by Liz Tipping
My Five Year Plan was divided up into each year, then month, then week, and detailed exactly how much I needed to save each week to reach my goal. It had started off in an old battered notebook, but now I used apps and calendar reminders which bleeped at me to let me know what I should be doing and when. My social life, working life and even my meals for the week were planned with military precision. As long as I was working towards my goals, I was happy, but it did mean there was little time for spontaneity, which is why Doris was looking at me as though I had gone mad.
I was taking the immensely significant step of leaving work early on a Saturday and I hadn’t planned for it. Maybe I could even go shopping and buy something new to wear which I hadn’t budgeted for. I was going to call Sinead and Steph and tell them we were going out early to sit in the beer garden.
‘We’d all like to say “hello to spontaneity” and go and enjoy the sunshine but I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere at the moment – you’ve taken your lunch and you can’t take a lunch if you have only worked for four hours. Sit down, Fiona’. She motioned me to sit. ‘You will simply have to work the half hour you have taken for lunch and then you can go. That is, unless you want to leave me to do everything myself.’
Half a bloody hour. She might as well have said ‘until the end of time.’ I slumped in my seat and sulked, a few minutes afterwards I realised I still had my coat on – my gorgeous, yellow, coat. Yes, it was the hottest day of the year, but it was a size twelve Topshop coat so therefore practically a size zero and I hadn’t got into a size twelve Topshop anything for two years – this is because size twelve clothes don’t fit you if you are a size fourteen, like me. I tried to take it off while still sitting down as if that was a normal thing to do, but I got my arm stuck in a sleeve and had to stand up which somehow made me even more stuck, so I left one arm in my coat and sat down. This was exactly the sort of thing that happened when you didn’t plan for it. I spent the next twenty-five minutes looking at the screen answering queries while trying to shrug the coat sleeve off while Doris tutted and complained about her coffee.
When I’d finally worked off my lunch hour, all enthusiasm had left me. I’d talked myself out of my Great Escape. There didn’t seem any point going early now.
After I’d freed myself of my coat, I made myself a hot chocolate in my four cat mug. Then I made Doris another cup of coffee and dunked a tea bag in it for a few seconds. I don’t know why, I just felt like it. She said it was lovely and I was disappointed she liked it but also rather pleased that at least someone had appreciated one of my inventive creations.
What seemed like decades later, it was finally five o’clock. I left work feeling troubled and upset and decided I definitely wasn’t working next Saturday as it was a bank holiday weekend and I would definitely be having some fun!
I made my way down New Street and took a right at the end to head towards the Bullring markets to pick up some ingredients for tea. The carrier bags laden with vegetables cut into my hands as I walked towards Selfridges to catch the bus.
On the way home, I planned what to do with all the vegetables for the week and wondered if Connor would be joining me to eat them or if would I be Instagram-ing them with the world without having anyone to actually share them with. As I was wondering what kind of meals I could cook for a cat, Connor sent a text with an apology, saying he ‘might’ be around later. I muttered ‘tosser’ under my breath, but not as quietly as I thought and an old lady in front of me turned round, glared at me and tutted. ‘Well he is,’ I said.
A year or so ago, Connor absolutely fitted in with my Five Year Plan perfectly. He was successful, focused, with big plans for his business, and knew exactly what he wanted. But now, Connor was so busy he barely had time to see me. Part of me wondered if he wasn’t committed to me, let alone the plan, but he would always reassure me that he was doing this for us and our future.
But today I was troubled by it all. Now I had seen my future as a mad cat lady and with Doris retiring, and the realisation I had already been working there for fifteen years, I was frightened that if I didn’t do something drastic, I’d spend the next thirty years at that same desk. I was worried my five year plan wasn’t working.
CARINA™
ISBN: 9781474049559
Don’t You Forget About Me
© 2016 Liz Tipping
by Carina, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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