went as the company restructured, everything good about him had followed.
In the early days, she’d loved his joy in life, not realising until everything went wrong how heavily he’d depended not only on a fresh pile of money hitting his bank account each month but bonuses coming along twice a year to wipe clean his credit card excesses. It became obvious that saving up had never been in his psyche.
With a sigh that matched any of the pitiful ones Aidan had been heaving down the phone, she blinked open her eyes, unclenched her fists and used the fingers of her gloves to wipe stray tears from beneath her eyes, then looked up and saw Joe standing motionless on the outside staircase that rose up the side of the building. Watching her.
She jumped, then, hoping he’d been too far away to overhear her conversation, forced herself to smile and call up to him. ‘Hello. Are you lost? Those stairs lead to some kind of private apartment. The landlord keeps it separate and Oggie says it’s not in our lease.’
He glanced down at the staircase beneath his feet. ‘Right. Thanks. That would explain why up here wasn’t included in your tour.’ He ran lightly down to ground level. ‘Oggie said to talk to you about the Christmas show. He thinks you might like lighting and sound taken off your hands.’ Joe looked much more self-possessed than he had this morning, even if he talked slowly, quietly, as if he were testing every word before letting it loose.
‘Would I ever. I’ll take you through what you need to know,’ she said promptly. She didn’t bother reminding him he wasn’t supposed to be wandering around unaccompanied, because she hadn’t given any thought to his whereabouts after he’d gone off to the admin office during dance rehearsal and probably she should have. Georgine gave a last sniff and pushed Aidan and his troubles into a mental ‘worry about this when I’m not at work’ box. ‘I’m going for lunch. Shall we walk over together?’
‘That would be great.’ Joe flashed a smile. It was so unexpectedly warm that she grinned back as if she’d known him for much longer than a few hours.
Lunch break was half over and tables were freeing up when they reached the cafeteria, though the noise level was only a couple of decibels below deafening. Georgine was convinced that some students sat two tables away from their friends just so they could shout conversations like, ‘Have you done any of your Christmas shopping yet? No, me neither. Got to get some money first.’
Three lads were picking at guitars, apparently trying to master a tricky bit of fingerwork. It wasn’t unusual to see students turning any spare spot in the college into a rehearsal room.
She went ahead of Joe in the queue in case he wasn’t sure of the system – not that it was hard. You chose your food and drink and paid by scanning your pass, having already credited the cafeteria account linked to it. Accounts could be topped up online, pleasing parents who suspected their kids would use meal money to buy cigarettes or sweets if the actual cash was put in their hands.
Even at staff rates it was an economy to eat a hot meal in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Georgine would content herself with a sandwich or a bowl of soup at home in the evening.
‘Oh,’ said Joe, ruefully, when they got to the head of the queue and he saw Georgine hold out her pass card to be scanned by Celine, who was on the till today. ‘I was supposed to collect my pass from Fern before lunch and I forgot.’ He turned to Celine who, in her blue smock, was waiting patiently. ‘Can I pay in cash today?’
Regretfully, Celine shook her head, complete with hat and hairnet. ‘I’m sorry, darlin’, it’s not a cash till. We don’t have actual money.’
‘Oh.’ Joe dropped his gaze to the contents of his tray: pasta and the biggest latte on offer, garlic bread he’d already taken a bite from and a cereal bar. His face reddened. ‘Erm, I can’t really put this back.’
Celine turned to Georgine. ‘Shall I put it on your card? Then he can give you the cash.’
‘Would you mind?’ Joe switched his gaze to Georgine too, expression hopeful and relieved.
From the scalding in her cheeks Georgine was pretty sure she’d turned every bit as red as him. She didn’t have much choice but to say, ‘Not a bit,’ and proffer her card again, but her heart began a slow descent to her chilly toes.
Celine passed the card beneath the scanner. It beeped angrily. She flashed Georgine a look of surprise, then returned the pass with a shake of her head. ‘I bet it won’t go through twice in a row as some safety precaution.’ She tapped at the till’s screen then said to Joe, ‘I’ve voided your bill for now. Get your card and account sorted and you can pay us tomorrow. You look the honest sort.’ She scribbled down £6.38 on a torn-off receipt, gave it to him with a big smile and moved on to the next in the queue.
Hurrying off towards a half-empty table, Georgine felt as if she’d just missed being hit by a speeding car. She knew very well that the card hadn’t scanned because there wasn’t enough in her cafeteria account after paying for her own lunch. The balance of about four pounds was barely enough for a meal tomorrow, Wednesday, without coffee. The account would top up on payday, Thursday.
For a horrible moment she’d feared Celine would shame her by saying, ‘Not enough money on your card, darlin’.’ But the woman’s eyes had held an apology. She’d realised she’d dropped Georgine in it. Georgine had swung from dread to gratitude in a heartbeat at the way Celine had covered up.
She made a mental note to add her to the ‘gets chocolate brownies at Christmas’ list. She baked a lot of Christmas presents rather than buying them.
Joe cleared his throat as they took seats at a table. ‘Thanks for trying to save my blushes. I feel as if I’m wearing a big sign saying “can’t pay for his own lunch”.’
Seeing that he was genuinely upset, and completely empathising because she hadn’t been able to raise the small sum to pay it for him, Georgine tried to shrug it off. ‘It makes you feel conspicuous, but it’s only an admin issue. Induction days are usually better organised than yours seems to have been.’
Georgine had chosen a vegetable frittata with salad. It was one of her favourite lunches, but today the subject of money was under glaring spotlights in her mind.
Two more paydays till Christmas. She was only able to claim mileage and other show-related expenses retrospectively so she hoped she could afford the extra trips back and forth to Bettsbrough. She was having Dad, Blair and Blair’s boyfriend, Warren, for Christmas dinner. Luckily Mum and her husband, Terrence, would spend Christmas in their French holiday home, so she wouldn’t have to drive to their posh house on the Northumberland coast for a festive visit, but buying Christmas gifts for them was a trial. Terrence was careful with his fortune. He released money for Christmas gifts, but he expected something worthwhile in return. Last year Georgine had bought their presents from charity shops then parcelled them up in dark red tissue paper and stencilled on ‘The Vintage Shop’ in gold, because calling stuff ‘vintage’ increased its value to the power of ten. They’d actually been impressed and Terrence had displayed his wooden letter rack behind glass in their vast sitting room. Luckily, Georgine’s mum, Barbara, never now set foot in Middledip, Bettsbrough or even Peterborough, so couldn’t demand to be taken to the non-existent ‘Vintage Shop’.
Mum and Terrence had bought Georgine cashmere jumpers. She’d run her fingertips over them admiringly, but she’d rather have had winter boots with fleece inside, or a couple of pairs of jeans. She didn’t live a cashmere kind of life.
Joe’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. ‘Do you live
