The Voice - Part Four

(warning: contains non-consensual sex)

"So, did they arrive?" asked Sandra, shoving a piece toast into the yolk of a fried egg. The bright yellow liquid spread like sunshine over the white plate.

"What? Oh, yes, they did." A smile spread across Jillian's face, but she sat motionless, grinning at her friend.

"And? What?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Of course I want to know. How did you do?"

Jillian raised an eyebrow and began to rummage around in her purse, tugging out a folded sheet of paper. She held it to her chest.

Sandra dropped her piece of toast and reached across the table, snatching at it. Leaning back in her chair, Jillian kept the paper from her for a few seconds, before relinquishing it. "Don't get your mucky finger marks all over it, alright?"

Holding it up between her ring and pinkie fingers, Sandra shook the sheet open and read quickly. Joy lit up her face.

"Oh, my Lord! One, two - no - three! Three 'A's and a 'B+'. That's wicked! Why didn't you tell me before our shift started, you cow?"

Jillian shrugged. "I just wanted to keep it to myself for a bit. I couldn't believe it when I read it. I did put a lot of effort into the subjects, but I never expected this." She took the transcript back and looked at it lovingly. "Just one more term left. Just one."

Sandra, who was in the middle of bringing her mug of tea to her mouth, put it back down on the table. "And then...and then you'll be gone." She looked down at the half-eaten breakfast in front of her. "I'll miss you, you know," she said quietly.

For a moment, silence reigned at the table, and then Jillian snorted a laugh. "Don't be daft. Who in the world hires a person with a Masters in the Classics? I'll probably be pouring smut down a telephone line next to you when I'm eighty."

Sandra shook her head with vehemence. "No. That's not true. You're clever, you're good with words, you've worked so hard. There's a job out there for you somewhere. A real job."

"Oh yes! They're lining up! 'Please expound on the Trojan Wars for us, Miss Brumley,' they're pleading." It was Jillian's turn to shake her head. "The best I could get is a job as a tutor, and it pays a lot less than phone-sex, I promise you."

"Don't say that!" moaned Sandra. "You've got to think positively. Maybe you could get a job at the British Museum."

Jillian giggled. "In the mummy room! Keeping them all stiff!"

 

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