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Chapter 8.
A week later my new mobile phone sounded off with a ridiculous rendition of the opening bars of a popular classic symphony. It was my evening off and I hadn't decided how to spend it. The student next door was yet again testing the methods she was using to avoid making a family to the limits, judging from the non-stop racket.
I had half a mind to find somewhere else to stay, even though its effect on my paycheck would be terminal. Also, Ron was getting cooler towards me and I thought there was a strong possibility that the students were behind with their rent and he'd come up with the idea of employing them instead of me in the bar to enable them to pay off the debt.
I had dropped my new mobile number through Jennifer's letterbox with a note to say that if she needed a strong arm or perhaps even an understanding shoulder, she should give me a ring. As I thumbed the button to accept the call, I hoped it was her calling. It was.
"Thanks for your mobile number ... and thanks for not calling round. It's given me time to think."
"I hope things are going better for you," I said trying to sound casual although my pulse was racing and my breathing was in suspended animation.
"I can't talk about that but if the offer is still open for a bit of baby sitting, I'd be very grateful."
"More football?"
"Well no ... Tommy is not involved, I've already made arrangement for him to stay with a friend for the evening and to sleep over."
"Who do you want me to baby sit then?"
"Me!"
"You?"
I heard her sighing nervously at the other end of the line.
"Are you getting hard of hearing? Say you'll do it or I'll find somebody else."
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"Why the questions? If you want to help me it shouldn't matter!"
"I do want to help you but why the secrecy?"
The line clicked off from her end. She'd given up on me. I immediately called the number back.
It rang for a long time and I thought she wasn't going to answer.
"Yes ..."
"Whatever you want me to do, wherever it is and whenever it is, I will do it," I said simply. "There, you can't get a better offer than that."
There was a pause at the other end of the line and, when she spoke, I thought I heard a catch in her throat.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Meet me outside my apartment in half an hour."
"I made it with a few minutes to spare but she'd said 'outside' so I kept to my word and waited 'outside'. I didn't see what difference it would make but if it kept her happy, it made me happy. I was looking forward to seeing her.
When she appeared, she had her blue jeans on again and a thin see-through green cotton top and a green pullover slung around her shoulders.
"Hi," she said. "Thanks for coming. I forgot to ask if you could drive."
I said I could and she tossed me her car keys. I pulled open the driver's door and she slumped in besides me in the passenger's seat. There was brightness in her eye and a catlike sense of relaxed alertness about her this evening. Minutes later, as we drove down Bayswater Road, I recognized the scent of a very much more alternative confidence booster than the double whiskey I had downed earlier.
The Porsche drove well. It was good to be behind the wheel again and it felt good to be with her. I started to talk inconsequentially, but she put her finger to her lips for me to be quiet.
She then gave a series of directions that guided us through Bloomsbury and then on towards the East End. As we drove I could hear her voice getting tighter. The road we finally turned down was a cul-de-sac, narrow and with small terraced houses. Most opened their doors onto the road and many seemed to have been taken over by small businesses. Half way down, there was a reserved sign creating a parking space. Jennifer told me to stop and she leaped out and moved it out of the way for me to park.
"Reserved spaces now," I commented lightly. "You seem to be going up in the world."
She came round my side of the car. I could see now she was shaking and her face was full of tension.
"Stay here," she commanded, tersely. "If I need you to come and rescue me, I'll break a window or something. If I'm not back in two hours, call the police."
The swarthy Eastern European man that answered the doorbell was skinny and looked in his 60s. He quickly ushered her inside. On the wall, the small plaque had been vandalized but I could just make out the words 'Video Productions'.
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