Monday to Friday Man

by Alice Peterson

  The thing is, I told her, we’re sailing in a similar boat right now in that neither of us has a family; we’re single or on our own for different reasons but alone all the same. Anna understands this more than anyone because she and I feel the same about our married friends. We still adore each other, but at this moment in time we’re like a road forking off into two directions. It’s natural that I don’t see friends like Susie as much as I used to.

  Guy tells me many of his friends with families have moved to the country, determined to have a better quality of life, but sometimes he doesn’t feel like driving out of London at weekends, nor does he feel like fractured conversations.

  ‘When I speak to Susie, it’s “Rose! You don’t poke your brother in the eye!”’

  Guy laughs.

  ‘Or, “Show me your boobies!” Matilda says when I’m trying to read her a bedtime story. “Boobies”’ is her favourite word at the moment. She’s my niece,’ I add.

  He raises an eyebrow at that. ‘Her idea sounds much more fun,’ he says.

  After coffee I beckon Guy over to my desk in the corner of the sitting room. It’s an antique desk that belonged to my father’s mother. I reach down to the bottom drawer and produce a batch of paper. Guy takes the top sheet, ‘Mickey the Magic Monkey,’ he reads. ‘Ah, now these are your Megan stories, aren’t they?’

  I nod. I wrote them when I was thirteen. They’re not finished, I tell him, just rough drafts.

  I tell Guy I used to love reading when I was little.

  I’d shut myself away in my bedroom. ‘I did it to escape, to enter a much nicer world than home. Later on, I loved Daphne du Maurier’s novels. I used to drop my pennies into the wishing well at church and pray to be like her. She was so wild and imaginative and had endless affairs with women and men. Fascinating,’ I say, my heart beating fast. ‘One of these days I’d like to try writing a novel.’

  ‘What’s stopping you?’

  ‘Stopping me?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looks at me as if a light has suddenly switched on. ‘From writing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Seems to me you’re too scared to push yourself out there, to be rejected.’

  I examine him, wondering how he seems to know so much about me. ‘I don’t know, Guy, it’s hard to make a living out of writing. Maybe if I had more time . . .’

  ‘Time? Gilly, you have all the time you need!’

  I tell him Nicholas had said the same thing too.

  ‘Your brother’s right. If you want something in life, you have to go out there and get it.’

  I tell him that Ed used to say, ‘You don’t have the discipline, Gilly. I can’t see you sticking at it. Keep it as a hobby, honey.’

  Guy looks cross. ‘Well, that’s a bit patronizing.’ He turns me round to face him. ‘You need to have more faith in yourself,’ he demands. ‘People love to put you down. Prove them wrong.’

  When Guy and Trouble leave, I sit down at my desk and open the bottom drawer, the drawer that hides my ambition, and decide it’s time to give myself a chance.

  Early evening, just as I am deep in concentration, the doorbell rings. I peer out of the window to see if I should pretend I’m out. I don’t want to open the door to a Jehovah’s Witness or someone trying to sell me rip-off dusters and drying-up cloths.

  I smile when I see him.

  ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Guy holds out a present. It’s wrapped in brown parcel paper, hard and rectangular-shaped.

  ‘Open it,’ he says.

  Inside is an old leather book which smells of the secondhand bookshop.

  I open the first page. “To Gilly with a G,’ I read, ‘maybe this is your something. Get writing. Love, Guy.’

  I look at him, my eyes watering.

  ‘It’s just a blank book,’ he says sheepishly, when he sees how much this means to me.

  When Guy has left for the second time, I sit down at my desk and open his book, rereading the message. I think about Guy going back to the bookshop and buying the book for me. It makes me feel warm inside.

  For the first time in months I do feel happy.

  Perhaps I have turned a corner. I have reached a new chapter at last.

  The memory of Edward is slowly beginning to fade.

  23

  1987

  ‘Ladybirds mean good luck,’ I say, as I dress Megan for bed in her ladybird-embroidered nightie. Her room is small and bare, with a sheepskin rug and a single bed raised on blocks, so that her feet are tilted upright at night. I tuck her up, then lift down a nursery book, but Megan shakes her head at me.

  ‘Want a Gilly story,’ she demands. ‘Make up a story.’

  My mind goes as blank as it does when Mum tells me I must write a thank-you letter to Granny, who always buys me presents that I don’t want, like napkin rings.

  ‘Please, Gilly,’ she goes on.

  ‘OK.’ Tentatively I sit at the edge of her bed and Megan waits for me to begin. I shut my eyes and transport myself to a land of make-believe. I cough before I start, ‘One lovely summer’s evening, a magic monkey comes to Megan’s window and invites her on a trip to Planet Z. Her family tell her she can go, so she puts on her favourite travelling sunglasses, – they are bright pink with glitter, – and she climbs onto the monkey’s back. He tells her his name is Mickey and that he has especially picked her out from the rest of the world because she’s such a good girl.’ I smile, beginning to enjoy this place I am imagining. ‘So Megan and Mickey fly through outer space, all the way to Planet Z. Now on Planet Z everything is silver and sparkles like diamonds. The trees are silver, the lakes are silver, and even the people on Planet Z are silver.’

  I look over to Megan, her eyes shut, but she says, ‘More.’

  ‘When they arrive, Mickey tells everyone how beautifully Megan can sing, so she sings her “Bobby Shaftoe” song for all the shiny silver people. There are animals too, all shiny and silver. They clap and jump in the air with excitement, waving their silver balloons and making silver sparks with their hands. After her song, she bows and then the animals give her a silver milkshake.’

  Megan is asleep. I kiss her gently on the cheek. ‘It’s getting late, so Megan waves goodbye and jumps onto Mickey’s back. They follow the silver star back home, where Megan goes to bed and dreams of everything that’s silver and glitters.’

  24

  As I stride into the park, there’s a reason why I want to sing at the top of my voice, ‘The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music’, and it’s not just because it’s Friday.

  Who cares that it’s raining! I knew there was attraction the moment I met Jack. My mobile rings. Today I don’t struggle to find it in my handbag, a sure sign that today is going to be a good day. It’s Susie, sounding stressed, asking me if I can babysit tonight. Their sitter cancelled at the last minute. When I say yes, she calms down.

  ‘You sound in a good mood,’ she says.

  Excitedly I tell her about Jack.

  Last night I took him to my local Indian restaurant because there was nothing on the television and neither of us felt like cooking. As we were waiting for our curries, Jack slid an envelope across the table towards me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s to say thanks for making me feel so welcome . . . and for washing my shirts,’ he added with a smile.

  I’ve managed to persuade Jack not to take his washing home at the weekends, that I can add it to my load, that it’s all part of the Monday to Friday service.

  ‘What else is in the Monday to Friday service?’ he’d asked with that mischievous look in his eye.

  ‘What a flirt!’ Susie laughs before ordering Rose not to hit his brother with her cereal spoon.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ I said to Jack, promptly taking the envelope.

  ‘I know . . . but I want to.’

  Inside was a pair of dazzling silver VIP tickets to his show the following week, Thursday night. He told me I could bring a frie
nd.

  ‘I’ll be there!’ Susie says breathlessly. ‘Rose, do you want time out?’

  I now hear Olly crying.

  ‘Listen, I’ll call you later, OK?’ I say, thinking Rose should just be given time out, not be asked if she wants it.

  ‘No, quick, tell me more.’

  ‘Then I thought I could take you out for dinner?’ Jack suggested.

  I smile, remembering how I had tried so hard to create that look that implied I had a heavy packed schedule but somehow I might just be able to squeeze in another social engagement. Forget it. I couldn’t play it cool, not when it came to tickets to Stargazer or to Jack . . .

  ‘I’d love to! Where will you take me?’

  ‘It’s a secret.’ Jack raised his glass to mine. ‘It’s a date then?’

  ‘It’s a date.’

  ‘I want that ticket, Gilly. I need a night off,’ Susie finishes, before promptly hanging up.

  Mari is standing under the oak tree wearing a wax jacket, thick knitted scarf, purple laceup boots and dark lipstick, water dripping off her cheeks. Normally she’d be cursing the dogs for getting mud on her trousers, but ever since Blaize visited she’s been in a better mood. ‘He’s asked you out?’ she asks, lighting up, before screeching, ‘Basil!’ as if she were Sybil in Fawlty Towers. Basil is busy rolling in something he shouldn’t be. Ruskin sniffs the very same spot and decides he wants to roll in it too.

  ‘Who’s asked you out, Gilly?’ Sam says, catching us up, with Hardy running behind.

  Walter approaches us in his khaki rain hat and wearing some new waterproof trousers. ‘TK Maxx,’ he says when Mari comments on them, ‘ten pounds. It’s grey out today, isn’t it,’ he continues. ‘I’ve heard it’s going to be like this all over the weekend too.’ Walter often likes to be the bearer of bad news.

  Guy joins us with a bright pink umbrella that we all stare at. ‘Flora’s,’ he explains. ‘Couldn’t find mine. What’s going on?’

  You can never keep a secret in this park.

  I tell them about Jack. They gather round me, the oak tree sheltering us from the rain, and they listen to me as if I am reporting hot news off the press.

  ‘What are you going to wear?’ Sam asks. ‘Oh, Hardy, don’t roll in that!’

  Good point, I think. What shall I wear?

  ‘Stop!’ Ariel interrupts, parking his bike against the tree. ‘Who’s going on a hot date?’ he asks, tipping out a soaking Pugsy from the front basket.

  ‘Gilly’s going out with her Monday to Friday man,’ Sam fills him in.

  ‘Ah! The hot Jack Baker. You lucky bitch,’ he adds. ‘So what are you going to wear, Gilly?’

  ‘Morning!’ Brigitte says to us all, approaching our circle.

  ‘Bonjour, Brigitte,’ Ariel replies.

  She tells us she’s brought some cooking apples from her mother’s tree. ‘I thought we could make delicious tarte tatin in this terrible cold weather.’

  ‘He’s given her tickets to Stargazer. I’m so jealous!’ Sam continues as we all peer into Brigitte’s bag to look at the apples.

  ‘Non, non, not the bruised ones at the bottom,’ Brigitte points out.

  ‘I love that show,’ Ariel confesses, ‘Little Hal’s going to win.’

  I notice Guy is quiet. I nudge him. ‘I decided to take your advice and have some fun.’ He smiles, saying he needs to talk to me, before Sam insists on more details about Jack.

  Basil has lost his chewed-up ball and Guy helps Mari find it. They search the muddy grass, Mari cursing Basil. ‘I’m not sure she should be dating this man,’ I overhear her saying worriedly to Guy. ‘We don’t know anything about him.’ Mari doesn’t suffer fools but she does suffer from a loud voice. ‘You know what happened to Gilly, don’t you? You know about Ed, and her mother disappearing off?’

  ‘She’s a big girl, Mari,’ I hear Guy reply.

  ‘Shh!’ Ariel urges them, before turning to me and ordering me not to pay any attention.

  Sam notices that I’ve heard what they said too. ‘Where’s he taking you after the show?’ she asks, attempting to distract me. She rubs her hands together to keep them warm. I tell her he’s taking me out for dinner, but won’t tell me where: it’s going to be a surprise.

  ‘So romantic,’ sighs Sam. ‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t married.’

  ‘You have fun, Gillyflower,’ Ariel says to me. ‘You deserve it.’

  ‘I stepped out once with my lodger,’ says Walter. ‘We used to walk along the docks. She was beautiful. French, mind you, so we didn’t understand a word each other said.’

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Guy says when I approach him with two cups of coffee. The others have left the park, put off by the rain, but it’s still only 8.30 in the morning, so Guy and I decide to walk one more circuit.

  ‘Sounds serious.’

  ‘I’ve just found out that I’ve got this job in Kent.’

  ‘Oh, right. When are you going?’

  ‘Monday, after the weekend.’

  ‘That’s good isn’t it?’ I suggest, wondering why he’s looking worried. ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘Two, maybe three weeks.’

  ‘Three weeks!’ I exclaim, followed by a calmer, ‘three weeks?’ The disappointment takes me by surprise. I’m used to seeing Guy every day. I don’t want him to go away for three weeks.

  We walk our circuit and as we approach the exit gates of the park, we move impossibly slowly, like learner walkers. ‘Walter’s going to look after Trouble,’ he says.

  ‘I could have done that.’

  ‘I know, but I think you’ve got enough going on, like your date next week.’ He nudges me.

  ‘It’s not a date,’ I’m quick to tell him, not feeling quite so zingy as I’d felt earlier this morning.

  When we reach the zebra crossing we stall. Three weeks is still screaming in my head. Twenty-one days of not seeing Guy.

  ‘Are you around over the weekend?’ I ask, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

  He shakes his head. ‘I’ve got to work, prepare for Monday.’

  I can’t hold it in any longer. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ I say.

  ‘No you won’t,’ he replies with that dry smile. ‘While I’m away, you’ve got Jack to play with. Listen, I’d better go.’ Briefly Guy kisses my cheek and turns left at the zebra crossing. ‘Gilly?’ he calls over his shoulder.

  I stop. Turn.

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ he says.

  As Guy leaves, someone taps me from behind and I swing round. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ I say to Ariel.

  ‘I’m taking Pugsy to the vet. He’s got a bit of hay fever. Now listen, you’re not to worry about Mari, OK? You know what she’s like.’

  I’m still watching Guy leave. Ariel follows my gaze. ‘I think he’s a little jealous,’ he states, as if he’s just worked it out. ‘I was watching him earlier, when you were talking about Jack.’

  ‘He’s not jealous!’ I find myself laughing.

  ‘The thing about Mari,’ he continues, ‘is that she doesn’t want to see you get hurt again. None of us do,’ he says.

  ‘I know. And thank you, but I have to live my life, I have to move on.’

  He nods. ‘Pugsy says have some fun with Jack, don’t you Pugs?’ He snorts.

  I smile as I watch Ariel cycle away with Pugsy perched in the front basket.

  He’s right.

  Let’s see where it goes.

  Nick calls me that evening, warning me that Nancy is insisting once more that I mark my thirty-fifth birthday now only next month.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I ask him.

  ‘She’s taking me away, to some smart hotel in the country with a jacuzzi. She wants to throw a party for you. Just let her do it,’ he pleads, knowing it will make his life easier.

  ‘Fine. A dinner party would be lovely,’ I concede. ‘I’ll call her.’

  Shall I invite Jack?

  Maybe see how our evening goes first.

&nb
sp; Gilly Brown. Soon-to-be-thirty-five.

  Oh, how I hate birthdays.

  25

  December 1987

  Megan is three today. The paediatrician said she wouldn’t live beyond the age of two, but he doesn’t know everything. Something is wrong now, though Megan shouldn’t be crying on her birthday.

  ‘Is she dying?’ I ask Mum.

  She can’t be because Anna and I and all our neighbours have raised the money to take her to Germany. Next week Mum is taking Megan on an aeroplane to see a specialist who is going to make her better. She can’t die now.

  ‘No!’ Megan cries, when Mum tries to make her swallow a pill with water. Mum asks me to help get my sister dressed. ‘Don’t want to put clothes on,’ she shouts. I’m not used to her being cross. She’s never like this.

  Mum doesn’t look me in the eye when she tells me Megan is going to be fine.

  ‘Is she in pain?’

  I ask, scared.

  She pretends she doesn’t hear me.

  We’re in Megan’s bedroom and Father Matthew, a tall, stooped wise man, is with us, saying a prayer. Megan hasn’t cried as much since he arrived. Mum called him after breakfast, saying she was worried. Megan wouldn’t let Mum dress her, so instead Mum gave her a bath and wrapped her in a blanket before asking Dad to ring the doctor.

  On the television there are weather warnings telling us not to drive unless our journey is essential. Snow is falling, great big silvery white flakes settling on the ground. School is cancelled for the day; Nick and I are pleased we can stay at home. Dad can’t get into work. He’s downstairs, ringing the surgery, arguing with someone. ‘It’s an emergency,’ he’s saying. ‘No, we can’t bring her in.’

  Father Matthew leaves Megan’s side and says something quietly to Mum. I hate grown-ups sometimes. They never tell you what’s really going on. Mum is nodding. ‘What does Megan love doing most?’ Father Matthew asks Nick and me.

  ‘Being outside,’ I reply.

  ‘Going up Primrose Hill,’ Nicholas adds.

  Father Matthew looks out of the window. ‘Then you must wrap her up warmly and take her,’ he says.