Journey to the Centre of Myself (29 page)

I crawl onto my knees. ‘Get out of my house you Mirelle imposter, with your greeting card speak. I need to sleep.’

She rings Shaun. ‘I require collection. Thank you.’ She turns to me, ‘He’s on his way.’

‘Do you want me to wrap you in a parcel bag?’ I wrap the throw around her.

‘Get off me, you daft cow.’

‘It’s how I roll.’ Pfffffft. I’m finding myself hilarious.

‘I need to stay very still right now, Amber. Very, very still.’

I lay back down on the floor. When Shaun comes to the door, he has to wait awhile as I’m wobbly legged and Mirelle has passed out.

He picks her up and carries her out of the door.

‘God, Shaun, you are really, really strong.’ I feel his arm muscle.

‘If you don’t get off I’m going to drop your friend on the floor. Now, can you make your own coffee this time?’

‘What? See now you’ve got Mir, I’ve got no-one to make sure I’m safely tucked in bed.’

He looks at me. ‘You going to be okay?’

‘Yep, gonna bed.’

‘Please drink a coffee first.’

‘Night night, Shaun sprite. Hahahahahahahaha.’

A man crosses the street towards mine, waves his hand.

‘Adriiiiiiaaaan.’

He walks up the drive with a half-smile on his face. Cocks his head in Shaun’s direction as he is getting a half-awake Mirelle to sit in the front seat of his car.

‘Erm, just wanted to let you know that I’m picking up the car, so you didn’t think it had been nicked.’

I try to appear sober. ‘Well, that’s very good of you to let me know.’

‘Okay then, well I’ll be off.’

‘My life is total shit,’ I say, ‘that’s why I’m pissed. Anyway, night.’ I close the door.

Knocks follow.

‘Is everything okay, Amber?’

I shake my head and start to cry. ‘I might lose my job. Stupid, spiteful, nasty bitch in my office. Then that stupid brood mare will come and take my house. Why is this happening to me?’

‘It’s not all happening to you. My life is also total shit.’

‘What? Why? Ohhh noooo, you and lovely Karen?’

‘Yep, we agreed to separate. She said to tell you she’ll be in touch with you soon.’

‘Oh, okay.’ I reach out and touch his face. ‘Poor, poor, Adrian.’

‘Err, yes, well, I’ll be off now. Get some coffee down you. I presume you have work tomorrow?’

I stumble back into my house. ‘Yes, coffee, great idea. Look what I have.’ I swing around a bottle of Tia Maria. ‘I have loads of booze. Want to get drunk?’

‘I’ve come to collect my car.’

‘Collect it tomorrow. Get a taxi later. Karen won’t mind will she? Phone and tell her where you are.’

‘I don’t need to tell her where I am, it’s not her business, and she doesn’t care.’

‘That is sooo sad. Oh, look at that little doggy over there. I might get a doggy. Woof.’

He pauses.

‘Listen A-dri-an. I can tell you all the shit that’s going on with me and then you can listen to all the shit that’s going on with me. Err, that’s not right is it? What I mean is—’

‘Okay, I’ll stop for one and make sure you’re all right,’ he says.

I smack his arm. ‘You don’t need to make sure I’m all right. I’m happily pissed.’

He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Okay then, got any beer?’

‘I’ve got a plan,’ Mirelle says. Her hair is shiny, her face bright. You wouldn’t know she’d had a drink.

‘You,’ I point. ‘How do you look so fresh?’

‘Touche eclat. You better see if they sell it in an extra-large container.’

‘I’m stopping heavy drinking,’ I say. Mirelle looks at me. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve said it many times before, but I mean it this time. I need to learn the art of having a quiet drink and interesting conversation.’

‘You need to meet a decent bloke. You’ve had your idiot husband to deal with, followed by a dickhead. What’s happening with dickhead anyway?’

‘I’m meeting him tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to lunch. I didn’t want to meet in an evening. It made it too date-like.’

‘So are you going to finish with him?’

‘Well, I’m living in hope that the bloke I was attracted to turns up, but I’ll not hold my breath.’

‘I don’t know why you agreed to another date.’

‘I was trapped into it at my Christmas dinner. Plus now that I’m… well,
was
friends with Karen, I wanted to treat her brother right.’

‘What do you mean was?’

I pause. ‘Well, she’s leaving. Off to start a new life. I can’t see her wanting to keep in touch.’

‘Hmm, maybe not. Well if you don’t keep in touch, it means you can get totally rid of her brother.’

‘I’m a bit jealous of her to be honest. If I don’t keep my job, I might run away, from my mistakes and my stupid life. I’ll start again somewhere else.’

‘Ambs, you’re someone who needs people around you. You need someone to care for you. Someone you know will stick around. Running away is the one thing you always talk about avoiding. Too much like your parents, remember?’

‘You’re right. Anyway, what’s your plan?’

She goes in the desk drawer and takes out a Dictaphone. ‘Let’s get her to confess.’

‘Genius idea. But how will we do that when we’re in the other office?’

‘You’ll say you’re going to the photocopier. Then, a few minutes later, I’ll excuse myself to go to the toilet and we’ll head down to see Jo, on the pretence of catching up. I’ll talk about what Smithy said to me outside the bathroom and we’ll take it from there. Let’s hope she’ll say something that gets us off the hook.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

‘We’re going to have to hope she does, or we’ll both be out of a job.’

It’s a sobering thought.

Chapter 31

Karen

It’s a strange experience, preparing to leave the marital home. Adrian and I seem to have settled into the decision now it’s made. As if we were riding a bucking bronco but after falling off, we realised we could get up and walk away.

I’ve bought a set of storage boxes. I hate used, dirty boxes. These are brand new, pristine. I’ve bought a proper marker for writing on them. For now, Adrian has agreed that I can store my things in the loft and spare room until we’ve got the house sale sorted. I’m not planning on being home much in the meantime, but Adrian says it’s not a problem if I need somewhere to stay for the odd night. Houses around our way tend to sell pretty quickly and spring is coming.

I take the books off the shelves I’ve not long since assembled. I tried to fix myself rather than the shelves. Tried to anchor myself to this home, but it was the wrong choice. However, the shelves will come with me to my new place, wherever that will be.

I don’t want to take much else with me, but I have to be practical. I can’t afford to buy everything from new so I’m going to discuss splitting our stuff with Adrian and pick items that don’t need as much storage, kitchen appliances, etc. He can keep the sofas. That’s if he wants to, I won’t presume.

Adrian’s still in bed. He went out last night and came home paralytic. I know our split has been hard for him. He came home a happy drunk, though. I sent him upstairs to the main bed, in case he needed to be near the bathroom.

I decided today that I’d like a farewell party. A quiet affair, just myself, Adrian, Steve and I think Amber. I realise it could be awkward for Amber to be around Steve, but he told me they are meeting this lunchtime so I’m hoping they patch things up. I don’t want to be the only female at my party. Later I’ll talk to Adrian about it but my mind’s made up. I want to say goodbye to the house, toast it with a drink and celebrate the New Year, which will be different for us all.

Now, what does one pack for a month long holiday? I’m off to Tenerife for a month. I’ve booked a hotel called Paradise Park. The reviews were great, but the name clinched it. I’m off to Paradise. I’ve booked all inclusive. There were photographs on the internet of my junior suite, which was well worth the upgrade for the difference in price. The bathroom looks like it belongs in a palace. There’s a large balcony for sea breeze evenings. I can picture it, a large glass of wine on the table. A book in my hand. There are multiple pools, two of which are adults only. One of them is on the top of the hotel, like a penthouse pool, and there are little relaxation tents so you can sunbathe in private. An in-house spa means I can enjoy facials, massages and mani-pedis. Adrian can let me know if there are any offers on the house by email. There’ll be Wi-Fi somewhere.

Adrian said he would tell future buyers that the house was for sale because we needed to move to something smaller. He won’t mention divorce or separation because some people are superstitious and the thought of a marriage ending under the roof could put them off. Are people really that fickle? To believe that a house could end a marriage, not the people within it? Then again I’ve watched house programmes where people have said they can’t buy a house because their sofa wouldn’t fit in the lounge, instead of just buying a new one. People are strange.

You never realise just how many photographs you amass. I went through them this morning and chose a select few that I’d like to keep. I’m not about to pretend my marriage never happened, but I’ve not kept many, most of the memories are in my mind. Adrian can choose what to do with the remainder though he’s never been a photo person so he’ll probably throw them away.

Adrian told me to take the bedding. He says he wants fresh sheets on his bed, an end to the florals that I continued to buy. I can see it now, masculine shades of black and grey in blocks or stripes. He’ll need to paint the room a different shade from the soft pink that it is. A colour he never liked, he says, but something he went along with to make me happy. I wonder how many times he did that; acquiesced, thinking it would help my frame of mind or make me a happier person. Like a choice of pink or beige would make the difference between suicidal thoughts and euphoria. He never did see that in life we are a varied palette, a mixture of hues—some light, some dark. I think he realises now. The sacrifices he made were to no avail and keeping me captive didn’t make me safe. It made me stifled, bored and ultimately dangerous. For then I wanted to escape.

One of the travel guides on Tenerife states that you can drive down a road and it will end—there is nothing further. They built it to a certain point and decided to finish it at a later date. That’s how I see myself. I’ve travelled down the road and it ran out, leaving dirt and rubble. But I’m not waiting for the rest of the road to come. I’m changing direction.

I plan to see the volcano while I’m there. The fact I can get close to nature appeals. The book says the Tour Guides throw water into the holes in the ground and a geyser shoots up. Astounding. The pictures on the internet show scenes that appear like they’re from outer space, red and blue rocks on red sand. I’d better make sure I have plenty of memory cards for the camera. I reckon I’ll be busy.

When I get home, I’m going to arrange to be sterilised. I’ve wanted to do it for a while, but Adrian would never hear of it. The menopause won’t be that much longer now probably, but at forty-two accidents can happen. That’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.

Do you know what else I’ve realised? That I’ll be open to new relationships. Nothing heavy but I’ll be up for some fun. Life experiences. I’ve bought condoms. They’re already in my case. There’s no rush though, and I’ll certainly not be being controlled by what any man wants.

There are so many things I’m interested in doing—art classes, yoga on the top of mountains, perhaps even a walking holiday. I may apply to be a travel writer as I’ll be able to provide my own photos to go with my articles. I can use my redundancy money and what I make from the house sale and I have family money in the bank, an inheritance I was saving for a rainy day. That day is here, but it’s not going to rain—it’s going to be bright and sunny.

I never allowed our CD collections to be merged. Who wants to wade through tons of hideous music to get to what they want? I never had that many CDs, but what I do own was in a drawer in the lounge in alphabetical order, the curse of the secretary. Now they’re in one of these boxes. Adrian can keep the Hi-fi, the separates he’s always been so proud of. As I have no need for such things now. I’ll have my music on my tablet and phone. I bought one of those little speakers that plug in so you can play it anywhere. It looks like a little ball. Everything’s going smaller; it means we’re more portable. There’s no need for anyone to stand still if they don’t want to.

I stare out of the window. I used to love sitting in the garden, with its little wooden seat in the corner that we nicknamed the bus station. What a strange thing a garden is. A small plot of land in the middle of a concrete jungle. I won’t be satisfied with anything less than a park from now on. I want wide open spaces, not a small postage stamp garden where you can’t sit without disturbance from neighbours’ hedge trimmers, or the mandatory bonfire at seven pm because God knows it’s impossible to have a bonfire on a cold, dry day, isn’t it? What is wrong with people? Bonfires should be banned between May and October.

Neither will I need to hold polite conversations with Mrs Dudley anymore. She can keep her
neighbourliness
. Though I’m sure it extends from her being a lonely, old woman, the fact remains that underneath her constant requests for updates on our lives, they’ve usually come with a sermon attached on what she thinks we should be doing.