Broke-Ish [Completed]

Chapter 11

PROSECCO PEASANTS

Yaz, Jasmine, Kara, Liv

Jasmine: So??

Liv: So what?

Jasmine: How did it go yesterday?

Liv: Urgh...it didn't

Yaz: What do you mean it didn't???

Liv: He cancelled last minute

Yaz: What do you mean he cancelled last minute

Jasmine: I think she means he cancelled last minute

Yaz: Noooo don't tell me you were actually in London as well????

Liv: Yes I was!!!!

Kara: Liv. I don't know why I always have to be the one to say this but I think you need to give this up. Just keep your head down at the Norton and keep doing overtime at work, You'll be in a better position soon enough.

Soon enough needs to be a lot sooner because I am back at The Norton. The person who worked the day shift has spilt something sticky and tangy smelling all over the keyboard making typing not only difficult due to the keys sticking together, but also repulsive. They have also very kindly left something unsanitary on the seat but I'm not being entirely fair here as judging from the smudge, some pointless effort has been made to clear it up. I took a chair from the store room but when I sat down it was sort of like sitting on the front row at the cinema and I don't think my neck could deal with the strain through the whole shift. Then I got a few pillows, piled them up neatly on the chair and balanced my little bottom on top before falling in slow motion to the floor. So it looks like I will spend the rest of my shift standing, leaning and wondering where the hell my little life is going.

London was a shambles to say the least but London's not the problem. I take some time to contemplate my journey and so far, I have puked then fell asleep in a public but thankfully empty hotel toilets, stumbled out of a taxi , face planted a car park floor, mis pronounced wine, been stood up, drank too much – I want to say it's not going well. Amazingly I'm not ready to admit defeat just yet I mean, I did get a phone and that's not too bad going for a newbie. Although judging from the final demand letter I received this morning that phone may well be going on Facebook Marketplace where no doubt somebody will try to offer me a tenner for it. At this rate I'll probably have to accept, either that or I suppose I could sell my soul and buy a new one when I'm back on my feet in fifty years time.

"Abby," sings a voice and I know that voice, I hate it. It's smarmy, condescending and nasally and Abby's not here. This is when I realise that he's talking to me. I look up and its Ketson. Ket, as he insists on being called, is the owner of The Nortons son who likes to make an appearance every few months to remind us that he, unfortunately, still exists. He is a 39 year old addict who, if it hadn't have been for the fact that his father owns the hotel, would be a frequent resident here. He hasn't done much by way of achievements, bit like me but I get away with it on account of my age. He drives a car donated to him by his dad, lives in a house owned by his dad and has recently started a business selling green smoothies, as if they don't already exist, financed by, you guessed it, his dad. But what more can I expect from a guy named after a horse tranquiliser. I googled Ketamine once, wanted to see why people could ever be convinced to take something intended to sedate horses. It was described as unpleasant leaving its users feeling in a low mood after using it, quite a fitting description for Ket I'd say. I can already feel my low mood plummeting after just a few seconds in his presence.

Ket is wearing a navy blue suit and salmon shirt. The same navy blue suit he wore the last time I saw him and the times before that. Don't get me wrong it's a nice suit, looks as if it might have been tailor made but probably isn't, it has a pocket that's silk lined and wedding like and the tie he wears really does compliment his overall look but does he own anything else?