So, I tell him straight, and we make a plan.
Thursday, 11.00 a.m.
Before the lesson begins, I rearrange the classroom. Nowhere to hide today, mes enfants, I mean war. Oui, c’est la guerre, I smile to myself.
We learn numbers to sixty using an excellent action song that Pippa found on the web last night. Everyone is attentive. Nobody misbehaves. “Was that ok?” I ask nervously, at the end of the lesson. “I was concerned that I might be asking too much of them.”
“No, Amy,” he replies, smiling. “You’re doing great. See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow… I pale.
“Anything wrong?”
“No… It’s just that I’ve just remembered an important appointment… tomorrow. Bye, then.”
Oh, my Lord.
Tomorrow.
I’m seeing Him.
Week Four. Friday, 2.30 p.m.
It’s almost time to meet Him. I luxuriate in a lavender-scented bubbly bath, trying hard to de-stress and practising for The Moment We Say Hello. Fortunately, I was so busy in school this morning that I had no time to think about what I’m about to do. Leaving the kids was surprisingly emotional. The class came a long way in such a short time, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I’d volunteer in school more regularly if life were different…
My mobile vibrates with a text message. Sighing, I climb out of the bath, dry myself off and pick up my phone.
Sorry, something important’s come up.
Next Friday, same time?
I’ll be there. Promise.
Bugger.
7.30 p.m.
Geoff grills me at length about my volunteering challenge.
“I’ve always thought that teaching would be a suitable career for you once the children were older, Amy. It’d fit in around their school hours, and you’ll earn decent dosh. It’s time for you to drop that little job you have and find something more appropriate.”
“What do you mean, ‘more appropriate’? I like my job. It’s important to me. It fits in around the children’s needs and it’s not little,” I reply.
“Pfft! You know what I’m saying. It’s not exactly stretching, is it? The kids are less trouble now, and you’re only working part time. You’ve far too much free time for coffee mornings with non-entities and superfluous shopping trips these days.”
“I work full time. I work really hard. A lot of my work here is unpaid, but it’s still work. And who are these non-entities, Geoff?”
“It’s not work, Amy. It’s nothing like the high-powered sales position you held when we first met. I allowed you to indulge yourself because I understood that being at home with the children was important to you. It clearly stated in our marriage agreement – point number nine, as I recall – that the wife, namely you, would take on the primary role of child-rearer and housewife until the children were of an age. It’s what you signed up for when you said you wanted marriage and kids with me, and you’re very good at it. However, this challenge of substance has identified to me that it’s high time you gave up watching daytime TV and some of the other stuff you’ve been doing. Set yourself an objective to get your brain back and have a real career.”
He looks at his watch. “I’m gonna be late for the Chartered Accountancy dinner. Fasten my bow tie for me?” He takes a cursory glance around the kitchen. “This house is a bit of a tip, isn’t it? While I’m out do you think you could file that pile of your crap over there and tell Evie to put her fleece away? Oh, and remind the kids that if they don’t tidy their pigsties by tomorrow, it’ll all be going to the tip. Now then.” He fastens his dinner jacket, admires his reflection in the bedroom mirror and smiles. “I’m ready for action. How about curry for tea tomorrow night? We’ve not had one for ages. Quite fancy a Rogan Josh – with wholegrain rice, of course. See you later – bye.”
I hear his car reversing out of the drive. That ‘crap’ he’s referred to is his paperwork relating to a lads’ golfing short break next spring that he’s organising. I am so incensed at what he’s said and at his attitude, I shred the lot.
The phone rings. It’s Grandma. Given my mood, I’m reluctant to chat and decide to cut our usual conversation short, telling her that I’m going out for a meal and asking if I can ring her back tomorrow.
“What, bubelah?” Grandma sounds very excited. “You’re going out with Seal? That song Kiss From a Rose makes me cry every time your mother plays it.”
How on Earth does she know that song? I snigger to myself. She’s so cool. “No, Grandma,” I yell down the line. “I am eating out with my friends. You remember Claire?”
“The one who introduced you to Geoffrey? Don’t trust her. She’s trouble. Liked his jokes too much.”
“You’re confusing her with Jess’s ex, Grandma. Listen, gotta go. I’ll call you back tomorrow. Bye.”
Adriano’s Restaurant. 9 p.m.
I arrive late at Adriano’s to find Bea and Cate acting out the scene that I witnessed between Dragon Deacon and the delivery man last week. There’s a lot of hilarious embellishment and my mood softens. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. If it’s a message from Geoff telling me to do anything else, I’m switching it off, I think grimly. I glance at the text and do a double-take. It’s from Him again. Claire registers the look of surprise and pleasure on my face. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Yep,” I reply curtly, opening the message, prepared for another let down. It reads:
Feel bad about today, honest!
Defo see you Friday? Xx
My eyes widen and I suddenly feel quite warm. “Claire,” I say, my eyes bright as I stare at the kisses at the end of his text. “Pour me a large wine, will you?”
11.45 p.m.
Geoff is sitting up watching reruns of QI when I sway drunkenly into the lounge. “Good time?” he asks absentmindedly, his eyes firmly fixed on Stephen Fry.
“Yesh, I had a very good time thank you very mush. You waiting up for me? You never do that. What did you think? That I’d run away from you and you’d lose your cake baker? Ha ha ha.” I flop down on the sofa next to him, attempt to remove my shoes and overbalance, landing in a heap on the carpet. “I sink I am drunk. I had sush a good night, sush a funny night, because…”
“Shush, you’re pissed,” he cuts in. “I’m waiting up because I can’t find my bloody golfing break info and I thought you’d know where it is. You sounded happy in the kitchen, singing away,” he adds.
“Yesh, I like singing when I’m happy or sad and tonight I am very, very happy. Because I’m happee…” I sing. “Pharrell Williams. Shee what I jussh did, I sang Pharrell’s song… because I’m happee,” I cackle. Geoff’s eyes remain fixed on QI. “Shhure you don’t want to hear about my evening, kind sir?” I slur, stroking his arm. “Ish it date night?” I kiss his cheek and take his hand. “Shtop watching QI and come wish me,” I whisper. “You will find your golfing stuff tomorrow.”
Saturday, 10.00 a.m.
My mouth. My head. I can’t think straight. The dehydration and nausea is overpowering. Oh, my Lord. What happened to me? I can’t quite remember why I got completely blitzed.
Geoff comes into the bedroom, sees I am awake and throws open the curtains. He is in an exceptionally good humour. “Good morning, wifey. Here you go, dearest darling,” he says, handing me a cup of tea, some headache tablets and a banana.
Dearest darling? I think, stupefied. Where did that term of endearment spring from? He hasn’t called me that in years. I know we had sex last night, so I’d expect him to be nicer towards me… but this?
“You stay there and I’ll sort out the children – you deserve it.” He kisses my forehead and gives me a cheeky grin. “Hope we have more nights like last night, Amy. I haven’t seen you so amorous in ages. If you keep that up, I’ll happily ditch my other women. Still looking for my golfing info.” He wink
s and goes.
I cower under the duvet as it all comes flooding back. I know why I was so passionate last night, why I completely let go. It’s all because of that text. He sent me kisses. Oh shit. I can’t believe how damn crazy it made me feel. I haven’t felt so excited in years. I’ve never lusted after anyone else since I met Geoff. What is going on? It’s so wrong. Then I remember Claire’s words, which makes me feel just a bit better. I’m not doing anything bad. I’m not cheating. I didn’t do anything wrong. If a bit of secret lusting spices up our sex life and does this to Geoff, that’s gotta be good, hasn’t it? I’m overcome by a wave of nausea and try to sleep.
Lunchtime.
“Were you drunk last night?” accuses Evie.
“Of course she was,” snaps back Pippa. “Didn’t you hear her caterwauling when she crashed her way in at midnight?”
I open my eyes. I don’t remember that. “I was singing? What was I singing, exactly?” I ask, curious.
“Something about ‘pushing it’. Couldn’t really tell as you were slurring a lot. You were well gone.”
“Ummm. It happens sometimes.” I murmur. What was I singing? I Google ‘Push It’ and the girl group Salt-n-Pepa magically appears at the top of the search engine. Oh no! I was singing about sex. I can’t help but laugh. I sit there propped up in bed and I laugh so hard that I double over. I was singing about… NO! I can’t believe it. Amy Richards, this has got to stop – right now, I reprimand myself, throwing the laptop aside and going to find Evie, who has my next challenge ready.
We go round to our neighbours’ house for Saturday evening drinks. Talk eventually turns to my next challenge.
“Amy is supposed to be going to Blackpool Pleasure Beach to:
RIDE A BIG ONE.
“… You know, that huge rollercoaster,” crows Geoff. “You successfully rode a big one last night, and now this,” he winks. “Not sure if you’ll be so ‘happeee’ at the end of this ride, though,” he chortles, leering at me. My eyes narrow and my gaze hardens. He knows full well that I have a fear of heights. It’s just mean.
Sunday, 11.00 a.m.
The doorbell rings. It’s Mel.
“Amy, I couldn’t help but notice how unhappy you looked last night when we were told about your next challenge. Are you afraid of rollercoasters?” I decide it’s time to admit my phobia.
“I’m scared of heights. When we visited the Eiffel Tower in Paris a couple of years ago, I stayed at the bottom. It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Mel smiles. “We all have our issues. How about seeing a hypnotherapist? This one helped me stop smoking a while back.” She hands me a business card for ‘Rachel Mighton’.
Geoff returns from work on Tuesday evening, elated at having bought us Pleasure Beach passes for Thursday night. Evie and Pippa are ecstatic, while – not surprisingly – I am less amused. “The pleasure is all mine,” he laughs.
“You’re only doing this because you want to see my pain and suffering,” I reply, slamming the dishwasher shut.
“No. Face your fear and you’ll be fine with being at high altitude. Then, I can book us on a walking holiday in Austria next spring. I think that once you have ridden The Big One, you’ll be fine with cable cars and mountains. We’ll have a healthy holiday, and while I am there I can…”
And he’s off, animatedly describing what he thinks, what he will do and what we will do when we all go on this wonderful family break. My laptop gets the brunt of my frustration. I call Rachel Mighton.
Thursday, 7.00 p.m.
I feel resentful and angry. Thanks to Rachel, I’m no longer anxious about the rollercoaster ride. However, I simply cannot forget what Geoff said about the Austrian walking holiday, and I really don’t want to see his smug face watching me. I realise something about the challenge, and while my family are riding The Grand National, I slip away. “Ha ha,” I scream as I race along the track on a bobsled-type ride based on being in the Alps. “I am riding A Big One in the Alps. It’s not as high as The Big One, but it’s higher than anything I would ever have managed before.” I buy the photo to show as evidence, feeling vindicated.
April
Week One. Saturday, 11.00 a.m.
Daisy Hill Academy is hosting its annual fayre today, and (as usual) it’s us long-suffering parents who’ve been press-ganged into helping out. Evie’s been trying to encourage Geoff to come along. Unsurprisingly, he has much more important things to do than help the school raise funds for musical instruments, and he’s still sulking about how I ‘disobeyed’ him in Blackpool.
“You girls enjoy this sort of thing, and I’d just get under your feet,” he says, wheedling his way out of it. “Tell you what, I’ll pop in later. Okay?” He picks up his clubs and goes, leaving me to console a desolate child. I consider chasing after him, but I don’t. He won’t change his mind. Golf always takes priority and always will.
Down at the fayre, there’s a buzz of activity. Bea, Claire and I are in charge of the book stall. “I don’t understand why Geoff is so against helping out at school fundraising events, Claire. He knows full well the financial pressure that school is under, and Evie would kill for her dad to be here – but golf is always more important. Sometimes, I don’t get him at all.”
“I reckon he’s a bit insecure because he has a fear of not being in control,” she replies. “Anyway, do you really want him here, getting under your feet? I’ve happily left mine at home doing whatever men do. It’s more fun without the added stress of having to manage them. If Bob were here, he’d be forever asking what he should do, not doing it well and whingeing that he’s bored. I’d have to keep patting him on the head and filling him up with tea and cake. You agree, don’t you, Bea?”
“Nice to hear you’re talking sense for once, pet. When I got married, I was given a very good piece of advice from my aunt: keep their stomachs full and their balls empty. Then they’re happy and you get a quiet life, which means that you can do whatever you like without retribution. Just think about how loving and caring they become the morning after sex the night before. It’s all bollocks, really.”
“I agree about the benefits of the ‘wifely duty’,” I groan, thinking back to my drunken night of passion. “Geoff did say that he might pop in later – for healthy cake, naturally.”
“He never changes,” smiles Claire. “It’ll be nice to catch up with him. Let me know when he arrives.”
By late afternoon, the fayre draws to a close and the various raffles are drawn. Geoff has finally materialised and is busy scoffing copious amounts of carrot cake (it’s now half price) and chatting animatedly with Claire, leaving me to box up the unsold books.
Josie Jamieson, the chair of the PTA, announces that it’s time for me to pick the winning raffle ticket for the person who is going to draw my next challenge. I take the Bowl of Chance and Opportunity up to the stage. “Ticket number fifty-four,” calls out Josie Jamieson with aplomb.
“That’s mine.” A dull-eyed woman, her right shoulder spattered in baby sick, drags two whining toddlers onto the stage. “What you’re doing is inspirational. I hope you find fulfilment. And when you do, let me know what to do to wangle it,” she mutters under her breath as she unfolds the slip of paper. “Your next challenge is a good deed.” My challenge is to:
TREAT A HOMELESS PERSON.
Sunday, 11.00 a.m.
Today is an official ‘family bonding day’, and we are out visiting a local castle and gardens. This is usually deemed a successful outing, as the obligatory walk that Geoff demands is a relatively short stroll, with no major hills to negotiate and plenty to see. If anyone does have a strop and walk off, they can’t go too far and get lost. The other great thing about this day out is that there is always a lovely tea room to try, which means a guaranteed scone fix. What could be better?
It’s a typical dank Cumbrian day, and I’m trying to make the bes
t of it. Pippa is lost in the music on her mobile, as usual. Evie’s in a strop because she’s had to come out minus her yellow hoodie (it’s in the wash). This leaves Geoff and me to make pleasant conversation. “You’re quiet,” he says. “Feeling guilty about your insubordination at Blackpool, or is it menopausal moodiness, Amy?”
“I have a slight headache.”
That is a lie. I don’t have a headache, I’m definitely not menopausal, and I certainly don’t feel bad at having refused to do what he wanted me to at Blackpool. But I am in a total head-spin about something else. Do I meet Him? Should I meet Him? Perhaps say no? I chant rhythmically in my head, keeping time with my footsteps.
Despite my best efforts to rationalise the situation, I feel guilty about meeting Him because, deep down, I am very aware of the possible implications. Can I do as Claire suggests and treat it as an oh-so-innocent professional appointment? I am so mixed up that I could scream. We continue with our walk and I think on.
“How am I going to find a homeless person, let alone befriend one and take them out for a treat?” I complain bitterly to Geoff over dinner. “It sounds a bit, well, condescending and creepy.”
His reply shocks me. “Why the fuck are you wasting your time on them? They got themselves into a mess, and they should get themselves out of it. Parasites.”
I say nothing. There’s no point.
Google gives me a hard time when I search ‘How to help the homeless’. There’s tons of information about making financial donations, which isn’t what I need to do. “None of this is relevant,” I sigh. “I’ll try something else.” I look up ‘Help homeless in my area’. Bingo. I scan the list hungrily. According to the sites, I could contact the church or a voluntary organisation in town and get involved that way. That doesn’t sound too difficult, I think. I open another tab listing local soup kitchens and locate our local branch of a charity for the homeless. I cheer up considerably, note down the number and go to bed feeling positive.
51 Weeks Page 8