to come up with a workable plan, for the simple reason there isn’t one.
I have no choice. I’ll need to scrape together what I can, two grand, at a pinch, and offer him that to keep him off my back. It might work. And it’s all I have.
My mind made up, I quickly reassemble the pipes I’d been cleaning and connect up the barrels and pumps ready for the pub opening later. Then I make my way back upstairs to get changed, ready to throw myself at the dubious mercy of a loan shark.
* * *
I pull up on the cobbled road at the back of the converted warehouse. It’s a small parking area, enough for half a dozen cars at most, and quite overgrown. Mr Fuller clearly sees no need for smart appearances. I cross the car park, sweat trickling down my spine. It’s a warm day, but even so…
