‘That’s a nice thought, Stella. Thank you. But I couldn’t, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘I have a job. Starting next month.’
‘A job?’ My mother has a job?
‘At the school. It’s only part-time but it’s something.’ She looks down at the baking tray in her hand. ‘I want to contribute, to take the pressure off your dad when he comes home.’
‘That’s great, Mum, well done. You’re not going to be a dinner lady are you?’
‘As a matter of fact I am.’ Oops. ‘We’re called Lunchtime Assistants now, though.’
‘That’s great, Mum,’ I say again, giving her a little hug and a pat on the back. ‘Don’t let those little shits give you any grief.’
‘I won’t,’ she says seriously. ‘I’ve had quite enough grief, thank you.’
In the past I would have taken this as a dig at me – probably with good reason. But this time I let it pass with a chuckle and she laughs too, and then I’m aware that we are having a nice time, my mum and me, just hanging out, doing stuff. I want to tell her, ‘See, you don’t have to go shopping to have a good time,’ but I don’t.
Instead I have one of those spooky flashbacks where I remember Lipsy saying almost exactly the same thing to me recently. And I realise that this was what bothered me at the time: she was accusing me of being the same as my mother.
I sit back on my heels to think about it. Do I really use shopping as a substitute for having a life? Do I look for “stuff” to make me happy, to give my life meaning, the way my mum does? I’d like to say a categorical ‘No’ here, but then I remember my list of things I can’t live without and how heavy it is with rather pointless objects.
‘Penny for them,’ my mother says to me.
‘They’re not worth a penny,’ I tell her, truthfully.
I go back to cleaning, trying to shake off this feeling that is threatening to spoil my good mood. My mother has another bit of news for me: she has a new lodger.
‘At least Billy’s here now to keep an eye on you,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
‘Oh, don’t be such an old woman, Stella.’
Well, excuse me for caring!
‘Besides,’ she says. ‘It’s a girl. Anne’s daughter – remember Anne? – is working at the hospital and she needs a place to stay. Her mum and dad are paying her rent so it’s pretty much guaranteed. Isn’t that great?’
I nod, unsure. ‘But what about when dad gets home? Don’t you want to have the place to yourselves?’
She shifts herself over to the next cupboard and I follow, shuffling on my knees. ‘Ideally,’ she says. ‘But we don’t live in an ideal world, Stella. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, have things not quite as you want them so you can have them right one day. I’ve made a lot of mistakes – and other people have paid for them. Mainly your father.’ I look away at this. We still haven’t really discussed it and I’m not sure I want to. It’s between the two of them, nothing to do with me. If my dad forgives her then that’s all that matters.
As if reading my mind, she says, ‘If you’re very, very lucky sometimes you get a second chance. And if you’re very, very clever, you don’t blow it.’ She gives me a smile and I wonder if she’s always been this wise or if it’s a recent acquisition.
‘Sometimes,’ she carries on, rubbing an ugly old teapot absently, ‘you have to back down, be the one to say you’re sorry. If you don’t want to lose the person you love.’
It seems as though she’s still taking about herself and dad here, but I’m starting to see through it. I’m not stupid. She is talking about me and Paul.
‘And sometimes it’s only by doing the backing down that you can show someone how much you really love them. Don’t you think?’ she turns to look at me, her face an open book.
But not one I’m about to read.
‘Is that the time?’ I look at my wrist even though I don’t actually wear a watch. ‘I’ve got to go.’ And I’m out of the door before she can try and stop me.
Honestly, some people. They just don’t know how to quit when they’re ahead.
Chapter 27
First thing Monday morning I hand in my notice at Smart Homes.
This has not been a snap decision. I spent all last night thinking about it. And this morning, as I crept around the house so as not to wake Lipsy, I asked myself, ‘What have you got to lose?’
The answer? A regular salary and possibly a best friend but apart from that, nothing. And sometimes – this is my own brand of wisdom, not my mother’s – sometimes you have to let something go to make room for something better. Create a vacuum. Nature hates a vacuum, apparently.
Of course, I don’t mean Paul. I’m not planning on making room for someone better than him – I don’t think such a person exists. Except for his fatal flaw of always believing the worst about me and being too stubborn to talk about it, he’s my ideal man.
And I’ve gone and ruined it. Of course I’m upset, but maybe not as upset as I would be if I was ten years younger. At my age you learn to take things in your stride. Besides, I never really had him did I? Can’t miss what you never had.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m absolutely devastated, and when I walk into the office and see him in his navy suit (my favourite, the git), my legs turn to jelly and I need to sit down immediately. Maybe I should stay working here just so I can see him every day. Maybe in time we’d get around to sorting it all out and build up our friendship all over again.
Or maybe I’d turn into a shrivelled old prune watching him get together with some gorgeous other woman, meanwhile abandoning my dreams and my father to boot.
I stand up tall and square my shoulders, marching into Paul’s enclave as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. ‘Here,’ I say, thrusting the envelope at him. The letter inside was hastily handwritten this morning. ‘You probably won’t be too disappointed to get this.’
He looks at me and then at the white envelope. ‘What is it?’ The sound of his voice makes me want to cry. I notice that his eyes are red and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days either.
‘It’s my notice,’ I tell him, trying to keep my own voice steady. ‘I’ve given you a month but I’m thinking you most likely just want to see the back of me.’ Giving him my bravest look, I say, ‘So I can pack up and leave now if you want me to.’
Inside I’m thinking: Please don’t let me go, please tell me to stay.
He looks like he’s just been smacked in the mouth. For a second the room seems to spin, the ground underneath me unsteady. I wonder if I am making a huge mistake. Then something passes over his face and his expression becomes unreadable. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he says quietly. ‘Go now if you want to. I guess we can manage.’
I must have imagined that he was upset. Clearly he couldn’t give a shit.
‘OK,’ I say, wishing I didn’t sound as though I was about to cry. ‘I will then.’ And I turn on my heel and walk back into the office, where the stunned silence tells me that every person in here has heard every word. The sooner I get out of here the better.
At my desk I quickly pack a box with my pathetic personal effects: a fluffy pen Lipsy bought for me; a birthday card from Bonnie with a particularly hunky bloke on it; a toy bear wearing a knitted jumper, a present from Paul. This I decide to leave behind.
Loretta snakes across the room and positions herself behind her own desk for safety before directing her attention to me. ‘You’re not
leaving
us are you, Stella?’ she says in her sugary-sweet voice.
I stand up and walk over to her desk slowly. I know this mess was partly her doing, and I know what she hopes to gain by it. I also know she has absolutely no chance with Paul, and I’m almost sorry I won’t be around to watch her crash and burn.
With one good slap I could wipe that self-satisfied smile off her face and give her something to remember me by. Maybe it would make her think twice before messing with anyone else. I lean in. She shrinks back. It’s so tempting. What do I have to lose? Not my job. And not Paul.
Only my self-respect.
Standing in the middle of the office, I look around and take in the glossy displays, the banks of filing cabinets and the familiar furniture. I take a deep breath and smile at Susan and Joe, and then I look back at Loretta.
‘You know what?’ I tell her, still smiling. ‘You’re not worth it, Loretta. You’re a sad little woman with no life, and I’m moving on to bigger and better things.’
There is a little squeal behind me and Susan starts clapping. Joe joins in, before breaking off and looking down, embarrassed. I give Susan a wide grin and tell her, ‘Don’t let her start on you now, OK?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Joe buts in, fixing Loretta with a steely look. ‘I won’t let that happen.’
Now it’s Susan’s turn to look embarrassed. Well, well. Seems there’s been more than one romance blossoming at Smart Homes. I hope this one’s more successful.
I look across to Paul’s cubbyhole, but all I can see is the back of his head. This would be a good time for him to come out and wish me luck for the future. Better still, to come out and tell me he’s sorry, and that he loves me, and wants to be with me forever.
But he doesn’t come out at all.
So I walk out into the Milton Keynes’ sunshine and leave Smart Homes behind me without a second glance.
I am moving on to pastures new. I am completely terrified.
***
Paul watched Stella stalk out of the office, willing himself to get up and go after her. He didn’t want her to leave, not like this. But then again, if they couldn’t sort things out between them it would be hell working side by side every day. Maybe she’d done the right thing. Maybe it was time for both of them to move on.
Who was he kidding? There was no way he wanted to move on. And he definitely didn’t want Stella to. But what could he do? She’d made her decision, and she clearly had no intention of discussing it with him. He’d blown it – that was the truth he had to face. He’d hurt the woman he loved, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Or maybe there was. Paul kicked back from his desk and headed for the door, ignoring the wide surprised eyes of his staff. Outside, the sunlight was blindingly bright. He looked up and down the boulevard. Where was she? She had a box of stuff, she’d be headed for the car park. Paul ran, the breeze cooling his burning face, glad of his regular runs now as he weaved around each person who threatened to get in his way. No sign of her car; maybe she’d parked further away ...
He made it all the way to Lloyd’s Court before he finally gave up. He’d been too slow. Maybe, he thought as he walked slowly back to the office, maybe fate was just against them. Look how long they’d known each other, and they had never actually managed to get it together. Maybe they never would. It just wasn’t meant to be.
If he loved her, really loved her, maybe it was time to let her go.
Chapter 28
Paul plays heavily on my mind. Particularly when I’m asleep, for some reason. I have these really vivid dreams, every one of them featuring a blissfully happy Paul and me indulging in some bizarre or outrageous activity, like mud-wrestling in chocolate or flying over a mountain astride a silky black horse. Bonnie says it is my subconscious mind putting me in touch with my secret desires while simultaneously exorcising my failure to secure the love of my life. But then Bonnie says a lot of things. Especially when she’s drunk.
I am trying to get to sleep in her spare room after an excruciating dinner party where I’ve been introduced to not one but two “eligible” single blokes that Bonnie and Marcus think would be perfect for me. They weren’t.
To be honest, I only agreed to go through with the charade because I am sick to death of being alone in my house with no TV and no Lipsy. I even miss Robert. The two of them – the three of them – have gone away for a fortnight to Robert’s parents’ caravan in Southend. Classy, I said. Don’t be such a horrible snob, Lipsy said. We had an argument about it – some things never change.
But really, things are fine between us now, all that tiptoeing around replaced by something more robust. Like, I can tell her that her room is a mess or her music’s too loud, and she can tell me to sod off and mind my own business. And a few minutes later we’re laughing and it’s all forgotten. I never had that relationship with my own mum. I like it a lot.
At this precise moment in time, my granddaughter-to-be is ten whole weeks old inside the womb. I’m not so dense that I don’t realise this means the baby was almost certainly conceived the weekend of the fire – possibly at the exact same moment that my errant washing machine was setting fire to my house. How strange that these two events should have started in motion the worst run of luck I’ve ever had.
You don’t agree that the last ten weeks have been unlucky? Let’s consider the evidence.
First my house burns down. Unlucky. I have no insurance. Unlucky. (OK, more poor planning than bad luck. I’ve learned my lesson: I have insurance now.) Then I realise I’m in love with my long-time friend and boss. Lucky – to a point. He rejects me. Unlucky. See where I’m coming from?
Next, my ex turns up after sixteen years. Very unlucky. Teenage daughter falls pregnant by much older boyfriend. Unlucky. Love of my life catches me coming out of handsome neighbour’s house half-dressed and jumps to wrong conclusion. Yes, unlucky. I have to give up my regular, well-paid job, much to the glee of spiteful arch enemy. Un– you guessed it.
I rest my case.
But, I hear you argue, good things have happened too. Like, I have a grandchild on the way. My daughter and I, once estranged, are arguing healthily again. I am reconciled with my father, and my brother. And my mother – the real surprise. Earning a living, not going shopping, paying off those credit cards and really excited about my dad coming home. They’re even talking about renewing their vows. And I thought the next marriage in the family might have been mine …
And I’m about to embark on an exciting new venture with most of my family along for the ride. OK, OK, I get the picture. I’m not that unlucky.
Maybe I just had to go through the crap stuff to get to the good stuff.
I wish that included Paul, though. I really do. As I sat at Bonnie’s dining table tonight, eating something Marcus had concocted from the latest Jamie Oliver book (that man has a lot to answer for), I felt as though a part of me was missing. I should be part of a couple, with Paul at my side, laughing and joking with each other in that exclusive way couples have, rolling our eyes at the other’s exploits, sneaking off into the kitchen for a cuddle under the pretence of getting more wine.