Garry's 31 day novel

Chapter 30 - five months later (part 2)

2005-11-30T00:08:00.000Z

Dave.

Dave found himself without a flatmate much quicker than he’d expected. Danny and Todd realised that it was silly to spend so much time hiding in Danny’s room when Todd had a whole house of his own, and after a few nights there they realised they were getting on so well that they might as well move in together. Dave missed having them round the house - he found Danny a calming influence, and it was always nice to find someone else in the flat after a busy night out. And he’d grown to like Todd too, and not just because of his habit of walking round all day with no shirt on, regardless of the weather or who else was in the flat. He had a sly wit that Dave appreciated, and quickly learnt that Dave didn’t mind if he took the piss out of him. Dave still saw them though, and even went round for dinner a couple of times. The house was lovely - an Edwardian semi with high ceilings and original floorboards. Danny looked perfectly at home there, and quickly made the kitchen his own.
Dave rattled around the flat on his own for a couple of weeks, then realised he’d started spending increasing amounts of time away from it, because he didn’t like being there on his own. So one day, without really thinking about it, he invited Simon to move in. He knew he wasn’t happy where he was, and thought the company would do them both some good. They’d been seeing quite a lot of each other anyway, so it made sense. Simon agreed, although typically for him he had to go away and think about it. But everyone agreed it was a good idea, so one Sunday they borrowed a van and shifted Simon’s stuff .
They’d shared a house together at college, and for a little while afterwards, so they were already familiar enough with each others habits to get on pretty easily. It helped that Simon wasn’t working, because he wasn’t in Dave’s way when he was trying to get ready for work, then he had the whole day to potter round to his heart’s content until Simon came back of an evening. They got on well, and people were soon joking that they were like a married couple, which Dave found slightly less amusing as he still had hopes of finding a boyfriend.
He continued his search for Mr Right, although he never seemed to get beyond the first date with anyone. He knew he was looking in the wrong places - gyms and clubs were hardly the ideal place to look for love - but he enjoyed them, and always had fun with the guys he went home with. He even went speed-dating with Nick one night, although both of them agreed that the other was the nicest person there. So they had a slightly drunken experimental snog, then agreed that it should never happen again. He half wondered if he should get together with Simon, but decided that was a very bad idea.
Much to everyone’s surprise his sister became pregnant again. It wasn’t planned, but both her and her husband were really excited about having another baby in the house again, as the girls were now getting fairly independent and would happy get on with their own stuff and ignore their parents. But she developed dangerously high blood pressure and had to give up work and stay at home resting. It drove her mad, so Dave spent a lot of time round there, gossiping with her or taking the girls out so she could have some peace. It made him realise how much he missed having a family, although he realised he couldn’t always look after himself, let alone another human being. Or even a cat for that matter.
And thankfully things at work were fine. They scraped through the audit, narrowly avoiding getting a fine. The Board were so relieved that he’d turned things round since the previous year that they gave him a generous pay rise and a PA all of his own, which made thing much easier round the office.
He had his 38th birthday and surprised everyone by giving up smoking, then surprised himself even more by taking up golf. People started to wonder if he was growing up at last, but he knew the truth!

Jim.

Maria never came back, in fact she made Jim promise never to contact her again. The letter had been the final straw, and even he realised it was a pretty stupid thing to do. But it helped him get her out of his system, and he soon stopped having dreams in which she came back to him and they lived happily ever after. The only other person in his life was Basil the cat, who seemed to forgive him for scaring Maria away and got in the habit of greeting him at the door when he came back from work.
A few people Jim worked with tried to set him up with single women, and although he went on a few dates he never slept with any of them and never saw most of them again. A few of them wondered out loud if he might be gay - single man, living alone with a cat, spending most of his time with other men - you can see why they would, but uniquely amongst his friends he was definitely straight. He just needed some time for himself, some time to recover and work out what he wanted next.
In the meantime he renewed some of his friendships - he spent a bit of time with Nick, who he found incredibly easy to get on with. Sometimes they swam together, and when they discovered a shared love of silent films they spent a few evenings watching those. He was so easy to get on with, even when they weren’t smoking, and the cat certainly enjoyed the extra company.
He tried to see more of Simon, and they’d tried to get out for a drink once a week at least. And once he moved in with Dave it meant Jim saw a lot more of him too, which was fun. He even managed to persuade him to take up golf, although neither of them could quite work out how or why it happened. Luckily they resisted the plaid trousers and bright jumpers.

The others.

Brenda stayed at the supermarket, and started going out more with the other staff. Not just clubbing with the gay boys, but pubs and stuff with the other girls and whoever happened to be up for it. Then a new Bakery Manger arrived and she was smitten. After a couple of weeks of staring at him across the canteen Nick persuaded her to invite him to the pub as it was one of the girl’s leaving do. He accepted, and Brenda spent the whole evening chatting too him. Although he wasn’t exactly her type he made her smile, and more importantly made her cake. She soon found herself daydreaming about wedding cake.
Big Ben stayed in Brighton after his romance fell apart. He gave up working in supermarkets and started working in gay bars, which had the benefit of getting admiring glances from the punters and pretty much first pick of anyone cute who came into the pub. He had a short-lived affair with the landlord of one place, but he beat him up when he discovered he’d been unfaithful, so he moved on, older and wiser.
Other Ben soon got sick of working in supermarkets and struggling with his college work, so he gave it all up and got a full time job in a bookshop. He was instantly much happier. Once he got over his crush on Big Ben he realised that actually he might be straight, and spent many an evening discovering for himself with a succession of women he picked up in Modern Fiction.
Simon’s flatmate John was a figment of his imagination.

The End.

Chapter 29 - 5 months later (part 1)

2005-11-29T07:37:00.000Z

Simon.

Simon took Nick’s advice and went to see his GP the following day, where he added the waiting room and consulting room to the list of places he’d burst into tears in. the doctor listened as he explained everything that had happened to him - getting beaten up (he omitted to tell him the circumstances, which was probably a mistake as it might have helped him understand what was going on a little better); the situation at work; the shoplifting. The doctor was certain Simon was depressed, and possibly on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he signed him off work for two weeks, and gave him a course of anti-depressants. Then he told Simon to go home and get as much rest as he could, and to talk about what had happened to somebody. At first Simon thought he meant friends and family, which was literally his idea of hell, but Nick suggested a counsellor of some kind, and thanks to his occupational health scheme Simon started seeing one a week later.
Of course he had to explain to his Mum why he was off work, and as predicted she took it badly - what would the neighbours think? She suggested she might have to move if his case got into the papers, which annoyed him so much he found himself telling her he thought he might be gay. Of course she blamed Nick for putting the idea in his head, and then proceeded to phone him and tell him exactly that. Everyone else agreed his honesty had been a good thing, although it took his mother three weeks to speak to him after he’d told her. By that time he’d gotten a much more positive reaction from other people that he was better able to stand up to her.
Shortly after that he took voluntary redundancy from work. It would have been difficult for them to make him redundant whilst he was off sick, and expensive to provide cover for his job while he was being paid, so they had a meeting and agreed a generous settlement, including a further year’s health cover, which everyone hoped would see him back to full health. As soon as the papers were signed he felt much better and smiled as he left the building for the last time.
He quickly developed a new routine, and found himself able to sleep late for the first time since he was a teenager. Encouraged by Nick he started swimming, and even joined Dave at the gym a few times. He ate better and felt better in general. His counsellor was pleased with his progress, but even she couldn’t do anything to put off the inevitable - the court case.
He found himself in the local magistrate’s court on a Monday afternoon, represented by a lawyer appointed by the court. He admitted the offence and was in and out of court quite quickly, getting a fine and having to pay compensation, as well as some community service hours. Everyone agreed that the sentencing was fair, and it only warranted three lines in the local paper. His mother didn’t attend court - she took herself off to the seaside for the week, unable to face the shame of it. Nick, Dave and Jim all turned up, each of them prepared to be character witnesses if necessary, but it never came to that. A letter from Simon’s counsellor was enough to ensure leniency.
Simon took it surprisingly well - it was a relief to bring that chapter of his life to an end. The money wasn’t a problem thanks to his redundancy payout, and the community service could easily be fitted into his day as he had plenty of free time. He even began to look forward to it.
After two months he moved out of the flat and in with Dave, who suddenly found himself without a flatmate. They’d shared at college, and quickly fell into their old routines. Dave was good for Simon - he encouraged him to be more outgoing and have more fun, whilst Simon reminded Dave to pay the bills and eat occasionally. They quickly became like a married couple, and people in the supermarket often assumed they were an item, which frustrated Dave as it stopped him pulling, but amused Simon no end.
Once he was settled Simon even got in contact with his father. Of course his Mum was furious, but thanks to Nick the meeting went surprisingly smoothly, and although father and son were wary of each other at least the ice was broken.
He saw a lot more of Jim and Nick, and started to look more his age. There was no immediate need to return to work, so he looked into some courses, but before it began he surprised everyone - including himself - by taking a holiday to Amsterdam. And whilst he wasn’t brave enough to venture into a café for a spliff he came back looking more relaxed than anyone could remember.

Nick.

Nick and Big Ben became an item very quickly, in the way that gay men often do. They became inseparable, spending loads of time together when they weren’t working or Ben wasn’t at college. They were very careful not to spend too much time chatting at work, which amused their colleagues no end, although Ben was so hurt by the whole thing he wouldn’t speak to either of them and left for a rival store when he couldn’t stand it any longer. Nick’s friends teased him about his toy boy, and Ben’s teased him about his Daddy. But it couldn’t last - Nick really was old enough to be his father and wanted very different things from life . As much as he enjoyed late nights clubbing it was the quiet mornings together that he enjoyed the most, whereas Ben found them claustrophobic and preferred to be out in a crowd. In the end it finished as casually as it began - one night Ben simply never turned up, and a couple of days later he texted Nick to say he’d met someone new and was moving to Brighton.
But Nick didn’t mind, as he’d started to enjoy spending more time with Simon, Dave and Jim. Amazingly Simon’s troubles had brought them back together as a group, and they could often be found out drinking together in the week. And he started going clubbing with Dave occasionally, an was happy to end up chatting to him in a late night bar if neither of them had pulled. There was a drunken snog one evening, but both of them realised that they made good friends and anything else would just spoil the group dynamic, which they’d both come to enjoy.
He finally gave up his NVQ course, preferring to quit before they threw him off it. He freely admitted that he had no ambition, and that for the time being working in a supermarket was exactly what he wanted to do. His tutors weren’t surprised, and nobody at work cared - there was always some other eager trainee waiting to fill his place.
Thing with his mother improved as well. Once she stopped blaming him for Simon being gay things got back to how they had been. And then after Simon’s court appearance, once his downfall was complete, she became friendlier still. She stopped holding Simon up as the shining example he’d never been, and realised that there wasn’t actually much difference between her sons, and that it wasn’t their fault that they weren’t the daughter she so desperately wanted. She was annoyed when Nick encouraged Simon to see his father again, but she realised there was nothing she could do about it and stopped complaining. She started inviting both Nick and Simon to Sunday tea, and Nick was surprisingly pleased to go.
After Ben there were a few one night stand, but no one serious. He tried speed-dating and realised that he liked dating but wasn’t very good at what came afterwards. He was briefly tempted to blame it on his parents divorce, until Simon pointed out that they’d been fully formed adults at that point and it was just a cop pout. His counselling was rubbing off on him and he was getting annoyingly perceptive about things!
So he decided to get a cat. It had been inevitable really, but then one night they’d ended up back at Jim’s and the cat had taken a real shine to him. Whilst he hissed and hid from Dave and Simon he couldn’t get enough of Nick, rubbing against his leg as he sat on the sofa, jumping on his lap, even trying to sit on his shoulder. Nick fell in love with him and the following day started asking round work to see if anyone knew of ant kittens for sale. The following week he found himself with a ginger kitten, which he christened Charlie. His friends made fun of the whole gay bachelor with a cat thing, but he didn’t care - he just liked having someone to come home to who wasn’t mad or overly needy. A tin of food and the odd stroke and the cat was happy, not like some high maintenance boyfriend!
And that would have been that except he took the cat to the vets to have some jabs, and before he knew it he fell in love with the vet. Not just a pathetic crush, or a stalking type of situation, it was reciprocated. He was so stupidly handsome he might as well have come out of a Barbara Cartland novel, and once Nick got over the fact that he was clearly too good for him he started enjoying been seen around with him. He had high hopes, but didn’t like to jinx anything by saying them out loud.

Chapter 28 - Nick, Thursday

2005-11-28T19:11:00.000Z

Well, that’s got to be the most awkward birthday tea I’ve ever been to, which, considering our family’s track record for these kind of things is really saying something!
I’d not been looking forward to it anyway - why would I? A whole meal of Mum celebrating her favourite? Dear God, it’s my idea of hell! If I could have gotten out of it I would, but it was a summons not an invite, and in the end it was easier to go than to make a fuss.

I had to rush to get there in time as it was, because I’d been working all day - a long shift as well, so I’d been on my feet all day. The only bonus was the arrival of Big Ben at 3pm, closely followed by a grinning Brenda a couple of minutes later. Word certainly gets around, although I’d not told her so I guess Big Ben did. I hope he didn’t tell Ben, but I expect it won’t take long for him to find out. I’m surprised he wasn’t working today - they usually do the same shifts, but I guess he had something better to do.
I didn’t really get much time to talk to either of them, just snatched conversations as I was swanning round with my clipboard. Nothing serious. I didn’t even get chance arrange when I’d see Ben next, which was annoying as I really want to see him again! I’ve got a bit giddy about the whole thing, which was completely unexpected.
I’d just finished my shift and was in the staff room changing to go over Mum’s when my phone rang. It was Dave, which took me by surprise as I haven’t seen him or heard from him in ages. We never really were phone friends, more just pub friends, so it took me by surprise. But not as much as the news he gave me - our Simon was arrested for shoplifting, and not only that he’d been queer-bashed whilst out cottaging. Fucking hell, I bet he was having a shit birthday. My God, what will Mum say?

I raced round to Mum’s and ended up getting there before Simon. Mum and I sat around making idle conversation, whilst she kept checking her watch and wondering where he was. It was very unlike him to be late, but of course she didn’t realise he had good reason to be. I couldn’t really say anything without giving away the fact I knew, so I just nodded and agreed that it was very unlike him to be late, especially on his birthday.
As soon as he turned up I could tell something was wrong - he was distracted and fidgety, and wasn’t looking anyone in the eye. I don’t think he knew I knew, and if he did he certainly never acknowledged it. Mum greeted him with open arms, a big hug and a quick chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’. I joined in as well, because it would have been a little conspicuous if I hadn’t. Then we went into the dining room to eat.
If I’d not known better I’d have thought it was a child’s birthday - plates full of sandwiches, a cake with candles, even trifle! Just the kind of birthday party we had when we were eight, do you think she’s not noticed that we’ve grown up in the meantime?
Simon sat behind a pile of presents, onto the top of which I added mine. He just looked at them until Mum prompted him to open them:
“They’re for you, open them or I’ll do it for you!”
She never lost her excitement for gifts - if only she’d retained it for other areas of her life.
My gift was first, and I could tell by the way Simon looked at it that it wasn’t his type of thing at all. Normally I might have given him a hard time for not liking it, but today wasn’t the day for that, so I just said the receipt was in the pocket if it was the wrong size. I expect he’ll exchange it for something plainer, which is a pity as it’s lovely!
Then Mum’s gifts - a jumper that Dad might like, but which a 38 year old should never be seen in - I expect Simon will wear it lots. A book that he must have told Mum he wanted, and a box of his favourite sweets. He started to say thank you, but the words stuck in his throat, and before I realised what was happening he’d burst into tears. Mum looked at me to see if I had a clue what was going on, then reached across the table and stroked his hand.
“What’s the matter love, do you not like your presents?”
Trust Mum to get the complete wrong end of the stick! Still, it made Simon smile briefly.
“No Mum, the gifts are great, I’ve just had a really bad day. I’m just being silly.”
Now Mum was confused, so she poured a cup of tea and passed round the sandwiches. I had to hand it to Simon, he covered it up really well - he wiped his face and was soon tucking into sandwiches as if they were the best meal he’d ever had. He wasn’t that chatty, which forced Mum to turn her attention to me. We talked vaguely about work - I played up my NVQ, as if it was a passport to a job in management, and generally made working in a supermarket sound far more fantastic than it actually is.
Then Mum served up the trifle, always a speciality of hers when we were kids, and her skill apparently hadn’t deserted her. I indulged my sweet tooth and had two bowl fulls - well, it’s not everyday you get homemade trifle is it! Then it was time for the cake - Mum lit half a dozen candles and we sang another chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ before Simon blew them out. He gave a sad little smile when as he did, so I guess he was following the tradition of making a wish as they went out. No prizes for guessing what he was wishing for. I felt really sorry for him.
Cake over we helped Mum clear the table - I washed, Simon wiped up - just as we used to do as children. Mum made another cup of tea, and we sat rather awkwardly in the living room. I kept wondering if Simon was going to tell her, but it seemed pretty obvious that he wasn’t. But at least it would explain why we’d had such an odd evening - knowing Mum she’ll be thinking it’s all her fault. I guess she’ll realise once he tells her, but I wonder how long that’ll take?
Eventually Simon said it was time for him to go, so I said I’d walk to the bus with him. Mum kissed him goodbye, then did the same to me - not something we’d normally do, but I think she felt guilty about showing her favouritism so clearly. She put all his presents in a bag, and cut us each a piece of cake, then waved goodbye from the living room window as we headed down the road.
“Dave rang me”
Silence.
“I know what happened today.”
More silence.
“But if you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay with me.”
More silence. This was becoming annoying.
“Okay, fine, suit yourself. I don’t know why I bother.”
I stopped. He stopped too. He stood there, waiting for each other to speak. He got there first.
“You really hate me don’t you.”
“When you behave like a twat yes, but you’re my brother so I can’t hate you for long.”
“I’d hate me. I’m a twat.”
“Come on Simon, you’ve had a shitty day, why don’t we just go somewhere and talk about it? Or just get drunk and not talk about it? Maybe forgetting about it is exactly what you need to do?”
“That’s easier said than done!”
“Yeah, but it might be worth a try?”

We ended up in a pub round the corner from Mum’s. I got us both a pint, and we sat in the corner. Neither of us said anything for a while, we just sat sipping our beer and looking round the pub. But then Simon started to talk about what had happened, and about how unhappy he was. I felt bad, because it made me realise that I’d not been much of a brother to him, and I realised how much of a wedge Mum had driven between us because I refused to ignore Dad. I know it was awful for her when she left, but what kind of mother takes it out on their children in that way?
I asked him what he was going to do, and he seemed genuinely surprised - it hadn’t occurred to him to do anything different to what he normally did. But he clearly couldn’t go to work in that state, he really needed some help. So I managed to persuade him to go to the doctors, and even promised to go with him for support. And he had to tell Mum too - it’d only take one person to find out and that would be that - if the neighbours knew before her she’d never forgive him. I ended up promising to do it for him, as long as he went round afterwards to talk to her about it. I couldn’t persuade him to talk to Dad, but I promised myself I’d keep trying. Funny how it took something like this to get us to talk to each other, we even talked about the cottaging incident although I couldn’t quite bring myself to invite him out clubbing with me - it was hardly the time or the place, but I must try and find him some nice bloke. Hang on a minute, I haven’t even sorted one out for myself ,what was I thinking?! Oh, but I guess there was Ben. Aah, Ben, if only he was at home waiting for me….

Chapter 27 - Gay Dave, Thursday

2005-11-27T18:26:00.000Z

Yesterday ended up being every kind of shit!

I knew I was tempting fate when I thought we were on top of the auditing stuff! Then in the middle of the day the temp left - she said she couldn’t cope with it, the work was too complicated and the people were hassling her. God knows who she meant, but HR came down for a bit of an inquest, which is when I came back from lunch and found Bob and Mike in full flight. Bob was blaming Mike, and Mike was claiming it was nothing to do with him at all - which is a fair point, as he’d got his own PA back why would he want to steal our temp? I’m guessing she’d spoken to Bob before she left so he had some kind of idea about what he was talking about, but it didn’t seem to make much sense. Mike got sick of being blamed for things he hadn’t done and stormed off back to his office, muttering about, “this fucking place!” Bob headed back to his and five minutes later had sent a memo requesting a meeting between me, Mike and him tomorrow morning. Oh good , there’s nothing better I like than starting the day with inter-office bickering!
I spent the rest of the afternoon going over what she’d done, trying to work out how much more needed to be sorted, and allocating it around the office. About 4.30 David knocked on the door looking very sheepish.
“Hmm, Dave, I need to speak to you.”
“This isn’t the best time David, is there any chance it could wait a day or two?”
“Well, I’m not sure. It’s just that I think it might be my fault that the temp left.”
Great, this was all I needed. It would have suited me perfectly if Mike’s team had fucked this up, and would have been the perfect reason to get a new PA just for our department instead of this sharing nonsense. If it turns out someone on my team scared her off we’re fucked. And Mike will never let me here the last of it. Shit.
“OK David, I don’t want to hear this, but you better sit down and tell me what happened.”
“Well, it was only meant as a joke….”
What followed was a tale of bored blokes in an office getting their kicks by winding up the temp. Apparently they’ve specially photocopied pictures of their own arses just for such and occasion. And asking the temp to copy and laminate a selection of them might not have been the smartest idea, especially when they used an old Post-it note from Mike as the instruction. Fuckwits.
“How could you be so fucking stupid? This isn’t school you know! You know we’re on the verge of an important audit and if it goes badly we’re fucked. And I mean properly fucked. I mean sackings across the board and an accounts company replacing all of us. You stupid fucking twat!”
“Sorry Dave, it was only a joke!”
“A joke? You amaze me. How old are you? Too fucking old to be photocopying your spotty arse! Now, who else knows about this?”
“Just me, Jed and Tom.”
“Right, don’t tell anyone. This isn’t going to blow over. Bob wants a meeting about it tomorrow. If Mike gets wind of this you’re fucked and there’s nothing I can do to help you. Although why I’d want to is anyone’s guess. Now get out of my fucking sight and do something useful”
Oh shit.
I spent the rest of the day wondering what to do. Should I protect the stupid fucker and hope the whole situation blows over? Or sacrifice him just to put an end to the trouble? I felt like I ought to protect my department, but in doing so we’d really shoot ourselves in the foot. I hope to God this blows over.

By the time I got home my head was spinning and I needed to clear it. Dancing would have been good, or drinking for that matter, but I was a bit short of mates who were up for that kind of thing on a Wednesday night. Danny was out with Todd and had left a note telling me not to worry if he didn’t come back tonight. Jammy git.
So I made myself a G&T, got out of my work clothes and got on the computer. Within a few minutes I was chatting to three or four potential playmates, and within half an hour I had someone on their way round. There was just enough time to jump in the shower, tidy the bedroom and make myself look seductive. Actually, seductive was the last thing I needed to look - we both knew why he was coming round, who was I kidding.
An hour later there was no sign of him. Apparently he only lived round the corner, so he should have taken no time at all to get round. The fucker had stood me up! I went back online to see if I could find him, but there was no sign, and everyone else I’d been chatting to had gone as well - clearly they’d got themselves sorted for the evening, so it looked like I’d be spending it on my own. Damn. I hate Wednesday’s.

Thursday turned out to be not much better either!

I headed to work, still unsure about what I was going to do. I’d decided I was going to wait and see how both Bob and Mike were behaving - if they’d slept on it and agreed the whole thing was bollocks I’d probably just let it lie, but if things got nasty I’d have no choice but to throw David to the lions.
I was doing the usual morning stuff - post, emails, catching up with phone calls - when Jim phoned to say he was at a police station, waiting to pick up Simon. What in God’s name can that be about? Simon doesn’t do anything wrong, I’d be surprised if he’d ever broken a law in his life. Something must have happened to him, he sometimes had victim written all over him.
I wanted to phone Nick, but Jim said not to, as it’d only panic their mother, which wouldn’t be a pretty sight. So I told him to ring me and got on with my work, slightly distracted though - what can he have done? Thankfully the meeting was called off, perhaps they both realised that now wasn’t the time, although when I saw Mike in the corridor he looked like thunder, so I doubt we’ve heard the last of it.
Jim finally rang just before lunch - he’d been with Simon all morning, who was apparently in a bit of a state. He was nervous about leaving him on his own, but had to get back to work for a meeting, so he wondered if I’d go over and see him? My first thought was to tell him I couldn’t and to get Nick to do it, but they rub each other up the wrong way so it’d only make things worse. I made a quick mental check of everything I had to do in the afternoon and decided it could all wait, so I said yes, and as soon as it was lunchtime made my excuses and left.
I grabbed a cab, not fancying the ridiculous bus journey to Simon’s, and by the time I got there Jim had gone. Simon finally came to the door, looking like shit. He was still wearing a suit jacket despite the fact they’d been home for hours, and he looked like he’d not long stopped crying.
We went up to the flat, and sat down. I didn’t know what to say, so I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t, just sat there staring into space. This wasn’t going to get us anywhere. I toyed with the idea of making tea, but the coffee table was littered with cups so that had obviously been Jim’s plan too. In the end I just put my hand on his arm and asked him if he wanted to tell me what had happened. I thought he might be up to it as he’d obviously spent all morning talking to Jim, but he just started crying, so I gave him a hug until he stopped. Then he held my hand and started telling me the whole story.
When I thought he’d finished he said,
“but there’s something else. I didn’t tell Jim, he might not have understood, but I know you will.”
It was only after he’d finished telling me about his incident in the toilets that it occurred to me that I should be slightly insulted that he would think I’d understand - is that what he thought I did all the time?! It was hard to know what to say - he was clearly going through a bad patch, and sometimes one bad thing seems to attract another, until you’re in the middle of a cycle you can’t escape from. I just hoped he was going to be strong enough to ride it out, although judging from what I’d seen I hardly thought so.
It was getting late and I’d not eaten. I was guessing that he hadn’t either, so I suggested I go make us some sandwiches. But once he realised what the time was he got in a bit of a panic - he was supposed to be going to his Mum’s for a birthday tea. I just told him to cancel it - he was hardly in a fit state for cake and presents, and he certainly wouldn’t manage to put on a brave face. But he said he’d have to go - it’d be easier to explain to his Mum in person than on the phone, especially if Nick was there to help calm her down. I made her promise not to mention the cottaging - there are just some things you shouldn’t tell your Mum, especially not on your birthday!

Chapter 26 - Jim, Thursday

2005-11-26T23:42:00.000Z

I’d gone into work early, to get a head start on some stuff that needed doing . We were having clients in for a meeting, and I needed to go over our history with them before they arrived to make sure we were going in the right direction with things. But it’s tricky to get that kind of work done when there’s an office full of people about and phones ringing all the time. I guess I really should have taken it home with me to look over in peace, but it never occurred to me until I actually got home, so getting in early was the next best thing.
The office was eerily quiet - I was in at 7am, and there probably wouldn’t be anyone else in for another hour. It almost felt like I was burgling the place, and certainly felt like I shouldn’t have been there. I put on the coffee machine, flung open a few blinds and turned on the computer, trying to make it look as much like normal as possible. Except there were no people and no noise.
I spread the file across the desk and spent a good hour poring over it, taking notes as I went and covering the documents in Post-it notes where there were bits I wanted to copy or quote. I must have been about three-quarters of the way through it when the first few people started arriving in the office. A few shouted, “hi”, as they went past, one or two looked slightly surprised to see me in so early, and then one of the PA’s brought me coffee and it was just like any other day. I sent her off with a pile of things to copy, and a list of other things I needed to find, then phoned one of my colleagues to check the meeting room and catering had all been arranged.
I’d finally got back to the last pages of the file when the phone rang. I let it ring, not wanting to be disturbed until I was finished, so one of the guys next door picked it up. Next thing I know he’s standing in the doorway.
“Uh, Jim, there’s a call for you, I think you might want to take it, it’s the police.”
My first thought was that something had happened to Maria, although it pretty soon occurred to me that I’d probably be the last person she’d want the police to contact. Unless she’d completely over-reacted about that letter. Oh fuck.
“Mr Masters?”
“Yes, can I help you?”
“I believe you are a friend of Simon Hall?”
“Yes I am, is he okay?”
“”He’s in our station at the moment, he asked us to call you and get you to come down and pick him up. Can you do that?”
“Yes of course, what’s happened?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, but I’m sure he’ll explain it to you when you get here.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Fuck.

I grabbed my jacket, raced out of the office, popping my head round the Manager’s door on the way out to tell him I had an emergency but would be back in time for the meeting. I left so quickly he didn’t have time to disagree with me. I started to run along the High Street, until I managed to find a cab, then sat back, getting my breath back and wondering what on earth was up. He’d been fed up lately, and the redundancy was a bit of a blow, but I can’t imagine he’d ever do anything stupid. Something must have happened to him, he sometimes seems like he has ‘victim’ written all over him, I wonder if he got mugged? I wonder why they wouldn’t tell me? I wonder why he didn’t phone Nick?
I paid for the cab and went into the police station. The reception area wouldn’t have looked out of place in a business type of hotel, apart from the lino on the floor instead of thick carpet. And the fact that the people sitting round waiting all looked miserable or slightly battered. I went up to the desk and a young woman who hardly seemed old enough to work for the police told me to take a seat and someone would come out and find me in a few minutes. While I waited I phoned Dave, just to keep him in the picture. He was just as confused as I was, and couldn’t imagine what on earth Simon could have done to end up in a police station. He was going to ring Nick, but I thought it might not be a good idea until we knew what had happened - he’d only tell their Mum, and the last thing I needed was her coming down here screaming and shouting at the police.
I ended up waiting over half an hour, getting increasingly nervous as a succession of people came in and were impatient with the woman behind the desk. I felt overdressed in my suit and fully expected someone to turn on me at any moment. Then I realised I’d never been in a police station before, and it was exactly like ‘The Bill’ only more boring. Eventually Simon was led out by a policeman. God he looked rough. He was wearing a suit, with his tie undone round his neck, which would either mean he’d only been in since this morning or he’d been in all night. Judging by the look of him it was hard to tell - he certainly looked like he’d been crying, but other than that he seemed to have no injuries. He was clutching an envelope and was looking very sheepish.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, lets get out of here.”
So we left, although once we got outside Simon didn’t really know what to do and just stopped where he was.
“What do you want to do? Go home? Go to work? You feel like telling me what happened?”
“No, not now, not in the street, I need to ring work and I need to get home.”
So we found a call box, as neither of us bother with mobile phones, and he phoned work whilst I hovered on the pavement trying to work out what he’d done. It couldn’t be anything to do with work or there’d have been no need for him to phone him. What’s he been up to?
We walked for a bit, then decided to get a bus back to Simon’s. I was in danger of missing my meeting and would have to phone them as soon as I got there. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, the rest of the team could take the meeting - I was only there to make up the numbers I guess - but it looked a bit bad, so I’d need a bloody good reason.
The bus finally arrived, and we travelled back to Simon’s in silence. Clearly he didn’t want to discuss whatever had gone on in public, so I sat there trying to work out what on earth had gone on. Burglary? I wouldn’t have though he’d have needed to go to the police station. Fighting? He didn’t look like he’d been fighting. Accident? Ditto. I guess I’d have to wait, it really wasn’t the place to ask.

We finally got back to his, and the first thing I did was ring work and tell them I was going to be delayed. They were cool about it as soon as I mentioned the police, but I need to get back as soon as I can. I’ll get Simon settled then get someone else to come and stay with him, if he needs it. I did that stupid English thing of going and putting the kettle on, because tea always makes it better. Simon slumped on the sofa, staring into space, clinging onto his envelope as if there was something precious in it.
“So, you ready to talk about it?”
“Oh Jim, I don’t know, I just want to forget the whole thing happened!”
“I don’t mean to sound pushy, but you ought to tell someone - you can’t just phone up from a police station and then not tell people why you were there! They’ll be worried! I’m worried! What happened to you? Were you mugged? Are you in trouble?”
“It’s all so stupid, I just can’t believe it happened, what was I thinking?”
I went into the kitchen - this was clearly going to come out in his own good time and not before.
“I got caught shoplifting.”
“Shoplifting? Where? What did you steal? And why?”
“It was in the shop across the road, just a couple of bars of chocolate.”
“You been in the police station all morning for stealing chocolate? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, you see it wasn’t the first time, it’s been going on for ages.”
“What were you thinking Simon? You can afford chocolate can’t you? Why on earth would you steal it? Is everything okay, I know things have been a bit stressful lately, you okay?”
“I don’t know, it’s a long story.”
So I went and poured the tea and came back to here him tell me all about what had happened - how he’d been casually stealing chocolate most days for months; how it had started out of boredom and then once he’d started how he’d got hooked on it and couldn’t stop; how hated his life and felt like everyone hated him; how he felt like he’d never be in love; how he was worried he might be gay; how he hated his job. Honestly it all came flooding out, and along with it came more tears and more tea. He was in a right mess.
Then we opened the envelope. It was a copy of statement he’d made admitting stealing on a regular basis for months; a charge sheet; and a letter advising him that he would be summoned to a Magistrates Court at a date to be decided. Oh shit, this was going to get worse before it got better.

Chapter 25.5 - Take a letter Maria

2005-11-25T23:53:00.000Z

“Hello Weatherby Walker estate agents, Natalie speaking, how can we help you?”
“Nat, it’s Maria, you okay to chat?”
“If you’re quick, they’re all out on visits so I’m on my own in the office.”
“You’ll never guess what that twat Jim has done now!”
“What? I thought you weren’t in touch?”
“We weren’t! I told you about the sixty day thing didn’t I?”
“Yep, so what’s he done?”
“He wrote me a letter.”
“Oh, what does it say?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know, and that’s not really the point - he was supposed to stay out of contact for sixty days, and he couldn’t even do that right!”
“Sorry Maria, I’ve got a customer, can I call you back?”
“Meet me for lunch? Pret a Manger at 12.15? Bye”

Wanker. I told him not to get in touch with me! Okay, I admit that the sixty day thing was a bit of a trick. It is a recognised technique for getting over a break-up, but I just didn’t want to see him and thought it would be a good way of achieving than. I didn’t even tell him where I was going to live, and I changed my mobile number. Of course I never thought he’d be stupid enough to send me stuff at work! What was he thinking! Now what am I going to do with it? I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. I can’t throw it away. But I can’t read it!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Jim (work)
From: Nicky Heath
Subject: You bastard

How could you? What’s all this writing to me at work crap about? I thought we’d agreed not to get in touch? What gives you the right to invade my workplace with your shit? There better be a good reason why you sent it, although as I don’t intend to read it I’ll never now. Don’t bother me again you twat.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Perhaps I’ll get Nat to open it and tell me how bad it is? Oh but that’ll never work, I’ll just want to know what it says and make her tell me anyway. I could shred it, then there’s no going back. Oh God, I’m just going to have to read it aren’t I. I can’t just leave it on my desk and get on with my work, this’ll drive me mad! Okay, I’ll put it in my draw, no my bag. Out of sight out of mind. I must get on with some work, this is madness!

“Dear Nicky,

I know I agreed to your sixty day thing but I’m hoping enough time has passed for you to read this in the spirit it is written. I’m not going to beg you to come back, I realise that’s never going to happen. And I’m not going to repeat how sorry I am, because you’ve heard that before and I don’t think you believe me. But I want to tell you that I’ve changed, I’ve learnt from what I did and I hope I’ve grown. You meant more to me than I realised and I’ve missed you like mad since you left. Yes, I know you can never trust me again, but I wish we could be friends. Will you meet me for lunch? A drink maybe? Come round and see the cat - he misses you like mad. I miss you like mad! How did I manage to let the best thing that ever happen to me just up and leave?”
Fucking bastard, fucking fucking bastard.

“Hello Weatherby Walker-”
“Fucking hell Nat, he’s gone mad, there’s pages of shit, just rambling on about how he misses me and wants me back, and how the cat misses me, and how stupid he was! The man sounds unhinged”
“I’m sorry Maria, I can’t talk now, we’re really busy, I’ll see you at lunch yeah?”
“How am I supposed to last till lunch with this thing burning a hole in my bag?”
“Shred it Maria, it’s the only way. Gotta go, bye”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Jim (work)
From: Nicky Heath
Subject: You selfish twat

You selfish fucking twat, unloading all your shit on me like that! I don’t care how you feel! I trusted you and you really hurt me! Stay away from me, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you. You’ve ruined my day, STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 25 - Simon, Thursday

2005-11-25T21:26:00.000Z

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I’ve never really enjoyed my birthdays, but even by my standards this one is starting pretty badly. The throb in my head won’t go away, and I wonder if I might have concussion? It’s tender to the touch, and there’s even a bit of a lump. No cuts or bleeding, which is a relief, but it hurts like hell. I should have gone to the doctors yesterday, just to get it checked out, but how on earth was I ever going to explain how it happened? I guess I could have pretended I’d been mugged, but I’m so ashamed of the whole incident I just want to forget it ever happened.
So instead I went back to work. I ended up being quite late back - once I’d pulled myself together, I then had to make myself look more human - wipe the snot off my face, and make my eyes less red. I wandered round for a bit, breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down, but everywhere I went I felt like I could see him out of the corner of my eye, talking to someone, sneering and pointing at me. By the time I got back to work my heart was racing and all I wanted to do was cry. But such is the atmosphere at work at the moment that no one noticed or cared that I was late back, so I went and hid in the toilet for a bit, until I felt calm enough to go back to my office and face people. Thankfully nobody bothered me all afternoon, and I was able to sneak out at five without being noticed.
When I got back the flat was deserted - John must have been on nights - so I was able to hide in my room feeling sorry for myself without anyone expecting me to explain what was the matter with me. Both Jim and Dave phoned, leaving messages of support about the whole work thing. And Mum phoned to remind me to go round for tea after work today, but I didn’t speak to any of them, and ended up falling asleep in my clothes.

So this is how it feels to be 38. Great. I’m not a fan so far. I wish I could stay in bed all day, but I’ve got to work. People complain about working on their birthday, but I don’t usually mind - what would I do otherwise? Sit around at home counting how many people have forgotten me again? It’s not like I’m going to have a big party or do anything exciting, so I might as well go to work and forget about it. And thankfully I’ve managed to keep it a secret at work, so no one ever makes a fuss. Or perhaps they know and just despise me? Aah, fuck it, who cares!

I got ready for work, slowly reassembling myself until I look pretty much like the man who left the house yesterday morning. My suit looks a bit dishevelled, but it’ll do - who knows how much longer I’ll be wearing it for anyway? I thought I was going to get out of the house without speaking to anyone, but just as I was getting ready to leave Mum caught me.
“Happy birthday love!”
“Thanks Mum.”
“I won’t sing to you, I’ll save that for your birthday tea.”
“You don’t have to Mum, not now I’m a grown-up.”
“Ooh, but it’s your birthday, someone’s got to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you! And you’re still my little boy.”
Dear God, I’d swear she was drunk, only she doesn’t drink.
“Okay Mum, well you sing to me later, I’ve got to get to work now or I’ll be late.”
“Okay love, see you at teatime, don’t be late, it’s your favourite!”
“Bye Mum.”
“Bye love.”

Shit, the last thing I need today is birthday tea with Mum. This whole thing is like some stupid bad joke. The phone rang again, but I left it ringing and headed out of the flat. As I locked the door I heard the beep as the answering machine kicked in, and it sounded like Jim leaving a message. He’d find me later no doubt, but for now I didn’t want to speak to anyone.

There was a bit of a queue at the bus stop, which was a surprise as the bus wasn’t due for ten more minutes. So rather than stand shuffling and avoiding eye contact with strangers I nipped into the newsagents for a paper. I took my time, browsing the magazines, wondering if that be a more entertaining way to spend the bus journey, but I got slightly overwhelmed by the enormous choice, and the only things I really wanted I was too scared to buy, and couldn’t read on the bus anyway. So I picked up my usual paper and queued behind some school kids at the counter. One of them was trying to buy scratchcards, and George the newsagent was having difficulty making them understand that he wasn’t going to sell them any unless they could prove they were over sixteen. Eventually the ringleader got sick of arguing, slammed his chocolate down on the counter and said,
“Fuck you then, we’ll go to the one in the High Street - they’ll sell you as many as you like, and fags and booze too. Loser.”
“Watch you mouth you scrawny bugger. If I see you in this shop again I’ll kick you arse, now fuck off out of my sight.”
Go George!
We had one of those, “it’s not like in our day” type conversations, despite the fact that he’s probably twenty years older than me. He had a point though, I’d never have spoken to someone like that when I was a teenager, and certainly wouldn’t have had enough spare cash to waste like that. God, it makes me feel so old.
I headed for the door, and George shouted for his wife, no doubt to tell her about the continuing decline of Western Civilisation in general, and teenage boys in particular. Without really thinking I put my hand out to pick up some chocolate, but then I remembered it was my birthday and I deserved a special treat, so instead of the usual KitKat I grabbed a couple of bars of Dairy Milk, put them in my pocket and opened the door.
Then I felt a hand on my arm, and before I realised what was happening George was screaming at me and pulling me back into the shop. I didn’t let go of the door at first, so it turned into some ridiculous tug of war - George pulling me, me hanging onto the door. And then I started to hear what he was screaming:
“You thieving fucker, you think you can come in here and chat to me then just help yourself to my stock on the way out? I’ve had my eye on you for weeks, but you’re always too sly for me, but not today, I see what you put in your pocket, give it back!”
I let go of the door handle and burst into tears. Not just a gentle trickle, but great big wailing sobs. It stopped George shouting at me for a minute, but then he grabbed me by both arms and started shaking me.
“Pull yourself together, be a man why don’t you. If you think crying’s gonna get you off the hook you’ve got another thing coming!”
Then he reached into my pocket and snatched back the chocolate while I just stood there wailing, letting the paper fall out of my hands, hanging my head and shaking as I wept.
“You can stop that right now”
It was George’s wife.
“I’ve called the police and they’re on their way. Crying won’t help you know. You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing when you can bloody afford it! At least when kids do it you know they’re doing it because they’ve got no money, but you, you in your suit, you make me sick.”
I hadn’t meant to upset George’s wife, so I started saying I was sorry, and kept saying it although it was hard to understand as I was sobbing and gulping for air at the same time.
By the time the police arrived I was on my knees, whimpering and saying over and over how sorry I was. George and his wife just stood there in disbelief, occasionally shooing away the odd customer who wanted to come in to buy something. One bloke got a bit arsey because he couldn’t get any fags and called me a twat on the way out. He had a point. Next thing I know there’s a policewoman standing in front of me, asking George what had happened. George’s wife said something about CCTV, and pointed to a camera that I’d never noticed in the corner of the shop, then George pointed at the chocolate that was laying at my feet.
The policewoman knelt down to talk to me:
“You okay love?”
“I’m sorry”, I wailed, snot running down my face, mixed with my tears.
“Come on now, you need to tell me what happened. Sitting on the floor sobbing isn’t going to help any of us”
She gave me a tissue, and I wiped my face. But I didn’t want to get up, because I wasn’t even sure my legs would hold me.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know”, I sniffed, “I don’t remember”
“These people tell me you’ve been stealing stuff from them for some time, now you want to tell me about it here or you want me to take you to the police station and let you tell someone else?”
Police station? Fuck.
“No! I didn’t mean to! It’s my birthday! My head hurts!”
“You’re not making much sense love, you okay? You want me to get someone you know to come and help you?”
God, now she thinks I’m some kind of retard.
“No, I’m okay. I’m sorry.”
“Yes love, we know you’re sorry, we’re just not sure what you’re sorry for. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you down to the station to sort this out, these people have got a business to run and you sitting in their doorway bawling your eyes out doesn’t seem very good for business.”

Fuck.

Chapter 24 - Simon, Wednesday

2005-11-24T00:16:00.000Z

Well that went as badly as I’d expected, although I guess going in with that kind of attitude didn’t really help! It’s just hard to get excited about it - I know I’ll be gutted if I lose my job, but at the same time it might be the kick up the arse I need. It’s a bit difficult to motivate yourself to beg for your job when you’re not sure you want to keep it!
I thought we might just be having one-on-one meetings with Clive, but I got there to find him flanked by our HR manager and a specially appointed ‘Reassignment Consultant’. For fucks sake, use the term redundancy - we’re all grown-ups, we know what it means! So it was a bit like facing the Firing Squad. I wouldn’t have minded seeing Clive on his own - we’ve worked together a long while - we started in the same department, although clearly our career paths have diverged slightly. He can be a bit of a wet blanket, but he’s always treated me fairly, and I think he’d have given me the nod if anything was up. But not the other two - I doubt I’ve ever spoken to our HR bloke, possibly we’ve communicated by email, but I’m not sure I’d have recognised him if you’d asked me who I was. The Consultant was a smug looking twat in a very expensive looking suit, who sat there with his pen poised looking like he was enjoying the whole process. He started writing something before I even sat down, which really put me on the defensive - that better have been a shopping list!
What followed was pretty much an interview for my job. The usual questions that I don’t know how to answer: what are your strengths? Your weaknesses? Do you consider yourself a team player? Yeah, right - the word ‘team’ when used in that context makes me gag! I can barely tolerate most of the people I work with, so I’m guessing the answer to that is no. I can’t do bullshit very well, so there was a lot of ‘hmmm’-ing and ‘aaah’-ing. It didn’t help that the twat in the suit stared at me the whole time and never said a word. Just as I was looking my most uncomfortable he’d scribble something loudly, and smirk annoyingly. He wants me gone, I can tell. The HR bloke hardly said a word either. I remember him now, a dopey git, never has much to say for himself. If anyone should be going it should be him! At least Clive seemed to be on my side, talking me up a bit when I forgot about stuff I’d done.
He finished with a load of standard spiel about how no decisions had been made yet, how nothing would be decided until all the interviews had taken place, but how they appreciated it was a difficult time so they’d be letting people know as soon as possible as the prolonged wait would prove disruptive in the workplace. Twats. Bugger the workplace, we’re people not machines. I left the meeting feeling like shit - I knew I’d done myself no favours, but equally who wants to work for a company with so little regard for its staff? Wankers.
I went and hid in the toilet for a bit. No one would miss me - management had all gone into hiding since the announcement, and the junior staff were just going through the motions and couldn’t care less either. What am I going to do?

I spent the rest of the day hiding from people. Jim phoned several times but I let the voicemail pick it up - he wanted to know how things had gone, and I was in no rush to repeat the story. Same for Dave. Nick phoned too, which means Mum spoke to him. I’m surprised she bothered, she normally only likes to gloat about my good news, not bad. He sounded sympathetic, which was sweet of him, but I don’t think I’ll phone him back either. Then Mum caught me. It’s easier to take her call than to take the grief for not speaking to her. She wanted to know how things went, and was full of unhelpful ideas about things I should have said. At one point she suggested that this place will fall apart without me, which is frankly so ridiculous I burst out laughing. Of course she told me off - “it’s not a laughing matter Simon!” I wouldn’t mind, but the last job she had was in a hat shop about forty years ago, so she’s hardly an expert!

Lunch was a welcome relief, if only to get out of the office. I’d not been in the mood to make sandwiches, so I wandered down to the shops to get something to eat, and a beer to go with it. I found a bench to sit on and ate in the sunshine, although it was a little too cool to be really nice. A I sat there a few people from the office walked past - some said, “hi”, some looked straight through me. Neil came past, looking a bit lost without his posse. He sat down beside me for a bit and chatted about what was going on - he’d had his interview before lunch and was feeling equally depressed. We were agreed that the Consultant was evil - he never said a word to Neil either, and he felt his interview had gone really badly as well. But they can’t sack us all can they? The place needs some people to keep it going surely? Although we both wondered if the whole thing was part of some sneaky plan to relocate everything to Belgium, without having to offer us jobs over there and pay for our relocation. Of course even if I was offered I’d never go. God I wish this was over!
Neil wandered off in search of his mates, although I think he realised deep down that they’d deserted him and the days of the pub posse are over. When the dust settles it seems unlikely that anyone would want to keep up a tradition that just served to remind them of how many people were missing. I thought I ought to head back to the office too, but before I did I just popped into the shopping centre. I meant to get some chocolate, just a little something to see me through the afternoon, but before I really realised what I’d done I was in the toilets. I had noticed that I needed to pee so it was no surprise when I stood at the urinal and nothing happened. A bloke came in and stood beside me, and it soon became obvious that he wasn’t peeing either. I should have just zipped myself up and left, but in the moment before I did that I turned to look at the bloke beside me and couldn’t help notice that he was waving a hard cock at me. Bloody hell. I cleared my throat, more out of surprise than anything else and zipped myself up and for a moment there was still chance to leave, but I paused just a beat to long, and he said, “you like what you see?” I was dry-mouthed and couldn’t speak. I guess “yes” would have been the truthful answer, but somehow I couldn’t seem to say it, so I nodded my head mutely.
“In there” he said, nodding towards the cubicle, so I turned round and went into the nearest cubicle. He followed, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it, cock still hanging out of his trousers. It was then that I realised I was out of my depth and didn’t know how to get myself out of the situation. He came towards me, and I thought he was going to hit me so I cowered slightly, which confused him as he was only trying to kiss me. He grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me into a furious snog. I was on autopilot, the first touch of his lips and I was kissing back, chasing his tongue with my own, immediately forgetting what a dumb idea it was. As he kissed me his other hand reached for my belt, finally getting it open after a couple of tugs. The zip stuck a little, so he yanked it down as far as he could go and then pushed his hand into my trousers. As soon as his hand touched my cock I froze. This wasn’t a good idea, it wasn’t what I wanted. I tried to push him away, mumbling something in coherent and telling him to stop, but he didn’t stop, so I pushed him a little harder and he stumbled backwards.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this”
“Bit fucking late now pal, you should have thought about that before you led me in here.”
“I’m sorry, this isn’t what I want, let me out.”
“You fucking prick tease, you think you can get me all worked up then just walk away because you don’t feel like it? Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m sorry, let me out, or I’ll call for help”
“Call for help? Who’s gonna come and rescue a filthy pervert in the toilets? Get a grip mate! Now, give me your wallet.”
“What? No!”
“Come on, I said give me your fucking wallet, you must have something in there I can use.”
“No, I won’t, let me out!”
But my whining just annoyed him more than he already was, and next thing I know he has my head in his hands and he’s banging it against the cubicle wall. Thank God it was only wood, but it still hurt like hell. I was sobbing and begging him to stop, and after the fourth or fifth time he did, and I slid to the floor, sobbing like a baby, holding my head, snot running down my face. He grabbed the wallet out of the inside pocket of my jacket, and turned to open the door, but before he left he spat in my face, and left saying, “that’ll teach you you pathetic closet case”.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I finally moved when I heard someone come into the toilets. I leapt up and slammed the door shut, then sat down on the toilet with my head in my hands, silently sobbing. I could feel bruises where I’d hit the wall, but thankfully there was no blood. Fuck I felt a mess.

Chapter 23 - Jim, Wednesday

2005-11-23T09:32:00.000Z

I posted the letter. It might have been slightly mad, but I know where she works so I posted it there instead. So unless she’s changed jobs - which seems unlikely considering how much she loved it - at least I know she’ll have got it. Then the rest is up to her. I don’t even know if I want her to reply, I just know that I want her to know that I’m sorry and I’ve learnt something from my mistakes. Oh God I wonder if I’ve done the right thing?
Of course things should never have gotten this far. It was all my fault, as these things usually are. We were really settled, we’d been living together for two years and had been going out for just over three. My life was more relaxed than it had been in years! Okay, I’d had to make some sacrifices - she didn’t like me smoking, so I gave that up, and I saw an awful lot less of my friends, but it seemed a small price to pay for being so happy. Dear God, we even got a cat. But I got bored. And I got confident - she made me feel like I was capable of doing anything, but I was too stupid to realise that there were limits to it.
I’d worked with Michelle a long time. Six or seven years maybe, certainly longer than anyone else in the company. We always got on really well - she teased me, and in return I flirted with her a bit. Not much, certainly not enough to make her think there was anything going to happen between us. Besides, she was married and I was happily coupled. It was one of those office things - just something to perk up a dull day. But then she resigned - her husband had been reassigned to another part of the country, and as his job paid much more than hers it made sense for them to up and leave.
Oh it was all so clichéd - leaving do, too much to drink, bit of a drunken fumble in the pub toilets. Not my proudest moment. I hoped I might have been able to forget the whole thing. I hate to use the phrase “get away with it”, because I didn’t want to - I just wish the whole thing had never happened! But then we made the stupid mistake of texting each other about it, at first we were agreed that it should never have happened, but then we kind of got a bit playful and flirty about it, as you can when you’ve no chance of seeing the other person again. But then Maria took my phone to work by mistake - we’d bought identical phones, because we’d gotten a better deal on them, although Maria kept hers in a case so we could tell them apart. But she’d taken it out of the case, got distracted and never put it back, then in a hurry the next morning she picked up the wrong phone.
So the “morning big boy, how’s my favourite stud?” text came as a bit of a shock. At first she thought it was a wrong number, but obviously it played on her mind and she decided to read all my old texts. She clearly had some doubt about my fidelity or she wouldn’t have bothered. Stupidly I’d not deleted all of them. The more complimentary ones I’d kept, because they made me smile. What a vain twat. So then just to make sure she phoned Michelle. Well, Michelle tried to lie but was genuinely wrong-footed by the call, which made matters worse. By the time I got home that night Maria had started to pack, and nothing I could say would change her mind. Her last boyfriend had cheated on her continually, and she’d vowed never to put up with it again. I knew this, we’d had long conversations about it before she moved in. God I was a twat.
I should have just left it after I said “I’m sorry”, but I kept going on and on about how I didn’t want her to leave and what a twat I’d been. We were agreed on the twat bit, but she kept saying, “why did you do it?” and “I was drunk” just wasn’t a good enough answer. Then I started crying and tried to unpack her bag, and that’s when she belted me round the head with the hairdryer. She was about to pack it, and instead just swung it into my head. It must have felt good as she did it again, and again, and a few more times until she broke the case.
At that point I came to my senses and left. I ended up spending the night on Simon’s couch, which annoyed his flatmate no end I seem to remember. Before I dared go back the next morning I phoned to see if Maria was still there but got the answering machine instead. Before she left she’d thoughtfully changed the message: “Hello, Jim is an adulterous cunt. You may want to reconsider leaving him a message.” Nice.
I went home, half afraid that she’d be waiting for me, armed with a knife, but she’d gone. Oh but had she gone out in style! She’d taken everything that she’d brought with her, everything she’d bought since she moved in, anything I’d given her - everything she was entitled to basically. Plus all the food, well all apart from the stuff she’d tipped over the kitchen floor. And the cat, he was her cat, she’d picked him and he loved her like mad. I merely fed him. Right now he was licking jam off the hob, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him. It’d save me feeding him.
Things were worse in the bedroom - she’d burst a pillow, so there were feathers everywhere, and had taken scissors to some of my clothes. Not many of them, just things she knew were important to me, like the T-shirt I got from Morrissey’s first solo gig, and a flat cap that had been my granddads. Bitch. And yet somehow I couldn’t complain, I deserved it I guess.
I called in sick and spent the rest of the day tidying up. Once everything was back where it belonged it soon became apparent how little stuff I had. I couldn’t remember who’d bought the kettle and the toaster, but obviously Maria had as they’d vanished with her. How on earth she’d managed to get all the stuff out of the house at such short notice is anyone’s guess, I imagine she rallied her friends round and they were only to happy to help - most of them had been hoping we’d split up ever since we’d gotten together.
The cat and I eventually called a truce, once he realised that nobody else was going to feed him but me. He didn’t let me off lightly though, and would randomly piss on the carpet whenever he felt like it for the next couple of weeks. Even the cat blamed me, there clearly was no hope!

But obviously there was as I’ve ended up where I am today - feeling a bit calmer, although clearly no less mad. As soon as I’d posted the letter I wondered if it was the right thing to do? A whole day at work without enough stuff to keep me busy convinced me that I’d been pretty stupid. I spoke to Dave, but didn’t mention it to him - I’m sure he’d have only confirmed what I already knew. He’d spoken to Simon and it turned out he was having his meeting with the management today, so I tried to phone him and see how it went but I could only get his voicemail. Not a good sign. Dave and I agreed to keep tomorrow free, and meet up anyway if Simon didn’t feel like it. Poor sod, the timing couldn’t be any worse!
I toyed with the idea of emailing Maria to let her know what I’d done, but thought better of it - yes, it would give her chance to prepare herself, but it would also give her extra time to get angry about it, and I didn’t really want to do that. I kept kidding myself that it might get lost in the post, or that she might have changed jobs, but I realised I was just clutching at straws because I’d been such a twat. Oh you’d think I’d know better by now!
Before I left the office I tried Simon one last time, but someone else picked up the phone and said he’d already left. I didn’t like to ask how he was as I didn’t know who they were. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave on time, so it didn’t help me work out how things were. I made a note to ring him later and headed home. I guessed he was voiding people, and couldn’t blame him really.
All the way home I had this nagging urge to ring Maria. Wouldn’t hurt surely? Just say, “hi, oh and by the way I’m mad.” Twat. The cat was no help - he just wanted feeding, and had no thought for my emotional welfare. Then Mum phoned, and I toyed with the idea of asking her what I should do, but she’d have only been hurt that I hadn’t mentioned I was living with someone all that time. Well, it never came up. So I let her leave another message, and could hardly miss the disappointment in her voice. I must try and be a better son.
In the end I did the only thing I could think of - ate crap food and lay on the sofa getting stoned, flicking channels and listening to music - anything to stop the voices in my head that kept telling me what a twat I’d been. Funny how they all sound like Maria.

Chapter 22 - Gay Dave, Wednesday

2005-11-22T07:36:00.000Z

Last night was fun! And I don’t just mean the bit where I met Danny’s gorgeous man. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of pretending we’d “met” before, nudge-nudge wink-wink, but something in the way Danny has been talking about him made me realise he was serious. Actually it was probably the fact that Danny had been talking about him at all, as he never usually does. Anyway, we exchanged pleasantries and I left them to it. Lucky devils.

By the time I got round to Nicky’s she was on the verge a big strop. It didn’t help that I was a bit late, and I didn’t have a very convincing excuse - I could hardly confess to hanging round the flat to perv over my flatmates new man could I? So I mumbled some lie about getting held up at work, which I didn’t get away with as she’d apparently phoned work to tell me to bring cream with me, only to find me already gone. So I gave her the flowers and a hug, told her I was really sorry, then went to give some chocolate to the girls. Laura hardly had time to yell, “hi uncle Dave” as she was in the midst of some complicated shoot-em-up game. I’m sure as I headed up the stairs I heard her yelling, “die scum!” Becky’s door was shut, and I knew better than to go into a girls bedroom without asking, so I knocked and said, “Becky, it’s Dave, I’ve got chocolate”. Her mother yelled up the stairs, “she won’t eat it, she’s only eating green coloured things this week!” and which point the door was yanked open and Becky bellowed, “no I’m not, that was last week, this week it’s red stuff!” And although she said it with a smile on her face I had no idea whether she was joking or not.
“Do you want to save it for a brown week?”
“Don’t be stupid, there is no brown week! I’ll have it now, then I won’t have to have as much of what’s she’s burning downstairs.”
She was right, there was a distinct smell of burning in the air, followed by Nicky yelling, “fuck fuck fuck” and the clattering of a pan on top of the stove.
I raced downstairs with Becky right behind me, and even Laura poked her head around the door long enough to make sure the house wasn’t on fire and she could go back to her game. There was a strange shaped smouldering pile on the baking tray, which didn’t look like any food I recognised.
“What on earth was that?”
“Clay”
“As in clay, or some obscure vegetable you found in Waitrose?”
“Fuck off, it’s actual clay. Laura was making stuff the other day and I put it in the oven out of harms way. And forgot it was in there!”
Then she started giggling hysterically, followed by Becky, although burning clay didn’t seem that funny.
“What’s so funny?”
“It was going to be a birthday present. For you.”
I know it sounds ungrateful, but I think I had a lucky escape! But there’s a few weeks left yet so I’m afraid she’ll have another go. I’m just curious to find out what it was….

The meal turned out to be really nice - a huge shepherds pie, heavy on the potatoes, several glasses of wine, and once the girls were in bed a couple of tubs of Ben & Jerry’s. We had the same sweet tooth, possibly due to a childhood without sweets - Mum was paranoid we’d rot our teeth so we only ever got chocolate at Easter or Christmas, unless we managed to con some money out of relatives in the meantime, although Mum was always keen to make sure we spent it sensibly. I know it was just because she was terrified of the dentist and didn’t want to put us through it too, but tell that to 8 year olds who are the only ones in their class who can’t blow bubbles with bubble gum, because they’ve never even had the stuff! We’ve made up for it since, and luxury ice cream is one of our favourite treat - one tub each, then swapping over when they’re half empty. Sounds greedy? Well, yeah but that’s the point surely.
We had a nice relaxed gossip - and for a change we both only had good things to tell each other. We’re both very settled, although in quite different ways. As much as she loved Jack she was also enjoying him being away for a week. He phoned a couple of times during the evening, and I even had a quick chat with him, just to say ‘hi’ and ask him a favour. The girls were good too, although Nicky was worried it was the calm before the teenage, and I wound her up a little by reminding her how much of a nightmare she’d been as a teenager - it’s amazing she never slammed her bedroom door off its hinges! In contrast I’d been a dream child, although if anyone had realised what was going on in my head they’d have probably locked me up.
I ended up staying far later than I’d intended, which meant another late night. I must stay in tonight, I can’t keep getting too little sleep, it’ll catch up with me eventually! And I think that time might be now. I stumbled round the house this morning, but was awake enough to notice the strange pair of shoes were still in the corner of the living room - Todd clearly stayed. Good for Danny! As I left I banged on the door and yelled, “Stop shagging boys you’ll be late for work.” The giggling that followed told me that was exactly what they had been doing.

And so to work. The temp arrived as promised, but of course it wasn’t a cute boy. Her name is Suzi, with an ‘I’ not a ‘y’, which says it all really! Actually she seems fine - everything she’s done so far seems right, although she needs very specific instructions and doesn’t seem to be able to think for herself. But I mustn’t complain, because anything is better than doing it myself, and I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it. Let’s hope so.
I managed to find time to speak to Simon, although he sounded like shit - I’m not surprised - he was due to have his chat with the management, to beg for his job basically. He sounded fed up and confused, and when I mentioned his birthday he said he just didn’t want to think about it. I promised I’d speak to him later to see how his chat went, and would keep Thursday evening free just in case he fancied doing something. From what I heard it sounded unlikely - I mean would you want to celebrate being 38 with your job in the balance? No, me neither.
So I phoned Jim to let him know that I’d spoken to Simon, and we ended up having quite a nice chat. I’d lost touch with him a bit lately, as he’d been busy playing happy couples with Maria, but I’d missed him as he always had something interesting going on and was always up for mischief if there was the possibility of some. We ended up arranging to meet tomorrow anyway, regardless of whether Simon was there or not. Another late night, which means tonight has to be an early one.

The rest of the morning was really busy. We had a departmental meeting to see how prepared we were for the auditors, and I was frankly amazed to find that we’re pretty much on top of things! I guess all my shouting and jumping up and down has been worth it. I know something unexpected will happen, but if we’ve got everything else done that shouldn’t throw us too much. Still, I don’t want everyone else to relax and get lazy, so I played down how well they’d done. They’ll get their reward when it’s all over, but for the time being it won’t hurt to make them sweat! Actually they’re not a bad team, although I could kill myself every time I use that word - when did I get so indoctrinated that I think of the people I work with as a team!?

By the time lunchtime arrived I felt the need to get out of the office for a bit and get myself a bit of a treat. I guess I should have been looking for a gift for Simon, but actually I think we stopped doing that a few years ago so a card would do. I picked up a lovely one with a picture of a cake on the front from the bookshop over the road, and enjoyed flirting with the man behind the till as I paid for it. They should train people in shops to flirt with the customer’s, it makes the whole affair seem so much more agreeable - frankly I enjoyed spending the money just to see him smile, and God bless nametags too, because at least now I know I’ll be daydreaming about Luke.
The spotty boy in the phone shop could have done with some of his charm. I only popped in because I was bored, although I’ve been thinking about a new phone for a while now. I keep trying to persuade the company I need one, but they’re not going to fall for that any time soon. Anyway, I let the bloke give me the chat about which phone was which, but it soon became clear he knew almost less than I did about them ,so I told him I’d think about it and headed back to the office. I was feeling generous so I grabbed a pile of sweets from the newsagents on my way back, that’d keep them happy for the rest of the afternoon and make me look like the generous boss I want them to think I am.
What I wasn’t expecting to find was the office in chaos - Bob and Mike were snarling at each other whilst the rest of my department stood round looking a little bit sheepish. No sign of the temp, that can’t be good news…..

Chapter 21- Nick, Wednesday

2005-11-21T17:25:00.000Z

I can’t help thinking it’s a bad idea to wake up with an 18 year old work colleague beside you. Especially as I’ve got to get into work and he’s got to get into college. What were we thinking? Well, clearly we weren’t thinking, which is just as well otherwise we’d have never got this far. Why did we have to do it on day when neither of us could linger in bed though?

It all started in the cinema. I’d texted Brenda to see if she fancied going to a film or something, and she immediately said yes. Apparently she’d had a shitty day at work and was likely to go home and drink herself happy. Blimey, when did we all become so dependent on alcohol to make our bad days better? And she said she’d text the Bens too, as they were always fun to be around. I’m sure she has ulterior motives on the front, but she’s right, they are fun.
So 8 o’clock comes and we’re all on the steps of the local cinema wondering what to see. The choice is limited - an action thing, a slightly girly drama, or something animated. Turns out the Bens had seen the animated thing, and Brenda had seen the girly film (and got really annoyed by it), so off we went to see the action film. It was your bog standard action film really - lots of running through the streets, car chases and posturing. The hero turned out to be slightly flawed, but at the end he was redeemed. Oh good. But it was pacey and loud, and you couldn’t really call it boring - just predictable.
I was sat there watching it, and my mind had started to wander. My interest in car chases is limited, so by the time the third one started I was flagging a bit. I wasn’t the only one. I felt something touch my leg, which made me jump a little. When I looked down it was Big Ben’s hand, casually laying there stroking my thigh. Blimey, he must be hating the film as well. Thankfully Brenda was between me and the other Ben (why don’t we call him Little Ben I wonder?), so he was unlikely to see anything, especially in the dark. When we’d sat down he’d started talking very intently to Brenda, so Big Ben and I had naturally started talking to each other - chatting about our days, and gossiping a little about work between mouthful’s of popcorn.
And now he very definitely had his hand on my thigh, and it has to be said I rather liked it there. I casually moved my hand over the arm of the chair and placed it where his thigh ought to be, only to find he was slumped in his seat and I’d unexpectedly had a feel of his crotch. A little shuffling later and we were happily holding hands for the rest of the film. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.

When the film finished I hastily retrieved my hand, rearranged my clothing and traipsed out after the others. None of us were ready to go home, although all for very different reasons. But we were all aware that we had to get up in the morning so couldn’t afford to make it a late one. Luckily there was a coffee shop over the road that stayed open late so cinema goers had somewhere to chat about what they’d just seen. We all ordered hot chocolate and cake, and grabbed a table in the window. We were agreed that the film had been likeable nonsense. Implausible but harmless. Fun. I made a point of sitting next to Ben and chatting to him about what films he liked, leaving Brenda and Big Ben to gossip. Of course both Ben and I were eavesdropping on what they were saying, and I guess we were both disappointed to here Big Ben talking about some of his previous shags. For an eighteen year old he’d not been wasting much time! It’s taken me years to accumulate a similar amount as he already had, which somehow made me sad for both of us.
We finished our drinks, picked the crumbs of our plates and generally weren’t terribly keen to leave. I was particularly intrigued to see where the evening was going - the hand thing hadn’t been like the snog - that was drunken, this was most definitely sober. But how was I ever going to get him on his own to ask him about it? Or even should I? Perhaps that’s just what he did with his friends? I didn’t want to come on all mad - I’d done that enough times in the past to know it wasn’t a smart idea.
Eventually Brenda made the decision to go - she had the furthest to travel and she certainly looked knackered, bless her. The Bens would be heading in the same direction, so we wandered towards the bus stop. I could walk home, and although it was late and a bit far it was also a really nice night and I could do with the time to think. So we stood chatting at the bus stop, grumbling as all the wrong numbers went past, then practically cheering when the right one came round the corner. I was just saying ‘good-bye’ when Big Ben realised he’d left his phone in the café. I think Ben was about to offer to stay but Big Ben told him he’d catch up with him at college the next day, so he got on the bus with that disappointed look that seems to be constantly on his face lately.
“We better rush or they’ll be shut and you’ll never get it back”
“No need, I didn’t leave it behind at all”
“Well if you run you can catch up with the bus at the next stop, it might be ages before the next one comes along.”
“I don’t want to catch the bus, I want to go home with you.”
Bloody hell. I like a man who knows what he wants, but this took me by surprise.
“Hmm, blimey, I….”
Articulate aren’t I.
“You shouldn’t be surprised, I’ve had my eye on you for ages.”
But of course I was. I started having those, ‘he’s not in my league’ type thoughts, then realised I wasn’t such a bad catch myself and thought, ‘why not?’.
“But what about Ben? He’s mad about you, you know?”
“Yeah, but he knows it’s never gonna happen, I’ve told him often enough.”
Hmm, doesn’t necessarily make it right though does it? But at this point I wanted something to happen between us, so I’m afraid I rather overlooked Ben’s feelings.
“So, we heading back to yours or just gonna stand chatting in the street all night?”
He said it with a cheeky grin on his face, but there was a real eagerness in his voice, and a slight vulnerability about him - he seemed confident, but deep down he wasn’t sure I was going to say yes. Just as well I was.
“Come on then, I’ll race you home.”

It took longer than expected to get back to mine - we’d not gone far before Ben stopped. I thought he’d changed his mind, but when I turned to ask him what was the matter he just grabbed me, pushed me against the wall and snogged me. He’d have had a hand down my trousers if I hadn’t stopped him. Not that I wanted to, but sex in the street didn’t seem like the smartest idea, although it certainly sounded like fun!
We finally got back to mine, and never even made it into the bedroom - clothes were shed pretty quickly, and strewn all over the living room floor. Shoes were awkwardly removed, whilst trying not to stop kissing, and we ended up collapsed in an untidy heap on the sofa. I couldn’t help feeling amazed that we’d got here at all, and that he was clearly enjoying it as much as I was.

Of course it turned into a late night. I’ve no idea what time we went to sleep, but I was a bit disappointed when it turned out he’s one of those people who sleeps with their back to you, not touching you at all - I wanted to fall asleep wrapped around him, otherwise what’s the point of having someone in bed with you?

The alarm went off at seven, which seemed stupidly early, although it only gave us and hour and a half to get to work and college. I prodded Ben awake, resisting the urge to lie there looking at him - I swear there’s a stalker in me somewhere! He rubbed his eyes, stretched a bit, the turned towards me, eyes still shut, duvet pulled up to his chin.
“Wakey wakey sleepy head”
“Morning gorgeous”
Hmm, that’s the ideal way to start the day.
“you sleep okay”
“Mmm, not enough. You fancy staying here all day?”
God, what a tempting offer.
“Oh mate, there’s nothing I’d love more! But I’ve got work and you’ve got college”
“Pity, I had a better plan for the day.”
“Well we’ve got a little longer, come here and give me a cuddle.”
God I love the feeling of a warm body in the bed with me. It’s a great start to the day. He smelt all sweet and clean. I could have spent all day just curled up with him, but I made do with twenty minutes, enjoying his warmth pressed against mine, and the sound of his breathing. But then it really was getting late, so I stroked his face to persuade him to open his eyes.
“Come on mate, time to get up”
He grinned sleepily, stretched again, then got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I just lay there thinking what an idiot I was to let such a fantastic arse get out of my bed just so I could go to work. So I came to my senses and followed him into the shower….

Chapter 20 - Gay Dave, Tuesday

2005-11-20T21:16:00.000Z

You’d think by now I’d know better than to get into a heavy drinking session on a Monday night. I blame Danny - if he hadn’t accepted my invite to go out drinking after work this would have never happened. As always the plan was just to have a couple then get a take-away and head home. Finish the night in front of the TV, then when Danny headed off to bed take a quick peek online and see if I could fix myself up with some dates for later in the week.
Of course it doesn’t work like that. Since I last went in The Anchor Monday night has become half price night - that’s all drinks half price. Fucking stupid if you ask me, just encouraged us to drink more. Well, you’re money goes twice as far so why wouldn’t you? And so we did. Luckily they do food, so we at least had the sense to eat in an attempt to ward off the drunken-ness, but they’re hardly big on vegetarian options so Danny just ended up with a plate of chips.
So we gossiped about our days, and our love lives. His is just as hopeless as mine, although it doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest - his attitude is , “something will come along”, but said in a way that suggests he really doesn’t care if it doesn’t. I’ve no idea when he last had sex - he’s certainly never bought anyone back to the flat, at least not while I’ve been there. So drunkenly I asked him.
“Friday”
Blimey, that took me by surprise. I expected him to say 1997 or something. Crafty bugger. So to speak.
“Friday?”
I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. All the times he’d taken the piss out of my shagging, this was the ideal opportunity to get my own back. He knew what he was doing though as he already had a big grin on his face.
“Yeah, Friday. Day after Thursday, day before Saturday.”
“Hmmm, thanks for that fantastic explanation - I can see now why you’re a teacher!”
Cheeky git wasn’t going to make it easy for me.
“Come on you bastard, give me the details! Dish it or your yoga mat gets it!”
“Oh I hope not, that’s what got me the shag in the first place”
Big grin this time. He was loving winding me up, and I have to say I was pretty intrigued.
“Enough of the mystery, I’m too pissed to guess what on earth you’re talking about, unless you’re telling me you shagged your yoga mat?”
“I have a purely platonic relationship with my yoga mat. Unlike my yoga teacher.”
“You shagged your yoga teacher? Isn’t that illegal? Or at least just bad karma?”
That made him laugh, so I got in another round of drinks and spent the resting of the evening listening to how he seduced his yoga teacher, and hearing about just how flexible they both were. Blimey, I think it might be time I enrolled myself in one of those classes!

We stumbled home after closing time. Danny went straight to his room to talk to his teacher. From what he told me it sounded like they were heading towards becoming boyfriends, which would really suit Danny. Jammy fucker. I turned on my laptop, more out of habit than for any useful reason, and before I knew it I was chatting to all kinds of strange men. Why are the ones I always like at the other end of the country? Or already coupled? Or maybe I’m only attracted to people I can’t have? Actually, that wouldn’t include the coupled ones then - they all start off telling you how happy they are with their boyfriend and how they’re only looking for friends, but before you know it they’re telling you how they haven’t slept together in three years and do you fancy a shag? Piss off you greedy bastards - talk about cake and eat it! No wonder I can’t find a boyfriend - there aren’t any, just unhappy couples looking for playmates. So I went to bed feeling pissed and disappointed. No dates lined up for any time in the near future - I might as well become a monk!

I woke up feeling pretty much the same - hung over and frustrated. I’m used to getting what I want in pretty much every other part of my life, so why is this boyfriend business so tricky? I’m a good catch! We’ll I’d go out with me!
I was flicking through my diary to see how many dates I’d had this year, and after I’d counted a stupidly low number I kept flicking through the pages to see what else I had to look forward to when I noticed that it’s Simon’s birthday on Thursday. Oh fuck. He’ll sulk for months if everyone forgets, so I better do a ring round and see if anyone remembered. Poor Simon, he hardly seems to register in our lives. Mr Invisible.
On my way out I passed a sleepy looking Danny staring into the mirror, presumably trying to will his face into its normal shape. I slapped him on the back and cheerily said, “nice night mate, we should do it again”, which elicited only a grunt in response. Never could take his drink!

The day passed in a blur - reports to write, other people’s reports to correct, stupid stuff to sort out myself because we don’t even have a secretary, and far too long spent emailing people bitching about our lack of same. Not all of them could help me with the matter - my sister, for instance, couldn’t care less, but by then I’d gotten so annoyed about the whole business that I was just ranting and raving at anyone. Fat lot of use it’ll do. My sister just emailed back saying, “do it yourself you lazy twat. Then come to tea. XX” Charming. But at least the offer of a free meal helped.
I emailed a few people about Simon’s birthday, mostly getting the same, “oh shit, is it?” response. Couldn’t find an email for Jim though, so I left him a message at home. He might have remembered, he’s good about stuff like that.

After lunch the whole secretary thing got our of hand. How am I supposed to manage people when I’m spending half my time printing and copying? That’s what I said to our HR department, although I fear I may have lost my temper a bit and shouted it. I certainly pointed. And looked a bit cross. I bet I stamped my foot - why do I always do that? Just to prove my point I have to stamp my fucking foot, like some spoilt child. Well, that’ll help my cause I bet. What a twat. I’m pretty sure I heard the HR secretary sniggering as I left, and I was tempted to tell her that if she had nothing better to do than snigger she could come and help us out, but thought I’d made a big enough fool of myself for the day.
Although apparently it did the trick - we’ve got a temp starting tomorrow. Let’s hope they’ve got their wits about them - we’ve had one before who couldn’t operate a photocopier, and whose typing was so bad it took longer to correct it than it took to write in the first place. Fingers crossed this one is good. And as an added bonus let it be a cute bloke - I need something to brighten my day up right now!

Before I left the office I gave my sister a quick call, just to check there’d been no domestic disaster that I ought to know about before I went round. But apparently everything was fine - Becky was hiding in the room after a horse riding lesson, and Laura was playing some bloodthirsty game on the PlayStation, yelling to herself as she kicked the shit out of soldiers apparently. Such a charming nine year old. I promised to fetch wine and get round as soon as I could.
So on the way home I stopped in at the supermarket, grabbed more wine than I ought to be drinking after last night’s session, and picked up flowers and piles of chocolate - I liked my chocolate, but Nicky and the girls could give me a run for my money. The pile I’d picked up would probably last ten minutes, but at least we’d each get at least ten minutes of bliss.
When I got home there was a strange coat on the back of the sofa, laying on top of Danny’s. His door was shut and I could hear talking and giggling - I guess he’d brought the yoga teacher back! Good for him. Pity I had to go out, would be fun to hang around and see what he looked like. By the way Danny described him he sounded gorgeous, but Danny was smitten so he was bound to say that wasn’t he.
I jumped in the shower, and as I was getting dressed Jim phoned up. He’d forgotten Simon’s birthday as well, and worse than that he says Simon might get made redundant. Crap timing. He’ll be gutted. Now we’ve really got to make an effort for his birthday. What the hell are we going to do? What am I going to get him? I promised to give both Simon and Jim a ring the next day - I was running late as it was, and Nicky was likely to be on the phone telling me how rudely late I was if I didn’t get my act together and leave soon. But not just yet - I could hear movement in Danny’s room, so I pretended to sort through the post until the door opened, and Danny came out with his shirt off and a big smile on his face. Hmm, nice chest, but if he was good-looking his mate was even better looking.
“This is my flatmate Dave. Dave - Todd”
He smiled and shook my hand, saying how nice it was to meet you, and I thought, “you might be gorgeous, but if you hurt my mate I’ll make you sorry.” Blimey, where did that come from?

Chapter 19 - Jim, Tuesday

2005-11-19T22:23:00.000Z

The day got off to a bit of a sluggish start - a late night to start the week is never a good idea, but having Simon round was the right thing to do. He’s always found it a bit difficult to make friends, so those of us he has have to really look out for him. I hope he’ll be okay, although to be honest a change of job might do him good, if the shock of losing the one he has doesn’t throw him over the edge. I phoned him this morning to see how he was and he sounded fairly normal. Well, as normal as a depressed closet case Mummy’s boy about to lose his job could sound.
I had a pretty productive morning at work, putting the finishing touches to the stuff I’d done yesterday. I reworked some of the report, then sent it round the office to accumulate comments and criticism. I felt pretty pleased with myself, I’d done a good job, and touch wood there’s nothing serious anyone should want to change. It’s good to get a big job done, and it made me remember why I actually took the job in the first place.
In fact I’ve noticed that I generally feeling more positive about everything this week. I wonder if I’ve turned a corner about the Maria thing? I was thinking about it at lunchtime. I went out to get some fresh air, and just walk around the streets for a bit. I wasn’t even properly hungry, so lunch ended up being a cake - something unnecessarily creamy and foolish looking. Anyway, I decided it might be time to get back in touch with her. Yes, I know we’d agreed a sixty day cooling off period - she’d read it in some ‘how to survive a break-up’ kind of book. The idea is that you have no contact with the person you’ve split up with for sixty days, giving you time to heal and start to mend your life. I went along with it because I had no option really. I mean, I was the one who was unfaithful, so I was in no position to demand anything. Sounds like bollocks to me, although I must admit I haven’t wanted to see her. Not the her now. I’ve missed the old Maria, but not the new one who threw things at me and called me all the names she could muster, who broke my stuff and beat me, who broke my heart when she left and took all the nice things from the house.
Bt now I wonder how she is? I wonder if she’s okay? I wouldn’t dare phone her friends, they’d never tell me anyway. I don’t even think some of them liked me when things were good, let alone now. Funny that, as some of my friends never liked Maria - why were we such a great couple and yet no one else could see it? Except could we have been that great a couple if I went and slept with someone else? It never occurred to me, but it was one of the things Maria screamed at me when she found out. God I was such a twat.
But I’m not so stupid as to think she’d ever come back. I know I’ve blown it, and I feel like I ought to tell her that. I don’t want her abiding memory of me to be that I’m some kind of fuckwit. I want her to know that I’ve worked things out and realise that I’m wrong. I want her to know that I’m properly sorry, and not just the sorry I said I was to make her stop throwing things.
So I decided to write to her. Yes, I know it breaks her sixty day rule, but she doesn’t have to read it if she doesn’t want to. She’ll recognise the writing so she’s unlikely to open it by mistake. But it’s bullshit as well, as if she’s going to get a letter and not open it! There’s always the chance that she might just burn it, but I guess it’s a chance I’ll have to take. Anyway, I took advantage of the fact that things were quiet at work to start it. I really only intended to make a few notes but once I started it all poured, and by the time everyone else started to leave I’d written pages on an A4 pad. Bits of it were illegible, too much crossing out and bits added, but I think I’d managed to get out everything I’d wanted to say. I decided to take it home and reread it, and maybe rewrite it, but certainly not post it, possibly never post it. I was one of those cathartic things that felt good to do, but needed sleeping on.
As I left my manager shouted to me from his office, “Good report Jim! Nice work!”, which sent me out of the building with a spring in my step. Turns out it was a good day! But what to do for the evening? Me and the cat again? Love him as I did it just seemed like a waste. Surely there was more to life than that? But my options were limited - pub? Not on my own. Restaurant? Ditto. Was it too late to round up some friends? I think it was too late in many ways - I’d drifted apart from most of them when I was with Maria, and it’d be just too predictable to get in touch with them now she’s gone. I did email Nick earlier in the day, as I’d been thinking about him since I saw Simon yesterday, but he never replied. I guess he could have been at work, or out already. There was always Gay Dave, but I didn’t have his number at work. So me and the cat it was! Lucky cat!
But if I’m staying in for the evening I ought to do it in comfort, so I stopped in at the supermarket to get some supplies - nice food? Check. Cake and wine? Of course! A DVD to watch later, and a CD to play whilst I cooked? Good idea. Even the cat got something nice. I nearly whistled I was feeling so content.
I got home and the message light was flashing on the answer machine. For a brief moment I wondered if it might be Maria, but as soon as I pressed play I realised the voice wasn’t hers:

“Hey stranger, it’s Dave. I heard about you and Maria, sorry about that, hope you’re doing okay. Anyway, the reason for the call was just to see if you’d remembered it was Simon’s birthday on Thursday. I’d completely forgotten, but it is. He’s been a bit down lately, so I thought we ought to make an effort to get together and do something. Will you ring me and let me know if you can? Cheers mate.”
Oh fuck, it’s Simon’s birthday. Just like Dave I’d completely forgotten, and Simon wasn’t likely to remind anyone - he preferred no fuss at all, but he’d have been gutted if we’d forgotten. Especially with all the work stuff going on as well. Blimey, just as well Dave phoned.
I unpacked the shopping, said “hello” to the cat, who seems to have been sulking with me since Simon was here, then phoned Dave back. It was good to speak to him, he’s always so cheery it’s infectious. Of course he still behaves like a big kid, he really never has grown up. I wish he’d settle down, I’d like to see what that would do to him - I think it would be good for him, and then maybe he could get on with something extraordinary, instead of that wasting away in that office then shagging his way through the evenings.
Anyway, once we’d swapped news we talked about Simon - he’d not heard the redundancy news, and it kind of threw him. We were clearly going to have to think more carefully about what we were going to do. He really might not be in the mood to do anything at all, so Dave agreed to give him a call and make a few suggestions. Besides, it’s on Thursday - a slightly awkward night to go out, although I’m of the opinion that it doesn’t matter if you turn up to work on Friday feeling like shit - it’s like dress-down Friday for the mind. We decided to speak again the following day, then I headed off to enjoy my evening.
As my risotto slowly bubbled on the hob I reread the letter I’d written. Yes, some of it sounded a little mad. Not psychotic, just slightly unhinged. Well, who wouldn’t be when their girlfriend had left them? But I decided against rewriting it. She’d recognise the spirit it was written in I hoped, assuming she read it at all. But it was only after I’d put it in an envelope that I realised I wasn’t sure where she was. She hadn’t wanted me to contact her, so she hadn’t told me where she was going. I hadn’t been worried as I still had her mobile number if I needed to get in touch, but this was a bit of a disaster. One glass of wine later I decided that the only thing to do was to send it to her at work. It’s the way I could guarantee it’d get to her - her friends couldn’t necessarily be trusted to pass it on, so I’d have to risk her wrath and send it there.
Decision made it was time to settle down for the evening. The food turned out to be surprisingly good - I’ve clearly got my appetite back! Then the cat joined me, full of posh cat food and wanting his belly rubbed, and we settled down to watch a DVD like some married couple. I didn’t even feel the need for a spliff, although the wine bottle was never far from my reach…

Chapter 18 - Simon, Tuesday

2005-11-18T22:27:00.000Z

I lost it a bit yesterday.

Of course the news came as no surprise - there’d been rumours of redundancies going round the building for weeks, but then again there had been for about the last seven years and it’d only ever happened once before. Nobody really thought it was going to happen. Yes, we’d been going through a bad patch, but these things often pass as quickly as they came. But apparently not.
After Clive had made his little speech and left the room the rest of us just sat there in silence. Then one of the girls burst into tears and another followed pretty quickly after that. People sat where they were not really knowing what to do. Then it became obvious that no one was going to come back and tell us what to do, so we realised we might as well leave. As I headed for the door one of the boys from the phone room said, “thanks for the warning Simon”, then he muttered under his breath, “wanker”. I thought I’d imagined it at first and stopped briefly in case he said it again. Instead he waved his hand to illustrate what he’d just said, so I turned round and fled. How dare he! What made him think I knew any more than he did? And even if I did why did he think I might tell him? Ok, I know we’re all in shock and want to hit out at something, but did it have to be me?
I got back to the office and was just in shock. Cheeky little fucker had upset me more than the whole redundancy news. I hope he gets it first. And I hope one day someone does the same thing to him so he can see how it feels. Little cunt. Before I realised it there were tears streaming down my face. Fucking hell, I always promised myself I’d never cry at work, it’s not worth it I wiped the tears across my face, in case anybody came past and saw me - although why I even cared what these people thought I’ve no idea. They clearly didn’t like me, so why should I pretend anymore that I can tolerate them?
I had to get out, but the thought of going back to the flat didn’t appeal. Misery loves company? Not really, I just wanted someone to tell me it’d be alright, even if it wouldn’t. I went over the likeliest candidates in my mind, and finally settled on Jim as the best bet - he was the person least likely to have any plans, and the most sympathetic too. We made plans to meet at a local pub, although I was in such a hurry to get away that I got there ages before him.
We spent a couple of hours in the pub - he listened to me complaining about how undervalued I felt, and didn’t even attempt to sidetrack the conversation to talk about him and Maria. We got a bit pissed to be honest as neither of us had eaten, so we got take-away and went back to his. I haven’t been round in ages - I never really liked Maria, so I avoided them a bit when they were a couple, although sometimes it was impossible and I think I went to his last birthday party, which they held in the flat. It looked a lot more like a bachelor pad than I remembered - not much furniture, nothing soft or decorative about it. I guess that kind of stuff and been Maria’s, and clearly she’d taken it with her. Not that bloody cat though. Thankfully he steered clear of me, which is just as well.
I know I outstayed my welcome, but I just didn’t want to go home. John would have been there, and I doubt he’d have had any sympathy. He’d have probably been pissed in front of the TV if as he’d not been working all day, and it would have just been another reminder of how shit my life is right now. But eventually Jim practically threw me out. I don’t blame him, it was far too late and I’d not said anything for ages so I was hardly sparkling company.
Thankfully by the time I got in John had gone to bed, although he’d left me a note to say Mum had phoned three times wondering how I was, or more likely where I was. Oh God I suppose I’ll have to tell her. Must I? She just take it as another thing that’s sent to try her, forgetting immediately that’s it’s actually me who could be out of work soon!

This morning I woke up feeling like shit. I hardly felt like I’d slept and could have done with the rest of the day in bed, but now was not the time to start throwing a sicky! John was banging around the kitchen in what sounded like his pre-work routine, so I pulled the duvet over my head until he left then got ready and headed to work myself.
As soon as I got in the building you could feel something had changed. There was an unusual quietness about the place, but also an unbearable tension. Everyone was being extremely polite, but no one was really saying anything. I headed straight to my office, not bothering to put my head round the phone room door and wish them ‘good morning’. On my desk was a memo - it was a timetable for the discussions with management. Mine’s tomorrow, which means a day and a half of worrying about what to say, but it also means several days of worrying afterwards - there’s no good time for these things I guess. But I can’t wait for it all to be over.
There was also another memo from the management briefing us on how to talk about the whole affair if we were asked about it - under no circumstances are we to use the word ‘redundancy’ - apparently people are being ‘rationalised’ or ‘reassigned’. Yeah right, tell that to the person who suddenly loses their livelihood! I hate that ridiculous corporate speak that uses words you think you know it a way that separates them from any real meaning,. It’s quite a talent, and clearly our management have that talent in spades. Wankers.

Halfway through the morning one of the girls from the phone room knocked on the door with a cup of coffee. They never make me coffee, I prefer everyone to fend for themselves, and I don’t like people doing things for me. So I guessed she wanted a chat, and asked her to sit down. I wanted to find out what the mood was like around the office, but more importantly if anyone else felt I’d behaved badly. By all accounts it sounds like they’re pretty subdued, and when I made the point that it’s been a shock to me as well she said she knew that, she’d seen it from my face. So I felt a bit better - no one likes the thought of being disliked - but under the circumstances not that much better. They’ve all got discussions today, so I guess they’re starting at the bottom and working their way up, although I wonder how far up they’ll go? Not much further than me I guess.

Mum finally tracked me down just before lunch, so I told her what had happened knowing that I had the perfect excuse to stop talking if I had to - work. She made just as much fuss as I’d expected, before launching into a speech about how they’d never let me go, the place would fall apart without me. Hmmm, I don’t think so. And even if I did go I’d easily find something else. Again, I don’t think so. I know it was her job to say this stuff, but it really didn’t help, and part of me wished she’d just said, “well Simon, you’re fucked aren’t you”. Why don’t I have that kind of mother?

On my way to lunch I bumped into Neil, who looked a little shaken. I’m not surprised - as Head of Sales it’s partly his fault we’re in this mess in the first place. And I’d heard that the Sales boys had really kicked off when they had the news broken to them. As we went down the stairs together he invited me to go for a drink, something he wouldn’t normally do in a million years, and for a brief moment I almost felt sorry enough for him to say yes. But then I remembered how much his posse made my life a misery and made my excuses and left.
I couldn’t work out what to do, I certainly wasn’t feeling hungry - I’d only left the office to get away from the oppressive atmosphere. So I ended up wandering down towards the shops. It seemed stupid to buy anything with the future looking so uncertain. Yes, I knew I’d get a decent pay off, but who knew how long that would have to last me? So I window-shopped a bit, which always bores me. I toyed with the idea of stealing something, but those kind of places are always littered with CCTV and you can’t move without someone watching you.
Then just as I was about to head back for work I popped into the toilet for a pee. As I stood there having I pee I noticed the bloke beside me was behaving a bit oddly. In fact he hadn’t been beside me before, he’d moved nearer. And he was peering at my cock and waving his. Oh God, that’s all I needed, someone cottaging in their lunch break and hitting on me. Was I giving off some invisible gay signal? Or is he just so desperate he’ll try anybody? But what do you do? I don’t know the etiquette for these kind of situations. Should I politely decline? In the end I just finished peeing, did my zip up and headed for the sinks, and as I did I distinctly heard the bloke say, “suit yourself love, didn’t fancy yours much anyway.” God, everyone’s got it in for me lately!

Chapter 17 - Nick, Tuesday

2005-11-17T08:13:00.000Z

I like Tuesday. Tuesday is always a good day, and not just because it’s a day off. And bizarrely although it is my day off I’m still up early to go swimming at 7am. It started ages ago, when a couple of us from work decided we need to get fit. We lasted about two visits to the gym, realising almost immediately that we were just too lazy. The other options were pretty limited, although I did end up biking to work for a while, but it seemed a bit pointless as I can walk it in twenty minutes and get a bus in ten if it rains or when I can‘t be bothered. I was resigned to the fact that I’m a lazy boy when someone suggested swimming. At first the idea of getting up so damned early seemed really stupid, but after a couple of weeks I realised I was enjoying it and even went when no one else would. It’s the perfect time to go really - there are no kids, it’s just the hardcore swimmers who want to do lengths, and lots of them. I can’t keep up with them, pottering along with my old lady breast stroke, but it’s not a race anyway. By the time I hit the shower at eight I’m wide awake and feeling good in my own body, ready for anything really. Often that anything will comprise nothing more exciting than an immediate return to bed, but the whole thing never fails to make me feel better about myself.

But a return to bed isn’t on the cards today, even if it’s what I’d likely to do most. And judging by the looks I was getting from the bloke under the shower next to me I don’t think it would have been difficult to find some company, not that I wanted any. No, I’ve got a full day planned, although it’s only full of good things like lunch and a film. But before all that I must get Simon a birthday present. Yeah, I know his birthday is on Thursday, but he’s such a nightmare to buy for that I’ve been putting it off. It doesn’t help that we rarely see each other, and when we do we rub each other up the wrong way! He texted me last night, although it didn’t make much sense, some badly spelt nonsense about nobody liking him anyway. I just texted him back and said to ring me when he was sober if he wanted a chat. He won’t.

I nipped home to drop my swimming stuff off, then jumped on a bus and headed into town. Of course it’s commuter time so the bus was full of people hiding behind papers, and the traffic is hardly moving. But I’m in no hurry and it’s fun to daydream. I must confess that since Saturday night my thoughts have kept returning to Big Ben and that snog we had. He hasn’t been at work since, I don’t think we’re on the same shifts until Thursday, and I’m strangely excited about seeing him. I know it was a drunken kiss, and that I’m twice his age. I know he’s too young to settle down, but I also know that he’s gorgeous and it was a great kiss, and you can’t get enough of those! The only problem is the other Ben - he trails after Big Ben like a sad puppy, and I think he’d be gutted it someone else stole his ideal man. Poor Ben. Actually, poor me, I’m probably just as bad.

By the time the bus got into town I’d spent far too long working out ways to get Big Ben alone and naked. I may have dwelled on the naked bit a bit more than was necessary on public transport, but it’s been a while so it’s understandable that I’m slightly eager. First stop Starbucks - I can’t face those shops without something to get me going. None of that skinny latte shit for me - hot chocolate with cream if you don’t mind, and a chocolate muffin to go with it! I sat in the window reading a paper that someone else had left behind, watching the world go by and marvelling at how all men in big cities now look gay. Of course they’re not, but they’re groomed and gorgeous in a way that people used to only think us gays could be. Makes a day shopping a lot more fun, although it’s bloody tricky to know who’s on your team!

OK, full of sugar and fat, so it was time to hit those shops. Where to begin? It’s not like he has any hobbies, or if he does he keeps them to himself. Who knows, he might be a secret stamp collector for all I know, but somehow it seems unlikely. The thing he loves above all else is books. Sometimes I think he likes books more than he likes people. It sounds odd to say it, but I fear it may be true. Of course I’ve no idea what he’s read recently or not, so I guess I could buy him book tokens, but honestly vouchers are the most unimaginative present! Still, every shopping trip needs a reserve plan and this is mine. Onwards!

Two hours later I was literally on the verge of pulling my hair out! The more I trudged round the shops the more I was reminded that I don’t know my brother at all. I toyed with buying him some clothes, a nice shirt maybe, something to make him look a bit younger and more modern. But then I couldn’t say with confidence what size he’d wear. Of course I should have just phoned Mum but she’d have interfered and told me what I should buy him instead. Inevitably I wandered into HMV - there must be something for everyone in there - who doesn’t like music or films? Nobody! Certainly not me, which is why I left with five CDs. Frankly I got away lightly, I could easily have doubled that amount, and that’s without starting on the DVDs! I did have the beginning of an idea for Simon - there was a cartoon he was obsessed with as a child, which I can’t remember the name of. Need to wrack my brains a bit, or research it online. It was his favourite for years anyway, and I thought it might remind him of when we were young, when life was easier, and remind him that I was there then too. Sentimental twat. I should phone Jim, he’d remember that kind of thing. Actually I should just phone Jim anyway.

I don’t really know how it happened. One minute I was looking at shirts, the next I had a pair of shoes in my hand and was queuing at the till! I was like I blacked out. Except I didn’t, it was a shoe frenzy! The stupid thing is I already have a pair like it, but not in suede, so obviously I needed these quite urgently! And at £15 they were quite the bargain. Yes, I know it doesn’t get me any nearer a gift for Simon, but it certainly put the spring back in my step!

I think I’m going to get him a shirt. Book tokens are just lazy, I might as well just give him the money, although that’s even lazier. So I braved a phone call to Mum and got away quite lightly. I got the impression she was in the middle of something, so she just answered my question without stopping to find out why I was asking it in the first place. I did get summoned for tea on Thursday though, which will be a bit of a rush as I’m at work till three, but it won’t kill me to make the effort. So, decision made, all I’ve got to do is find a shirt that he’ll like, will be good to get him out of those rugby shirts and old jumpers. He looks like he’s 47 not 37. I guess he’s scared of colour, so nothing too flamboyant. And nothing too gay either. I’m thinking a stripe? Vertical obviously. Blue? Oh no, hang on, there’s the perfect thing: brown with a pale pink stripe. Fitted as well. Actually I quite fancy one for myself. Well, why not? It’s not like we socialise in the same circles! And actually we’ve got the same colouring so what suits one of us ought to suit the other, within reason. Cool, job done.

OK, I guess it might be time for me to go home - I’ve got what I came for, plus more treats than I can strictly afford. It’s going to take a few extra shifts to pay for this morning’s haul! And yet somehow I feel like I haven’t really started. Perhaps I should just have another look in HMV? Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything? No, bad Nick. What I should really do if I had any sense is go home and get on with some course work. I’m far enough behind with my assignment as it is! At this rate I’m never going to get my NVQ, and then how will I progress up the management ladder? Although come to think of it would that be so much of a tragedy? I’m too old for that kind of nonsense, careers are for young people - if I haven’t got one now I’m clearly not meant to have one.
Perhaps a compromise is in order - no more shopping, instead I’ll get some lunch and head home. Get a few hours work done then see if I can find someone with nothing better to do and go for a film. I bet Brenda would be up for an evening out, she doesn’t usually do anything on a Tuesday night. Perhaps we can tempt the Bens out and make an evening of it? Oh no, mustn’t go there again, that way lies trouble! Yeah, but I could really fancy some trouble….

Chapter 16 - Jim, Monday

2005-11-16T07:14:00.000Z

Well, today didn’t exactly go as I’d expected it to!

It started off well - I’d had a nice evening in last night: got back from my walk, made some food, then settled down on the sofa with some old films and got stoned with the cat. Well, the cat didn’t get stoned, he just lay with his head in my lap occasionally giving me a disapproving frown. Or that could have just been me getting a bit paranoid…
I woke up feeling well rested, despite the fact I woke up on the sofa with a dry mouth and the cat asleep on my chest. He wasn’t happy when I tried to move him and dug his claws in just to be spiteful. It took me a while to lose the stiffness in my neck, the sofa not being the most comfy of places to sleep. Not that I’d ever really wanted to.

So I got into work feeling quite of good about things. It was Monday, there was hope. I had nothing bad scheduled for the whole day, just lots of administrative stuff. I could pretty much get my head down and get on with it and the day would fly by. Which is pretty much what it did. I nipped out a lunchtime for sandwiches and was surprised by how warm it was, so when I spotted an empty bench near the shops I grabbed it and ate outdoors. It was almost sunny enough for sunglasses, and certainly not cold enough for a coat. it was a nice change from the office and it even sent me back whistling. God knows what it was, something I’d overhead in a shop I guess, but it surprised me and made me smile.

The afternoon flew by too. I was stuck into a report and didn’t notice how quickly the day had gone by until people started walking past the office door and saying ’good-bye’. I decided to hang around and finish what I was doing as I was so close to the end and had hit my stride, so I was nearly the last person in the building for a change. I was just logging off my computer and wondering what to do for the evening when the phone rang. It was Simon, although I didn’t immediately recognise him - he was agitated about something and I wondered if he might have been crying. Once I got him to slow down and start again it turned out they’d just announced there were going to be redundancies where he works, and he was panicking it might be him. He was looking for some company, and as I was in a sociable mood I said I’d meet him. Poor bloke, he’s had that job forever, and although he loves to moan about it he’d be devastated if he lost it. I’m not sure he’d be able to get another - he’s lost so much of the spark he had when he was younger. I don’t know where it’s gone, but it’s slowly ebbed out of him. The job can’t have helped, but I think it might have more to do with his mother - slowly bleeding the life out of him, clinging onto him and not letting him get on with his own life. He really ought to stand up to her and get out more, but none of us really expect that to happen either. And he really ought to just come out as well - enough of this indecision, he’s old enough to know what he likes, and we all know that it’s men! I think it’d bring him closer to Nick as well, it seems such a waste that they don’t get on.
So I grabbed my stuff and headed home to change. The cat gave me a weary, “what now?” look as I sailed through the door and into the bedroom without pausing to stroke his head and say “hello”. He’d live. I jumped in the shower, redressed in something pubby and was out of the door again in twenty minutes flat. Poor cat, I bet he didn’t know what had hit him! Except I forgot to feed him - luckily I remembered before I got to the end of the road, so I headed back, made my apologies and left him tucking into some foul smelling thing with pasta in it. Pasta for cats? The world’s gone mad!

Simon was already at the pub when I got there, and unusually for him he’d gone in on his own and got himself a drink. He sat in a corner fiddling with a beer mat, looking the epitome of miserable. I waved, made the universal sign of ‘getting a pint’ then headed to the bar to do just that. By the time I got to the table he’d shredded the bar mat and had started on another. I pinched it from him for my pint, because that kind of incessant fiddling really bugs me, and because apparently ripped bar mats drive barmen mad. No idea why or how I knew that, but that’s what someone told me.
Simon did in fact look like he’d been crying - his eyes were red and he looked more miserable than normal. For the next hour or so he told me about the whole thing - how people were getting made redundant; how he feared he’d be one of them as nobody at work liked him; how he thought he’d never be able to find any other work because he was useless; how his life was pointless and stupid. By this point we were on our third pints, and it occurred to me that if we didn’t eat something soon we were really going to feel bad in the morning. Unfortunately the pub was one of the few that had resisted the trend to serve food - from what I’d seen our only options were crisp or nuts, neither of which were going to impede our drunkeness. But moving seemed like a very bad idea. And yet waking up the following day feeling like shit didn’t seem to good a plan either.
So I did the sensible thing and suggested we get a takeaway and head back to mine. If the worst came to the worst the cat would have to share the sofa for a second night running, but I was hoping food would sober Simon up enough to get a taxi home. The takeaway options are a little limited in my part of town - chips or Chinese, or the kebab shop if you’re really drunk and desperate. Thankfully we were neither, so Chinese it was. A good plan as it happens as the food is good and they always give me some chicken balls for the cat. I hadn’t really realised how much of a help the cat had been to me since Maria left - it was just lovely to have someone to come home to, even if that someone did ignore you for most of the evening and scratch you just because he could. He took one look at Simon and scarpered, and wouldn’t even be tempted back by a chicken ball. Simon’s not exactly a cat person so he didn’t mind.
I put some music on - a Johnny Cash album I’d been wallowing in all week - then put the TV on with the sound turned off, so we had enough distractions as we ate and wouldn’t feel like we had to talk. I made us both coffee without asking, any more alcohol certainly we would have been a bad idea.
The food was great, and it was only when I was clearing my plate that I realised how hungry I’d been - I usually ate half and left half, but not tonight. Simon did less well, pushing it around a bit and in the end leaving half of it. He made a half-hearted attempt to ask me about Maria, but today wasn’t the day - I was feeling calm and relaxed, and just couldn’t be bothered to go over the whole thing again, especially as I knew he never liked her and wouldn’t miss her anyway. I suppose I could have said that to him, but he’d had a bad day and it would have been mean to pick on him.
We chatted about people we knew - he’d seen Gay Dave so was telling me about him, although he seemed less keen to talk about Nick. I like Nick, but never saw him - it was awkward being friends with both of them when they didn’t get along so well, as you had to be careful not to upset one of them. Usually Simon, Nick was far more relaxed, and we’d had a few good nights out , which usually ended up with the pair of us sneaking off and getting stoned while the others got drunk and shouty. To be honest I probably liked Nick more than Simon, which sounds like a dreadful thing to say. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
Two coffees later and I was ready for bed, although at the same time too wired to sleep. I should never drink coffee, it always gives me a bad head, but I feel like it might sober me although whether that’s true or not is anyone’s guess. I did a bit of obvious yawning, hoping Simon might notice and take the hint, but he didn’t seem to. Eventually the cat got tired of waiting and came back to reclaim the sofa. Even that didn’t seem to shift Simon, so I decided it was time to be blunt.
“OK Simon, it’s getting late, I need to get some sleep if I’m going to be up and about in the morning.”
“Yeah, I guess I do too, it’s later than I thought. Can you call me a cab? Or is there a minicab place round here?”
“The numbers by the phone, help yourself.”
“Thanks for putting up with me, I just didn’t fancy being on my own tonight.”
“That’s ok mate, I’d have felt the same. Must have been a shitty day.”

Not long after that his cab came, and he left but not before giving me and awkward hug. We weren’t really huggers so we were a bit clumsy and slapped each other on the back in a blokey way. It’d been an odd evening but I felt a better person for having been there for him. The cat obviously disagreed as I found him asleep on my pillow surrounded by the shredded remains of a chicken ball.

Chapter 15 - Simon, Monday

2005-11-15T18:08:00.000Z

Sometimes this bloody office feels like a prison! Well, more often than that lately. How on earth did I end up in insurance anyway? I’d blame bad careers advice if it wasn’t more to do with my own staggering lack of ambition. I came for a summer job and never left. Too many years later and at least I’m off the phones - much more of that and I’d have gone mad! You’d be surprised how stupid people are, and how many of them have a car accident and don’t know anything about the other vehicle involved. “Hmm, it was blue. Or maybe green.” Thanks for that! Honestly, I think I spent about seven years biting my tongue, it’s a wonder I never gave myself an ulcer!
Now of course there’s none of that, not as Senior Claims Supervisor. Whatever that means. Now I just get to deal with the idiots we employ. Lucky me! Someone once tried to excuse their lateness by saying they forgot where they worked! God, I wish I could. I hate feeling this grumpy so early in the week - Monday is supposed to be the high point, and it’s downhill all the way from there. But where do you go if you’re at the bottom of the hill? I think you just lose the will to live.
So this week I’m going to make an effort to get out in the evenings, have myself some fun. Dave suggested going for a drink this week, and I must take him up on it. It was good to see him on Saturday, and he’s always good for a laugh. If there’s any mischief to be had he’ll find it, and boy could I do with some mischief! I must catch up with Jim too. He looked a bit lost on Friday, I think this Maria business has hit him harder than he’d like to admit. Not that he’s really said much about it, we don’t really talk about that kind of things. I guess it’s my fault - I’ve never had anything like that I’ve wanted to talk about, and those kind of conversation require reciprocation. And Nick too. We ought to be more brotherly, and I’m curious to hear how the christening went. Less curious to know how Dad was mind, but I’m kind of sorry I missed seeing Emma.

I hate departmental meetings, they always descend into bickering. It doesn’t help that they’re always rushed, and at the end of the day. No one wants the phones to be down so we have to wait till one shift ends and hope they’ll all stay on and listen. But it’s no surprise that they’re restless. Half of them have their coats on ready to go, and the other half are already mentally on the way home. And there’s always someone who seems surprised when you ask them to stop texting! For goodness sake, where did we find these people? I’m usually as bad as I never have anything useful to do - neither Manager or worker bee, I’m stuck between both camps and don’t know who to try and please. So invariably I keep quiet and watch the clock out of the corner of my eye. No doubt tonight’s will be as pointless as ever. Whoever scheduled it for a Monday should be shot.

I normally eat a sandwich at my desk, but today I had to get out. If I spend any longer looking at that screen I’ll scream. And if I see another graph I swear I’ll run amok with a stapler or something! So the fresh air will do me good. I even abandoned my homemade sandwich. It was only cheese that had seen better days and some unidentifiable pickle from the back of the cupboard. I really fancy a bagel, and the walk to the really nice bagel shop will clear my head.

Hmm, what is it about bread and cheese in the open air? I feel much better! Must be the sun on my head. Or maybe the sneaky little bottled beer I bought from the Off Licence. Well, one won’t hurt. I sat in a small park watching some kids skateboard. They must have been bunking off school, they certainly didn’t look old enough to have left, but who can tell nowadays. The bagel was gorgeous, and I couldn’t resist a pastry while I was there. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t, I’m getting fat enough as it is, but it looked so lovely I’d asked for it before I realised what I’d done.

Well that was odd. I got back to the office and when I walked past the phone room I noticed a group of them standing round having a very animated conversation. It’s unlike them all to be back before they have to be, and then they usually head straight to their desks and their phones. If there’s any gossiping to be done it usually takes place at the coffee machine or in the toilets. They certainly looked worked up about something, I wonder what it was? It can’t have been work, because they’d have been in here like a shot - they like nothing more than bringing me their work-related moans. No wonder I’m losing my hair! Then I wandered out to get a coffee, just in time to see one of the girls rushing to the toilet clutching a tissue to her face and snivelling. I do hate crying in the workplace, although there have been plenty of times when it’s made me want to weep. I wonder what’s going on? If only more people liked me I could have a discrete word, but there’s no way anyone in that phone room is going to let me in on the secret.

OK, something’s really going on. I went downstairs to check some figures with Accounts and I’m sure I saw the Big Boss from Belgium in the MD’s office. It’s not often we see him, especially not on a Monday. He sometimes swans in just before Christmas, distributing largesse and trying to look festive, but never at this time of year. And now I come to think of it there are a lot more salesmen in than normal. You’d usually be lucky to find a couple in, if lucky is the word you’d use. This can’t be good, they only ever bring salesmen in in an emergency - no salesmen on the road means no sales etc. Oh shit, now I’m getting panicky.

Oh fuck, the Claims Director is here. We never see him at a departmental meeting, there’s no need for him to be here so he always sends the Claims Manager. Now I know we’re fucked.

“Good afternoon everyone, thanks for sparing me your time, especially at the end of a busy day. I know you’re all tired and eager to get home so we’ll make this brief.
You may already be aware that the last quarter was particularly disastrous for us. We lost several big business customers and the domestic market has been very tricky, what with supermarkets offering similar products at ridiculously reduced premiums. We failed to meet our targets. And I’m afraid when I say failed I mean badly - by just over 40%. Our predictions for the next quarter are equally gloomy, and we’ve been instructed by Head Office to take some measures to prevent this temporary downturn getting out of control.
We’ve spent several weeks looking at our options, but with no immediate prospect of big customers returning or changing for their existing insurers we’ve been forced to look in-house to make some savings. The only way we can reduce our overheads is buy reducing our staff, so it is with regret that we’ve decided redundancies are our only option.
We are legally obliged to go through a consultation process with each and every member of staff, which will begin tomorrow and take about a week. No decisions will be made until everyone has been spoken with. I must stress that we do not have a list of people in mind - anyone and everyone could be affected by this. Voluntary redundancies may be an option, and this will be discussed with you in your meetings.
I’m sorry to spring this on you on a Monday evening, thank you for your time. If any of you have any questions I’ll be in my office. Thanks”

Oh fuck. There I was thinking we’d been taken over or something. It never occurred to me we’d go through this again! How long is it since the last cull? Two years? Three? God, this place is going to be hell. I remember last time, everyone was so desperate to save their jobs that we all got really crazy. I remember sitting looking round the office thinking who’d be given the chop before me, and realising that there were worryingly few beneath me. It got a bit much for some people, and there was an awful lot of snapping at each other, slamming doors and snide remarks. I even remember being pleased when some people I didn’t like were let go. I’m not sure who it’s worse for - the people who’ve not been here very long or the people who’ve been here forever. What would I do? What could I do? I’m unlikely to get another job in insurance - everyone else is in the same situation as us: cutting back, saving money. And I’m not sure I’d want one. But I don’t want to change! I couldn’t cope with it! The thought of having to sell myself to another company appals me. I couldn’t. Who would want me?
It’s time like this I wish I had friends within the company so I could go out with them and debrief. And bitch about the idiot Managers who got us into this mess. Some of them look really gutted. Admittedly some of the boys look like they couldn’t care less, and why should they? They’re young and capable, they’ll bounce back. But I’m too set in my ways to bounce. Oh fuck, I need a drink….

Chapter 14 - Gay Dave, Monday

2005-11-14T19:40:00.000Z

To: Simon (work)
From: Dave
Subject: Further adventures…
Hi Si :-)
How’s the exciting world of insurance on this dull Monday morning? About as thrilling as accounting I can imagine….
It was good to see you on Saturday, thanks for putting up with my surprise appearance. We must get together soon for a drink, and evening this week good for you?
How was the rest of your weekend? Mine turned out to be unexpectedly fun. I know you like to hear these things, so here goes:
I’m up the gym, trying to work off a hangover, and if I’m being truthful, on the look out for someone to play with. But it was quiet, so by the time I got to the sauna I’d given up all hope and was fully expecting to go home alone. Then this gorgeous bloke comes in! Shaven head, hairy chest - just my type. Straight of course, but needs must and all that. So I just sat there slyly looking at him, waiting for him to make the first move so I didn’t get a punch in the face, and he casually starts chatting. Then he takes his towel off. The he slides over to my side of the sauna for a closer look. Well! Luckily he had a big family so he needed a big car - there’s nothing worse than trying to shag in a small car is there? :-) People carriers are the only way to go! You really should get down the gym more often you know!
Later…
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To: HR
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: PA
Bob,
Any progress with a PA for our department? This sharing with the creative team is just not working out! I’ve got auditors in next week and need reports compiling but Tracey is far too busy getting tea for Mike’s team!
I’m happy to have a meeting to go over any shortlist you might have, but at this stage even a temp would do! Can you sort something out for us before the end of the week?
Cheers,
Dave
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To: Nicky (work); Nicky (home)
From: Dave
Subject: Mum
Hi Sis,
Any thoughts about Mum’s birthday? I’ve been so rushed here I haven’t had time to give it much though. I did mention it to her and she did the old, “don’t waste your money there’s nothing I want” kind of thing. Yeah right. Maybe we should call her bluff and pretend we haven’t got her anything? She how she feels about it then! Anyway, if you have any ideas let me know. I assume you’ll go round fro tea? It’s a Sunday isn’t it.
OK, better get on, send my love to the kids!
Dave XX
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To: Powell, Michael
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: Tracey
Mike!
Any chance your guys to learn to make their own coffee? We’ve got auditors in next week and we’re up to our eyes in reports and stuff. Would be grateful if you could let Tracey spend afternoon’s with us this week. Have chased Bob about it again so hopefully it won’t be for much longer.
Cheers,
Dave
Ps. We never did get together for that game of squash. You scared a youngster will make a fool of you? :-)
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To: Danny D.
From: Dave
Subject: Tonight
Danny!
You up for some fun tonight? I’m having a dull day at work and can’t face another night in chatting to random strangers on Gaydar. Fancy a drink at the Anchor? We could even eat, I’m sure they’ve got a veggie option! Go on, be a mate, otherwise I’ll only be kicking round the house all evening distracting you from you’re yoga!
Peace & what have you….
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To: Arnold, Tracy
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: Creatives
Tracey,
I’ve arranged with Mike for you to spend every afternoon this week with us. As you know we’ve got auditors coming in next week and it would really help things go smoothly it we were fully prepared for them. There’s a pile of reports in your tray that need signing by the Directors, copying and binding. Any chance you can sort that out ASAP?
Hopefully we should get a temp in the very near future so we shouldn’t be troubling you for much longer. Your help is greatly appreciated!
Dave.
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To: Dave
From: Simon (work)
Subject: RE: Further adventures…
You jammy fucker! I spent most of my day babysitting Mum because there was some family thing on that she couldn’t face. If I see another piece of cheap china I swear I’ll scream! You need to stop with the married men though, they’re never gonna leave their wives, and you’re not getting any younger! :-)
No plans all week, so a drink whenever would be could. And yes, insurance is deadly dull today…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Francis, Brian
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: Annual report.
Brian,
The annual report is finished, including the amendments we discussed last week. Thanks for your input.
Tracey will need them signed this afternoon, can you do me a favour and get them back to her ASAP so we can publish them before the auditors get here next week.
Many thanks
Dave
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To: Gilbey, David
From: HR
Subject: RE:PA
Bob Allan is out of the office today and is unable to respond to your email. If the matter is urgent please speak to his PA on extension 329, otherwise it will be dealt with when he returns to the office on Wednesday.
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To: Gilbey, David
From: Powell, Michael
Subject: RE: Tracey
Bad timing mate, we’ve got a big presentation coming up this week as well. It’s all hands up here, none of this sloping off at 5.30 like you number-crunchers! I wish we had time to make our own coffee but we’re up to our eyes in it! Can we settle for two afternoons?
Squash? No chance, I’m home little enough as it is! If I spend anymore time away from the place the kids will forget who I am!
Mike
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To: Dave
From: Danny D
Subject: RE: Tonight
Matey!
Good plan, today has totally gone to shit. Got a puncture on the way to work, so I ended up being late, only to find that we’ve got some inspection that CJ forgot to tell us about. Twat. Honestly, I had to go to my calm place or I’d have told him where to go. So, 5.30? 6? First rounds on you though…
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To: Accounts staff
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: Auditors
Dear all,
As you know we have the auditors in next week.
It’s imperative we get our act together to avoid the fiasco we went through last time. I know it’s been a difficult year with lots of changes of personnel, but these guys are robots and they don’t care about our problems. If those numbers don’t add up we’re for it. It was tricky enough explaining last year’s VAT fine to the board, let’s not get anything else to trouble them with.
So, all leave this week is cancelled, and if anyone can spare some extra time first thing or over lunch it would be greatly appreciated. Unfortunately it looks like Susie won’t be replaced any time soon and Tracey is busy with the Creatives so don’t expect any secretarial support this week.
Any extra efforts will rewarded in the usual way, i.e. no cash but a few drinks one lunch time.
Thanks guys,
Dave
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To: Danny D.
From: Dave
Subject: RE: RE: Tonight
Oh mate, you’re a lifesaver! This place is really driving me mad today! Sometimes it feels like I have to do everything myself. I don’t know why I bother having staff for all the good they are!
Good luck with the inspection, I’m sure everything’s in order knowing you!
Race you to the pub!
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To: Maggie P.
From Dave
Subject: Yo stranger!
Hey Mags, how’s things? It’s been ages, I thought you’d vanished, but Simon said he’d seen you in town so I thought I’d say hi. How’s that gorgeous girlfriend of yours? When’s she gonna let me go on that bike?
Things here are pretty much the same: work is tiresome; Mr Right remains illusive, but his slaggy brother Mr Right Now has been round a few times ;-) Basically I’m bored. Do you think I need a new job? Or a cat? Perhaps you could lend me one of yours for a bit?
Anyway, hope school is OK and the brats aren’t too troublesome. Send my love to Fiona, and give me a ring, we must go out!
XXX
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Arnold, Tracy
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: Creatives
Tracy,
Change of plan, Mike can only spare you two afternoons this week. Any chance you could get in early and do some stuff for us? You’ll get your reward in heaven! Although the departmental budget might stretch to some thank you drinks….
Mike
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Dave Gilbey
From: Euromillions Lottery
Subject: You’re a winner!
Congratulations Mr Dave Gibley you are a winner! To claim your $13 million dollar prize please click on the link below and follow the instructions. You will need to provide us with your current bank details to enable us to pay you. Don’t delay - the sooner you collect the sooner your life changes for the better!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: IT Support
From: Gilbey, David
Subject: FW: You’re a winner!
Guys!
I thought we had software to deal with this crap? How come I’m can’t get internet access to my bloody hotmail account but this kind of crap can fill up my inbox?!
And if any of you can drag yourself away from Doom 3 can you come and fix our scanner? It’ll only do half pages, and only then if you beg!
Cheers
PS. Drinks next door at 1 if you fancy it….
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: Dave
From: Nicky Brown
Subject: RE: Mum
Oh fuck I completely forgot it’s her birthday! Fuck fuck fuck. Thank god you reminded me, I’ll get the kids to work on a card this weekend.
As for ideas? Have you spoken to Dad, he might have an idea? No of course you haven’t. OK, I’ll have a word. What did we get last year. Perhaps that will inspire us?
And what’s all this “I’ve been so rushed here” crap - Mum tells me you’re always at the bloody gym. Cruising for boys more like you filthy tart! Come to tea this week, the girls would love to see you, and Jacks away on a course so some adult company would be fun!
XXX
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Chapter 13 - Nick, Monday

2005-11-13T19:01:00.000Z

I hate early shifts on a Monday - it’s the only day you have to get up early and open the store - every other day it’s been open all night, so it’s got it’s own momentum, there’s a cross-over of staff and it just seems to run really smoothly. Sundays are different because it’s a later start, and by the time you’ve had enough the day’s over anyway. But Mondays, no. Everyone turns up at the same time, with that same unhappy to be back at work feeling and it just feel likes all day you’re struggling uphill. Of course by the time the afternoon shift come on everything is up and running and they just look at you like you’re an idiot for even complaining.
Honestly, you can’t believe there’d be people queuing for groceries on a Monday morning. They’re mostly old people - what have they got to do all day? Why do they need to be here at 8am, cluttering the place up before we’ve even got any tills open? I’m not really fond of the bunch of staff I’ve got either. The Bens are at college, Brenda’s doing lates, and the rest of the crowd from Saturday aren’t in so it’s just me and a bunch of middle-aged women who just look at me sourly. Give it a rest girls, none of this is my fault!

The christening turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected, when it finally crawled to an end. We all waited in the churchyard to take pictures, and Emma even managed to stop crying long enough to smile for the photos. The baby slept through it all of course, oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of all the fuss. His Dad didn’t stop grinning all day, chest puffed out like the proud Dad he obviously is. I just wish he was a little less straight, then I might be able to get on with him a bit better. He has an air of a rugby playing public schoolboy about him, although he’s none of those things. He’s prone to stupid macho things like punching you on the arm in greeting, which would be fine if he weighed seven stone, but there’s a lot of him and he invariably leaves a bruise!
Emma’s Mum was fussing over the baby, while trying to cling onto her silly hat. Mum would have laughed - a hat at a christening? Who does she think she is? She’s actually Dad’s sister, and her and Mum never really got on. Mum doesn’t really get on with many people though, so I’m not surprised. I think she thought her brother could have done a bit better, which makes me wonder what she really thinks of Shirley.
Dad wasn’t outside the church when I got out, so I assumed he’d snuck off, but it turned out he was round the back of the church having a crafty fag. When we were kids we didn’t even know he smoked - Mum would never let him do it anywhere near us, so he always used to sneak off outside when he needed to, and if it was summer and we were already outside and could see him he’d wander down the street on some pretext. I kind of know what Mum was thinking, but we were going to smoke if we wanted to so I don’t know why she bothered. It was probably just another way of punishing Dad for being such a disappointment to her.
We exchanged nods in the churchyard but didn’t speak till later. Turned out there was food in a local pub. The landlord was a good friend of theirs so he shut the pub specially, despite the fact he could have filled it with people for lunch. They made him godfather, although I’m sure that had more to do with him being an old friend than having a suitable venue! How fantastic to have a godfather who runs a pub - I can’t even remember who mine are. I think the relatives were all used up on Simon, so I got friends or neighbours, people who I’ve not seen in years and who never made much of an impression on me in my youth. I wondered why they bothered at all? It’s like middle names - why bother? Why do I need a name I’ll never use? Christopher. You can’t even shorten it to Chris, like you would do if it was your first name, and like I do with Nicholas. I’m no more a Nicholas than I am a Christopher! This baby got saddled with Callum Samuel. Heavens. Samuel is a family name apparently, although why they didn’t just shorten it to Sam and give him that is anyone’s guess. Callum? Oh dear.

As we strolled round to the pub I caught up with Emma, who’d momentarily lost the baby to her Mother. She really did look well, giving up work suited her and she seemed more relaxed than I remembered. She tactfully didn’t mention Mum or Simon, which was a relief, but she did seem pleased I’d come. I just hoped she’d like the gift. In an ideal world I’d have liked to have bought a silver rattle from Tiffany’s, just for the gorgeous blue box really, but supermarket wages don’t stretch that far and I’m not even sure Emma would have appreciated the significance of it. There’s a particular kind of person that practically genuflects at the merest mention of the name, but to everyone else it’s just another jewellers, and a rattle is a rattle. Of course the sensible thing would have been to use my staff discount to get her a pile of nappies, but that’s not much of a gift, sSo I settled on a silver St Christopher from a second-hand stall on the market. I doubt it’s very old or even valuable, but I liked the idea of giving something with a history to somebody who has no history of their own yet. Of course it will spend its whole life in a cupboard, but I felt better for buying it.

The pub was surprisingly nice - one of those gastro-pub type places where the food is a lot better than scampi and chips in a basket. They made it look nice inside, to appeal to the kind of people they were hoping to attract - lots of pale colours and wood, prints on the wall, single flowers artfully standing in oddly shaped vases. It’s the kind of place that would be a nightmare to drink in - it was practically a restaurant in all but name, which is fine if that’s what you’re looking for, but fifteen kinds of red wine are no use when you want a decent pint! Thankfully they had that too, and a queue formed at the bar matching the one that formed at the baby. It wasn’t divided along the sexes as you might think - I got chatting to the woman in front of me who turned out to be the godmother. I didn’t recognise her without her hat on, and we had one of those frivolous, flirty chats that make the wait seem shorter. She wandered off with her Guinness and I was about to head outside with mine when I turned round and bumped straight into Dad.

“Hello Dad”
“Hello son”

Oh I wish he wouldn’t do that, I know he was just doing it to make us feel closer, but sometimes I thought he did it because he couldn’t remember which one I was.

“Shirley not with you?”
“No, she’s in Spain with some girls she used to work with. They go every year to get some sun and get away from their husbands.”

That must have felt odd - Dad had never married Shirley although I’d never bothered to ask him why. I wonder if he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice? Or perhaps he was just happier as they were. He certainly looked well.

“Lucky woman, sounds fun.”
“Yeah. So how you keeping? You look a bit tired.”
“I’m OK, late night. Hungover. Should really still be in bed.”
“Why? You leave someone in there?”

That was said with one of those men of the world types grins. He knew that anyone I’d have left behind would have been a bloke, he just liked to think he was talking one gigolo to another. If he’d have given it any thought he’d have known I wasn’t like that, and I doubt he was anymore.

“No Dad, I mean to sleep. A few more hours would have been nice.”
“How’s your Mum?”
“OK I guess, we don’t see as much of each other as she’d like, but Simon makes up for it.”
“And how’s he?”
“He seems fine. You could always speak to him yourself.”
“Why? Is he here?”

He looked slightly panicked at the idea. I think he though Simon would start a row if they ever met, but in truth Simon was no more likely to cause a scene in public than I was. In that respect we were very much our mother’s sons.

“Don’t panic, he couldn’t make it.”
“Didn’t want to bump into me more like”

Silence. I wasn’t going to lie to him. He knew how things were between them, he was a grown-up, he didn’t need me to cover it up for him.

“Yeah, I thought so. Uptight little prick.”
“Dad, don’t start, it’s old news”
“Yeah it is. Well, I’m glad you’re OK, you should come round and see us, Shirley would be pleased to see you.”
“OK Dad, I might”
“OK, now I better go and see what that sister of mine wants. She’s been waving her bag at me for ages trying to attract my attention. What does she look like in that hat?”

With that he grinned and wandered off. That wasn’t so bad was it? I honestly don’t know why Simon makes such a fuss about it. I guess it’s because he’s still tied to Mum’s apron strings. Oh good , they’re serving food - I wonder if there’s time to grab another drink?

Chapter 12 - Jim, Sunday

2005-11-12T22:58:00.000Z

I promised myself I’d get out of the house today. What’s the point of having two days off work if you just spend them at home getting on the cat’s nerves? It certainly wasn’t doing me any good staying at home, and in truth I was getting bored. Much as I liked my own company I prefer myself when I’m happy and interested in stuff. The me that sits around reading the paper and dozing all day bores me to tears and part of me wants to kick his arse and tell him to pull himself together.
So that’s why I find myself on top of a hill watching grown men fly kites when really there’s hardly enough breeze to hold them up. It’s fun watching them soar momentarily, followed by the desperate tugging to keep them in the air and the inevitable crash back down to earth. And yet they keep throwing them back up, hoping some mysterious breeze will take it higher than the time before. You have to admire their perseverance. And you have to admire the patience of the women who’ve come with them. They’re sat on a blanket, passing round a bottle of wine, clapping - possibly ironically - every time one of their men gets his kite to fly, and “oooh“-ing dramatically when they come crashing back down again. They seem to have no interest in having a go themselves, and I doubt the men would let them even if they wanted to, - they just seem happy to make the most of the unseasonal sun.
I can’t remember the last time I flew a kite - it must have been thirty years ago. It wasn’t really a big part of my childhood, although I think they made one on Blue Peter once and for a few weeks afterwards everyone I knew was trying to get these homemade kites off the crowd, but more often than not ended the afternoon heading home with a handful of broken sticks and knotted ropes, only to reappear with it the following day once some long-suffering parent had put it back together. I seem to remember mine had paper bunting trailing behind it, although it mostly trailed on the floor as I could never get it to fly. We soon grew out of them and went back to our bikes, and I’ve not really thought about it since. I wonder what makes grown men want to take it up again?

This morning started slowly - I woke up early, but dozed on and off till about eleven, when I decided enough was enough and got up. Twenty minutes in the shower helped me feel more human, and the toast worked wonders as well. Thankfully the previous night hadn’t been too bad - I’d hardly got halfway through my spliff before I felt myself slipping into sleep, and I managed to put it out before I dropped off completely, although if I’d have fallen asleep with it still lit in my hand it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d nearly set fire to the bed.
I felt well rested, and was even whistling as I wandered around the house, which took the cat by surprise - he eyed me suspiciously from his corner of the sofa, but overcame his disdain when I rattled a box of cat biscuit at him. I was just puzzling over what to wear - the weather was so changeable lately that a good day could turn bad before you had chance to notice - when Mum phoned. She needed something doing round the house, but I think it was just a pretext to get me to go round. I’m not surprised, it’d been a few weeks since my last visit - I really needed to do better, but just hadn’t felt like it. Anyway, I promised to go round in the week, and she promised to make me a roast, which I was genuinely looking forward to. No one makes roasts like your Mum, because only theirs remind you of the ones you had throughout your childhood. And there’s something about homemade gravy that always hit’s the spot. I almost wish I’d gone round today, would be nice to have a proper meal.
But instead I wrapped myself up in a big jumper and a nice woolly hat and headed off for a walk. I hadn’t really given much thought to where I was going - there’s usually something going on some place nearby, so I was leaving it to chance. It was hardly a surprise when I ended up in the park though - if you’re going to walk somewhere on a sunny day it ought to be somewhere green, unless you can get to the beach, but that would have to wait for another day.
There were the usual Sunday afternoon people about - families with push-chairs, groups of kids with footballs, elderly couples getting out of the house for a bit, and the occasional couple out on a date - nice afternoon for it, and a nice place to be. I tried not to think of all the times Maria and I had been here, after all it was just a park! I can’t start letting a big patch of greenery make me sad, that’s just stupid.
I ended up watching the kites because it was a good excuse to stop and sit down. There’s something odd about sitting on a bench on your own staring into space, so it was good to have something to focus on. Of course none of this would be necessary if I had a dog - I could wander round to my hearts content and no one would be bothered in the slightest. That’s the crap thing about cats - you can’t walk them. Or get them to do anything you want basically. Still, as cats go Basil wasn’t that bad, and he’d had a lot to put up with lately bless him, what with me moping round the house all the time and his favourite playmate - Maria - vanishing without so much as a goodbye. Maybe Mum will let me bring some roast dinner back for him.
Somehow that thought cheered me up, so I went off in search of an ice cream - avoiding the roller-bladers and kids on skateboards on the way. I wish I could skate, it looked so much fun! I did have a pair of inline skates, which everyone laughed at, suspecting they were a symptom of a mid-life crisis, and in the end I only wore them in the flat once. I was too scared to get far enough away from the furniture to move, so they went straight back in the box and I guess they’re probably still in the loft. Perhaps I should get them out and give them another go? Or give them to Simon, he could do with loosening up a bit. I’m glad he never phoned about lunch, although I suspected he wouldn’t anyway - one social event was enough for me this week.

The ice cream just made me realise how hungry I was, but what could I do about it? It was too late to round up friends to eat, and in truth I didn’t fancy the company, and neither did I fancy eating on my own. So I guess it was back home to cook. Hmm. I couldn’t remember there being any actual food in the house - part of a loaf of bread, a couple of bottles of wine, maybe some fruit, but nothing you could actually conjure a meal out of. So I headed out of the park in search of a shop, thinking that time spent preparing my own food might be nice and would give the afternoon some purpose. But what to make? It wasn’t like I walked round with a load of recipes in my head - if forced I’d probably make bacon sandwiches, which hardly counts as cooking. Pasta? Sausages? There was no point planning, because whatever I decided to do the shop was sure to have run out of . So I’d leave it up to chance, and if chance decided I was having trifle for tea then so be it!

Chapter 11½ - Some mothers….

2005-11-12T18:20:00.000Z

“Hi, this is Nick, I can’t take your call right now but if you leave me a message I’ll ring you back. Bye”
“Oh, you’re not back. Christenings obviously go on a lot longer nowadays. I expect you’re all being terribly modern and celebrating down the pub. Hmm. Well, give me a ring when you get, but only if it’s not too late. And if you’re sober. Bye. Oh, it’s your mother.”

“Hello, is Dave there?”
“Hi Mrs Mack, no he’s not, he’s at the gym.”
“Hi Danny. At the gym again? He seems to live there lately! Is he ok?”
“Yes, he’s looking very well on it”
“Is he eating?”
“Oh yes, like a horse”
“That’s good. And how are things with you Danny?”
“Good thanks Mrs Mack.”
“I wish you’d call me Doreen - Mrs Mack sounds like my mother”
“Sorry, I’ll try”
“OK, well if my son ever comes home will you get him to give me a ring?”
“Of course I will”
“You still single Danny?”
“Hmmm, yes.”
“What a waste. It’s a pity my sons so stupid, you’d make a lovely couple”
Nervous laughter at the other end of the phone.
“Bye bye Danny!”
Bye …. Doreen.”

“Hello?”
“Jim! It’s your Mum”
“Hi Mum”
“Where’ve you been? We’ve been trying to get hold of you for days!”
“Is everything ok?”
“Yes, it’s just this blessed DVD player. Your father took it upon himself to move it and now it won’t work. I was hoping you might sort it out next time you were round.”
“OK Mum, although I’m not sure when that’ll be. Things have been a bit busy lately and I haven’t had much time to myself.”
“They working you too hard in that office still? No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend, she’d never see you.”
“It’s a good job Mum, I can’t let them down. And besides, I enjoy it.”
“I know you do love, but you always sound so tired and sad when I speak to you.”
“I’m not getting enough sleep, but I’m OK Mum.”
“I hope so love. Do you want a word with your father?”
“No Mum, I’m just on my way out. Tell him to check all his plugs, and if it still doesn’t work I’ll pop round in the week.”
“OK, come to tea, I bet you’re not eating properly. I’ll cook you a roast.”
“OK Mum, that’d be nice, I’ll ring you at let you now when I’m coming.
“OK love, bye bye.”
“Bye Mum.”

“Simon?”
“Hi Mum, you OK?”
“Have you spoken to Nick?”
“No, not lately, why?”
“He was going to that christening today and he’s still not home. I bet he’s out drinking with your father.”
“Dad might not have gone, they’ve probably just gone back to Emma’s for food or something.”
“He wouldn’t tell me if he had seen him.”
“No I don’t suppose he would, because you’d only get upset about it and shout at him.”
“Well, is it any surprise? Siding with the post mistress against me? What kind of son does he think he is?!”
“Calm down Mum, he’s probably just at the pub with his mates. If he phones I’ll tell him to give you a call.”
“Tell him not to bother, I’m all worked up now, he’s ruined my afternoon. How did I raise such a selfish son?”
Silence.
“Oh don’t you stick up for him ,you’re just as bad!”
“That’s not fair M….”
The phone is slammed down at the other end.

Chapter 11 - Gay Dave, Sunday

2005-11-11T22:45:00.000Z

Blimey, last night was messy. I’m not surprised - it was an odd mix of people, and from the start of the evening there was a feeling that things were going to kick off. I just wasn’t expecting it to get so drunken so quickly!
Honestly, I felt like death when I woke up - dry mouth, dirty skin, gritty eyes, matted hair, aching limbs - there wasn’t one part of me that felt good. I’d have loved to have slept through the day, but Danny was wandering round the flat singing along to some girly pop shite. Cheery twat. There’s no need, especially not on a Sunday morning. But I guess 11 o’clock is hardly morning, so he had every right to. I tried hiding under the pillow for a bit - to block the light out as much as his cheeriness, but it didn’t work so I gave up and stumbled off to the shower.
The water felt good, washing away the dirt although it did nothing to relieve my tiredness. God I felt rough, it was going to take more than a fry-up to bring me back to life! I could hardly look in the mirror as I cleaned my teeth and rearranged my hair - the light was too harsh, and made the bags under my eyes look worse than they were. So I concentrated on my teeth, letting the mirror steam up and doing my hair my touch. In truth there was nothing to it - wax on hand, warm it up, slap it on my head and push it round till it looked artfully mushed up - bed hair really, which is ironic as that’s what I’d had before I got in the shower.
I headed back to my room, dressed only in a towel, which got an appreciative whistle from Danny. He was taking the piss of course, I was no more his type than he was mine. He had a thing for tall hairy blokes, which ruled me out since I started shaving my chest. God, the grief he gave me when he found out, you’d think I’d murdered someone! I only did it as an experiment - some bloke at the gym mentioned it, said I’d look more toned if I lost the hair. I thought it was a chat up line to be honest, and after having seen him in the shower I rather hoped it was, but things never progressed any further, even after I’d taken the plunge and done away with my fur. He gave me a big smile when he saw it, but we’ve not really spoken since. So much for a chat up line then. He was right though, it makes my pecs look even perkier, although that’s mostly due to the hours I’ve been putting in down the gym. I never thought I’d take to it like I have, but I’m pretty compulsive about things so as soon as I started I got completely obsessed - bought all the kit, read all the magazines, even started to eat a little better. Of course nothing could persuade me to give up the drink so a six-pack remains a pipe-dream. But it’s been good fun, and I actually feel a lot better for it too. And the looks I’m getting now certainly make me feel better.

Danny was preparing some complicated vegetarian lunch, involving more types of bean than I knew existed. He invited me to share it with him, knowing I’d say no, opting instead for the first part of my hangover cure: orange juice, a cup of tea, chocolate and crisps. It wasn’t lunch - just something to get me through the next couple of hours until my head cleared and I could make a proper food decision.
Ten minutes later I was dressed and ready to leave.

“Where you off to Dave?”
“The gym Dan, wanna join me?”

As if - Dan didn’t do gyms. He looked like he ought to do yoga and cycle everywhere, but I’d never known him take any exercise in all the years I’ve known him. Unless you count browsing in second-hand bookshops as a sport, in which case he was a world class athlete. He grinned at me, knowing how stupid my suggestion was.

“No thanks mate, wouldn’t want to cramp your style in the sauna”

Cheeky fucker. He had this idea that all I did was sit in the sauna for an hour cruising strangers! Did he think these disco tits grew themselves?! I’m not saying I never went into the sauna - on days like today it was a must - sweat the alcohol out of my body, by the time I got out of there I’d be a new man! And, yes, sometimes I did chat up blokes in there, although they were invariably straight blokes who were after someone to show them a good time while their wife looked after the kids. But I had a strict ’no married men’ policy - it honestly wasn’t worth it - the last one was so grateful for a wank he decided he loved me and started stalking me. God knows what he’d have done if I’d have actually slept with him! It was only when I threatened to tell his wife that he stopped bugging me, although sometimes I think I see him watching me in crowded palaces, which I guess is just paranoia.

“Not with this head mate, the last thing I want is a shag. A good fry-up and twelve hours sleep more like. And one of your neck massages if I’m lucky.”
“No problem, if I’m here when you get back I’m sure I can help you with that. You sure you don’t want food before you go?”
“Food, yeah. But that bean thing isn’t my idea of food! Right, I’m off, be good!”

As if he’d be anything else. Bad wasn’t in Danny’s repertoire. It’d be annoying, but he wasn’t smug about it, he was just thoroughly nice. He seemed like an odd choice of flatmate, but I was desperate to find someone to pay the rest of the rent, and cheery singing aside he was quiet and tidy. And he had some cool friends, who always seemed to be doing really odd and interesting things then coming back here to tell him about it. And once they started on the wine there was no stopping them - you’d think they were slightly worthy, dusty lefties, but get half a bottle red inside them and they’d be singing and dancing like everyone else. And they never made a mess!

The gym wasn’t that busy when I got there - Sunday lunchtime was a good time to go if you wanted to miss the crowds. Everyone else was at lunch or still sleeping off the night before. There were a couple of meat heads in the weights room, their necks thick as tree trunks but there legs woefully underdeveloped - somebody should have told them early on to make sure they worked out all of their body equally, but it was too late now and they looked like the weight of their necks alone would snap their legs. All that grunting as well, how stupid. And those silly little gloves they wear when they lift weights. Honestly!
I jumped on a cycle, slipped on my headphones and spent a happy fifteen minutes looking at the arse of the bloke on the cycle in front of me. It was one of the bonuses about the gym - lots of fit men in shorts! Next up the treadmill, so I switched the music to disco and ran for half an hour. By the time I was finished my shirt was soaked and my head had started to clear. I may even have been singing along, which is a bit of a gym faux pas, but there was nobody about anyway do it didn’t matter.
Then it was off to the machines - the chest press, shoulder press and then off to the mats for sit-ups. I closed my eyes and kept crunching until I couldn’t do anymore - I never counted, preferring to keep going until it hurt. Then resting and do it all over again. I’d never get the six pack I wanted, I just wasn’t disciplined enough. Perhaps if I’d eaten Danny’s bean stew it might be more achievable, but life’s too short, and until you’re naked who can tell anyway? Then onto the stepper for fifteen minutes, just to make sure I keep a firm bum. Don’t want that heading south now I’m getting older do we!
After a few stretches it was time to hit the showers, which were deserted - no surprise there. And then the sauna. The heat hit me as soon as I opened the door, taking my breath away. But once I’d sat down for a few minutes I got used to it. There was no one else there, so I took off the towel, it only made me feel hotter and sweatier, which hardly seemed possible - I could always hide under it if anyone came in, not that that was very likely.

I think at some point I must have drifted off, because I certainly didn’t notice the other bloke come in. Unless he appeared as if by magic. Neat trick if you can manage it. He was sat opposite, eyes shut, humming to himself. I took advantage of the moment to check him out - good arms, slightly flabby chest, bit of a tummy, but it was the shaven head that did it for me. Then he opened his eyes and caught me looking.
“Alright mate”
The grin on his face was more welcoming than you’d expect, and I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was naked and he wasn’t. I reached for the towel.
“don’t put it back on because I’m here. In fact I might even join you.”
This wasn’t typical straight bloke talk. Although actually come to think of it it was very typical of a particular type of ‘straight’ bloke. I checked his fingers, and there it was - the wedding ring! How desperately unoriginal it all was, and yet did I have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon?

Chapter 10 - Simon, Sunday

2005-11-10T23:07:00.000Z

I should have gone to a christening this morning - my cousin Emma’s first child, which would make him my second cousin I guess. But Dad was invited, and although he’s a bit unreliable about family stuff I didn’t want to risk bumping into him. It’s been so long since I last saw him I’m not even sure I’d know what to say to him. I can hardly remember why we stopped speaking, I guess it must have been out of loyalty to Mum, although as I was 25 at the time I guess I could have been more grown-up about it. But I always was a bit of a Mummy’s boy, but nobody was surprised. Nick still speaks to him occasionally, although I think he only does that to prove some kind of point to me and Mum. Well, he’s welcome to, I don’t want to have to make small talk with the post mistress.
And anyway, I can’t remember the last time I saw Emma - grandpa’s funeral maybe? Although come to think of it I’m not sure she went, she’s a bit sensitive about those kind of things, or so her mother likes to claim. Maybe I haven’t seen her since her wedding? God, what day that was! We couldn’t avoid going, it would have just been rude not to, so we spent all day on edge waiting for Dad to turn up. Mum was so tense she was knocking back the drink in a way that I’ve never seen her do before, and then she fell over during the hokey-cokey and it all got a bit mad. She was upset and Auntie Maggie had to go and rescue her from the toilet. I think she might have broken the door down. Anyway, Mum was dragged out sobbing, her hat all askew and the front of her dress all wet. Thank God Maggie doesn’t drink and could sort it all out - Nick and I had been getting on each other’s nerves all day and I’d drunk too much. I seem to remember him snarling at me to go fuck myself as we left the church, and we pretty much avoided each other for the rest of the day, which was quite an achievement considering how small the village hall was. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken about it since, but you can feel us all tensing whenever someone mentions Emma or weddings, as if any minute the whole sordid story might be retold.
I wish Nick and I were better friends, but somewhere in our teens we stopped confiding in each other and we’ve never managed to get that closeness back. I wonder if it was because he knew he was gay and didn’t want to tell anyone? He must have kept so much of his life secret at that time, no wonder he couldn’t wait to leave home and go to university, and no wonder we rarely saw him at home after that. Of course Mum was gutted - her baby boy a poof? What would the neighbours think?! Dad of course didn’t care, but then I think he’d already started having his affairs by then and was distancing himself from the family anyway. At one point Mum blamed Nick for Dad’s affairs - she had some mad theory about how Dad was punishing her for making Nick gay, by sleeping with the lady from the Co-op. Poor Nick, he hardly knew what to do, so he called her every name under the sun and left. I don’t think they spoke for two years after that. I really must phone him.

So this morning I ended up taking Mum out. She’d phoned before nine, just to check that I’d not gone behind her back to see Dad I guess. She sounded a bit flat, and although she never mentioned the christening I could tell she was sad to have missed it, and was concerned she’d never get to play the proud grandma at one of her own grandchildren’s christenings. Poor Mum, the odds aren’t looking good. But typically we never spoke about it, and instead just chatted about the weather and what we’d done the day before. She made no mention of the neighbours, so hopefully that storm’s blown over as well. It’s bound to blow up again when we need it least.
Anyway, I had no plans. Well, a half-hearted plan to have lunch with Jim, which neither of us really expected to honour and which I’d pretty much forgotten. So after Mum hinted rather unsubtley I agreed to meet her at the Sunday market, then go for lunch somewhere. I haven’t got much time for markets. I’m too lazy to see the beauty beneath the dirt - I want shiny new things, not battered old things that need some work. When have I got time to that kind of thing? And actually I’m not very good at it, none of the family are. We always had people in to do that kind of thing, so we never got shown how to do it - Dad would never let us interrupt the decorator with our stupid questions, because he was paying for his time and that needed to be spent painting, not showing small boys how to apply emulsion. And there was no point asking Dad as he wouldn’t have known anyway. So we grew up without a lot of the skills that might have been useful in later life. True, I can make a sponge that the WI would be proud, but somewhere along the way that became the kind of skill I didn’t want to boast about.

By the time I got to the market Mum had already found some china, none of which matched and none of which looked worth any more than she’d paid for it. I’m not sure why she needed more teacups, didn’t she already have dozens? But at twenty pence each she simply couldn’t leave them behind. They’ll end up in a cupboard until after she dies when Nick and I will just through them out, neither of us certain if we’ve ever seen them before. I wish she wouldn’t, but it’s impossible to tell her to stop, as she just thinks you’re trying to spoil her fun. So I obediently carried her shopping, all the time trying to steer her away from anything I didn’t want her to buy. But she doesn’t miss a thing, and pretty quickly we had more stuff than I could carry. Why she needed two glass jelly moulds is anyone’s guess. I wonder if she’s made jelly since we were at primary school? You don’t as an adult, well I certainly haven’t. There’s something very childish about it, but not in a way that makes me want to rediscover it. But who knows, perhaps next time I’m at Mum’s she’ll be serving it for tea?
I finally managed to get Mum away from the stalls with the promise of lunch. But first we had to get the stuff she’d bought back to hers - there was simply no way she’d manage to drag it all back herself, and I didn’t want to take half of it home with me in case I couldn’t resist the urge to chuck it in the first skip I came across. So we jumped on the bus and headed back to hers.
The first thing I noticed was the apple tree, and the appalling mess she’d made of it - a branch poked over the fetch, all splintered and broken as if a giant had bitten through it. The garden around it was trampled and scattered with leaves and fruit, and the fence was scraped and dented. God knows how she did it, or frankly why, but she’d clearly chopped the branch off with something blunt and inadequate for the job. I was terrified of meeting the neighbours, so I kept my head down until we were in the house. Probably best not to mention it, not unless I wanted another chorus of how difficult it was not having a man round the house. I always took those kind of conversations as some kind of hint, but I’m just not good at that kind of thing so it usually takes tears to get me to help out. Does that make me a bad son?
We ended up eating lunch in the pub round the corner. Mum doesn’t really do pubs. She’s not really that sociable, and I don’t think she likes that many people, so going out is a bit of a nightmare for her. And I guess she’s from a generation where women would never dream of going and eating out on their own. I’m no one to judge, it’s a skill I’ve yet to acquire myself. But the pub is modern and anonymous - a family pub in an area of middle-class families. Hell with beer basically, but they do a nice roast, which is something me or Mum would never bother to do for ourselves in a million years. Once we’d found a table sufficiently far away from the smokers and the kids, Mum relaxed, tensing up again briefly when the waitress came to take our order. From there on in it was small talk all the way - neither of us were stupid enough to mention the christening, which also meant Nick was a bit of a no-go area too. And she knew better than to ask me too much about myself. For my part I didn’t want to get into the whole thing with the neighbours, so we ended up talking an awful lot about the weather and the food. Thankfully the vegetables hadn’t been boiled to within an inch of their life, so Mum got to complain about that, which made her happy, and gave her a good excuse to decline pudding.
I walked her back home, stopping for a cup of tea and the inevitable conversation about the tree. I think she realises she made a mess of it, but is too stubborn to admit it, and would never apologise to the neighbours in a million years. I promised to go back next week and tidy it up, which gives me a week to work out what on earth you do to a tree that’s been butchered by a mad woman with an axe. If I’d had any sense I’d have taken the axe away with me, but you can’t carry an axe on the bus can you!

Chapter 9 - Nick, Sunday

2005-11-09T22:36:00.000Z

Ooooooohhh, bad head. Bad, bad head.

I wish they’d play that bloody organ a little quieter. Serves me right for coming to church with a hangover, after less than four hours sleep. What was I thinking?! Even the most devoutly religious person would realise this was a dreadful mistake. But a family christening needs family, so one of us had to be here, and, as Simon or Mum refused to come in case they bumped into Dad and She Who must Not Be Mentioned, I guess it had to be me. Emma’s not exactly close family, whose cousins are nowadays? We’re strictly Christmas cards, wedding and funerals, although thankfully not many of the last two lately. But she’s nice, certainly a lot nicer than her snobby sister, so it’s good to see her again. Pity about the organ though.

So. Last night. Well, we met at the pub, although I was a bit late - last minute wardrobe crisis: I ditched the spangly top for a shirt, which felt comfier and looked more grown-up. God knows how that found its way into my wardrobe, I must have been going through a camp phase when I bought it. By the time I got there they were one round ahead of me - Brenda in particular was in good spirits, and at one point was sat on Big Ben’s lap. I think she was secretly trying to grope him but he didn’t seem to care. Steve’s mate looked a bit glum when he realised we were going to a gay club, but then Amy and her sister turned up and he started chatting them up in his monosyllabic way and seemed much happier. Only Ben looked a bit flat - I can’t work him out, I wasn’t even sure if he was gay to begin with, but the way he trails after Big Ben it soon became pretty obvious. Bless him, he doesn’t stand a chance, Big Ben is in a world of his own and the only person he’s interested in is himself. Of course sometimes he’ll include you in it if it’ll help him have a good time, but when you’ve served your purpose that’s that.

Several drinks later we were all starting to get a bit rowdy, so it was just as well it was time to get to the club. It wasn’t far, and so rather than work out which bus to take or jump into a few taxis we decided to walk. It was still warm so there were loads of people out and about, and when you’re pissed distance doesn’t really matter. Me and Brenda were skipping ahead of the others, and I think at one point we were singing show tunes. Oh God, how camp. And she was desperately trying to fix me up with Big Ben, despite the fact that she knows I’m off men at the minute and the only thing I’m taking to bed with me is a good book. But bless her for trying.

The club was packed - well, it was Saturday night, what did we expect? We had to queue, but it chilled us out a bit, and it’s always funny listening to other people’s conversations. The blokes in front were clearly having a bit of a tiff, but it was being carried out in a series of whispers and hisses. I fully expected one of them to flounce off at any second, but then they got in and later I saw them dancing madly with their tops off as if nothing had happened. My top was staying firmly on. This skinny frame doesn’t see the light of day unless it has to. I’m the proud owner of Morrissey’s body circa 1984, which stands out a mile amongst all those buffed, tanned young things. It’s a curse I have to bare!
Most of our crowd headed to the bar, but I was done drinking for the night - I’d already had far too much - it was water all the way for me. So I stood at the balcony looking down at the dance floor. It was still a little early in the evening, so the floor wasn’t packed and people weren’t off their heads yet and going for it. What never ceases to amaze me is how young they all are! I’d never have had the wherewithal to get into a place like this when I was a teenager. Or the cash for that matter. But they were here in droves, all decked out in new outfits, shiny and keen. So much hope. God I felt old. I might have slunk off then if Brenda hadn’t appeared, waving some lurid alcopop at me and beckoning me to follow her to the dance floor. As luck would have it one of those great early ‘90s house anthem was just starting, and before long I was waving my hands in the air singing loudly about how I was free to do what I want to do. Nice sentiment, and sometimes it seems like it might almost be true.
I think we pretty much stayed on the dance floor for the rest of the night. The rest of the group drifted in and out, sometimes in the company of cute strangers, but mostly it was me and Brenda. We must have looked like their parents, out for a night on the town, but I think we had more fun than all of them, because neither of us were expecting to pull - we’d just gone to dance, and dance we did, until my shirt was soaked and my fringe was damply hanging in my eyes.
At some point I remember Big Ben dancing with me, we grinned at each other, laughing as we waved our hands in the air, and he just reach for me and pulled me too him and we were snogging. Not tongues, not serious kissing, just drunkenly giggly kisses, until the music changed and he spun away into the crowd. God I’d forgotten what that felt like, kissing someone new. It’s been a while, but it felt good! I don’t think I saw him again after that, and I guess from the sad look on Ben’s face he must have pulled. I’m not surprised, he’s good-looking and up for a laugh, he probably could have got off with anyone last night. I wonder who he did get off with? But it meant nothing, and I think later in the even I may have even had a feel of Brenda’s bum, although god knows what that was about!
Ben ended up coming back with me. It was so late he didn’t want to wake his family up. Brenda would have took him, but he had an early shift and I’m far closer to work than she is. Besides, I had to be in this stupid church at this foolish hour, so I was getting up early anyway. It was a bit of a shock to find him on my sofa this morning, I’d more or less forgotten he was there. He hardly looked old enough to go to work, let alone go out dancing all hours. The last thing you need on a hungover morning is youth! Nothing is so aging as youth. Still, he sweetly thanked me for letting him stay, and even tidied away the pillows and duvet while I was in the shower. He looked far too perky, I wonder if he was actually drinking last night?

So then I dragged myself across town, unable to face a bus in a suit I called a cab and gazed out of the window all the way here as the driver sang along to Dolly Parton songs. I wasn’t in any state to make sense of a middle-aged man singing Jolene, but the sun was shining and it made a strange kind of sense. And it was certainly more entertaining than these dour hymns. I was remembering Emma’s Christening - I must have been seven or eight, and in those days it was still a separate service just for the family, not part of the regular service. I think Mum put me in a bow tie, and I definitely remember wearing shorts. There was probably a homemade cardigan I expect. But it was the late seventies and their church was going through a belated hippy phase, so I seem to remember singing some jolly song, not the dull hymns I recognised from school assemblies. There may have even been a man with a guitar. I think Mum wore a hat, and Emma cried all the way through the service.
She looks all grown-up now, but she still cried all the way through the service - I don’t think she stopped dabbing her eyes all the way through. The baby was oblivious to the whole thing, although he did cry once or twice when the organ played. I’m not surprised, the pianist played like a drunk and it was loud enough to shatter glass. Even the older aunts around me couldn’t make there voices heard over it, and I heard one or two of them muttering about it when they should have been praying. I just looked at my feet and wondered how much longer we had to endure. We were never big on God in our house, although we went to Sunday school for a few months. I think it was one of Mum’s attempts to get us to ’mix’, which were doomed as we didn’t want to. So this whole thing is a bit of a mystery to me, and I’m rather surprised Emma bothered - I don’t remember her family being any more religious than ours, but then I never expected her to be a Mum either so there’s no telling.
I think I saw Dad sneak into the back of the church just as it was about to begin, although it didn’t look like he had Shirley with him. I wonder if he’ll go to the thing afterwards? I’m not even sure where it is. Sounded like a hotel or a pub, I hope it’s not far or I’ll have to scrounge a lift with someone I don’t know, or worse still some relative I haven’t seen in years who will comment on how I’ve grown and wonder when they’ll be coming to a Christening of one of my kids. Fat chance. I’d have thought word would have spread by now.
God I wish that bloody organ would stop….

Chapter 8½ - Brenda, the remix

2005-11-08T21:52:00.000Z

"My name is Brenda, I am a showgirl"

Except my name isn't Brenda and I work in Tesco. Brenda is just a nickname I appear to have been christened with, and if it wasn't said with such affection I think I'd be insulted. Do I look like a Brenda? Brenda is a middle-aged woman's name surely? I'm a long way from being Brenda! Would a Brenda find herself in a gay club at 3am, dancing on the stage with a load of boys from the checkouts? No, she'd be at home in a face mask, safely tucked up with her dull husband.

It's been a fab night, I haven't danced this much in years, and stopped caring that my feet hurt hours ago. The sweat is pouring down my face, and my arms ache from dancing with them in the air for so long. Yet every time the bass starts thumping I can feel my heart race and I find energy I didn't think I had. I honestly think I could dance forever! My head is empty, all I can feel is my body moving with the music, driven by the music. And I haven't taken anything to help me feel this way. I must have sobered up hours ago. It's just like that Madonna song: "..only when I'm dancing can I feel this free!" Oh dear God, comparing my life to Madonna lyrics? How gay am I?!

Big Ben's cute. Cheeky beggar, but quite shy, so it took me by surprise when I came back from the toilet and spotted him snogging a complete stranger! Good taste though - the other bloke was gorgeous! Haven't seen them together since, which is a pity as they made a good-looking couple. I had hopes that he might get off with Nick, but on the way from the pub nick drunkenly warned me against setting them up. Bless him, he was so pissed and was trying to be serious about it, and all I could do was giggle at him. The more I laughed at him the more he stood there, hands on hips, saying, “Brenda, it’s not funny!” Stupid thing to say to a hysterical drunk woman, so he gave up and we ran down the road arm in arm singing, “we’re off to see the wizard!”

I do hope they don’t call me a fag hag behind my back. It’s not like that - they’re a lovely bunch, but I’ve come for the dancing as much as anything. Most of my girly friends don’t want to dance - they want to go out and chat up blokes, but what could be more dull? It’s a long time since I had this much fun with a strange bloke I met in a pub, I can tell you! Now where’s those boys, I need some company on the dance floor!

“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!”

Too fucking right I am! Look at me and my boys! We’re loving it! I’ve never seen such happy smiling faces! And we all know the words! I know you’d expect me and Nick to - if you looked you probably find the single in our lofts, but the Bens are only seventeen, they weren’t even born when this was out. Oooh no, wrong thought, that makes me feel hideously old - put that thought out of your head girl, you’re seventeen, you are the dancing queen!

Oh my God, they're playing Kylie, could tonight get any gayer?!

Chapter 8 - Jim, Saturday

2005-11-08T17:43:00.000Z

Another day wasted. I hadn’t meant to - I only got back into bed as it’s the comfiest place to read in the flat. I can barely manage ten minutes on that sofa before I start to fidget, and then I’ll make a cup of tea and before you know it the TV is on and the book has been abandoned. But not bed. Bed is safe, bed is cosy . Propped up on all the pillows, duvet pulled up to my chin, blinds open just enough for me to tell whether it’s day or night, answer machine on, bed is best!
But I honestly hadn’t intended to spend all day there. I’d slipped a coat over my pyjamas and nipped over the road for a pile of papers, planning to skim through them, get dressed and wander out to find some food. But once the coffee was brewed I spread the papers on the floor and before I knew it it was lunch time, and all I’d done was absorb information I could happily have lived without, about people I’ll never meet. The fact that it was a broadsheet newspaper didn’t disguise the fact that it was essentially trivia and gossip.
I might have still been there if the cat hadn’t come and sat on the paper, tired of hovering in the background trying to get my attention. Sat in the middle of the sports section I could hardly read round him, and he did have a point - it was time I fed us both. Smart though he likes to think he is, he’s not clever enough to get a tin of cat food open, so I do have my uses. Not many obviously, but this was one of them. So I scooped him up, endured the bout of face-licking that followed, an extra bribe clearly, just to make sure I complied with his wishes, and set off to find dinner.
He was in luck, even if I wasn’t - I opened a foul-smelling tin of something with turkey, then had a rummage through the cupboards for something for myself. The last of the bread had gone stale, and although I’m a bit lazy I do have my standards, so coat back on again and I headed over the road for bread, collecting chocolate and tobacco while I was there just in case I never made it out of the house again. And so I didn’t, well at least not yet, and at this time of night I’m unlikely to bother, although I guess a takeaway might not be a bad idea…

Cat fed, and my toast washed down with a lukewarm cup of coffee I sat on the sofa for a bit thinking about my day. In truth the options were endless - I didn’t have to be anywhere or meet anyone, the world was literally my oyster. But inevitably too much choice was paralysing. Can’t decide? Then don’t. There really was no need to leave the house, so I didn’t. I toyed with the idea of a little spliff, but it was too early in the day even for me, so I grabbed the chocolate and headed to bed to read.
It’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed about being on my own - you can read so much, and there’s no one to distract you. No one to frown at you as if to say, “shouldn’t you be washing up? Shouldn’t you be paying attention to me? Shouldn’t that light be off so I can sleep?” I guess a reader and a non-reader just can’t live happily together, like smokers and non-smokers - there’s a fundamental misunderstanding that can never be bridged. Maria could never work out why I stay up till 2am reading some book I was obsessed with, when I could be in bed with her gossiping about her friends. OK, that’s being a bit mean, but she wasn’t a big reader, preferring magazines about building your own home and classic cars to a novel. She’d always force herself to take whatever was popular at the time on holiday with her, but I ended up reading most of them while she swam and made friends with strangers. She had real stuff going on I guess, she didn’t need made up stuff.
But I’ll read anything - good, bad, stuff I’ve read before - bring it on! I’ve been haunting charity shops lately, habitually spending £5 on a random selection of books, with no expectation of them being any good, but every now and again I’ve found something that has made my head spin and then I’ve set off to find everything else that person has ever written. I guess it’s just another version of that blokey need to collect stuff, although, apart from failed relationships I haven’t really fallen into that trap: most of the books end up back in the charity shop, and music never really gripped me enough to collect Cds and stuff. At one time I had more suits than was really necessary, but fashions change and some of the fabric was starting to look a bit dated, so they’ve gone too. So when Maria took her stuff with her it all suddenly looked very empty. No wonder I’m hiding in bed, I don’t have to sit and look at the space where he stuff used to be.

Now it’s several hours later. I’m not sure what time it is as Maria took the alarm clock and I’ve been using my mobile to wake me up in the mornings. Judging from the light outside it’s after 10. It’s dark, but the moon is bright and the sky is clear.
I may have dozed for a bit, but I think I’ve pretty much been reading all afternoon. One novel down, one started, neither of them likely to become firm favourites, but both sufficiently entertaining to see me through to the end. But I should eat I guess - pity there’s no food in. God I wish that cat could cook! I can hardly face takeaway, and the decent shops will be shut. If I’m going to eat cheap microwave noodles I’m gonna have to get stoned first. I might as well, it’s not like anyone’s going to ring up now and drag me out - one people start thinking of you as a couple they stop asking you out, assuming you’ll be amusing yourselves and won’t want to mix with them anymore, and now I’m not it’s hard to get people to remember to ask. I know I could initiate stuff, but clearly I can’t be bothered! Honestly, I’ve hardly got out of bed today - what are my chances of organising a dinner party, should I have even the merest inclination to do so.
So a spliff it is. Papers? Yep. Chocolate? Yep. Water? Yep. I’m good to go. Hello sweet nothingness! I swear I could roll these in my sleep. I just love the ritual of it, the sliding the paper backwards and forwards between your fingers to make sure it’s evenly rolled, the slowly licking the paper to seal it - always right to left, never the other way round. The final tap on the tin, a kind of good luck thing. The flare of the match, the crackle of the tobacco, the first hint of a smell, the first mouthful of smoke. However did I give up for so long?…..

Chapter 7 - Nick, Saturday

2005-11-07T19:04:00.000Z

“This is a staff announcement: all checkout staff to tills please. That’s all checkout staff to tills, thank you”

God I sound camp when I do that! But pathetically the thrill hasn’t worn off yet. And I still have the urge to say things I shouldn’t - how fab would it be to tell the shop that the bloke fondling lemons has a great arse? It’d perk up everyone’s day for sure, even if it’d be the end of my job.

“This is a customer announcement: would the smelly old man who complained about our carrots kindly go fuck himself. Thank you”

If only! A little honesty would be refreshing, there’s too much of this, “how can I help you? Have a nice day!” shit. God I’m grumpy today. I half wish I’d agreed to go clubbing with them all tonight, a big drunken night out would help blow this mood away. I can’t help thinking by the time I’ve spent an evening in with a bottle of wine and the laptop I’ll have turned myself into a crazy person, whereas a little drunken dancing might make me feel better. Perhaps if I see Brenda I’ll have a word with her.

I don’t know why Simon’s so snobby about this job. It pays the bills; I get a good staff discount; and most of the people I work with are nice enough. I don’t spend all day hiding from people like he does or wishing my colleagues were dead. Customers yes, colleagues no. What would I do with a career? It certainly won’t keep me warm at night! Although it has to be said I’ve been keeping myself warm at night a lot lately . I wonder if it’s time to get a cat? It just seems so clichéd, and I hate cliché, and yet somehow I always end up behaving so predictably. Oh good, there’s Brenda!

Excellent! I’m going dancing! Brenda squealed with delight when I told her I’d changed my mind, which made some customers stare, then she gave Ben a bit of a look and he grinned and blushed. I wonder what that was all about? I hope she’s not trying to fix me up, he’s a child! Honestly, I think I’m old enough to be his Dad. I must have a word with her before we go, don’t want there to be any awkwardness later.
What can I wear? It’s not like I have a wardrobe full of clubbing clothes. In fact I can’t remember the last time I danced. Oh yes I can, it was Sammy’s grim wedding where we all ended up walking home because we’d forgotten to book taxis. And someone’s drunken girlfriend fell in a ditch and sprained her ankle. I remember her sobbing about the twigs in her hair and the mud on her face, too pissed to realise she as only standing up because she had one man on either side of her holding her up.
I wonder if people dress up? Or is that just straight clubs? Will I be allowed in without the obligatory tight top? Have I got time to dye my hair blond, lose four stone and turn into a mincing twink? Damn, perhaps I should have stuck with no. I should no better than to make decisions in a bad mood, I just get reckless and do the wrong thing

“This is a staff announcement: would Nick stop being such a twat and chill out. Thank you!”

It’s good to get a break, time for a cup of tea and a biscuit, and more importantly a gossip in the staff room. There’s always new people starting, so there’s a constant stream of new rumours, plus the old and ongoing ones about affairs. And that’s before we even get started on the work stuff! There’s a rumour doing the rounds that Brenda is having an affair with one of the managers, which can’t be true, I’m sure I’d have heard about it from her if it was.
I wish I smoked so I could go and join the others outside, but they’re very protective of their little group and don’t like non-smokers to join them. How come all the people I like smoke? I never bothered to take it up, and yet everyone I know seems to. Although there was those few times at sixth form when we were bored during free periods, and that boy I had a crush on showed me how to make roll ups. It looked so cool when he did it that I could almost forget that it was slowly killing him. I made a right mess of it, I never was very good at that kind of thing, I’m all fingers and thumbs. I seem to think the tobacco fell out it was so loose. Or did it fall apart as soon as I lit it? I failed to impress him anyway, and certainly blew any chances of getting a snog from him. As if, he was straight anyway. God I was sad!

Ooh, we had some excitement! A shoplifter! Not often we get those in here, or if we do we never notice them, which is probably more like it. This one was particularly thick - one bottle of whiskey up each sleeve and another down the front of his trousers. As if no one would notice that! Never mind the security tags on the bottles, or the fact that one bottle dropped out of his sleeve as soon as the alarm went off and he tried to leg it! Still, I’m impressed out security bloke got him - he’s a lazy git, always standing round gossiping to the shoppers, you could walk out with a till and I doubt he’d notice. It was fun to see him run after him - for a big scary bloke he runs awfully like a girl. Me and some of the girls on the checkouts stood at the doors watching, and when he came back all red in the face and flustered we had to make our excuses and leave so he couldn’t see how much we were laughing at him.
Turns out the thief was seventeen, and doing it for a dare, or so he says. Cocky little twat, although it has to be said he looked a lot more sheepish when the police turned up. It was that cool policewoman who always comes in and buys organic dog food and piles of cheap crap for herself. Poor little boy looked like he was going to cry as she led him out, and I think security Brian might actually have snarled at him as he walked past.
Well that certainly brightened up the afternoon. Saturday afternoon’s are so busy, but they’re really dull as well - nothing but families doing a weeks shopping, Mum and Dad with a trolley each, shoving crisps into the kids as they go round to keep them quiet. Anyone with any sense stays well away. You can feel the stress in the air and it rubs off on the staff, and before you know it we’re all getting snappy with each other. Like that rude cow on till three - if she asks me to get her a barcode again without saying please I may have to slam her fingers in the till. There’s no need.

Half an hour to go. I caught up with Brenda and pretended to be sorting out a rota so we could make plans for later. I saw Deputy Sally giving me the evil eye, but I just smiled sweetly and went back to pointing at my clipboard. So we’re meeting at a pub first, sounds like there’s going to be quite a crowd - Ben and Big Ben, Brenda, Amy and her sister, Steve and his funny little mate who never says a word all evening and always ends up pulling the most beautiful girl in the place. And a few others who work days when I’m not in. Should be fun, but I never did decide what to wear. Pity we’re not a bigger store, I could have raided the clothing department for something new. Or is it too tacky to go out with work mates wearing something you’ve all been selling all day? I’m hoping inspiration will strike when I get home. I must remember to grab a bottle of gin before I leave, just to get me started at home. And some food, don’t want to end up starving and scoffing some awful burger made entirely of pet food. Or coming back drunk and eating everything in the house, but uncooked because I’m too pissed to work the oven. I’m really looking forward to it now!

Chapter 6 - Simon, Saturday

2005-11-06T17:09:00.000Z

“Hello?”
“Hello Simon”
“Hi Mum, how are you?”
“I think my neighbours are spying on me.”

This wasn’t quite as mad as it sounded. They had a history of minor arguments, made worse by the fact that Mum didn’t have enough to do and tended to brood about things and make them worse. But they appeared to have reached some kind of truce lately, so this wasn’t a welcome development.

“What makes you think that?”
“Every time I look out of the dining room window they’re looking out of theirs at me.”
“How often has it happened?”
“About a dozen times”
“This week?”
“No, this morning”
“This morning! Mum, it’s hardly 10 o’clock. Have you spent all morning looking out of the window?”

Silence. An ominous silence. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Mum? I thought things were better between you?”
“They were”
“Were? What have you done?”

More silence. Oh God.

“Mum?”
“Well… You know their apple tree?”
“Yes of course I do, we practically lived off the apples from it when we were kids.”
“Well, it’s got a lot bigger since then and needed a bit of a prune.”
“You pruned their tree?”
“Yes, a little”

Was she mad? This was an old apple tree, and from what I could remember it was too big to prune. I dreaded to think what was coming next, but I said nothing hoping she’d just spit it out.

“You know there’s a law or something that says you can prune your neighbour’s tree if it hangs over your garden, but you must give back the bits you prune ?”
“I think I’ve heard that, yes.”

I thought of Mum standing on their doorstep brandishing a dismembered bough and was surprised they hadn’t phoned the police!

“So you gave it back?”
“No! it was too heavy to carry”
“Jesus Christ Mum, you cut off a branch that was too big to carry? Have you gone mad?!”
“It needed doing Simon! Don’t shout at me! Someone has to do it since your father left!”

No, please not the father thing. It was her ‘get out of jail free’ card - any madness could be absolved by the fact that her husband left her, and she wasn’t shy about using it. It was bollocks of course, she’d behaved in odd ways for as long as I could remember, but just liked to make people feel guilty.

“OK Mum, the tree”
“Well, I couldn’t carry it so I dropped it over the fence.”
“Why didn’t you just leave it for me or Nick to chop up?”
“It was untidy, you know I don’t like mess”
“So why are they being funny with you?”

More silence. Now we’d got to the bottom of it.

“what happened?”
“I dropped in on their cold frame. How was I to know it was there? They didn’t used to have one there! Squashed some plants or something, I don’t know, Jim didn’t make much sense when he shouted at me.”
“Oh Mum, why do you keep doing this kind of thing?”
“I’m just trying to look after myself Simon, I’m not going to sit inside and let everything fall apart because your father ran away with the post woman!”
“Mum, that was thirteen years ago!”

At that point the doorbell went, so I promised Mum I’d ring her later, then went to see who it was. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and John was at work as usual, so it was unlikely to be for him. Probably kids messing about.
So it was a bit of a surprise to open the door and find Gay Dave standing there. We started calling him Gay Dave at college, to differentiate him from Straight Dave, although oddly no one ever called the other Dave Straight Dave anymore, yet somehow Gay Dave had stuck. He looked tired, and slightly overdressed for a Saturday morning, but it was always nice to see him so I let him in.

“What are you doing here?!”

He grinned that cheeky grin of his, the one that gets him out of any scrape he’s been in, the one he uses to charm the boys to bed. Fucker. He’d been shagging, it was written all over his face.

“I was in the area although I’d pop in, it’s been ages since I saw you.”

More grinning.

“In the area at this time of day? Since when did you do the suburbs on a Saturday morning? You look like you’ve not been home”
“True enough, but it’s still good to see you. I need a shower, can I jump in yours while you make me a coffee?”

This was so Dave. You always ended up doing what he wanted, you just couldn’t help yourself. And he was right, it was months since I’d seen him, although there had been plenty of emails from him, with increasingly lurid tales of drunken nights out. Of all our group he was the most outgoing, although it was starting to look a lot less like youthfulness and more like immaturity. Love him as much as I did, I wished he’d slow down before he got into trouble. No sign of it happening any time soon though if this morning‘s appearance was anything to go by, and in the mean time he took great pleasure in recounting his adventures in more details than most of us needed.
The coffee was cooling and I was flicking through the paper by the time he came out of the bathroom with his shirt off. Nice. Except I shouldn’t think like that, he’s an old friend, it’s not right. He grinned again - he’d clearly caught me looking.

“You got a shirt I can borrow? Mine stinks of cigarette smoke, which isn’t pleasant with a hangover.”
“Help yourself, you know where they are, although I expect they’re a bit dull for you.”
“Were you staring at my chest?”

Rumbled. Bugger.

“I just wondered when you started shaving it?”
“Liar. Couple of months ago. Someone at the gym said you look more defined if you shave. I think he just said it as a chat up line, but funnily enough it’s true. A bit of a chore though, so I might let it grow back”

And off he went to rummage for a shirt, whistling something as he opened draws and cupboards. He was never going to find anything he liked - I didn’t possess anything with a designer label on it. I expect he was just rummaging to see if he could find anything incriminating. He’ll be lucky!
Five minutes later he emerged from the bedroom in my best shirt, and annoyingly it looked better on him than one me. He’d obviously found hair gel as well, as his hair was back up where it belonged. He looked ready to face the world again, and would no doubt be out of here in search of adventure in no time.

“Hmmm, good coffee, I needed that. Now I feel more human.”
“Late night?”

That grin again.

“Oh yes. It was stupid to stay though, didn’t sleep a wink, and had to make awkward excuses to get out of there this morning.”
“What was he like?”
“Make me some toast and I’ll tell you all the gory details! Not much butter, loads of jam, thanks!”
“Make yourself at home why don’t you!”

But I already had the bread in the toaster, and was wondering which type of jam he’d prefer. Strawberry would be too dull, although he could be going through one of his retro phases where he embraced the old-fashioned and quaint. I settled on raspberry, because it was all I had. I think the rest had vanished in a late night jam eating frenzy - one of those “I hate my life, where’s the food?” moments when the shops are shut and you’ll eat anything that look remotely like food. I seem to remember eating butter once, although the good thing about having a flatmate is that there’s always someone else’s food to raid if you get desperate. Luckily John had a sweet tooth and a bad memory, so he never noticed the odd chocolate bar going astray. Or if he did he never said anything. Perhaps the toothpaste thing was his way of evening out the score?

“Your toast your ladyship, now tell me about last night’s victim.”

Chapter 5 - Gay Dave, Saturday

2005-11-05T16:02:00.000Z

5.14
5.15
5.16

I wish I’d not stayed over. Much as I hate to be a shag-and-leave type of guy there’s nothing worse than being trapped in someone else’s bed, unable to sleep. It’s no surprise, my sleep is fragile at the best of times, and it only takes the tiniest of things to upset it. I don’t remember the last time I slept in someone else’s bed. That’s not to say there haven’t been people in mine, but even then I’ve been awake before the sun, and certainly before my bed mate. I don’t know him well enough to know whether he’ll be awake bright and early, or if he’s the kind of person that can sleep in all day. I could be here for hours, clinging to the side of the bed counting the minutes on the clock. I can’t start fidgeting for at least another two hours - nobody gets up before 7am on a Saturday - and leaving now isn’t an option: by the time I’ve stumbled round looking for my clothes I’ll have woken him up, and probably both sets of neighbours as well. I knew I should have left, but three-thirty in the morning isn’t the time to start contemplating a cab home, especially when you’re pretty drunk.

5.41
5.42
5.43

There I was thinking I didn’t fancy him. Funny how evenings can take unexpected turns. I was all set to give the barman my number when Steve beat me to it and asked me back. By then I’d gotten to like his smile and was intrigued to find out just how hairy that chest was, so I said yes. I wish we’d just jumped in a cab though - there’s only so much anticipation you can stand , if you wait too long people are sure to change their mind. And a night bus is certain to cool anyone’s ardour. He said it wasn’t far, but what I think he meant was that he’d spent all his money on dinner and couldn’t afford a cab. I was happy to pay, and said so, although obviously not forcefully enough as I found myself hanging round a bus stop, not dressed for it, and in no mood for the drunken teenagers who were teasing each other and bickering over their remaining cigarettes. The boys I can handle - their scowl might be worse than the girls, but I’m a big bloke and although I’ve never been in a fight I’d like to think that if I had to I could use my size to scare someone away. Or maybe not. But girls are different - they know they could never take you in a fight, so they mess with your head - find your weakness and pick at it until you can’t stand it any more. I was maybe being drunkenly paranoid, but two gay men on a bus seemed to be asking for trouble.
I was wrong - no one gave a shit about us. They were too busy texting people and laughing about the replies to even notice we were there, and got off several stops before us anyway. Seven or eight stops later we got off to, and even in my drunken state I realised it was pretty dumb to not know where you were, especially in the company of someone you hardly knew. There was an outside chance I could end the night in bits in a nearby river, or locked in a cupboard under the stairs until someone missed me. But those kind of thoughts are easily dismissed when you’re drunk and horny.
The walk from the bus to his house ensured that I was completely lost - it was one of those areas of completely identical houses, with seemingly identical cars and no way of telling them apart. Do they call this kind of thing suburbia still? Turns out he lived in a nice little terrace house - lots of original floor boards, which would no doubt give me away if I tried to creep out of bed. Nicely decorated, and not full of all the crap I seem to have accumulated. Not exactly minimal, more obsessively tidy. I was worried he’d ask me to fold my clothes when I’d taken them off, but in the end I left them scattered up the stairs and he was too busy getting out of his own to worry about where I was putting them.

6.03
6.04
6.05

I wonder where the bathroom is? I could do with a pee, and it might just wake him up if I stumble round the house enough. I’m trying to remember the layout, but it’s all a bit of a drunken blur. I expect it’ll be upstairs, but I’d hate to wander in and disturb a sleeping lodger. He never said he had a lodger, but you never know. He never said he had both nipples pierced, which just goes to show you never can tell. Perhaps a sly tweak of one of them would wake him up? It’d probably start something I don’t want to get into though - I just want a shower and a shave, coffee and toast, then a long nap in my own bed.
At least I can remember his name. There’s nothing worse than getting all camp and calling some one “love” or “gorgeous” to cover up the fact you’ve completely forgotten their name. I wonder if I’ll see him again. Maybe he won’t want to. Maybe I won’t want to. Nah, it was fun, I’d do it again. And I’m not exactly overwhelmed by better offers at the minute anyway.

6.24
6.25
6.26

Well, I found the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly tricky - there are only two other doors upstairs, and as the one to the bathroom was already open it was a bit of a giveaway. I did just peek into the other room, just to check for lodgers, but it looks like a study. There’s certainly a computer in there and loads of paperwork, and the usual spare room kind of crap.
I managed to wake him up when I got back into bed, although he didn’t open his eyes, just mumbled to himself and pulled me into a cuddle. So now I’m not only awake but I’m trapped. And I can’t see the clock as my head is pulled into his chest. Turns out that hair went all the way down, lots of it too. It smells warm, and makes me feel surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps I could fall asleep after all?

Or not. Now I’m not only awake, but I’m hot and my arm has gone dead. And that chest hair is tickling my nose. I’ve tried fidgeting but he’s dead to the world. I wonder what time it is? It looks lighter out, well, the tiny bit of the room I can see over his shoulder looks lighter. Well, lighter than when I’m blinded by his chest. Perhaps I should bite him. That’d wake him up. In a proper bitey kind of way. Not foreplay, but a proper bite. Draw blood. Oh God I’m trapped in a strangers bed and I’m going mad.

OK, I turned myself over, but I couldn’t get away. His arm followed me across the bed, which makes me think he’s more awake than he seems. Now he’s nestled in behind me, his breath warming the back of my neck. It’s not altogether unpleasant. I could even get to like it. And there’s something restful about the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe I could get used to this after all…..

Chapter 4 - Gay Dave, Friday

2005-11-04T19:09:00.000Z

I'm on a date from hell. Well, not hell exactly, but it's not going that well. I'd had such high hopes! We met online. Obviously. Do people really meet in the old-fashioned ways anymore? I mean, why would you? Anyway, we 'chatted' a lot over a period of a week or so, then he suggest we meet up. We'd been getting along well enough, and frankly I was going through a bit of a bored period, so I said 'why not?' I didn't really fancy him, but that wasn't a problem - you can't photograph someone's personality, so looks can often be deceiving. Or not. I guess he's a bit nervous, but he's lost all his spark. He looks nice enough, nice shirt although it's buttoned up too much so only a hint of chest hair peeks out of it, but he's breaking that cardinal dating rule about not mentioning your exes! I thought we all knew not to mention them on the first date? Or the second. Or ever, if you've got any sense! But I feel I know his so well I might as well have been on a date with his ex. And yet I still can't work out why they split up. I'm not going to encourage him by actually asking, but I'm intrigued to find out who dumped who. I'm guessing he was dumped, which would explain the endless picking over it. Apparently it's been nearly 8 months, but the way he's behaving you'd think it happened on the way here!
That aside we seem to get on pretty well, online at least. We've got similar interests, similar jobs, similar senses of humour. I just wish I fancied him a bit more. Or at all. I can't put my finger on what I don't like about him. Perhaps I'm just being ridiculous, who knows how I'll feel once we get to the bottom of this bottle of wine.
The food's good too - his choice, expensive Thai so we're definitely sharing the bill. I like to pay for my own food, then I don't feel obliged to sleep with them if I don't want to. Although usually it makes no difference, I pretty much always do. I remember when I'd hardly kiss on a first date, how quaint that seems now. I guess that's why things don't last - the mystery has gone, there's no anticipation, no reason to come back for more. I feel like I might be single forever, but would it really be that bad? So, no sleeping with this one. No going back to his place. Or mine. Perhaps a drink somewhere else after here, but that's definitely it. No snogging in bus shelters. Or doorways. No no no.

I guess as dates go it’s not that bad, or maybe a couple more glasses of wine have helped me loosen up. They’ve certainly worked wonders on Steve who has now become positively outgoing! He even touched my arm, although I guess from the surprised look on his face he hadn’t realised he was going to until it was too late. Pity the foods finished and we’ll have to move on, I was just getting relaxed.
It could have been worse, I had a date once where the bloke ended up crying. I thought it was going okay, and casually asked him about his childhood. Well, before I knew it there were tears running down his face and I couldn’t make out what he was saying for the sobbing. God knows what the other people in the pub thought, I’ve certainly never been back to find out. He did send me a message a few days later, apologising and saying that perhaps he wasn’t ready for dating just yet - not ready for people full stop, more like. But in general I pride myself on giving good date - I always make an effort to look nice, and am witty and warm, asking lots of questions, listening and making eye contact. Let’s be honest, it’s not that tricky. And it’s only for a couple of hours so it doesn’t kill you to make the effort, but you’d be surprised how many people don’t bother. Like the guy who turned up with paint on his trousers - not because they were fashionably distressed, but because he’d not bothered to change out of his painting clothes! Or the bloke with nasal hair I could have platted. Dear God. No, upon reflection this one isn’t going to badly.
Where next I wonder? I don’t want to end up somewhere loud, where we spend the rest of the evening shouting at each other over the music, nodding in response to questions we can’t really hear. Coffee, I think. Somewhere quiet and cosy, but with a bit of a buzz to it, if that makes any sense. I wonder if Annie’s is still open? God, I haven’t been in there for years! Not since Simon fell over after we spent all night spiking his drinks, and Bruno the chef chased him out with a dirty mop. I’d forgotten about that night. I seem to remember sleeping on Nick’s kitchen table because his flat was tiny and he was too mean to let anyone share his bed. I must ring them.

Steve paid the bill while I was in the toilet, which was a bit awkward. I offered to pay my share, but he wouldn’t hear of it, which made me a bit cross. I hate having my decisions made for me, and now I feel like I owe him something. Too bad, I’m not sleeping with him, and I’ve resisted any discussion about that kind of thing so I hope he realises that. Although it has to be said he’s pleasingly tall, and in those jeans he’s got a cute arse….

Well, Annie’s is now a branch of Blockbuster. I wonder when that happened? I haven’t been in this part of town lately, so it could have been years ago. Shame really, this place needs somewhere to get a decent coffee a lot more than it needs somewhere to rent Ben Affleck films. I wonder what happened to Annie? Actually, come to think of it, I wonder if there ever was an Annie? I’m sure that wasn’t her name. I shouldn’t drink, it plays havoc with my memory.
Anyway, we ended up in a slightly posey bar, only because it was looked quiet and there were big leather sofas to sit on, although I’m wishing we’d not sat on the same one - we keep brushing against each other and if I’m not mistaken there’s a little sexual tension building. Honestly, I hadn’t meant to encourage him, but when I drink I forget how long my arms are and I keep knocking into him. And my knee too. Thirty four years old and I have no control over my own limbs!
Thank God we didn’t order cocktails. I’m trying to be desperately butch for the evening, so it was strictly lager for me. Besides, all that alcohol in one glass would end in tears. Oh, but I found out about the ex! I didn’t mention him, and really hoped he wouldn’t, but we were talking about pets and it turns out Steve had a dog that bit his boyfriend. The boyfriend wanted Steve to get rid of it, but Steve decided he liked the dog more. Sounds like bravado to me, otherwise he’d be over him by now. The stupid thing is that not long after they split up Steve had to move and couldn’t keep the dog anyway. I wonder why they don’t get back together? I wonder if another drink would be a really bad idea?

Hey, this is fun! Yeah, I’m pissed, but so’s he, and it kind of suits him. Much chattier. Much funnier. And this place is really nice too, not at all how I thought it would be - everyone seems really relaxed and friendly, not a single posey twat in the whole place. Perhaps it’s not their night? Cute barman too! What is it about barmen? Or waiters for that matter? I know they’re just being friendly to get a tip, and yet I fall for it every time! Perhaps I’ll go get another round in and slip him my phone number…

Chapter 3 - Nick, Friday

2005-11-03T23:22:00.000Z

“I know he’s my brother, but that doesn’t stop him being a complete cunt!”
“What’s he done now?”
“Oh, the usual - getting sneery about my work. Who does he think he is? Working in that stupid office is hardly making the world a better place”
“Just ignore him, he only does it to annoy you. You know that. I don’t know why you let him upset you like this. Do you want those chips?
“No, they’re cold. I want pudding”
“What do you want?”
“Besides a brother who’s less of a twat and a mother who actually likes me? Something with custard. The stodgier the better”
“Mmmm, I like the sound of that. Now, what are the chances of getting the waiters attention without actually having to flash my tits at him?”

Jenny was a relatively new friend in comparison to all my others, but we’d got really close quite quickly, and as we worked near each other we saw quite a bit of each other, particularly in the daytime if neither of us were working. Tonight we’d met for a meal in the local pub as we’d both been unexpectedly busy and hadn’t caught up all week. She was fitting me in between work and an evening with her boyfriend. I was fitting her in between Richard & Judy and a repeat of Friends, Friday being my day off this week and ‘boyfriend’ being a dirty word.
I’d made the mistake of talking to my brother in the afternoon, which is why I was ranting and raving at her. I know it’s a mistake to call him at the office, but it’s the only place I know he’ll answer the phone so I risked it. Of course I got the usual lecture about taking personal calls at work, because he’s so important, but how would I know working in a supermarket as I do. Oh fuck off. You sell crap, it hardly makes you Nelson Mandela! What makes it worse is that our mother silently agrees with him, although what gives that cow the right to judge me is anyone’s guess. Family!

“So what you doing this weekend?”
“Not much I don’t think. Working tomorrow. Oh, but Brenda invited me to go to a gay club with some of the boys from work.”
“Brenda? Which one’s Brenda?”
“Kathy. Brenda’s just a nickname the boys gave her, and somehow it stuck.”
“You gonna go?”
“I’m not sure I can be bothered. They’re a nice enough bunch but I am their supervisor and I think they keep me at a distance a bit.”
“You should go, might be fun”
“We’ll see. What about you?”
“I just want to catch up with Tim, I feel like we’ve hardly had five minutes together this week.”

I knew I wasn’t going to go out on Saturday. It wasn’t the others who kept me at a distance, it was me. I found my new responsibility awkward and hadn’t worked out a way to get comfortable with it. I felt like they were laughing at me behind my back, which they probably were - they laughed at everyone. Even Brenda’s nickname had started out as an unpleasant joke, which was ironic considering how quickly she embraced it. Of course going out and getting pissed with them might have actually broken the ice but I think I’ve gone too far with the no thing to change my mind without looking stupid. They seem to go every week so maybe I’ll go next time.

“How is Tim?”
“Busy. He’s been away this week with work, so apart from a few texts we’ve not really been in touch.”
“How’s it going?”
“Hard to tell. He seems interested but then he forgets to phone for a few days and just when I’ve assumed he’s changed his mind about me he rings. But it’s early days so I’m trying not to think too much about it. Although obviously I am! Did I tell you I got asked out on a date?”
“No! Who?”
“Oh it’s just a guy from work, different department as me so he probably hadn’t heard that I was dating already. I was tempted to say ‘yes’. Still might.”
“You’re a dark horse!”
“Well it’s too early to say if Tim is going to turn into anything serious, so why not?”
“God, I wish I had them queuing up for me!”

That was a lie, as Jenny knew well, which is why she only smiled in response. In truth I was off men for a bit. Especially after the Dan episode. Need to lick my wounds. And save up the cash he took with him. Never mix friends and money - when will I ever learn that? Mum took great pleasure in lecturing me about that as well. You’d think she’d be a bit more sympathetic about the whole thing, but I guess as long as I’m not Simon she’ll always be disappointed in me. Silly cow.

“Do you think that waiter’s ever coming back with the pudding?”
“Not while there are young girls to chat up.”
“Oh don’t be so bitter! He’s a waiter, he’s supposed to flirt with people.”
“Well he didn’t flirt with me!”
“You were too wrapped up in your Simon rage to be charming, he was probably scared!”
“Perhaps we should get the bill when he comes back as well?”
“What’s your rush? Good episode of Casualty on or something?”
“Fuck off you cheeky cow.”

She had a point. What was the rush? I’d not yet succumbed to a cat so I hardly needed rush home. And I’d set the video for Holby City as I knew Jenny would keep me out later than I’d planned, but she was only saying it for effect - she’d been checking her watch secretly for the last half an hour, no doubt keen to get round to Tim’s. She’s always like this at the start - keen as mustard, trying to play it cool, always on a state of alert in case he phoned . I don’t blame her, I’d be the same. And for once Tim actually seems like a nice guy. Pretty handsome too, although he’s a bit short for my liking.

“How much tip?”
“Must we? I’m a bit short this week, and besides he was really slow.”
“You mean he didn’t smile and flirt with you.”
“So? I just felt he was a little brisk.”
“OK, I’ll leave it, he smiled at me.”
“Now I feel mean.”
“So you should you miserable git!”

She was joking of course, although she did have a point. I hate that automatic tipping, and is it my imagination or is service getting even worse than it already was? Still, she can afford the tip so I’ll let her leave it. It was nice to see her, she always makes me feel more like myself . While she went to the loo I absentmindedly fiddled with the salt and peppers, slyly looking at the people on the neighbouring tables: couple, couple, family, date, hen night. Time to leave before they get really rowdy.
Jenny came back, grabbed her jacket and we headed for the door. We stood dithering outside trying to decide what to do next. We were debating the relative merits of the local coffee shop or drink in another pub when Jenny’s mobile rang. As soon as she answered it I could tell it was Tim, as she turned away from me and lowered her voice. I turned the other way and feigned interest in the contents of the charity shop window, taking care not to stroll too far away in case I missed something interesting. I could tell from the snippets I could hear that any plans to make our evening last a little longer were about to be abruptly changed, and for a moment I felt sad.
The first thing she said when she finished her call was sorry, and I knew she wasn’t apologising for taking the call. She invited me to join her and Tim for a drink, but I wasn’t in the mood to tag along with the happy couple, so I made my excuses and left her to it.

No messages. There’s a surprise. Actually it was. Even after all this time I still expect to come home and find one from Dan, saying how sorry he is and could he come back. A small part of my brain somewhere understands that this is never going to happen, and that it’s a good job too, but I’m still at that stage where I hope it might. I’m not giving myself any grief about it - these things take time, and it’s not like I’m a rush is it?
So, how to spend the rest of the evening. TV? A DVD? A book and bed? The computer? Or maybe some porn…

Chapter 2 - Jim, Friday

2005-11-02T06:33:00.000Z

Drinking at lunch time is such a bad idea! It’s essentially doomed to failure: you either do the smart thing and go after one pint, which leaves you with a sense of unfinished business, or you stay for the rest of the day, at which point it gets really, really messy. You can’t win. There is no happy medium. You just shouldn’t do it. Stick to food or coffee. Casual sex perhaps. Some shopping. But drinking? No no no.
So there I found myself in a pub, waiting for Simon. Inevitably he was late - some crisis with a stapler or something. I didn’t really get the jist of what he was saying. By then I was already most of the way through my first pint, and, having survived the morning on two cups of coffee and three cigarettes, it went straight to my head. Of course the first thing he did was buy me another to apologise for being late, and I was half way through that before the food arrived. Boy, I was flying! Simon was telling me the same old story about how much he hates his job, and I’d just gone into autopilot, nodding my head all the while knowing he loves it and will never leave. He’ll cry like a baby the day he retires, and the sooner he learns to chill out and accept that fact the better.
I’d kind of spaced out and was checking out the pub. Simon likes it because it’s quiet - there’s never any braying young folk to make him scared, whereas I like it because the young barman will sell you dope if you give him a wink. I’m pretty certain that’s not the only thing he’d sell, but I’ve never been curious enough to find out. Lunchtimes are quiet, even on a Friday - a couple of old men in the corner, old enough friends that they can just sit in silence and sip their pints. The young barman is smiling to himself as he texts someone, and two couples wandered in and headed straight into the back bar.
Thankfully the food brought Simon’s monologue to a temporary pause, so I took the chance to change the subject, and started telling him about what I’d done since I’d seen him last. It was only once I started that I realised I’d pretty much drifted through the last few weeks in a stoned haze. If anyone had asked I’d have said I was getting my head together after Maria leaving, but in truth the last thing my head felt like was together. Empty more like. Empty enough that by the time I got to bed I could sleep without thinking about why she’d gone and why I’d been such a dick. Again. Simon had tactfully not mentioned her. They’d never really gotten on anyway, so I doubt he was sorry she’d left. And someone else’s failure kind of makes you feel less bad about your own. That’s probably a bit mean, I doubt he thinks like that at all, but he certainly won’t miss her.
But I do. She’d been fun, and she’d let me be myself. In fact she’d encouraged me to be more like myself. When I’d felt like reining myself in she’d given me a look that said, “go on boy!”, so I had. It was probably that kind of stupid bravo that had finished us in the end. There’s a thin line between confident and cocky. And a thinner one between cocky and being a complete cock. I skipped over those lines, left them way behind and headed straight for fuckwit. Way to go boy.
Food finished I lit another cigarette, trying to blow the smoke away from Simon and save myself from one of his pursed little frowns. Yeah, I’m smoking again. And? We got talking about the weekend. Mine was completely empty, and I hoped it would stay that way. Simon had been invited to a gay club, by one of his friends, who I think meant well but might have been feeling a bit mischievous. He was inevitably tying himself up in knots about it. Should he go or shouldn’t he? Would he be too old? Could he dance? What was the point? If ever a man needed a spliff it was him! I tried the old, “you only live once” tactic, but I got the impression he’d already said ’no’ and was just looking for someone to tell him he’d done the right thing. Silly boy . I wonder if he’s happy?
We ended up agreeing to meet for lunch on Sunday, if nothing else came up. I think we both knew that we wouldn’t, but a back-up plan never hurts. And then we headed back to work, parting awkwardly, too stiff to hug, too drunk to shake hands. We settled for a little shuffling, and failed to look each other in the eye properly. I wonder what people thought when they saw us together? Brothers? Lovers? Strangers? I’m not sure we looked like friends.

Back in the office the desk swayed a little as I sat down at it. Thankfully we had no client meetings, and I managed to get out of a departmental meeting by waving a sheaf of papers about and muttering something about deadlines. I think everyone wanted as brief a meeting as possible, so one less over-opinionated moron was a blessing. I scattered the paper across the desk, then spent the rest of the afternoon chewing thoughtfully on a pencil, whilst frantically emailing everyone I knew to see what I’d missed whilst I’d been out of it at home.
Not much by the sound of it - no major relationship changes, no crises, no major acts of stupidity. All in all my friends were going through a settled phase, which made me feel even more like a fuck-up. You’d think someone would have an affair just to take the heat off me for a bit, but no. The nearest they could get to drama was Alex’s cat going missing, and even then it turned out that the lonely lady next door had ‘borrowed’ him for a few days. Come on guys, try harder!

Five pm sharp I was out of there. With no plans it seemed like a good idea to walk home. The bus would be full of people, tired and smelly from a week at work, trying to work up some excitement for the weekend. The air would do me good, well, it would if I wasn’t smoking as I walked. I deliberately took the long way home - away from the bus route and through the quiet streets lined with nothing but houses. I stopped in at the off licence for a bottle of wine, then spent too long in the Spar looking for food, finally giving up and deciding on a kind of takeaway roulette when I got back. Who wants to cook on a Friday? Who wants to eat on a Friday? Not me, not when I had a little packet from the barman wrapped up in the bottom of my pocket.
But first a bath. Wash the city off me. Wash work off me. Was the fuckwit off me. I stared at the place where the tiles meet the ceiling, hoping that they’d give me a sign. In truth it was more like meditating - focussing on one point until slowly the rest of the world vanished. I didn’t even notice the water get cold, or the cigarette go out in my hand, and I’d have probably stayed there all night if the phone hadn’t of rung. At first I thought it was next door, or upstairs, and when I finally realised it was my phone it was too late - I’d barely managed three damp steps onto the landing before it stopped ringing and the answer machine kicked in. It was Mum, trying to make me feel guilty because I’d not phoned her all week. But how could I phone her and not tell her I was feeling so miserable? But I’d not explained to her about Maria going because I’d never told her she’d arrived. So instead I stood on the landing, dripping over the floor until she hung up, then I headed back to the bathroom, promising myself I’d phone her yet knowing full well that I wouldn’t.

Chapter 1 - Simon, Friday

2005-11-01T17:58:00.000Z

He’s left the lid of the fucking toothpaste again! God, as if I didn’t feel bad enough about being 37 and living with the same people I went to college with, I have to put up with someone misusing my toothpaste. And my toothbrush for all I know! How can a grown man be so hopeless? Honestly, I feel like his mother when I’m around him, and it’s all I can do to stop myself wiping his nose and asking if he’s got clean pants on. Yes, I know I’m uptight and need to relax more, but this doesn’t help
OK, calm down, it’s only toothpaste. Yeah right. And how many years has this been happening? God, I’ve gotta get out of here! It can’t be good for me. I swear I’ll have a stroke over something dumb like the washing up or who watered the plants last!
Still, at least he’s not about this morning, so I get to stomp round the house uninterrupted. And thank God it’s Friday! Oh shit, is that the time? No time for breakfast again, and at this rate I’ll be lucky to make the bus.

I love the fact there’s a newsagent between the flat and the bus stop. If it wasn’t for them I’d starve to death on a regular basis, and it’s nice to start the day with a cheery “hello” as I buy my paper and steal some chocolate from them. I could pay for it of course, but that’s not the point. Sometimes I don’t even eat it. It’s not about the chocolate, it’s about that brief moment when my hand reaches out to select something, when someone could turn round and catch you red-handed. I know it’s stupid, and if I ever got caught I’d literally die of shame, but it gets my heart racing and reminds me I’m alive. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner - all my friends habitually shop-lifted their way through school so they had something to eat after they’d spent their dinner money on cigarettes. I was too busy doing my homework to have time. I was a twat.

You’d think after three years I’d know a few people on this bus, but we’re all so busy hiding behind our papers I’m hardly on nodding acquaintance with anyone. Everyone’s plugged into something - their phone, some music player, or tapping away on a palm thing as if they had something so vital they just couldn’t keep the thought in their head till they get off.
I’m as bad though: get on, open paper, hide behind it until I reach my stop. I’m not sure I even remember what the woman next to me looks like, although I can tell you more useless facts about today’s news than is really necessary. I should buy a book, something improving. Something that will make people look at me in a new light, and start up conversations with me.
I sometimes dream of meeting someone on the bus. Sharing a seat for a few stops, laughing and chatting as only strangers who’ll never meet again can. Once I thought that person would be a woman, but now I’m not so sure. It’s been a while, I’m not sure I’d remember how to behave if I met anyone anyway. God I must get out more.

Work. It’s slowly bleeding the life out of me. When did any of this shit become important to me? I used to be interested in stuff, now all I do is read reports, send emails and quietly resent my colleagues all day. And update my ‘Top 3 colleagues who should fall under a bus soon’ chart. Today’s chart sees Anita making a surprise leap to number one, and not just because those stupid shoes make horrid click-clacking noises on the floor. Who’d have thought Kevin would ever lose the top spot again, the man is too stupid to live! Or maybe I am for staying here all these years and putting up with these fools. Oh God, here comes Neil, if only I could make myself invisible.

I’m too old to be hiding from people in the toilet, but there’s a client in reception who I should have organised some stuff for, and inevitably I haven’t. He’s not here to see me, but I just want to avoid the, “oh hi Simon, you got those forms for me?” moment. I should be better at this. Or I should leave. I wonder if he’s gone now? I wish I’d brought the paper with me, but that would have been too obvious. And who wants to be trapped in the toilet with a report?

“oh hi Simon, you got those forms for me?”
Fuck. Bloody Neil, always running late, why can he never start a meeting on time.
“Just on my way to get them for you, I’ll pop them into you before you finish with Neil”
Fuck. Now I’ve got to do the bloody forms. Why didn’t I just give it to Anita to do in the first place? Now I’ll be late to meet to meet Jim. He won’t care, but I do hate being late. That’ll teach me. Except it probably won’t, it’ll just make me grumpier.

Haven’t seen Jim in weeks. Every time we plan to meet some personal (him) or work (me) thing gets in the way. Will be good to catch up with him, although it continually surprises me that we’ve remained friends as we’re so different. He’s far too laid back for my liking, and is basically winging it on a daily basis. He’d be a nightmare to live or work with, and thankfully I’ve been spared both experiences. But somehow he’s turned into a good mate, and I’m sure if I was in trouble he’d help. As long as I could drag him out of the house.
The pubs nice too - really quiet, unrestored, and unfashionably dirty. Somehow it missed out when the pub chains went made for light airy pubs with trendy cocktails, and it’s managed to hang onto it’s battered tables and jukebox full of scratchy vinyl. It’s really is like stepping back in time, and after it’s enveloped you for a while it’s hard to head back into the real world. One pint is never enough, but it will have to do today as there’s work to get back to.
But first I’ve got to get out of this place. There’s an awful Pub Posse who set up home in the nearest Weatherspoons every Friday lunchtime, and won’t take no for an answer if they catch you on the way out of the building. Honestly, it’s easier to say yes than put up a fight. I’ve seen them carry grown women to the pub before, although I think the struggle she put up was more for effect than anything else. But they’re not to be messed with, because if you say no they’ll only come back drunk and spend all afternoon giving you grief about it. And as one of them is a manager it’s pretty tricky for anyone to make a fuss about it, so we’ve all developed our own little ways of avoiding them. I like to leave a little earlier than I should, but because of those stupid forms I’ve missed the moment and now they’re loitering round reception for their leader. Guess who - Neil! Actually, I should revise my list - he really needs to go under a bus today. Perhaps I should go with them and attempt it on the way back, as they stumble along the High Street. Only trouble is that at this time of day the traffic is so slow it’d never work.

Phew, I got out. Neil came down with the client so the mob dispersed, now doubt going ahead to make a start without him. I waited till Neil nipped back into his office and legged it, head down just in case anyone should try and catch my eye. Out of the door, left, right, right again. Yeah, it’s the long way round, but it keeps me away from the mob. I’d phone Jim and let him know I’m running late, but neither of us has really embraced mobile phones - he just loses his, and I seemed to have managed well enough so far that it seems pointless to start.
Ok, the pub. My oasis for the next hour. Please let the food be quick, I’m starving. And please let Jim be here…

Panic!

2005-10-31T07:45:00.000Z

This whole nonsense starts tomorrow and now all I can think is, "what have I let myself in for?!" I know it's supposed to be fun, but I'm fairly certain I'm about to make a huge arse of myself. Can you promise me something? If this is as shit as I fear can we just pretend it never happened, and just keep reading my other blog anyway?

Welcome!

2005-10-27T18:38:00.000+01:00

This will eventually be my 31 day novel, although for now it looks like a big pile of nothing. Come back soon and see how I'm getting on....