The Dream Life I Never Had

by Terri Douglas

  ‘But Gordon won’t be here next year; he’ll probably die of a broken heart by then’ Kate said accusingly.

  ‘Gordon?’ I queried.

  ‘Yes I’m sure his name is Gordon, he looks like a Gordon, and you’re going to just let him die’ she whined.

  ‘I’m not letting him die, I’m sure someone will adopt him and take him home’ I reasoned defensively.

  At that moment another family came over to the guinea pig run and the two little girls who were about Kate’s age started giggling and smirking at Gordon. After much deliberation they chose one of the silky haired guinea pigs which their mother promptly made arrangements to buy.

  ‘You see’ Kate said angrily ‘no-one’s going to choose Gordon.’

  ‘Poor Gordon’ Ben said looking downcast and doing that lip trembling thing.

  ‘Please Mummy you can’t let him die’ Kate wailed making everyone in the shop turn round to look at us.

  ‘Don’t die Gordon’ Ben pleaded.

  ‘He’s not going to die’ I stated emphatically. ‘We can’t take him home Kate, where would we keep him? And even if we had somewhere he’d miss all his friends.’

  Kate sighed at what she thought was my obtuseness. ‘But he hasn’t got any friends’ she explained carefully while still tenderly stroking Gordon.

  One of the shop staff came over to us and smiling at Kate said to her ‘well this little one seems to have taken to you, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Is it a she?’ I said.

  ‘Yes she’s a girl, an Abyssinian cavy’ the lady said.

  ‘You’ll have to think of another name Kate, it’s a girl you can’t call it Gordon’ I said.

  Thinking back that was the moment when it all went wrong. If I’d said it differently, or better still not said it at all, then Kate wouldn’t have assumed I’d capitulated and I wouldn’t have felt pressurised by all that Mum guilt if I let her down. Or maybe it was because the guinea pig had a name, if Kate hadn’t given it a name in the first place she wouldn’t have got so attached.

  Anyway the long and short of it was that within the space of about twenty minutes we went from a no pet family to adopting a female Abyssinian cavy called Gordon, Kate was insistent that was her name regardless of gender, and a female ridgeback to keep Gordon company called Gory that Ben had named. Having one guinea pig was enough of a rule breaker but the pet shop lady had said that guinea pigs really can die of loneliness and heartbreak if they have to live on their own, to which Kate gave me a look that said ‘I told you’. So we’d ended up with Gordon and friend.

  I’d questioned Ben on his choice of name and asked ‘is it really called Gory, that doesn’t sound like a name for a guinea pig? Are you sure you don’t mean Gloria or Rory or Gary?’ But he was quite resolute that its name was definitely Gory. Gory was the other loner of the group the one with the Mohican, and together with their wild hairstyles she and Gordon made quite a pair.

  I’d almost been let off the hook when we saw the price of the hutches and I’d hedged over whether we could afford it or not, but then the much too helpful sales lady had said they had a two guinea pig hutch that was ex-display and slightly bashed about a bit that they were selling off at half price. And of course we needed hay, and guinea pig food, and a water bottle, and a whole myriad of other stuff which meant getting a taxi home.

  On reflection it probably would have been easier and with less long term complications, and definitely cheaper, if I’d just bitten the bullet and taken the flack over seeing Paul and his children again.

  31

  The nearly new guinea pig hutch was set up in the corner of the kitchen near the backdoor, it was on legs making it children height so that Ben and Kate were able to see what was going on at all times unless Gordon and Gory disappeared into the bedroom bit.

  Among all the paraphernalia was a booklet on the care of your new guinea pig, which had I read it beforehand would probably have made me stick to my guns over the no pet rule. Apparently guinea pigs needed an outside run which we didn’t have but would need to think about getting or making, they needed lots of attention and as well as hay and guinea pig food they needed fresh fruit and veg. They could live for up to seven years or thereabouts and only needed about four hours sleep a day; the other twenty hours so the booklet said should be filled with interesting things for the guinea pigs to do as they were quite intelligent and inquisitive. I could see that this was going to turn into a full time job, another one to add to the list.

  On Saturday I missed out on my early morning ‘me time’ as Ben and Kate were up at the crack of dawn to make sure Gordon and Gory were alright. I’d said on Friday afternoon that the children could talk to the guinea pigs and stroke them carefully while they were still in the hutch, but they’d need time to get used to their surroundings and to being here before we let them out. ‘We can hold them and let them explore the kitchen on Saturday when they’ve settled and are a bit more used to their new home’ I’d said, and now it was Saturday so at the unearthly pre-dawn hour of five thirty I was sitting on the kitchen floor with the children helping them to hold our new additions.

  Reluctantly Ben and Kate carefully put Gordon and Gory back in their hutch while we had breakfast and got dressed, but then it was straight back to the two animal petting zoo that used to be my kitchen.

  When Martin arrived about an hour later he was surprised when all three of us shouted at him to be careful as he came through the kitchen door, and even more surprised when he found out why we’d been shouting at him.

  He smiled indulgently at Ben and Kate as he sat down on a chair amid all the mayhem, and quietly said to me ‘I thought we weren’t getting any pets until the kids were a bit older?’

  ‘No we weren’t but I got ambushed’ I said from my lotus position on the floor.

  ‘This is Gordon’ Kate said holding her up for Martin to see.

  ‘This is Gory’ Ben said.

  ‘Gory?’ Martin questioned looking at me.

  ‘Ben chose her name’ I said without trying to qualify it in any way, but really knowing Ben that was all the explanation needed.

  ‘I chose Gordon’s name’ Kate said. D’you want to hold her Daddy?’

  ‘Oh it’s a girl is it, but isn’t Gordon a boy’s name?’ Martin said.

  ‘Sometimes, but it can be a girl’s name too’ Kate said stubbornly with just the hint of a tear in her eye.

  I kicked Martin in the ankle and he straightaway said ‘I think it’s a lovely name’ as he reached out to hold Gordon.

  Kate jumped up and started giving Martin instructions on how to hold Gordon, the same instructions I’d given her only an hour or two before, and Martin played along as if he needed instruction. Then of course Gory needed to be held by Martin, and Ben not to be outdone by his sister gave Martin his own unique version of the same instructions but emphasising the need not to hold Gory too tightly and squash it just as I had emphasised it to him, to which Martin dutifully listened with all the seriousness it deserved. While everyone was fully occupied I grabbed the opportunity and made Martin and myself a cup of coffee, it would have been tea but I had a feeling it was going to be a long day and I’d need the caffeine.

  Steve, the washing machine guy, arrived at nine and greeted me like an old friend which I sort of was after so many of his previous visits. I made him a cuppa while Martin helped the children grudgingly put Gordon and Gory back in their house amid much pleading that they be allowed to take their precious new pets to the front room to watch telly. Martin looked at me questioningly but I said ‘no way, what if they get stuck under the settee, or pee on the carpet?’ The guinea pigs now safely re-housed, Martin went with Ben and Kate to watch some television while Steve hopefully performed another of his miracles on my aging washer.

  After half an hour of his ministrations interspersed with much sighing and tutting Steve pronounced it officially terminal and on its last legs. ‘I’ve managed to get it going again’ he said ‘but really it’s only a
matter of time before it gives up the ghost altogether, and not much time at that’.

  ‘Are you sure it doesn’t just need a new part or something? I don’t think we can afford a new washing machine, and I can’t manage without one’ I said.

  ‘Sorry Mrs Cromby. Nowadays these things are only made to last for two or three years so you’ve been lucky it’s lasted as long as it has.’

  ‘Okay’ I sighed and mentally added a washing machine to the ever growing list of necessities that I couldn’t afford.

  ‘If I come across a decent second hand one do you want me to let you know?’ He said packing up his tools which were spread all over the kitchen floor.

  ‘Yes please’ I said ‘but nothing too expensive’.

  ‘Okay I’ll see what I can do’ he said.

  I paid him and he left with a wave and a promise that I’d hear from him soon. Martin came back out to the kitchen and I broke the bad news to him as I sat despondently at the table while heaving sighs of doom and gloom.

  ‘As soon as I get paid we’ll go and choose a new one’ Martin said flicking the kettle on for more tea. One of the few things I had managed to teach Martin was that in times of stress apart from any practical solutions to whatever the problem is, or maybe that should be as well as any practical solutions, what you need most is tea well I did anyway.

  ‘We can’t afford a new one’ I said. ‘We’ll have to start paying the mortgage again soon.’

  ‘Yes I know’ Martin said unhappily. ‘I’ve had another letter from Waterman and Stiles; they said they might have found a buyer for Homes Abroad or at least a part of it.’

  ‘Did they tell you when you were going to be paid?’

  ‘No, nothing specific only that they were negotiating with a possible buyer.’

  ‘Oh’ I said back to the doom and gloom.

  ‘It’ll be alright Sophie don’t worry’ Martin said as he put a mug of tea in front of me.

  ‘Don’t worry! Don’t worry? What else do you expect me to do but worry?’ I snapped at him.

  ‘I just meant I’ll get work even if it’s only private jobs, and sooner or later we’ll get the money we’re owed by Homes Abroad and . . .’

  ‘And what? And you’ll chuck a few quid at me and then you can be Lenny’s sidekick forever with a clear conscience and walk off into the sunset together arm in arm, best mates till the day you die. While me and the kids slowly starve to death, or suffocate on top of each other in this tiny cramped house and watch you and bloody Lenny having a jolly old time.’

  ‘Why do you always make Lenny out to be such a bad guy? He’s really not you know’ Martin said defensively.

  ‘Isn’t he? The guy’s a complete arse Martin. Everyone can see it, everyone except you that is.’

  ‘I know he’s done some stupid stuff, and I’ve never pretended he was an angel but Lenny’s not that bad, not as bad as you make him out to be anyway.’

  ‘Oh my God, when are you going to wake up? He is as bad as I make him out to be. In fact if anything he’s probably worse, I probably don’t even know half the stuff he gets up to or more to the point the stuff he encourages you to get up to. You’re thirty two Martin, you’re married with two children, don’t you think it’s time to stop carrying on as if you were still sixteen?’ I said angrily.

  ‘I know how old I am and I’m fully aware that I’m married and have children and I don’t see that Lenny is so bad, or what’s so wrong with me seeing him now and then for a drink in the Cricketers. He’s my best mate and we’ve been friends since we were eleven. Was I supposed to just drop him the minute I married you? What I can’t have any friends, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Of course I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is why does it have to be Lenny? He’s still struggling to grow up, still going through some kind of prolonged puberty, getting drunk all the time, chatting up women, dragging his best mate away from his wife and off to Spain for a bit of an adventure. That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘You don’t really know him not like I do, yes he gets drunk a lot and yes he chats up women but it’s because he’s lonely Soph, he does all that to . . .’ Martin started.

  ‘Because he’s lonely, are you joking? What about Jackie, what about the long line of females he’s been out with? Of course he’s not lonely, is that what he told you? He’s just your typical male arse that doesn’t want to be tied down and thinks he’s bloody Peter Pan’ I spat out.

  ‘Well now you’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Oh so I’m being ridiculous again? According to you I do that a lot don’t I, and in a minute I suppose you’re going to tell me I’m being unreasonable because apparently I do that a lot as well?

  ‘Sometimes you are unreasonable’ Martin said defensively.

  ‘One day . . . one day soon I hope, you’re going to wake up and see just how much of an arse Lenny is and what a fool you’ve been for hanging around with him all this time and believing all his lies. You’re going to regret knowing him and defending him and see him for what he is, a lying selfish womanising drunk that never grew up or gave a damn about you; you were just a long-term gullible fool that fell for all his bullshit. Why do you think he hasn’t got many friends Martin? I’ll tell you why because everyone else has worked it out, the other idiots like him see him as competition and the nice guys have outgrown all that crap, which just leaves you. He might have been the perfect playmate when you were both eleven but that was a very long time ago.’

  We sat in stony silence, not talking and not looking at each other. I thought Martin was an idiot and I was hurt all over again at his defending Lenny so vehemently, and choosing him over his wife and children. Martin clearly thought I was being unreasonable and getting paranoid over his poor lonely misunderstood best mate that he couldn’t let down. Like I said Martin was an idiot.

  ‘Are you taking the children out?’ I asked finally breaking the silence. ‘Because if you’re not then you might as well go back to babysitting your sad and lonely misjudged friend, I’m sure his needs are much greater than ours.’

  ‘I thought you were going to see your mother’ Martin snapped back at me.

  ‘Yeah I thought I’d be living in a mansion one day, I thought you’d have your own business, I thought we’d go on holiday at least once a year, and I thought you meant it when you promised to love and cherish me eight years ago . . . remember that day? I was the one on your right dressed all in white, the one whose finger you put that ring on. Guess we were both destined to be disappointed in what we ‘thought’ was going to happen.’

  ‘So I take it that means you’re not going to see your mother then?’

  ‘Very good. You see Martin you can work things out if you try hard enough’ I said oozing sarcasm.

  ‘I’ll leave you to explain it to the kids then why I’m not here’ Martin said nastily as he stormed out.

  ‘Remember to say hi to Lindsey for me won’t you’ I shouted after him.

  32

  After hearing Martin slam the door on his way out Ben and Kate came out to the kitchen to ask where their dad had gone. ‘He’s had to go to work’ I lied. They were disappointed but resignedly accepted that grown-ups had to do this work thing whether they wanted to or not, sometimes even on the weekend, and luckily we had Gordon and Gory to take their mind off Martins sudden departure.

  The kitchen turned back into a petting zoo and while I pottered about tidying up, the children tried tempting our two new family additions with the various fruit and veg we had at home, some with more success than others.

  For the rest of the morning Gordon and Gory were the focus of our attention, in fact I think they got so much attention they were quite relieved to go back in their hutch at lunchtime. While Ben and Kate ate their sandwiches I googled guinea pigs and found out quite a bit about their habits and the care they’d need.

  I found out that mostly what guinea pigs needed was grass so a run for them was essential; true they got a lot of their vitamins most
ly vitamin C from the pellets we’d bought but nothing could beat fresh grass. They liked carrots, celery and cucumber amongst other things and as a special treat pieces of apple without the seeds and there was a long, very long indeed, list of foods they shouldn’t eat. On the wikiHow website it explained how in the wild guinea pigs forage for their food so it was quite a good idea to hide it in toilet roll tubes or paper bags and they had quite a few other similarly inventive ideas for keeping guinea pigs entertained and happy, some of which I thought Ben and Kate could make themselves. And I found out that the run-around balls they sell as ‘exercise’ were actually quite harmful to them.

  I read out all the things I found out about which Kate at least understood most of and took very seriously. Of course almost all of what I’d read out went straight over Ben’s head but he understood enough to know that he couldn’t just give any old thing to Gordon and Gory, and in the weeks that followed he’d ask Kate whether it was ‘allowed’ or not before just doing whatever it was he had in mind, which was a good thing. Not such a good thing, at least it became quite an irritating thing, was that Kate became the unofficial guinea pig expert in our house anyway, and would spout off at every opportunity on the do’s and don’ts of guinea pig care.

  In the dream life Kate would one day be a vet. She’d study hard and go to vet school or wherever it was people learned how to be a vet, and get a first class distinction in all her exams. She’d get a job in the local veterinary practise and be so good at it that people would ask for her by name, she’d be a bit bossy and know it all but only because she was so knowledgeable on the subject of animal care. She’d get a special award for outstanding services to people and their pets, and become a leading expert on the subject of farm animals even though there were no farms around here. She’d move to the countryside and open her own revolutionary style vet practise, and when interviewed for an article in the Sunday Times colour supplement she’d say ‘it all started when I was five and my mum bought my brother and I two guinea pigs’.