After the baby-sitting failure, I knew I had to get off my back and do something. It was like in one of those British life insurance adverts… “One day I woke up and saw my life flashing right before my eyes, and I knew I had to get Tesco’s Life Insurance© before it was too late!” Except, my life wasn’t flashing before my eyes. More a case of my money flashing before my eyes and disappearing into somebody elses pocket as London’s shops had a dangerous affect on me.

    I sat on one of the boxes, flicking through The Daily Times. I actually hated newspapers. The pages weren’t even proper pages; they were just massive pieces of paper which someone had folded and compressed so tightly that it managed to stay in one piece as the local bike boy biked past on his rusty old red bike, wishing he had enough money from his paper rounds to get a new bike with proper gears. I’ll stop now, before I create a brand new story about poor old Josh and how the money from his paper rounds wasn’t enough to feed his starving family…

     Red pen in my mouth, I set about skimming the jobs pages. All of them seemed to require some past job experience, which made me flinch. The only jobs I had done was car washing, working at the till in a petrol station and being my parents dish-washer when the actual dish-washer broke down.

     “Ollie?” I called, my words coming out like a strangled cry as the red pen limited my ability of speech. “Have you seen anything you want for a job?”

     Since she was almost finished unpacking all the boxes, Olivia hadn’t left her room in almost two whole days. I fed her baked beans under the door, but they always managed to slop off the plate and onto the floor. But today, she emerged, dressed in her nice blue jeans, a brown, long-sleeved, button-up blouse and her hair tied neatly into a bun. She looked… clean. I mean, she had actually brushed her hair.

     I tilted my head and looked at her. “Where are you going?”

     She grabbed her handbag off the floor. “I’ve already got a job.”

     The pen fell to the floor and my jaw dropped open. “You what?!”

     “You heard me.” And with that she waved her manicured fingers – when did she get them manicured?! – and headed towards the door. I leaped up so fast the box gave way underneath me and I made a manly yell and I jumped for her legs and rugby-tackled her to the ground.

     “What is your problem, Simone?!”

     “Since when did you get a job?”

     Olivia sighed impatiently and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I dared not tell her that her hair was now completely and utterly messed up. “Remember that day when you stayed in bed all day?”

     I looked up to the sky and remembered that day. It was actually three days ago – I had decided not to get up, not to get out of bed, not to eat breakfast or any sort of meal. Instead, I just lay in bed. I don’t know why I did – it’s not like I was going to achieve anything out of it – but now, when I meet someone and they ask me “Have you ever stayed in bed for one day?” I can jut out my chest proudly and tell the world that YES I have!

     “Well, I had nothing better to do,” Olivia continued. “So I went into town and saw a Help Wanted sign in the window of a pub. So I got myself as a waitress.”

     I blinked. “Oh.”

     We stood there, by the door, not saying anything, just occasionally nodding, like we both totally understood why we weren’t saying anything though truth be told, we didn’t. Then Olivia clapped her hands together and said, “Well, I’ll be off. I’ll be back at eight the latest.” And with that, she left.

     The flat felt very empty without her, and she left me in a state of confusion and no self-confidence in myself whatsoever. I considered kicking back and watching a few hours of our cable-less TV, but there was no point. I padded off to my room, feeling very distraught with myself, and I sat on the bed and wondered what to do with my life.

     Twenty-one. Living in London, I listed the facts of my life over in my head. Couch potato. Un-employed. Sister has a job. So, Simone. What are you going to do with your life?

     So I got up, got changed into some decent clothes and left for the underground.

 

*

 

     I have never been on the underground before. I have heard of it plenty of times, and seen it in movies. But it’s a lot scarier when you are actually there. It has a very distinct smell – but it almost is undescribable. It smells of the gum on the floor. It smells of the damp, concrete ground. It smells of the cold air and the enclosed walls. It just… smells.

     I fumbled with a handful of coins, jigging my hand up and down and listening to them click together. I stood in front of the ticket machine, staring at the instructions as if the instructions were in another language. A lady walked past – one of those really old, posh ones who wear a lot of flowery stuff and hats even when its snowing. “Press the button you want to go to, deary,” she croaked before shuffling off. I looked at a list of towns. They were all connected by a bunch of colourful lines; blue, pink, green, brown, black, grey… too many to count.

     There was a large arrow pointing to Oakwood. You are here, it read. Well, I know that, don’t I? I live here for goodness sake. Underneath that, in smaller print, it read What is your destination?

     I skimmed my finger over all the places to go. There were so many! My finger travelled down the blue line, in which Oakwood was located on, all the way down to a place called Russell Square. Huh. A square; that sounded intriguing. I pressed the button and a posh, recorded voice seeped through the metal speakers.

     “Please insert one pound and twenty pence.”

     What a rip off, I thought, but pushed the coins into the machine all the same. A ticket slid out of a small slit in the metal machine and I yanked it out before making my way to the station. High heels echoed and bounced off the domed hallway. I could hear a homeless guy playing his guitar somewhere further up. My hair bounced up and down as I hurried at a brief pace. Then I heard a train screech its way into the station and I began galloping, throwing myself through the doors just as it closed.

*

     I arrived in the center of Russell Square. It all looked… not medieval, but it just didn’t look so twenty-first century, if you know what I mean. It could’ve been raining whilst I was on the underground, because there were puddles leaking in the cracks in between the paving stones. I made my way across a street, dodging the cars that made that hissing noise that they do when the wheels pass through water. There were a few shops lined up along the opposite side of the street, so I made my way along them, looking into each window.

     When I was younger, I was such a tomboy, unlike Olivia. Olivia was pure girl, like her name I used to believe. She would wear pretty pink colours and flowery dresses, whereas I would wear big baggy shorts or jeans and out-of-shape clothes in muddy colours, and I would wear my hair in a low ponytail so you couldn’t see it very well. I hated shopping, getting my hair cut, wearing dresses or skirts – but now it was all different. I lived for shopping, getting my hair cut was a new adventure to me and skirts and dresses were stylish. But one thing I couldn’t do, was window shop. It was so hard; you saw the most gorgeous dress dressed up on a manikin, and you fall in love with it, standing in the reflection to see how it looks on you and then falling head over heels.

     But then, as I was walking past New Look, my ultimate favourite shop of all times, I saw a small notice in the corner of the window. Help wanted, it read, and my heart soared as I slammed into the door, desperate to get inside as if the sign was a mirage.

     “Are you still needing the Help Wanted?” I gushed as I rushed to the till. A lady around my age, if not younger or someone who looked younger, just stared at me for a few nanoseconds before pointing in a direction. “The manager is that way. He’ll sort you out.”

     I set about padding towards a small hallway where the changing rooms were, but I couldn’t see any room with the words MANAGER marked on it. I walked into the changing rooms, which were massive, and wondered around, my head in the clouds. Until I bumped into someone.

      Boxes scattered everywhere, opening and their contents falling onto the floor. I gasped, apologizing continuously and set about picking them up. The man I had bumped into grumbled angrily, and he stood up, brushing his tweed jumper and straightening his black,
thick framed glasses.
     “Who are you?” he said crossly, grabbing a numerous amount of boxes from my outstretched arms.
     “Um,” I stammered. “My name is Simone. I’m… I would like to apply for the job here.”
     The man set the boxes on the floor, and I took a good look at him. He had brown, curly hair which was short but seemed to erupt from his head. His glasses were thick and outlined the basis of his eyes, and the lenses seemed so overpowering, making his eyes magnify and look twice their size. He was around the same height as me, and he had a lot of acne marching across his forehead. He wore a uniform similar to the girl’s uniform at the cashier; a white collared shirt and black trousers, though the girl had a skirt instead of the long, ironed trousers that skimmed his black, polished shoes.
     “Yes.” He spoke in a voice that seemed high pitched and with a certain squeaky edge to it, as if it hadn’t yet broken in adolescence. I could imagine him being one of those boys being teased back in High School. “And I am the manager.” He straightened his name tag. Maximus.
     “Oh. Um. Hi! And I am so, so, so very sorry for bumping into you, it was totally my fault and I am so sorry…” I was about to go off on a huge rant of an apology, but he held up his hand simply and closed his eyes dramatically.
     “Come.” Maximus brushed past me. “To my office.”
     I followed him out of the changing rooms, and we took a right into what looked like a small toilet cubicle, though it was in fact the storeroom. We walked passed boxes stacked to the ceiling, and he placed the boxes he had picked up before we left on one of the shelves.
We carried on walking, the lights seeming to be getting dimmer, flickering on and off. Up ahead, I saw a desk with two chairs on either side.
     “Is this your office?” I asked cautiously, scared not to offend him in some way. All he did was nod and reply, “My other one is getting renovated.”
     We sat down on either side of the desk. I felt like I was in a prison, being questioned, or in the torture chamber, yet still being questioned. And in a way, I had part of it right; I was still being questioned.

*

     I sat on the train, eating my KFC takeaway and watching everyone stare at me and I tucked in to a box of Chicken Popcorn, a big grin on my face. And I was happy. Maximus had given me the job, I was going to be earning some money in a job I loved and he also said I had great sense in style. And all I was wearing was a long sleeved shirt and jeans. Which were now covered in chicken grease. But still… la, la, la, la, laaa!

 

 

     March the fifteenth – the boxes were practically all unpacked. All the boxes apart from Olivia’s room. I walked in, and I could barely see her at all. Boxes were piled one on top of the other, and I could just about make out her blond head bobbing up and down to some music.

     “Ollie!”

     The blond head continued to bob.

     “Ollie!”

     The music stopped and Olivia’s head disappeared, before emerging from behind the tower of boxes. “Yes?”

     “I’m making breakfast. Want some?”

     Olivia sniffed. “Depends what it is?”

     “Cheese on toast.”

     “For breakfast?”

     “We don’t have anything else…”

     Olivia sighed and disappeared again. Moments later the music came back on. “Cheese on toast is fine,” she replied over the music.

     I made my way through to the kitchen, which was only a few paces. The flat was nice, just incredibly small. You walked in, straight into the lounge which consisted of a sofa, a coffee table and a telly. There was then a small corridor which had two rooms one side; my room and Olivia’s room, which were both like box rooms and too small to do anything inside, and then across that was a small, cupboard like bathroom. The kitchen was on the other side, but that was intensely small.

     I shoved two pieces of white bread into the toaster and perched on top of the kitchen counter, inspecting my painted-blue battered fingernails, chewed and out of shape. I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them tightly. My feet were wrapped up in my pink fluffy socks, as the whether was still bitter and miserable.

     My thoughts were disturbed when I heard Olivia’s door open. She tripped over a box and stumbled out into the hall, holding her toe and cursing under her breath. She stood up straight and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door just as the toast popped up.

     I grabbed two plates from off the draining board and threw them on, covering them with a layer of thin, yellow cheese. I turned on the oven and placed the two plates on the top row, before sitting myself back on top of the counter.

     From the bathroom I heard a bang and Olivia shout angrily. Moments later she stormed out of the bathroom. “Don’t go in.”

     “Why not?”

     “Just don’t.”

     “Ollie?”

     “The toilet doesn’t flush.”

     I groaned and switched off the oven, taking out the scolding hot plates and dropping them on the kitchen surface, nursing my burning hands before running them under cold water. “Breakfast is on the table.”

     Olivia emerged from her room again. “We don’t have a table.”

     I rolled my eyes. “Use your imagination.”

     She came and jumped up next to me. “I think we need money, Simone.”

     I looked at her. “Really? N’ah, we’re doing alright. We’ll survive.”

     Olivia gave me a sarcastic look. “Simone. The cheese is off. The bread we are eating is stale. We don’t have anything in the fridge. The toilet won’t flush.”

     I put down my cheese on toast. I knew there was something odd about the bitter tang I got from the cheese and the soggy, raw taste of the toast. “Well then we’ll go shopping.”

     “Simone.”

     “Jeez, Olivia, relax!” I leaned back on my hands, swinging my legs into the air before leaping of the kitchen counter and narrowly missing the wall – that’s how small the kitchen was. “We’ll get through it.”

     Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you say, sis.”

 

*

 

     I fell asleep that night at nine. There was nothing really to do these days – merely watch Olivia unpack, and make stale pieces of toast, just to throw out. My daily routine was getting kind of old – wake up, have a shower, wake Olivia up, attempt at making some sort of brunch, help Olivia unpack (but strangely, no matter how long we unpacked for, the number of boxes piled one on top of the other never seemed to decrease) and then order a takeaway for dinner before getting ready to sleep.

     I turned on the radiator as my room was freezing cold, but after about fifteen minutes it started to warm. I pulled on my trackies and my sweater and curled under the duvet, turning on the bedside light for a few minutes of late-night reading, before I was out cold.

     I was having a dream about camping out in the artic. I was sleeping in an orange tent, drinking hot coco from a frozen, metal mug. The glacial winds battered at the tents thin walls, making a pummeling sound that made the blood in my ears pump louder. The whistling of the storm outside didn’t help my need for sleep, it just kept me wide awake. I could feel the cold, wet snow underneath me through the slim tent-material I was supposed to call a floor.

     Suddenly, I was aware of the crunching snow of approaching footsteps. I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my chin on the rim of the metal cup, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. The footsteps grew louder, but they now sounded like heavy pounds on the ground, making the floor shudder. I closed my eyes and curled into a tiny ball, wishing they would go away and I was safe and warm and…

     “Simone!!”

     In my dream, I opened my eyes. The tent flap of a door was blowing open, and I was facing the giant head of a polar bear. Its eyes were stealthy and steely, cold black. Its jaw was wide, bearing it jagged white teeth. It opened it mouth even wider and let out a loud roar…

     “Simone!!”

     I woke up in real life, and Olivia was towering over my bed, her duvet wrapped around her. Her hair was sticking up all over the place and her forehead was creased into a frown.

     “Simone, why is it so freezing!”

     I gave her a questioning look, before turning on the light. At the same time, we both leaned over and touched the radiator. It was stone cold.

     “Did you pay the bill?”

     I looked away. Dammit, I thought.

     “Simone!!!”

     “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”

     Olivia sat on the edge of my bed. “We need to get money. We need jobs!”

     I sat up, thinking. “I have an idea.”

     *

 

     “Baby sitting? That’s is SO not going to work, Simone.”

     Olivia and I stood in the lobby of our block of flats. I was attempting to pin up a hand written notice on one of the letter boxes with a wad of Blu-Tak. My plan was to start off with the basic job – baby sitting.

     “It’ll work, Ollie, trust me.”

     A lady with three kids came out of the elevator, one in the push chair and two toddlers hanging onto it. “Talk of the devil…”

     The lady looked tired; late thirties I would’ve guessed. She walked past us, and then turned around and looked at the tacky notice I had put up. “Baby sitting?” she gushed. “Really?”

     Olivia and I looked at each other. “Um… yeah,” I said. “That’s me.”

     The lady breathed a sigh of relief and happiness. “Would it be too soon to hire you tonight?”

     I grinned and nudged Olivia discreetly. “No, not at all.”

     “I’ll pay you twenty per hour.”

     I gasped. “Twenty! That’s very generous, but-“

     Olivia stepped forward. “Twenty will be fine.”

     The lady beamed, tucking a piece of black hair behind her ear. “Great. I’m flat 24. See you at six?”

     “Sure. Six it is.”

     “I’m Leslie, by the way.”

 

*

 

     By six, I was standing outside flat 24. Olivia had refused to come – she was positive that baby sitting would be a failure, and that we should get real jobs, but I had persisted to go along anyway. I knocked, and almost nanoseconds later, Leslie opened the door. She was a lot more dressed up, but she still look flustered and tired. “Hello,” she said a little breathlessly. “Thanks again for coming on such short notice.”

     She opened the door and I stepped into an almost identical flat. The only difference was there was no floor space. It was completely covered in small toys and clothes, and other toddler accessories. I heard smash of broken glass, followed by a long, pitiful wail from the kitchen (the layout of Leslie’s flat was exactly the same to ours), and Leslie sighed frantically. “Millie, I told you not to play mummy’s wine glasses!” and she rushed off.

     A little boy, the one I had seen this morning hanging onto the pushchair, came up to me. He was carrying a baby girl, the one who was in the push chair, I presumed, over his shoulder. She was sound asleep, clothed in a white blanket. The little boy looked about four or five, and he had mousey brown hair, completely different to his mother’s. He tugged on my jeans and looked innocently up at me with baby blue eyes.

     “Hello,” I said, bending down and smiling. “What’s your name?”

     “Marcus.”

     “Hello Marcus. I’m Simone.”

     Leslie came running back from the kitchen, a smaller child propped on her hip. The toddler looked a lot like Leslie – black hair, black eyes and a pale face, though her eyes were red, swollen and blotchy and she wiped her nose noisily on the back of her sleeve.

     “So,” Leslie said. “I see you’ve met Marcus. That’s his little sister, Andrea -” She nodded at the baby asleep over Marcus’ shoulder. “And this is Millie.” She lifted her hip so Millie bobbed up and down, still sniveling. Leslie put her on the floor next to her brother, before grabbing a sleek black purse and her keys.

     “I’m off,” she said, a smiling curving at the corners of her lips. “I’ll be back at twelve latest. Call me if you need anything, or if there is any trouble. My number is on the fridge.”

     And with that, she was gone.

     I was stood, awkwardly in the lounge. Marcus and Millie looked up at me, their eyes wide and eyebrows raised, as if to say, “Now what?” That’s when Millie opened her mouth and started shrieking.

 

*

 

     “I told you so.”

     I was sitting on the couch, massive bags circulating my eyes. My head was heavy, and I had the biggest headache in the world. Olivia was leaning over the back of the couch, triumphant.

     “They are younger than five years old…” I moaned.

     “I know,” she agreed.

     “And they wouldn’t stop screaming…”

     “I know, I could hear them.”

     “Millie dropped six plates…”

     “I know.”

     “And the baby woke up seventeen times…”

     “I know.”

     “And I didn’t know what to do when Marcus ran into the door and his tooth came out…”

     “I know.”

     “And there was blood everywhere…”

     “I know.”

     “And then Millie fainted.”

     “I know.”

     I turned around and looked at Olivia. “How do you know all this?”

     “Cause you’ve already told me a million times.”

     “Did I tell you that Leslie got in at three in the morning and she was stone drunk?”

     “Yes.”

     I groaned and threw my head back against the coach. “I only got ten pounds altogether because she had gone and spent it all, and I felt too bad to say anything.”

     Olivia just laughed. “Get a job, Simone. And don’t forget I told you so.”