And what did I do?
I told him to get lost. I made an assumption without ever giving him time to explain himself.
I’m stone cold sober, and for the first time in 2 weeks I actually face the fact that I had reacted without thinking – based on a belief that was pure conjecture…
What do they say? Assumption is the mother of all f*ckups…
And it looks like I might have I f*cked up – royally!
Thursday 3 December
0830 I haven’t slept a wink all night – what a surprise.
And the result of all those sleepless hours? (Apart from the fact that my eyes feel like they’ve got boulders in them, never mind grit.)
I came to following conclusions…
1. I’m in love with Rob
2. He’s not a cheating moron.
3. I’ve absolutely no idea how to get him to give me a second chance.
1635 I’ve spent most of the day marking the students’ writing tests which usually give rise to a few snickers if not downright hilarity.
Today however, not even HRH’s classic sentence ‘Ben is on the bich’ (as opposed to ‘beach’ rather than ‘bitch) failed to elicit so much as a titter.
I really don’t know what to do.
I keep seeing Rob’s face as he walked away from me on the Quarterdeck. I don’t think he’s going to listen to whatever I have to say.
I toy with the idea of ‘accidentally’ bumping in to him – maybe I could engineer a fall at his feet on The Corridor (very easily done but am I prepared to risk major head trauma, broken ankle or worse?)
I could venture up to his office, lock the door behind me (obviously with him in there) and force him to listen. But what if he’s not interested? Very public rejection is definitely up there in my top 10 ways to be humiliated.
And anyway, I don’t think I’ve got the nerve to confront him without being fairly well oiled (I might have mentioned I’m not good with confrontation…)
Should I send him another text? What if he doesn’t answer – what do I do then?
An email, what about an email? Then I think back to Dine Leavers and shudder.
Definitely not a good idea!
I’ve got just over a week to put my case forward before leave. My gut instinct tells me that once the holidays have begun, it’ll be too late…
Week 14
Monday 7 December
0915 Getting ready for a meeting with Commander NTE (just can’t get used to calling him Steve). He wants an update on our Internationals.
I already have a pretty good idea of who’s likely to make the grade (and more importantly who’s not) but I have to be a little bit cagey as my predictions could all go down the Swannee after the Speaking Tests are finished today…
And (for obvious reasons) don’t really want to be left with egg on my face (not to mention the fact that the RN have an irritating habit of throwing the ‘You said…’ back at you, with unfailing regularity - for pretty much, well, ever).
I’m actually thankful to have something to focus on other than my abysmal situation with the man who I suspect may well be the love of my life.
I’ve spent the whole weekend beating myself up to the frustration of my best friend, sibling and daughters (actually thought Frankie was going to commit bodily violence on me at one point after I wailed “What am I going to dooooo?” for the 50th time).
Their collective advice was “Bloody well speak to him.”
It’s ok for them; they haven’t seen him in grim, forbidding, not to mention downright scary mode (to be fair, I should confine ‘them’ to Frankie because she’s the only one who’s seen him at all) (and Nelson of course – but he hasn’t ventured an opinion as of yet.)
I’ve got 4 more days after today…
Tuesday 8 December
1500 We’ve got the final test results and it looks like we’ve got a whopping 80% pass rate – woo hoo.
I’ve emailed the results to the appropriate Embassies and the PTB and now getting ready to break the news to the remaining 20% that they’re going to be with us for another term…
1700 Have informed the condemned 7 of their less than illustrious fate – although given that most of them were Qatar Coastguard, their primary concern seemed to be whether this meant they could go on leave early.
HRH took it very well – but not actually sure he completely understood…
A helicopter will be coming for him on Thursday after the Passing Out Parade has finished. In theory, we’ll see him again in January…
Still haven’t spoken to Rob.
Wednesday 9 December
1615 Still haven’t spoken to Rob and now getting seriously panicky.
I actually took the bull by horns this afternoon and made my way up to his office (we had the Wardroom Christmas lunch so had a couple of glasses of wine – medicinal of course, resulting in some much needed dutch courage).
Unfortunately he wasn’t there.
Now just left with a resounding headache!
Tomorrow’s the Passing Out Parade, so there might not be any time to speak to him then and I don’t know if he’s going to the Christmas Ball on Friday.
I’m running out of time.
Think I’m going to have to resort to sending him a text…
2130 I’m sitting in the living room with Rosie, Frankie and James for a serious brainstorming session.
We (by that I mean they) have decided that the text should be short and to the point – requesting an opportunity for us both to talk privately (oh God I feel sick just thinking about it…)
However, it takes another couple of glasses of wine before I work up the courage to send it…
2200 No response…
2230 No response…
2300 No response.
2330 Still no response.
It’s looking like another sleepless night.
Thursday 10 December
0730 Needless to say, I’ve been awake for most of the night; but, you know what? It seems that managing to count up to 5000 sheep can actually have a positive effect.
I really don’t want this anymore. I’m knackered, miserable, fed-up, depressed and what’s more, I’ve simply HAD ENOUGH! I WILL speak to him today – come hell or high water; and what’s more, he WILL listen to what I have to say…
I have already decided what I’m going to wear (Passing Out Parades only take place once a term and they’re always a good opportunity to dress up.)
I’ve settled on a black and red fitted dress (an old faithful but does flatter the curves) teamed with a red bolero jacket – festive as well as classy.
AND it’s back to the red lips. Subtlety has gone out of the window. Subtlety has left the building…
I CAN DO THIS!
1000 Time to go down to the Wardroom. The Passing Out Parade (POP – of course) kicks off at 1030 and the guests have already started to arrive. Looking out of a classroom window, I can see a plethora of hats and ‘faux’ furs on the ramps around the Parade Ground (not raining so far but bloody cold).
I can see the Commander standing near the main entrance to the College (wearing a bit more than the last time I saw him on the ramps!)
The salute today is being taken by the supreme head of the Royal Navy – The First Sea Lord no less (I always think that’s such a cracking title – First Sea Lord; brilliant.)
To be fair, it’s not quite as exciting as having the salute taken by one of the Royals (of course we’re very used to royalty gracing our Parade Ground - the RN being the senior service, don’t you know…)
1015 The Wardroom is heaving. I look around for Rob, determined to corner him at the first opportunity…
I spot him over by the windows – bugger, it looks as if he’s hosting a couple of VIPs which means I’m going to have to wait.
He glances over and catches me staring at him. For once, I don’t look away, but simply stare back (aiming for challenging yet wistful - bloody difficult I can tell you).
He holds my gaze for a f
ew seconds, then looks away with a slight frown.
That’s good, got him thinking (I hope.)
1030 Everyone attending the POP has made their way out of the Wardroom and onto the Parade Ground leaving just a few of us who are fortunate enough to be able to watch the whole thing through the windows. (I love the whole ambience of the POP; just prefer it in the summer.)
And then we’re off as the Royal Marine band begins marching onto the Parade Ground with a rousing chorus of Anchors Aweigh…
1200 Once the First Sea Lord (they call him 1SL…) has inspected every cadet (can take a while although they usually get a move on when everyone’s standing around freezing their gonads off), it’s time for the finale, as all the cadets march around the ramps saluting the Admiral as they pass. Once the salute has been taken, they briefly return to the Parade Ground before marching slowly up the steps and into the main entrance. The last bit as always is accompanied by the haunting strains of Auld Lang Syne which never fails to bring a lump to my throat.
Then it’s over, signalled by a rousing cheer coming from the depths of The Corridor from all those who’ve just passed out (not literally, obviously – don’t think we had any keel over during the ceremony; too bloody cold).
Right, I need to get on to the Quarterdeck quickly – this is where I have to do my bit along with John – meeting and greeting all the International guests during the drinks reception.
Although wine is available to all guests, John and I are unable to partake due to the fact that most of the guests we look after are Muslim – which on this occasion is not helping with my whole ‘I can do this’ mind-set. As I surreptitiously watch Rob across the room, I can feel my bravado slowly trickling away…
I look down at my watch – only 45 minutes until I can go for lunch. I take a deep breath; I’ll collar him then (and have a backbone inducing glass of wine at the same time).
1350 Ok it’s now or never. Most of the guests have departed, leaving officers and civilian staff to relax with relief now all the pomp and ceremony is over.
Rob is sitting in the bar with Sam and several others. They already have a good few empty bottles on the table in front of them as they begin the unwinding process at the end of a long term. (Officers in the RN do take their ‘unwinding’ very seriously – the procedure can last a full 24 hours once they’ve started…!)
I can see that Rob has gone as far as undoing his ceremonial jacket and is laughing at something Sam is saying.
Does that mean he’s more or less likely to listen to what I have to say…?
Does he even care – oh God, he doesn’t look like he does.
I’m sitting over the other side of the room with the language teachers. Our Internationals are busy packing their gear back in their cabins. Once they’ve reported back to the Language School, they’ll be given permission to go on leave (always a bit hit and miss as to whether they’ll miss out the ‘permission to go’ bit and simply do a runner).
To be honest, at this point in time, I’m too knackered and jaded to care.
They don’t know how lucky they are…
The teachers begin to get up in preparation to see off their students. I tell them I’ll be along in a minute to give my ‘Head of English Language Training’ end of term speech.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be quite emotional about seeing our prodigies move on into ‘big school’.
Under normal circumstances.
1400 I’ve got about 5 minutes to do this. I was hoping that Rob might get up to go to the heads (alone) but no such luck.
My heart is pounding behind my rib cage and the chicken korma I had for lunch is sitting like a lump of lead in the pit of my stomach.
As I get up and walk towards potential, very public, humiliation, I reflect that this whole ‘love’ thing really stinks.
Rob has his back to me so doesn’t see me coming – not so Sam unfortunately; he throws his arms in the air and shouts me over like we haven’t seen each other for years (hope Rob’s not quite as trollied).
My nemesis swivels round to face me and I hesitate a few feet away.
“Er Rob,” My voice cracks so I cough and start again.
“I was wondering if you had time for a quick word.” He frowns (I’ve just realized he’s actually pretty good at that) before saying in a very uninterested voice, “Sure, go ahead”
“Erm, I’d like to do it privately if that’s ok…” I just want the ground to swallow me up.
For one horrific second I think he’s going to refuse and I actually begin backing away in preparation to flee the room.
Then he shrugs and gets out of his chair, waving me on to go first to wherever I have in mind.
There are a few sniggers behind us as I lead the way into the Wardroom cloakroom.
Then all too soon we are standing staring at one another under the dubious concealment of a couple of coats and caps.
“What is it?” His eyes are giving nothing away and his voice still sounds frankly bored and, even worse, completely aloof.
I take a deep breath. “Did you get my text?”
He simply continues to look at me as he nods and I realise at that moment that he really is not going to make this easy.
Fighting the temptation to turn and run, I rush on (I’ve rehearsed this speech so many times, I have to make sure I get it all out in a oner in case he tries to interrupt…)
“Look the thing is I think I made a mistake I assumed after seeing her in your cabin that you and Tracy were still together and thing is I’m so scared of being hurt again but I had such a wonderful time when we were sailing and I really like you and I was wondering if you’d consider you know giving it another go seeing as we seemed to enjoy each other’s company and seeing as you’re not actually you know with Tracy or at least I don’t think you are you said you hadn’t seen her since Sunday which I think means you’re not with her so would you consider being with me I think I might have actually fallen in love with you…”
Rob blinks as I grind to a halt. I didn’t mean to let the last bit slip…
My heart is racing and my hands are clenched so tightly that my nails are digging in to my palms.
After what seems like an eternity of silence (but was probably only a few seconds), he closes his eyes briefly and sighs. Then he steps towards me and without taking his eyes off mine, he simply raises his hand and lays his palm gently against my cheek.
His eyes are now warm and bright, bright blue.
“Will you go to the ball with me tomorrow night?”
Epilogue
Friday 11 December
1930 The whole College is decorated with festoons of holly and mistletoe. As we stand at the entrance to the Quarterdeck, I take in the beautiful garlands of fairy lights adorning the Poopdeck as well as the gigantic Christmas tree - all twinkling and reflecting the swathes of tinsel and hundreds of baubles that nestle within the beautiful green branches. The smell of pine needles permeates the room along with echoes of laughter and carefree banter.
I glance up at the man next to me who is gazing at me in appreciation. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.” He murmurs, admiration so very evident in his voice.
And to be fair, I really do! My red satin ball gown fits me flawlessly and is totally perfect for the evening.
If there’s one thing I’m good at – it’s dressing for the occasion…
Rob holds out his arm and I slip my hand into it. “Shall we go in?” He asks.
“Absolutely,” I say and, as I smile up at him, my heart actually feels like it’s going to burst with happiness
Think it’s definitely a sign…
***
If you enjoyed this book, I’d be really grateful if you would leave a review/star rating on Amazon. This is soo important and helps so much with both sales and of course my self esteem :-)
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For any of you who would like to connect, I’d really love to hear from you. You can contact me via my website at http://www.beverleywatts.com or my facebook page
And lastly, thanks a million for taking the time to read this story and I have included a sneak preview of my next book for those of you who are interested. It should be available by the middle of August – you can sign up on my website if you want me to tell you when it’s available :-)
I really hope we can continue on to the next one together…
Yours aye (just had to get that in!)
Bev
Claiming Victory
By Beverley Watts
Prologue
Admiral Charles Shackleford (retired) entered the dimly lit interior of his favourite watering hole. Once inside he waited for a second for his eyes to adjust and glanced around to check that his aging springer spaniel was already seated beside his stool at the bar. Pickles had disappeared into the undergrowth half a mile back as they were walking along the wooded trail high above the picturesque River Dart after the scent of some poor unfortunate rabbit caught his still youthful nose. The Admiral was not unduly worried; this was a regular occurrence and Pickles knew his way to the Ship Inn better than his master.
Satisfied that all was as it should be for a Friday lunchtime, Admiral Shackleford waved to the other regulars and made his way to his customary seat at the bar where his long standing (and long suffering) friend Jimmy Noone was already halfway down his first pint.
“You’re a bit late today Sir,” observed Jimmy, after saluting his former commanding officer smartly.
Charles Shackleford grunted as he heaved his ample bottom onto the bar stool.
“Got bloody waylaid by that bossy daughter of mine.” He sighed dramatically before taking a long draft of his pint of real ale, already poured and placed on the bar in front of him.
“Damn bee in her bonnet since she found out about my relationship with Mabel Pomfrey. Of course, I told her to mind her own bloody business, but it has to be said that the cat’s out of the bag and no mistake.”
An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy Page 19
