‘Oh?’
‘And the fad diet thing is absolute bollocks of course.’
Jessica let that one slide.
‘Anyway, how’s the lovely Dave?’ her friend continued, changing the subject. ‘I mean, I know how his abs are doing from the web, of course. And a bit too much about his gluteus maximus, but how is he doing, you know – as a person, rather than a mannequin?’
‘He’s …’ began Jessica. But she didn’t have time to finish. Bea suddenly cocked her head to one side, and regarded her friend closely.
‘Hang on, Jess. Are you OK? Is that a black eye?’
Jessica’s hand went instinctively to her slightly too dark left eye socket. ‘No. No, it’s … just a bit of a home beauty mishap!’
‘And your hand!’ Bea reached across the table and grabbed Jessica’s hand. ‘Look, I know I had a go and all that, but if something’s going on … I’m here for you, OK?’
‘Seriously, it was just a mistake with some home-tanning stuff.’
‘If you say so.’ Bea’s brow remain furrowed.
‘Anyway, Dave’s great,’ Jessica said in an attempt to get the conversation away from the fact that she looked like she’d done a few rounds in the boxing ring. ‘Happy. Doing well at work. You know.’
‘And the lovely Anna?’
‘Growing up fast!’ Now, at least they were on common ground. Bea’s twins were a year younger than Anna.
‘Tell me about it! The boys are actually up to my eye level now. I’m either going to have to start wearing higher heels or accept that I’m going to be the smallest person in the family pretty soon.’
The conversation drifted from kids to work, to a random conversation about their obsession with Take That in the nineties. And when Jessica left the bar (after the requisite selfie) she felt that, even though she’d got no closer to working out what to do about Dave, she’d mended some bridges with her friend.
The only problem was, she’d done it by lying.
Loved meeting @MW_Bea at @TheCockInn! #catchingup #goodtimes
Lemon juice on ice – great for the #complexion
Chapter Eleven
Jessica took a quick snap of her trainers, crossed in front of her on the kitchen counter, making sure she tugged up the telltale floral material of her pyjama bottoms before she did so. It wasn’t lying, exactly, if you intended to get the run done, say, in the next week or so, was it? She’d just been so tired since Dave had left. Well, before that really.
And did anyone really like running in the morning?
#earlyrun #morningburn #vitamind #NewShoe #runningsystem #Tuesdaythoughts
Her laptop was sitting on the kitchen table in sleep mode and she booted it up. Her office, upstairs next to her bedroom, sat empty – as it often did. She’d created a home office in the box room – complete with the obligatory prints of inspirational sayings, modern glass desk and swivel chair – about a year ago. But somehow she always found herself migrating to the kitchen or the sofa when she wanted to work from home. More comfy, maybe. Or just a little nearer the front door and the street, closer to life.
Without meaning to, she clicked onto Dave’s Instagram, just for a second. There was a freshly posted shot of him in downward dog, wearing only his tiny, tight shorts, in front of a mirror. It had already received 1,245 likes. She stroked the screen idly with her finger and felt some unwanted tears well.
He’d be back, right? Dogs were loyal creatures.
She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue and shook her head like a Magic 8-Ball to change the subject. Outlook not so good.
Opening her online diary she noticed a little heart marked next to the date. Bollocks. Today would have been the anniversary of their first date. The last thing she needed.
Dave had been the result of Jessica’s first foray into internet dating – before him, she’d stuck to what Bea had termed the ‘dinosaur method’ (or going from bar to bar hoping to find someone worth taking home). ‘For God’s sake, Jess!’ Bea had told her. ‘Why do you think the dinosaurs are extinct?’
‘Lack of Tinder?’
‘Lack of Tinder,’ her friend had said, decisively, passing over her phone with a profile all ready to upload.
After three swipes Dave had appeared on her screen – black hair smoothed back, shiny deep-brown eyes and the bright flash of a smile. ‘Wow,’ she’d said, showing the phone to Bea. ‘What do you think?’
‘Fine, if you’re looking for the Ken to your Barbie.’
Jessica hadn’t known whether or not that had been a compliment.
Like many a dinosaur in prehistoric times, Jessica had gone to the date armed with thousands of escape plans, but Dave hadn’t been the sexual predator or desperate forty-year-old virgin that she’d feared. Just a cute guy with nice eyes who actually wanted to listen to what she had to say. And, well, his body wasn’t bad either.
Admittedly, relief and some sort of misguided awe harking back to her school days had been part of the attraction. She’d never have snagged a guy like that back then. (Not exactly the kind of romantic sentiment you read about in Jane Austen, or the kind of thing you’d write into your wedding vows: ‘I promise to always be relieved that you weren’t a sexual predator, misogynist or bigamist … To ensure that I always make my friends jealous by posting pictures of you on my blog’.)
Things had been simpler in lower-tech times when she’d met Grahame. Internet dating had been in its infancy, and still pretty much considered to be something you should never, ever tell anyone you’d done.
‘Damn,’ she said. Because the anniversary would flag up on her blog. She’d have to acknowledge it.
Closing her laptop for a moment, she picked up her copy of Remembering Rainbows. She’d hardly got past the first chapter – not because it wasn’t well written. But she just seemed to be so preoccupied with everything else.
REMEMBERING RAINBOWS
ACTIVITY ONE
Free range art
Ask yourself when you last lifted a paintbrush. Unless you’re a regular painter, chances are you haven’t tried your hand at a bit of art since school. And why not?
Most of us will argue that we don’t have the talent, that we don’t like the pictures we produce. That we aren’t ‘any good’.
Think about the pictures created by small children; they are uninhibited by the fact their painting might not be photographically accurate. They are also quick to cast last week’s painting aside in favour of their latest artwork.
This is because it is the process of painting that brings us joy. As school pupils and adults we believe that art is all about the end product – and if what we produce isn’t deemed as good as that of others, then we shouldn’t bother.
Almost every child likes to paint – and that’s because they don’t have our inhibitions. In fact, they’ve got it right –art is not necessarily about the destination, but about the journey.
Next time you’re in town, visit an art supplies shop. Buy yourself some materials – perhaps some clay, some coloured pencils or some paint. Whatever takes your fancy – and don’t worry about not having used it before.
Give yourself a morning or afternoon to explore art the way you used to. Cover several pages, or spend hours working on the same one. Make a clay replica of an animal, or simply enjoy working with the material. Whatever you end up with – whether it’s gallery-ready, or something you want to hide away – you will look back and realise those hours spent shaping materials to your will have been happy ones.
‘Can I borrow some of your muesli?’ A little voice cut through her reverie and she jumped.
‘God! Anna! Sorry, I didn’t see you there!’
‘Well?’ her dishevelled daughter, still in her pyjamas, asked somewhat defensively. ‘Is it OK if I have some?’
‘Of course. In fact, don’t just borrow some
– I’ll let you keep a bit!’
‘Very funny.’
‘I thought you didn’t like muesli? You said it looks like cat litter.’
‘I know, but …’
‘And tastes like sawdust.’
‘Yeah.’ Anna plonked a bowl down on the table. ‘But it’s healthy, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘So that’s good, right?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
Then, ‘Anna?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you fancy doing some art together or something?’
‘Art?’
‘Yes. I’m reading this book, and … it recommends it. Going to have a go for work.’
Anna shrugged. ‘Can do,’ she said, disinterestedly.
Jessica had told Anna the night before that Dave – the only sales leader to be in demand morning, noon and night – had had to go away to a conference for a few days. Which had felt awful, but had given her some thinking time.
She consoled herself that if Dave came back and told her that leaving had all been a ghastly mistake, she’d have avoided upsetting Anna altogether.
An hour later, returning from a school run on which she narrowly avoided Liz, Jessica sat down at the laptop and flicked on her emails and blog.
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Subject:Today
Hi Candice,
I’m going to work on the blog from home for a bit before coming into the office. Can you take messages, but send through anything urgent?
Thanks,
Jessica
She’d write the blog away from prying eyes, just in case anyone saw her face and somehow realised what she was up to.
Fit at 30
A year of head over heels
I can’t believe it’s been a year since I met the love of my life.
It was my first time arranging a date through Tinder, and I was as nervous as it’s possible to be when I walked into the pub that night and saw Dave for the first time. But I needn’t have been. This man’s become my soulmate, my gym-buddy and friend.
When I saw him sitting there with his fizzy water, my heart somersaulted and I knew that this was going to be something special. Now we’re living together and happier than ever.
Tonight he has promised to both (organic alcohol-free) wine and dine me at our favourite restaurant, and after we’ll snuggle up at home to watch his favourite DVD, Rocky.
So to my hunky chunk of Italian man – lots of love and see you tonight.
COMMENTS:
Dina
Congrats! You give me hope that there is someone out there for me! Have a lovely evening.
Mrs B
Glad to read that Dave’s sickness bug has cleared up; I forgot to ask whether it started with flatulence, as your father seems to have quite a lot of trapped wind at the moment. He says it’s just the spicy tortilla chips he ate after squash, but – if you’ll forgive me – they have a rather pungent quality to them. Hopefully it won’t be the same bug as Dave.
Stu
Congrats.
Anonymous
You’re so lucky! The last time I met someone on the internet he turned out to be older than my dad – didn’t even have his own teeth. Although, admittedly, that did have its advantages …
RT
Love your blog.
Chapter Twelve
Jessica was just about to set off to work that afternoon when her phone rang. The number was unknown.
‘Hello? Star PR?’
‘Oh, sorry, have I come through to the wrong number?’
‘Who are you after?’
‘Jessica Bradley, Mrs Bradley – Anna’s mum?’
Jess felt the frisson of fear that came when any caller addressed her as ‘Anna’s mum’. Had something happened? ‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Oh, hi, Jess. Sorry, I didn’t know you’d answer the phone sounding so official!’ tinkled a suddenly familiar voice. ‘It’s Liz – you know, from the PTA at Anna’s school?’
‘Oh, hi!’ Jessica tried to make herself sound enthusiastic.
‘Hi – hope you’re not too busy?’
‘No, no it’s fine.’
‘Great. Great. Well, I wondered whether you’d given any thought to the quiz questions?’
‘Um, well, a little …’ Jessica was loath to say that she hadn’t really given the subject any thought whatsoever.
‘Great!’ replied Liz, her tone suggesting that Jessica had done her a tremendous favour. ‘So the next step is to get together and go through them, if you’re OK with that? And …’ she paused for a second as if to prepare herself for a difficult conversation. ‘And I don’t suppose … Well, I’ve been reading your blog – and super congratulations by the way! – but I noticed that you hadn’t mentioned the quiz at all.’
‘Well, the thing is—’
‘Oh, I realise it’s just a school thing. But what a wonderful way to raise interest in the school! Just think, if we can drive up those donations a bit, and—’
‘I do understand … but—’
‘Oh good! I’m so glad. So, I’ll keep my eye out for a mention then, shall I?’ Liz ploughed on, either blissfully unaware that she’d misunderstood or employing the kind of manipulation skills usually used by the people with clipboards who made a beeline for Jessica outside shopping centres.
‘Well, anyway …’
‘Yes, yes. Of course, you need to get back to your business … I’m off too – all work, no play, eh!’
‘Huh …’
‘Goodbye!’ The phone abruptly clicked off and Jessica was left feeling as if she’d been accosted by an enthusiastic charity pusher and signed away her life savings to a dubious cause.
She was sitting in the car, about to fire it up and get to the office, when it rang again with an unknown number. This time, she ignored it. Constant bombardment: people wanting things, after her for her status rather than her friendship. This must be how Kim Kardashian feels.
She started her car, but instead of turning right to the office, she headed into the town centre.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked, as Jessica pored over the different paint sets in the art section of the local craft shop. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Not sure,’ Jessica replied, blushing slightly. ‘Just … just having a look really.’
Why did she feel embarrassed at buying art materials? It was hardly as if she’d decided she was Van Gogh – she was just trying out some of the Remembering Rainbows activities, not aiming to paint a masterpiece or planning to hack off her ear and pop it in the post. Surely to promote Robert’s book, she needed to understand it. This was a sensible thing to do.
She remembered her art classes at school – she hadn’t been too bad. B at GCSE; one particular painting of a rabbit her mum still had on the wall in the downstairs loo.
But she hadn’t picked up a paintbrush – other than to emulsion a wall – in years. The last time had probably been when she’d sat with a five-year-old Anna and tried a bit of half-hearted potato printing. After a while, she’d just let Anna get on with it, while she tapped away at her laptop instead. It had seemed like a waste of time – and time was something she had very little of.
She grabbed a couple of packs of air-drying clay and a few tools with which to shape it and went to the till.
‘Decided then?’ the woman said, smiling.
‘Yeah,’ Jessica shrugged. ‘They’re for my daughter,’ she lied, for no reason at all.
‘Lovely,’ said the woman, taking her credit card and putting the receipt in the till.
‘Sorry,’ said Jessica. ‘Have you got a bag?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid not,’ the w
oman said, seeming anything but afraid. ‘Store policy – it’s a plastic-free enterprise.’
‘But the clay is …?’ Jessica pointed to the plastic wrap the clay rectangles were covered in.
‘Biodegradable veggie plastic.’
‘Oh. No paper bags then?’
‘Sorry.’
Jessica opened her handbag and shoved the clay and tools inside – they just about fitted among the debris of receipts, crumbs and keys that she carried with her every day (just in case she wanted to return a can of baked beans she’d bought in 2018, or feed birds with crumbs from a forbidden KitKat she’d abandoned half-chewed a week ago).
‘Well, thanks,’ she said as she walked through the door.
‘Bye! Have fun!’ chirped the woman, turning to the next customer.
‘They’re for my—’
But the door closed behind her.
The bag strap cut into her shoulder as she walked back to the car; it was a designer one, bought for its look rather than practicality, and completely unsuited to lugging a kilo of clay back from the shops (unlike normal handbags, many of which have special pockets for random art materials.)
Before driving home, she popped into the office to show her face and make sure there’d been no disasters or calls from Hugo. Then she left, citing ‘research’. She’d have the house to herself, as Anna had her after-school netball club on Mondays.
Which would have been fine, she’d realised when she stepped in the door and heard music coming from her daughter’s room, if it hadn’t been Tuesday.
‘Anna?’ she called. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yeah, Jenny’s mum said could you ring her about next week.’
‘Sure – did you have a good day?
Silence.
Jessica trotted through to the kitchen and emptied her bag onto the table. The two lumps of clay fell out heavily, followed by her purse, her phone and a variety of handbag shrapnel. She swept the debris away and returned her phone and purse to the bag, before hanging it on the back of a chair.
Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down! Page 7
