Going Up and Going Down (6 page)

Mum and Dad
were delighted for me and after some persuasion I think they both agreed that
it would probably be more beneficial than seeing the therapist. They reminded
the next morning that I should call the other accountancy firms and inform them
I had been offered a position elsewhere which after careful consideration I had
accepted. I made the calls to those companies and then wrote to Mr Gillespie
telling him that I did not wish to carry on with our appointments or to pursue
a meeting with the C.B.T.

My life was
quite dull for the next two years whilst I spent most of my spare time studying
for my A.A.T. (Association of Accounting Technicians). I was enjoying working
for the Hopkins Partnership and my first impression of Mr Hopkins had been
right. He was an excellent accountant and had the utmost patience when dealing
with trainees. He always explained things clearly and concisely and was willing
to help with my studies if I ever found myself struggling to understand my
assignments. Fortunately I never needed to ask for that help. Another thing I
was fast learning is that there was nothing Mr Hopkins liked better than
joining in with a bit of fun and gossip in the staff kitchen at lunchtimes. All
the staff were extremely fond of him (as were his clients) and at practical
jokes, he was master class.

My studies for
A.A.T. were going to take about two years and if I managed to pass my exams I
intended to do further studying and become a Chartered Accountant. Mr Hopkins
gave me every encouragement, constantly reminding me that his offer of help was
always there if I needed it.

I didn’t much
bother with a social life; I hardly ever went out other than the occasional
hour or two in the pub with colleagues after work on a Friday. I had a decent
holiday with my parents each year  plus the odd visits to Dad’s apartment in Paris. I occasionally went out on a date and I’d had a couple of steady boyfriends (nothing
lasting more than two or three months) but they didn’t work out from my point
of view, and I tried to find the kindest way to end the relationships. One
thing that was pleasing was that my O.C.D. very rarely surfaced. I was
obsessive about having a tidy desk and bedroom and I still washed my hands more
than anybody I knew, but the frantic cleaning of the house, and scrubbing my
arms with the nail brush had stopped completely.

Some days at
work ended up quite tiring where audits were concerned and I often had to travel,
along with one or two of my colleagues, to various limited companies to carry
out an annual audit after their financial year end. Some firms made us really
welcome and went out of their way to clear spare desks for us and yet there
were places that almost had us sitting in what could best be described as a
store room where the radiator didn’t work (if there was one) and our only work
surface was a decorator’s pasting table. Usually at these businesses we could
go all day without even being offered a cup of tea or coffee.

On one of my
audits during my second year of studying I was stunned to bump into Alex
Baker-Thompson in the corridor on my way back from the loo (the boy from my
schooldays, who was caught by the bullies fingering me behind the bike-sheds).
We chatted in the corridor for quite some time and he told me he was employed
as a draughtsman by the company we were auditing. He asked how Uni had gone for
me. Not feeling the need to mention the Gavin situation I told him I had been
really ill so was forced to quit. I saw him most days for the next fortnight
until our audit was complete. On the last day Alex asked me out - just as
friends. I didn’t think it could do any harm (he was still quite dishy). Maybe
he would be able to tell me what had happened with some of the other people
from school - where they were now, who was married, or any other gossip about
them all, so I said yes. I didn’t actually care about where my bullies were but
I looked forward to having a proper catch up. We exchanged mobile numbers and
he promised to get in touch over the following week or so.

We met outside
King’s Cross at early one Saturday evening later the same month and walked arm
in arm around London for a couple of hours. We exchanged our family news,
shared holiday experiences and things in general. I felt sorry for him when he
told me about a girl he had been seeing for five months. Her father had taken
some sudden dislike to Alex and told her in no uncertain terms to call it off.
It was quite clear that Alex had really liked the girl and was still puzzling
over what he had done to make her father turn against him. After a few minutes
of searching we came across a cosy little restaurant and over our meal we
discussed some of the kids from school. Alex hadn’t been in touch with his
school friends for quite some time and had very little gossip to report.
However, he had read in one of the national newspapers that one of my bullies
(Ann Stead) had died in a tragic car crash, about eighteen months previously.

We had a couple
more casual dates before Alex asked if I would consider being his girlfriend. I
wasn’t sure - I was over Gavin, but I still hadn’t been able to forget the hurt
he’d caused me. I told him that I wasn’t really looking for a relationship and
that my studies consumed almost all of my spare time. I told him that I would
like it if we could still continue to meet up as friends and though he looked
disappointed he reluctantly agreed.

We continued to
meet up each month for maybe three or four months and then one night (after we
both had way too much to drink), he tried to stick his hand in my undies and I
pushed him away. He was a bit taken aback and he responded aggressively,

“Come on,
Helen, you didn’t push me away behind the bike sheds. You were keen on getting
poked and
plenty
of lads poked you.” He made me sound like a slut and I
didn’t see it in the same way he did. We had been kids for heaven’s sake,
experimenting, doing what is natural – becoming sexually aware. I felt very
hurt by what he was implying.

“Alex, I
thought you were a nice guy, good-looking, funny, and I valued your friendship
– but I’m sorry, you have ruined it. I was a young girl at that time, just
finding out about sex and experimenting, maybe a little too much if I’m honest.
You thought I would be cheap. A dead certainty you’d get laid! You’ve offended
me!” I walked away, hailed a cab, and went home.

I still wasn’t
going out much. I had no close friends, no boyfriend and to tell the truth I
wasn’t too bothered. Any social life (if you could call it such) was spent with
Mum and Dad. I sometimes met up on a Saturday afternoon with the girls from
work. We mooched around the shops and went to a pub for a few drinks. They went
home to prepare for dates with their boyfriends - I went home to Mum and Dad -
and my studying. Not wanting my co-workers to think I was totally dull, I
invented a boyfriend, Justin. I had some exciting dates with him, got fed up
with him and a few weeks later I was seeing John (my next creation). I wasn’t
proud of myself telling lies, but it was far easier than having to explain why
I wasn’t interested in men – why I preferred to study. What if I had told them
the truth? I would probably have earned the label ‘oddball,’ started getting
strange looks from them all and would never get invited to the Saturday
shopping sessions ever again or anywhere else for that matter.

Dad tried
getting me back to his golf club (where I was a fully paid up member), but that
wasn’t for me. He started dropping hints (in a bid to tempt me) that there were
quite a few eligible bachelors with a really good handicap.

“You’d like
Thomas, sweetheart, he’s quite a dish. Well the ladies seem to like him
anyway.” I just laughed at him,

“You’re not
very subtle, Dad – stop trying to get me off your hands. Studying comes first;
I’m still young, for heaven’s sake.”

There was cause
for celebration later in the year when I achieved my A.A.T. qualification. My
parents were thrilled and as I started making moves for further studies -
towards getting my chartered recognition, Dad told me I needed a break from
studying for a while. He had booked a cruise for the three of us, my first
ever, during the Christmas and New Year period. I had to admit the weather in
England had been abysmal and lazing about in the Caribbean sun relaxing on a
lounger reading thrillers instead of accountancy, economics and contract law,
or doing nothing else but daydream sounded excellent. The day we boarded I met
people who were around my age group and we swam together, dined together and
danced until the early hours. The weather was perfect and I thoroughly enjoyed everything
about it. When the end of the holiday came we all swapped addresses, phone
numbers and email addresses, swearing to keep in touch and true to form - we
didn’t.

Mr Hopkins was
of the same opinion as Mum and Dad - thinking I needed a rest from studying. So
whilst all three of them thought I was having a few months’ break from
studying, I was going to bed early but my bedtime reading was the text books
that I had already purchased. I never left the books on my bedside cabinet for
Mum and Dad to find; I kept them hidden in a drawer beneath all my undies. But
what is it about parents - how do they always seem to know? I couldn’t help but
overhear a conversation between them one day – they both agreed they thought my
studying had become an obsession and was perhaps another outlet for my O.C.D.

I made more of
an effort to get out by joining a badminton class where some of my work
colleagues were also members. I went to the cinema once a month with the same
crowd. It surprised me to find how much I enjoyed the badminton -
after
the first four or five sessions at least. It had been exhausting, which was to
be expected really as I hadn’t done much in the way of physical exercise for so
long. Once I‘d learned more and was hitting great shots, winning some points
and understanding the scoring system better, my competitive streak came to the
fore and I was eager for Tuesday night to arrive each week. I was enjoying the
Saturday shopping and drinking sessions more than ever, because I was able to
join in with conversations about badminton and the latest films for the first
time. I was fitting in at last and the people I had always referred to as
colleagues were now my friends. We started to plan for a holiday together, the
six of us that were unattached, which had to be taken between Christmas and New
Year whilst the office was closed otherwise we wouldn’t all be allowed to take annual
leave at the same time.

We had a
glorious week in Spain. It was the first time I had ever been on holiday with
friends and it was also the cheapest holiday I had ever had; three star
accommodation on a room only basis. The cleanliness left a bit to be desired
and the beds were barely comfortable but I
didn’t
feel the inclination
to get the bleach out for once – I was too busy enjoying myself. We flirted, we
were drunk almost 24-7, we sunbathed when we managed to drag ourselves out of
bed in daylight hours, and we danced the nights away in the seedy little bars
and discos. My new found friends would often cast me some looks of amazement –
they were seeing me let my hair down for the first time. I shocked them even
more so when I made the first move to chat up the odd guy who caught my eye.
Not with the intention of getting laid or emotionally involved - I just wanted
someone attractive to dance with, to laugh with and share a kiss at the end of
the night. I was also trying to get my confidence back. We all had a fantastic
time and I was quite sorry when the week came to an end. On arriving back at
Gatwick on the 2
^nd
of January we vowed to do it all again at the end
of the year, somewhere different.

I continued my
studies on a regular basis but didn’t let it interfere with my social life
anymore. I found it was quite beneficial to resume my studying after the odd
nights and days off – I was more refreshed and was able to focus better. Mum
and Dad went on holidays without me which was a good sign - they obviously
didn’t feel the need to watch my every move any longer. I went to Paris with them for the occasional long weekend but that was it.

Not long after
our holiday in Spain, Cindy, the receptionist from work announced her marriage.
She had first met Adam a couple of months before our holiday. Once she was back
from Spain they became an item. He proposed on Valentine’s Day and the wedding
was planned for August. I felt quite honoured when she asked me to be a
bridesmaid along with Gemma our office manager. We eagerly accepted and with
only six months until the nuptials it was back and forth to the seamstress
every two or three weeks, shopping for the right sandals and hair accessories
and a trial run at the hairdressers. It was a busy time for us and Cindy’s
excitement was infectious. I felt quite envious at times. The wedding came and
went. Cindy had looked so radiant, pretty and happy. I was pleased for her.
Gemma and I didn’t look too bad either. There was a weird moment when Cindy
threw her bouquet into the eager crowd of waiting singles. I stood and watched,
totally bemused, an innocent bystander, at all the young ladies and their
eagerness for the exquisite, airborne blooms and berries, to fall into their
grasp. When the flowers, which hit me on the forehead, landed in my arms and
knocked off my headband in the process, there were howls of laughter along with
some jealous mutterings from the wannabe brides.

As we all stood
and watched the classic Rolls Royce, adorned with the old boots and tin cans as
was tradition, pull away from the Majestic Hotel, Gemma whispered in my ear,

“That’s one
less for our holiday to Tenerife. We’re down to five now. So don’t you go off
and fall in love will you?”

I widened my
eyes in horror.

“I’m off men,
Gemma, so that’s not bloody likely to happen.”

Christmas came
around again along with the chaos that the British weather had been causing
since early November. After a quiet but pleasant Christmas day with my parents
Boxing Day morning soon arrived. The pre-booked mini-cab picked me up at 11am
(after Gemma) then after collecting Nina, Gillian and Janet, our other friends,
it was Gatwick here we come. We had yet another good holiday together doing
exactly the same things that we did in Spain the previous year, along with two
or three bits of excitement that we could have done without. Gillian left her
handbag in a bar one night and on returning there to look for it, found that it
was gone - nobody had handed it in. Her credit cards had been in there and she
managed to call the card companies to get the cards cancelled and before her
account had been used. Fortunately she hadn’t taken too much cash out with her
that night but obviously she was upset. Nina, despite protecting her very pale
skin with a high factor protection
and
avoiding spending too long in the
sun, still managed to get quite badly burned. We all attended the hospital
emergency clinic with her and sat around for four hours before she was even
attended to.

Then there was
me. I was doing my forty lengths one morning while the pool was fairly quiet
when some stupid kid, not looking where he was going, dive-bombed into the pool
and straight onto my back. I seemed to be under the water for ages, panicking
and gasping for breath, but I finally managed to surface. I was laid on the
poolside in shock and in absolute agony with my back while a small crowd
gathered around. The parents of the kid, sat on the opposite side of the pool,
were glowering over at me with looks that implied, how dare I be in the pool
when their little boy was having some fun, or stupid woman, it’s her own fault.
Serves her right for getting in the way! My back ached badly for a couple of
days but thankfully there was no lasting damage.

We still
managed to have plenty of fun and like all holidays it came to an end all too
soon and we were back at Gatwick again. I wondered how many of us would be
holidaying together the following December.