whole point I don’t tell them, but in here my head stops hurting and quiet prevails. Helped by tea of course, yes, let’s get the kettle on again. I arrive at my desk at work, hang my parka over the back of my chair and sip my tea, drop of milk, very strong, bag-in, just like Grandad. Nothing new that I’m interested in on e-mails, I begin to wonder how his day had started. Does he have a smart pencil-skirt wearing secretary who brushes her hair to within an inch of its life, had endless manicure appointments and always looks immaculate in make-up?
I have horses, I’m lucky if I don’t have hay in my bra! I feel compelled to check, so I do, after remembering there's a security camera above my desk. Oh well.
Does he sit behind a heavy glass desk with an amazing view of the river behind him? Drink a posh coffee? Have endless strategy meetings?
A familiar rumble breaks the thought apart, as my phone goes off.
PF: “There was a fracas” she couldn't tell me earlier? Must mean last night at Henry’s do, in which case why am I not surprised? I should have gone, but I needed a night off.
TC: “Surprise me, he tried it on with someone else’s girl? And also, you know the word fracas?” Quelle surprise.
PF: “And got into a little shenanigans for his trouble” what is he like? A rhetorical question, I know exactly what he is like! And where did Pete learn how to spell shenanigans?
TC: “Tell me” do I really want to know, I almost always ends the same way?
PF: “He got the Merlot” he drunk it, stole it, smashed it?
TC: “He does like a good vintage” not quite what he had in mind I’m sure.
PF: “Smashed over him? Such a waste!” Bloody hell.
TC: “What vintage?” I have to know.
PF: “What has that got to do with it?” Some drink better than others.
TC: “The 2000 was a questionable year” true bloody story, the devil is in the details.
PF: “Babes, you’ve got more issues than Vogue” does she think she’s funnier than me, will she ever learn?
TC: “Sharp honey, we’ll make a comedian out of you yet” true story
PF: “Bet the bottle was no lighter though” she’s funny, but what she says is true. Mum hasn't called me, so either she doesn't know, of it's not that bad.
TC: “He’ll seen the sense in it I’m sure” true story, if it's undrinkable what do you do with it?
Bloody hell, he'll give it to Mum won't he? She'll drink anything.
I shake my head at the news of my Brothers continued antics, it’s the way he is, in the same way I am who I am, there’s no changing either of us. And despite what our Mother tells us, she wouldn’t change us either, it appeals to her tidy mind to have projects that need working on, things that need fixing. And what better than her own children? Once my hair is cut and Henry is married to a ‘nice girl’ she’ll be bored to tears and likely up her tai-chi from two nights to four. If she ever meets a bad man in a dark alley, she could disarm him, very slowly. But still, not every one’s a ninja.
Back to reality, denim needs designing, it can’t do it by itself, but first, I just can’t commit to my job today without another tea, and something else.
I must know if he’s OK, and if I’m to see photos of him in the press I want the real story not just the sensationalised press release version. You know, the one that will improve single sales by 500%.
TC: “Henry, how’s your head?” Hope you’re awake, it’s daylight after all.
HC: “Busted! You heard?” Naturally, I’m your sister, and you invited all my friends.
TC: “Yes, you took to the bottle” stupid boy.
HC: “Undrinkable year, bloody manager” cheapskate.
TC: “Glad you’re OK” hope Mum doesn’t know.
HC: “I’m fine, I didn't drink it!” see what I mean?
TC: “Be good” unlikely, but I'm his Sister, I have to try.
HC: “Fuck sake, don’t tell Mum” a slippery slope, as if!
After pouring over details and wash panels, laundered lengths and thread colours, sketching pockets and emailing suppliers, I realise I have completely forgotten to eat lunch.
Again.
Later in chapter two, Monday:21ndoctober2013, the middle part.
The phone rings, it’s Pete
My fingers fly over my keypad to answer,
TC: “Hi babes” her timing is always spookily impeccable.
PF: “...bet you skipped lunch again?” how does she do that? A spy camera