Chapter 2

The adrenalin rush from finally getting a proper, well-paid job - and such a fascinating employer too - lasted all the way home and made the journey less painful. But soon after she got back the pain and nausea returned and she decided to have a rest. She had had no lunch and ought to be hungry, but the thought of food revolted her insides. She had been plagued this way exactly every 28 days since just before turning 13. She nearly failed one of her O-level exams - the one bad grade on otherwise excellent school papers - due to this affliction and she had lost one job, possibly two, on account of being sick from her period.

Her mother had told her it was likely to get better once she had her first baby, but since babies seemed a very far fetched proposition right now that promise didn't help her much. At least the suffering was brief. That is possibly what made it so intense, but Mr. Sanders had been right. In two days she would not only be feeling much better, it would be completely over.

She got up again in the late afternoon and was busy going through her wardrobe when her mother got home. "Mum! I got a job. A real job!" she yelled.

"Congratulations Jen," her mother said, coming up the stairs to Jennie. "That's nice. It is close by?"

"Not really," Jennie admitted. "It is close to the city, so there's a bit of a commute."

"Never mind," her mother replied. "Most people commute. What's the job?"

"Secretary slash receptionist in a high tech firm," Jennie replied.

"Large place?" her mother inquired.

"No," Jennie laughed. "It used to be. But they are still in their large premises and now they are rebuilding." She somehow didn't feel like telling her mother she was the only employee at the moment.

Her mother still looked sceptical. "That could be a worry. Are you sure you will ever see your pay?"

"Positive," Jennie replied. "It is personally owned by the Director and I believe he must be independently wealthy. He is also very generous. As the receptionist and his personal secretary I am supposed to dress up. I was given a cash allowance to jazz up my wardrobe a bit!"

"That is very generous," her mother said. "How much?"

"Enough to pay back the £150 you lent me and still have a shopping spree tomorrow," Jennie said excitedly. "He gave me £500!!"

"Lord!" her mother said, and she was for once not being pious. "That is a lot of money Jen. He must have great expectations from you." She folded the three £50 notes Jennie handed her and put them in a pocket.

"I believe he does," Jennie said with satisfaction. "I also had to sign a confidentiality clause a mile long. I think he has been through a rough patch with dishonest people. He implied he wanted someone new that he could rely on - and was willing to ensure I wouldn't look elsewhere for better pay."

"Well, that's fair enough. What does he intend to pay you?" her mother asked

"£500 a week," Jennie replied. "That's £400 after tax!"

"Jesus!" her mother exclaimed, for the second time forgetting all about not taking the Lord's name in vain. "That's more than your father makes!"

Jennie didn't reply to that. She had suspected as much and worried about his reaction to that. Besides, she resented having her mother's husband referred to as 'her father'. He was not. He had married her mother when Jennie was three or four and even forced her to take his surname too. Her own father she could not remember - he had been cut out of her life completely, yet Jennie saw him every time she looked herself in the mirror. Her red hair, her emerald green eyes, her freckled skin - and her beauty - were the lasting gifts of one Paddy O'Brien who had bowled over her mother some 23 years ago but had been frozen out shortly after Jennie was born by her mother's family and church connections who could not tolerate his easygoing nature. Jennie knew very little about her father; he was never spoken of and she only knew of his existence due to an aunt getting 'tired and emotional' one night and talking about him to Jennie's mother without either of them realising that Jennie was listening.

Her mother, slightly hard of hearing, failed to notice Jennie's silence and carried on. "Did you say you are shopping for clothes tomorrow?" she asked. "Aren't you going to work?"

"That's just it," Jennie replied. "I don't start until Thursday. A lot of stuff is being delivered tomorrow so there isn't much to do until Thursday. Besides Mr. Sanders noticed I had bad period pain and told me to get better first."

Her mother was impressed. "Well, that's a nice change from past experience. He sounds like a real gentleman!"

"I believe he is," Jennie said happily and continued sorting her clothes.

Her happiness lasted until about 10 minutes after her stepfather came home. She could hear her mother loudly relay the story of the new job downstairs and moments later Mr. Banks - a puffy eyed little rat of a man - was at her door. "Hand over!" he said with a greedy look on his face.

"What do you mean?" Jennie asked - genuinely bewildered.

"Don't be smart with me!" he said in a menacing voice. "The deal was clear. In the goodness of our hearts we took you back in. In return you hand over half of what you earn."

Jennie got a sinking feeling. He couldn't be doing this! "This was not pay!" she argued. "It was an allowance so I can buy the clothes I need to have for this job! I've already given Mum the £150 she lent me. If you take £250 I will only have £100 left. That is nowhere near enough for the clothes I need to buy!"

"Rubbish. £100 is plenty. No daughter of mine should be decked out like a tart!" Mr. Banks declared.

'I am not a daughter of yours!' Jennie thought, but didn't say anything. Still she looked obstinate and Mr. Banks upped the ante.

"Pay up now, or leave the house this instant!" he barked.

Defeated Jennie took five 50£ notes out of her purse and handed them to her stepfather without a word.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said with a smirk and patted her side making sure his thumb grazed Jennie's achingly tender breast.

Jennie felt like slapping him. She felt like yelling out to her mother that the sleazebag she had married was no better than a child-molester and had been ogling her and copping feels constantly since before Jennie even had any breasts to fondle. But she decided to bide her time. Revenge is a dish best served cold, she remembered. Mr. Banks would be made to pay - she swore he would. But now was not the time. She didn't let him get away with this latest outrage though. Her hand closed over his wrist like a vice and bent his lower arm outwards, a move she had learned in self-defence classes in school and designed to cause maximum pain.