What Goes Around...

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘No!’

  Fuck that!

  ‘No.’ I shake my head as I say it again - I am not doing other peoples shopping for a poxy five quid an hour. ‘It’s hardly going to cover a mortgage.’ Not the one I plan to take out on the house anyway.

  Except, Luke has other ideas, because it’s a tiny mortgage that he’s suggesting I apply for.

  I wanted a year.

  He can maybe wrangle a year.

  But I’m going to have to work for it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  I’m too embarrassed to go to Ricky to get my roots done and so two weeks later, I find myself in my local supermarket, buying a home bleaching kit and hair dye.

  I’ll be working here tomorrow.

  I’ve got this very wobbly arrangement with Simone about dropping off and picking up the children. Charlotte is not pleased that I’m starting work and she questions me as I try to sort out my hair.

  ‘So what do I do when I get home?’ She’s standing at the bathroom door as I part my hair and smear peroxide over my roots.

  ‘What you always do,’ I say to her. ‘Go on Facebook. Or you can stay at Simone’s till I get home – I’ll be back by five.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to go there after school.’

  ‘Charlotte.’ I am doing my best to be patient, I know it’s a change, I know she’s used to having me home but I’m doing this so that bigger changes don’t have to happen. ‘It’s two days a week that I won’t be here after school.’

  ‘And some weekends,’ Charlotte says.

  ‘Charlotte…’ I look at her in the mirror and her eyes are so accusatory as they meet mine. ‘Lots of mums work,’ I point out. ‘Felicity’s mum works.’ Charlotte just stares at me for a full a minute, she doesn’t say it but I know she’s thinking it.

  Felicity’s mum and her other friends mums have careers or hobbies or just live at the gym or shops.

  They don’t work at the supermarket.

  My shift starts at eleven and will finish at four forty five.

  I’m told what to do, in a painfully slow voice, by this really annoying woman, whose name is Yolanda. She keeps calling me “love.”

  ‘You have to be thorough, love, and you have to be quick.’

  I have a special trolley and it has a board that holds the computer printout of the order.

  ‘If we haven’t got what they’ve ordered,’ Yolanda says really slowly, ‘then you look down here and see if they’ve ticked that they’ll take alternatives.’

  ‘I see.’

  I just want to get started.

  ‘You must remember to add their free promotions and, depending on how much they spend, they get a bonus…’

  ‘I was told that on my training day.’

  Worse than standing in the supermarket, with my blue top and black trousers on that say I’m staff, are the people who glance over because it’s clear that I’m new.

  I just want to blend in.

  I just want to look as if I’m here doing my shopping.

  I’ve put on a black cardigan to cover my top and name badge and I just want to get going.

  ‘You’ll get ever so hot in your cardigan, love.’

  I don’t care.

  ‘I’m always cold,’ I tell her.

  ‘Well, pin your name badge on it,’ Yolanda tells me and I grit my teeth, because here it bloody comes, ‘love.’

  I set off with my trolley and I get the fruit and vegetables and then off to the milk, then I head to the meat section. It’s actually very similar to my list and I check the name at the top and no, it’s not mine.

  Of course it’s not because I cancelled online shopping a couple of weeks ago. There were just these mountains of food arriving and I had to throw loads out.

  It’s a fantastic list.

  I do not have to double back once.

  It takes me to every aisle in glorious sequence and I choose alternatives carefully (she’s ticked the box) and then I go to the special check out for personal shoppers. I add her bonus gifts and promotions and Yolanda double takes when she sees me preparing to start on the next.

  ‘I know I said quickly love, but I said thorough too.’

  ‘I have been thorough.’

  ‘Let’s just go through the order.’

  She does, she goes through it all and I think she might be a bit pissed off, because it’s perfect.

  Almost.

  She comments on my crusty rolls.

  ‘She asked for half a dozen, there are only five.’

  ‘There were only five there.’

  ‘You should have added a soft one.’

  She checks my next load too.

  And the next.

  Finally I get the nod.

  The music is driving me crazy, it’s constantly on in the background and there are kids screaming and carrying on, but I just keep going through the lists.

  Again and again and again.

  I’m back at the shampoos for a 500ml bottle of Head and Shoulders.

  I glance over the shelves, they’re the halfway up ones in the health and beauty section and she wants face cleanser too. I am assuming it’s a she that I’m shopping for but I don’t check the name till the end. I play little games with myself like that all the time. The hours are passing but then, just as I’m starting to blend in, just as I’m getting the hang of things, up pops my neighbour, peering into my life, but from across a supermarket shelf this time.

  ‘Lucy!’ I half expect to see her holding gardening shears. ‘You work here?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I give her a smile, one that says – didn’t you know?

  ‘How long for?’

  I shrug; I’m not going to tell her that it’s my first day. ‘I was going crazy at home all day.’

  ‘You should come over some time.’

  I give her a smile.

  ‘How are things?’ She asks and I feel her eyes drift over my body but not the way men’s do. I stand there as she mentally weighs me, as she estimates that I’ve gone up to a size fourteen, but I haven’t.

  I’m a twelve.

  These stupid uniforms come up tiny.

  ‘How are you coping since..?’ She doesn’t mention the woman who arrived with him, whom no doubt she saw; she doesn’t mention anything but I know that she knows.

  ‘Getting there.’

  ‘How’s Charlotte?’ She asks. ‘I can drop her at school or pick her up if you ever need it – I’m there getting mine anyway.’

  ‘She’s fine.’ I give her a smile. ‘But thank you.’ My smile stays in place. ‘I’d better get on.’

  I can feel her watching me as I move off. I bet she’ll be at the school early, just so she can be the first with the news.

  I know it.

  I know it, because sometimes I used to stand there in a huddle, my eyes widening, as I listened to the rumours about someone’s life going belly up.

  I can see them now at 3.15pm, all there in their huddles.

  I can hear the words.

  “Lucy Jameson is having financial problems.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Gloria

  ‘Well done, Gloria!’

  It’s been nearly a month since my near blow out and I’m back to where I was then, because I’ve lost another pound. I could have lost two, Beryl tells me as she goes through my food journal. She is always telling me I should exercise or at least try walking and I always mean to. I actually enjoy it when I do it (walking I mean, there's no way you’d get me in a gym, or doing Pilates, or any of that nonsense).

  I love my slimming club. It’s barking mad really, but I love sitting in the meeting hearing all the other sufferers speak. I actually feel like I fit in. I like sitting with people who get how hard it is not to eat the cold remains of the cauliflower cheese, though I’ve never had that specific problem. I listen to Jane though, and it's a weakness of hers but she managed to throw it all out on Sunday. She was really proud of herself, though she was tem
pted to get it out of the bin. Another woman suggests that she squirts washing up liquid over the leftovers as soon as the meal’s finished, so she’s not tempted to cheat.

  See, barking mad!

  But it’s working.

  I was always on diet. I started one every day, or at least every week. I’ve tried all of them. I’d plan it like crazy, restrict everything I liked and just set myself up for failure really, but it’s different here. Here, I can eat it if I want it.

  Just not the amount that I previously did.

  ‘Anyone else?’ Beryl asks and no-one answers but that doesn’t stop Beryl. ‘I asked myself this week – Beryl, do you want that piece of cheesecake?’ She answers her own question. ‘Yes, Beryl, I do. I’d been good all week and I’d been exercising too.’ Her eyes catch mine for a moment. ‘Then I asked myself, Beryl, do you really need a second slice?’ She’s still looking at me. ‘No, Beryl, I don’t.’

  I feel that I have to speak, so I tell them about the night I had half a bar of chocolate and that the other half is still in the fridge. I get a murmur of well done and I am going to walk this week.

  Beryl asks if anybody has had a gain this week and I know that Paul has. I could see it in his face when he weighed in and normally he shows me his book when we sit down but he didn’t this time.

  Beryl goes through his week with him and I feel a tightness in my throat when he explains that he cheated a few times. He's got a couple of stresses going on he admits, when Beryl pushes him - just at work, he hurriedly adds.

  He never told me that he had and he’s not telling Beryl any more now. I just know that one of the stresses is me.

  I know that he's got a stressful job, he’s spoken about it here before, but he's not talking now. When we were friends, when we were simply fellow attendees, he would talk here, but not now.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask him when we’re back at the house.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘I know it’s a bit of a strain, me having Daisy…’

  ‘Daisy’s great.’ Paul says, bouncing her on his knee.

  ‘Eleanor’s better.’ I say to him. ‘She’s so much better,’ my voice sort of trails off. I wouldn’t call Eleanor depressed now. She comes over most days and Noel seems to be coming over there more and more.

  To see Daniel and Laura, apparently.

  I’m not so sure.

  ‘Maybe we should go to separate meetings?’ I suggest. ‘Maybe you'd be more comfortable talking about whatever is on your mind, if I’m not there.’

  ‘Don't be daft,’ he grins. ‘You have to say something, don't you?’ Paul says. ‘She's like a dog with a bone, that Beryl – I just put on a couple of pounds this week. There doesn’t have to be a reason.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Lucy

  ‘What's for dinner?’

  Some things never change – two minutes after stepping into the car Charlotte asks the usual question.

  ‘I thought we could treat ourselves and get takeaway tonight.’

  I must have the only child who screws her nose up at the prospect of takeaway. She used to beg for it, used to plead the entire ride home from school, for burgers or pizza, though I guess we have been eating a lot of it lately.

  ‘I’ll be a bit more organised next week. I’ve got a long weekend off.’ I explain to Charlotte. ‘I’m off now till Tuesday. I’m just getting into the swing of working…’

  ‘At the supermarket.’ I hear the slightly derisive note in her voice, one that has being creeping in more and more since she started senior school. I know she's embarrassed, in all honesty, I'm embarrassed too but I'm doing this for her. I’m doing this so she can go to her posh school and keep her nice house and I feel this churn of anger rise in my stomach.

  I’m doing this for her.

  ‘Do you think I want to go to work?’ I turn and I see her face shutter. ‘Do you not think I’ve got enough on my mind right now?’

  ‘I'm sorry.’

  I don't want her to be sorry, I don't want her to have to be sorry and it just makes me more cross that she is.

  She's turning into spoiled brat – and I'm a word away from telling her that. I’m a moment away from pulling the car over and telling her what a selfish cow she can be at times. I’m a second away from slapping her cheek and I’m gripping on to the steering wheel for dear life.

  ‘I'm sorry, Mum,’ she says it again and I don't know if it's anger or tears that are choking me but I swallow them down and we make it home. Charlotte flounces off to the computer and she’s straight onto Skype.

  ‘I've got a headache. I'm going to lie down.’

  Things were getting better.

  They were supposed to be getting better but it lasted for all of five minutes.

  It’s all falling apart again now.

  I’m so tired from working.

  I shouldn’t have to be working. I should be taking care of myself and taking care of Charlotte.

  I am just so tired.

  I haven't even made the bed and the curtains are still drawn. I can hear her on Skype and they’re making plans for the summer holidays. I’ll have her home for six weeks soon and I just want to close my eyes and never wake up. I don't seem to be able to stay out of bed for more than a couple of hours these days. There’s just too much to deal with. It's more than I can deal with and I just want it all to go away. I just want to close my eyes and sleep and then wake up and everything be sorted.

  Or not wake up, I don’t care.

  I just don't care.

  It's his birthday tomorrow.

  I would have been out buying a dress today - I've already got his present, it’s in the wardrobe in the spare room. He wanted these golf clubs. I know nothing about golf but Jess and Luke play and in January, Jess had told me that the clubs he wanted were on sale.

  Tomorrow, I'd have been going to the hairdresser’s and to get my nails done. Then, in the evening, we would have gone out to the same restaurant that we always went to on his birthdays, one of those restaurants where you’re seen. We’d have held hands and then we’d go out to the car and have a kiss before going home.

  Then he’d head up to bed and I’d set up the conservatory.

  The holding hands, the kissing, the PDAs, were all for the benefit of others.

  Or were they?

  They benefitted us too, added to the illusion we created.

  I don't know what part of us was real.

  Do I miss him?

  I don’t know.

  Is he missing me?

  I don’t know that either.

  Did he love me?

  I have no idea.

  Charlotte wakes me up at six and I go out and get dinner.

  I spend ten pounds on takeaway.

  That’s two hours of work.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  If I was home I could have cooked dinner.

  I’d have some time.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  My mind feels all flickery.

  It’s the best word I can come up with, even if it doesn’t exist.

  He doesn’t exist.

  It’s his birthday tomorrow.

  I think of the poster on Dr Patel’s wall and I wonder if he looks like that now.

  We eat pizza from the box and we drink our bonus bottle of cola. ‘Can we have salad tomorrow?’ Charlotte asks. ‘And, can you get some fruit for my lunch box. I don’t like going to the tuck shop.’

  I look at the empty pizza box.

  She’s only had one slice.

  I’m disgusting.

  She disappears for a little while and I remember it’s bin night. I should get up and drag them out but I just don’t have the energy and then Charlotte calls me upstairs.

  ‘I've run you a bath…’I walk into the bathroom and Charlotte's been busy - there are bubbles and candles and towels have been put out. There is even a little glass of sparkling wine. She did this for me on Mother's Day, just before it all happened.
<
br />   I used to love my baths.

  It's the one place where I really relaxed. I used to have a quick shower in the morning after we'd sorted out Noodle, but in the evenings, after Charlotte was in bed and he was on the computer, or on the phone, I would head up to the bathroom to do my routines.

  Exfoliate, face mask, hair mask… you know what I mean.

  Now, I take off my blue supermarket blouse and black trousers. I look at my bra-it should be white but it's grey, I’ve been sleeping in it.

  I’m bloated.

  I look down to my feet. My nail varnish on my toes is there at the end of long nails, a blood red that went with my lovely red dress. I really should get the clippers and find a fresh razor. I peer in the mirror and I look at my face. My horrible, puffy face, that sits on top of my horrible, puffy body. I open the bathroom cupboard and there's my exfoliating cream and those little glove things that you pull on. They’ll be bald by the time I’ve finished tackling my lizard skin. I line them all up on the edge of the bath.

  I don't really know what happened then.

  I look back at that moment sometimes and I find it hard to believe what I did. I still find it difficult to make sense of it, even now.

  I don't know what I was thinking.

  Okay, I know a little of what I was thinking.

  That it all just seemed too hard.

  Too big.

  Too impossible.

  Insurmountable.

  I can’t do this.

  I pick up his razor, one of those old-fashioned ones where you change the blade. Charlotte bought it for him one Fathers Day. I find the little rectangular packet. I can hear Charlotte outside; she must have got up to use the loo.

  ‘Night, Mum!’ She calls.

  ‘Night.’

  Just go to bed.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  Please, just go to bed - I can't do normal tonight.