As was so often the case this mini drama had been triggered by Toby, another of the graduate recruits. During a debate which, naïvely, she’d allowed to stray onto political ground, he had suddenly announced to the others present ‘I suppose duty befalls me to expose the hardcore socialist upbringing of Young Maggie Of The North here’
|his trademark smirk practically begging to be ripped from his scrubbed, smarmy face and chucked out the nearest window|
Freely she admitted that self-control had been a problem in her youth, leaving in its wake countless torn bedroom posters and stomps towards neighbourhood slag-heaps courteous enough to turn a deaf ear to her ranting. On this occasion however she knew her slip in restraint couldn’t be attributed simply to tiredness following the overnight training exercise which her intake had been subjected to. But bitten she had, in the process blunderbussing Toby into a rare silence.
News of her overreaction had inevitably spread. Within twenty-four hours, the supervisor they shared had patted her shoulder and enquired if “Young Maggie” possibly felt up to some menial task or other. For once she had managed to swallow her tongue and just nod although, from their boss’ smile, it was clear he too understood that he had riled her.
҉
Margo covered the granules with water, still steaming and spitting, and shuddered at the memory of hearing only a few days ago those same two males conspiring
|Ferchrissakes. That sniggering little prick Toby, already invited into the inner circle|
And the older man’s comment at which they had been cackling? ‘Maybe if she made a teensy effort to present more ladylike then she might’ve been the one to get the nod.’
|So yet again I get overlooked for being fairly flat-chested and preferring not to wear make-up|
Once more she cursed herself for getting sprung, moments later, standing there, just outside her manager’s office. In fact she couldn’t quite believe that she’d compromised herself like that. Particularly with the environment at work so tense.
Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for the challenges of this job? Straight away she shook her head.
Her angst having come full circle, as she sniffed the milk before adding some to her instant, Margo switched to what might have brought Toby to The Astoria tonight.
To his sort, an area like Soho would be considered slumming it; the pricey pubs around Parsons Green or Putney Bridge were far more his scene. And if he did decide to kick on, he’d only be comfortable in one of the “nitespots” up the King’s Road alongside the upturned collars and pearls and chinos. Him frequenting a club where water, not beer was the drink of choice was unfathomable. Yet when she’d chanced upon this fish out of water, had he not been floundering drunk? Even setting aside her horror that, dressed as he was, he’d been let into one of her favoured venues, why would he visit one playing house music? When even a cursory fingernail down his CD collection minutes ago confirmed a taste for Frankie Sinatra, not Frankie Knuckles.
Then there was the other thing which didn’t chime – why had he apparently been alone?
None of it made sense.
So if Toby hadn’t attended for pleasure …. were the sneaky bastards maybe keeping tabs on her?
Margo pushed off the veneer counter and rushed back to the bedroom. Ignoring Sleeping Beauty, she grabbed his beige trousers. Fingering inside the rear, button pocket offered no reward so she bent towards the thin Persian rug. By the time she regained the hallway, already she was leafing methodically through his wallet. Returning to the kitchen, she collected her coffee and took a seat at the pine table so she could queue its contents along the table top.
The sole item of interest was a sheet of paper torn from a lined exercise book, folded four times then tucked behind a business card. Smoothing its creases she straight away identified the handwriting as Toby’s, using his treasured Sheaffer fountain pen.
She studied the information, however it meant nothing to her. Despite notelets and a pen tidy sitting within reach, Margo went through her own pockets until she located the scrap of paper and mini biro she always carried. These she used to make a copy:
Hadley FRIG9 . 33RDAST
AV Piper (monk)
After checking her accuracy, she made sure to replace carefully even what seemed junk but which, to the owner, might hold value.
Going to take a drink, Margo was surprised to find it barely lukewarm. She stood and sloshed the liquid into the sink, before splashing water at the creamy residue. With a Jay cloth she wiped the rim, gave the handle a once-over also and deposited the mug amongst his dirty dishes.
Looking in on Toby she noted his head had burrowed under the pillows, leaving the rest of him spread-eagled and exposed to the cold. She dropped down the wallet again and went to confirm he was still breathing
҉
Back in the hallway, having guessed correctly that she could take a piss in the small closet beneath the stairs, she wondered whether she should help herself to another twenty pound note for her fare home. She decided against this but, on swinging open the red front door and smelling dampness, made a grab at something
|| That brolly isn’t yours you know Margo? ||
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