Monday August 7th
‘Did you hear, Phoebe?’ Kelly shouted across the office as I walked in. ‘Frank’s asked me to go to London to discuss being assistant manager.’
The look on her face was a mixture of smugness, pride and bloodthirst. It was quite startling. Brian was just quietly shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I hadn’t heard,’ I replied. ‘Good for you! You must be very happy!’
She nodded. ‘The substantial increase in salary will come in very handy and yes, it’ll be nice to finally get some respect around here.’
‘Does that mean I’ll have to talk shit about you behind your back, instead of to your face?’ Brian asked. ‘Cos that’ll be a bummer to be honest. I’d prefer if my dislike for you wasn’t hidden away.’
‘When I’m assistant manager, I will rise above your pettiness,’ she replied haughtily, peering into the small mirror on her desk. ‘But until then, EFF OFF, you little rat-faced nuisance.’
He clutched his heart like she’d wounded him and I laughed. I don’t particularly want their dynamic to change. I’ll be sad when she reports him to HR and they are finally forced do something about it.
Monday August 14th
Molly is beyond excited about starting school on Wednesday. She’s already had a little taster session with her old nursery – they all went for a morning, met her teacher, sampled the school dinners and generally got a feel for the place to make it less daunting on their first day. She’s got a new everything – pencil case, crayons, lunchbox, water bottle, gym shoes and hair bobbles with cats on – but she isn’t too impressed with the uniform. I made her try everything on earlier, to ensure it fit properly.
‘This shirt and tie is stupid,’ she said, pulling at the collar with her finger. ‘Why do they want to put everything tight around my neck? This is not comfy at all.’
It’s a valid point. I’ll teach her how to undo the top button and hide it with her tie later. She only has to deal with it for the next twelve years.
Despite having my mind on Molly all day, I still managed to find time to occasionally think about Oliver kissing Bethany. This is ridiculous. I can go for weeks and then BAM! the scenario starts to play out in my head – the look they shared before they kissed. The point where they both knew it was going to happen. Ugh, why am I torturing myself? It was a kiss – he didn’t run off into the sunset with her.
Wednesday August 16th
9.35 a.m. I’ve just dropped Molly off for her first day at school and I’m a bit shell-shocked, to say the least. Oliver and I took her into her class, along with all the other parents who looked as nervous as we were, except for Sarah Ward-Wilson who almost mowed down the lollipop man in her 4x4 then parked in the disabled bay. ‘Mornings are frantic, thank God for Pilates!’ I heard her say to a mum in a duffle coat. Duffle coat woman gave her a ‘what a fucking bellend’ look behind her back and carried on helping her kid settle in. Molly was a little champ, finding her seat quickly, utterly delighted that she was sitting beside Ruby. We all said our goodbyes and shuffled out of the classroom, leaving our little people behind to start their adventure. I need a cry. Or a gin. Fuck me, this is weird.
*
10.50 a.m. I’ve calmed down a little. Oliver called when he got into work and I had a bit of a blub, insisting that she’s growing up too quickly and there must be something we can do to stop this. He doesn’t have as much faith in time reversal as I do but he listened anyway.
‘What if she misses me? What if she’s horribly unhappy and the other kids are mean to her? What if—’
‘She’ll be fine, Phoebe. She’s more prepared than you think. She’s going to kick ass, trust me.’
I know I’m being overly anxious. Fucking hell, she’s gone to school, not war. I need to get a grip.
*
3 p.m. I picked Molly up at the school gates and she zoomed down the playground eager to tell me about her first day, which involved singing, colouring, writing her name on her new books and how her new teacher Mrs Ali can play the piano ‘super good’. I was utterly relieved that it went well and utterly exhausted by the whole event. Maybe when you have more children, this stuff becomes second nature? You just launch them into the playground, leave and trust that the teachers know what they’re doing? I bet Sarah Ward-Wilson didn’t spend the entire day being a fretful prick. I’m the worst. How do I learn to enjoy these milestones in her life? It’s bullshit.
Thursday August 17th
I totally forgot Oliver is off to his Chicago office next week. Of course I’ll miss him but it’ll give me a chance to do my own thing for seven whole days! I’m sure he’s looking forward to the break too – I’m aware that I’m not a fucking delight 100% of the time. I think I’ll have Lucy and Hazel over for dinner one evening. I need my girlie fix.
Monday August 21st
Oliver left at 5 a.m. for his flight to Chicago and I couldn’t get back to sleep so I watched Broad City in bed until it was time for Molly to get up for school. He doesn’t travel for work as much as he used to but it still feels weird when he goes. Mainly because he’s in charge of spiders. Exhausted, I still had to go into work and was forced to listen to Kelly go on about her forthcoming trip to London with Frank – the trip I’d turned down because being a manager here would be like admitting my life went very wrong somewhere. Maybe they’ll offer her a better job down there . . .
Tuesday August 22nd
I didn’t sleep well again last night. That’s two nights in a row. For some reason my brain won’t shut the fuck up. It’s all ‘HEY! REMEMBER THAT STUPID THING YOU DID WHEN YOU WERE FOURTEEN? LET’S REVISIT THAT’ and ‘HEY! WHAT IF BETHANY WORKS IN THE CHICAGO OFFICE NOW? WOULDN’T THAT BE A HOOT?!’
I just have too much in my head right now between Oliver’s bullshit creeping back in, Molly starting school, Frank coming back. I need some quiet. Perhaps cutting back our sessions with Pam to once a month wasn’t the best idea.
I’m going to download some sleep hypnosis mp3s and see if they help. Perhaps listening to someone else’s voice will help drown out mine.
Wednesday August 23rd
I picked Molly up from school and she happily informed me that her new best friend is a boy called Adam because Adam enjoys playing with Monster High dolls as much as Molly does. I like the sound of Adam already. For dinner I made tuna pasta with sweetcorn and forced her to eat five pieces of broccoli at gunpoint. We read a book about a badger with a job and she fell asleep halfway through.
As I lay in my own bed, I realised that Oliver and I hadn’t had sex since our holiday. Perhaps I’m sexually frustrated. I realise he’s not physically here to do anything about it but we always have webcam.
Thursday August 24th
As Chicago is six hours behind the UK, I finally managed to get Oliver on video chat in his hotel at 2 a.m. so we could be long-distance perverts.
Having caught myself off-guard with my front-facing camera, I vowed to never hold the camera at that angle, ever again. I then propped it up on the table beside me in a far more flattering perspective, where I could also watch Oliver at the same time.
‘I haven’t slept properly for ages,’ I moaned, watching him open a can of Sprite with one hand. ‘I think I have your jet lag.’
‘I’ve slept like a baby,’ he replied. ‘Truth is, I’m not even here for work, I just needed to be three thousand miles away from your snoring.’
‘I’m too tired to reply to that.’
I made him give me a quick sweep of his hotel room, showing me the amazing view he had of an alleyway and the really creepy painting of an old house that hung above the bed. It looked like Amityville.
‘If I never hear from you again, I’m going to make sure they check the windows in that painting. I guarantee they’ll see your face staring back.’
‘You’re such a ghoul,’ he replied, bouncing back on to the bed. ‘Also, please take that fucking old t-shirt off. I thought this was supposed to be a dirty call. I need flesh, da
mmit!’
Ten seconds later my t-shirt was on the floor and I was lying back in bed, admiring the deceptively flattering angle I’d chosen. He started to unbutton his shirt, telling me where to start touching myself.
Oliver had no reason to keep noise down, grunting and moaning as loudly as he liked, while I, on the other hand, was one loud moan away from waking up Molly and ruining the whole thing.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he breathed. ‘Fuck the video, I need to hear you moan, even if it’s low. Put the phone to your ear.’
We finished that way, him getting off on my quiet gasps while I did the same as he told me all the things he wanted to do to me. It felt like we were doing something we shouldn’t be – something illicit – and it was hot as hell. This is definitely one for future sex jar suggestions.
Friday August 25th
I was totally convinced someone had broken into the flat last night and with Oliver being away I decided to heroically confront the intruder, grabbing the first thing I could find, which was a hairbrush. I mean, really, what the fuck was I going to do with that?
‘Reports indicate that the intruder was found with a side parting.’
Of course, there was no one there. I think my sleep deprivation is making me go a little bit nutty. I power-napped on the couch while Molly was at school, so now I’ve not only fucked my sleep pattern, I’ve knocked it up and will no doubt be forced to marry it.
I found some videos on YouTube designed to help with sleep but I could hear the guy smacking his lips as he talked and I’d rather never sleep again than have to endure that.
Saturday August 26th
Lucy, Hazel and Grace came over for dinner tonight, which meant I was in charge of cooking for five people. After much deliberation, I called Domino’s and ordered pizza, because fuck spending my entire Saturday cooking for five people.
They arrived at half six; Lucy brought two bottles of fancy wine and Hazel brought some profiterole tower thing from Waitrose which had been badly knocked around in her car and now resembled a chocolate tumour.
After devouring dinner, the kids went to play in Molly’s room, leaving the grown-ups to sip wine and discuss wedding dresses, something that Lucy was already fed up with (and to be honest, so were we).
‘So we don’t have a theme as such but I’ll be going more Bohemian than Princess,’ she stated, scrolling to a picture on her phone. ‘I’m thinking something like this.’
Hazel and I looked at the photo and grinned. An ivory-coloured lacy wrap-around dress with long, flowing bell sleeves. It was perfect.
‘You’re going to look amazing,’ Hazel said dreamily. ‘A little garland in your hair, some simple make-up . . . you’ll be stunning.’
I nodded in agreement. Lucy was going to wear the shit out of this dress. ‘I envy you,’ I said. ‘I will never have a reason to wear something this beautiful. Have you thought about our dresses yet? Can we all wear these, like a girl group?’
She laughed. ‘I’m thinking either lilac or mint green. Maybe long, side-split dresses . . . off the shoulder. Chiffon, maybe.’
Hazel was Googling as Lucy spoke, saving photos as she went, while I had the important job of opening another bottle of wine. We had this wedding shit nailed.
Later in the evening, I voiced my concerns that I was still a little hung-up on Oliver’s kiss, even after our zillion therapy sessions and heart-to-heart talks.
‘Is this it for the rest of my damn life?’ I asked. ‘Forgiving him but never being able to forget?’
‘Have you really forgiven him?’ Hazel asked, filling up my wine glass. ‘Because it doesn’t sound like you have. It sounds like you’ve just accepted it.’
‘What’s the difference? It happened. I’m powerless to change it and life goes on.’
‘You’re still angry,’ Lucy interjected. ‘Sure you’ve accepted it, but as you said, you’re powerless. I think when you forgive someone, you take back some of the power. You haven’t done that.’
‘It’s this bloody mystery woman,’ I replied, throwing back my wine. ‘Who the fuck is she? I don’t know what she looks like, how old she is – nothing.’
‘You want to know what was so special about her that made Oliver risk losing you?’
I nodded.
‘Thing is, Phoebe, you’ll never forgive him until you realise that this isn’t about you. This was Oliver’s misguided way of dealing with his own shit. You’re both equally responsible for the relationship but only he is responsible for his actions.’
‘Damn,’ Lucy said, opening a can of Coke. ‘That’s some insightful shit right there.’
Hazel laughed. ‘I had a good therapist. He made sense.’
‘I’m going to call you Dr Phil.’
‘Lucy, you’re ruining the moment.’
‘Good,’ she replied. ‘I’m sick of talking about men and relationships and problems and weddings. It’s exhausting. We should just dance.’
‘Dance?’
‘Yes, Phoebe, dance. I’m sure therapy is very worthwhile but nothing is better for clearing the mind and soul than dancing.’
Without saying another word, she put YouTube on the television and found a 90s playlist. It didn’t take long for the kids to come through and join us. I hope that when Molly grows up, she finds friends just like mine.
Sunday August 27th
I finally slept like a baby last night. Perhaps it was the wine or the pizza or just the good company that relaxed me enough. Maybe my brain just ran out of things to try and shame and torture me with.
Oliver is back tomorrow which is cool as Molly has missed him. I have too but not as much as she has. Apparently he does funny voices better when he reads to her. Mine all sound the same. This is clearly untrue. My Billy the Badger voice is a triumph.
Monday August 28th
With Frank and Kelly in London, the office was super quiet today. Brian hammered through his work in the morning which left time for him to arse around all afternoon. My day wasn’t particularly productive but that’s normal.
When I arrived home at six, Oliver had already picked Molly up from the childminder and they were playing Connect Four at the dining table. While Molly was obviously thrilled to see her dad, I can’t say that I was quite so enthused. His presence can be confusing – as much as I despise what he did, I still fancy the arse off him. I’m confused by my ability to feel sad, annoyed and aroused by him at the same time. It’s very frustrating. The sadness concerns me, though: what if it never goes away? Can I stay in a relationship that constantly weighs heavy on my heart? It’s doubtful, and that grieves me most of all.
Tuesday August 29th
I saw Lord Wilson at the gates this morning, chatting loudly on her phone. I kept my head down, hoping she wouldn’t spot me, but she did, yelling my name in the middle of the parents’ car park.
‘I was just talking about you,’ she informed me, popping her phone into her handbag. ‘Your boss says hello.’ She giggled like a possessed doll.
‘Frank? You were talking to Frank?’
‘Oh yes!’ she beamed. ‘We’ve been chatting occasionally. He’ll be asking me out to dinner any day now, I just know it.’
‘Well, I’m glad that’s working out for you,’ I replied, doing my best to sound sincere. ‘I’m sure you two will get along famously.’
‘If you have any pointers you can give me, I’d appreciate it. He seems like quite a complex man.’
‘Complex? Really?’ I could feel my head tilt in confusion. Complex isn’t the first C-word that springs to mind when describing Frank. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know Frank well enough to help you in that department,’ I lied. The truth is I know him better than I’d like to; from his terrible taste in furniture to the splodgy-looking birthmark on his inner thigh.
She looked peeved that I wasn’t being more useful. ‘You look tired this morning,’ she said, scrutinising my face. I frowned. Everyone knows that you look tired is actually code for you look like dog shit.
‘You not getting the full eight hours?’ she continued without any encouragement from me. ‘I read somewhere that the less you sleep, the shorter your life will be. It’s all about being the best version of yourself, Phoebe! Anyhoo, must dash. Spin class in fifteen.’
I watched as she strode back to her car, wondering why the real life harbinger of doom goes to the gym in a full face of make-up. The best version of myself? But what if the best version of myself is me doing lines of coke off 1980s James Spader’s ass while driving my car the wrong way through traffic? She didn’t think that through.
Wednesday August 30th
I called Pam to discuss whether it would be appropriate for me to see her individually while she was also seeing us as a couple for therapy. She said probably not and recommended I see a different therapist while Oliver and I are working together with her. I don’t want to see a different therapist. I love her! I’d rather get a different boyfriend. I’ve arranged for us to go in and see her next month. I think we’ve made great progress since we first shuffled into her office but I’m still quite raw about what’s come to light since we did. I know I have to discuss this with Oliver but sometimes I want to just rant alone without risking any hurt feelings.
Thursday August 31st
At work today, inappropriate conversations were rife. Brian was telling us in graphic detail about a woman he’s dating who has one defunct nipple.
‘I swear you could take a blow-torch to that thing and it won’t respond. I’ve tried everything to make it hard.’
Kelly is looking for a new bikini waxer after the lady she uses ‘literally ripped the skin off my labia’. She showed Lucy the photos – I refused to look.
And finally, to put the cherry on the top of this disturbing office sundae, Frank called me in to his office just before five o’clock to tell me that he’d finally asked out Sarah Ward-Wilson. WHY AM I BEING DRAGGED INTO THIS SHIT?
‘You do realise that this is none of my business,’ I told him. ‘Sarah and I aren’t close. Or even friends really.’
Relight my Fire Page 18