The Debt & the Doormat by Laura Barnard Page A

bedroom and jump into bed takes over me.  I’d happily never resurface from the layers of warm duvet. 
    ‘Pops?’ Jazz’s voice bellows from the sitting room. 
    ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I say, suddenly excited to see her. 
    I almost run into the sitting room with my arms open.  It feels like years since I’ve seen her. 
    Jazz’s panicked face greets me as I turn the corner, her normally loose curls pulled up into a rough bun.  She’s wearing dungarees with a bikini underneath.  She keeps looking down at her feet and back at my face.  Why is she looking so worried?
    ‘I wanted to wait until it was finished before I showed you,’ she says, smiling warily. 
    ‘What?’  But before the word is even out of my mouth I realise. 
    I look around the room, my mouth on the floor.  Dust sheets are on everything, newspaper on the carpet.  There’s a paintbrush in her hand.  The walls are red.  Red!  Post box red.  My gorgeous magnolia walls are gone.
    ‘Oh my God,’ I gasp, suddenly out of breath from the shock.
    ‘Please don’t over-react,’ she pleads.  ‘It’s not finished yet and when it is it will look fab.  I promise you.’
    I sigh heavily and collapse onto the sofa, the dust sheet crumpling underneath me.  ‘Didn’t you think to ask?’ I sigh again, exhausted from her un-predictable behaviour. 
    ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it!’ she laughs, carefree as always.
    ‘Oh, whatever.’ 
    There’s no point in arguing with her when she’s like this.  She’ll get her own way in the end anyway, a product of parents that spoilt her rotten.  I look at the tins of paint, trying to work out if she’s planning on painting the entire room this colour.  I’m hoping it's just a feature wall.  Then it dawns on me that she must have spent a fortune on it.  She’s not supposed to be spending!
    ‘How did you pay for this?  And don’t tell me, you’ve been so busy doing this you haven’t had a chance to go to the agencies or ring your credit card people?  Bloody typical.’
    ‘Are you quite finished?’ she asks, smiling smugly.  ‘Because I have been to the agencies.  Not only have I been, but I’ve had an interview...’ her smile brightens, ‘and I’ve got a job!’
    ‘What?’ I shout excitedly.  ‘You’ve got a job already?’
    ‘I know!  It’s fab isn’t it.  I thought I’d be searching for ages, but they sent me straight to this interview and offered it to me on the spot.  They seemed a bit desperate, but who cares, right?  I got it, that's the main thing.’
    ‘Totally!  I just can’t believe how lucky you’ve been.’  Only Jazz could be this lucky.  ‘What’s it doing?’
    ‘Well, it’s only a shitty marketing assistant role and the money’s rubbish, but its full time.  Like you said, it’s regular money isn’t it.  I start tomorrow!’
    ‘Exactly!’ I exclaim, still shocked. 
    Wow – she really is listening to me.  I can’t actually believe she’s been so easy to crack. 
    ‘So, did you ring the credit card companies?’
    ‘Yeah, but they weren’t really helpful.  They just said that I still need to make my minimum payment each month or else they’ll take further action.’
    ‘Oh, well I was thinking anyway.  You need to transfer all of those debts onto an interest free credit card.  That way you’ll only pay off the debt.’
    ‘I know,’ she nods, ‘that's what your Dad said.  I’ve sent off to Virgin and they’ve accepted it in principle.  They’re sending me through my details and then I can make all of the transfers.’
    ‘Sorry?  Did you just say my Dad?’
    ‘Yep.  He rang last night and we had a long chat.  Good old Douggie,’ she smiles affectionately.  ‘I told him everything and he said it’d be the best thing to do.  He was really helpful.  I think he was just glad to have someone that would listen to him, you know?’
    Unfortunately I do know what she means.  My Mum, although I love her