Playgroups and Prosecco

by Jo Middleton

  Email from Steve at work today copying in the chair of trustees. He had the cheek to question my ability to do my job in light of fundraising results to date and ‘certain inappropriate remarks’ made recently. He wants me to attend an ‘emergency’ meeting with a representative from the trustees to discuss how we move forward.

  That man has got a bloody nerve. My ability to do my job? He is an absolute joke. I didn’t even want to take on the fundraising role in the first place, told them I didn’t have the right experience. It might have worked if I had the backing of someone who wasn’t a complete and utter moron, but when your boss’s idea of support is to tag you in a motivational quote on Twitter then you seriously have to question whether they are really cut out for management.

  What was absolutely the shittiest part of it, though, was that he must have sent it just as he was leaving for the weekend, so by the time I had read it he had already gone and I’ll be forced to stew over it all weekend.

  So pissed off. What a coward.

  Very tempted to go home and drink the entire bottle of wine that’s in the fridge but I didn’t want Steve to win. He wanted to ruin my weekend and, damn it, I wasn’t going to let him.

  I ate four Jaffa Cakes instead, slowly. (Basically mindfulness.)

  I messaged Dylan to see if he was going to be in the shop tomorrow – I’ve been wanting for ages to get rid of some of Jess’s baby toys and I thought I could help him create a bit of a friendlier children’s corner, plus I’d feel better having something to do rather than just sitting at home eating biscuits and worrying about work and Cam.

  ‘I’ll be here!’ he replied. ‘Funnily enough, I don’t have loads of staff chomping at the bit to work Saturdays in June. Not ones I could leave in charge, anyway. Tom is keen, bless him, but last week I overheard him tell a customer that Emily Dickinson has a new book of poems out soon.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I replied. ‘I’m child-free and would otherwise be doing exciting jobs like picking bits of Lego out of the vacuum cleaner or taking things out of their packets in the fridge so that Flo doesn’t get on my back about best before dates.’

  ‘Well, that does sound like a treat,’ said Dylan, ‘I wouldn’t want to impose …’

  ‘It’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make.’

  Saturday 16 June

  Book covers stroked fondly – many. Actual rooms I can call entirely my own – none. (Bit disappointing.)

  I had an ace day today, mooching about the bookshop and complaining to Dylan about Steve. Bless him, he’s very patient. He’s on his own with three daughters so I guess he’s used to women/girls offloading their problems on to him.

  He made me a coffee in a Penguin Books mug (A Room of One’s Own – that would be nice) and gave me free rein in the children’s corner. I rearranged some of the shelves to make a bit more space and filled a box with Jess’s old toys. I’d brought a rainbow rug that Flo used to have in her bedroom, plus a couple of cushions, to make a little reading corner.

  ‘Dylan,’ I said, coming back through to the front of the shop, ‘when I was clearing up upstairs I noticed a small armchair in that second room. Would you be up for us bringing it down?’

  ‘Do you need a sit down already?’ he said, winking.

  ‘Har har,’ I said. ‘No, I was thinking of parents coming in with children. It would be nice for them to have somewhere to sit while the children looked at the books – it might encourage them to stay a bit longer. I was also wondering about moving a selection of the current adult fiction choices into the kids’ section and having a special “quick picks for grown-ups” shelf? That way you’re not stuck there with nothing but The Gruffalo – you can choose something for yourself at the same time.’

  ‘That’s a genius idea!’ said Dylan. ‘I love it. And yes, let’s go and get the chair now.’ He headed towards the stairs and then looked back. ‘You’d better not be about to present me with a bill for bookshop consultancy services, mind,’ he said.

  ‘I definitely am,’ I said. ‘I take payment in prosecco or Jaffa Cakes.’

  I haven’t heard anything from Cam since Wednesday. I’d (foolishly) thought he might be in touch to see how Flo was after their meeting, or to ask if she wanted to see him again, but nothing. If I don’t hear anything over the next few days then I will call him. I kind of want to leave it, though, and see how long it takes him, see how much of a careless shit he really is.

  Sunday 17 June

  Snails removed from Jess’s bedroom, collected under the guise of ‘snail sanctuary’ – 4. Glamorous parties cancelled to accommodate Ian’s plans – ha!

  Ian was looking decidedly sheepish when he dropped the girls off this evening. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask,’ he said, ‘and you might be mad.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, suspiciously.

  ‘Josh and I have got a potential new client based in New York. They’re a massive company and this could be a really big deal for us.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know you’re important,’ I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. ‘So how does it impact me?’

  ‘It involves going there in person,’ he said, ‘in a couple of weeks. It would be over the weekend, though, when it would be my turn to have the girls.’ The calendar was right there on the wall next to my head. Ian looked at it at the same time as I did and we could both see it was empty for two weekends’ time. ‘Normally we’ll be able to be more flexible with them, or Josh can meet them, but we both need to be there for the pitch.’

  He looked back at me hopefully. ‘I could have them next weekend instead?’ he suggested.

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said, looking at the calendar. ‘Obviously, I’ll have to get out of all of the parties and whatnot that I’ve been invited to, but it shouldn’t be a problem.’ I smiled at him and he made a move as if to kiss me and then checked himself. ‘And well done,’ I said, ‘on the new client. I’m sure you’ll nail it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, awkward now. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ he added. ‘Jess has been invited to a birthday party on the Saturday – here’s the invite.’

  He handed me a garish-looking invitation. A sprinkle of glitter fluttered on to the floor.

  ‘It’s Macy from nursery,’ he said. ‘Her mum gave me this on Wednesday. She’s the one who always dresses entirely in pink,’ he added. ‘Macy, not the mum.’

  ‘I know the one,’ I said. ‘Jess says she always goes straight for the dressing-up box and never lets anyone else have a go on the tiara.’ I stuck the invite on the fridge with a magnet in the shape of an Irish leprechaun that Ian brought Jess back from his last trip to Dublin.

  ‘Thanks, Frankie,’ he said, ‘I appreciate it. In fact, I got you these as a pre-emptive thank you.’ He produced a double pack of Jaffa Cakes from behind his back. I laughed.

  ‘If this is the deal then we may have to swap more often,’ I said.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘there was something else I wanted to talk to you about too, only perhaps just the two of us?’ I must have looked a bit worried as he quickly reassured me. ‘It’s nothing bad,’ he said, ‘and I’m not going to ask you to give things a second try or anything …’ Cue awkward laugh. ‘I just thought it might be something to talk about when I have your full attention.’

  Intriguing.

  We agreed to go out for a drink on Tuesday night – Flo can stay home with Jess for an hour, I’m sure it won’t kill her. (Although Jess might.) What does he want to talk to me about though?

  Monday 18 June

  Didn’t sleep well last night – I kept having weird dreams about Ian where he did things like announce he was emigrating and then turn up to pick up the girls to take them with him. In one dream he arrived at the house wearing my wedding dress and announced he was having a sex-change operation.

  ‘Ian wants to meet,’ I messaged to WIB. ‘What do you think it’s about?’

  ‘How do you mean meet?’ asked Lou. ‘Like a date?’

 
; ‘God, no, not a date,’ I replied. ‘He reassured me quickly on that one. A bit too quickly, if anything.’

  ‘Do you think he’s met someone else?’ asked Sierra, never one to beat around the bush. ‘Perhaps he wants to tell you he’s getting married again?’

  Nooooo. He wouldn’t, would he? I mean he could obviously, I’m not saying that. It would hardly be very fair of me to divorce him and then tell him that he now had to live and die alone, but still … That would be weird.

  ‘How would you feel about that?’ asked Lou.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t really feel anything, should I? I didn’t want to be married to him, so I can hardly refuse to let him marry anyone else.’

  ‘No,’ said Sierra, ‘but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel anything about it. He’s still the father of your children. Well, child at least. But children, too. You know what I mean.’

  ‘Plus he was your best friend for all that time,’ said Lou, ‘and if he marries someone else then that probably draws a line on you ever being able to get that back, doesn’t it?’

  Oh God. Does it? I know things are still strange between us at the moment, but I guess a part of me had always assumed that one day we’d get back on track and he would go back to being just Ian, not ex-husband Ian. I don’t want someone else to replace me. How selfish is that? Very.

  ‘Maybe he’s been offered a new job?’ said Lou. ‘What exactly is it he does again?’

  ‘He’s a management consultant,’ I said. ‘He co-owns the business with a friend and they’ve done it for years. It would be pretty big news if he was leaving.’

  ‘Well, he did want to talk to you alone,’ said Sierra, not helping at all. ‘Perhaps they’ve decided to sell up and he’s going to retire early to the Caribbean.’

  ‘No way,’ I said, ‘he wouldn’t leave the girls. He’s stayed in Dorset even though it means he has to travel ridiculous distances for work in London. I don’t think he would move away.’

  ‘New wifey it is, then,’ said Sierra.

  Help.

  Tuesday 19 June

  Minutes spent imagining Ian’s new wife – 34,901 (roughly). Pounds in my bank account – more than when I started the day.

  I’m putting make-up on in the mirror in the hall, ready to go out and meet Ian.

  ‘This isn’t anything weird, is it?’ asked Flo, looking suspicious.

  ‘What do you mean, weird?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Flo, ‘only you’re putting lipstick on and wearing that fancy top you wore at New Year.’

  ‘If I remember rightly,’ I said, ‘you told me I looked like a supply teacher in it, so I’d hardly wear it to impress anyone, would I? And no, it’s nothing weird, I just don’t go out as much as you, so sometimes it’s nice to put on a bit of lippy.’

  Flo shuddered. ‘Don’t ever say the word “lippy” again,’ she said. ‘It sounds awful. Like something a supply teacher would say to try to make the class think she was cool.’

  ‘Understood,’ I said. ‘Now be good, get Jess to bed in an hour – and only one more choccy biccy each.’ I was being cruel with my abbreviations, but sometimes she deserves it, bossing me about like I’m six years old and she’s my primary school teacher.

  ‘Gah, Mum, no!’ she shouted at me as I opened the front door. ‘Choccy biccy is worse than lippy! Stop it!’

  ‘Bye, darlings!’ I shouted back, and shut the door.

  On the way to the pub I had a quick scroll of Instagram, just to calm the nerves. I’d wanted a glass of wine before I left but Ian would have known and I wanted to appear cool about the whole second marriage thing.

  I had a look to see what @simple_dorset_life had been up to. She’d been making Kefir Colada – I really must tell Lou about her.

  ‘Did you know that your gut is like a second brain?’ the caption said. ‘Feed it the right things and you create a balance and harmony that’s reflected in your thoughts. The name Kefir comes from the Turkish word keyif, which means “feeling good” after eating, and it contains more probiotics than natural yogurt. Many studies have shown the influence of probiotics on mental health, so if you want to reduce anxiety you could do a lot worse than to whip up this tasty treat. #feelinggood #kefirlove #simplelife’.

  I definitely did want to reduce anxiety, but suspected the Boat and Anchor might not sell a lot of Kefir. I considered a regular pina colada, but I thought a mini umbrella and a pineapple chunk might look a little out of place as part of a Serious Talk.

  I was spared the decision anyway, because when I arrived, Ian was already there and had bought me a large glass of white wine. Probably for the best.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, standing up as I approached the table. ‘You look nice for a school night.’

  ‘Flo says this top makes me look like a supply teacher,’ I confessed, ‘but what do fourteen-year-olds even know, anyway?’

  We sat down and I took what could probably be called a swig of wine.

  ‘I hope I didn’t worry you,’ Ian said, ‘saying I wanted to meet like this.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ I said, lying, ‘I’ve barely thought about it. I’m happy for you, honestly I am.’

  ‘Happy for me?’ He looked puzzled.

  ‘For the wedding,’ I said, and then remembered that he hadn’t told me yet. ‘I mean, I just kind of figured that was what you wanted to talk about, that you’d met someone else.’

  He laughed. ‘You’ve barely thought about it but you have me married off already?’

  ‘OK,’ I confessed, ‘so perhaps I’ve thought about it a bit. Lou thought you might be moving away, but I said I didn’t think you’d do that, so Sierra was sure you must have met someone else.’ I had another swig.

  ‘So what’s she like?’ he asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My new bride?’

  ‘Oh, you know: beautiful obviously, but very smart too, and very together. She probably has an investment portfolio, but also she volunteers at a children’s home when she isn’t working as a professional photographer and part-time model.’

  ‘She sounds intense,’ said Ian. ‘When would she even have time to see me?’

  ‘Oh, she’s very well organised,’ I said. ‘She probably has a personal assistant who arranges all your dinners.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ian. ‘Well, she sounds like a catch. I feel almost disappointed now not to be marrying her.’

  ‘Who are you marrying then?’ I asked. I took swig number three and noticed the glass was nearly empty.

  ‘I’m not marrying anyone! That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ I asked.

  ‘It isn’t,’ he said.

  Talk about making a fool of yourself. I drained the glass. Ian watched. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’ll get them.’

  While I was at the bar I messaged WIB. ‘Ian is not getting married. Repeat. No marriage. Will keep you posted.’

  I came back from the bar with our drinks and sat down. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my London flat,’ he said.

  Ian has this flat in London that he inherited when his dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack when Ian was eighteen. He’s lived in it, on and off, and sometimes rented it out. It’s not one of those ‘bought for £10,000 now worth three million’ London flats, but any kind of London flat is a nice flat to have.

  When we divorced I didn’t want to have to split it – it’s a piece of his dad, after all – which is how I ended up with the house in Barnmouth.

  ‘I’ve sold it,’ he said.

  ‘What? When? You didn’t say anything. I thought you wanted to keep it because of your dad?’

  ‘I did,’ he said, ‘but my priorities have changed. What I really want is to own somewhere down here that can be a proper home for the girls. Something secure. You know I hate renting. Plus, I wanted a bit of cash to invest in the business and it just felt like the right time.’


  ‘Wow, well, I’m pleased if you’re pleased,’ I said, ‘and I’m sure the girls will be too. Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ he said. ‘I got a decent amount for it, so after buying somewhere here and taking what I need for work, I have some left over. I’m putting some of it into savings for the kids, but I want to give you some, too.’

  ‘Oh gosh, no, I don’t want any money,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ he said, ‘but it wouldn’t really be for you. I don’t imagine you’ll spend it on hair extensions or anything. Think of it as a maintenance bonus. It was never really a fair split in the divorce, which I know was guilt on your side, and I want to balance things out a bit.’

  ‘I really don’t think I’d feel comfortable,’ I protested.

  ‘Like I said, it’s not really about you. It’s something I really want to do, plus it’s not millions – six thousand. Maybe you could take the girls over to France to visit your mum and dad? I know they’d love that.’

  That was true. I’d been promising Mum and Dad a visit since the separation and they would love to see Jess and Flo. I argued with him for a little while, but quite honestly, I could really do with the money and he genuinely seemed to want to give it to me, so I wasn’t about to be too principled about it. You can buy a lot of Sylvanian squirrels and Jaffa Cakes with six thousand pounds.

  Wednesday 20 June

  Emergency glasses of wine needed to consider work dilemma – 3 (small). Slices of Maggie’s chocolate brownie eaten at work for stress – 3 (large.) Number of bacon sandwiches I ate during the period in my twenties when I told everyone I was vegetarian – at least 20.

  I showed round a new volunteer at work. She’s called Charlotte and I really liked her until about ninety seconds into the conversation when she revealed that she doesn’t own a television. What is it with people who don’t own televisions? Why do they feel the need to tell you as soon as possible after meeting you?