Humbugs and Heartstrings

by Catherine Ferguson

She was always a star at public speaking, the opposite of me in that respect. But I suppose it worked for us. We each had different strengths the other could rely on.

  She is so mesmerising and convincing that when she finishes the first part of the presentation, all three women applaud and glance at one another, impressed.

  Carol goes over to the DVD machine. ‘And now I have great pleasure in introducing you to some of my team. As I’ve already emphasised, we consider ourselves one big happy family.’ She smiles. ‘Sounds corny, I know, but it’s true.’

  She presses the button and stands back, looking on proudly, like a mother watching her infant playing a dolphin in the school nativity play.

  ‘Truly one big happy family.’ Gracefully, she retires to the window to allow the film to speak for itself.

  And on screen, a mince pie whizzes across and slaps me right in the chest.

  ‘Take that, you haggard old witch!’ screams someone who looks like Carol. It’s hard to tell because her face is screwed up like a world champion gurner.

  ‘Fuck off, you venomous old slag!’ The image of me yells back as my cream horn missile slops down her forehead.

  Bloody Hell! What’s happening here? I clutch the wall and Carol claps her hand to her mouth.

  My legs have turned to lumps of wood. I literally cannot move.

  Fez put two disks in my bag this morning. Both clearly marked.

  Carol must have pulled out the wrong one!

  The council women are riveted to the screen. One of them laughs, clearly assuming it’s all part of the pitch.

  Carol dives for the ‘stop’ button.

  In her panic, though, she keeps hitting ‘rewind’ then ‘play’. So for an agonizing thirty seconds, while I’m scrabbling in my bag for the real disk, agog council officials are treated to ‘Take that, you haggard old witch!’ and ‘Fuck off, you venomous old slag!’ on a mind-boggling loop.

  My face is flaming. Where’s the bloody disk?

  Carol charges over and grabs it out of my hand.

  At last the correct DVD starts playing and I exit swiftly, gulping air like it’s an endangered substance.

  I am dead meat.

  Even though technically, it wasn’t my fault, I truly am dead meat.

  But oh my God, the looks on those women’s faces when we started hurling food and insults …

  To my alarm, I feel my shoulders start to shake.

  The huge irony of Carol’s ‘one big happy family’ speech suddenly strikes me as impossibly hilarious and I have to clamp my lips together to keep quiet. It’s hysteria, I think, as I squeeze my eyes shut on an image of Carol menacing me with a sticky toffee pudding.

  The door opens and I stand to attention as the three council workers file out silently. They’ll be saving their guffaws for the safety of the lift.

  Carol advances on me with a face like thunder.

  ‘Carol, I’m so sorry—’ I begin.

  ‘You did that on purpose!’ Her screech is slightly strangled as there are people around. ‘You wanted me to fail! So that Charlie won’t invest!’

  I stare at her in horror. She can’t really believe that, can she?

  ‘Of course I didn’t. It was a terrible mistake. That’s all.’

  ‘Mistake, my arse!’

  I shake my head. ‘Look, you’ve got to believe me. It was an accident. I wanted to put the DVD in myself but you wouldn’t let me. And then you put the wrong one in.’

  ‘What do you mean, the wrong one? There was only one.’

  I shake my head. ‘Fez put both DVDs in my bag this morning. You just didn’t see that there were two, that’s all. A simple mistake.’

  Her eyes flash angrily. She hates that I might possibly be right. ‘Don’t you dare say anything to Charlie.’

  ‘Oh, stop being such a bully!’ I snap, suddenly fed up with treading on eggshells.

  She looks startled for a second.

  Then she turns abruptly and walks off along the corridor. As she passes the coffee station she sticks out her hand, grabs a load of sugar sachets and slips them in her bag. All without lessening her pace even a fraction.

  I listen until her angry heels have turned the corner and faded into the distance.

  Then wearily, I gather up my things, wishing I could remember where I’d abandoned the van.

  When I get back to the office, there’s a post-it note on my desk in Shona’s hand writing saying Charlie phoned.

  ‘When did he call?’ I try to sound casual.

  Shona looks up from her screen. ‘About eleven. He said it wasn’t urgent.’

  That’s good, I think, because I really can’t face talking to him right now.

  We work away in silence for a while, then Shona says, ‘That Gerry Flack gives me the creeps. Why does Carol use him?’

  ‘Good question.’

  Shona shudders. ‘He’s so … urgh … slimy.’

  ‘I suppose snakes like him can be very useful sometimes, slithering around in areas you’d never expect.’

  She shoots me a puzzled look and I shrug. ‘He gives me the creeps, too.’

  ‘He came in the other day with something for Carol. But you were all out for lunch.’ She stares into space as if she’s figuring something out. ‘So I took the envelope and said I’d pass it on but he snatched it back so fast you’d have thought it was something priceless.’

  She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘I’d love to know what was in that envelope.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I could resign!

  The earth will keep on spinning. Carol will appoint a replacement. And no one will die in the process.

  Easy.

  I switch on the bedside lamp and struggle up to peer at the clock. It’s three-forty-five but suddenly, I’m wide awake.

  I could resign.

  Yes. I could. I really could.

  I prop up my pillows and sink back to reflect on the rebellious thought that’s giving me goose bumps.

  I’m probably kidding myself. It can’t possibly be as simple as it seems.

  Can it?

  Right now, my heart is saying it might be.

  I need tea to help me think straight.

  As the kettle boils, I lean against the fridge-freezer, carton of milk in hand, wondering how I ever imagined that working for Carol could turn out well.

  With such a terrible dynamic, it was never going to be easy. We were best friends and then it all went wrong. Since when was mutual resentment a solid basis for a good working relationship?

  We’re also completely different characters. Carol is domineering and aggressive in the workplace, while I tend to be long-suffering and compliant.

  In short, Carol walks all over me and I allow it to happen.

  It’s a recipe for disaster and I have to get out.

  Back in bed with my tea and the comfort of a newly filled hot water bottle, my mind starts ticking over, feverishly weighing up how I can possibly afford to make The Great Escape, because the thought of spending just one more day working at that place seems suddenly intolerable.

  She didn’t return to the office after the presentation yesterday, which was a relief, to say the least. But I’ve got to face her some time.

  If only to hand in my notice.

  My hot water bottle is in danger of springing a leak, I am hugging it so tightly.

  Of course, if I resign, it means I’ll have to give up my flat and that’s always been the biggest sticking point. Going back to live with Mum and Tim will be tricky.

  Leaving here will be heartbreaking.

  But my whole future is at stake. I need to keep sentiment out of it and view moving back to Mum’s as merely a stepping stone to something better.

  As for earning a living, I keep thinking about what Shona had said; ‘You’ll never guess what the big sell-outs were. Your Christmas baubles and your candles. Clever old you!’

  It’s time I listened to Fez. Took the plunge and started trying to make money doing something
I love for a change. Will people part with real money for my glassware? They did at the Fayre, so maybe …

  I sip my tea, suddenly desperate to make it a reality. It might take a while to get a website up and running. But in the meantime, I could sell my work at craft fairs. And while I’m at Mum’s, living rent-free, it won’t matter so much if the money arrives in dribs and drabs. Plus, of course, I could use Mum’s garage as my workshop.

  The feeling of freedom this conjures up is so deliciously invigorating, I want to spring out of bed. Take my old glass-blowing equipment out of storage and get going now.

  Then I think about Charlie. Will he still want to know me when he hears what I have to tell him?

  I pick up the angel snow globe that’s sitting on my bedside table and cradle it in the palm of my hand.

  When he saw this, he thought of me. Our night at the oyster restaurant made me feel happy and alive for the first time in years.

  But I will not cry.

  I seem to have crossed some sort of mental threshold. There’s a steeliness in me that I don’t think was there before.

  I’ll tell him tomorrow.

  Next morning, in the cold light of day, my determination doesn’t seem to have waned at all.

  I get ready for work with a lightness of spirit.

  I will do this! I will resign today and work out my month’s notice, while planning the next stage of my brand new life. I’ll talk to Fez because he’s the ideal person to advise me on the whole website/business thing.

  And I’ll phone Charlie.

  I arrive at the office, all pumped up, my little resignation speech planned right down to the part where I magnanimously wish Carol well for the future and express a fond hope that we can be friends.

  Now I just need her to get here.

  Every time I hear a noise in the corridor, my heart misses a beat.

  By ten o’clock, Shona has asked me twice if I’m all right, I suppose because I’m so restless. I keep popping over to the filing cabinet and oh-so-casually glancing out of the window that affords a view of the car park to see if she’s arrived yet.

  By eleven, I’m so psyched up that I actually jump to my feet when my phone rings.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ I collapse into my chair again. It’s seriously fortunate I don’t have to resign every day or I’d be a basket case by the end of the week.

  ‘Hello, love. Sorry to disturb. Just wondered if you could keep Tim company tonight while I go to drama rehearsals? Bunty wants one last run through before the dress rehearsals.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Are you sure? I hate imposing.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I love coming over.’ I hesitate. ‘In fact, I sometimes wish I hadn’t moved out.’

  I have to broach the subject of moving back in and now seems as good a time as any.

  Mum laughs. ‘Well, I never thought I’d hear you say that! But I thought we agreed it was the perfect arrangement, you moving into your lovely little flat?’

  ‘Well, yes. It’s been great. But it was fantastic when we were all together as well, wasn’t it?’

  There’s a brief pause.

  ‘Er, no!’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Mum!’

  She laughs again. ‘Sorry, love, that came out all wrong. It’s not you. You know I love your company. But this house is way too small for all three of us. If you’d stayed another month we might have ended up killing each other.’

  Wow, this is going really well.

  ‘I’m joking,’ says Mum.

  ‘I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  I hang up, feeling like I’ve fallen into a pit with no way out.

  All my old fears come charging back into my head and settle down in their easy chairs. (It’s like they’ve been off to Spain on their holidays but couldn’t wait to get back for a proper cuppa and some decent telly.)

  I want to lay my head on the desk and weep.

  Of course I can’t resign. There’s far too much at stake.

  And Mum’s right.

  We’d kill each other.

  ‘Coffee?’ asks Shona brightly, popping her head round the door. ‘Or do you want to live dangerously and try some of Ella’s dandelion tea for a change?’

  I try to smile but I can’t gather the strength.

  ‘Same as usual, thanks.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When you scare a chicken, it scuttles away with a terrified squawk and a fluttering of feathers.

  And that’s me.

  A chicken. A gigantic, five foot five inch chicken who hasn’t even the courage to take control of her own future – never mind take a stand against injustice.

  I was going to resign today.

  Epic fail!

  By the time Carol arrived, halfway through the afternoon, all the nerve had gone out of me.

  I was going to tell Charlie the truth today.

  Second epic fail!

  Three times, while I was at Mum’s earlier and Tim was playing his computer games, I dialled Charlie’s mobile number, only to disconnect before it actually rang.

  I can’t chicken out forever.

  With a heavy heart, I go to my bedroom, pull out the turquoise dress and hang it on the back of the door.

  It’s Fez’s Christmas party tomorrow night.

  And Charlie will be there.

  I’ve been dreading this party. And I had a great excuse planned so that I could leave early. I offered to take Tim and his mate, Ryan (Mum is at dress rehearsals for the play tomorrow night) and of course I’d have to bring them back for a decent bed-time. No later than nine-thirty.

  But now, when I’m wishing I could fake an illness and give it a miss altogether, Tim and Ryan are naturally still desperate to go and will not take no for an answer.

  So basically, in trying to be clever, I’ve shot myself in the foot.

  I stare at the dress.

  It’s so elegant, it really needs a sophisticated hairstyle to go with it. Well, a style, full stop. (I’ve been cutting my own hair recently with varying degrees of success.)

  I dig out my old hairdresser’s number and book an appointment for the following lunchtime. Then I go to the kitchen, mix up a homemade honey and oatmeal face mask, plaster it on and run a bath.

  Lying in the soothingly hot, perfumed water, I can feel the stress of the past few days start to melt away. It’s time I started looking after myself on a regular basis, I decide, like I used to. I’d forgotten how good it feels to pamper myself.

  I’ve just finished painting my nails ‘ice-cream pink’, when the flat buzzer goes.

  It’s Fez. I greet him cheerfully, wondering if I should mention the website anyway and see what he says.

  ‘Hi.’ He spreads out his hands and studies them. ‘I was – er – just passing and I thought I’d check with you who’s coming tomorrow night. People you’ve invited, I mean. To get an idea of numbers.’

  ‘Oh. Well, Shona and Ella and Carol and—’ I start counting them off on my fingers, wondering why he didn’t just phone. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘Er, yes, okay.’

  I stand back to let him through. He has a strange sort of hunted look on his face.

  And then I twig.

  He’s nervous!

  Oh God, is he working up to asking me out?

  I’m going to have to lay it on the line immediately, before he says anything, to spare him the embarrassment.

  I take a deep breath and blurt out, ‘I think we work best as friends, don’t you?’

  He looks at me with an odd expression.

  Oh bugger, I knew it. I’ve said the wrong thing. He hates me.

  I can tell from his expression he’s devastated. Although being a manly sort of man, he’s trying to put a brave face on it—

  He laughs.

  Quite loudly.

  ‘Christ, Bobbie, that’s such a relief.’

  ‘Is it?’ I stare at him.

  ‘Yes. God, yes.’ He’s beaming from ear to ear. ‘I w
as racking my brains thinking how to let you down gently.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘I mean, not that you wanted things to – er – progress.’ He peers at me. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  It’s my turn to laugh loudly, although frankly, it sounds a bit forced. ‘No! Of course not!’

  But that seems a bit rude so I quickly backtrack. ‘I mean, no, the kiss was lovely but – erm … ’

  About as sexy as kissing a damp sponge?

  ‘A blip.’ He shrugs.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It was a blip,’ he repeats.

  ‘Yes! That’s what it was. Just a lovely – um – blip.’

  ‘Best friends, then?’

  ‘Best friends,’ I echo.

  He gives me a huge hug, says he’ll see me at the party and goes off happy.

  I stand in the hall until I hear the clunk of the main door closing. Then I slowly retreat to the living room and stand there, feeling a bit stunned if I’m honest.

  I’m so glad we’ve sorted it out.

  Really. I am.

  Fez and I can get back to normal and I can stop all that annoying call-screening.

  So it’s all worked out wonderfully.

  It’s just …

  Well, I’m trying to ignore it, but I can’t help feeling just the teeniest bit put out.

  Am I so bad at kissing that my victim has to spend ages working out how he’ll ‘let me down gently’? It’s not exactly a confidence booster.

  A terrible thought strikes me.

  If I’m bad at kissing, perhaps Charlie won’t want to come back for more either. Maybe he’ll be forced to ‘let me down gently’ too … perhaps, even now, he’s pacing around that big house of his, working out hugely diplomatic ways of saying, Thanks but no thanks!

  Oh God, what am I going to do?

  I can’t wait to see Charlie again.

  But for various reasons, I feel sick with apprehension at the very thought.

  When the flat buzzer goes half an hour later, I’m in such a state, I jump with fright.

  What is it with visitors? They’re just like buses. I get none for weeks on end, and then two come along on the same night.

  This time it’s Carol.

  My first instinct is to shut the door in her face. Because the last thing I need is her threatening me with more dire consequences.