We Aren't Going out

Chapter 2

I wake up to thumping on my bedroom door. Without my alarm on my (now smashed to smithereens) phone I slept straight through into midday. I hiss at the light pouring through the small window and groan with the realisation that I have to find a job and get enough money for next week's rent for Dodgy Derek. Fumbling down the stairs, I hear Sharon in the kitchen. She's sporting her usual attire of Primark leggings and a random top. As I make a coffee, we chat about her love life and which man she'll be going on a date with this evening (Jack-who-says-he-once-met-Justin-Bieber-but-the-photo-was-photoshopped-worse-than-Kim Kardashian's-picture-in-which-she-has-6-fingers). She works full time at a supermarket, allowing her to afford the nice room that's been converted from the living room to make a 4th bedroom, bloody Derek. I look at the time- shit. I was supposed to have done my weekly food shop by now. Oh well, I'll have some of the crisps at the bar, as I must get changed. My shift starts in half an hour and, as comfy as they are, I don't think Steve would appreciate me wearing pj bottoms with a hole right over the crotch. Come to think of it, he'd like it a bit too much.

The next morning I wake up to Sharon holding her nose, which is dripping blood onto my bedsheets. Turns out I punched her when she tried to wake me. I apologise so much and wish we were close enough that we could laugh about it, but she just shoots me a slightly pissed look as she leaves the room. I mean, fair dues but you'd think she would understand a tad. I pack my items into my suitcase and close my bedroom door, leaving it out of view so Dodgy Derek doesn't think I'm leaving without a fight. The familiar sound of groans are heard rattling through the house, as all of us (except the hermit who'd paid all his rent for the year upfront I presume and never comes out) trudge down the stairs to meet the poohead that is our landlord.

"Thanks love," he smiles seedily at Sharon and a small lump of spit leaves his mouth and lands on her chest, due to him being very short even though he obviously wears the shoes with the 'height enhancer' in the heel. Her disgust is evident on her face and I catch her eye, causing us to both stifle a laugh and I know I'm forgiven. In all honesty, her nose doesn't look too bad. Maybe a little wonky but I don't think she's noticed yet.
"Rent love?" Dodgy Derek asks, and I snap my fingers in front of his face to get him to look at my eyes instead of ogling my chest (I know I have boobs I don't need him to remind me). Momentarily, he looks quite shocked, causing the gum in his mouth to fall out onto the floor between his large legs. We both stare at it. I take his slow response to the event as leverage and use it to launch full throttle into what I would consider a better speech than my English speaking exam at school. However, I got the lowest grade in my class, which might be the reason he told me to pack my bags and get out. As I make a move to towards the stairs, I hear there's a commotion outside and, like anyone who grew up in a village would know, there's not much better than a bit of street commotion.
"Oi Derek, you'll wanna see this!" The woman from next doors yells into the house through her ciggie.
My current living arrangement forgotten, we all pile outside and it was even enough for the hermit upstairs to venture out of his cave. Man he smells.

It looks like the worst street party ever and is the only chance I've ever had to see all my neighbours. Everyone has piled out with most of the men in stained white vests and either underwear or trousers depending on what state of getting dressed they'd been in. There is a common occurrence of women shivering in a dressing gowns and slippers along with teenage boys decked head to toe in tracksuits. However, my favourite was one teenage girl with one 'slug' eyebrow drawn on and the other not. Everyone's talking and I hear one person say sarcastically that the Queen's lost one of her horses and is looking for it.
"No Clyde, Nancy told me she's lost Phillip and wants our help!" his wife replies with all seriousness, whilst straining her neck to see past the curve in the road where the noise is coming from.

Suddenly a black limo appears with a man standing through the sunroof asking people something I can't quite make out.
"Go find out what he wants," Clyde says, shoving his teenage son towards the limo.
The boy reluctantly jogs over to find an answer and returns two minutes later, whilst our part of the road falls into silence waiting for him to bestow his pearls of wisdom. The boy stops in the middle of the street, startled by the quietness until it dawns on him that we expect him to speak.
"It'll cost a fiver." He shrugs cheekily.
"For Pete's sake son! Just tell us and don't be so effing rude! You nearly gave your father a bleeding heart attack what wiv his cholesterol an' all!" screams his Mum, advancing towards him with one of her slippers in her hand, leaving her son's Dad with bright red cheeks outside their house.
"Alright! He says he's looking for Sophie." The son caves immediately, evidently not in the mood for a slipper being flung at him.
A Sophie? Surely not me? I'm confused and dip behind Sharon's body for security against what I'm not quite sure yet.
"Sophie? Sophie? Well, we've got a Sonia!" Flaps Slipper Lady in the street, waving down the car. "Oi mister! We've got her!"
The car speeds towards her as she frantically waves, perhaps a little too frantically, as her dressing gown opens to reveal a very naked Slipper Lady and the limo comes to an abrupt halt. I can't see the man's face due to the sun and his sunglasses, but I bet money (which I clearly don't have) it's one of utter bewilderment. Undeterred, she fixes herself, stalks back to her door, grabs her daughter's hand and marches towards the limousine still carrying her slipper. What was going through her head to actively try to get her daughter to get in a random car with a stranger I have no clue. As she approaches, he removes his sunglasses in a swift action.
"I've got her!" She pauses and double takes, as do most people in the street, then continues, "Jamie! Jamie! Are you looking for my daughter because here's Sonia, but you know I didn't know you knew her. Now my hubby's a Spurs fan AREN'T YOU CLYDE? So I was never supposed to support you but I told him that if he can have those magazines then I can watch you play football. And when I told Nancy she agreed and then she asked about the recipe and turns out when I was talking about your fine legs, she thought I was talking about one of Jamie Oliver's chicken drumsticks recipes- fancy that. But then I told her tha".
She's cut off by the man- thank goodness.
"I'm sorry but your daughter is not who I'm looking for. That being said, if your friend Nancy has now found a good recipe for drumsticks, I would love if she could share it with me," he politely replies and I can't help letting out a loud snort. All eyes turn to me and Slipper Lady is shooting me daggers from stealing 'Jamie's' attention.
"Sophie!" He shouts and I'm shocked he knows my name.
Wait. That sounds like Jamie and ohh, wait- ohhh. OHHH SHIT. Who the fuck is Jamie?

As I'm desperately trying to remember Friday night, he hoists himself up through the sunroof and slides down the side of the car. As his face nears me, I can see it's Jamie from the bar, but wow he looks different. There's no blood on his face, which is clean-shaven and I admire his jawline now he doesn't have a hoodie on. His hair is cut and styled nicely, making him look smart and vaguely familiar. I'm relieved to see his complexion has more colour to it and his cheeks look slightly pink from the cold, winter air; he's miles away from the greyish shell of a man that he seemed when I last saw him. Finally, his body is framed perfectly by a suit that is nothing less than a custom fit. As he walks towards me, I shuffle my way to the front of our little group, while trying to get a glance at what he's packing but his strides are long and suddenly he's in front of me. I gaze up in shock, as he gently pulls me in for a hug against his over six foot tall frame.
"Aw babe I've missed you so much!" he announces and that's enough to make the entire street dissolve into gossip.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, "Are we still on for the plan?" He asks and I remember one of our conversations and me agreeing to it.
"Um, yes I think so, although I'm a bit hazy on the details. And if you try to kidnap or kill me, this entire street will know who did it and who I was with." I reply only half joking about the last part.
He chuckles and I'm suddenly conscious that we're so close I can feel his chest rising and falling against my cheek. I break the hug off and he asks if I have anything I want to put in the car.

I grab Sharon's arm and take her upstairs with me to help me down with my one, very big suitcase.
"When were you going to tell me you know Jamie Roberts?" She asked slightly offended.
"Ermm. I guess I don't like to name drop. But can you do me a favour, no questions asked" I pleaded.
"In all fairness, I don't think you're the one who should be asking for favours right now!" She replied angsty, pointing at her nose.
My mind wanders to whether she's realised it looks a little wonky, as we wrestle the suitcase downstairs, careful not to damage the walls. I take her reply as a 'yes'.
"If I don't meet you at this address and this time, call the police and my parents please." I say calmly, scribbling the information on a sticky note.
It's not that I don't trust Sharon with the truth, okay maybe it is. We aren't really proper friends and I can't risk us being rumbled to the media before I've even got a chance to process what is happening. I give her a quick hug and leave her tall frame reading the note with a look of concern and curiosity etched on her face. Briefly my mind asks me what the fuck I think I'm doing, but I shut it down. This is my only option at having shelter tonight, as I currently don't even have enough money for a train ticket home.

Jamie's signing shirt's, backs, bald heads and anything that anyone asks him too. He looks fairly comfortable and I suppose he's used to it, if he really is this professional footballer. Although, when I see the look of disgust flash across his face before being hidden by a fake smile when Nancy asks her to sign the bra she's currently wearing, I decide he needs rescuing. I catch his eye before walking over and making an excuse for us to leave much to everyone (especially Nancy's dismay).

A/N Thank you to anyone who's following the story. I hope it's alright xx