Page 10 of A Wish for Jinnie
‘Erm, I hate to be an ignoramus, but what’s the economy package?’ she asked, not sure she was ready for the answer.
In response, Dhassim did an impressive backflip, landing inches from Jinnie’s quizzical face. ‘Simples, sweet cheeks. We have two months to get to know one another better. During that time my faithful friend will flag those lil' old wish moments, and yours truly will make 'em happen! We are going to have suchfun!’
Chapter 13
Ed McCroarty luggedanother crate of bottled beer up from the cellar. He’d been working solidly since 8 am, his dad otherwise occupied for the day. He usually visited his folks at least one weekend a month, but since his mum’s decline he’d vowed to spend more time with them. His full-time job as a graphic designer allowed flexible working hours and he had holiday leave to use up, so taking time off in December wasn’t a problem.
Mopping sweat from his brow, Ed grinned at his latest tattoo: a black sundial with a cloudy background, drawn so that it almost appeared 3D. It was his fifth in the past two years, and wouldn’t be his last. Neither of his parents were thrilled by them, but Ed was nudging thirty and felt the need to live a little dangerously.
He’d been a sickly child, bullied at school for having his nose stuck in a book or being off games. His early teens hadn’t been much better, even when the bouts of chronic bronchitis eased off. Ed had been a late bloomer, dodging the communal school showers, with his peers sprouting hair and developing ‘down there’, whenever he could. It wasn’t until he went to college that his sluggish hormones sprang into action. Within a matter of weeks he’d lost his virginity, got blind drunk — the two events weren’t unrelated — and started growing a beard. Ed loathed working out but enjoyed running, and his physique was now a source of pride — along with said beard, which he trimmed himself outdoors once a week (better lighting and less mess).
Taking a break for a protein shake and a banana, Ed checked his phone. There were two messages from Cheryl, his girlfriend of the past two months.
Hope your mum’s doing OK. Tony’s being a total twunt as usual. Tempted to tell him where to stick the job. Miss you C xx
BTW, you deffo back next weekend? Cal and the crew planning a house party. U wouldn’t want me looking for a new man, would you?♥?
Ed sighed and bit into his banana. Cheryl was fun to be around, but had a tendency to be overdramatic. She worked as a reporter for a small chain of provincial newspapers in the Scottish Borders, just a short distance from Ed’s home in Carlisle. Not a week passed without her complaining about the deputy editor, Tony, who she was convinced had it in for her. According to Cheryl, he would haul her over the coals for the slightest thing. Missing hole punches, a few typos in a news story, failure to buy milk and biscuits when it was her turn. Ed hated confrontation; life was too short for all that crap. He’d buy a new hole punch, apologise for the typos, treat the entire office to posh cakes, and possibly bring in a cow to deal with the milk issue. OK, an exaggeration — but Cheryl’s histrionics were a bit wearing. And her friends, Cal and his ‘crew’, were a little too fond of pill-popping and talking more existential bullshit than Ed could stomach.
‘Morning, love.’ Mags wandered into the kitchen, hair unbrushed and dressing gown gaping in the middle. Glimpsing more mum-flesh than he’d like, Ed stepped towards her and retied the belt firmly.
‘I’ll make you some tea and toast,’ he said, grabbing the kettle and filling it. ‘White or brown?’
‘Can I have a boiled egg?’ Mags asked, sitting down and massaging her face. ‘It’s been ages since I had one.’
Ed didn’t point out that she had a boiled egg with toast soldiers nearly every morning. He, his dad and the staff had an agreement never to correct Mags's mix-ups or forgetfulness.
Leaving his mum with her breakfast, Ed went to welcome the team for the day. Young Jamie and Rose were on bar duty, and husband and wife duo Ray and Liz were tasked with putting together the pub grub which attracted customers from far and wide.
Liz checked the menu board. ‘Right, we’re on for black pudding with bacon bonbons, haggis with whisky cream, macaroni cheese, and chargrilled chicken breast,’ she said. ‘Oh, and spicy chickpea burgers for the veg-heads.’ She rubbed her hands. ‘Ray is doing the sides and a couple of desserts, so let’s get cracking.’
Ed enlisted Jamie to get more supplies from the cellar: mixers, soft drinks and boxes of crisps and nuts. He tried to strike up a conversation, but this was greeted with little more than Neanderthal grunts. Jamie, just turned nineteen and living at home with his mum, could never be described as chatty. His over-the-bar banter was limited to ‘What can I get you, mate?’ and ‘You want ice in that?’ Mags treated him like another son, though, insisting that he was ‘probably on the spectrum somewhere.’ By all accounts, his home life wasn’t easy. Rumour had it that his mum Angela suffered from serious depression and washed down her medication with large quantities of cheap vodka. Ed had only seen her once, pacing outside the pub waiting for Jamie to finish his shift. She’d looked normal enough; though how could you judge someone on one brief sighting? The only sign of disharmony had been when Angela had attempted to sling an arm around Jamie’s shoulders. Jamie had reacted violently, shrugging it off as if it were a dangerous snake.
‘Hey, have you seen that new horror series on Netflix?’ asked Ed, in a last-ditch attempt to instigate a chat. ‘Scared the crap out of me. Even Stephen King gave it the thumbs-up.’
Jamie hoisted a crate of tonic water onto the bar before fixing Ed with a look that was midway between sad and puzzled. ‘We don’t have Netflix and Mum doesn’t like scary stuff. It, like, freaks her out.’
Conversation over, Jamie carried on arranging bottles and hanging snack packs. Ed sighed, dug out his phone, and replied to Cheryl.
Mum’s OK, still muddled but Dad’s doing his best. Keep the peace with Tony, at least till you get something else lined up. And I’ll be back at the weekend. Let’s see how it goes. E xx
‘Nice tattoo.’ Ed nearly dropped his phone. Jamie had spoken! His gaze was fixed on Ed’s forearm, and the sundial he was so proud of.
‘Thanks, mate, it’s new. I’ve got a few others if you’d like to —’ If you’d like towhat?Take a peek at my arse? Have me strip off my shirt — hell, my entire outfit — so you can admire my body art? Ed coughed, opened a can of Diet Coke, and glugged it back. ‘Never mind. Bring up the rest of the stuff. I’m off to get changed, see you at eleven.’ Ed felt as if he’d slipped back into his old self: an awkward, don’t-fit-in boy with a massive inferiority complex. Or was looking at Jamie like looking in an old mirror, the reflection reminding him of his own adolescent struggles?
Ed made for the stairs, meeting his mum on the way. She’d dressed, although her choice of clothing was more appropriate for the height of summer: a flimsy sundress and flip flops. He made a mental note to grab her a cardie from her room. And maybe a hairbrush too.
‘You’re up early!’ Mags cried, clasping his face in both hands. ‘My handsome boy, even with a beard. Are you even old enough tohavea beard?’
Ed kissed her cheek, a waft of her signature perfume almost convincing him that all was well. His lovely, funny, generous mum, always there for him. Sitting up through the night when he was convulsed with coughing, or scraping projectile vomit off his bedroom wall after a wild night of booze and all-you-can-eat (and throw up) buffet. Patiently helping him with his homework, hugging him tightly when frustrated tears coursed down his face, telling him he was better than the bullies. His dad was brilliant too, just in a quieter, more introspective way.
As Ed carried on up the stairs, his mum called out after him. ‘I’ll just help myself to some breakfast, darling, and then we can catch up with all your news. It’s so lovely to have you home!’
Chapter 14
Jinnie yawned sohard that she thought she might dislocate her jaw. Sleep had been in short supply, as Dhassim’s ceaseless chattering had carried on into the small hours. Only when she emerged from the bathroom, wielding her toothbrush and foaming at the mouth, did he quieten down and nod off.
Sadly, his chosen place of slumber wasn’t back in the lamp, but curled up like a cat on the ancient rug by the foot of the bed. The night before he’d slept on the sofa, but complained it was too uncomfortable. Torn between ordering him into the kitchen (if only she had a dog basket, or similar) and letting sleeping genies lie, exhaustion won the day. But no sooner had Jinnie closed her eyes than Dhassim started snoring with all the fervour of a Black and Decker power tool.
