The Southern Belles

Chapter 3-1

CHAPTER THREE

When Evelyn entered Bayley’s Coffee House on Sydney Street, she heard Georgia gasp at all the books on display. She groaned silently to herself. She could do without her sister getting distracted today. But looking around, it was a beautiful little coffee shop, although it was quiet – there were around fifteen tables, with only two taken. She looked at her watch: 09:38. It should’ve been a hive of activity at this time of day.

So, while Georgia was busy marvelling at all the books, she and Olivia went up to the counter and ordered. Evelyn had taken twenty pounds out of the ATM nearby, determined that they wouldn’t spend more than five pounds today; she knew that was wishful thinking.

“Hi!” said a rather pleasant-looking man behind the counter. “What can I get you today?”

Looking at his name badge, she replied, “Good morning, Tom, we’d like three Americanos, please. Milk in two, and one without.”

“Just water for me, please,” said Georgia, from behind her.

“Coming up,” replied Tom, the barista.

While she was waiting to pay, Evelyn looked around at the décor. It was a rustic shop, all dark wood, with cream walls. The flooring was dark wood, as was the counter. Where there weren’t books adorning shelving on the walls, the owner of the establishment had placed old pictures of Brighton in dark wood frames on the walls. It was an interesting shop, not least of all to Georgia, who had picked out five books.

“Right, that’s two Americanos, both with milk on the side, and one bottle of water,” recapped Tom, placing the tray on the counter. “Would you like any of our cakes this morning?”

Evelyn was hungry, but she was determined not to overspend. “Um, no, I don’t think we will, thank you,” she replied. “How much just for the drinks?”

With a look that said, Last of the big spenders, Tom replied, “That’s five eighty, please.”

Wanting to say, How much? Evelyn opened her purse and reluctantly handed over her twenty-pound note. It made her think of how her life used to be, just handing notes over without thinking about it. She wanted her old life back. “Thank you, Tom.”

“You’re welcome!”

When she turned, carrying the tray, Georgia and Olivia were sat at a window table, and while Georgia was reading the backs of her books, Olivia was filing her nails. She carried the tray over and set it down on the table, making Georgia move her precious books out of the way.

“You should’ve asked for tap water, Evey,” said Georgia, twisting the cap off her bottled water and pouring the contents into a glass on the tray. “Bottled water’s expensive.”

“Now you tell me,” she replied, more cross with herself than Georgia.

“I thought you’d know that,” retorted her sister.

“Water’s the new oil,” said Olivia, not looking up from her nails.

Evelyn looked at Georgia and laughed. “Oh, it is, is it?” The things Olivia came out with made her laugh. Here was a ditsy, some might say, or an airhead, but she came out with some interesting tidbits sometimes.

“What? What are you laughing at?” asked Olivia, finally looking up.

“Go on, you environmentalist you, enlighten us about the commodity that is water,” said Georgia, teasingly. “Give us your valuable insights, Dr Belle.”

“I read it in one of my magazines,” replied an insulted Olivia. “It’s true. Water is running out, or so it said in the article. And it said in the future, wars will be fought over water.”

Evelyn and Georgia both smiled at one another, knowing not to tease too much. They both knew how fragile Olivia was, and how conscious she was about being an airhead.

“Right, enough of that,” said Evelyn, making room for her notepad on the table by removing the tray. She took a pen out of her handbag. “We’ve got some serious jobhunting to do. Georgie, where’re the papers you picked up?”

Georgia handed her The Friday-Ad, The Argus, and The Mid Sussex Times, which she had found in a newsagent on the way. Taking The Friday-Ad, Evelyn scoured the jobs section, using her pen to highlight possibilities. From first glance, all she could see were cleaning jobs. She couldn’t see herself doing backbreaking work like that, so she read on.

“Carers, cleaners, HGV drivers,” said Georgia, throwing The Argus on the table, “that’s all there is in that one. I can’t see myself driving a forklift, or a lorry, can you?”

“I could be a carer?” said Olivia, picking up The Argus. “I like old people.”

“You? Wiping old men’s arses?” said Georgia, wrinkling her nose. “They’d eat you alive, Livvy. You get harassed by guys all the time; why would you apply for a job where you’d get more?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Olivia. “Oh, I know, I could be a nursery assistant. I love children, with their cute little faces.”

“Until they start turning into little brats, calling you names and hitting you, sure,” said Georgia, trying not to be discouraging, and failing miserably. “I think we’ll need to go to the Jobcentre, Evey. They’ll have more jobs available there.”

Evelyn was beginning to think Georgia was right. There wasn’t much going in the papers, especially so early on in the year. February wasn’t a good time for jobhunting, she guessed; not that she knew for sure, not having ever applied for a job before. “Yeah, we’ll take a walk over there after we’ve finished our drinks.”

“You’ll never guess who I’m looking at right now,” said Felicity Rowbotham, into her mobile phone, a huge smile spreading over her face. “The Belles are having coffee at Bayley’s.” She listened to the overjoyed voice at the other end of the line. “Get over here as quick as you can,” she said, hanging up.

This is just too good an opportunity to miss, she thought, revelling in her mischief. She’d vowed months ago that she was going to get her own back on Evelyn, and that b***h, Georgia.

She could still feel the carpet burns on her legs from being dragged down those stairs, naked. The humiliation hadn’t worn off. Every time she thought back to being found in bed with Rupert, Evelyn’s boyfriend at the time, a part of her wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. But being dragged out of bed by a girl six years her junior was the most humiliating experience she’d ever had. She’d had to go into hiding for weeks after that.

It hadn’t always been this way, though. There was a time when she’d liked Evelyn, back in the day, before Evelyn had dropped her like a bad habit. They’d been solid friends at Roedean School, and she’d thought of Evelyn as her best friend for some years. It was Evelyn who’d changed, though, not her.

It was after school that Evelyn had become this rich, spoilt b***h, dumping her in favour of rich celebrities and big parties all over the world. There was no way Felicity could’ve competed with Evelyn; her parents were wealthy, but not in contrast with the Belles. It was that wealth that had changed Evelyn. And those clothing contracts the Belles had. How could designers just pay the Belles to wear clothes out in public? How was that a job? And why didn’t she have one of those contracts? She was just as stylish as Evelyn.

How she’d laughed at Evelyn’s fall from the top. Gone was that great big house, those fifteen to twenty cars, that outdoor swimming pool, that bloody super yacht; it was all gone. Evelyn and her sisters were now living in squalor, in a bedsit in Seven Dials for Christ’s sake. How she and Matty had laughed. For hours. It was karma. You reap what you sow, she thought, looking through the coffee shop window at Evelyn chatting with her sisters.

A plan was forming in her mind. She had to goad Georgia into blowing her short fuse, which shouldn’t be too difficult, knowing how protective Georgia was over her family. A carefully worded insult about their dead dad, the criminal scumbag, should do it.

Felicity looked across the road and saw a group of two guys and two girls walking past, looking into shop windows as they went. She crossed the road and flagged them down by saying, “Excuse me.” Once she’d gained their full attention, she delved into her purse and pulled out a twenty-pound note. “I’d like to buy you all a drink,” she said, to looks of confusion. “But there is a catch.”

She held on to the note.

“The Southern Belles are in that coffee shop,” she said, pointing over. When one of the girls groaned and called the Belles bitches, Felicity grinned. “Exactly. That’s why I need your help with something.”

Once she’d explained the situation, and the group had agreed to help her, she handed them the twenty and watched them walk across the road towards the coffee shop. Her plan was taking shape. She just needed more willing participants, because she had enough twenties in her purse to fill the shop. She saw a group of four guys in their twenties walking towards her, and waited with her purse in her hand until they reached her.

Thomas ‘Tom’ Bayley wiped down the work surface with his cloth, before throwing it in the sink. He knew it was only February and business was always quiet, but this was ridiculous. He had only three tables in use, which was pitiful. It was approaching ten o’clock, and it should be packed; he should be running around like a headless chicken on speed; but here he was, waiting for customers to walk through the door.

Maybe it was those God-awful Southern Belles putting people off coming in. They weren’t exactly the public’s dears right now. Judging by the looks on his other customers’ faces, they were as far away from public dears as anyone could be. Part of him wanted to ask them to finish up and leave, but another part of him felt sorry for them. It was their dad who’d sunk their family’s company, not them.

From what he’d read in the paper, and he didn’t believe much of it anyway, the dad was being investigated for criminal wrongdoing, and the girls had been flung out of their home so that the government could recoup some losses. That wasn’t the girls’ fault. No, he would let them be.

If he was honest, business hadn’t been good for two years at least. With the amount of competition he had in Brighton, it wasn’t surprising business was dwindling. When his parents had opened Bayley’s Coffee Shop, there had been half the amount of coffee shops in the area than there were now. It was hard competing with big chains like Starbucks and Costa, and independents like The Flour Pot Bakery nearby, and Pelicano Coffee Co. There were more popping up every year.

Tom walked around the front of the counter, past the Southern Belles to a table, where an elderly couple were putting their coats on to leave. He thanked them for their business, wished them farewell and placed their empty cups onto a tray.

As he walked by the Southern Belles’ table, he heard, “Excuse me?” from the eldest of the sisters. He’d forgotten what her name was.

He stopped and looked down at her pretty face. “Yes, what can I do for you? Would you like a top-up?”

“We wish,” he heard the middle sister say.

“No, thank you,” replied the eldest. “I was just wondering where the best place is to go and look for jobs? We’re new to this jobhunting thing, as you can probably tell.”

He set the tray down on a vacant table next to him. “The Jobcentre, probably,” he replied. “But I’m not the best person to ask. I’ve never been for a job interview, either.” He was telling her the truth. He’d started working for his parents here in the shop when he’d left school at sixteen, and had taken over the business six years ago. He had no idea what being interviewed was like. “And online is good, so I’ve heard. There’s loads of jobs sites out there.”

“That’s a problem for us,” he heard the youngest say. Looking at her, she sure was pretty with that long red hair and that flawless ivory skin. Looking at them all, they were so much prettier in person than in their photos; but the redhead was the prettiest. “You’re welcome to use our Wi-Fi,” he said, feeling charitable. “The password’s on that blackboard behind me.”