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Her head pulls back in confusion as she grabs a bowl from the cupboard. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It would have been had he not caused me to slightly bump his car on my way to the club, I need a new number plate now.” I glare into the vacant air in front of me as if he’ll somehow feel it wherever in the city he may now be.
I let out a breath of annoyed amusement. “And then, here’s the real kicker, the fucker wasted my time. He’s obviously minted, yet he’s in a strip club with no intention of spending money on the girls.” Honestly, it’s my biggest pet peeve at work. I scoff. “Oh, and he tried telling me he owned the club.” I frown at myself, did he say that? “Or the company he worked for owned the club?” I actually can't remember. I can't remember much past his face.
She pauses her chopping, screwing her brows together. “You met him before the club?” She waves the knife in the air. “And I thought Diamonds was privately owned? By Franco?”
“He cut me up on the FDR.” I wave a hand in the air. “And he does. I think.” I haven't really thought much about it to be honest? There is a certain vibe that not everything they do is straight-laced but strip clubs are a darker place in general so who knows. I hop up to perch on the kitchen counter beside her. “This guy was way too young anyway. I don't know, I don't really care. It all just seemed like bullshit.”
Her eyes flick up to mine bright and playful. “Young and rich, please tell me he was hot?”
I shrug. “Eight out of ten maybe?” Lies. He was a ten out of ten. Nice mouth, strong nose and that jawline? Could cut fucking glass. Truthfully, I took one look at him and just knew he was the type of man that is bad for your health. The exact type of man you would let roll right over you just because he flashed a smirk and called you a good girl.
She stops her chopping and looks at me seriously. “Don't bite my head off because you would say the same to me but have you thought about getting back out there?” Her eyes soften. “Or just going on a few dates? Test out the waters. For you.” I’m just not interested in dating. It’s a shitty thing really, a good relationship is hard to come by when you're a sex worker. A lot of men don't respect the career for what it is, work. And sex work is work. Argue with your mother. So I'd rather just not bother, it wastes too much energy. And to be honest, the thought of letting another man have me makes me sick.
I give her a cynical look. She returns it with one similar to a pleading mother. Face soft and open. “This is what your twenties are for. Having fun.”
I roll my eyes. I don't need a man to have fun. I don’t need a man for anything. I'm doing just fine by myself. “He was in a pristine two-piece suit at 3 a.m., he wouldn't know the meaning of a fun time if it hit him in the face.”
She sighs, leaning a hip against the counter. “I mean, like maybe for your first dip back in the pool, a responsible man would be a good idea. You always went for the fun guys, maybe give the boring ones a go?”
I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand, I’m tired of hearing this from her and my mum constantly. “I don't even want to speak to another man let alone have one touch me.” My ex has ruined me. It's funny really, how big of an effect one man can have on you.
Her eyes soften a little bit more and she nods her head in understanding. I hop off the counter, snagging a slice of pepper. “I need to go Facetime Aleksy. You still good to get our nails done at five?”
She nods, suddenly avoiding my eyes. “Say hey to Alek from me.” Her voice turns all shy and awkward.
“You could just call him and tell him,” I say over my shoulder as I go back to my bedroom and climb out of the window to sit out on the fire escape while I ring my brother. He picks up on the third ring and he looks rough. His black hair is longer than usual and his stubble isn’t shaved which isn’t like him. He’s usually clean-shaven and keeps his hair short, it's almost a ritual for him to go to the barbers every Friday.
“Mira.” He says with a grin on his face; he is the only person who calls me that. I went through a stage when I was a kid of hating my name. People at school always pronounced it wrong or made jokes so I tried to adopt a more ‘normal’ name. I gave up on it but he never dropped it.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I singsong, holding up the Jordans I managed to cop him yesterday.
He blinks at the screen. “Nah, mate. I know you're kidding right now.” He shouts, prompting me to turn the volume down on my phone. “Fuck off. They don't get released for another two weeks?”
“I snagged them on early release.” I pin him with a pointed look. “But I could only get the one pair so don’t tell Jack or Michael. They’ll only claim favouritism.” Jack and Michael are our two younger half-brothers. My mum got remarried to Steve, our stepdad when we were seven. He's amazing. He brought my mum back to life.
“But I’m your twin so I am your favourite brother.” He grins at me.
I ignore him. “I’m going to post them today so they should be with you in a week.” I place the shoes on the ledge inside my room. “What happened last night? Mum rang me. She's worried and so am I. You look like shit.”
He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, mate. You look pretty shit yourself.”
Looking at myself in the selfie screen in the corner of my phone. He’s right. I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards. My hair is desperately trying to escape from a pineapple on top of my head and my eyes are still puffy from sleep, the remnants of last night's makeup still on my skin because for the second time this week, I forgot to do my skincare routine when I got home.
“I had work and I just woke up. What's your excuse?”
He sighs, smile dropping as he scrubs a hand over his face. “I went out with Lee, down his local.”
“You and Lee, in Tottenham? That's a recipe for disaster.” I say absentmindedly.
He sighs. “I know, I saw dad.”
I sit straight up. “What the fuck?” I splutter trying to get my head around the fact that our father, our actual father was stupid enough to come back after all this time.
“He’s been living in Enfield.” He says with a shake of his head. “He's been there for the last five years.” That cuts more than I thought it would. My dad's been in the same city as me for the last five years and never tried to make contact? Not that I would have given him the time of day but, I don't know. The effort might have been nice.
“What happened?”
