Running Rings Read online

  “I think so,” Verity said, “I had a lot of things.”

  “I think your arm is broken,” Christine said, “I’ll call down a nurse to escort you back upstairs and get you an x-ray. I also think you’re too physically weak to be here.” She walked over to the phone on the wall.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what you went through. I hope you get better and find yourself again,” Verity said, standing up slowly.

  Nicole and Zahra both hugged Verity carefully and wished her all the best. Christine put her arm around Verity’s shoulder and led her out to the corridor. “What you went through is beyond comprehension. The man who did this to you has no conscience. There is no way that any normal person could think this was an acceptable way to treat another human being. I expected you to be more emotionally labile than you are. You seem quite disconnected, but that’s part of the coping mechanisms and stages of grief. How do you feel right now?”

  “I feel like a pound puppy,” Verity said, “I feel like a beaten and abandoned puppy that no one will ever take home, because they’ll see in my eyes that I’ve been broken.” She burst into tears. “I just want him to come and hold me. I wish I knew where he was. I need him so badly.”

  “I know, baby, I know,” Christine said, “Right now you seem more upset about your missing friend than you are about what happened to you. That means we have a lot of work to do. Until your friend comes back, you need to rely on yourself, and other people, and use the supports you actually have available.”

  Chapter 3

  Verity looked at her reflection in the shop window. The counsellor’s recommendations about finding positive things to come out of the situation were something she hadn’t really thought much about. Looking at herself now, she thought she looked pretty good. After being starved for three months she had lost twenty eight kilograms, and she had put on twelve kilograms in the six months since. The doctors had said that a good goal was to try to gain a kilogram a week but she was only managing half of that so far. She didn’t have any guilt about eating food, just a lack of interest. She looked at her reflection again to check her hair. She had dyed her hair brown and cut it a little shorter, hoping to get rid of the blonde colour and grow out her fringe. She told herself that growing up and facing the world was overdue, and that she could do this.

  She adjusted the watch on her wrist, and mentally prepared herself for the job interview she was about to do. She could do a lot more with her commerce degree than be a bank teller, but this was what was available and it was close to a bus stop on a direct route from the apartment she was renting. She assumed it would be an easy job, and she needed the money. Consideration had been given to selling some of her father’s possessions, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back to her father’s apartment yet. It was a beautiful apartment, but she didn’t want to go there and face the demons in her bedroom. The Police had organised for everything she had asked for to be brought to her, and all of her pictures were now in frames and albums so if she cried on them they’d be safe.

  She continued on to the bank and went to the counter with a large question mark hanging over it. The staff were very friendly and took her to a room down the stairs, around the corner and up another set of stairs. She sat down in the narrow corridor, waiting patiently. After a few minutes a door opened and a balding man in an ill-fitting grey suit came out. “Verity?”

  She smiled and stood up. They shook hands and she followed him through the door. Verity was surprised at how much bigger the room was than it looked from the outside. There was another man sitting at the table who introduced himself as Mahmud. Verity sat down at the table and put the folder containing her resume in front of her.

  “So, thanks for coming in,” John said, “I note that you don’t actually have any experience in the workforce.”

  “No, not yet,” Verity said, “But I’d like to learn.”

  John nodded, “It makes it a bit hard for us to weigh up the benefits of employing you over someone else. No, actually it makes it easy, because other people have industry experience and you haven’t. I know that everyone has to start somewhere but can you tell me why you would be a good choice to work as a teller here at First Bank?”

  Verity sat up straighter. “I have a university degree, so having a tertiary level of education demonstrates that I have the capacity to learn whatever I need to learn to do the job well. Having not worked anywhere else, I don’t have any bad work habits or an ‘us and them’ mentality towards management. I expect to be able to come to work every day, do my job well, and go home. I set high expectations of myself and being that I love numbers, and I know them intimately, I know that I will produce high quality, error-free work, and that I will be an asset to the bank. I will work quickly, I will treat the customers with a friendly attitude, and I will encourage them to come back to us and try our other products.”

  John looked at Mahmud who nodded. He looked back at Verity, “Okay, you’re hired. You can start on Monday. You’ll be expected to work from eight until five, Monday to Thursday, with half an hour for lunch and two fifteen minute breaks. You’ll need a black skirt, below the knee, and a white blouse. We’ll provide you with a vest and a name badge.”

  Verity smiled, “Thank you, Mr Dalton. I look forward to working with you.”

  He nodded, “Okay. See you on Monday.”

  Verity stood up and picked up her folder and her bag. She walked out the door thinking how easy that was. She used to practice interview questions and responses and it was nothing like that. She smiled. She was only going to be unemployed for a few more days so she’d better make the most of it. She looked around outside the bank wondering what to do now. She decided that it may be beneficial to acquaint herself with the local cafés and other businesses. She would then be able to direct customers where they might want to go, and she would know where to have lunch and coffee herself.

  She walked down the road and stopped at the first café she came to and looked at the sign above it. It was called ‘The Shoehorn’. Verity thought it was a strange name for a café but went in to check it out. She noticed it was long and narrow, a bit like a shoehorn. The tables were arranged to have a maximum of three people at them and ran down the left wall. The right side seemed to be the kitchen and service areas. Verity walked by the counter to the back of the café and the tables were placed across the entire width of the café back there. It was interesting. She walked back to the counter to look at what they sold. The woman behind the counter asked if she could help.

  “Do you have anything that isn’t gluten free?” Verity asked.

  “Why would you want gluten?” the woman replied.

  “I’m not allergic to gluten, or intolerant of it in any way, so I don’t specifically need it to be gluten-free.”

  “Then why does it matter if there are things that have gluten? If you don’t care either way about gluten then why worry about it? They taste the same and gluten-free is better for you.”

  “I see,” Verity said, “So what about if I’m allergic to nuts?”

  “We have nut-free options over here,” the woman said.

  “Completely free of nuts, and gluten-free?” Verity asked.

  “Yes, absolutely, everything we serve is gluten-free. It’s gluten-free and nut-free over here,” the woman said.

  “Are you trying to kill people?” Verity asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” the woman replied, looking at her colleague behind the counter and back at Verity.

  “It was a direct question, but clearly one that needs explaining,” Verity replied, “Are you aware of what makes your gluten-free items free of gluten?”

  “Yeah, they don’t have gluten.”

  Verity nodded, “Right, but the most common alternative for wheat flour is almond meal, and almonds are?”

  “Nuts.”

  “Right, so if you’re claiming that they’re nut-free and gluten-free, then you will have to be really sure that they aren’t using almo
nd meal to replace the wheat or barley flour.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Are you going to order something?”

  Verity looked up at the chalk board on the wall. “You only have soy milk, huh? No cow milk? Are they genetically modified soya beans? Because genetically modified … you know what, forget it. I’m going to keep looking. I don’t get the whole ‘charging more for less’ thing. Your prices are ridiculous for what you actually get. The portions sizes are pathetic, and they probably taste like cardboard.”

  She walked out of the café and looked down the street wondering if there was something less trendy that might be more her fit. She looked back at The Shoehorn café and realised they probably thought she was weird or a bitch or a weird bitch. If not for hospital check-ups, Police interviews and rape counselling, she wouldn’t have had any contact with people in the last six months. She at least tried to say ‘hello’ to anyone she passed in her current apartment building so they might notice if she went missing. Christine had helped her work through her self-esteem issues and other issues, but had commented that Verity had become quite cynical on top of being understandably untrusting. Christine knew why, and so did Verity, but it was something that Verity had to actively be mindful of now. Without even thinking about it, the words were out of her mouth and a few minutes later she would realise how she sounded. Verity knew she was being snappy and attitudinal but she wasn’t going to let anyone push her around. If anything was going to happen, it would be on her terms and she would be in control of it.

  She had attempted to enter city night life already and it was disastrous. She had worn two pairs of underwear, pants, and a skirt, and two belts, and three shirts, and looked at every man like he was an armed assailant. She knew that was ridiculous. She wasn’t attacked by a young good looking man in a club, but she was still jumpy. She closed her eyes remembering the man who had tried to feel her up at the club calling her a ‘prick tease’ to which she had replied ‘I guess that makes you a prick’. She regretted it because she thought he would raise his hand and hit her, but he didn’t. He laughed. She opened her eyes. She was determined to try again this Friday night, especially as she’d be starting to work with people on Monday, and if she could deal with a whole club full of people then she could deal with a handful of colleagues. She wanted to be part of the world and to be brave. Private schools and live-in university hadn’t exactly broadened her horizons, and without her main man or her father and mother, she was on her own.

  The sound of her mobile phone ringing startled her and she turned the volume down as she took it from her handbag. She answered it and furrowed her brow as she listened. Her father had a Will? Of course he had a Will, and there was going to be a meeting about it tomorrow. Verity agreed to attend and asked if they could text the address and time. She ended the call and looked around the streets. This was their plan. They were going to work together in the city, wearing suits and talking money and business, and they were going to save and invest. Verity might be receiving money from her father’s Will that she could invest. She had some money in savings already but didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know whether they were going to buy or rent or exactly where they were going to live. She needed him here to tell her what to do, but he was nowhere. She hoped that wherever he was right now he was happy.

  Chapter 4

  The traffic was exceedingly noisy, especially with the road works going on, and Verity had been trying to get some assistance from passers-by. She wasn’t sure if she was at the right end of the street. She was looking for ‘Hanson & Hanson’ and couldn’t see their name or street number anywhere. She again tried to stop three different people to ask about street numbers but everyone seemed to be in a rush.

  “You look lost.”

  Verity smiled and looked up from her phone. There was a man standing in front of her and he was very attractive. “Yes, I am, I’m trying to find Hanson and Hanson but the street numbers don’t make much sense here.”

  “That’s where I’m going too,” he said, “Not exactly to Hanson and Hanson, but to the same building. I’ll show you where it is.”

  “Thank you,” Verity replied, “Is it hidden on purpose? They do actually want me to find it, don’t they?”

  He laughed, “Yes, the number is just above a doorway, which leads to a set of stairs, and then there are businesses on each floor. See, it’s here.”

  Verity looked up to the gold numbers stuck to the brown paint above a tall, narrow doorway. She’d walked by it twice already. “That’s really obscure. I think they don’t want to be found. But I found them.”

  The man laughed again and gestured her to the stairway. Verity walked up the stairs and he pointed her to the doorway, advising he was going up another level. She thanked him for his assistance and told him to have a good day. “There are still good men,” she said out loud as she opened the door that had ‘Hanson & Hanson’ written on it. She was startled by the loud ‘ding dong’ that sounded when she walked through and patted her chest.

  “Hi, I’m here to see John Hanson. I have an appointment at eleven,” Verity said as she approached the reception desk.

  “It’s seven past,” the woman behind the desk said.

  Verity folded her arms, “Right. I’m not sure if you came via the road works, road closures, traffic jams and delayed public transport this morning, but I did. I left home an hour and a half ago for a twenty minute bus ride. I did the best I could. Next time I’ll arrange to have my helicopter land on the roof and abseil in through the window so everybody is on time.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and picked up the phone, “Mr Hanson, Ms Sharpe is here.”

  Verity realised she was being snappy again and rubbed her hands nervously. She took a few deep breaths.

  “Miss Sharpe?”

  Verity turned around and saw a slim man in his forties wearing a suit and tie. “Are you Mr Hanson?”

  “Yes, please come into my office,” he said, gesturing her to the hallway.

  She followed him down to his office, where he closed the door and sat down opposite her. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Miss Sharpe, I’m John Hanson, and I was given the job of executing your father’s estate.”

  “What a great job, sounds like you’re killing it,” Verity smiled.

  John laughed, “I actually got that. Very good. Yes, so your father updated his Will with me after his divorce with provisions to ensure they were considered, and left you as the sole beneficiary of his monies and property.”

  “Wow, that’s crazy.”

  “I assisted your father with his divorce proceedings as well. He reached a very amicable agreement, more generous than I would have been in his situation. There is a provision that she can’t seek any more from his estate, but now we’re here.”

  Verity smiled, “So, he left me some money? That’s really nice. And he gave my mother money from the divorce. He was always good with money. He had a few university degrees and was always wise with his spending. I was very proud of him. It was a complete shock to me when I learned he died. I can’t even find out where he’s buried.”

  “I can help you with that,” John said, “We have a meticulous system here and we have to always have a person’s current address. If their address happens to be a plot number at a cemetery then that’s what we put. I’ll write it down for you.”

  “That’s so good. Thank you. I would love to see his final resting place.”

  “He’s buried next to your mother. She was a lovely woman.”

  Tears came to Verity’s eyes, “Oh no. No wonder she hasn’t been returning my calls. Here I was thinking she was just being cold and selfish as always. Oh, no, I’m such a bad daughter. I’ve lost another person.”

  “Are you alright, Miss Sharpe?”

  “No, I’m sorry. No one told when my father died and you just said that my mother was dead, and I didn’t know. I don’t know why they got buried next to each other if they’re divorced, but I assume my father alrea
dy had the plots organised and paid for. He was like that. He always planned ahead for everything. He was so organised and so good with money. He was such a calm and considerate man. I wish I was more like that. I wish he was still alive to help me be a better person.”

  John came around his desk and sat at the second chair next to Verity. He offered her a box of tissues. “Miss Sharpe, I know that you must love and miss your father, but I’m a little confused about what you just said. Your mother died nineteen years ago. Your father was buried next to her because that’s what he wanted.”

  “What?” Verity asked, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “Your mother, I knew your mother, I’ve known your parents for thirty years. Your mother died when you were around three years of age. You don’t remember her?”

  Verity wiped her face and shook her head, “My mother, the woman I’ve always known as my mother, Carole, she divorced my dad a couple of years ago but no one told me. I didn’t find out until I came home from university last year. Are you saying that she’s not my mother? Is that why she won’t return my calls? She doesn’t want anything to do with me because she’s not my mother? That’s why she didn’t come to my graduation? Not because she was upset with my dad about the divorce, but because she’s not my mother?”

  John nodded, “I was disappointed when he married Carole. She was very cold compared to Kate. She wasn’t the sort of person I could warm to either. When he came to me and said that she wanted a divorce I said he should take it and ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’. She was vacuous and self-obsessed, and I believe that she took advantage of him in his period of mourning over your mother.”

  “She’s not my mother?”

  John shook his head, “But if I were you, I’d be happy about that. Especially because she’s contesting your father’s Will and demanding that she receive at least half of his remaining assets.”