by Jo Middleton
It’s the same with vegans.
‘Oh, hello! My name’s Sarah and I haven’t eaten animal products for eight and a half years!’ Good for you, Sarah. I ate half a packet of ham standing at the fridge last night while I thought about what to cook for tea.
The TV thing especially gets on my nerves when it turns out that they do watch Netflix for hours every night in bed – on a tablet.
‘Oh, but I don’t watch any live TV, none of those awful reality shows.’
Just because you don’t watch Love Island doesn’t make you a better person than me. Netflix still counts, guys.
Steve has scheduled my ‘emergency meeting’ for Friday. He wants me to bring details of all current funding applications so we can evaluate them as a team.
‘Can’t you just leave?’ asked Sierra when I messaged WIB about it later from bed.
‘I can’t exactly just quit,’ I said, taking a big glug of wine (bed wine = best kind of wine), ‘I don’t have anything else to go to.’
‘But you could find something,’ said Lou, ‘and you were going to have to take a bit of time off over the summer holidays, anyway, weren’t you? It could be perfect timing.’
‘But what would I do in the meantime?’ I said. ‘How would I live?’
‘You’ve got the money from Ian!’ said Sierra. ‘It’s perfect! You wouldn’t have to use all of it, just enough to cover bills and stuff for a couple of months over the summer while you find another job.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Lou. ‘It’s karma, isn’t it? No, not karma. The other one that’s about coincidences. Synchronicity, that’s it. It’s synchronicity. The universe is telling you to quit, Frankie. You can’t ignore the universe.’
Obviously I don’t want to ignore the universe but could I quit? I have to admit that I felt pretty excited about the possibility. But how would Ian feel about me using his money to leave work? That didn’t seem very fair. I had finished my second glass of wine by this point so I decided to text him, lay out the scenario, and see what he thought.
‘I think it’s a great idea!’ he said. ‘It’s your money, Frankie, not mine. Plus, if you feel bad because you think it means you’re getting an easy time of it over the summer holidays, then remember it is the summer holidays – it’s not exactly a spa break, is it?’
Oh God, he’s right. Do I really want to have six weeks off with the girls? Obviously I love them etc., etc., but still. Summer holidays … Am I cut out for it? And are there many part-time, flexible jobs in Barnmouth for English lit graduates with a patchy, admin-based work history?
Had some more bed wine and gave it some thought.
Nothing from Cam. No messages, no calls, no ‘how’s my daughter that I hadn’t seen for ten years?’ What is the actual matter with him?
Friday 22 June
My emergency meeting with the board was at eleven o’clock, but I could hardly contain myself, watching Steve swagger about, smirking at me.
Every time he walked past me, which was frequently, he would peer over my shoulder or make some comment about hoping I was ‘ready to put my best game face on’. I never really understand people like Steve, or what they think they’re going to achieve by bullying people. What’s the point of making other people feel bad about themselves? Is it really just to make yourself feel superior?
By 10.50 I’d had four cups of coffee and could barely sit still.
At 10.55 the chair of the trustees arrived – Alan – and he and Steve went off into the meeting room.
At eleven o’clock exactly, Steve called me in.
‘Thanks so much for coming, Frankie,’ he said. ‘I know the last few months have been difficult for you, and we appreciate your willingness to address the issues you’ve been having with workload.’
Fuck off, Steve.
‘As I’ve explained to Alan,’ continued Steve, ‘the additional responsibilities do seem to have been a little too much for you, especially on top of your family commitments.’ He smiled. ‘This meeting is an opportunity for you to put forward suggestions you have for changes we could make and for Alan and I to offer support. Do you have anything you’d like to say first, Frankie?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do. I have a great suggestion in fact.’ I handed Alan the envelope I had brought into the room with me. ‘Alan, this is my letter of resignation. I’ve always tried to do my best for the museum but I made it clear when Angela left that the additional work I was being asked to take on wasn’t feasible within my hours, nor was I suitably qualified to undertake it. I have received very little in the way of support at a managerial level,’ here I paused and looked at Steve, ‘and I have come to the conclusion that the only option for me is to move on to a new challenge.’
Steve’s jaw had dropped. Alan was reading the letter.
‘What’s the matter, Steve?’ I said. ‘Are you not going to offer your support?’
While the adrenalin was still pumping, I decided to call Cam. It rang a couple of times then went to answerphone, which I suspect means that he saw it was me and decided not to answer. I left a message asking him to call me back as soon as he could.
Saturday 23 June
I had a long chat with Mum tonight about Ian giving me the money and then quitting work. I could tell she was anxious about the job situation – she kept passing on snippets of our conversation to Dad, who was listening in the background, and I could hear the worry in her voice. I tried to reassure her that it was a positive thing, and that the money gave me the opportunity to think more carefully about what I wanted to do.
When we first moved down to Barnmouth two years ago in September, it was really just about finding something that worked around Jess and Flo, and then when Ian and I broke up the trustees at the museum were so good about changing my hours to fit our new week, (even if Steve was less impressed) that I don’t feel I’ve had the chance until now to think about what I actually want to do with the rest of my life. This could be that chance.
Mum didn’t sound convinced.
I promised her that once I’d found a new job and had settled in, we’d use some of the money to come and visit, perhaps in the new year. That seemed to cheer her up a bit. I didn’t tell her about any of the Cam stuff. There didn’t seem much point, really, especially not over the phone.
No call back yet from Cam.
Monday 25 June
Back at work today. I keep smiling sweetly at Steve and offering him cups of tea and he keeps staring back at me like he wishes I was dead. It’s all very jolly. I’ve got a four-week notice period, so I will be leaving the week before the summer holidays start. (Trying not to think about that bit.)
After Jess was asleep I had a chat with Flo about Cam. I explained that I hadn’t been able to speak to him since we met up, but that I wanted to let him know how she felt about things and what she wanted to do going forward.
‘So how do you feel about things?’ I asked.
‘The same, I guess,’ she said. ‘I was a bit worried in case when we met I suddenly felt all these feelings for him, or sadness or something, but I didn’t. He felt like a stranger, and it’s hard to feel really cross with a stranger.’
That made sense.
‘So like I said,’ she went on, ‘I don’t mind keeping in touch, but I don’t think I could ever really think about him as my dad. I have a dad already – me and Jess have a dad.’
‘I totally get it,’ I said. ‘It must be weird to feel that you should be feeling something for someone, because you know that technically you’re related, but at the same time you don’t even know them, really. I’ll try calling again tomorrow and I can tell him all those things for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘I know you wanted him to be a decent guy, and it’s not your fault he’s a dick.’ I gave her a kiss on the head.
Tuesday 26 June
Still no reply from Cam, so I called him. He had the decency to answer this time. I had planned out exactly what I was going to say, about how difficult it must
be for Flo, and how, although we appreciated having seen him, we weren’t sure it was going to turn into a parent/child type of relationship, but I didn’t get the chance. I got as far as asking him how he was, when he launched into a sob story about having lost his job with the camping website and needing to leave Barnmouth.
‘What’s the job got to do with leaving Barnmouth?’ I asked. ‘I thought you said the whole thing with the job was that you could do it anywhere?’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘well yes, I mean technically I could.’
‘Technically?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘only I actually got the gig in the first place through an, err, friend, whose dad owns the business, and she happens to live in Barnmouth.’
‘This friend doesn’t happen to be blonde and in her mid-twenties, does she?’ I asked.
‘What?’ said Cam.
‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘So, are you saying you were only ever here in the first place for this friend? That it was sheer coincidence?’
‘Well, not coincidence,’ he said, ‘fate, maybe? Only things haven’t worked out with her, and it’s made things a bit awkward for work, so I’m having to move on. You understand, don’t you, Franny?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘I understand better than I ever think I really have before.’
And that was that. It was history repeating itself, only this time around I didn’t feel heartbroken and bereft, just pissed off. None of this had really been about Flo at all. But it’s OK, because Flo’s OK, and that’s all that matters.
Saturday 30 June
Gender-neutral gifts offered to Jess as options for Macy’s party – 14, gender-neutral gift ideas thrown back at me in disgust – 14.
I was Macy’s party today. We stopped at Asda on the way for a gift – Jess chose a pink, plastic wand that played a selection of magical tunes and offered up inspiring phrases like ‘You can be beautiful too!’ and ‘Sparkle like the princess you are!’
It was pretty moving stuff.
There was a purple minivan parked outside Macy’s house when we arrived. ‘Nina’s Mobile Nail Salon!’ it said on the side, in a glittery comic sans. ‘Get Your Glam On Wherever You Are! We Come To You! Manis And Pedis In The Comfort Of Your Own Home!’
Covering the driver’s door was a large, sparkly unicorn, rearing up on its back legs to show off a pair of manicured (pedicured?) front hooves.
There were so many capital letters and exclamation points that I felt tired just looking at it. I ushered Jess towards the front door before I accidentally said something derogatory that Jess would then undoubtedly repeat at a quiet moment during the party tea when everyone had their mouths full of pink wafer biscuits.
Macy’s mum answered the door. I couldn’t remember her name, so had to go with a plain old ‘hello!’
She looked disappointed.
‘We have come at the right time, haven’t we?’ I asked, looking past her and into a kitchen adorned with pink streamers and helium balloons.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ she said, fiddling with her hair sadly. ‘Sorry, it’s just that I was expecting Ian. He said it was his weekend with Jess?’
‘It is, normally,’ I said. ‘We had to swap for a work thing, so just me, I’m afraid!’ She looked genuinely sad about this, although tried not to. Did as-yet-unnamed mum have a crush? Was she single? ‘What time do you want me to pick Jess up?’
‘Are you not staying?’ she said. ‘I have some elderflower pressé in the kitchen?’
Was I meant to stay? When Flo was little, birthday party invitations were an opportunity to do fun things, like hang out in Sainsbury’s for an hour and a half. Today I intended to take a book to the beach and sit in the sunshine, possibly holding the book in a well-intentioned way while having a little snooze.
‘I’d really love to,’ I said, ‘but I have to get back and help my older daughter build a scale model of a strand of DNA.’ Bit of a specific lie, but I was quite pleased with it.
Messaged Ian from the car. ‘I think someone has a little crush on you!’ I wrote, then panicked. ‘Not me,’ I wrote hastily, then felt even more stupid. ‘Macy’s mum – the birthday party? She was very disappointed to see me when she opened the door. I think she might have had her hair done especially.’ No reply, but then I remembered he was in New York, which was why I was at the party in the first place.
Spent an hour this evening trying to wash the glitter out of Jess’s hair and then cleaning the bath.
Monday 2 July
Had a browse through Tinder tonight, but I’m really not feeling it at the moment. I kept scrolling through pictures of men who just looked so sad, and I can’t imagine how on earth you could date them and not want to kill yourself. I don’t even mean sad in a ‘moody and mysterious way’, just actually sad about life.
I think I might take a break from it over the summer holidays. It’s going to be hard enough maintaining my own sanity, let alone someone else’s.
Wednesday 4 July
Worrying thoughts about having to give the garden cat mouth to mouth following some kind of bee reaction – 4. Times during the afternoon I wished I hadn’t googled ‘cat eaten a bee’ – numerous.
At lunchtime I went and sat in the museum garden. There was a ginger-and-white cat there, enjoying the sunshine. I watched him watching a bee. The bee was going from flower to flower of the buddleia that’s growing out of the wall and the cat was following it with his eyes. I felt a wave of contentment, sitting in the sunshine, watching the cat watching a bee. Everything felt like it fitted just right.
‘You know what life is all about don’t you, cat?’ I said.
He looked at me over his shoulder, turned back to the buddleia, made a little leap and ate the bee.
Are cats meant to eat live bees?
Thursday 5 July
Busy Beavers kicked off big style today when Cassie and her Mean Girls crew caught Jess drinking a Fruit Shoot.
I few months ago I got sucked into a Mumsnet thread about Fruit Shoots and honestly, the vitriol was astonishing. I ended up searching the whole forum just to see – ‘Fruit Shoot’ came back with over five hundred results. I refined it to ‘Fruit Shoot Evil’ and it came back with sixty-five conversation streams.
The threads were full of horror stories of poor husbands innocently buying them for their children, (despite being told not to! When will these Mumsnet men ever learn to do as they are told?), and of otherwise charming, cultured toddlers throwing down their copies of Opera Now magazine and turning into savage beasts at the mere sniff of a bottle.
Jess’s Fruit Shoot was spotted by Yvonne, Cassie’s lapdog, who looked like she might climax on the spot at the opportunity to grass me up to Cassie. I spotted them muttering and nodding in my direction, and then they got up and came over.
‘Frankie,’ said Cassie, doing a good line in Fruit Shoot artificial sweetness, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that Jess has a Fruit Shoot. I just thought I should flag that quite a lot of the parents at Busy Beavers are keen not to have their children exposed to Fruit Shoots. Some of us prefer to keep our little ones free of nasties!’
Seriously, now, ladies, can we get a little perspective here? It’s a fruit squash, not nuclear waste. Sure, it’s a bit sickly and probably water would be better, but it’s not like you’re giving your kids a plastic bottle of meths to swig on.
I don’t know what came over me, but I just sort of snapped. I stood up and picked up the offending Fruit Shoot. ‘You’re so right, Cassie,’ I said, ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, subjecting my poor child to such cruelty.’
She looked momentarily triumphant, but I wasn’t done. ‘Next time I’ll get her a milkshake with her Happy Meal,’ I said, and with that I looped the Fruit Shoot up in the air over her head and into the bin like a shorter, chubbier Michael Jordan.
Sierra whooped and high-fived Louise. Cassie just stared, open-mouthed.
‘Let’s go, ladies,’ I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder, ‘I’ve
got prosecco and Jaffa Cakes at my house.’ I gave a sharp whistle and Jess, in an act of obedience she’s unlikely to ever repeat, ran to my side. As we walked out, Jess looked back over her shoulder and called ‘Sashay, away.’
Saturday 7 July
Our local primary school had their summer fete this afternoon and as I’m guessing it might be where Jess will go next September (probably should look into that), I thought we’d all three go along and check it out. Flo might be fourteen, but she still loves a tombola.
We dodged past the ‘World Cup football challenge’ and ‘guess how many severely manhandled sweets are in the jar’ competition and headed straight for the tombola, which was being run by a group of excited-looking small boys, all squabbling over who got to hold the bucket of tickets.
It’s one of those unspoken summer fete rules that whether you go, there are always the same prizes.
Classic tombola checklist:
Token bottle of cheap prosecco to keep the parents interested
Dubious-looking soft toy that might be a dog or might be a bear
Orange Matchmakers
Jar of pickled onions
Wooden sign hung on a piece of wire saying ‘Dance between the raindrops’ in swirly writing
Vanilla-scented candle (Poundland)
Easter egg (suspicious in July)
Single Orange and Passion Fruit J2O
Avon lavender bubble bath that looks like it has been in someone’s bathroom cabinet since 1982
Two-litre bottle of Happy Shopper cherryade (is Happy Shopper still even a thing?)
Ditto limeade (is limeade still a thing?)
Family Circle biscuit selection
Can of Lynx Africa
Bath sponge in the shape of a duck
Four blackcurrant Fruit Shoots split up from a multipack to make individual prizes (desperate times)