The Southern Belles

Chapter 3-2

“No, she means we don’t have phones,” replied the middle sister.

“Oh! Well, I’m afraid I can’t help with that one,” he said, picking the tray back up. They must have been hit badly. To not have mobile phones was akin to not breathing; at least it was to him. He couldn’t survive without his smart phone. “Then, I’d say the Jobcentre is the place to go. Good luck with that.”

He carried the tray back behind the counter, threw the rubbish in the bin and put the cups and saucers in the washer. When he looked back over at their table, they were huddled together, deep in conversation. Maybe they weren’t as bad as people said they were.

Two groups of four youngsters walked through the door. Was this the rush he’d been hoping for? As the first group, two guys and two girls, came up to the counter, he walked behind the till, waiting to put their order through.

When he’d finished serving the first group, the second group of customers, four guys, came up to him and ordered their drinks and cakes separately, which took longer. In the background, he could hear the first group talking loudly about the Southern Belles, and not nicely either. When the group of four lads joined the first group, sitting at an adjoining table, they too started making comments.

He looked over at the Southern Belles. They didn’t seem too bothered by it; they were deep in conversation still. Good for them, he thought. If that had been him listening to their vile jokes, he’d have smacked the biggest of the guys in the gob by now. He’d heard that the middle Belle had a temper on her, but she wasn’t batting an eyelid.

Another group of eight entered, in their early twenties. Tom couldn’t understand what was going on. He wasn’t complaining about the business, mind, it was just that he’d sent Janice, his assistant, home because it was so quiet. And then another group of four came in, followed by an elderly couple, and another group of six, all of whom were now queuing at the counter. He was beginning to get a bit stressed; it took time to make a decent coffee, and with these new arrivals all choosing more complicated drinks, it would take him a long time to serve everyone.

“Hey, eldest Belle,” he shouted over the bar. Tom waited as the middle Belle attracted her attention, and pointed at him. “How do you fancy a trial shift here?”

“What, work here, you mean?” came her response.

“Well, yeah,” he replied, “you said you were looking for a job.”

The Belles went back into huddle mode. He heard comments and laughter coming from the tables at the back of the room, but he was too busy taking orders to really listen to what they were saying. “Well?” he asked.

“When do you want me to start?”

He thought he’d made that clear. “Right now,” he replied. “I can only pay you minimum wage, though, I’m afraid.”

Having to concentrate on serving customers, taking their orders, telling them to take a seat and that he would bring their drinks over, he’d missed watching all three Belle sisters getting up.

“Come on, girls, let’s get to work,” he heard eldest Belle say to her two younger sisters. “Whoa, whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“We’re starting work,” replied Eldest Belle, with a look of confusion on her face. “You said you wanted us to start a trial shift?”

“I didn’t say ‘us’,” he replied, exasperated. “I said ‘you’. I want you to start a trial shift.” Could they really be this stupid? “And the sooner the better. I’ve got a stack of orders to complete.”

And yet more customers came in. Something was going on. It felt strange to Tom that as soon as the Belle sisters came in, lots of customers arrived. Maybe having them here was good for business

“Are you starting or not?” he asked.

“I’m all yours,” she replied, to laughter from the youngsters at the back.

Georgia was reading the first page of one of her five books, occasionally looking over at Evelyn working, precariously carrying trays of cups and saucers to tables of customers. The comments and piss-taking hadn’t gone over her head; but she’d sworn to Evelyn that she wouldn’t retaliate. She so badly wanted to go over to the tables at the back and slap the girls, whose voices carried all the way to the front of the shop. So far, she’d only heard minor insults. They hadn’t said anything derogatory about her family, as such.

“Shall we make a move?” Olivia asked nervously.

“Not yet,” she replied, not looking up. “I need to decide which one I’m taking.”

“Come on, Georgie,” said Olivia. “I don’t like the atmosphere in here. We need to get to the Jobcentre, anyway.”

Feeling pressured, she quickly chose the book she wanted to keep, and picked up the other four and found spaces on the shelves to put them back, listening to the comments still coming from the two tables at the back.

It was only when Olivia stood to put her coat on that one of the guys at the back, a tall, skinny guy with bad acne, stood and shouted, “Hey, Virgin Belle, come back to mine. I’ll change your virgin status.” He grabbed his crotch with his hand.

“Hey, moron,” shouted Georgia, “come near my sister with that and I’ll break it off, how about that?” She was ready for any retaliation, male or female. These guys were d***s, no more, no less. She could handle guys like this.

“How about you join us?”

“Yeah, I heard she’s a slut,” said one of girls with them. “She probably would.”

Georgia looked over at a nervous Olivia first, then at an angry Evelyn. She decided to simply give the antagonists her middle finger. Then she walked slowly back to her table. She wasn’t running out of here with her tail between her legs, itching as she was to fly at them.

As she was putting her coat on, listening to the goads and insults flying her way, the shop door opened, and a familiar, unpleasant face appeared. Georgia groaned when she saw Felicity Rowbotham enter, flanked by Matty. She might have known. These idiots were probably the girls’ friends.

With sisterly ESP, Georgia looked over at Evelyn, who was shaking her head. Was she that transparent? Did everyone really think she would start something? By the time she had buttoned up her coat, Felicity was up at the counter ordering.

Georgia could’ve walked out without approaching Felicity, but where was the fun in that? So she intentionally walked up to her. When Felicity nervously said, “Hi, Georgie,” she clenched her fist, raised it, and pretended she was going to hit her. The look of fear in Felicity’s eyes was priceless.

Georgia laughed. “Just kidding, Flick,” she said, walking past her. “If you’re nasty to Evey, I’ll come back and drag you down a steeper set of stairs. Concrete ones, this time.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” said Felicity, from a safe distance.

“Yeah, you are!” she replied, with a grin, before meeting Olivia at the door. “See you later, Evey,” she said, walking out of Bayley’s Coffee Shop.

“Friends of yours?” asked Tom, preparing a cappuccino for one of the tables.

Evelyn replied, “Not exactly,” just before Felicity turned to her. “Flick! Matty!” Her tone wasn’t friendly; but it wasn’t unfriendly, either. Nonchalant. It was a greeting of acknowledgement, nothing more.

“Evelyn,” replied Felicity. “Latte, please.”

“Mochaccino for me, please,” said Matty.

After Evelyn had told them to take a seat, she turned to Tom. “Flick is an old friend,” she said, emphasising the word ‘old’. “And Matty’s my ex-boyfriend. Recent ex.”

“Are we going to have a problem with them?” Tom was busy steaming the milk; the machine was making a lot of noise. “Because I haven’t hired you so that I have to act as door security.”

“You won’t be getting any problems from me,” she replied, waiting for the last cup to make up the order, before she walked the tray over to the table.

Olivia’s feet ached. The walk from Sydney Street to the Jobcentre on Edward Street was a long one, at least to her, anyway. Georgia never seemed out of energy; it was an annoyance of hers. As she approached the Jobcentre building, she thought what an orange and grey monstrosity it was. Plus, there were tons of stone steps to climb too.

“Do you think Flick’s banging Matty now?” asked Georgia, more puzzled than angry.

“I don’t know, Georgie,” she replied. “That’s not an image I want in my head.” She shook her head, and made a strange noise, signalling she was trying to erase it. “Thanks a bunch. Now it’s in there and I can’t get rid of it.”

“Sorry,” replied Georgia, with a smile. “I bet she is, though. She’s always been jealous of Evey. Ever since Roedean she’s tried to compete with her.”

“OK, enough about Flick and Matty,” said Olivia, still thinking about them having s*x. “Now I have to think about something else. Flowers, or rainbows.” Something nice, she thought, to take that horrible image away from my brain.

“Come on,” said Georgia, climbing the steps. “Let’s go find us some jobs.”

Georgia was in a much better frame of mind than Olivia thought she’d be. In comparison to Saturday’s mood, she was positively chipper. How could she be so different, so soon? Oh well, it was good having her back again anyway.

Out of breath after climbing that mountain of steps, Olivia’s heart was pounding. She was unfit; she knew it. Although she’d used the multigym back in the old house, in the converted loft, she’d not given it the same welly that Evelyn or Georgia gave it. Her sisters were monsters on that equipment, on it every other day. How they’d cope without it, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t miss getting all sweaty. And yet, despite her lack of exercise, she was the one with the tiniest waist. She smiled at that thought.

As they approached the entrance, under the green sign with the white and orange writing, Georgia took her earphones from around her neck and put them in her bag. Olivia held the door open for her sister, before following her in.

After following directions, Olivia found herself sat waiting to speak with an advisor on a comfy blue two-seater sofa with red backrests. It was so strange waiting inside a Jobcentre; she’d never thought this would be a place she’d end up, but here she was, with Georgia, looking for a job. It’s funny how life throws things at people, she thought. “What do you think they’ll find me?”

“Well, you’d make a good hairdresser, or beautician,” replied Georgia, teasing her.

Or was she teasing her? Sometimes, she couldn’t tell with Georgia. She would make an exceptional beautician, and she had all the equipment she needed too. “And you? What job do you think you’ll get?”

“Rocket scientist,” joked Georgia, winking at her. “Professor, prime minister. I could do a much better job than that old bag, Theresa May.”

Olivia hated it when Georgia started talking about politics. It was bad enough that her sister watched the news so much, but then to have her talking so animatedly about bloody Brexit was just plain annoying. She’d shouted at Georgia to shut up about it before. “Oops, think we need a subject change,” she’d said to Georgia’s scowl. “Nice weather, isn’t it.”

Georgia dug her in her ribs with her elbow. Olivia almost laughed; but she remembered where they were. There was to be no fun had in Jobcentres, she’d guessed as they’d walked through reception. Looking at the advisors, none of them looked happy to be there.

“Next!” came a loud voice from the most miserable looking advisor there.