Catcher Told Me I Was Rotten

>Eight:

Jack's voice made her jump.

"Lottie, you know that if you need to study, I can pick up your shift at the charity thing, right?"

She hadn't realised how stooped she'd been over her desk, like a haggard old crone, fingers curling crookedly round the edges of a book. Her mind briefly drifted, as she wondered why he was choosing that precise moment to drag her out of her concentration – but laying eyes on the clock, and seeing that she only had about forty-five minutes before this gala that she was meant to be serving at, Lottie understood why.

"It's quarter past five! Oh, sugar, I didn't even see. Alright, I'm going, I'm gettin' up." She snapped the tome in front of her shut and stumbled to her feet, raking her fingers back through her dishevelled dishwater locks. God, time had ran away with her – she'd have to do something with her hair, and find a decent black dress that would allow her to blend in while she served canapes. Well, not blend in¸ per se – everyone would know that she was part of 'the help', in any case, but she needed to look smart if she wanted more opportunities to work with the catering company that she and Jack had both managed to wrangle a job with. It was important to be smart about it. "It's only four hours or something, anyway, I can manage it."

"You know if you run yourself into the ground with all this extra work, you'll fuck up your interview again?"

"I need the money, Jack," she called, already on her way to the bathroom. She reckoned she'd have enough time for a quick shower, if she was efficient about it. Maybe brush her teeth and shave at the same time, and risk the rash and the bleeding gums to make up for some lost time.

It was true. Although her parents had vowed to cover all of her housekeeping costs, when they said living, they meant bread and water rations. Lottie had to live live, damn it. If she wanted to buy herself new clothes or socialize every six months, then that necessitated having to find a part time job that paid well and had manageable hours. This meant the horrors of the culinary industry; where if you weren't getting screamed at by your superiors, it was the customers' wrath you had to contend with. It also meant coming home at two in the morning, stinking of smoke and grease, but it was workable outside of school hours, and that was the important part.

There was a particularly expensive little number that was crushed at the bottom of Lottie's wardrobe; black, with a skater skirt that grazed her lower thigh. She needed something to bling up the top section, though, which was plain, long sleeves, with a sweetheart neckline. What had she worn the last –

Ah, yes, something else of Louise's. A string of pearls. Lottie was of the opinion that they made her look like a five year old, dressing up in costume jewellery, but it was better than the alternative. Shoes, shoes...

Later, Lottie reflected gratefully on the fact that she'd chosen practical pumps, owing to the fact that she'd had to walk to the stupid train station, spending an hour in a tin can of bad body odour and sounds that grated on her ears. Well, it was trainers, on account of the fact that it was raining like it would never, ever end, right up until the venue; a ridiculously posh hotel that was already glowing from the inside.

The back entrance was up a set of steps. Lottie quickly pulled her pumps on, before instantly regretting the decision, but it was too late by then – it was all she could do to squelch up the stairs as quickly as possible and wince through the feeling of the water soaking into her tights.

"You're very nearly late, love, Lottie – oh, for God's sake, you look like a drowned rat. Come on, now, you're meant to be front of the house!" Her manager, Sue, was already in her place at the kitchen counter, cocoa powder coating her apron and brushed across the pale skin of her nose. Frazzled, was the right word. "Come on, go clean yourself up in the break room, go on now. For the love of god, I know the weather's shite, but try and do something about that hair, okay?"