by Lola Jaye
“You took him away from me, Lois!” she sobbed.
“I didn’t…! I mean, I had no idea you were ever together. I thought you were in love with that secret—” Crush, who of course, happened to be Matt.
And with this new information, part of me wanted to console Jamie while another part wanted to get well away.
“I’m s…sorry,” I stuttered.
“So am I!” she choked in between crying.
It suddenly hit me that the friendships I’d carved out for myself for more than two years had all been an illusion. I thought I’d been part of a team, a working team that included me in everything it did and experienced—but now it would seem nothing was left. Again.
So, I decided it was time to move on in my career. Perhaps Jamie had prompted this decision, but beyond that I needed to make my dad proud of me by becoming the success he knew I could be—and that was less possible with all the Jamie/Matt madness around me.
So, that evening, I emailed an employment agency before meeting Carla for a drink.
“I can’t believe you’re letting this bitch hound you out of your job,” she enthused. She’d just been telling me about her and Rob’s “wicked” time at a country retreat.
“I’m getting a bit bored anyway. A change of scenery wouldn’t go amiss. Plus, the money’s a lot better.”
Carla raised her eyebrow at the mention of money. I’d always been wary of discussing paychecks and promotions with her because, together, that wasn’t what we were about. Carla had never kept a job for more than two months, and ever since I’d known her welfare and a well-off boyfriend kept her in shoes. But I remembered how easy it had been to drift apart before, and this couldn’t happen again. She was my only true girlfriend and the situation with Jamie had reinforced that resolve.
I changed the subject to one of common ground. “Guess who I saw the other day?”
“Who?”
“Sharlene Rockingham.”
“Noooo!”
“Oh yes!” I replied, sounding not unlike that kid Sharlene used to threaten every moment she could.
“That little bitch! What she put you through…”
I felt my stomach muscles constrict at the memory.
“Did she see you?”
“Surrounded by about a hundred kids, yes.”
“Is she a schoolteacher?”
“She has four children.”
“But she’s only—”
“Our age, I know!”
“Actually, I remember now. She got knocked up straight after school by that thug Ricky Wotshisface who’s in prison now. Corey ran into her brother once.”
My stomach flipped at the mention of Corey’s name. “That must have been dad number two, because number one lives with her eldest.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right, and then she got knocked up by two blokes within a year. Brothers, apparently! What. A. Slut.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I remember Daisy from our year telling me when I ran into her in Lee Green.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to know! You’ve left all that behind you.”
This disclosure shocked but secretly thrilled me. “You think so?”
“Of course. You own your home, have a job with prospects, drive a fancy car. You’re sorted!”
Even though I was touched to hear this from Carla, I knew that all I’d achieved still wasn’t enough. Dad wanted more for me. He’d died before he could fulfill his dreams so wasn’t it natural he’d want me to do more with my life? Reach higher than I could ever have imagined, fulfill his wildest expectations? Be respected, strive for financial security, work hard? Luckily, I was now part of the world’s fastest growing industry, so I was in a good place to achieve this.
I wasn’t about to let my dad down.
Some of the IT employment agencies had promised to find me work within days. Days turned into two weeks before they finally shoved the address of a suitable interview into my inbox. I almost leaped onto my desk with excitement while I studied the brief: five grand more AND a company car. This was the big-time and I told myself I’d get this job.
And I did.
The day I received confirmation, I couldn’t help almost skipping into work, awash with the glow of happiness—and freedom.
“I heard about the job. Congratulations,” said Matt by the office cooler.
“Thank you,” I replied sincerely as I switched on my computer. Just four more weeks of this to go, I thought.
“Sorry things didn’t work out,” he said.
“Me too, but I think the new job’s going to be great. Might even get to build networks, which would be something different.”
“I meant me and you.”
I stared at my computer screen, not knowing what to say.
“Maybe you should look closer to home for a date,” I said, as my eyes darted to Jamie’s empty desk.
Matt’s eyes followed then shot straight back to me. I wasn’t sure if I saw regret or sadness, but all that didn’t matter any more. I’d be leaving in a month—and I couldn’t wait!
My last day finally came and was mostly spent saying goodbyes and pretending to “love” the limp bunch of flowers and sterling-silver bracelet from H. Samuel presented to me by Keitho. I cleared my desk for the last time, uttering an even limper excuse about having to catch a train and thus not being able to make my own leaving drinks. I doubted anyone gave a damn, especially as the foursome had quickly become a comfortable threesome over the weeks that I worked my notice, with Jamie not speaking to me except when absolutely necessary. But I couldn’t have cared less, as it was time to move on to bigger and better things. Relationships with people weren’t supposed to last anyway.
“Take care,” said Matt with a chaste peck. Keitho offered a salute while Jamie muttered “Good riddance” as I removed the flowers from their makeshift vase.
Something inside me threatened to explode. You see, I’d been fair, kind even, by not embarrassing Jamie and revealing all to Matt. But her time had just run out.
“Jamie, if YOU are to blame for me leaving then thanks a bundle,” I said calmly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Because of your helpfulness, I’ll now be earning over twenty-seven grand, have a company car and, oh…an expense account!”
Stunned silence.
I continued. “Oh, I’ve made a mistake…because I already have a car, I get to have a car “allowance,” which means an extra four grand on my basic, which means…” my eyes rolled as I pretended to count, “almost thirty-two grand a year—at MY age. See ya! And thanks again!”
The look forming on Jamie’s face was worth it. And just to twist it up a little more, I decided to dispose of the vase of water quickly and economically. In her face.
“You cow!” she roared, rubbing furiously at her smudged eyes as the boys looked on (Keitho ringing his hands at the possibility of a catfight). I gathered my things and made for the door, shaking at my impromptu act. I wasn’t even sure what had possessed me—years of bullying at school or the need to see her make-up run—all I knew was it felt good.
Most negative emotions take a lot of energy. Energy that could be used more positively and someplace else. So don’t let anyone have that much power over you. I could have done with this advice just before kicking Tommy Arden’s head in during games, but that’s another story.
Just let it go.
Being part of a multinational construction firm meant having to blend into a large team in a busy IT department, a faceless number traveling round various building sites to set up and maintain computer networks. A lot of the time I’d be the only female on a site full of randy builders quick to offer a wolf whistle before realizing I was part of the team.
Luckily, traveling to different sites meant “friendships” could be kept brisk and light, just the way I preferred things. I was also the only girl among a team of nerds—like Keitho nerd but wo
rse—men with bad hair days and a questionable taste in ties.
Of course Mom insisted I was overworking and she was probably right. So Carla and Rob inviting me round for dinner was a welcome diversion. Also, it would be my first sighting of this Rob guy since their romance had begun.
I should have known Carla was up to something, though, the minute she suggested I “put on a frock,” which I did after a quick shopping expedition. Ever since the Matt incident I’d decided to actually experiment more with my look, but had yet to trust myself in a dress, until now.
“Hello, Lois, I’ve heard so much about you!” enthused Rob, planting a smarmy kiss on each cheek.
He was skinnier than I’d imagined, with a large nose and huge hands (but, as Carla once disclosed, he confidently upheld the famous stereotype). Placing a bottle of wine into his arm, I followed him into an open-plan lounge, tastefully decorated with a huge painting of red splotches as the centerpiece of the room. The man was obviously minted and I’d just given him a three-dollar bottle of wine. Oh well.
“Take a seat. Can I get you anything?” he asked, taking my coat.
“I’m okay for now. Thanks. Where’s Carla?”
“She’s in the kitchen…”
“Babe!” Carla called out as she walked toward me, a dot of flour on her nose and dressed in an apron.
“Where’s my friend Carla? What have you done with her?” I joked as we hugged. I’d obviously failed to notice just how much she was changing. Carla—cooking! The Carla I knew and loved would never slave over a stove and a cookbook or put on an apron to please a man.
Men were usually trying to please her!
“You can talk. You look wicked!”
“No I don’t,” I said shyly.
“That dress is a little tight. I approve,” she joked, nudging me a little too hard and pulling at the jersey fabric.
“It isn’t tight!” I protested.
“What I mean is, I can actually see a hint of curve! Oh and, shock horror, you’ve actually changed your hairstyle! Go Lois!”
“I just straightened it a little. Nothing major. It’ll be back to major frizz in the morning!”
I sat down on a tall bar stool that had the magic of making your bum look twice as huge as it really was, as Carla chopped onions like a pro.
“Isn’t he great?”
“Yeah, he seems nice. What’s for dinner?”
“Paella, what else?”
Paella was the only dish she’d ever mastered—ever since fourth-year Home Economics after Mr. Greenwood had commended her so highly at our Spanish Foodfest day. Although over the years she’d experiment with sausage meat instead of prawns or noodles instead of rice, it was always paella and I was delighted that some things hadn’t changed.
I sat on the huge sofa, which resembled a blob of chewing gum, while Rob joined Carla on the other one, slobbering over her like a St. Bernard on Viagra, planting her with kiss upon kiss. Carla seemed happy enough, if the beaming glow of happiness spreading across her face like a fresh sunset was anything to go by. My mind began to race over—wondering how anyone could afford to live in such an apartment.
“Guess what?” whispered Carla as I followed her into the kitchen.
“Rob’s invited one of his friends.” Before I could question her a bit more, the doorbell sounded. Rob’s “friend” Oliver slid out of his coat and I realized he too was very skinny and too old—he must have been at least a hundred years old. Well, thirty-seven apparently, but way too old for me.
“One of my oldest friends,” announced Rob as Oliver smiled in my direction.
Oliver was pleasant enough company for an older man—we even had stuff in common, like a love of RnB, Coronation Street and a fondness for overripe bananas.
As we ate, I found myself mindful of my table manners and hoping a rice grain wasn’t stuck between my teeth.
“They seem really in love, don’t they?” whispered Oliver as Carla fed Rob a forkful of chocolate cake.
“It’s sweet…” I lied.
“Makes you sick!”
We both giggled wildly as a self-satisfied smile appeared on Carla’s face.
So, throughout the course of the evening, it was easy enough to warm to Oliver. And when he walked me to my car and asked for my phone number and whether he could pick me up the following weekend for blackened bananas and cake, I thought, Why not?
Oliver was great. A real gentleman who even opened doors for me and stood up at the table when I excused myself. Not the best-looking man I had ever seen, but what I found most attractive was his confidence. He was just so self assured and I liked it.
Oliver and I slept together six weeks after meeting and I felt okay about that. It didn’t set the world on fire, but I enjoyed the affection and how he took time to kiss me, look at me and totally drink me in, whether we were in a restaurant or sitting in a traffic hold up. But when he told me he loved me just over two months after meeting, I could only answer with a swift “Me too,” merely because it felt better than saying “Why, thank you…” I did try and search within and ask myself if I felt the same, but I knew I didn’t. But I wanted to make this work, I really did, so when he asked if he could move in with me a month after that, I said yes. He was just so kind, so caring, it almost felt rude to say no. Even though, deep down, it felt a tad suffocating.
I managed to get work to send me up north a week before the move, just so I could escape the madness of it all and breathe. No matter how much I tried, at twenty-four, I just wasn’t ready for Oliver, or a serious relationship
Miscellaneous: To move or not to move?
You may have heard the term, “Why buy a car when you can hop on and off a bus for free?” Or maybe not. When a guy asks you to move in with him, it may seem like one of the most fantastic things in the world, but think carefully about WHY you’re doing it. Is it the lure of cheaper bills or do you really, really love him? Also think (and talk to him) about why HE’S doing it. Again, is it finance, or that he can’t be bothered to make a proper commitment to you? Again, Lowey, I’m not saying a man’s got to marry you (me and your mom lived together happily for two months before we wed), I just don’t want some guy taking my precious little girl for granted. If you are satisfied for all the right reasons, then you know what you have to do—only you can make that decision.
Dad’s miscellaneous entry did nothing to quell a deep feeling of dread in me at the thought of moving in with Oliver. So, instead, I decided to ignore it as I opened the door to his suitcases, pet fish and a saxophone that he admitted he’d no idea how to play.
“Our own place. This is going to be great.”
“I know,” I said unconvincingly.
“Just think, waking up to each other EVERY morning…”
I tried not to think about it and instead became transfixed with finding a place for the damn saxophone.
Before the end of our first week together, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.
Actually, the minute he moved his massive size tens into my territory, things began to change. Gone, the dashing older man who’d introduced me to a sophisticated type of male, and hello to someone I began to recognize as a lazy asshole who only occasionally made the effort to wash.
Oliver was kind enough to put in a good word for me with Rob and within days I got a call from him, tipping me off about an IT role at his firm.
Finding out I’d got a new job with the investment bank was the best news I’d received in ages, yet it was eclipsed by a wave of dread as I walked through the door of my apartment to witness an unkempt Oliver sporting a rapidly expanding waistline and using my Catalonian handkerchief to dust his saxophone!
“Hi, honey,” he said in that fake American accent I’d once found soooo cute.
“Hiya,” I responded as he placed the saxophone to one side and leaned over to dab at the now weakened remote-control buttons.
“What’s for din—” he began, before possibly remembering I didn’t do domesticity on request.<
br />
“I thought we’d get a takeaway,” I replied in between yawns.
“Okay,” he said, one eye on the TV and a program about racing robots. The man was almost thirty-eight.
I know you don’t want to hear this, but we never grow up.
I kicked off my heels and tried to snap out of the mood I now found myself in.
“How was your day?” I asked Oliver.
“Good,” he replied, staring toward the television.
“Anything you want to talk about?” I tried to remain calm.
“YES! SIR KILLALOTT.”
“Oliver?”
“Sorry. Work was fine. You know how it is…” He made a number of hand gestures directed toward the television, then, as if suddenly remembering my physical existence, stood up, planted a wet kiss on my cheek—with one eye on the TV—before placing his bum right back down again.
“You know the job that Rob told me about?”
“Yep. Rob.”
“I got it.”
Pause.
“That’s…That’s marvelous,” he managed in a monotone voice, eyes fixated on the TV (my new rival for Oliver’s affection). Even things in the bedroom had changed; a quick fumble if his favorite soccer team won that Saturday—or if he had nothing better to do.
I stormed out of the lounge and phoned Carla.
“Give Rob a huge thank you from me. A bottle of his favorite wine is on its way.”
“You don’t have to do that! Besides, d’you know how much that stuff costs?”
“Well, if it wasn’t for his recommendation—”
“You’d STILL have got that job, Lois.”
“Thanks for that,” I said with surprise. It was hard for me to see the part I actually played in getting the job and it was unexpected of Carla to be the one to show me.
