Page 22 of Strap In
And though sweat prickles beneath Jean’s arms, averting this crisis is infinitely more important than shedding an extra layer. The face masks, the fried food, all of it was a colossal error in judgement. An erosion of the middle ground separating Jean’s real life from a passion that cannot,mustnot, live outside the four walls of that cosy little flat. She strides after Ava, catching up just as Helen rounds the corner.
Hearing the rapid click of Jean’s heels against polished marble, Ava turns. And Jean grasps her wrist – tight enough to still the trembling in her own fingers.
Luckily for her, Ava’s too surprised to resist as Jean pulls them both into… the utility closet, away from prying eyes. Jean closes the door behind them. Trays with cleaning sprays, bleach, and jay cloths line metal shelves against each wall. Above the scent of antiseptic lemon, damp permeates the air, which Jean traces back to a mop propped upright in a bucket. Between the storage units and an industrial-sized carpet cleaner, there’s little standing room. They’re pressed together like pilchards in a tin.
Ava’s close enough to kiss – though, as her bewilderment morphs into anger, Jean doubts it would be welcome. Not that she has any intention of trying, with representatives from every major firm and chambers in the building. Which raises the question of how and why Ava’s charity has a delegate here.
‘Jean, what the fuck?’ Ava pulls her arm free, gesturing around the dingy cupboard.
‘I could ask the same thing,’ Jean hisses. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Ava tugs on her blue lanyard, thrusting the nametag beneath Jean’s nose:Ava Harris, ACWRC / Colourblind Justice Caucus. Save for the colour it’s almost identical to the one around Jean’s own neck, printed with the LLN logo.
‘I’m here for the London Legal Network conference. Or I was until a madwoman dragged me into a fucking closet.’
‘But why? You told me you weren’t into – and here I quote –soulless corporate shit.’
Ava pinches her brow, as if holding a headache at bay. ‘Because my old supervisor got me a place. He thought it would be a good idea for my…’
‘Your what?’ Sweat prickles beneath Jean’s arms, panic bubbling over into hot flush territory.
‘I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m not here for you, Jean,’ Ava scoffs. ‘What, did you think I’d hacked your diary and gone full Glenn Close?’
‘No.’ Jean folds both arms tight around herself. ‘I just – I panicked, okay?’
‘Yeah, I got that from being dragged into a cupboard against my will. Which, by the way, isn’t exactly superdiscreet.’ Ava looks at her for a long moment, and Jean’s still reaching for an adequate response when she relents, full lips twitching. ‘You’ve put us in the closet, get it?’
Unfortunately, Jean does – but having lost the high ground, she’s in no position to bitch about a crack regarding her sexuality. And besides, Ava’s humour works out in her favour. ‘I’m sorry; I’m being completely crazy.’ Jean covers her face as a terrible thought occurs – after all, she’s jeopardised her dignity and sex arrangement by acting unhinged. ‘Oh god.I’mGlenn Close, aren’t I?’
Ava’s hand rests against her back. ‘Yeah. But mostly you’reDamagesGlenn Close, notFatal AttractionGlenn Close. And Patty Hewes was hot.’
‘Never seen it.’ Perhaps if Jean keeps her face covered long enough, the floor will simply open up and swallow her whole.
‘Well,’ Ava says, ‘we could streamDamagessometime. If you’ll watch all five seasons with me, maybe we can forget about this.’
Night after night curled up on Ava’s sofa… For the first time in Jean’s life, she isn’t sorry about having no leverage. ‘Alright. But how do we get out of here?’
Footsteps and voices echo through the corridor. And Jean’s panic rises on the tide of chatter.
‘I don’t know. You were the one who got us into this mess.’ Ava sighs. ‘Maybe we could wait until the opening session’s started and sneak out.’
An urgent knock sounds on the door. And Jean pulls away, tipping the mop in her haste.
‘Ms Howard?’ Helen’s voice is laced with concern. ‘I’ve got the shirt you requested. There’s an M&S across the street. And I’m so sorry about the coffee, it won’t happen again.’
‘Holy shit,’ Ava says. ‘Your assistant’s a genius.’
Then she slips out of the closet. And Helen takes her place, green carrier bag in hand. ‘Give me your coat, your blazer, and your shirt.’
Jean does as she’s told, handing over her coat then turning round to preserve her modesty. ‘Helen, I can explain. It—’
‘Put this on.’ The blouse Helen sourced is similar in style and cut to the one she was wearing, but crisp cotton instead of silk, and white rather than champagne coloured. It’s of Jean’s usual size and aesthetic, yet noticeably different to the one she’d arrived in. As an executive assistant, Helen has made a point of learning all about Jean’s preferences – but now Helen knows, or at least has reason to suspect, more than Jean ever intended to reveal.
‘This isn’t what it looks like. It’s not what you’re thinking.’
As Jean buttons the new blouse, Helen produces a bottle of iced coffee. And – holding Jean’s discarded top over the bucket – she splashes dark liquid over the silk. Helen speaks as she examines her handiwork. ‘I’d assumed you wanted to talk to her about badminton. You know, I’m partial to an odd game myself.’
Jean’s hand slips, and she fumbles the pearly button. ‘Y-you are?’
