by Sarah Tucker
Sarah—‘Well, no. It also needs lots of work doing to it. It will need lots of cleaning. And it’s too near your parents. Electrics and everything probably come from the Dark Ages. Don’t think you should buy it.’
Paul—‘Well, I have.’
Sarah—‘Well, it’s your house, then.’
Paul—‘But we’re getting married, so you’re living here as well.’
Sarah—‘Perhaps you should have thought of that when you bought it without asking my opinion first.’
Paul—‘It’s a beautiful home. You’re very ungrateful. You’re lucky I’m marrying you. Your mother seemed very happy to get you off her hands. You’re marrying above your class, you know. This is a wonderful house. Worth nearly half a million and you’re turning your nose up at it.’
Sarah—‘You shouldn’t have bought it without asking me. I don’t like it. It’s an old person’s home.’
Paul—‘I thought you would like it.’
Sarah—‘You thought wrong. But it’s done now. I suppose we can always funk it up a bit.’
Paul—‘It will be our home. We will make it wonderful.’ (Hugging me and looking into my eyes with his big doe eyes and fluttering his long dark eyelashes. But it doesn’t work any more.)
Sarah—‘Yes, perhaps.’
I pull away and say that I need to see the rooms again.
Message received:
How are you my love? I haven’t seen you for ages. Are you still gorgeous?
Message sent:
I’m OK. Miss you. Want you. Still gorgeous and hungry.
Message received:
Sorry you don’t like the house.
Paul’s just downstairs, but obviously texting me.
Message sent:
It will grow on me. We can personalise it. It’s an investment.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m now getting married to a man I’m not sure about at all. I’ve gone out with him for years, but we don’t have sex, we increasingly can’t communicate, I’m fantasising about someone else and there’s no one I can talk to really. Catherine is smitten with Liam, and feels the same way about her boyfriend Freddie as I do about Paul. So she’s telling me to go for it. My mother is the last person I could speak to about anything. She still doesn’t know about the abortion. Only other person I can tell is Anya.
Anya is a reflexologist, a masseuse, a nutritionist, a qualified alternative therapist. She knows her stuff. She is half-Portuguese and half-Iranian. She is beautiful and fifty and looks about thirty. Bright, multi-lingual, with two gorgeous and brilliant children and Boris, Belgian husband she finds boring.
I confide in her.
Anya—‘Don’t go through with the marriage, Sarah. Postpone it. It’s not right. You wouldn’t want to do this with John, let alone actually do it, if you felt OK about the wedding and being Paul’s wife.’
Sarah—‘But couldn’t it be the last fling? I haven’t had sex for such a long time. Couldn’t that be it? I love Paul.’
Anya—‘If you loved Paul you wouldn’t be doing this, Sarah. As for the sex, Paul has an issue he has got to deal with, but he hasn’t and you’ve been stuck with it not for months but years. Now, could you lie down and take your clothes off?’
Going to a reflexologist and masseuse has been a lifesaver for me. Did you know that animals, if they don’t have sex, end up biting one another? Well, I haven’t had an affair with anyone since I met Paul, and one of the reasons, I’m sure, is because I’ve gone to the gym so much and started—only recently—to have a massage. Once a month, then once every two weeks and now once a week. I need it. I need to be stroked and pummelled and caressed. And even if it is painful it’s doing me good, which is more than you can say for some men when they supposedly make love to you.
Anya—‘I’m too old to change now. I’m fifty. I’m going to massage your shoulders. This may hurt as you’re very tense today, Sarah.’
Anya pushes her fingers into my shoulders and I emit a loud yell.
Sarah—‘Ugh. Fucking hell, that hurt. Anya, you don’t look it. And Boris loves you.’
Another pummel. Other shoulder. Another yell.
Anya—‘Don’t do what I did and wait. And have children and get trapped, Sarah. You don’t want that. You are young and have a life to lead. Paul is not the one for you if he can do this to you and if you want to see and be with and sleep with John. Learn from this. Take my word for it. I know what will happen. Don’t get trapped in a sexless marriage. Sex isn’t everything, but when you don’t have it, it becomes the most important thing. What’s John like?’
Anya works fingers down spine. Down to sciatic nerve. It kills me.
Sarah—‘Ugh. You bitch. You’re enjoying this. John is dangerous. Potent. He has more sexuality in his little finger than most men have in their whole bodies. But I think he’s ugly. He used to be a research chemist. I’m sure he injected himself with pheromones. He has the most amazing smell. Doesn’t that sound weird, that I’m attracted to his smell?’
Anya—‘Not at all. Smell is a very basic instinct. It’s just that we hide our smells with perfume and aftershave and crap so that we don’t smell how we should any more. Amazing we find the right mate at all. This may hurt.’
Anya starts reflexology on my feet and touches the bit which is supposed to represent my knees. I want to die.
Sarah—‘It hurts. It hurts. I’m in absolute agony. Anyway, I love his smell. But his eyes are too close together. He has jet-black curly hair—you know, tight curls—and a small, almost mean mouth.’
Anya—‘He sounds disgusting. And you like him?’
She pushes the part of my foot which is my heart. I inadvertently start to cry.
Sarah—‘I’m crying coz it hurts, not because of the conversation, Anya. OK?’
Anya—‘OK.’
Sarah—‘Yes, first time I met him I thought he was ugly, and I still look at him occasionally and think yuck. But, hey, there must be something. Chemistry. I love being with him. And find him fascinating to talk to—or perhaps it’s just the illicitness of it all. Perhaps that is why I am excited.’
Anya stops working on the feet and starts the nice stuff. Oils—patchouli, ylang ylang, lavender and other stuff which she keeps a secret and will sell off one day and make millions.
Anya—‘That’s why you’ve got to give yourself a break from Paul and see if it’s for real or not. Plus you’re not being fair to Paul either.’
Sarah—‘I can’t very well say to Paul, Hey, there, can we not see each other for a year while I get my head straight and see if the man I want to sleep with is my love or just some last-minute nerves before I swear eternal love to you in the eyes of God. Don’t think that will wash, Anya.’
Anya—‘You can’t have your cake and eat it, Sarah. It won’t work. It will screw you up and John and Paul. Just think about it. What happens if you get more involved with John? What then?’
Sarah—‘He’ll get bored. He’s a womaniser. You just wait and see. He will dump me long before September.’
Anya—‘Perhaps.’
We don’t talk for about ten minutes. Massage is wonderful and I think I’m falling asleep. Then:
Anya—‘Would you marry John?’
Sarah—‘No.’
Anya—‘Everyone is brought to our lives for a reason. Perhaps he’s just a catalyst to make you re-evaluate your life.’
Sarah—‘Perhaps. But I think it’s just bad timing. He is sexy, and I haven’t had sex for years. I’ve been faithful and celibate and now feel resentful. I don’t want Paul’s children, or any children for that matter. I may in the future, but not now. And now he’s bought a big fuck-off family house five minutes from his parents and I feel trapped and confused and unhappy.’
Anya stops massaging and asks me to turn over so she can work on my face and scalp. She does the most fabulous scalp massages.
Anya—‘Don’t do it, Sarah. I’ve been there, seen it, done it. Got the T-shirt. I see so many women who’ve been throu
gh this. You don’t want to go there. John may not be the right one, but you don’t want to waste your life. You are young and beautiful and intelligent and Paul is a nice guy. I’ve met him, but he’s not for you. He is a rock. Yes. Perhaps your rock. Problem with rocks is that they are stabilising but they also hold you down. Hold you back. There is an element where he may be protecting you from yourself. This is good. But it can also be bad, because, Sarah, you’ve got a lot of life to live and he’s an old man before his time. The house sounds like an old family home. He’s into drinking port and dinner parties and, yes, he likes going to the Grand Prix and, yes, he can afford to go, but these are all fast cars and show-offy things. He likes cigars, for goodness’ sake. He’s not even thirty and he has all the trappings of someone twenty years older than himself. And you’re a young girl. You’re not for him. You like the security he brings, and, yes, you may love him, but you’ve got to see with better eyes and see it for what it is. It may be love. It may not. The only way you can find out is to let go now and see for sure. But do you have the balls to do that, Sarah? Do you?’
Sarah doesn’t have the balls, I thought. She doesn’t. She will get married in September to someone who is sensible and spiritual but just a little screwed up at the moment. Someone who won’t change but who may mellow over time. Who may start to realise money isn’t everything. It can buy security but not happiness. It may happen. It may not. But only time will tell. And I love him. And I think he’s sexy. And I will be safe with him. And I have faith in him and believe him to be a good, honest person. Unlike the person he is marrying…
Sarah—‘Yes, I have the balls. I will tell him, Anya.’
Anya—‘Good girl. It’s the best way, Sarah. And then you can have fun with John without a guilty conscience. And try a different cake. One a little spicier if not as rich.’
I left Anya’s feeling like a fraud. I knew she was right, but didn’t have the confidence to tell either of them what was going on and how I felt. So I let it lie. And I lied.
10th January
Have started new job in Chelmsford after being made redundant from the railways. Got pay-off and now in new family home (allowed to sleep with fiancé although still no-sex rule). Job is five minutes’ drive from home. Fifteen mins if I walk. Paul is pleased. He is pleased because they give good maternity leave.
I liked the guy who interviewed me. He was almost as mad and quirky as I would like to be. He liked me. Think he could tell I wanted to be almost as mad and quirky as he was. He likes my body language (very open—not legs, of course). But not crossed arms (think this is a silly rule as I cross my arms to hide my bitten nails, not because I feel negative towards the person I am speaking to or listening to).
The job has dull title. It’s as Communications Manager for a local firm in Chelmsford. Communications Manager means sweet FA. I tell him that I won’t communicate for the whole company, but that I will facilitate communication. Put in place a process which will do so. Does he understand this? He does. He tells me the problem. Departments don’t communicate with one another because Boss A doesn’t like or trust or respect Boss B. So nothing gets done, or it takes a lot of money and time to get done. So Sarah at vast expense (£34k plus perks) has been hired to hand-hold and get them to sit in the same room for half an hour and talk sense.
I will not have my own office, because it’s open plan. I will have a team of twenty who write letters to customers. Responding to complaints. They need to improve their letter-writing. So it’s external communication as well as internal communication then. Plus the company is spending £300,000 on management consultants who are telling them how to communicate and who have so far not been able to succeed. They have used up two-thirds of the budget already.
I have no faith in management consultants. I had my fill of them at the railway. They tell you what you already know, and show you a way to deal with the situation, but it rarely works. Bit like them asking for your watch, telling you the time and then keeping your watch. Sort of win-lose situation. They win. You lose. Anyway, it sounds a challenge so I’m going for it and today, on the tenth I start.
Bad start. Am told that I am doing someone else’s job and that several board members didn’t know I had been hired. Tell my boss this is not my problem and that they should do something about it. Have first department meeting and meet all team on one-to-one basis and then as a group. They are all from Chelmsford. All doing it for the money. All friendly without aspiration.
I set up meeting with other departments and get briefing from Number Two, Jennifer, on who likes who, who doesn’t like who, who would like to sleep with who, who is sleeping with who and who she likes, would like to sleep with and is sleeping with. We talk a bit about letter-writing.
11th January
I have a call from the Personnel Director, Mr Harry, who is based in London. He says can he see me? I say fine. He says he is coming to Chelmsford and would like to have lunch. Is this OK? I say fine. I book the local eaterie, which is half decent.
12th January
I meet Mr Harry. Place called the Wine Cellar which does OK food. I order smoked salmon as a main course. Something light that I can eat with my fingers. I like eating with my fingers. Even salad and soup (chunky variety). There’s something very sensual and reassuring about it. And something very unnatural and rigid about using knives and forks. Especially forks. I heard back in Elizabethan times everyone used to eat with knives, and forks came much later. I eat with fingers.
He orders steak with new potatoes and uses his knife and fork with precision and focus and it annoys the shit out of me. He also puts his mobile phone on the table by his fork as though it’s another utensil he is going to use to eat his food. Every five minutes it goes off and he answers it, saying yes or no or I’ll call you back. Why can’t he switch the fucking thing off?
He orders a bottle of the house red. I say I don’t drink. He says more for him. I have to keep reminding myself Harry is his surname and not his first name. I ask him what his first name is. He tells me it is Harry. He says his middle name is Richard, so people call him HRH. I ask him if his parents had a sense of humour. He tells me they did. And fortunately so does he. And that in the past the name has got him interviews when perhaps his credentials might not have.
Harry Harry—‘Believe it or not, Sarah, everyone needs a unique selling point and that is mine. Now, the reason I’ve asked to meet you is because you are causing problems—’
Phone rings.
Harry Harry—‘Hi. Yes. No, not yet. I’m doing it now. Bye. Yes, I will. Bye.’
Sarah—‘Er, I’ve only been here two days. What have I done?’
Harry Harry—‘Well, it’s not a case of what you have done. It’s more a case of you being hired in the first place. No one knew you were being hired. The man who hired you didn’t clear it at the top. And because of what you do, and the way you’ve been doing it, everyone is talking about you. And saying how good you are. And how it should have been done a long time ago. And why weren’t you hired before? But it’s not your job. And so it’s political, you see. Your job. The job. You have become untenable. We are going to have to let you go.’
Sarah—‘But I’ve only been here two days.’
Phone rings.
Harry Harry—‘Hi. Yes. No, not yet. I’m doing it now. Bye. Yes, I will. Bye. Sarah, if you had been a little quieter, hadn’t made such an impact within forty-eight hours, then it would have been fine. But you wanted to make an impression and you have. The management consultants don’t like you. They think you are obnoxious. Did you tell them they were a waste of space and that all they do is tell us what we already know?’
Sarah—‘Yes, but they do and they are.’
Harry Harry—‘The MD hired them. The CEO of the company is his golfing partner. Been friends since school.’
Phone rings.
Harry Harry—‘Hi. Yes, I have. Yes, now. Yes, I’m with her now. Bye. Yes, I will. Bye.’
Sarah—‘
So that has an impact on business decisions, does it?’
Harry Harry—‘You are very naïve, Sarah. You have a lot to learn. Secondly, you’ve got departments to speak to one another, haven’t you?’
Phone rings.
Sarah—‘Can you turn that off, please? Most of the board must know by now you are telling me or have told me. Can’t they wait?’
Harry Harry turns off his mobile. Begrudgingly.
Sarah—‘It’s a good thing. It was needed. They didn’t talk to one another. It was ridiculous. Now things are progressing and they know where they can improve and what still needs work. How can that be a problem?’
Harry Harry—‘It is a problem. They’ve decided that they don’t like the way it’s being done and want to change everything. And that there are not enough people in either department. They have asked for more people and have produced a strategy and plan. Problem is, the board likes to clear and create this sort of thing. They don’t like initiatives coming from the staff. They may say they do, but in reality this is a very top-led company and they like to keep it that way. Unintentionally you’ve rocked the boat, Ms Giles.’
Sarah—‘So they’re going to sack me because I’ve helped to make the company more efficient?’
Harry Harry—‘You’ve come from the railways. What do you know about efficiency?’
Sarah—‘Cheap shot. Anyway, just because you’re making money doesn’t mean a thing. What I’m trying to do is make you more. And your staff have taken the initiative. They should be praised. I should be praised. Not sacked.’
Harry Harry—‘This is the way it is. I am offering you a deal. If you go willingly we will pay you four months’ salary and you can retain your company car for four months—whether you find a new job or not. If you refuse to go we can find a reason to sack you and you go away with nothing.’
My first thought is, How am I going to explain this to Paul? He will not believe me. I ask Harry Harry if he can put it in writing. He says he will. I ask if he wants me to work out the week. He says no. That I can leave after lunch if I want. I say I have left my stuff in the office. He says I can collect it. But that I shouldn’t mention anything to the staff. He asks me if I am OK. I say no, I’m not. But that I won’t cry (I probably will later on). That I think I could have done good. That this is incredible. Why was I hired in the first place? Harry Harry tells me I shouldn’t have been hired and that I did do good but that I stepped on too many toes and was not politically astute enough to realise when to keep my mouth shut and when to speak. That this is business and a fact of life and a good lesson to learn. That I should be happy with my green Golf GTI and enjoy the first four months of the year because I had a good start.