Six Months to Get a Life

by Ben Adams

  Friday 11th July

  They are offering me an extra month’s salary ‘in recognition of your exemplary commitment to the firm over the past ten years’. Well that’s nice. That just about gives me enough redundancy money to live on until September. Or maybe October if I cut my maintenance payments to my ex.

  The letter from Michelle also officially put me on ‘gardening leave’. I thought only football managers and highly paid executives who held company secrets got put on gardening leave. But I didn’t argue the toss. I’ll gladly take the leave. Even if I haven’t got a garden.

  To celebrate receiving this letter, I wrote a goodbye email to work:

  Hello soon-to-be-ex-colleagues,

  After ten years of paper-shuffling, I am putting the world of logistics behind me and moving on to bigger and better things. I can honestly say that I can’t wait to go, and if any of you lot had any balls, you would jump too before you are pushed.

  I will not miss being required to spend half my life thinking about blue skies or what is outside a box. I am sick of cheap tea bags and can’t face another stale egg mayo sandwich. Away-days are tedious beyond belief and appraisals aren’t worth the paper they are written on. I won’t miss pretending not to notice Daniel’s tongue hanging out whenever Sarah walks in to the office. I didn’t miss Sarah snogging Dean the post-room apprentice at last year’s Christmas party.

  I will, however, miss Sheena from accounts. I will miss being paid whilst spending the whole of the first half of 2012 searching online for Olympic tickets – I got loads in the end. I will miss inserting rude words into lengthy performance reports just to see if anyone actually reads them. After ten years of doing this, I can categorically say that they don’t. Basically, I will miss the money. I am not sure I have earned it but it has come in useful.

  Don’t bother writing a card or having a collection. I never put a penny into your birthday, wedding or new baby cards so I wouldn’t want you to have to feel you should contribute to a leaving card for me. Actually, Danny boy, I hope you don’t mind but when your birthday collection came round a couple of months ago I was a bit skint at the time so I took a couple of quid out and paid for my lunch with it.

  Love and kisses.

  Graham

  That is called burning bridges.

  Sunday 13th July

  Except for the odd sporadic visit for a cup of dad’s hot chocolate or a piece of cake on their way home from a school function, the boys haven’t been to the flat much in the past fortnight. They tell me they have had things on but until they came to stay this weekend I was beginning to wonder whether they were avoiding the flat. They are away with my ex next weekend too so I was determined to make the most of this weekend.

  Their exams have now all finished so there was no homework to be done, no annoying distractions. The boys and I could spend some quality time together. I was thinking of dropping the dog off at my parents’ and going to the beach for a day, or maybe doing something less ambitious like a trip to the cinema. When I asked the boys what they wanted to do, they told me they wanted to paint their bedroom. ‘It’s boring, dad,’ Jack explained. ‘Who wants to live in a dirty grey bedroom?’ Maybe the flat was the reason I hadn’t seen much of them after all.

  After a bit of debate over colours, the boys couldn’t agree on a uniform colour scheme so I nipped out to the shops and picked up two pots of paint. Jack is painting his half of the room sea blue. Sean opted for a virtually fluorescent orange. These two colours weren’t meant to be used in the same room or even the same flat but so what. The landlord might moan but Albus can see him off.

  More debates were had about where one half of the room stops and the other starts, but eventually we set out painting.

  Lots of mess was made before the kids got the hang of how much paint to put on their respective brushes. We had some laughs along the way. Jack used his paint brush to write rude words over the wall. That was ok by me so long as the rude words were painted on Jack’s own side of the room with Jack’s own paint. When Sean used his orange paint to write ‘Jack is a penis’ on Jack’s sky blue side whilst Jack and I were out of the bedroom, things became a bit problematic. It was nothing a couple of extra coats of blue as the day went on wouldn’t cure though.

  I was making lunch in the kitchen when I overheard a conversation between the boys in their bedroom (it isn’t a big flat). Jack was telling Sean that he liked being at my place because I was happy and didn’t snap at them all the time like I used to.

  ‘It’s because he is in luuuvvv,’ Sean announced.

  ‘I am not sure he is,’ Jack responded. ‘Lucy’s mum hasn’t talked to him in ages. She thinks he might have ditched her already.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Sean asked.

  ‘God knows. Because he is a prat. Who knows why dad does what he does.’

  Who knows indeed. Who knows why I slept with Julia. Who knows why I haven’t pulled my finger out and phoned Amy. Actually I know. It is because I am ashamed of myself. But as Dave said, no one died. I need to get over it and move on. I left the chicken sandwiches half-made and went into my bedroom and phoned Amy.

  I wasn’t sure I was capable of saying anything trivial without giving my indiscretion away so I launched straight in when she answered. ‘Do you fancy going away somewhere with me next weekend?’ No ‘hello’, no ‘sorry I haven’t phoned.’

  ‘Are you offering to take me on a dirty weekend, Mr Hope?’ Amy asked.

  ‘No, er, um…’ I stuttered.

  ‘That’s a shame, I quite fancy the idea myself,’ she said. It turns out that Lucy’s dad is taking Lucy to Paris for the weekend to see some horse-related show so my timing was ideal. My parents used to take me to Bognor Regis if I was lucky.

  I went back to making the chicken sandwiches with a smile on my face.

  The boys are staying with me until school tomorrow. They wanted to watch the world cup final with me. Argentina, my sweepstake pick, played Germany. Germany won which didn’t bother me too much because I couldn’t have faced making another trip in to work just to pick up my sweepstake winnings.

  Tuesday 15th July

  So the destinations on the short-list for the dirty weekend were Bournemouth or Ambleside in the Lake District. I suggested Bournemouth because it is nearer and cheaper but Amy turned her nose up at spending a weekend away from her daughter in a place that would be teeming with kids. Fair enough. So Ambleside it is.

  It occurred to me today that I had better do some shopping before we go. There was a little detail that I didn’t share last week about my encounter with Julia. When she was ripping my clothes off, she nearly changed her mind when she saw my ‘off-white’, fraying and saggy underwear. To be fair, I wasn’t anticipating having to display my Tesco three-for-a-fiver briefs to anyone else. It didn’t put Julia off for long but I don’t want to take the same chance with Amy.

  My ex used to buy all of my underwear and I don’t think I have bought any nightclothes since, well, ever. So off I went to M&S (surely one step up from Tesco?). I thought about asking Dave whether I should go for briefs or boxers but he would have told all my mates down the pub so I decided not to go down that route. I even went as far as to google men’s underwear fashion before I went but I was still none the wiser about which I should go for. In the end I opted for briefs – large, of course, as I couldn’t bring myself to go up to the pretty shop assistant holding anything other than large.

  Wednesday 16th July

  The boys came to see me this evening because my ex had to work late.

  I was in the kitchen washing up when Jack called to me from the front room. ‘Dad, is there something you want to tell us?’

  ‘What do you mean, is there something I want to tell you?’

  ‘You know, about your sex life?’

  That stopped me in my tracks. What could Jack mean? Julia? Or maybe going away with Amy this weekend?

  ‘I can’t think of anything I want to tell you about my sex life, s
on,’ I said in as calm a voice as I could muster as I walked in to the front room to see what the boys were on about.

  ‘Did you split up with mum because you are gay?’ Jack asked. Where had that come from?

  ‘No, I am not gay,’ I responded, ‘whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Well, your sister is gay, and I just found these pictures of buff men in their underwear on your browser on your phone.’

  I took the phone from my son. He was looking at my Google search for men’s underwear. I sighed with relief as I explained to him that I was buying new pants. Amy and I had elected not to tell our respective children about our planned dirty weekend. At that point I was glad that Jack didn’t make the connection between my new underwear and my attempts to please Amy.

  My boys and I had take-away pizzas for dinner – the ones Jack was supposed to be ordering when he was using my phone.

  Friday 18th – Monday 21st July

  My dirty weekend with Amy didn’t go exactly as I had planned.

  I was quite nervous about the whole thing. Other than a few evenings drinking and a few strolls with our dogs, Amy and I hadn’t spent much time together before this weekend. We had only kissed a couple of times. I haven’t even been to her house. She hasn’t been to my flat either but I don’t mind that. Maybe it was a bit soon to be going on a dirty weekend?

  Would I be able to hide my guilt from my adulterous escapade? Would we get on? Would we have enough to say to each other? OK, maybe those things weren’t at the forefront of my mind. Would the sex be any good? Could I keep going for more than a minute? Would I manage more than once a day? Would we even have sex?

  All these questions were bouncing around in my head as we travelled up to the Lake District in Amy’s Porsche. I am not a real petrol-head but what bloke wouldn’t look forward to travelling in a Porsche? Amy even let me drive. Driving the Porsche made driving in my crappy old people carrier feel like steering a motor scooter through treacle. A couple of times I had to put the brakes on quickly because I hadn’t anticipated the power of the acceleration.

  My driving experience didn’t last long though. My contact lens blew out on the A3 so we had to settle for roof up and Amy driving the rest of the way. That wasn’t exactly the most auspicious start to the weekend. And things got worse as the M something-or-other was an effing nightmare. We were aiming to find a nice country pub somewhere a fair way north of Birmingham to have lunch. In the end we had to settle for a service station snack.

  When we eventually arrived at the bed and breakfast, our first impressions were good. The view was spectacular. But that is about the best that can be said for the B&B. The worst that can be said for it is that the room only had twin beds. And they creaked, even when you just sat on them.

  ‘Do you want me to moan?’ Amy asked.

  Yes, yes, yes. It took me a while to work out that Amy meant complain to the manager about the twin beds.

  In any event, by this point I wasn’t feeling exactly horny. In fact I was feeling decidedly dodgy. Was it nerves? I don’t think so. Nerves imply butterflies in your stomach. What I had in my stomach felt more like flesh-eating reptiles. I blame the pasty I had picked up from the service station. Maybe they should tax them more?

  My first night with Amy should have been a thing of beauty. Instead I spent most of it trying to be discreet whilst throwing up or worse in the toilet. Amy was almost certainly glad of the twin beds in the end. She was also glad she had chosen a cheese sandwich rather than the pasty.

  I was still feeling fragile in the morning and we were a bit late going down to breakfast. On walking in to the dining room, we were somewhat surprised to be given a standing ovation by a group of blokes sitting in the corner. A tad self-consciously we waved to them and got on with choosing our fruit juices – actually, water for me, on account of my dodgy stomach.

  The establishment’s proprietor, a buxom old goat with a mischievous grin on her face, wandered over and asked us for our breakfast order. Once we had put in our requests she whispered to us conspiratorially. ‘Do you know, I haven’t seen the chandelier wobble like that since the vicar and his wife came to stay in 1985.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.

  ‘Say no more, say no more,’ she said with a nod and a wink.

  A few minutes later a clinically obese couple waddled in for breakfast looking rather red-faced but contented. I pushed my solitary piece of toast aside and gave up on breakfast.

  Amy made a decent job of hiding her irritation at being called on to be a nursemaid rather than a lover for the first day of our trip. Instead of tackling Helvellyn and Striding Edge we ended up sitting in tea rooms and putting our world to rights. ‘Do you know, you’re the most gorgeous person I have ever spent the night with in the Lake District,’ I told her.

  ‘How many people have you spent the night with in the Lakes before?’ she asked.

  ‘Never mind that,’ I told her.

  ‘Do you know, Mr Hope, you are the only man who has managed to keep me awake all night on a dirty weekend,’ Amy responded with her tongue firmly stuck in her cheek.

  With my recovery almost complete, we decided to walk to Troutbeck and have an early dinner in a pub. Our kids and dogs would have loved the walk but I confess I was quite happy without any unnecessary distractions.

  We had a very pleasant early pub dinner. I ordered a jacket potato, the blandest thing I could find on the menu. As the bill arrived Amy went off for a loo break. Convenient timing. Anyway, whilst I got my credit card out I took the opportunity to give myself another pep-talk. ‘Come on Graham, pull yourself together. Get a grip and start showing your kahunas, metaphorically speaking at least. Think Ben Affleck not Benny Hill; Billy Crystal not Billy no mates; George Clooney not George and Zippy. At the moment you are Hugh Grant without the charm or the looks – i.e. nothing. Come on, man up.’ Churchillian stuff, even if I do say so myself.

  ‘Darling, I am feeling much better now,’ I announced as Amy returned from the ladies. ‘Why don’t we take a scenic walk back to our room and then see if we can stay awake all night for the right reasons?’

  ‘Sorry Graham,’ Amy replied, looking disappointed, ‘I have just discovered Aunt Flo has come to visit earlier than I had expected.’

  ‘Aunt Flo? When? You didn’t say anything about an Auntie visiting us in the Lakes?’ I was confused by this unexpected development.

  ‘Aunt Flo, my time of the month. It must have been all that walking,’ Amy clarified. I probably blushed slightly at that point. Another difference between my ex and Amy is that my ex called a spade a spade. She would warn me that her period was coming. Mind you, my ex didn’t need to warn me because her mood swings gave me all the warning I needed.

  Instead of a night of unrestrained passion, Amy and I shared a single bed. We did continue to get acquainted with each other but I won’t go in to details.

  Yesterday was a relaxing day. We spent it strolling around quaint little villages with the million other tourists. We must now be famous in Asia, having appeared in the background of hundreds of Japanese tourists’ photos. In some ways, removing any possibility that we were going to have sex on our trip helped us, or at least me, to relax more on the final day of our stay.

  All in all, despite the earth not moving, Amy and I had a great few days away. Amy is great fun to be with. I feel like I have known her for years. I will miss her when she and Lucy fly off on their holidays on Wednesday. I also think I was a bit harsh when I likened her to Spurs. After spending more time with her this weekend, I am now thinking Liverpool at least.

  Wednesday 23rd July

  Amy and Lucy jetted off to visit Amy’s sister in San Diego this lunchtime. Her ex was supposed to take them to the airport but he let them down at the last minute so I stepped in. I will do anything to get in to Amy’s good books, especially if it gives me the chance to give her a last kiss goodbye before she flies. I will miss her.

  Jack will apparently miss Lucy too. He
begged me to let him come to the airport. It was his final day of school before the holidays. I would have probably said yes but my ex would have thrown a wobbly so I told him he couldn’t come. According to Amy, Lucy’s dad had moaned at his daughter at the weekend because despite being in Paris, she spent the whole time texting Jack. She was on her phone all the way to the airport today too.

  My dad has reached the ripe old age of 70. Actually 70 isn’t particularly ripe and old, or at least it doesn’t seem so to me now that I am nearly two thirds of the way there myself, but to my kids their granddad is really old. To celebrate the momentous occasion, he invited his two children to dinner.

  As I set off on the short walk from my flat to my parents’ house, I saw Jack, still in his school uniform, cycling across Martin Way on his way home to his mum. I crossed over to meet him. Before I even reached him I could tell he wasn’t happy. ‘What’s up soldier?’ I asked by way of greeting.

  ‘Nothing dad,’ he mumbled. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me which, in my experience, is a sure sign that there is something up.

  ‘How come you’re so late leaving school? I thought you were supposed to finish early on your last day.’

  ‘I got another stupid detention,’ Jack admitted, still not looking at me. Once I had got the thumbscrews out, I got Jack to admit that he had been caught hiding in the toilets texting Lucy when he should have been in a maths lesson. ‘They were only watching a bloody DVD in maths,’ Jack moaned.

  ‘Son, you are too young to be that obsessed with a girl,’ I told him. I didn’t bother getting too stroppy with him about his behaviour in school because it is the last day of term and if Amy’s prediction is anything to go by, Lucy and Jack might not be together when school starts up again in September.