by Lola Jaye
“Carla never told me she had such a pretty friend,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, before taking a bit of wine. The way he was looking at me made me nervous—in a good way.
“This isn’t great, honey,” commented Markus, poking at the food with his fork.
“Sorry, babe. What is it this time? Too much pepper?” asked Carla in a little girl’s voice, which for a second I mistook for sarcasm.
“Not enough actually,” he said mid-mouthful as Carla leaped from her chair, returning with the pepper shaker. I struggled not to make a comment.
Apparently Raymond worked for an insurance firm where he did “exciting” things with forms. Although he described his job wittily, my eyes were almost glazing over by dessert. I was absolutely exhausted.
“Am I boring you?” he asked self-consciously, suddenly appearing younger than his years. Carla and Markus had disappeared into the kitchen.
“No, I’ve just been working late. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Carla said you were a workaholic.”
“Charming. Nice to know how others see you.”
“But she didn’t say how pretty you were, remember…? I’d get a new friend if I were you…” He smiled and I noticed a perfect row of very white teeth.
Raymond was twenty-two and happy to do all the things a lot of twenty-two-year-olds cherished. “Killing” his brother at the latest Playstation game, apartment-sharing and sporting a serious aversion to being tied down. So at first glance and perhaps to the outside world, Raymond and I were total opposites. But his refusal to be pinned down made him a very attractive proposition for me, because with him I could bury the fear of someone wanting more than I was willing or able to give. And without a man around I was content with my toys—and we’re not just talking about my new Nikon digital camera.
So being with Ray on a Sunday and Thursday evening each week also felt right. Just as laughing with him on the phone and in between meetings did. Everything was moving just the way I liked it and always to my schedule.
But the day I had to tell two senior members of staff that we needed to let them go—that felt so, so wrong and was one of the hardest days I’d ever had to face at work. Having no miscellaneous entry to refer to on this, I was clueless as to how to deal with such a situation. But I found the strength—or nerve—to inform the first person and then the second (just before slipping them the website address of my employment agency). Still, the whole process left me feeling like shit and wanting to talk to someone. Anyone.
I was exhausted by the time I reached home.
The answer-phone beeped through with a message from Ray. I dialed his number on my cellphone.
“Hi, Ray.” I undid my jacket and placed it on the side of the sofa. The lounge, in fact the whole house, still smelled of fresh paint after having it redecorated only three days before.
“You sound down. Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Just a hard day at work.” I hit Play on the stereo remote control and the tones of Amy Winehouse burst into the room like silk and honey and my muscles began to relax.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I thought for a moment. “No.”
“Are you sure? I’m a good listener!”
“No!” I snapped, feeling my hackles rise. Wondering what a twenty-two-year-old in a dead-end job could possibly know about the mechanics of firing good people. A decent man, with two teenagers and a wife to support. A young woman with a mortgage, just like me.
“I’ll come round, shall I? Can I come round?”
“When?”
“Tonight?”
“Instead of Thursday?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and slipping aching feet into a pair of yellow fluffy slippers—Abbi’s Christmas present last year. My time with Ray was strictly Thursdays and Sundays and he knew that—then again, I could do with some company after the day I’d had.
“I’ll be truthful…with Carla and my bro always getting it on…it’s a bit much. Then there are the rows. I could do with the peace, to be honest. Plus you can tell me what’s on your mind…”
Knowing what it was like to perch in the shadow of Carla’s exploits, I agreed for Ray to invade my space for one extra night.
And I had to admit, it did help me to forget about the firings temporarily and I was able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks.
The following morning, I awoke to find him fiddling with my new camera.
“We should take a picture together. This has a timer, right?”
“Yes, it does…” I replied suspiciously
“I bet they’ll come out all professional. Digital technology is supposed to be better than the old stuff. Talking of which, why is that old camera in your cabinet? Why don’t you just chuck it or give it to a charity shop.”
Now I was angry. I padded into the kitchen as he followed like an irritating little lapdog. My plate of oats began to warm in the microwave, and he continued. “We haven’t got any pictures together, Lois. Perhaps we’ll take some when you get back?”
“Sure, but not right now, okay?” I replied, knowing deep down that I was not interested in taking any pictures of the two of us.
I canceled Thursday.
“Corey will be here next week!” gushed Carla’s mom as “With Stars On” came to an end. I decided there and then to purchase the retro-style record player I’d found on the Internet, skipping any chance of bumping into Corey and his Blushing Blonde Bombshell Mark Two Bride to Be.
“I’m sure he’d love to see you, Lois. Just think how great it will be to have him close by when they get married!”
“I don’t understand,” I said, slipping the vinyl into its sleeve.
“He and his wife will be moving to Greenwich.” As soon as she said it, she realized. “You are okay with this, darlin’?”
The vinyl almost slipped from my hand as the ramifications of such a move became clear. “Of course I am!”
“I knew you would be. You and Corey were years ago. Childhood sweethearts. Over with now, right?”
“Right.” And that was true. I had no real feelings for Corey, I just didn’t need the reminder of a one-night stand constantly biting me on the ass every time I ventured out of my house. And when I thought nothing else could add to this magical moment, she added, “AND they’re both coming to England to discuss wedding plans. Next week!”
The following week I pushed forward a planned business trip to Dubai. By day, heading up the new team in tall, plush offices, a backdrop of clear skies and a searing sun. By night, lying on a four-poster hotel bed, listening to cable, working from a laptop, trying and succeeding to place all thoughts of Corey securely where they belonged—out of my head.
Upon my return, the happy couple were safely back in France.
“I can’t believe you went to Dubai without telling me!” moaned Ray after an exhilarating bout of lovemaking. While Oliver had been a tender, sweet lover in the beginning, Ray took to the task with gusto, desperate in his quest to please me and doing quite a good job. If only he wouldn’t whine so much.
“Oh Ray, it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. When the company says jump, I have to!” My hands behind my head, I sighed deeply, my lower body snug under the duvet.
“Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Ray…” I said, with just a tinge of exasperation.
His bottom lip shot out out like Abbi’s. “Just let me know next time, that’s all. Perhaps I could come with you. We’ve never been abroad together.”
“Okay!” I sighed, knowing that would never happen.
“Talking of going out…I was wondering, instead of me coming here on Sunday, why don’t we…” And on he went. The whining, the chatter, the questions. The only two words I did manage to identify were possibly the most important. Sister and park.
“The park?”
“Or we could take her to the zoo—whichever. Take some pictures—you never use that top-of-the-range camera of yours!”
>
The whole concept seemed alien to me, this idea of some warped “family” outing, complete with snapshots. My eyebrows scrunched in confusion as I searched for a get-out clause and found one in Carla—who was scheduled at my place for dinner with Markus this Saturday. Only, she didn’t know it yet.
Luckily, Carla did manage to persuade Markus to come over on Saturday, and while we left the brothers catching up in my lounge, Carla frogmarched me into the kitchen.
“So, what’s this all about then?” asked Carla, one eyebrow raised.
“Thought it right to return the favor.”
“Liar. I know you’d rather boil your own toe than spend time with Markus.”
“Don’t say that!”
“I know you don’t like him,” she spat quietly, just as Markus appeared.
“Darling, have you seen my phone?”
Carla placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, babe, I think I left it on the sofa at home!”
Markus’s nose flared and his eyebrows arched. “But I told you to go and fetch it when I was looking for the car keys!”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” she replied, truly apologetic.
I left the ensuing row to see what Ray was up to. After five minutes I headed back toward the kitchen, stopping just outside the door, hearing obviously raised voices.
“I said I was sorry!”
“Why do you have to be such a dumb bitch, huh?”
I waited for my best friend to slap this man’s face—at least verbally—because no one had ever spoken to her like that. Not since Tommy Wannamaker called her Tuls (“slut” backward) in the third year.
So I waited.
“I’m really sorry, Markus,” I heard her mumble apologetically.
Was this for real?
“I hope this doesn’t happen again,” he said, footsteps heading toward the door as I made a quick backward retreat into the toilet.
Two days before my twenty-sixth birthday, Carla slipped me some Ann Summers coupons just as I was about to broach my concerns over Markus. Mom, armed with Abbi in tow, dropped by for the first time in history to hand over a DVD of some sloppy movie. And I had to admit, it was a nice surprise having them over and I even took some beautiful pictures of Abbi before they left, just as Ray phoned claiming his surprise would wait until a few days AFTER my birthday, because of work constraints. This was okay with me, considering the only thing I really wanted to do was read another birthday entry from Dad.
The day before my birthday, I bounded into the office, anticipating a pyramid of work requiring a clean-up before my day off. I waved to the security/door man as usual, retrieved a fresh mug of coffee from the kitchen and switched on my computer to catch up on the million or so emails. One, purposefully highlighted in blue, immediately caught my eye. An email from the boss. She wanted to see me.
Her office was larger than mine, more plush, two pictures of each of her children gracing a rectangular mahogany desk.
“Sit down, Lois.”
“Good morning,” I began, before noticing the blank but almost sympathetic look on her face. No change there. The boss was hardly a barrel of laughs at the best of times.
“I have some news for you.”
“What is it, Joan?”
“I’m afraid…I’m afraid there are going to be further job losses and I wanted to tell you about them.”
My circulation seemed to stop as I wondered who I had to sack next. Hating—no, make that despising—this side of the job.
“I’m afraid…I’m afraid we are going to have to make you redundant, Lois.”
Her words made a fist of my intestines. “Sorry? I don’t understand? Are you saying…? Are you saying I don’t have a job?”
“I’m afraid so, Lois.”
I bet you feel really old now. Wrong side of twenty-five. Closer to thirty.
Yes, I know, because I felt worse on my birthday, so Charlie and Philomena accompanied me to the pub for a slight…erm…session of drinking.
I’d be fibbing if I told you twenty-six wasn’t meaningful, because it is. So if there are any loose ends that need tying up or if things need changing, this is the year to do it.
I love you, with stars on. Dad.
I banned any celebration and even told Raymond not to bother me for a while. I needed to find a new job and immediately began an Internet search, trying to ignore the recruitment agency’s spiel: “The IT industry is not as lucrative as it once was. Jobs are really thin on the ground, Ms. Bates.” Of course, the redundancy package and savings would allow me a certain amount of breathing space, but could only be temporary. I needed my dad to tell me what to do, how to get out of a hole I never thought I’d find myself in. Besides, he’d never actually thought his precious daughter would ever get made redundant, because the company needed to make savings and I just happened to be one of the “last in.” I had to give up my job and everything that went with it, including the car. Dad’s favorite car.
Because of unused leave, I was able to leave within weeks as one of the agencies quickly came up with a temporary post paying less than thirty percent of what I was used to—but it was work, and as my recruitment consultant said, it “would only be temporary.”
Against my wishes, Ray had my very belated birthday card, along with a huge bunch of flowers, delivered to my new workplace. I immediately called him up with a thank you and we decided to meet up at a little restaurant half a mile from the office in High Street Kensington, right near the subway station.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“I just needed to sort my life out. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. You’re so thoughtful,” he said, sipping on a glass of wine he’d insisted on ordering.
“Why d’you say that?” I tucked into my usual prawn tempura starter and for the first time noticed a strange glint in Ray’s eye.
“Saying you wanted a Thai restaurant, when you know it’s my favorite food.”
“It was near the subway station.”
“Oh.”
One prickle of guilt. “But Thai being your favorite is a bonus.”
“No, you’re my favorite, Lois.”
His handsome, boyish face seemed to beam.
“I know I haven’t been the best lately…not seeing you and that—” I began.
“That’s okay. I know things have been stressful, what with the job situation. But I want you to know, I’ll be there for you.”
“Thanks.”
The beautifully dressed waitress placed the sticky rice in front of me.
“We’re sharing that,” I said. She ignored me and I looked to Ray, who was smiling like a horny tomcat.
“Have I missed something?”
“Look in the rice,” he commanded quite uncharacteristically.
I peered into it but I couldn’t see anything but rice. Then I noticed it—a slight sparkle from inside the bowl.
“Take it out,” he instructed excitedly. The waitress was on apparent standby beside me.
I picked up the cheap piece of jewelry that had been embedded within the bowl of sticky rice and just stared at it, feeling a little numb.
“It’s an engagement ring,” he said anxiously, his hands tapping nervously on the table.
Bile rose up in my throat.
“That’s…er…” The words wouldn’t come. I felt a little hot and then an urge to leave as I placed the ring on the table and looked at it. Then I took a sip of water, wishing it was alcohol. Ironically, a bottle of house champagne appeared out of nowhere from a second waitress.
“I love you, Lois. So, so much, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He took my hand. “You’re the one.”
“I didn’t…I didn’t think you were into all that.” I shook my hand away. “Plus you’ve only just turned twenty-three. Aren’t twenty-three-year-olds supposed to be out partying?”
“Not this one. I’m ready.”
A movie reel of pros flashed in my mind for a total of six seconds, followe
d by a rush of cons:
The L word (and never actually having said it to him).
My total inability to give up space in my apartment.
My lack of faith in long-term relationships.
My total inability to give up any part of my life for a man (Oliver, case in point).
Especially a man who, without warning, suddenly dropped to his knees in a begging pose, right there in the restaurant.
“Marry me, please. I love you, Lois.” His eyes were wide open and I thought I could see tears. I looked down at the ring and then around the restaurant in total amazement-cum-embarrassment, unable to match the looks of complete excitement etched on the faces of people who clearly needed to get a life.
I looked back at the man who had just asked me to marry him. And I closed my eyes, not wanting him to see my thoughts.
“Well?” asked Ray, with the look of Oliver Twist pleading for a bowl of porridge. I opened my eyes to yet another beautifully dressed waitress standing beaming behind him, ready to attack with full applause. I felt as if I was suffocating. My blouse began to stick to me like glue; the air around me felt tight.
“I need the loo,” I said, jumping out of my seat, much to the thorough disappointment of three beaming waitresses.
I hunched over the freestanding sink in a vomit pose, but knowing I hadn’t reached that stage yet. This was all too much, though. I mean, in normal circumstances it would be too much, but in the current climate it just about made my bad day/week/month/life seem that bit worse. Ray was a good man, but I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him. The only man I wanted was dead. Staring at my reflection, mascara halfway down my cheeks, suitcase-sized bags under my eyes, I knew I was in a giant, humungous mess.