Punch-Drunk Love. Pernille Hughes

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       Chapter 8

      ‘Afternoon.’ Ron stood in the doorway to the office. Tiff froze with her mug of tea halfway to her mouth and looked at the clock. It was still morning. He was having a dig.

      ‘I was at the will reading.’

      Ron’s brow furrowed. ‘That was today?’

      ‘Nine o’clock.’ The scowl on his face told her exactly how he felt about not being invited.

      ‘What’s the score then?’ He needed to know whether he had a job or not. Whilst he was a grumpy bugger, Tiff knew he worked hard. He’d have a job if he wanted it. She tried not to think about how much she was depending on him if she was going to do this. He was her continuity.

      ‘You’d best sit down,’ she said. Ron slumped in the corner armchair, an apprehensive look on his face.

      ‘Is it closing?’

      ‘No,’ she said, adamantly. Whatever happened, she’d do everything to keep it open. Blackie’s legacy demanded it.

      ‘Being sold?’

      ‘Not if I can help it.’ Ron’s face perked up. ‘See, Blackie left the place to me.’

      ‘You?’ he asked, incredulous.

      ‘Me.’ There didn’t seem much to add. She could desperately start justifying it, but she didn’t want to come across as panicking. And she was panicking.

      ‘Didn’t see that coming.’ Tiff didn’t take it as a compliment, nor had Ron meant it as such. To be fair she hadn’t seen it coming either.

      ‘You and me both.’

      ‘You don’t box.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You don’t even follow boxing.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘And you’re a w—’

      ‘Yes.’ Tiff considered having a feminist debate with him but didn’t have the strength. What would be the point?

      ‘What the hell was he thinking?’ Ron exploded, expecting her to share his outrage.

      She tried to placate him. ‘Um, perhaps he was thinking I didn’t need to box or follow the sport,’ or have a penis she added, but only in her head, ‘to be a business manager. Perhaps he thought, having worked with him, I knew enough about the place to keep it going, to progress it, and more importantly give proper consideration to the people who work here.’ Tiff gambled Ron’s primary concern was his own job.

      ‘Too right. About the staff, I mean.’ Neither mentioned that beyond themselves, the sum of the staff came to precisely one, in the form of Vonda the intermittent cleaner. ‘He should have told us what he was planning.’

      ‘Well, he liked his surprises,’ was all she could think to say.

      ‘This is going to have a major impact on the business. The lads aren’t going to like it.’ She hadn’t really considered that bit, but his prejudgement seemed a tad unfair.

      ‘Apart from Blackie’s absence, the clients shouldn’t feel any difference, Ron. Blackie’s will stipulated that your job should be safeguarded, if you still want it.’ She’d hoped to see relief in his face, but he’d moved on from that. ‘I’m hoping you do want it, Ron,’ she added to be clear.

      ‘Well, I’m sure you do. A club without a trainer isn’t much of a club, is it?’

      ‘No, of course not.’ He was talking to her like she was an idiot. She wanted to show him she wasn’t. Vision. Vision and ambition, that was what impressed people. ‘Going forward,’ she said, feigning confidence, ‘I’ll be looking to modernise the club, but it will always be a boxing club at heart, and you’re integral to that.’

      ‘Blackie didn’t want to modernise it. It works perfectly as it is – provided I’m here to make it work – so what’s the point?’ Ron was sporting a fine display of outrage. ‘Don’t mess with things that aren’t broken, Tiffanie. Why do women always do that?’

      Tiff bit her tongue.

      ‘He left you everything?’ Ron double-checked, with an air of disbelief and a hint of resentment.

      ‘The building, the land, some capital,’ she detailed, feeling uncomfortable. She tried to divert the conversation. ‘The ring goes to Mike Fellner as some penance for the past – don’t ask, I don’t know – so I’ll need a new one ASAP. All the sappy pictures with the moody shots and emo texts go to Aaron. For guidance apparently.’

      That raised a wry smile from Ron.

      ‘Nice one, Blackie. He always liked a subtle jab to the nuts.’

      ‘So Ron,’ СКАЧАТЬ