39 Weeks

by Terri Douglas

  She’d worked out that it would be seven weeks before he left, well six weeks and four days, that’s how much she was looking forward to it she was counting down in days. I asked if they were having a collection and a leaving do for him, and she said she was a bit worried about that.

  ‘On the one hand he’s been here since the dawn of time so it’s sort of expected, but on the other hand he’s upset just about everyone at some time or another so who’s going to want to put towards his leaving present? If we collect a fiver I’ll be surprised. And as for a leaving do, it’ll be a party of one, him, cos no-one else is going to want to go.’

  ‘Can’t you send the collection round the factory? I mean he has been here a long time, and they might not know him as well as we do.’ Jack suggested.

  ‘Yeah that’s a good idea, I might just do that.’ Doreen said.

  ‘What will he do, do you think, once he’s retired?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t know, don’t care as long as he’s not here.’ Doreen said with vehemence. ‘Probably make his wife’s life even more of a misery than it already is.’

  ‘You don’t know that’ Jack said. ‘For all you know he’s a pussycat at home.’

  We both looked at Jack as if he’d lost the plot, and he feeling the intensity of our contempt at such a ridiculous idea, tried to justify himself. ‘Well he could be, or maybe she’s a bit of a dragon lady and that’s why he’s such a nightmare at work.’

  ‘No he just is a nightmare, and his wife poor cow, has had to live with it all this time.’ Doreen said.

  ‘Then why didn’t she leave him?’ Jack said.

  ‘She probably thought about it, but it’s too late now. She probably thought about it a million times. I know I would have.’ Doreen said.

  ‘Yeah I would have too.’ I said.

  ‘D’you suppose he’s always been like that?’ Jack asked.

  ‘He’s been like it as long as I’ve known him.’ Doreen said.

  ‘Well at least you won’t have to put up with him much longer.’ Jack said tactfully.

  ‘I’ve got to go and see Norman later.’ I said changing the subject.

  ‘Why?’ Doreen asked.

  ‘Don’t know, he just asked me to go and see him after lunch, at two.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good, does it? What did you do?’ Doreen said.

  ‘I didn’t do anything, well not that I know of.’

  ‘Maybe he’s going to promote you again.’ Jack said.

  ‘What when I’m expecting a baby, not likely is it?’

  ‘No I suppose not, wonder what it’s about then.’

  We finished lunch and went back upstairs and I tried to get on with some work until two, but it was a lost cause, I was so worried that I was going to get the sack I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I mean what else could it be, Norman calling me down to his office at this time of month, and out of the blue like that.

  But it turned out I wasn’t getting the sack, almost the reverse. Not promotion exactly but evidently Norman’s son, who’d just graduated, was trying to start his own business, him and a friend from university, selling tee shirts and bandana’s they’d bought wholesale on the internet and had gotten printed up with festival slogans, and with Daddy’s backing and contacts evidently weren’t doing too badly at it. But what they weren’t doing was keeping records or any sort of accounts for the business, and what Norman wanted was for me to go over their paperwork, such as it was, and put it into some sort of shape for the taxman.

  I was a bit gobsmacked that Norman had thought of me, but not so gobsmacked that it prevented me from saying I’d do it. He was going to pay me a fixed sum that fitted neatly with the price of those mortgage worthy pushchairs I’d looked at in Mothercare. Course it meant that I’d be working at home most evenings this week, and at the weekend, but a pushchair is a pushchair and not to be sneezed at, and anyway what else was I doing in the evenings, apart from falling asleep?

  I left Norman’s office with a mountain of receipts and papers that had been thrown in an old grocery box that evidently had once contained bananas, and when I say thrown I mean exactly that, they were in no order whatsoever. There were bank statements and the stubs of a half used up cheque book, parking tickets, and Deli receipts, and heaven knows what else all just chucked in together. This was never going to be some quick fix it job, but I was happy. I hadn’t got the sack and more than that Norman had trusted me with his son’s paperwork, and I was going to buy a pushchair. What more could a girl ask for? Well a girl in my predicament anyway.

  26

  6th November – Week 23

  I slept in a bit this morning, I was still up by ten so it wasn’t mega late, but still it was late for me. I’d had a long shower, it was such a luxury being able to stand on both feet, and washed my hair that was still damp, and pretty much thrown on the first thing that came to hand, which was last night’s jeans and a clean tee shirt. Then I’d made myself a cuppa and was finalising the accounts I’d sorted out for Norman’s son and his friend.

  I’d done a good job, it had taken me every evening last week, and on Friday I’d been up until one in the morning, but I’d done it. An hour or two this morning and it would be finished and ready for the taxman.

  I’d taken recently to stroking my bump and talking to it like she, my baby, could understand. I’ve no idea what that was all about, but somehow it felt natural, and now I explained to her about having to finish this off so I could buy her a pushchair.

  There was a gentle knock on the door as I poured over my laptop set up on the dining table. No doorbell, so I knew it had to be someone from downstairs, either Marsha or Rob. I could really have done with a bit of peace and quiet but it’s not like I could pretend to be out is it?

  It was Rob. ‘Hey, heard you up and about, so I thought I’d give the living room it’s second coat.’ Rob said as soon as I opened the door forgoing a more usual greeting like ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’.

  During the week while I’d been slaving away at the nine to five, he’d been busy washing down paintwork and plastering the odd crack, and generally preparing my bedroom and the living room for their new coat of paint. He’d already given the living room its first coat but as it dried there was still a hint of peach showing through so it was going to need a second or even a third coat to cover it up completely.

  ‘D’you mind if we give it a miss today?’ I said not opening the door completely so he couldn’t just walk in.

  ‘Er . . no, you’re not hung over are you?’

  ‘I don’t think you can get hung over on one glass of wine.’

  Last night we’d been to see Shelley and Nick’s new flat and had dinner there. The fake double date. It hadn’t been awkward at all, in fact it had been a really nice evening. We’d gone in Rob’s car, no point in taking both, and stayed until after midnight.

  ‘No fair point. Are you expecting company?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I just need to finish this job for work and I need a bit of peace and quiet.’ I said still not opening the door properly.

  ‘Right. Well what if I promise not to talk to you and stay out of your way the whole time. How about that?’

  ‘Oh okay, come on then.’

  ‘Gee thanks’ Rob said. ‘You’re so good to me.’

  ‘Would you like some tea or coffee before you start?’ I asked as politeness dictated I should.

  ‘It’s okay I’ll get it, are you having one?’

  I picked up my still steaming cup from the dining table in answer to his question, and he nodded on his way to the kitchen. I sat back down at the dining table and tried to get back into work mode after being interrupted.

  ‘It was a good night last night don’t you think?’ Rob said, unseen to me while he waited for the kettle to boil in the kitchen.

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Nice flat I thought eh?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘The kitchen could do with a bit of an update though, but it wouldn’t ta
ke much.’

  ‘Mm hmm.’

  Rob came back into the living room carrying a mug of coffee. ‘They both seemed happy anyway and I suppose that’s what counts.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Maybe we should invite them back, it’s a bit crowded at Marsha’s but they could come to yours up here. I’d buy all the food and do all the cooking. What do you think?’ He said standing in front of me sipping his freshly made brew.

  ‘Rob I’m trying to concentrate. I have to get this finished.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’

  He walked over to the window, deposited his coffee on the window sill and started fiddling with the paint roller that was still drying out from being washed after yesterday’s first coat.

  ‘How much more have you got to do of . . whatever it is you’re doing?’ Rob asked as he poured paint into the roller tray.

  ‘A bit.’ I said not looking at him.

  ‘How long will a bit take?’

  ‘All day if you keep interrupting.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  He arranged the old shower curtain he was using as a dust cloth to prevent any spats of paint on the carpet, and started rolling paint on the wall. For all of five minutes it was quiet while he painted and I worked on the last page of the spreadsheet, this was the important one that would give Norman’s sons business it’s final figures.

  ‘I just thought that maybe, when I’ve finished this, maybe we . .’ Rob started to say.

  I stopped and looked up at him on the ladder he’d borrowed from Mac and Marsha. ‘Sorry, I said I wasn’t going to interrupt didn’t I?’ he said contritely.

  ‘Well I’ve stopped now, so what were you going to say?’

  ‘No it’s alright I won’t interrupt again. Promise.’ He said turning back to face the wall.

  ‘Rob just say what you were going to say.’

  Turning back to face me he said, ‘I was just wondering if maybe when you’ve finished that, and I’ve finished this second coat that . . well while it’s drying . . we could . .’

  ‘Could? Just say it and then I can get on, I really have to finish this. Could what?’

  ‘Um . . go for a drink was all I was going to say. I just thought you’ve been working at that every night this week and maybe you’d like to, I don’t know . . get out . . go out . . maybe for a drink, that’s all I was going to say.’ Rob gibbered.

  ‘A drink.’

  ‘Yeah a Sunday lunch time drink, you know at a pub, maybe get some lunch while we’re at it. But only if you want to.’

  My last remaining brain cell went into overdrive. Was this Rob asking me out on a date, or was this two friends just going somewhere together? Oh my God. Well only one way to find out.

  ‘Yes that would be nice.’ I said trying desperately to sound as casual as I could and play it down as much as possible as if the idea of a ‘date’ hadn’t even entered my mind.

  ‘Okay. Great. When do you think you’ll be finished?’

  ‘Oh um, another hour should do it I think.’

  ‘Okay then. I won’t say another word, I mean it this time.’

  ‘Okay.’ I said turning back to my computer so he wouldn’t see my face.

  Oh God what was I going to wear? What do you wear to a Sunday lunch time date that might not be a date? It’s got to be attractive, well as much as I could manage given my ever expanding waistline, on the other hand it can’t be too full on obvious in case it’s not a date, so it’s got to be casual. And I didn’t really have that much to choose from anyway. Jeans and my new black cost-a-fortune, shirt, I decided.

  Finalising accounts was off the agenda for the time being, it was impossible to concentrate on anything. Course I tapped away at the laptop going through the motions, the last thing I wanted was for Rob to see that I’d flipped out over the idea of a date. No it was important for him to think I was working hard and hadn’t given the idea of him asking me out for drink any more than a moment’s thought. But I can’t say it was easy. Thank God I’d washed my hair.

  27

  6th November – Week 23 + Half A Day

  Rob had finished giving the living room it’s second coat and was in the kitchen washing out the paint tray and roller. The paint fumes were making me a bit queasy so he’d opened the windows and I was still sitting at the dining table, but now I was wearing an old cardigan, over the top of my tee shirt, and that I couldn’t do up properly, but it was helping to keep me a bit warmer now the windows were wide open.

  I’d tried to get my head round finishing everything off for Norman’s son and the taxman. I’d wanted to get it all done and dusted by Monday morning, although Norman hadn’t actually put a time limit on it, but still it would have been quite impressive to be able to walk in Monday morning and say ‘there you go’, well maybe not quite that exactly but something along those lines. But after Rob’s lunch proposal my poor little brain cell was not co-operating, and the final figures I’d arrived at were showing that there was a profit of more than fifty thousand pounds, which couldn’t possibly be right. I mean I’d already figured out that they’d probably made roughly about three grand profit but for taxman purposes I needed to show that they’d hardly made any profit at all, and I’d worked out I could get it down to nearer six hundred pounds what with all the expenses and initial outlay. Obviously in my ‘he asked me out’ trancelike state I’d added a zero or two where I shouldn’t have.

  All I could think about was is this a date or just lunch, would my black shirt be okay or should I rethink, would I have time to straighten my hair or had it miraculously dried reasonably straight on its own for once?

  I told myself again, because I hadn’t thought it for at least ten minutes, that a lunch time drink didn’t necessarily mean anything, in fact almost certainly didn’t mean anything. I told myself that even if it was a proper date invite I didn’t want a bloke in my life, I didn’t need the hassle and the stress that inevitably comes with that particular package, and that Rob wasn’t interested in me in that way anyway, but I wasn’t listening.

  Rob finished up in the kitchen and was balancing the roller to stand up in the paint tray, on top of the now folded up again shower curtain to finish drying off ready for its next use. The living room looked great, it was probably going to need another coat but now that the peach had almost been obliterated and everything was pristine cream it looked bigger somehow, and so much more me, not to mention not shouting at my pink settee anymore.

  ‘How’s it going, you nearly finished?’ Rob said.

  ‘Mm nearly.’ I said without looking up trying to give the impression I was too engrossed to worry about casual lunch dates.

  ‘Well I’ll just go and have a quick shower, see you in about an hour, is that alright?’ He said en route to the door.

  ‘Yeah fine, I should be finished by then.’ I said still not looking at him, but raising my hand in a casual goodbye wave.

  He left, and as soon as I heard the door close behind him, I stopped looking at my laptop for the first time in what had felt like the last three days, and breathed a sigh of relief. I had an hour to pull myself together, literally as in get ready, and emotionally as in not hyperventilating.

  Okay I was going to have time to straighten my hair but should I shave my legs? No probably didn’t need to go that far, I mean I was going to be wearing jeans anyway and the chances that at some point I wouldn’t be wearing them were very slim indeed. What was I thinking, I had to stop letting my imagination run away with me, of course I was going to keep my jeans on. God this was going to be a disaster, we’d go for a nice cosy drink, bit of lunch, and I’d be all gaga and drooling. Wonderful.

  I shut down the computer and tidied up the paperwork promising myself I’d go over the figures again to find my elusive zero’s after lunch, or this evening anyway, and went into the bedroom to change into clean jeans and the new black shirt. I was mid-straighten on the hair front, I mean literally half my head was straight and the other half was still all flicky and
flyaway, when the phone went. It was Mum.

  ‘Hi Mum, can’t really talk now, I’m just on my way out.’

  ‘Oh. I was going to come over, I’ve bought a couple of things for the baby.’

  ‘That’s great Mum, thanks.’ God that’s all I needed another visit from my mother.

  ‘What about next week then?’

  ‘Yes that’ll be fine. Sorry but I really am in a rush.’

  ‘I’ll see you next Sunday then.’ She said in full martyr mode.

  ‘Okay next Sunday. Bye Mum.’

  Phew that was close. My first proper date with Rob, well it might be, maybe, and my ever-loving interfering mater was about to blow it.

  I finished the other half of my hair, and scrutinised my face in the mirror. I definitely needed makeup, no question. But it was lunchtime so it was going to have to be makeup that looked like no makeup, well not much, always difficult that. I applied the minimum of foundation, loads of mascara, and a paler than usual lipstick. ‘So what do you think?’ I asked my bump as I stroked her absently, ‘will I do?’

  I felt a weird feeling in my tummy. It was more than the fluttering indigestion I’d been feeling lately. This was definite movement. A hand or a foot, or maybe an elbow. I’d felt it inside and felt it with my hand on the outside. I was rooted to the spot, and waited to see if it did it again. But after a couple of minutes it didn’t look like it was going to.

  ‘Was that you in there, moving about?’ I asked my bump feeling a bit stupid and that I’d imagined the whole thing. There was no response and I started gently massaging my bump, but couldn’t feel anything else. Was it real? Did I really feel my baby moving? No must have been a fluke. Some undigested bit of toast or something. Still it had taken my mind off Rob and the whole is it a date or not a date thing for a bit.

  Almost exactly to the minute one hour after he’d left, Rob knocked on the door. ‘Ready?’ he said looking scrubbed and completely gorgeous in his own version of Sunday lunch casual.

  I grabbed my goes with my jeans bag, and followed him down the stairs. We got in his car and he started the engine. ‘So anywhere in particular you fancy?’ he said.