Musclebound by Liza Cody

gate for the men. Butwere they grateful? They were about as grateful as school kids with homework.
    ‘You stupid cow,’ the foreman said. ‘We’ve been out here yelling and hooting for half a fuckin’ hour.’
    ‘I got the flu,’ I said. ‘I’m a sick woman.’
    ‘Oh you’re sick all right,’ he said. ‘You been “sick” for weeks and it’s the sick you find in a bottle. You want to buck your ideas up or I’ll report you.’
    ‘Report your own haemorrhoids,’ I said, and I went to feed the dogs.
    At least
they
had some food left. But it turned my guts over, dolloping it out for them, so maybe I really did have the flu. I had the sweats too and someone was driving a nine-inch nail through my skull. I went back to bed for five minutes.
    Well it seemed like five minutes. And then someone knocked on my door. Now, maybe I told you, maybe I ain’t, but a knock on my door is a major event, and it usually means bother. I get visitors like a super-model gets spots, and that’s hardly ever, but when it happens there’s trouble.
    So I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and lay doggo.
    But after a while the rat-a-tat turned to whump-a-thump. I thought, Simone! She’s come back to ‘pologise. I went to the door and squinted through one of the spyholes.
    It wasn’t Simone. All I could see was a tobacco-coloured eye squinting back at me and I thought, Harsh!
He’s
come back to ‘pologise.
    So I opened the door. But it wasn’t Harsh. I didn’t know who it was but he looked familiar.
    ‘Yo,’ he said. ‘Remember me?’
    ‘No,’ I said, and tried to close the door.
    ‘Keif,’ he said. ‘Yesterday.’
    ‘What about yesterday?’
    ‘We met yesterday. With Phil Julio. You said you was looking for a personal trainer.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘So here I am. Yours for the asking.’
    ‘Wha’?’
    ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Do you or do you not want a sodding personal trainer? Or am I getting wet in a fuckin’ junk-yard for sod-all?’
    ‘I din’t ask you – I asked Harsh.’
    ‘Harsh ain’t available,’ he said. Raindrops were sliding helter-skelter down his corkscrew hair. ‘Do you want what’s on offer or not?’
    ‘All right,’ I said. ‘But not today. I got flu. An’ I ain’t had no breakfast.’
    ‘Breakfast?’ he said. ‘It’s teatime. And you’ve got flu like I’ve got lace undies.’
    ‘Teatime?’ I peered past him and, too true, it was getting dark. The men were beginning to pack up and go home. I felt queasy and I didn’t have the beans to keep him out no longer so he came in.
    ‘Well, blow in my ear and call me Mary,’ he said, looking around. ‘Have you had burglars or what?’
    ‘Burglars?’ I looked around too. I couldn’t think how I’d made such a mess and not noticed. Then I remembered the toothbrush. ‘I was looking for something,’ I said. But the more I looked the messier it seemed and I suddenly thought about going out with Simone to the Fir Tree. I forgot the dogs, din’t I? And if the dogs weren’t out protecting the yard, anyone could of walked in and pinched my wad.
    I rushed outside into the rain. I was in a panic. My wad was mine. I didn’t want to be poor again before I’d had a chance to get used to being rich. But the dogs were all snarly from being woken up too early and there, nailed to the wall, was the Puma bag – all safe and sound. I goosed it and unzipped it just to make sure.
    And then I thought, who the fuck cares if someone got in last night? If the dogs were penned up they were penned with my pennies. So I hadn’t been a doodle for forgetting them, had I? I’d been smart. So suck on that. Which made me pretty mellow walking back to the Static.
    ‘Why you always so vex?’ Keif said. ‘I never knew a girl so scratchy.’
    ‘I ain’t vex,’ I said, ‘cos I wasn’t. ‘If you can’t take the heat …’
    ‘Oh I can take the heat,’ he said. ‘Question is, can you?’
    ‘Forged in the furnace, me,’ I said, ‘cos I was.
    ‘You