by Kate Field
‘They’re gorgeous. Thank you.’ I stepped back. ‘You’re going today? Are you fit to drive?’
‘I drove the car here. There was a twinge or two, but nothing I can’t bear.’
‘So desperate to get away?’ I could have kicked myself the moment the words slipped out. I didn’t want it to sound as if I’d miss him. I would rather not have felt that way, but tendrils of disappointment were wrapping round me, too tightly to ignore. I tried to lighten the remark. ‘Is my cooking that bad?’
‘Surprisingly good, considering how it was before.’ He smiled. ‘But I can’t deny I’m worried I might get a taste for the healthy living malarkey if I stay much longer.’
‘I had it covered.’ I reached into one of the shopping bags and pulled out a four-pack of Guinness. ‘This caused a stir in the supermarket. I’ve never set foot in the alcohol aisle, never mind bought any. It’s a small town. News will spread that I’m having a midlife crisis or something.’
Perhaps I was. I’d had alcohol in the house before – I operated a ‘bring your own bottle’ system when friends came for dinner – but I didn’t buy it. So why the exception for Paddy? Because there had always been an exception for Paddy, in everything. Something had drawn me into the unfamiliar section of the shop – a curiously attractive area with its wooden flooring, stylish bottles and feature lighting – and the Guinness had appeared in my trolley without me giving it a thought.
‘I wish I could stay, and not just for the Guinness. It’s been …’ He shrugged. ‘Unexpectedly restful. But I had a call this morning. I’ve been asked to take a look at a construction site in Essex. They’ve found some remains, and work’s been halted until it’s checked out, so it can’t wait. And then I have to give a couple of lectures, and next week there’s a TV awards ceremony in London …’ He sighed. ‘Time to return to real life. I think I might need this Guinness.’
‘Take it.’ Although I couldn’t see why he sighed; it didn’t sound too shabby a life to me. ‘Are you up for an award?’
‘The show is.’ He laughed. ‘You can say it – I don’t deserve it. All I do is stand in front of a camera and talk about something I love. I don’t save lives.’ His smile faded, and he pushed back his hair. ‘I need to win. If we win, we’ve been promised another series, and then there’s more chance of other opportunities … I need it for Mam. If there is a third series, I want to feature Inglebridge, and look more at that barrow, perhaps dig some test trenches. You may be seeing me again sooner than you think. Keep your fingers crossed.’
I followed him out to the hall, wondering whether I should keep my fingers crossed that he won or that he didn’t. He reached into his bag and pulled out a padded envelope.
‘At the risk of making you think I’m even more hollow, I’ve bought you this.’
He handed over the envelope and I pulled out a DVD of the first series of his TV show, Travels Through Time. Paddy’s face stared out at me from the front cover, as if the appeal of the show lay solely in him, not the history they uncovered.
‘Ignore the cover,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have a say. Watch the show. I know you want to forget the past. I get that. But it wasn’t all bad.’ He tapped the DVD in my hand. ‘The past can be inspirational and educational, and a blueprint for the future. You always understood that better than the rest of us. Watch this and remember how it felt. You deserve this, Eve.’
*
I hadn’t intended to watch the DVD, and certainly not so soon. But after Paddy had gone, disappearing from my life with a soft kiss on the cheek and a wave of the hand – more than he had managed seventeen years ago – I stripped his bed, cleaned his room, cooked half the food I had bought for tonight and then … Hours still stretched before me, the same as they had done before Paddy’s visit – so why did those hours now feel so long, so empty? Paddy had taken the Guinness and my contentment too. He had made me think about the past in a way that I had chosen not to for years.
The DVD sat on the coffee table, winking at me, striving to capture my attention until in the end I snapped and shoved the disc into the DVD player. Three hours and three episodes later, having moved from my chair only once to fetch a cranberry and raspberry tea, I finally switched the television off, knowing that even halfway through the series, the damage was done. I was hooked. The show was a brilliant idea, contrasting the past with the present in order to highlight the similarities and differences. Over six episodes, the series followed archaeological investigations on three sites, discovering who had lived in the area and how the land had been used hundreds of years ago. At the same time, the programme showed what current life was like in the nearest town or village, featuring interviews with some real characters – and the locals were all encouraged to get involved with volunteering on the dig, and to connect with the history of their community.
The episodes had covered a variety of subjects: a medieval tithe barn in Herefordshire, a Roman villa in Essex and a Norman church in Kent, but there was one common factor. The passion, the enthusiasm and the curiosity of the whole team making the show was unmistakeable. And as for Paddy – whether talking about the dig, or drawing out hilarious anecdotes from villagers, he was a natural in front of the camera, and I chose that word deliberately. This wasn’t a sham – it was a genuine performance from someone who knew and loved his subject and wanted to share his passion with others. He brought the show to life and, watching it, I could almost smell the earth and feel it beneath my fingers in the trenches. And a dormant piece of my heart started beating again.
The thoughts I had denied so long rushed in. I didn’t want to be on my sofa, watching other people uncover history. I wanted to be in that trench myself, knee pads on and trowel in hand, scrabbling around in the dirt and dust, finding the clues about past civilisations and past lives. I wanted to discover the footprints of buildings and communities long buried – to help remap the world as it used to be in centuries gone by. And the more I thought about it, the more certain I became. I didn’t just want to do it. I had to do it.
I would be forty in August: too young to stagnate in a job I increasingly disliked, and too old to let an opportunity pass by without grasping it. I was healthy and so was my bank balance – when would this chance ever come again? It was now or never. And as I watched the rest of the series, and took time over the half-term break to consider my future as I hadn’t allowed myself to do before, I became increasingly certain about what my next step would be.
*
Jo Blair was surprised when I asked for a word on the first day back after half-term. I followed her into the office before she could refuse. She sat down behind her desk, assuming a position of power, but I remained standing: this wouldn’t take long.
‘Do you remember when you first arrived, and you asked me to spy on the members of staff?’ I asked.
‘Not spy,’ Jo replied, clearly caught off guard by the question. ‘I thought that as a long-serving member of staff you were well placed to give feedback.’
I nodded; it was semantics, we both knew that.
‘I’ve reconsidered,’ I said. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought over half-term, and I can’t keep quiet. There’s a member of staff who doesn’t seem motivated to do their job. I’m concerned that you may consider their performance inefficient. Their commitment to the school isn’t what it once was.’
Jo Blair leant across the desk. ‘This is exactly the sort of information I was looking for. Well done, Eve. Who is it?’
‘It’s me.’ I threw an envelope onto her desk, where it landed at a rakish angle in the middle, in delightful defiance of the clear desk policy. ‘There’s my resignation. I’ll work to the end of term.’
I walked to the office door and then turned.
‘Oh, and Jo? The way you spoke to me the other week was out of order. Harassment, bullying – I’d say it was gross misconduct of one sort or another, wouldn’t you? All done in front of witnesses too. But I’ve decided not to report you, because you only have a few m
ore weeks left at this school, don’t you? You’ll be starting your next interim post after summer. And I wouldn’t want to harm your chances of moving on – or harm the chances of this school to be able to attract the sort of permanent head it deserves: one who appreciates its staff, and cares more about raising happy, confident children than about bottom lines, efficiencies and statistics.’
I walked out and returned to my desk, where I sank into my chair. I had no idea if it would work, and dissuade Jo from any thought of applying for the permanent role, but it was worth a shot. I reached into my handbag and took out one of the remaining Be Kind to Yourself vouchers. With hands shaking, and feeling a curious mix of exhilaration and terror, I wrote out the next card.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER SEVEN
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by resigning from my job!
*
Tina was open-mouthed when I told her what I’d done.
‘Resigned?’ she repeated, as I drove along by the side of the river, heading back through the outskirts of Inglebridge and on towards home. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Of course not. In fact, this is the result of sober reflection that I should have indulged in months ago.’ Maybe even years ago. ‘The cheque from Mum has given me a chance I can’t waste. I can afford to take some time off, try something different. It might be a disaster. It’s undoubtedly rash to hand in my notice before I’ve even thought about what else I can do. But I have to give it a go.’
‘So I’m going to have to drive myself to school from September? I’d better inherit your space or there’ll be trouble.’ Tina grimaced. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving me to face Jo Blair on my own, if she does apply for the head’s post.’
‘You never know, she might decide that Inglebridge isn’t the place for her after all.’ I smiled to myself. Jo Blair better had move on – if she returned in September, either in an interim or permanent position, my complaint would go in the next day.
We arrived home and as we left the car, Tina came round and gave me a hug, squeezing me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
‘Good for you,’ she said, drawing back. ‘I don’t know what’s brought this on, but I hope it works out.’
‘So do I.’ I smiled. ‘I need to try, while I can. I don’t want to reach a point in life where I look back and see so many things not done.’
As Paddy’s mum, Alison, did now. I had thought about her a lot since the day we had visited. Not only her, but Faye too, and even my dad. What opportunities might they have grasped if they had known what lay ahead? I felt as if I owed it to them to make the most of everything that came my way.
‘It’s been quite a momentous day, hasn’t it?’ Tina said, digging out her house keys. ‘I think I’d better have a celebratory drink on your behalf. I don’t suppose even this will knock you off the wagon, will it? Tell me you’re doing something to mark the occasion.’
‘I’ll probably go for a run.’ I grinned as Tina rolled her eyes. ‘But I do have something special lined up for later. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out about that!’
*
I decided to walk to Rich’s house after my run. It was a perfect early summer evening, and the sun still shone down from the pale denim sky, gilding the warm stone of the buildings in Inglebridge town centre. Even on a midweek night, the market square was half-filled with cars, and the restaurants and pubs buzzed with laughter and conversation as I passed by.
The French bistro, on the corner of the ginnel that led down to the river, looked particularly appealing with the dimmed lights, checked tablecloths and candles on the tables. Despite the tempting menu and brilliant reviews, I’d never been: it was phenomenally expensive, and I had usually felt obliged to support Lexy at The White Hart when I’d taken Caitlyn out for a meal. But with unexpected cash in the bank, and unused ‘Be Kind to Yourself’ vouchers in my bag, I vowed that would change. When Caitlyn and Mum came over for my birthday in August, we’d go to the bistro for a meal. We could even invite Gran, if we could persuade her to behave and not go on about frog’s legs and garlic.
Rich had taken his children away over half-term, and so I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since Paddy and I had caught him in the pub with his younger woman. The break had given me space to reassess our relationship, and what I wanted from it. The answer had been surprisingly clear.
I banged on the door. Rich opened it, nodded at me, and stepped back to let me in.
‘You took your time,’ he said, as he dropped down into his armchair, without offering me a drink. ‘I thought you’d have been in touch to apologise before now.’
‘Apologise?’ I repeated, dumbfounded by Rich’s attitude. I’d expected an apology from him, not an attack. ‘What do I have to apologise for?’
‘Don’t play the innocent. I saw you in the pub the other weekend with that long-haired tosser off the telly.’
I leant back against the mantelpiece, needing to feel the solid marble beneath my fingers – to feel something real, unlike whatever accusations Rich was making.
‘I’d taken him to visit his parents, because he’d injured his leg,’ I said, and then immediately regretted the urge to explain myself, and the betrayal of any details of that day with Paddy. ‘We stopped for a drink on the way home. It was innocent. You were kissing whoever you were with.’
‘She’s nothing.’ He picked up his can of lager and took a swig. ‘You don’t need to worry about her.’
He thought I was jealous? How could he know me so little, after the two years we had been together? Paddy had been apart from me for seventeen years and he knew me better than this. And as Rich grinned at me, enjoying the moment and my perceived envy over his other woman, there was only one idea that sprang to mind. He was boorish. How had I missed it? Because I hadn’t spent time getting to know him, hadn’t chosen to look beyond the superficially attractive blond-haired and blue-eyed exterior. We had been compatible, both physically and in our limited requirements from a relationship, and I hadn’t dug deeper – an irony, when all my training had been about looking below the surface before making a judgement. Who was the shallow one now?
But even before catching him in the pub, I’d begun to feel niggles of dissatisfaction. We had nothing in common, either in our interests or in our outlook. I didn’t listen to him talk and admire his knowledge and his passion. When we sat in silence, it was awkward, not comfortable: our silence was independent, not shared. I would never weep myself to sleep over Rich, and I had thought that was what I wanted – but I’d been wrong. What was the point of being with someone who didn’t stir your soul?
‘I’m not worried about your other woman,’ I said at last. ‘I’m relieved you have someone else. It makes it so much easier to walk away. In fact, scrub that. I’m not walking. I’m running, as fast as I can go.’
‘You’ll regret it!’ Rich called after me, as I headed for the front door, but he was wrong. I regretted many things, but I would never regret this one. I slammed the door shut on that episode of my life and headed home without looking back.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER EIGHT
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by dumping Rich!
*
I’d wondered how long it would take Caitlyn to ring after receiving the latest vouchers. The answer was four days; she must have called as soon as my letter arrived.
‘Mum? Are you okay?’ she asked, cutting across my usual battery of questions about how she was and what she had been doing.
‘Never better.’
‘But these Be Kind to Yourself vouchers you’ve sent …’
‘I’m doing well, aren’t I? Two at once! This is so much fun.’
There was a brief silence at the other end and I could easily imagine that Caitlyn was rolling her eyes in the melodramatic way she did when I exasperated her. I tried not to laugh.
‘It says you’ve quit your job.’
‘I have.’
&nb
sp; ‘And dumped Rich?’
‘Yes. It’s not before time, is it?’
Another silence. I was enjoying myself. Over the last few days, since cutting ties with work and Rich, I had felt a lightness and happiness that I hadn’t known for a while – certainly not since Caitlyn had left. My future was empty – deliciously so. It was exhilarating, not terrifying as I might have expected. I almost felt as I had done when I had left university; as if the world was out there, waiting for me to make my mark on it. I didn’t underestimate how lucky I was to have this chance.
‘Have you started the menopause?’ Caitlyn asked. ‘Is this what it does? Makes you go a bit weird? Because, you know, the vouchers were only meant for fun things. Like having a facial or buying a new dress. I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.’
‘A new dress? There’s an idea …’ I laughed and took pity on her. ‘I promise I’m not being weird. Weirder,’ I added, in deference to Tina’s frequent complaint about me and my temperate, healthy lifestyle. ‘And you certainly haven’t caused any trouble. You made me think more carefully about my life, that’s all. Perhaps it is time to be kinder to myself, explore some of those opportunities.’
‘Like going on the dig. I told you that was a good idea. But won’t you miss Rich? I mean, you’re not sounding exactly heartbroken, but you’ll be even more on your own now. And it must be hard, at your age, finding someone who’s in full working order.’
She giggled, and I sighed.
‘You can’t start the old age jokes yet. I’m still in my thirties.’
‘Only for two and a half more months!’ Oddly, that reminder actually made me even happier. Caitlyn would be back for my birthday; I’d be seeing her again in a few weeks’ time. It was worth turning forty for that alone.