by Polly James
What with all the shagging it involves.
What the fuck? I sit in front of the computer, gawping at the screen in disbelief, until – eventually – this arrives:
Bad joke. What I really meant to say was that you’re with people who aren’t your family, and you have no real privacy. You either feel you have to go out all the time and leave the house to them, or you end up joining in with their social lives even if you don’t like them much. It’s either that, or lock yourself in your room to get away.
If Dan keeps this up, I’ll soon be feeling sorry for him, even though he’s the one who left. I’m already feeling guilty for pretending to be someone else when he seems to be being honest with me, so that’s why I make my vow: Pammy will only lie to Danny when it’s a hundred per cent unavoidable. Otherwise, she will tell the truth – and she’ll start now.
That sounds shitty. I’m still living in the family home, so maybe I’ve been luckier than I thought.
Chapter 23
It’s amazing how the virtual world can stop you feeling lonely in the evenings. I haven’t phoned Eva for a couple of days, and I opted out of a lecture on life coaching that Esther wanted me to join her at tonight, because I’m so busy now I’ve got Dan to talk to – or Danny, anyway.
We continue discussing his living arrangements when I log back on to No-kay Cupid straight after work. Joel’s watching the Formula One highlights, so the neeaw-neeaw sound almost makes it seem as if Dan’s right here, rather than talking to me online as Dannyboy. He carries on our conversation about his new living arrangements, as if it hadn’t been interrupted by sleeping and doing a full day’s work at all.
I hated sharing a house at first. It was a struggle trying to keep some shape to my life and not let it spiral out of control.
Out of control, in what sort of way? I hope he doesn’t mean he’s in danger of becoming a sex addict or something equally horrible to imagine, because imagine it I will – probably between the hours of midnight and 3am. That’s normally when the worst Dan-related scenarios occur to me.
I ask Dannyboy what he means, then wish I hadn’t, until he sends me his reply.
Oh, you know, when you start feeling lonely, and then you think, “Fuck it, I’ll just go down the pub for some company, because it’s sociable”. Then you find yourself propping up the bar like one of those sad old gits you always swore you’d never become.
What, the ones who chat up the barmaid, while telling her their wives didn’t understand them?
So much for Eva’s don’t-ask-about-Dan’s-marriage instruction. I figured if I approached the subject elliptically, it wouldn’t count.
Dan doesn’t seem to think it counts, either, because he doesn’t answer my question. He’s already moving on.
Motivating yourself to do less-destructive things in your spare time is hard, when you don’t have anyone specific to do them with. But I’m getting better at it now.
I start to type, “I wish I was”, but then pause to consider. I did swear I’d tell the truth as Pammy, after all, even when doing so involves creative thinking, like when Danny asked for a photo of me without the hat last night. I said I couldn’t send him one, because I couldn’t risk being identified, in case it led to anyone discovering where I worked. That was entirely true, if you change “anyone” to “him” but, anyway, I digress.
Am I getting better at doing things by myself? I suppose I am, though “by myself” is a bit misleading. Most of the things I do are either with Eva, Esther or Pearl in tow, or with Albert, of course, where rowing’s concerned. Drawing and gardening are the only activities I engage in when I’m completely on my own, apart from showering, sleeping and sitting around feeling sorry for myself – and messaging Danny as Pammy, of course.
At least I’ve got friends in real life now, though, haven’t I? That’s a definite improvement on when Dan and I first split up. And I’ve even been known to spend whole evenings socialising, rather than watching TV. All I need now is to start enjoying them.
I cross out, “I wish I was”, and then tell Danny I think I’m getting better at doing things by myself, though not by much. Then I ask what made it easier for him, and that’s when he astonishes me.
Oh, I don’t know. Finding new interests, I suppose, or making plans to do things I’ve always wanted to, like going to China.
China? Dan wants to go to China? That’s news to me, as he’s never mentioned it to me, not once in all the years we spent together. What with the fact that he’s talking about how he feels, and that he’s also someone with dreams and interests I’d either forgotten he had, or never even knew about, I’m starting to wonder if he and Danny are one and the same.
Unless married Dan isn’t the same as the unmarried version. A not-exactly-comfortable thought.
* * *
I’ve spent so much time talking to Danny over the last week or so, that I haven’t been concentrating on anything else, but I’m trying to be more focused today. I’m having lunch with Esther in the courtyard of a cafe just down the road from HOO, because she doesn’t want the Fembot to know that I’m helping her with the top-secret mission she’s still working on: Project Get Esther Promoted ASAP. She’s trying to come up with ways to attract more Halfwits users, but it’s proving a bit of a struggle so far, probably because our existing users are so bonkers they put prospective new ones off.
“I asked the rest of the team to email me their suggestions privately,” says Esther, as she starts to munch an “artisan” scotch egg, “but none of them bothered to get back to me. Honestly, they’re such a bunch of shits.”
“Ah,” I say.
The rest of the team aren’t too keen on Esther, not least because they know she thinks they’re a bunch of shits, but I can’t exactly tell her that.
“I’ll think of some suggestions now,” I say, “while I eat.”
I do intend to follow through, but it’s such a lovely day that I get a bit distracted. After I’ve eaten my Caprese salad, I sit basking in the sun that’s flooding the courtyard and it makes me feel so relaxed that my mind just starts to wander – to Dannyboy, and how much he seems to like talking to Pammy. Before I know it, I’ve closed my eyes, so I can concentrate on picturing his profile photo, and then I start humming a song he recommended I download a few nights ago.
“You’re not even trying,” says Esther, interrupting my reverie. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you, this last few weeks. You seem absurdly happy for no good reason, as far as I can tell. You never seem to want to go out in the evenings any more, either, even though I keep suggesting things for us to do.”
I haven’t told Esther about Danny, because I know she wouldn’t approve, so formulating a reply to what she’s just said proves quite beyond me. Luckily, she only paused for breath, and doesn’t notice.
“You haven’t even had any more dates since that emoji guy, have you?” she continues. “I don’t know what you’re playing at.”
I don’t either, seeing as I’ve just realised that she’s right: I haven’t had a single date since Mr Insulting Fruit and Veg.
* * *
I can’t stop thinking about what Esther said earlier while I’m driving over to Abandon Hope for my rowing lesson tonight. She’s made me realise I’m concentrating all my energies on someone who has no idea who I really am, and who wouldn’t dream of talking to me if he did. And a virtual relationship isn’t the same as a real one, is it?
Talking of relationships, I have no idea what’s going on between Pearl and Albert, but every time I go round to her flat these days, they’re sitting there together, just like they are when I arrive tonight. They look really happy, too, though Pearl tells me to mind my own business when I ask her if they’re dating, during one of Albert’s frequent visits to the loo.
“We oldies like our privacy,” she says, “so mind your own business, Hannah. We don’t feel the need to share our every thought with the world via that silly social media that you lot are so addicted to.”
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She’s got a point, now I come to think of it. That’s another of the reasons the rest of the Halfwits team aren’t keen on Esther, because she once held forth about how “moronic” they were on her Facebook page, without realising she’d set her posts to “public”.
* * *
Albert obviously shares Pearl’s view about oversharing being undignified because, later, when I try to sound him out about how things stand with Pearl once we’re alone together at the lake, he’s having none of it. In fact, he tells me to “shut up and concentrate”.
“You can’t afford to talk and try to row, Hannah,” he adds. “Not when you still spend every lesson going round in circles.”
That’s a metaphor for my life, isn’t it? I keep spotting those everywhere at the moment – and getting distracted by them, too. Now I’ve dropped my bloody oar.
“Not again,” says Albert, reaching for the boathook to pull the oar back in. I apologise and assure him that I’m determined that, one of these days, I’m not only going to learn to row forwards, I’m also going to keep hold of both oars while doing so.
Albert clearly doesn’t think that’s going to happen today, as he says I seem too distracted to row, so he suggests we call it a day and have a coffee in the cafe by the lake instead. I can see why he likes it so much once we take our seats as, although it looks really run down, the location’s gorgeous. How many retirement homes have a lake like this close by? The Abandon Hope lot have no idea how lucky they are. I’ll be broke when I retire, not least because the management of Halfwits pride themselves on running such a young and “vibrant” company that no member of staff would be seen dead asking for a pension scheme. I’d been relying on Dan’s for when I retired, but that’s out of the window now, and I doubt Danny could give his to Pammy, even if he wanted to – not when she doesn’t exist.
I’ll probably end up living in a tent by the time I’m Pearl’s age, and relying on soup kitchens and handouts for my basic needs. Mind you, I’d prefer the tent to taking my chances in some of the old people’s homes you hear about on the news: the ones where cruel, stupid “carers” abuse vulnerable old people who haven’t got anyone to look out for their interests. That’ll be me, if Joel doesn’t remember he’s supposed to visit me occasionally, and I bet he will forget. Meanwhile, as I rot away, alone and unloved, Dannyboy won’t know I’m there, Dan won’t care, and I won’t have met anyone new, because I’ve been concentrating all my energies on an online romance that can’t ever become reality.
A wave of sheer terror washes over me and I become breathless and start to cry. In front of Albert, Mr Dignified.
“I thought splitting up with Dan might be liberating, once I got used to it,” I wail, in-between hiccuping and sniffling while Albert sits back and sips his coffee, patting my hand occasionally. “But it isn’t at all, it’s just scary. When he first left me, I was almost too frightened to get out of bed, and I still have days like that now. What if I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life? I don’t think I can cope with it.”
“That’s because you’re behaving as if you’re helpless, Hannah,” says Albert, then – just as I’m about to glare at him – he adds, “I felt like that when my late wife died.”
That stops me in my tracks. What a pathetic, self-obsessed idiot I am. Albert’s wife is dead. Dead. And Dan is very much alive, unless Dannyboy is a ghost with access to a home computer. I should be ashamed of myself for being so crass, and how on earth did I forget that Albert is a widower? People like me deserve a slap.
I start grovelling, but Albert brushes my apologies aside.
“How do you cope?” I ask, when he’s finished reassuring me that I haven’t mortally offended him.
He stares out across the lake, while he considers my question. His expression is inscrutable, and he takes so long to reply that I’m starting to wonder whether he ever will by the time he eventually starts to speak.
“I suppose I haven’t given up hope of being happy again,” he says. “And nor should you. But in the meantime, maybe you should concentrate on getting your confidence up, so you’ll believe you can be independent, and maybe even enjoy it a little, too? I know that would make your Aunt Pearl happy. She worries about you, you know.”
“Does she really?” I ask, watching as a huge white swan swims into view, followed by a brood of fluffy, grey swanlets, or whatever they’re called. Crying always reduces my brain to toast.
“She does indeed,” says Albert, following my gaze. “Much more than you might think. She just doesn’t show her feelings much. Now shall we feed those swans?”
* * *
The sun is setting by the time I walk back from the lake with Albert and pop in to say goodbye to Pearl, who confirms she really has been worrying about me recently.
“Joel says you’re spending a lot of time online in the evenings,” she adds, “which can’t be good for you, or him.”
“He’s a fine one to talk,” I say, stung by Pearl’s criticism of my mothering skills. As if it’s not enough to have failed as a wife, is she saying I’m a crap mother, too?
Pearl denies the accusation, as soon as I’ve finished making it.
“No, of course I’m not saying that,” she says, while patting me on the shoulder – a bit tentatively, as if I’m a dog that might all too readily bite her hand. “I just think you’re a bit oblivious to what’s going on with him, because you’re so bogged down in your own problems.”
I don’t know what to say, so there’s a brief silence, which is not a comfortable one.
“Not that I blame you for that, my dear,” adds Pearl, somewhat hastily. “It’s been a difficult time for all of you. I just think you ought to keep an eye on Joel, as he seems to be going a bit off the rails to me. First he gets rid of that lovely girlfriend of his and then he says relationships are for idiots, or something like that.”
“I think the word he actually used was ‘suckers’,” says Albert, from his place in the wingback chair nearest the window. It’s turned towards the view and obscures its occupant so thoroughly that I’d forgotten Albert was even here.
I don’t know if that is what Joel said, but I feel as if I’ve been sucker-punched. I knew all of this stuff, of course – and I have worried about it occasionally – but I didn’t think Joel wanted to talk to me about it, except the other night when he was drunk, so I haven’t tried to persuade him to.
I sigh, then apologise to Pearl for snapping at her.
“You’re right,” I say. “I am worried about him, especially how much he seems to be drinking, though what can I do? I can’t make Dan come back.”
My voice wobbles a bit, which Pearl and Albert both politely pretend to ignore, then Albert goes off to fetch something from his flat, presumably to give me time to get myself back under control.
When I stop crying, Pearl passes me a tissue, and then she says, “No, you can’t make Dan come back, my dear – much to my regret, as well as yours – but has it occurred to you that Joel might cope better if he could see you were? He’s a good boy, really, and he loves his mum.”
He is, and hopefully he does, so I promise Pearl I’ll make an effort and then I change the subject to what’s going on with her.
“So, talking of getting back into the swing of things, how’s your internet dating going?” I say.
Pearl looks a bit uncomfortable for a second, and then she says, “I thought I’d told you. I’ve given it up.”
Honestly, talk about “don’t do as I do, do as I say”!
I accuse Pearl of being hypocritical, and then she tells me she got tired of all the men she encountered on the dating site.
“They all seemed content to just sit in their chairs and fade away,” she adds, “but I’ve got a bit more life left in me than that, and I wanted a man in the same position.”
“Albert seems to fit that bill,” I say, to which Pearl makes no comment other than to raise an eyebrow, and then she passes me a slice of the cake Albert brought round for
her yesterday.
It’s coffee cake, which I love, so my “get fit” plan goes out of the window, and by the time I’ve finished stuffing my face, Pearl’s brought the conversation back round to me.
“Don’t give up, like those sad old men,” she says. “Not with what you and Dan have put yourselves through in order to be happier. You can’t expect things to improve overnight, but one thing’s for sure, they won’t ever improve if you keep spending all your time on a computer.”
I know she’s right, but that’s what’s so annoying, so I decide to leave before she can share any more irritating pearls of wisdom. I take the dirty cake plates through to the kitchen, wash them up, then kiss Pearl and pick up my coat.
“Things change when you least expect them to, Hannah,” she says, as I walk towards her front door. “If being married to a diplomat taught me anything, it taught me that.”
I open the door before I can be subjected to any more United Nations-style efforts to resolve my problems, especially if they involve giving up Danny to date other men.
Chapter 24
I’ve been trying to think of the positive things in my non-virtual life since my pep-talks with Pearl and Albert, but Eva’s not making it easy tonight. I’m right in the middle of describing a narrow escape Pammy had when she made a comment to Danny about his son’s age (which Danny was positive he’d never told her), when she interrupts.
“Talking about yourself in the third person is the first sign of madness, Hannah,” she says, unscrewing the cap of the bottle of wine she’s brought with her and pouring us both a generous glass.
She insists we take those upstairs to my bedroom, where I sit on the bed while she flings open the doors to the wardrobe.
“Talking of madness,” she adds, “we’d better get down to business if you want me to help you choose what to wear for this stupid supper club idea you’ve had.”
I can’t see why it’s such a stupid idea, but Eva says supper clubs are a complete and utter waste of time for single women. That sounds like the voice of experience, but I ignore it, anyway. If I’m to make Joel feel better about the situation with Dan, I need to start being more independent, socialising by myself, and coping with it. That’s why I’ve banned both Eva and Esther from coming with me to my first supper club.