Repo Part 1 (At the office)

“Here comes the sun king. . . . Everybody’s happy . . . everybody’s laughing . . .”

Jason stirred under his 13-TOG duvet. The bulge of his body moved, but not the tangle of brown hair sticking out like the trimmed fronds of a large carrot. A few seconds later an arm slid out and his hand groped the clock-radio.

“. . . here comes the sun king….”

Jason’s torso breached the duvet, his eyes squinting from the light of the first-day-of-the-rest-of-his-life. Remembering the new ring-tone he’d downloaded last night, he lunged at his Galaxy.

“Everybody’s happ— ”

The phone confirmed he’d missed a call. After swiping his sleepy finger across the screen it explained Mandy Connell, his boss, called. The green icon got her back in less than half a minute.

‘Yes?’

‘Did I wake you up?’

No. I was boning Cameron Diaz.  

‘Yes. As a matter-of-fact you did.’ He noticed the time: 8.14am. ‘You’re up early.’

‘You’re up late.’ Mandy always answered accusation with accusation.

‘I’m on afternoons today. Remember?

‘You think I’d forget?’

‘Not really.’

‘I’ve got an urgent job for you.’

‘Now?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘What’s up?’

‘We had two repos arrive last night. I want them valued by this afternoon.’

Jason hated valuing repossessions. Sifting through other people’s misery depressed him and with so many flooding in, doubly so.

‘What’s the rush? Anyway, where’s Kate?

‘She’s been transferred to the West Park office.’

The market was flat. Lay-offs.

‘Tim’s gone then?’

‘How should I know.’

Lying bitch.

‘So what’s the rush? It’s only repos.’

The bank wants them sold fast and so didn’t specify a lower limit. I want to get some offers in ASAP, before they change their minds.’

‘Ah, the commission.’

‘Commission for the company.’

Besides being a regular estate agents, the company specialised in handling bank repossessions. They always got first refusal. Mandy never refused.

‘Which bank?’

‘The Spanish outfit. Can you go? I’ll make it up to you.’

“Make it up to you,” meant getting to keep his job a bit longer.

‘I need to go to Tesco’s first, there’s nothing in the house.’

‘There’s a Tesco’s round the corner from one of them. Leave that one till last, then go get your ready-made Rogan Josh – or whatever you bachelors eat – when you’ve finished.’

Fuck you, Mandy.

‘I don’t eat ready-made, I cook everything from fresh, and Fee’s moving in this weekend.’

‘Oh, good. That means you won’t stink-out the office fridge with the smell of curry and it’s about time you married that girl.’

‘You mean you want me to come to the office this afternoon?’

‘Silly question Jason.’

‘Okay Mandy, I’ll be in about ten.’

‘Try to make it nine-thirty, darlin’.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘See you at nine-thirty, Jason.’

He closed his mobile, scratched his balls and threw back the duvet.

Never work for a frigging woman!

 

Cruising slowly along High Street, Jason looked for a gap in the endless line of stationary vehicles. No luck. Goat Street car park again.

Grudgingly pushing a £1 coin into the slot machine, he bought a self-adhesive ticket telling him he had till 10.23am before his time ran out. Always a quandary. Probably he’d be back in fifteen minutes and he’d have wasted 50p. One the other hand, Mandy might keep him talking and he’d have to run back to the car, sweating cobs, or risk a £25 fine.

Outside the display window, he checked his watch before pushing open the wide glass door of Johnson’s Estates sales office: 9.29am.

‘Morning, Mandy.’

Closing her lap-top, she made a show of looking at the clock. She pointed to the chair in front of her desk with her index finger, its claw-like purple painted nail decorated with a gold lotus motif.

‘Good morning, Jason.’

He sat down, and she handed him an A4 sheet with the addresses of the properties and their GPS co-ordinates. A Victorian terrace in a dangerous corner of town was the first on the list. The last time he’d been there it’d cost him two years off his no-claims bonus and his insurance company a paint job. The second, a newish detached on a fashionable middle class development – as Mandy said: a five-minute drive from a superstore.

Today, his boss wore a beige suede jacket, unbuttoned over a low neck bottle green cotton jumper. Jason concentrated on not glancing at the tops of her ample, forty-five year-old breasts. With a smirk on her face Mandy peered into his eyes over her Gucci readers knowing he would break and look down eventually: She knew she was fit.

‘Where’s the keys?’ he asked, holding her gaze.

Mandy leaned back, her cleavage shifted sensuously. Jason broke. Mandy smiled; Jason Blushed.

‘A courier’s bringing them. Should be here in about fifteen minutes. . . . Coffee?’

He managed a nod.

‘I’ll get them,’ he said getting to his feet, glad of the chance to look away.

‘No. It’s alright. I’ll do it. You’d better get the Camera.’

She stood up and headed to the back of the office where the coffee machine was kept. Her chocolate brown skirt clung to her swaying roundness. Jason watched her for about five seconds, then went over to the filing cabinet where the company’s Nikon was kept.

Better check the battery and memory card.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d arrived at a valuation, only to find the first was empty and the second was full. He switched the camera on and squinted through the viewfinder. The icons indicated the batteries were healthy and the memory card quarter full. He panned around and caught Mandy in the frame as she bent down to place a tray on her desk. The auto-focus sharpened her image.

‘Don’t you dare.’

Click.

‘Just testing it.’ Jason looked at the image and raised his eyebrows. ‘Nice.’

‘You’d better delete that.’

‘It’s a good one. Look.’ he handed the machine over.

Mandy took the Nikon, her expression scolding. Her features softened when she peered at the viewer. She saw herself gazing back, captured in the gentle morning light. Her blonde-grey hair cascading across her face. And that cleavage! She looked fifteen years younger. It was very flattering and if there was one thing Mandy craved, it was flattery.

She’s laughing, she’s actually laughing.

It was more of a girlish giggle. She gave the camera back. ‘Just delete it,’ she said, but her sparkling eyes were saying, ‘Keep it.’

‘Don’t you want it for your desktop?’

‘Maybe I’ll—’

‘Mizz Connell?’

She looked over to the door. ‘Yes?’

‘TNT. Delivery.’

Flirting over, Mandy was Mandy again as she aproached a skinny youth in a day-glo orange jacket. His head was encased in a beach-ball sized crash-helmet, making him look top-heavy.

‘Sign here Ma’am.’

He stared at her tits, while she focused on his clipboard and signed a paper. She returned it, tipping her head to one side, her sideways look telling him she knew he was staring, but didn’t care.

‘Thanks.’

He avoided her eyes and handed her an A4 padded envelope. He said a muffled, ‘See you,’ from behind his helmet and left as quietly as he came.

Cheeky little bugger.

Mandy sashayed to her desk and passed the envelope to Jason. He opened it and tipped the contents onto the desk. Two bunches of keys fell out, each labelled with an address. The pair busied themselves separating the keys, labelling fobs and drinking coffee. When they finished, Jason took two fobs with the relevant keys attached.

‘You’d better stop by Stanhope’s and get another set of copies cut, just in case.’

‘Okay.’

‘Don’t forget to get a receipt.’

At five quid a key d’you think I’d forget ?

‘No, I won’t.’

Jason finished his coffee, packed everything in his pilot’s case and left the sales office. He returned to his car at 10.17am, pleased he’d not wasted his pound.