Respect (Mandasue Heller) (13 page)

‘Oh.’ Chantelle was deflated. ‘I thought the ad said experience wasn’t required?’

‘It isn’t,’ said Mrs Jones. ‘But if it’s a choice between someone who knows their way around an oven, and someone who’s spent the last couple of years painting pretty pictures …’ She left the rest unsaid and shrugged. ‘I’m sure you get my drift.’

Chantelle nodded and stood up. ‘Thanks for seeing me,’ she said politely. ‘Bye.’

Tears of disappointment stinging her eyes, she made her way back out onto the street. It would have been the perfect location, and she reckoned it wouldn’t have been too hard to learn the ropes. But she doubted she’d have enjoyed working for that woman, so it was probably just as well.

With plenty of time to spare since the first interview had ended so quickly, Chantelle walked to the second address on her list. This one was for a part-time position at a newsagent’s, and now that she’d had a taste of the kinds of things she might be asked she felt a little more prepared.

The interview went quite smoothly, and they said they would contact her within the week to let her know if she’d got it. But Chantelle wasn’t sure she would accept it even if they wanted her, because they wanted someone who could start at 5.30 a.m. and that would cause problems with Leon. He’d been spending most of his days round at Kermit’s lately, and she had mentally arranged her work schedule around that. But if she had to leave before he got up in the morning, he would have to let himself out. And if he left the door open, or that horrible Ricky burst in like he had on her the other week, they were screwed.

Chantelle caught the bus to the third interview in Cheetham Hill and walked around for half an hour before she found the road that the café where she’d been told to meet the man was situated on. It was set right back off the main drag, and she shivered when she walked around the corner and saw how run-down everything looked. Most of the buildings that had once stood on the road had been demolished, leaving a vast expanse of rubble that stretched out as far as she could see. Of the four buildings that remained, one was boarded up, and the second, a scruffy MOT service station, stank of old grease and oil. The third building was an ancient office block, most of the windows of which were either broken or had handwritten ‘To Let’ signs propped up in them. The café was next door to this, and the smell of the greasy food when she pushed open the door was almost as bad as that emanating from the MOT station.

A tired-looking woman with straggly hair was perched on a stool behind the counter, picking at her nails. Three customers were seated at separate grimy tables, and Chantelle looked at each of them as she entered, wondering which, if any, was Bill May. It clearly wasn’t the only female customer, who was at a table by the window tapping on a laptop; but both of the two men looked too old and scruffy to own a business.

‘Chantelle?’

She turned at the sound of the voice and found the lone female customer smiling at her. ‘Er, yes.’ She approached the table. ‘Are you the lady I spoke to about the interview with Mr May?’

‘
Mr
May?’ The woman chuckled. ‘Afraid not, dear.
I
’m Bill.’ She held out her hand. ‘Short for Belinda,’ she added with a grimace. ‘Far too twee for my liking.’

Chantelle didn’t know what ‘twee’ meant, but she smiled as if she did and shook the woman’s hand.

‘Take a pew.’ Bill used her foot to push out the chair that was facing hers. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’ Chantelle perched on the edge of the seat.

‘Two coffees, Maureen,’ Bill called to the woman behind the counter. Then, clasping her hands together on the tabletop, she said, ‘So, Chantelle, tell me a little about yourself.’

Thrown, Chantelle gave a nervous little shrug. ‘What would you like to know?’

‘How old are you?’ Bill’s pale blue eyes seemed to be boring into hers.

‘Eighteen.’

‘Are you currently working?’

‘No. I’ve been at college since I left school.’

‘Are you planning to go back after the break, or have you graduated?’

Chantelle licked her lips, wondering if it was a trick question. If she said no, the woman might think she was a drop-out; but if she said yes, then Bill might think there was no point taking her on in the first place. She stumped for, ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

Bill nodded, and said, ‘I ask because, if I take you on, the work may not be as regular as you’re hoping for. I said in the ad that it was part-time, but it will actually be more of a flexible arrangement – as in, if I need you, I’ll call you. So if you’re looking for something more stable, then you should probably look elsewhere.’

‘Oh, right,’ Chantelle murmured, wondering now if this was the woman’s way of letting her down easy because she’d already decided that she didn’t want her.

Maureen of the straggly hair carried their coffees over to the table and plonked them down, splashing liquid out of both cups. Dabbing at the mess with a napkin, Bill said, ‘The hours will be irregular, and it will involve night work. Would that be a problem?’

Chantelle hadn’t even considered working at night, but now that the subject had been raised she realised that it might actually work out better. One of her main concerns had been the thought of Leon getting into trouble if he was left to his own devices all day, but if he was already tucked up in bed before she went out it would greatly reduce the risk.

‘No, it won’t be a problem,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Bill plucked a crust off a plate that was sitting on the table and fed it to a dog that Chantelle hadn’t noticed which was lying at her feet. Then, wiping her hand on her trousers, she looked Chantelle in the eye and said, ‘I’m going to lay my cards on the table and tell you that I was really looking for someone a little older. But you’re the only applicant, so I’m going to suggest a trial run – see how we get on before I say yea or nay. Is that okay with you?’

Chantelle was disappointed, but she reasoned that at least she was being given a chance; and if she did well, Bill might give her the job. So, smiling, she said, ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Good girl. Now, it’ll be cash in hand until we decide where we’re going, and I’ll cover your expenses on top of that. I’ve operated pretty much solo until now, but I’m neither as agile as I used to be, nor as inconspicuous as the majority of the jobs which seem to be coming my way lately require, hence my need of an assistant.’

‘To take calls and make appointments?’ Chantelle ventured, assuming that these were the main duties of a receptionist.

‘No, dear, that’s my department,’ Bill said, peering at the laptop screen. ‘All I need you to do is look pretty and take some photographs. Or rather, a video, from which I will extract stills – providing you’ve managed to capture anything remotely usable.’

‘Sorry?’ Chantelle was confused. ‘I thought the ad said you needed a receptionist?’

‘If I had been upfront in the ad, I’d have been inundated with applications from every would-be James and Jemima Bond in Manchester,’ Bill said cryptically. ‘But I need someone I can trust, who is also attractive, and preferably female. Unfortunately, the law prohibits me from specifying the latter, so I was forced to word it in such a way as to guarantee that few if any men would bother to answer. As it happens,
nobody
did, apart from yourself.’

‘So what do you actually want me to do?’ Chantelle asked, frowning now.

‘Covert surveillance.’

‘Pardon?’

Bill looked up and smiled. ‘I shan’t divulge too much at this stage, as I’ll need to get the measure of you to ascertain as to whether I can rely on your discretion. But, basically speaking, I want you to videotape somebody – without them knowing that you’re doing it.’

‘What, like,
spying
?’

‘In a manner of speaking. You’ll be in a public place, so you’ll be in no danger; and I’ll be waiting around the corner to make sure you get home safely. Are you still up for it?’

‘Er, yes, I guess so,’ Chantelle murmured, wondering what on earth she was letting herself in for.

‘Excellent,’ Bill said approvingly. ‘Let’s get some details, then, shall we?’ She turned her attention back to the laptop. ‘Here we are … Chantelle Booth, aged eighteen. Address and contact number …?’

Chantelle gave Bill the details she wanted. Then, shifting in her seat, she said, ‘I don’t have a CV, or references, or anything.’

‘Not necessary at this stage,’ Bill assured her, saving the file and closing the laptop. ‘Now, the fee will be fifty pounds per job …’

‘
Fifty pounds?
’ Chantelle’s jaw dropped.

‘Depending how long it takes,’ Bill went on. ‘I anticipate it should only take two to three hours, but if it should go beyond that, we’ll reassess. Is that agreeable?’

‘
Yes!
’ Chantelle said without hesitation.

‘Splendid.’ Bill picked up her cup and swallowed a large mouthful of the hot coffee. Then, slapping a £5 note down on the table, she gathered up her laptop and reached for the dog’s lead. ‘Nice to have you on board.’ She rose to her feet.

‘When do you want me to start?’ Chantelle asked, guessing that the interview was over when Bill headed for the door, tugging the arthritic old chihuahua behind her.

‘I’ll call you when I need you,’ Bill said, holding the door for Chantelle to follow her out onto the pavement. There, waiting patiently as the dog cocked its leg against the lamp-post, she said, ‘I don’t expect it to take too long before a job comes in, so please keep your phone switched on at all times.’

Assuring her that she would, Chantelle said goodbye and headed back to the main road. Her mind was in a spin as she walked, and she struggled to make sense of what had just happened. She had never met anyone quite like Bill May before, and with all the secrecy she was beginning to wonder if the woman really owned a business at all, or was just a jealous wife who wanted someone to follow her husband around. But fifty quid was fifty quid, so even if it turned out to be a one-off she wasn’t about to turn it down.

Leon was out when Chantelle got back to the flat. She popped her head around his bedroom door when she’d hung up her coat and tutted when she saw his unmade bed and the clothes strewn all over the floor. He’d always been lazy, but he had been getting progressively worse since their mum took off and Chantelle was forever picking up after him. It was her own fault, she supposed. Instead of doing it for him, she ought to put her foot down and make him do it himself. Or, better yet, train him not to do it in the first place.

She snatched up the wet towel that was lying at her feet and carried it into the kitchen. After putting it into the washing machine, she wiped her hands on her skirt and cast a critical eye around the room. Leon wasn’t the only one who’d been lazy lately; there were crumbs and bits of dried-up food on the ledges in here, and the lino looked grimy and dull beneath her feet. But it wasn’t just the kitchen and Leon’s room that needed tackling – the whole place needed scrubbing from top to bottom.

Determined to shake off the cloud of gloom that had been hanging over her head for the past few weeks, Chantelle went into her room and changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and then got cracking. After blitzing the kitchen and the bathroom, she’d just finished polishing the furniture in the living room and was about to vacuum the carpet when her mobile phone rang.

‘Yes?’ she answered it snappily, brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

‘It’s Bill,’ the caller said. ‘I’ve just pencilled in your first job.’

‘
Really?
’ Shocked by the speed of it, Chantelle sat down heavily on the edge of the couch.

‘It appears the fates must have been eavesdropping, because the phone rang not half an hour after you left,’ Bill said with a chuckle. ‘I’ve just finished speaking with the client, and she’d like us to do it tonight. I take it you’re available?’

Chantelle felt suddenly nervous, but the thought of the fifty pounds she’d been promised overrode her doubts.

‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘Excellent.’ Bill sounded pleased. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight-fifteen on the corner of Upper Chorlton Road. Please don’t keep me waiting, and dress appropriately for a wine bar. I have a photograph which you’ll need to study on the way, and I’ll show you how to use the camera before you go in. Oh, and no alcohol while you’re working.’

‘It’s all right, I don’t drink,’ Chantelle assured her.

‘Good. Well, I shall see you later, then.’

When the call was finished, Chantelle chewed on her lip. Bill had told her to dress appropriately for a wine bar, but she’d never stepped foot inside one in her life. The nearest she’d ever come was when she’d had to go into the local pubs in search of her mother when Leon was a baby and she needed help. But it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. She’d seen enough of the older girls from around here done up for a night on the town, so all she had to do was fashion herself on them – and then tone it down a bit.

She smiled now, and shook her head. In a few short hours she would have fifty quid in her pocket: more than enough to pay this week’s meter charges
and
fill the fridge. She just hoped she could pull it off – and that she wouldn’t be asked to produce ID when she got to the bar, or it would be game over.

Brought back to the here and now by a knock at the front door, Chantelle went out into the hall and peeped through the spyhole. Surprised to see Leon standing outside, she opened up. ‘How come you’re back so early?’

‘I was hungry.’ He walked straight past her and went into the kitchen. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘It’s nowhere near dinner time,’ she said, following him. ‘And I’ve just cleaned that floor, so don’t go scuffing it up with your dirty trainers. Get an apple for now.’

‘I hate fruit.’ Leon pulled a face and opened the cupboard door.

‘It’s good for you,’ Chantelle said. Then, folding her arms, she pushed her lips out thoughtfully. ‘Tell you what, I’ll do you a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’ Leon looked back at her over his shoulder with suspicion in his eyes.

‘If you promise to behave yourself while I nip out for a couple of hours tonight, I’ll treat you to a chippy dinner. But I haven’t got much money, so don’t go mad.’