Journey to the Centre of Myself

by Andie M. Long

  One of the travel guides on Tenerife states that you can drive down a road and it will end—there is nothing further. They built it to a certain point and decided to finish it at a later date. That’s how I see myself. I’ve travelled down the road and it ran out, leaving dirt and rubble. But I’m not waiting for the rest of the road to come. I’m changing direction.

  I plan to see the volcano while I’m there. The fact I can get close to nature appeals. The book says the Tour Guides throw water into the holes in the ground and a geyser shoots up. Astounding. The pictures on the internet show scenes that appear like they’re from outer space, red and blue rocks on red sand. I’d better make sure I have plenty of memory cards for the camera. I reckon I’ll be busy.

  When I get home, I’m going to arrange to be sterilised. I’ve wanted to do it for a while, but Adrian would never hear of it. The menopause won’t be that much longer now probably, but at forty-two accidents can happen. That’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.

  Do you know what else I’ve realised? That I’ll be open to new relationships. Nothing heavy but I’ll be up for some fun. Life experiences. I’ve bought condoms. They’re already in my case. There’s no rush though, and I’ll certainly not be being controlled by what any man wants.

  There are so many things I’m interested in doing—art classes, yoga on the top of mountains, perhaps even a walking holiday. I may apply to be a travel writer as I’ll be able to provide my own photos to go with my articles. I can use my redundancy money and what I make from the house sale and I have family money in the bank, an inheritance I was saving for a rainy day. That day is here, but it’s not going to rain—it’s going to be bright and sunny.

  I never allowed our CD collections to be merged. Who wants to wade through tons of hideous music to get to what they want? I never had that many CDs, but what I do own was in a drawer in the lounge in alphabetical order, the curse of the secretary. Now they’re in one of these boxes. Adrian can keep the Hi-fi, the separates he’s always been so proud of. As I have no need for such things now. I’ll have my music on my tablet and phone. I bought one of those little speakers that plug in so you can play it anywhere. It looks like a little ball. Everything’s going smaller; it means we’re more portable. There’s no need for anyone to stand still if they don’t want to.

  I stare out of the window. I used to love sitting in the garden, with its little wooden seat in the corner that we nicknamed the bus station. What a strange thing a garden is. A small plot of land in the middle of a concrete jungle. I won’t be satisfied with anything less than a park from now on. I want wide open spaces, not a small postage stamp garden where you can’t sit without disturbance from neighbours’ hedge trimmers, or the mandatory bonfire at seven pm because God knows it’s impossible to have a bonfire on a cold, dry day, isn’t it? What is wrong with people? Bonfires should be banned between May and October.

  Neither will I need to hold polite conversations with Mrs Dudley anymore. She can keep her neighbourliness. Though I’m sure it extends from her being a lonely, old woman, the fact remains that underneath her constant requests for updates on our lives, they’ve usually come with a sermon attached on what she thinks we should be doing.

  I genuinely hope that at the end of all this, when time has evolved, we can be friends, Adrian and I. I know it may be impossible, that things may get fraught or emotions might get in the way, but I do hope we can stay in touch, even if it’s only a brief email. After all our time together, it’s strange to think that a day may come when there is no Adrian in my life.

  Meeting Amber over the last couple of weeks has shown me I’m at a stage where I want to make some new friendships with other women. There may be other single women, divorcees, widows travelling alone, and find commonality. Perhaps a love of bazaars, or fine food, and I can choose not to always spend my time alone.

  It’s like I was a paper cut-out before, all thin and white and plain, and then someone shook me and a chain of other Karen’s, other personalities, flowed out. They’re slowly being coloured in, decorated, gaining features of their own, yet can be folded back under the plain looking girl. I’m secretly crossing my fingers that with a lot of swimming, sunbathing and spas I’ll look and feel a lot better and be more confident.

  I do worry about Steve. My mind keeps coming back to him. He’s always been my bossy big brother, taking care of me and it’s driven me mad, another control freak. Now, though, it’s like he’s losing his confidence. When I think about it, he lost his wife because he wasn’t around, and he’s doing the opposite and trying too hard with Amber. I get annoyed this didn’t come to me earlier. I could have called him, given him some advice. But then, I won’t be here to watch his every move, will I? Also, who am I to give relationship advice? Whether it’s with Amber or someone else, I hope my brother finds his own love and happiness. Maybe he’d like to join me on one of my trips away? That could be cool. I’ll ask him later when I call to find out how his date went.

  So I’m almost ready and inwardly I’m quite giddy with excitement, now everything is working towards its climax. I’m trying hard not to seem too joyous around Adrian of course, that would be unkind. We say very little to each other right now, but I don’t think he has any idea where he’s heading once I’m gone. I hope his mum stays well for some time, so he doesn’t have added stress.

  So as I finish writing in my journal, I look at the bird near the cage on the cover and trace her with my finger. She’s me. I’m ready to go now. I need a new journal for the next instalment. The one with all the passports on it might be the one for me now?

  I head downstairs to write a shopping list of what I need to get for my travels and write a mock up menu for my dinner party, my last supper.

  Chapter 32

  Amber

  So here we are again at Luisa’s. Steve pulls out my chair for me to be seated. He looks smart in plain black trousers and a simple pale green roll neck. It shows off the blue in his eyes.

  He seems a lot more chilled out, less desperate. Thank goodness. He takes his seat opposite me and we order drinks.

  ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘Thanks for meeting me. I wanted to, well, apologise, for how I’ve been behaving.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘No it's not and I’d like to explain. My ex-wife, I paid her next to no attention, so she got it elsewhere. Then I meet you and you tell me your own marriage went stale and wasn’t exciting and I was, well I like this woman, I don’t want to make the same mistake again, so I try to be exciting and attentive and well, I fucked up.’

  ‘Steve,’ I reach my hand across the table and stroke his in a soothing manner. ‘Let’s just have a nice meal, okay? No agenda, no trying to be someone else. Let’s just eat and chat.’

  He puts his hand over mine. ‘I can do that. Okay, time to see what’s on this menu.’

  As we eat, he tells me about his real job as a Pharmaceutical rep. Now I realise how our paths crossed the day I had lunch in the park, near the hospital. How he enjoys it, even though he spends a lot of time travelling or waiting for doctors who don’t appear. I tell him how I enjoyed Boxing Day, just being alone. How I need to do more of that and less of the impulsive non-thinking drunken behaviour of this last year.

  ‘You sound like my sister. She’s leaving, you know. She’s booked a month in Tenerife.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Adrian told me.’

  ‘Adrian?’

  ‘Yeah, when he called for his car Thursday. I’m surprised I remembered he told me, I was off my face when he turned up.’

  Steve sits up, tenses.

  ‘So he just picked up his car?’

  ‘No, the poor man told me about his wife leaving him, so I told him he could get pissed with me. He left the car and fetched it back yesterday.’

  ‘He stayed at your house?’ he snaps.

  My voice rises. ‘No. He had some booze, and we chatted and then he got a taxi home. What’s with the attitude anyway?’

  ‘Sorry,
I just thought we were dating, and that’s my sister’s husband, so forgive me for being a little concerned. It’s just… well we know what you’re like when you’re drunk.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You flirted with me. Shaun had to put you to bed. Quite a pattern really, isn’t it? Did Adrian have to put you to bed?’

  ‘How dare you?’ I fling my napkin hard on the table. ‘I might have flirted, I might have been drunk, but at no time did I ever lose the ability to make a decision. Yes, I snogged you but my marriage was coming to a close, and with Shaun I was unhappy because my husband had just left me and I still didn’t sleep with anyone. In fact, the only dumb thing I did—’ I am now shaking with anger ‘—was sleeping with you. It has caused me no end of problems. You seriously need to grow up, Steve. It’s you who needs to spend some time alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Amber. It was the thought of—’

  ‘And what if I had slept with Adrian? We’re both single. Do you get that? I am separated and so is he. We had a nice time. We have stuff in common. It was nice to talk to someone else whose marriage is ending right now. To let off steam.’

  The waitress is hovering, too scared to come over in case a potential wine tsunami is about to launch. I catch her attention.

  ‘Err, would you like to see the dessert menu?’

  ‘Just the bill, thank you—and my coat.’

  ‘Oh, Amber, I’ve apologised. Please don’t go.’

  I exhale. My nostrils flare. ‘Enough Steve, for God’s sake. I don’t need this, I really don’t. Do not—’ I wag my finger at him ‘—ring me again. Do not turn up at the house. I’m done. Do you understand? I’m not interested. I’ve told you straight now. Right now I need some time on my own. Do you know I might lose my job? You’re so self-involved it never crossed your mind to ask me about my job. I could lose my house.’

  ‘Oh please, let’s be friends. You could stay at my house if you do, there’s always—’

  ‘Are you for real?’ I throw money down on the plate that’s arrived. ‘You’re like some kind of sick stalker and to be honest, it's creeping me out. Stay away from me,’ I shout, grab my coat and storm out of the door as several patrons watch us in stunned silence. I don’t turn back.

  Karen calls me later. ‘I am so sorry, Amber.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, is it? Your brother is a total lunatic if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘It must run in the family,’ she says.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing. Listen. I’ve told him straight that you couldn’t be clearer, that there’s nothing happening there and to leave you alone.’

  I blow out a breath. ‘Thank you. I’ve been worrying for the last few hours that he would turn up with flowers and a flipping engagement ring or something.’

  She laughs. ‘He’s out of practice with dating and being a fool. He’s back at work next week. That man needs to be busy in his work, that’s where his real relationship is. He’s in love with his job. That’s the reason his last marriage ended.’

  ‘How are you doing anyway? Now that you’ve booked to go away?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. Actually, I feel guilty that I’m excited when I should be sad about the end of things with Adrian, but I’m not.’

  ‘How’s Adrian doing?’

  ‘He seems okay. We’re not speaking about things much anymore, it's done with. I know he had a laugh the other night at yours. Thanks, Amber, you didn’t have to.’

  ‘No, it was good for me too. We’re in the same boat after all.’

  ‘Steve told me about your job. Is that true?’

  ‘Yep, fun and games for me.’

  ‘How’s that happened?’

  ‘Jo told my manager about Smithy getting punched. They’re investigating. In the meantime, me and Mirelle are relegated to the General Typing League and Jo is working for Smithy.’

  I hear Karen huff at the other end.

  ‘Karen?’

  ‘Just… watch out for her, Amber. Jo’s always wanted my job. She had a huge crush on Smithy, way back when. I’m not sure whether something went off between them. If not, it certainly wasn’t for the want of trying on her part.’

  ‘Mirelle said something similar.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Mirelle has a plan involving a Dictaphone.’

  ‘Be careful. Don’t do anything rash.’

  ‘No, I don’t intend to. The old me would have done, but the new improved me needs to come into play on Monday. I need that job. Not just want it. I need it to keep my house and be able to look after myself. Though your brother mentioned I could stay with him.’

  ‘Dear Lord, he didn’t. Don’t tell me any more things he did, I’m horrified.’

  ‘Well, I’ll find out what’s happening on Monday anyway.’

  ‘Yes, well that’s one thing I wanted to chat to you about.’

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Monday. New Year’s Eve. I want to have a quiet drink to nod to the fact that I’m leaving. I’d really like it if you’d come for a meal.’

  ‘Of course, I will.’

  ‘It’s just… the thing is… I’d like it to be with Adrian, you and, well, my brother. I want to say goodbye to you all. He’s promised to behave and keep out of your way. I’ll keep him by me all night. You can chat with Adrian and me.’

  ‘Oh Karen, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please? For me. It would mean so much.’

  I sigh. ‘Okay, just for you, to make sure you get a good send off. But if he serves rabbit for dinner, I’m off.’

  She tinkles with laughter. Her happiness bounces down the line.

  ‘Thank you so much, and no, I promise there will be no boiling of bunnies.’

  ‘Can I bring anything?’

  ‘Nope, I have everything under control.’

  I really hope she does.

  What a strange day it’s been. I decide to take down the Christmas decorations. For me, it’s over once Boxing Day is done, but I left them up a little longer this year, trying to keep the season merry. I’m not a New Year type of girl. Will always watched Jools Holland, which I hated, while I would watch the fireworks sparking off the London Eye and wish I was there in the crowd. Every year when I see those fireworks, I regret not being there. Maybe Karen would like to go next year to see them with me? That would be nice.

  I don’t even know if I’ll be in this house next year. I hate the fact I have no permanence in my life. For all I’ve called my parents, I’ve not been able to put proper roots down myself. I’m just as much a wanderer as they are. If I get desperate, I could always go to New Zealand; use my house sale profit to fund the plane fare. I’d prefer not to, though, I love it in Manchester. It’s my home.

  I’ve only ever prayed when times are dire and I hope God forgives me for that, but right now I clasp my hands together and ask that if he’s listening and hasn’t given up on me, that he can let me keep my job. I promise that I’ll be more adult and responsible if he can just guarantee a permanent job, something I can rely on. While I’m at it I ask for Mirelle and Shaun to live happily ever after, Karen to enjoy her travels, Adrian to find happiness and for Steve to grow a pair. Well, they say He can perform miracles. I say Amen and get out my Will and Grace box-set. I need some laughs tonight. Tomorrow I’ll get my bike out. I was considering another onesie day, but that’s lazy. I want to feel the burn in my legs. That feeling of being alive. Definitely tomorrow it’s no booze and some exercise. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, however, I go and get a part open bottle of wine…

  Monday comes around and I wake with butterflies in my stomach and need to keep visiting the bathroom. So much rests on today. I tell myself that I can temp somewhere else, but I don’t want to start over again.

  I push through the doorway, say Good Morning to the receptionist and head for the general office. The girls in here have always seemed friendly enough, but they hover like birds around a rotting carcass. Once
settled they are going to want to know why Mirelle and I are in here.

  This office is small for the seven people who have to work in it today. Desks are shoved together, and the work piles up on desks and in a trolley. It’s a free for all; you pick up whatever is the most urgent. The phones never stop ringing and there’s constant hustle and bustle as staff members walk in with work. Colleagues catch up on weekend gossip, help themselves to the Christmas chocolates (yes they give a tin of chocolates as a gift and then come back in and eat them, cheeky twats), and the occasional clatter of fingertips hits the keyboard.

  As Mirelle walks in, her nose wrinkles like she’s just entered a cage of zoo animals who’ve defecated all over the floor. She grabs a pack of wet wipes off the window ledge and wipes down her entire workstation before she sits anywhere near it. She’s at the opposite end of the room to myself, and although it’s squashed, and it’s not that far away, it feels like we’re two squabbling sisters who’ve been split up by an angry mother.

  An incoming email icon pops up on my computer screen, I click on it and there’s a message from Mirelle. ‘We have to sort this today. I can’t work in here much longer. I have a splitting headache already.’

  The door opens and Jo walks in. She’s had her hair cut in a blunt bob and dyed a dark purple. She has a full face of makeup and is dressed in a smart navy blue suit, with a black cowl-neck satin top underneath that shows a hint of cleavage. The Devil wears Next.