Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect

by Knights, Sarah Catherine

  David, what have you done? Do you feel any regrets at all?

  I thought I knew you – the David I thought I knew, would surely miss his family? Miss … me?

  *

  The day arrives and I’m up at five; I haven’t slept at all and it’s a relief to finally get out of bed. I draw the curtains and look out onto the street below. Everywhere is still, the street lamps are on and I can see frost glittering on the tarmac.

  I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll get up, in this bedroom; it’s unreal. I go down to the kitchen to make a strong coffee and the hot liquid hits my empty stomach with its bitterness. It just adds to the feeling I have of nervous excitement mixed with fear, sadness and alienation. I’m at a crossroads that has been imposed on me, not of my own making, and I have to face it head-on, or sink like a stone.

  Gaz stares at me from his bed. Why on earth are you up so early? Not like you at all. “You’re going to get a big surprise today, Gaz – you’re moving house, old chap,” I say to him, but he ignores me and goes back to sleep.

  I’m surrounded by boxes and I keep adding to them, until the removals company arrives at 8.30. I don’t need a very big lorry, as half the stuff is staying – the reality hits me when I see it pull up outside and two rather jolly men come up the path, whistling.

  I oversee the proceedings; I can’t believe how quickly my life is packed away and put in the back of a vehicle. Stan and John are great workers and it all goes smoothly – soon we’re ready to go. Gaz, by this time, has decided the best place to sit is by the front door; I asked him to move, politely, several times, as he was getting in the way, but in the end, I hauled him to one side and there he sat, making sure I didn’t make a getaway without him. Stan, particularly, loves him and despite tripping over him on several occasions, he pats him every time he walks past him (when he’s not carrying some huge thing.)

  The guys leave and I do the final checks round the house. It doesn’t feel like my home any more and of course, it isn’t; it’s soon to be invaded by my successor.

  I’ve already got Gaz in the car – it’s the only way to give him peace of mind and that way, I know where he is.

  “Good riddance, then … I thought I liked you, but I don’t any more,” I say to the house. The walls don’t answer, they just stare back at me with off-white blandness.

  “Goodbye, then …” I say as I close the door, “thanks for nothing.”

  *

  Stan and John are very discreet; they don’t ask me what’s going on, but in the end, I volunteer the information. It’s pretty obvious that something pretty devastating has occurred, so I say as I unlock the door to my new abode, “Well, here we are … my new home, having been superseded by a younger model …”

  The two guys look at each other in an embarrassed way and Stan, the more outgoing of the two, says sympathetically, “Well, I really like the look of this place … I think you’re going to be very happy here.”

  I hope he’s right.

  During the course of the afternoon, I tell them everything – Suzie, retirement, Australia, the lot – it feels good to get it off my chest to complete strangers. I suppose this is par for the course for them – they must see all sorts of happy moves, but also people like me, being forced to move for reasons beyond their control, be it financial, career or … divorce. Maybe other people don’t share everything with them but, it feels good and I’m sad to see them do their final trip out to the van.

  “Good luck, then,” says Stan out of the window from the driver’s seat. “Have a great time in Australia … I’d love to go, one day. The missus says we can’t afford it but … one day!” and with that he pulls away, smiling and waving.

  I turn back and walk in the front door to my new flat. Gaz is in his bed, surrounded by boxes; he looks as lost as I feel. Stan and John’s chatty presence is sorely missed. They’ve put all the main pieces of furniture in the right places and even helped me put the bed up, but it’s now up to me, and me alone, to unpack everything and get it away in cupboards.

  My mobile beeps. Hi Mum. Hope it’s all gone ok today? Have been thinking of you. Will ring tonight. Holly xxx

  Once again, Holly has texted me at just the right time, she seems to have the knack. It’s almost like telepathy or something. Just to know that she’s been thinking of me cheers me up and I start looking through the boxes marked ‘Kitchen’ for the kettle, instant coffee and the remaining litre of milk I rescued from the fridge. I make a mug of coffee and then settle down to unwrapping everything and putting it all away. I feel like I’m playing at life, rather like a young girl with a doll’s house, placing things in the correct cupboards and on the perfect shelf.

  Stan had helped set up the TV and after an hour of unpacking, I go through to the sitting room to see if I can get the six o’clock news. It works fine and I watch the normal depressing rundown of political unrest, bombings and murder and decide I need to get out for some fresh air. It’s already dark outside and freezing cold, but I have Gaz for company and he definitely needs to lift his leg on a few lamp posts.

  It seems so weird to be in the heart of Bath as I come out; I love that I’m surrounded by people and life. Cars whizz by us as we walk along; a group of teenagers pass, shouting and laughing; the amber of the street lights give a warm glow to the cold scene. Christmas lights wink and flicker from windows.

  I head for some green space where Gaz can do his thing and then, on a whim, for the first time in my entire life, I go into a pub on my own. It’s a completely impulsive thing to do – I can’t face more unpacking, I’m cold and I think I deserve a drink after the day I’ve had.

  I check it’s okay to bring Gaz in with me and I order a large gin and tonic. There’s a roaring log fire, a Christmas tree in the corner and tinsel, surrounding every picture. The atmosphere is welcoming and I even begin to feel the excitement I used to feel, at Christmas. Until now, I’d managed to ignore its imminent arrival.

  I sit down at a table by the fire, warming up my toes and eating a large bag of plain salted crisps. The alcohol warms me from the inside and goes straight to my head. Gin often makes me feel a bit down, but tonight it has the opposite effect; I’m happy, buoyant even, and bend down to give Gaz a big hug. I can handle this solitary life, I think to myself, optimistically.

  “Nice fire, isn’t it?” a voice says and I look up to see a man – mid forties – standing there. He bends down to stroke Gaz and offers him one of his crisps, which Gaz takes, rather too hastily.

  “Gaz, that was rather rude … sorry, he’s usually a bit more polite than that, aren’t you? He’s probably starving … I’ve realised I haven’t given him his dinner yet, have I?” and pull one of his ears.

  “You poor old thing,” the man says, offering him another crisp. “You’ll have to have words with your missus, won’t you?” He’d now drawn up a chair and was cradling Gaz’s head on his knee. He laughs and looks across at me. “New round here?”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s just that I come in here a lot and I’ve never seen you before, that’s all.”

  “Yea … I’ve just moved in round the corner, actually. Gaz and I thought we’d check out the local pub on our walk, didn’t we?” I say, realising that we’re conducting this conversation through the four-legged third party. Easier somehow, than talking directly.

  I quickly appraise my new companion – paint splattered trousers and boots; warm, navy blue coat, black and white scarf wound round his neck and wavy brown hair, left to grow longish. He has an open, friendly face and I decide he has a look of Daniel Craig about him – tough, craggily good-looking, without the shaved head. I notice his eyes – they’re large and cornflower blue. He has a small scar by the side of his mouth.

  Rather nice, in fact.

  He’s drinking a pint of ale and downs most of it in one go, as if he needs it. He takes another gulp and says, “I’m going to have one more, can I get you one?”

  “No thanks, this o
ne’s gone straight to my head – with all the moving today, I’ve forgotten to feed myself, too.”

  He wanders off to the bar, coming back with his drink and another packet of crisps – “I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d share them with … Gaz, did you say?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Gaz, after Paul Gasgoigne, aka, Gazza. Suited him when he was a puppy, he was so fast, but they’ve both slowed down a bit, since then.”

  “Alcohol’s got a lot to answer for,” he says, holding his pint up to the light, “although I can’t really comment, standing here with the second pint of the day.” He laughs loudly and raises his glass and says “Cheers!”. He has a lovely, smile and his eyes crinkle up with laughter lines.

  “Cheers! Do you live locally?” I ask, but immediately regret it. It seems intrusive, somehow, and I wonder if he’ll think I’m trying to chat him up.

  He’s not phased at all and says, “Yes, a couple of streets away. I often drop in here on my way home – preferable to going home to a solitary evening. I hate my own company.”

  I wonder why someone so affable is on his own? He’s nice looking, pleasant … why hasn’t he been snapped up?

  “Same here … but at least I’ve got Gaz. Dogs are great company … always pleased to see you … never let you down.”

  A silence ensues, apart from Gaz breathing heavily; he’s staring at the packet of crisps, willing them to fall into his mouth.

  “I know – I had a dog when I was growing up. So …” he says, “why Bath? Do you work here?”

  “No … I’ve just taken early retirement, actually, and I’ve moved here for a new start.”

  “Wow … early retirement … I dream of that … I can’t see me ever being able to stop working at the rate I’m going.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’ve got my own painting and decorating business, as you can probably see,” he grins, pointing at his trousers.

  “Are you busy at the moment? Plenty of work?”

  “Yea … but let’s put it this way, I’m never going to be a millionaire. It just about pays the bills. I have a daughter … don’t get me wrong, I adore her, but there’s maintenance and my ex is always demanding more and more … it never seems to stop.”

  “I’m sorry …”

  “Yea … but that’s life these days, isn’t it? How about you?”

  “What do you mean? Why am I on my own?”

  “Well … yes, if you want to tell me, otherwise, it could have meant, what did you do before you took early retirement, you lucky devil?” I like the way he gets around a potentially tricky question, with wit and skill.

  So, I give him a brief overview – the second time in one day, telling strangers my life story – and he makes all the right comments and laughs at my jokes about Suzie. I know it’s my way of coping, by making her out to be some sort of sex bomb, but it works for me. He says, “Poor old Dave, he’s probably knackered most of the time … serves him right.” I should find it offensive that someone’s laughing about my husband being shagged out by some nubile blond, but I don’t – it’s somehow cathartic to laugh along with him and I change my mind and go and get another large G and T.

  He tells me about Daisy, his daughter, who’s five and he shows me photos of her on his mobile phone. “That’s when she was only three hours old … here she is at two … and look at her now … all blond curls.” She is, quite definitely, a beautiful child and I can feel his sadness. I ask the question.

  “How often do you see her?”

  “Not nearly enough. She lives in Cheltenham now – I’m one of those weekend Dads who wander around playgrounds and go to fast food outlets, wishing they weren’t in this predicament. Sometimes, I bring her to Bath for the night but Grace, that’s my ex, always seems to find a reason why I can’t. I could go back to court, but I don’t want to make the situation any more antagonistic than it already is. God, I hate it.”

  He takes another swig of his beer. “Sorry, that’s really ruined the mood. You shouldn’t have asked,” he said, trying to smile. I don’t even know the guy, but even I can see that he’d make that little girl a great dad.

  “It must be awful. Thank God we split up when the children had grown up – at least they’re doing their own thing, living their own lives. I’m not saying they haven’t been affected by it all, but it’s not the same …”

  We then proceed to talk about my kids and I tell him all about them and not to be left out, I show him photos of them on my phone and tell him my plans to see Adam in Australia.

  I look at the time and am shocked when I see a whole hour has passed. “I really should go … poor Gaz will be passing out soon, with hunger. It’s been really nice to meet you – I don’t even know your name?”

  “Ben … Ben Jones,” he grins, “sole proprietor of ‘Ben Jones Decorating Services’ – very original I know, but I never was good at creative thinking. More of a practical person, me.”

  I extend my hand and say, “Anna McCarthy, nice to meet you, Ben.”

  “I’m leaving too, so I’ll walk you home.”

  “Are you sure? I’ll be fine …”

  “Of course … I’m sure Gaz would do a fair job at escorting you, but I don’t like the thought of you two wandering the streets of Bath alone, when you’re both so new to the area.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you. And thank you for making my first trip to a pub on my own, so jolly,” I say.

  And I mean it. It had turned into a very pleasant evening, much to my surprise.

  We walk along together, chatting away and soon we’re at my door. “I live literally just round the corner,” said Ben. “If there’s anything you need help with in the flat, just let me know. Have you got your phone? Right … tell me your number … and I’ll ring it and then you’ll have mine.” This is just like Holly and Jed, I think to myself.

  Having exchanged numbers, I walk to the door. It did, momentarily, come to me that I could invite him in for coffee but no, that would be a bit much and I’m tired.

  “Thanks again, Ben …”

  “My pleasure. And I mean it. If there’s anything you need help with, give me a call. I can fix electrics if I have to and I’m a dab hand with dripping taps.” He waves as he walks down the street and I wave back. I go inside.

  Before I feed Gaz, I get out my phone again and go to Contacts, then Create New Contact.

  Ben Jones.

  *

  “So Mum, how’s it gone? Are you exhausted?” says Holly.

  “Well, I am, rather … I’ve just made myself poached eggs on toast and I feel a bit better now. First meal in my new place.”

  “And how is it? The flat, I mean? Is it all all okay?”

  “I think it’ll be fine – still got masses to do – but the bed’s made, so I’m going to collapse soon. I’ve only just got back from the pub – Gaz and I wandered into our local, this evening. Men go to pubs on their own, so why shouldn’t we? Ended up chatting to a nice chap, called Ben.”

  “Go Mum! That’s very hip and modern of you, well done. Is that part of your new …”

  “Yep, I’m going to be doing all sorts of new things I’ve decided – what, I’m not sure …”

  “So, who’s this Ben, then?”

  “Oh, just a guy who made friends with Gaz, rather than me. We chatted for ages and then he walked me home.”

  “Oooooh, get you! Did you ask him in for coffee?” laughed Holly, not realising she was actually quite near the mark.

  “No, I didn’t, Holly. Stop teasing …”

  “Well, good on you, Mum. Onwards and upwards.”

  “So … what time are you arriving on Christmas Eve?”

  “I’ll be in Bath by about five. I’ve got the afternoon off – I’ll text you from the train when I’m on.”

  “Okay, can’t wait. I’ve booked us into a posh place for Christmas lunch. Are you seeing Jed?”

  “Yes, if that’s okay with you, he’s going to come over on Boxing
Day.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting him properly.”

  “Have a good sleep in your new flat, Mum. Love you. Bye.”

  Lying in bed, fifteen minutes later, I listen to the sounds of the city. I can hear a distant police siren, the swoosh of cars driving by and people chatting, as they walk past. It’s comforting to hear life going on outside. I feel less alone, somehow, than I did back home.

  I’m pleased with myself for making this move; I’m convinced it’s the right thing for me. Good to get away from David, good to get away from everything associated with my past. Physically, I’m not that far, but mentally, I’ve come a long way.

  Here, I can start again with a blank sheet of paper.

  It’s never too late, they say … let’s hope they’re right.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Happy Christmas, Mum. Spending the day on the beach – seems wrong! A barby just isn’t the same as roast turkey and all the trimmings. First time I’ve felt homesick. Jake says I’m a wuss but I really wish I was back home today. Hope all’s okay with your new flat? Job in caravan park going well – have met loads of people. Hope you’ve bought me something for Christmas?! You can always bring it with you. Love, Adam x

  “Hey, Holly,” I say, handing her the phone, “read this.”

  After a few seconds, she says, “Oh, poor Adam … he sounds as if he’d rather be here. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll be okay tomorrow. Nice that he remembered to message you, though.”

  “I think this year’s going to do him the power of good. It’ll be the making of him, I think.”

  “Yea … he needed to grow up a bit.”

  We’re back at the flat having had a superb meal out. We’re feeling far too full, even having taken Gaz for a long walk afterwards. We’re now going to enjoy doing nothing at all, but sipping Prosecco and watching TV.

  “I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend out there and he’s just not telling me?” I say. “Has he ever mentioned anyone to you?”