Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  ‘We’ll see.’ She smiled sweetly and left. I knew she was right. I loved Jess, I told her everything, she was my friend. I gave her all the ammunition she needed.

  ***

  After the cinema I told her he gobbled his popcorn like a turkey and fiddled with himself throughout the film. After our next dinner date I told her how he thought he was doing better than anyone else on the graduate scheme and would be promoted first. I also told her that I had found out he had his back waxed at a beauty salon. I told her he ironed his shirts for hours and only wore Calvin Klein underwear. I told her he plucked his eyebrows, colour-coordinated his wardrobe and starched his shirts. He thought he had a great body and always asked me to feel his muscles. And he had athlete’s foot. I told her all that. Perhaps none of this sounds too damaging – he hadn’t killed anyone or anything bad like that – but it lost him any respect he might have had, because when work found out he plucked his eyebrows and waxed his back, I don’t think they would see him in the same light as before. I was giving Jess exactly what she wanted.

  Apart from Jess’s interrogations, having Julian made me feel good. Well, it did when I wasn’t with him anyway. You see, I had a boyfriend, a live one (well, a half-live one anyway), and he was mine. Now, you might call me sad, but how many girls at some stage in their lives have gone out with someone they weren’t exactly mad about? Yup, nearly all of you. You see, my confidence had been dented and having a Julian was going to repair it for me. And I had the added defence that the man-not-of-my-dreams was going to enable me to get over the man-of-my-dreams. So it made perfect sense.

  And, of course, now that I was working in an accountants’ office, well, Julian could at times look positively interesting. Sometimes I really looked forward to seeing him, usually after a day spent listening to my boss drone on about balance sheets, when even Julian talking about himself was a welcome release. If you want to torture someone put them in a room full of accountants and soon they will be begging for mercy and totally under control. Well, the normal weak person would. I, however, was different. I knew that Sarah was expecting me, firstly, to crack after a few figure-filled days at Accounts Are Us and beg her to find me an interesting job, and then to decide to become a career woman and the person they all wanted me to be. Well, I wasn’t playing ball. No, I was not going to crack. I would spend the whole two months, or what was left of it, in the office, and when I left I would get another nice little admin job without too much stress. And I would have won.

  ***

  ‘Ru, how’s the job going?’ Sarah asked, looking up from the magazine she was reading.

  ‘Fine.’ I was suspicious and on my guard.

  ‘Good.’ She went back to her magazine.

  ‘Actually, it’s really good.’ Huh, that would throw her.

  ‘I’m pleased.’ Now I’d got her on the hop.

  ‘Yeah, and I really like my boss, he’s a scream.’

  ‘Is he? Great.’

  ‘Oh, I’m just sorry I have to leave after two months. It’s such a shame.’ I was enjoying myself.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it is.’ I was trying hard not to laugh. Sarah’s plan had backfired so horribly.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got loads of accountancy firms on my books. I’ll get you a job in another one just as soon as this one finishes.’ She beamed at me.

  Bitch! Does she never give up? I went into my bedroom to sulk.

  Later she came in to see me. ‘Are you sulking?’

  I was lying on my bed daydreaming about my wedding day. ‘No, of course not. Why would I be sulking?’

  ‘I know you don’t love the job.’

  ‘How?’ I thought I’d been convincing.

  ‘Because, Ru, if you did you wouldn’t be you. You probably dislike it as much as all the other jobs you’ve had and I wouldn’t blame you.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as some.’

  ‘I guess that’s something.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re right, it’s not as much fun as I made out. My boss isn’t really very funny, you know.’

  ‘I kind of figured that too. But, Ruth, this wasn’t a plan of mine to get you some ambition. I still think that you will get some, but I know it will come in your own time. So I didn’t get you this job to be horrid, it was just a two-month contract and I thought a short-term job might be good for you.’

  ‘I didn’t think that.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Ru, you always let your imagination run away with you. That’s exactly what you thought.’

  I was chastised. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. So, tell me, do all accountants wear polyester suits?’

  ‘Yes, and most are grey, although the discerning accountant wears navy.’

  ‘I bet they’re pissed off that grey is fashionable now. They’ll need to find a new colour.’

  ‘I may suggest green to my boss.’

  ‘Purple would be better.’

  ‘Sarah, you won’t always make me work for accountants, will you?’

  ‘Nah. I guess I could elevate your interest levels by getting you a job in a morgue.’

  ‘I might prefer that.’

  ‘Are you going to ditch Julian?’

  ‘Where did that come from? We were just talking about my “career”.’

  ‘I just thought that now you’d stopped being delusional about your job, you might do the same about your love life.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Fine, you keep kidding yourself, but Christmas is coming up and the Millennium. Afterwards, I expect you to do some serious thinking, madam.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good.’

  Sarah was right as always but there was no way I was going to let her know that. Not in a million years. I hugged her. ‘Fancy a beer?’

  ‘OK.’

  We left the dangerous territory that was my love life and headed for the sanctity of the local pub.

  ***

  ‘’Tis the season to be jolly.’ Apparently. December is the time when everyone, or at least everyone I know, is overtaken by a festive feeling, even at the beginning of the month. Everyone was talking about presents, parties, going home, real excitement. And, of course, everyone was talking about the biggest New Year to hit since … well, since the last millennium, I guess. To me the whole thing was just another nail in my coffin.

  This was my first Christmas in London, or pre-Christmas at any rate. I’d be going home for the actual event. Although I tried very hard to be depressed, I couldn’t help being a little bit excited. Julian took me to see the lights in Oxford Street, and London was at its most beautiful. Although we couldn’t move for people, even the cold was warm: roasted chestnut stalls gave off delicious aromas, and the lights were amazing. London sparkled and, wrapped in my warm coat, gloves and scarf, I had never wanted so much to be out of doors. Every street seemed special, every person seemed to smile, and I smiled too.

  We got a little tree for our house and we decorated it – well, Jess and Sarah did, and we were only allowed bows and baubles from John Lewis, red and gold. Tinsel was banned. Although Sophie and I managed to add one piece to the mantelpiece when no one was looking.

  We were planning our Christmas dinner before we all went home, I would do the cooking. It was just us, Jess, Sarah, Sophie, Thomas and me. We didn’t invite Julian or the Porsche, for obvious not-wanting-the-evening-to-be-shit reasons. It was even festive at work. Nick gave me an afternoon off to go shopping. He also asked me to decorate the office, lots of tinsel, and I was invited to my first office party. It was in a restaurant and all twenty of us in the firm were going. Me, the receptionist, two other secretaries and lots of accountants. Not exactly my dream evening, but still … Everyone was happy, Christmas brings out the best in people. I had even stopped calling Julian a boring wanker to Jess. But I still hadn’t slept with him.

  Most of December passed in a blur of fun and parties, wine and mince-pies. Then the real thing arrived and I got ready to go h
ome. The evening before I was leaving, I went out with Julian to do a present exchange. I resented having to get him anything and I was cross that he had to give me something – it was bound to be awful. I went shopping with Jess and bought him a pair of gold collar-stiffeners. Jess wanted me to get him something horrible, like a willy-enhancer, but I decided against it. I knew he’d like the collar-stiffeners – he’d probably wear his collars turned up so that everyone could see them.

  We were meeting at his flat and going to dinner. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect, but I went with my usual mixed feelings. I liked going out, but I didn’t like him. However, the festive season was not a time to dwell on this matter: I had decided it could wait until next year.

  ‘Hi, gorgeous, you look great.’

  I did a double-take. Was Julian talking to me or to himself? ‘Hi, are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, Ru, I have. I feel our relationship is going somewhere, don’t you?’

  ‘Um, shall we go to dinner?’

  ‘Of course, pumpkin.’ Pumpkin?

  We walked to the restaurant, conveniently situated near Julian’s flat. I felt panic rising again. I might be dim, but even I had figured out the reason for this attentive behaviour. I had managed to push it aside for so long, but now it was back. He wanted to sleep with me.

  ‘Ruth, has anyone told you what beautiful eyes you have?’

  ‘Shall we order?’

  ‘I could die in your eyes.’

  I almost wished he would. ‘I think I’ll have the fishcakes and a bottle of white.’

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’

  ‘Julian, order, I’m starving.’ He did and I went to the ladies’. I didn’t want to sleep with him, but I also didn’t know if I minded so much. I was confused, and I was too lonely to lose him just yet. I didn’t like him any more than I had at first, but I needed him. It was crazy, but I started panicking at the thought of losing him. I did what I always did; left the decision in the hands of the drink.

  By the end of the meal I was plastered. And Julian was still showering me with annoying compliments.

  Julian, let’s go.’ The drink had made its decision.

  ‘OK.’ He jumped up, paid the bill and made me run home. When we got in we went to the bathroom (of course) and when we’d cleansed, toned and moisturised we went to the bedroom. Julian started undressing, so I did the same and when he was naked he started kissing me. I kissed him back. We lay on the bed, and he told me he loved my tits. I tried to think about football. Foreplay was undressing, sex was brief, post-coital affection was a kiss on the cheek. It was over before it had begun. Julian had met all my expectations in the bedroom department. He was completely crap.

  In the morning I felt foul. I was repelled by what I’d done and by Julian grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  ‘Darling, last night was wonderful.’ He nuzzled my neck.

  ‘Sorry, but I am strictly a no-sex-in-the-morning woman.’ All I could think about was how I had to get home and catch a train. I gave Julian my present, he gave me three. I told him we had to save them until Christmas Day. I couldn’t bear to have to pretend to like whatever he’d given me. As soon as I sat down on the tube I opened them. The first present was a fondue cookbook, the second was a Clinique gift set, and the last was a packet of flavoured condoms. I cried all the way back to my house.

  On the train home I put Julian out of my mind and, in a childish way, I couldn’t help but be excited by the prospect of Christmas. When I got home it was festive, the Christmas decorations were old friends, and I was really pleased to be with my parents. Although they gave me the usual what-are-you-doing-with-your life? I still loved them.

  On Christmas Eve my parents had a party to go to and I was left alone. They asked me to go with them, but I declined. I wanted to drink wine and think about the year that was coming to an end. It had started well, Ben and I were together. Then Ben and I weren’t together and, well, you know the story. For a year that had started so well, it was going to end badly. And it was not just the end of the year, it was also the end of the century and of the millennium, or something like that. It was a very dramatic time to be having such a bad time.

  Julian had called me. Sex hadn’t put him off; it seemed to have made him keener. He wanted us to spend New Year together, with some of his friends in Scotland. Unable even to entertain that idea, I told him I’d already promised Sarah and Jess that I’d be with them. Which I had.

  I was spending my first Christmas without Ben. Technically it wasn’t – I’d had about eighteen Christmases before I met Ben, but I don’t count them. And I’d never actually spent Christmas Day with Ben, but when he was my boyfriend he had made Christmas special. My first Christmas without Ben would be followed by my first New Year without Ben. I was reverting to monotonous-bore mode and I decided to see how many firsts-without-Ben I could think of. In my usual perverse way, this game amused and depressed me at the same time.

  ***

  Christmas Day. My parents and I had a nice breakfast, then we opened our presents. They had given me a briefcase and an electronic organiser. I couldn’t think of more useless presents but I tried to be grateful. My father loved the power-tool I had got him although I didn’t know what it did; my mother loved her Germaine Greer books, but they scared Dad. He had bought her some beautiful earrings and she had bought him golf clubs. Everyone was happy.

  My new social mother had invited another family for lunch. The Butler family is small: it consists of a long line of only children, so we were it. The family joining us was Mum’s charity friend Amelia, her husband and her twenty-two-year-old daughter. I was looking forward to it; I would have a playmate. My mother cooked, my father and I watched Christmas television and ate chocolate. Then, at about one o’clock, our guests arrived. The daughter was called Sally and she was really girly. Giggling and dumb and boring. She spoke about her boyfriend constantly – he was in the army – and she was a teacher. She seemed middle-aged. And she looked it. But then I realised that, although not quite as dull, I was the same. The difference was that she had a boyfriend and a tweed skirt and I was still looking for a boyfriend and I’d never wear tweed. She made me realise that I had been so worried about the future I had forgotten about the present, and now that the present had gone, I would carry on worrying about the future. It’s a trait of today. We all do it. We need to know what will happen, that we’ll have a pension plan or a man or whatever. We lose our youth because youth is just a stage on the ladder to growing old. We plan for when we get older, we forget about when we’re young. I thanked Sally and Christmas for making me realise it was time for my youth.

  After Boxing Day I had to go back to work. Although I begged my parents to let me stay, I was kicked out, armed with my briefcase and my electronic organiser. Although I had seen it was time to start living my youth, I still cried on the whole train journey back to London. I know people who would rather die than cry in public, but not me. Crying had become second nature and I didn’t care where or when it happened. The elderly woman sitting opposite me handed me a British Rail napkin. ‘What’s wrong, love? You just had to leave your young man?’ I shook my head. ‘Oh, bless my soul, you just split up with him?’ I nodded. ‘I’ll go and get you a cup of tea,’ and off she went. She returned with the tea and a muffin, for which I was grateful – I had tried to persuade my parents to let me stay at home by refusing to eat. It hadn’t worked but it had left me hungry.

  ‘Oh, men, I dunno, they don’t deserve girls like us, do they?’ I smiled. ‘When I was your age, many years ago, I fell in love. He was a GI, but the handsomest man I ever saw. And, of course, I was married. Well, we were, in those days, and my husband was in the war. Didn’t know if I’d ever see him again, it was like that. But this Yank, we had a love affair – oh, don’t look shocked, in those days you didn’t know when you’d get it again.’ I nearly choked on my muffin. ‘Anyway, he had to go back to t
he States and my husband did come home, after all. I’ve often wondered what happened to the soldier. But, well, I was pregnant, of course, and what could I do? Abortions weren’t handed out like sweeties then. No, we women had to be resourceful. So, I seduced my husband then told him I was pregnant. I bribed the midwife to say the baby was three months early. He believed to his dying day that Sam, the baby, was his. I always said men knew nothing about babies. I mean, Sam was ten pounds and three months early, and no one else believed it, but my husband did.’

  I smiled at her. She was great.

  She told me more about her wartime exploits and the Yank, who had no name and Sam, who is a criminal now – it must have been the American genes – and Jean, that was her name, kept me entertained until we got to London.

  ‘Why are you going to London?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I thought I’d see the New Year in. I’ve got a gentleman friend there, you know.’

  ‘I have to go back to work,’ I told her.

  ‘It’s such a pity, pretty thing like you. You shouldn’t be working – you need to find a nice young man to take care of you. Listen, I’ll tell you a secret. It doesn’t matter how many women work, the only work that will ever make you truly happy is looking after the man you love. You mark my words.’

  I smiled, I didn’t think she was right about most women but she was right about me. I hugged Jean when we got off the train and I went home smiling.

  Chapter Seven

  Sissy looked at her sister as she was getting ready for the New Year’s Eve ball. ‘I have made my New Year resolution,’ she declared proudly.

  ‘Oh, really? That’s a very good thing,’ Lilly replied.

  ‘Yes, my resolution this year is that I shall find a husband and I shall marry well.’ Sissy smiled, but Lilly frowned.

  ‘But, dear sister, was that not your resolution last year?’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Sissy answered, ‘and it will be my resolution every year until it happens.’ She reached for her gloves and swept stubbornly out of the room.