Page 3 of Cream & Sugar

“Last fucking chance, Freddie. I swear.”

Relief washes over me. “Fuck yeah!” I punch the air. Rory scowls, eyebrows meeting like a pair of hairy, muscular caterpillars. I lower my hand. “I mean, um, sure. Absolutely. Thanks Rory.”

“I mean it. No more bullshit.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re going to stop going out every other night and flirting your way to free drinks at Sabre. You’re gonna clean this house from top to bottom and you’re gonna make a CV.” He looks me up and down with thinly veiled disdain. “Put some clothes on and go get a bloody job, why don’t you?”

My hangover creeps its way back into my head with a dull, throbbing ache. “Sure. How about tomorrow—?” Rory clenches his fists, his knuckles crunching. I backtrack. “No, of course. Today. Silly me.”

Rory scrutinises me for a moment, as though testing to see if I’ll dare make some little quip or joke. I bite my tongue.

“When I get back from work, I want to find the house spotless and you employed. You can use my computer to print off CVs.”

Now I know he means it. Rory’s PC is worth more than everything I own put together, which is why I’m explicitly forbidden from touching it.

Fighting my headache and trying to look as sincere as a guy in his possibly backwards underwear can be, I say, “Rad. Thanks Rory. I’ll do my best.”

Rory lets out a heavy sigh, the crimson finally draining from his face. “I’ve heard that one before.” And with that, he turns heel and strides off down the hallway, leaving me feeling about an inch tall. Rory has a way of making me feel like this, of letting me know what a disappointment I am without actually uttering the words.

You get used to it.

I drag myself into the shower, letting the hot water melt away my hangover, before drying off and throwing on a clean T-shirt andjeans. By the time I make it to the kitchen, carrying the shards of burnt pizza in my hands, Rory’s already left for work.

His PC monitor glows in the corner, left unlocked on a blank Word document. I can’t believe he’s trusting me with his computer again. The last time he let me use it, it got a virus which may or may not have been a direct result of the dodgy porn safari I embarked upon. Rory went ballistic when he found whole folders of his work had been corrupted. I fully denied any involvement, of course, but he rumbled me after checking the search history which was, to put it kindly, explicit as fuck.

I won’t make the same mistake again, especially since I’m on thin ice with him as it is, but also because impending homelessness doesn’t exactly put me in the mood for a cheeky morning wank.

I stare at the blinking cursor for a moment, the stark page as empty as the pit in my stomach. What the hell am I going to put on a CV? Besides gigging, I’ve never had anything close to an actual job.

As I make some tea and toast, I decide I have no choice but to lie. Everyone lies on their resume a bit and I don’t have any other choice, especially if I’m going to blag my way into a job—today!

Taking a big bite of jammy toast, I sit at the keyboard and crack my knuckles. Allons-y! Let the bullshitting commence.

2

Shaun

“Whatdoyoumeanyou’re not coming in?” I hold my phone to an ear with my shoulder as I hand a scowling customer his takeaway latte. “Sorry for the wait, sir.”

“What?” the phone crackles.

“Not you, Kyle,” I hiss.

The bell above the door jangles as two more customers walk in and join the back of the queue. I bring the phone closer to my mouth and lower my voice to a whisper. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

A lengthy silence.

“Are you talking to me now?”

“Yes, Kyle!”

I swear, this boy…

“Right, sure,” says Kyle, oblivious to my annoyance. “No, I’m fine. I just can’t come in today.”

My blood turns molten. This morning has been a madhouse, and I’ve been here since five. Just like yesterday, the day before, and every day since we opened a month ago. I’m shattered, smelly, and fuelled by nothing but three flat whites and a piece of cake that was too stale to sell.

Now Kyle, my numpty of a part-time barista, is leaving me to weather this shitstorm alone.

Why me?