Yeah, I do know that I need to surround myself with beautiful, meaningful things if I want to be able to do my job properly. But I don’t need everything.
I can’t blame Dave for driving me out of my home, squeezing me out of my own life – because I let him. I’d been so desperate for my own space, a space I didn’t have to share with my sisters, but then I let people take it away from me.
I wasn’t with Dave for that long, but in that short time he threw my life out of balance, and I didn’t object; I didn’t leave because it was predictable, it was familiar. It seemed safe because I felt like I had somebody to run to, but it was actually wrong, he was bad for me.
I’d felt threatened, I can see that now, because he didn’t just smudge the personal boundaries like my sisters and housemates sometimes did. He tried to demolish them, rebuild them to suit himself. And I let him. And I’d over-reacted. I’d hung on to everything. Hoarded stuff in my cupboards, hoarded stuff at work.
Life is about sharing, isn’t it? I’m a natural sharer, I want to give – but you have to share with the right people, you have to know when to say no, don’t you? Or there’s nothing left of you, nothing to call your own. You have to guard the bits that needs guarding, so that you can feel totally chilled about sharing the rest.
Saying no has never come easily to me, it’s not something I’ve had enough practise at. If I’d learned to say no to Soph earlier then maybe I wouldn’t have had to lose my rag and upset her. And if I’d learned to say no to Dave we probably wouldn’t have lasted more than a couple of weeks. He would never have had chance to drive me out, and I would have made my place my home earlier.
And if Darcie hasn’t been hurt, maybe I would have stood up for myself more.
And if I’d told Jamie I thought I recognized him the first day we started work at We Got Designs, who knows…
But none of that really matters, does it? What matters is what I’m doing with those experiences, what I’ve learned. What matters is the way I live my life today, tomorrow.
What matters is who I let in, who I share with, where I draw the lines.
I think it’s time I do to my things what I did to Dave’s. Have a proper sort out.
Jamie had told me to put the things I’d tidied away back on our desk, but I’ve just realized; it doesn’t matter.
I make myself a coffee, go up to my room then stand by the door and look around. This job needs doing systematically. I am going to work my way round the entire room and sort everything into piles. I’ve read enough ‘declutter your life’ articles to know that I need to work out which stuff can be thrown out, which things I use (or want to look at) regularly, and the things that I don’t want to get rid of, but are just taking up space. The space-taking-uppers are just like Christmas decorations, aren’t they? They need to be put in a box and stashed in the wardrobe – to be taken out on special occasions.
I look into my make-up box and shut it again quickly. How can I have so much? I can sort it another day, can’t I? No, I can’t! I’ve said I’m doing this today, and I am going to. Yesterday I cleared out my emotional baggage (apart from Jamie), today I am clearing out the rest.
My make-up box is a bit of a nightmare. I don’t actually wear that much for work or at home, so who knew that I had three mascaras, had hung on to some midnight-blue eyeshadow that hasn’t been opened since my uni days, and a glittery lipstick that probably should have a health and safety warning slapped on it.
Oh God, but if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it properly.
I tip the contents out onto a towel on the bed and start to sort through.
Since when did I like brown lipstick?
I’m exhausted by the time I drop the last half-filled notepad into a box. It’s getting dark and I’m starving and feel pretty grimy. Shoving the last of the boxes into the wardrobe, I push the door closed and head for a shower.
Now there’s just my feelings for Jamie that I need to deal with. I’m not sure I can shut those away quite so easily.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tuesday
There is no note from Jamie when I get into work on Tuesday, which hits me harder than I thought it would.
It’s all well and good thinking you can sleep with a guy one day and be casual buddies the next, but doing it is different, isn’t it? I guess I have the type of expectations you’d have of a boyfriend, not of a colleague.
Before the weekend, I guess I had started to rely more and more on his little notes; we had moved on from work mates to flirting. The days when I didn’t hear from him had been bad enough then. But now?
He’d said he’d be back in on Monday; he’d messaged me saying he was having the morning off to talk to his solicitor.
I expected a note. Or a text. Or something.
The desk looks bare – even though when I cleared some of my stuff off, I still left the important things.
I power up the computer, tell myself to get a grip and pop out to get a proper strong coffee and a sugar-laden pastry.
I get back to find that I have several urgent emails in my inbox, and a cuddly St Bernard dog in my pending tray. How the hell am I supposed to declutter if clients keep sending adorable stuff like that?
‘If that’s a gift, declare it and put it in the meeting room,’ snaps the dragon lady. Well that solves that problem. I apologize to the dog and relocate it, before sending a thank-you message to the lady at the dog rescue place and put her request for a couple of website tweaks to the top of my to-do list for the day.
‘Alice?’
‘Shit!’ I’ve been so engrossed in work that I’ve managed to shut everybody else off altogether, and when somebody taps me on the shoulder, I nearly jump off my seat. ‘Jamie!’
‘Sorry.’ His trademark grin is back. ‘Thought I’d surprise you!’
‘Ten out of ten for that.’ I wriggle back into a safer position on my chair, then glance at the time. Wow, I hadn’t realized it was nearly 1pm! I frown at him. ‘What are you doing in, I thought—’
‘I messaged to ask if you had time to grab a sandwich, but you didn’t reply and…’ He looks a bit sheepish. ‘I was worried something had happened, or you were pissed at me.’
‘Just busy. Some of us have to work for a living you know!’ Now he’s here I’m buzzing inside and the world is a wonderful place again.
‘Can you drag yourself away from,’ he leans in and looks at what I’m working on, ‘Dippy Deb’s Designer Dolls?’
‘Well,’ I draw the word out, ‘tricky one, but, seeing as it’s you.’ And I grab my handbag before he has a chance to change his mind.
‘So, Spain,’ I say as soon as we sit down, determined to get the worst bit over first.
‘Not happening.’ He takes a big bite of his panini and munches silently for a few minutes. Then he wipes his mouth. ‘Well not imminently. Sorry, starving. I seem to have got my appetite back!’
I grin at him. Now I know it is not imminent, I can relax and eat my own lunch. Surprisingly, I find I suddenly have an appetite as well, so we eat and drink, then he pushes his plate to one side and reaches across the table to touch the back of my hand.
‘Right. I saw the solicitor.’ He takes my fingers in his, and then draws back as though he’s overstepped the mark.
My stomach dips. I can’t help it. Being with Jamie is like being in the middle of a suspense movie. The anticipation grows and grows, then just as you get to that moment …everything stops. You’re left hanging. Not sure.
I put my hands in my lap, under the table so I can feel in control. I’m the one moving them, so he can’t touch them, so I can’t be disappointed.
It doesn’t help. I want to put them back. I want him to touch me.
‘So?’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady – which is easy if I keep to single syllables.
‘Well first, she said that regardless of how Claire sees it, in a legal sense I’m not just some random sperm donor, I’m a parent.’ He glances at me, so I nod. ‘It doesn’t mat
ter what her intentions were when she found out she was preggers, things need to be done officially with all the paperwork or whatever.’
‘Right.’
‘So, I can make an application to court for contact, and it’s Alfie’s right, not hers or mine, to be able to see both his parents.’
‘That’s good then,’ I say encouragingly. Wondering how a toddler makes a decision like that.
‘She said it would be best if we can reach some kind of agreement between us, but if there’s a child arrangements order then Claire can only take him out of the country for up to a month on holiday, not for ever. If she tries to take him out there without my permission permanently, then it’s abduction.’
‘Wow.’
‘And I might be able to get a parental responsibility order which would give me a say in all kinds of things about his upbringing. I mean,’ he shrugs, ‘I’m not sure how far I want to take all this, I just know I need to see him growing up. I need to be around him at least until he’s old enough to know me, to remember me, then it’s up to him. If he doesn’t want me in his life…’ His words tail off, and he stirs his empty cup.
‘I’m sure he will.’ I bring my hands from under the table, put one over his.
‘I’d hope so, but who knows?’
‘But one step at a time; at least you know she can’t leave the country.’
‘Not unless she’s already gone. And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t.’ He stops stirring, relaxes a bit. ‘The solicitor said that it’s not as easy as it used to be to relocate, even for a mother, as it’s all about the child’s welfare. She said if Claire did apply then she’d have to be very careful how she does it. It could be seen by the courts as a ploy to stop me seeing him.’
‘Especially if she does it now so soon after you’ve found out?’
‘Exactly! They could think it was that, rather than a genuine intention to move because she really want to.’
‘Even though she’s got family out there?’
‘Yep. She’d need to say it was because all her support was out there, or she’d been offered some fabulous job she couldn’t get here, or something like that really. And the fact she’s lived in the UK quite happily for years would definitely make it harder for her to justify it.’
‘That’s so positive!’ I squeeze his hands. I’m so happy for him, and a lot of the stress has already lifted from his face. He’s almost back to the old teasing Jamie.
‘It is.’ He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. His voice is soft. ‘I need to talk to her, have a good chat and try and get her to understand that I’m not a threat, it’s for Alfie.’
‘You do.’
‘And I have to do it before she firms up her plans. So I need to go down to Cornwall.’ His gaze is direct. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Sure.’ It will be strange not having him around, and for a second the wild thought of booking time off work and going with him lodges itself in my brain, and then common-sense hits and tells me that I’m being ridiculous. He might want my support; he definitely doesn’t want me in Cornwall with him.
‘I’m so glad I’ve got you to talk to.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Guess I’m going to have to tell my parents when I get back and have some idea how this is going to go.’
I nod. ‘You probably should.’
‘Not sure they’ll be able to believe I’m a dad.’
We sit in silence, holding hands across the table, oblivious to the comings and goings around us as I look into the now familiar eyes.
‘I’m not sure I can believe it, to be honest. I’ve been so totally wrapped up in being indignant, and fighting to see him, but, well…being a dad? An actual dad. What does a dad do? I haven’t a clue what happens if she says I can see him.’
There’s a faint look of alarm in his eyes. I don’t think he’s had time to actually think about the implications of this, about what it really means for him. Let alone for us, if there ever is a chance of ‘us’. But I’m starting to think there might be; I’m starting to think that this is a two-way thing between us – we rely on each other, we want to talk, share our problems. And that’s something, isn’t it? Really something.
‘You’ll be a good dad,’ I say softly, and hope with all my heart that he’s going to get what he wants. I don’t want his heart to be broken.
Chapter Thirty
From Cornwall, with love
I hoard digital things, as well as actual, physical things. I hardly ever delete emails, just in case they are going to come in useful. I hate deleting photos – even if they’re a bit crap, slightly out of focus, or I’ve got two more identical ones. I keep my messages because I like to flick back through them. I keep every ‘ah’ moment I can.
I have made a start in tidying them up though. I have gone through and unsubscribed from every website where I haven’t opened the last twenty emails from them. It is just so stressful knowing you’ve got 1,283 unread messages.
I’ve deleted all the emails with offers that have passed, and all the Dave ones.
I’ve backed up all my photos then started to go through and delete ones that really are rubbish – though that bit is taking a LOT of time, because I get caught up looking at them and remembering.
I’ve not deleted any of the messages from Jamie though. Or the many photos he has sent while he’s been in Cornwall.
Hey Festival Girl, how’s it going? A bit weird being here and knowing you’re at our desk without me. Seems to be going okay. When I got here, Alfie was a bit quiet, weighing me up. I don’t blame him, I’m nervous as hell myself and I’m supposed to be the grown-up! Mum used to say I did that, just watched people quietly as though I was working out whether I liked them or not. I wish I knew what he was thinking. J x
* * *
I know I’m biased, but Alfie is a little belter. When I tell Mum she’ll either kill me for not telling her sooner or be so totally in love she’ll forget all about me. J xx
* * *
OMG, Alice, I can see why you looked round my place with that look on your face after I told you I had a child. Tidy and kids don’t naturally go together, do they? Unless you spend half your life putting things away. Every surface is covered with beakers, bibs and Lego blocks. Miss seeing your bits and bobs, and you J xx
* * *
Claire said her mum came over to see her last week. She couldn’t believe that she’d not told me about Alfie earlier, she’d just kind of assumed that his dad must have been a one-night stand with a total stranger, or a tosser who’d run for the hills as soon as she told him I was preggers. She read her the riot act. Miss you J xxx
* * *
I’d forgotten how much I used to love Lego. x
Some of the messages made me laugh, some I smiled at because in my head I could see him sitting on the floor sticking building blocks together like a big kid, and some melted my heart. I got to discover a new Jamie through his messages when he was down in Cornwall. A different Jamie to the one I’d got to know through Post-it notes.
I watched him playing quietly today and it really hit me, Alice. He’s mine, part of me. My son. It’s already too late to walk away, he’s in my heart, part of me. I could never give up on him. I need to know him. I need to watch him grow up. I want to buy him a train set, play football with him, take him to matches. Teach him to drive.
* * *
I told Claire that the solicitor said we should try and sort this out ourselves and she said that’s what her mum had said. But she’s not heading back here. She said this place means a lot to her, that she’d always dreamed of moving there to bring her kids up. It’s one of the few places she remembers her mum being really happy after her dad walked out on them. She said she misses the gang, which is why she came back for a few days, but she reckons this is a better place to bring Alfie up. I reckon she’s right, it’s ace. Jxx
I had to reply to that one. Sounds like you’re having fun! You won’t want to come back. I was fishing, definitely fishing. But what if he doesn’t?
* * *
Cheeky!
* * *
I’ll be back soon. But if my son is going to grow up largely without me, then I guess here is the right choice. Oh my god, he’s drawing on the wall, what is that he’s got? Oh bugger. Got to go.
* * *
It could be worse!
* * *
It has been worse. Yesterday he threw up on my laptop, it was so gross. Who knew a child this size could harbour stomach contents that vast? And with bits. I will be forever finding bits between the keys.
And there were the days when he found out what being a dad could mean.
Shit, she wants me to look after him. On my own. How do I do that? She obviously doesn’t realize that the only thing I’ve ever been responsible for is a plant. I’ve not even had a goldfish. But hey, men do it all the time, don’t they? How hard can it be to stop a toddler from screaming? J xxx
* * *
Apparently, it is quite hard to stop a toddler screaming second time round. First time, the funny faces I pulled worked a treat. He wasn’t falling for it a second time. You knew, didn’t you? J xx
* * *
Soz, Alice, I know it’s only 7.30pm, but I need to sleep. Looking after toddlers is exhausting.
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