Free Fishnet by Kirstin Innes Page B

bloody kids, the ongoing affair with that woman. Her martyrdom, taking on three jobs and bullying him for his inadequacies, making him feel small and bloody stupid all the bloody time. Those things they shouted at each other in this room, their faces purple and ugly, while I flinched and Rona, blank-faced, turned up the volume on the TV.
    Forth
    All this week, I’ve been nipping downstairs in my lunch breaks, calling from the alley, scuffing the same shards of glass under my toe as I wait for the answerphone to kick in. She never answers her phone, it seems. Not during the lunch hour, anyway. A breathy Hi, leave a message in a voice that could be anyone’s; too quick to tell and she might be putting that accent on like I am. Muffling it through my coat, a bit of an Irish twang to keep her from guessing.
    â€˜Hi, I’d still like to make an appointment to see you. Could you call me back on this number, please.’
    I imagine her playing back her voicemail, gruff requests from regulars, first timers full of nerves, and then me, bell clear, from nowhere. Maybe it would feel tight at her throat, my voice, or it might make her dizzy. I know why she isn’t answering.
    Fresh condoms in the car park today, I noticed. I’d need to make another call to street services, or Ian would be on me.
    I didn’t get out till six that night, those musky patches of no-light already waiting up the alleyways for the girls, and a text message on my phone, glowing there, waiting for me.
    Please stop calling i dont do women thx.
    â€˜Graeme, would you be up for doing me a wee favour?’
    I lean over his desk a little and his eyes fidget over my cleavage for a second, coming back to my face then flicking down again. He’s going to make himself dizzy. I’ve dressed up for this; astonishing the amount of planning I put in, I’ll think later, hot with shame.
    â€˜It’ll not take two minutes - I just need a – well. A man. Through in the store cupboard.’
    â€˜Eh. Aye. No problem. Sure. Now? Right. Eh.’
    Moira’s face disappears into the wrinkles of a knowing smile above her computer as he follows me through and I feel suddenly mucky, like I’m deceiving her.
    Inside the cupboard, I let the door close behind us and he flinches at it, arranges each nodule of his back against one sideof the wall.
    â€˜Boxes, is it? Which ones?’
    He’s putting on more of an accent than usual, staring somewhere around my shoulder.
    â€˜Boxes?’
    â€˜Aye. Can’t you reach the boxes?’
    â€˜Oh, no. Actually, it’s a little bit of a strange request, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep it from the others, just for just now.’ I’ve thickened my voice to match his.
    â€˜Ehm.’
    I take a half step nearer to him, we both breathe in the three extra scooshes of perfume I’d put on, and something alien begins to speak with my lips.
    â€˜Oof, it’s warm in here, isn’t it. Anyway, hon. I’m trying out a new system for arranging Ian’s meetings, using a programme I found online. If it works, I’ll buy it for the office and it could make everything a lot easier, but - you know what the older ones can be like with changes – I’d rather present it to them as a working model, you know? I’ll not bore you – you need to get back to your work and I don’t want to hold you up.’
    I’m talking very, very quickly. His face says he’s scolding himself for every look he’s stealing down my top. Naughty boy. I know what’s in your inbox.
    â€˜Basically, I just need to record a man saying a few things, so I can try out the answering system. It doesn’t seem to be working as well with my wee girly voice! So I’ve got this recorder here. You okay with this, yeah? You’ll be back at your desk in a second, I promise. Thanks hon. You’re such a pal.’
    The skin under his old acne scars reddens.