51 Weeks

by Julia Myerscough

  I nod.

  “Well, please remember that I’m trying to impress tonight,” he concludes grimly and turns to go. I can tell something isn’t quite right. Some expression in his eyes, a certain hint in the tone of his voice. “By the way, you know that god-awful track you’re playing incessantly?”

  “Bitch?” I giggle. “That’s a ‘B’ word too.”

  “I think that track’s about menopausal women. Those lyrics sum you up perfectly, Amy. Get yourself some HRT. I’m missing my former wife. See you.”

  I chew angrily on my finger. He’s missing his former wife? Why? Doesn’t he like any part of the new me? Well, it’s not even the new me, it’s just me – the me I was before stuff got in the way. I must have been like this when I met him, mustn’t I? How can I tell him I feel repressed when he says things like that?

  “Oh!” I gasp. I have just remembered something important. Snatching up my car keys, I dash to the front door. Luckily, he is leaning against his car, chatting animatedly on his mobile. “Leave me your BMW for the shopping, Geoff. I can’t use my Mini – it’s an ‘M’.”

  Geoff rolls his eyes, snatches my car keys from my outstretched hand, stomps across to my car without a backwards glance and drives off.

  Pfft. I’ll show him, I think angrily.

  10.30 a.m.

  It’s time to hit the supermarket.

  I start up the BMW, load Blondie into the stereo and make my way to Bigger Bargains, where I scour the shelves for ‘B’ products.

  Brussels sprouts, baked beans, bulgur wheat, butter, beans, bagels, blueberry jam, blueberries and back bacon make their way into my basket.

  Wow, this is easier that I thought, I smile, cheerfully throwing a bag of blackberries in for good measure. We won’t starve, and Geoff has his healthy options too. A few Brussels and beans will sort him out. He’ll be blowing off all evening, which will be awesome entertainment for his boss. I spy the alcohol aisle. Ooh! Good choice, Amy. Bollinger and Bellinis!

  Back home, I unload my shopping while downing a black coffee. My phone alerts me to my waxing treatment at midday. Waxing doesn’t begin with a ‘B’, so I ring Harmony to explain.

  “Harmony, I have a big dilemma. My wax is today, but my challenge is to live the day by the letter ‘B’. As the word wax begins with a ‘W’, and you, Harmony, your name begins with an ‘H’, you can’t wax me today; it’d be illegal.”

  Harmony thinks for a moment. “How about a Brazilian? Our new waxing technician’s available at quarter past twelve. He’s highly competent and, what’s more, his name is Ben – and he’s bald!” She chuckles. “How does that sound?”

  “That sounds the best,” I laugh.

  12.15 p.m.

  Bald Ben welcomes me, his bald head covered with a beanie. “Bonjour,” he smiles. “Harm’s told me all about you.”

  “Ben? Ben the bonk with the bulging bollocks?” I blush.

  Shit, it is him. The Ben who Claire bonked in the toilets at her school reunion is about to see my most private parts and Brazilian me. His face breaks into a broad grin. “Amy Parker. Nobody’s called me that for years,” he sighs. “Those were the days.” His tone changes. “This way please, madam.”

  Ben leads me into a treatment room and asks me to undress. I lie on the bed, eyes tightly shut, a towel covering my lower body. Oh, the embarrassment. It’s inconceivable that Ben is about to see me in all my naked glory. The Girls are going to have a field day when they hear about this one, especially Claire. Goodness – I wish I had some booze right now.

  3.00 p.m.

  In Bromley’s, I order a banana milkshake to recover from my trauma and text Claire about her ex-beau, Ben:

  Had a close encounter with

  your ex-schooldays lust.

  Today I am mostly buying B things.

  Brief you tonight.

  Who? Ben?

  Spill the goss.

  I am about to

  Buy Birthday

  bears for your girls.

  Glad you’ve messaged me.

  We need to talk.

  Bears would be brill.

  3.30 p.m.

  I make a beeline for a sales assistant in Bear Heaven. “I’m after bears whose names begin with a ‘B’?”

  She points to a bear on a nearby shelf. “How about Barnaby Bear with a very big head?”

  “Sorry? Barnaby with what?” I gulp hard.

  She picks up a Barnaby Bear and waggles his huge stuffed head from side to side.

  “Ah, got it!” I laugh. “I’ll take two… no, make that three. I’ll give one to my husband for Christmas. Can you insert blueberry scented beating hearts into two of them, please, and may I record a private message for the third?”

  I follow the sales assistant to a quiet corner, where I record my message for Geoff’s Bear. It takes ages before I’m calm enough to put on a sexy, husky voice. I press record. “Beat my bottom, boy. I’ve been a bad bear… a bad, bad bear. Look at my big, big head.”

  8.30 p.m.

  Geoff’s boss and his wife, together with Claire, Bob and Geoff, are enjoying my evening devoted to the letter ‘B’. It’s all going extremely well. Geoff stares agog as I proudly serve Bollinger accompanied by a starter of broad bean and Brussels sprout dips. It is followed by beef and butternut squash stew with basmati rice and rounded up with Bellinis and a medley of blackberries and blueberries.

  We play Boggle, Buckaroo and Battleships and end the evening bladdered, belting out tracks from Blondie, Blur, the Bee Gees and Bronski Beat. At the end of the evening, I regale everyone with a colourful account of my day and present Claire with two Barnaby Bears. “Did that really happen?” Bob asks, laughing heartily at my tale of the sales assistant’s double entendre.

  “Yep. I don’t think she quite realised what she was saying,” I giggle. “She was foreign.” On the spur of the moment, I present Geoff with his bear too and accidentally press the bear’s heart. I grab Claire’s hand and hold my breath as Bad Barnaby speaks…

  “Beat my bottom, boy. I’ve been a bad bear… a bad, bad bear. Look at my big, big head.”

  I cover my eyes and peek at Geoff through my fingers. He is shaking with laughter.

  When Claire is looking for her coat, I casually ask what it was she wanted to talk to me about. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for her reply. “Eh? Oh, no, it was nothing important.” She smiles and rubs her nose. “We’ve said ’bye to Geoff. Hey, great evening. Give me a hug.”

  I heave a sigh of relief.

  11.45 p.m.

  “Are you on HRT? You were amazing tonight – the Amy I used to know. Is my strategic partner back? I must have impressed my boss with that display. Come to bed.”

  I pause. The warm satisfied glow I used to get when Geoff praised me for my hosting skills isn’t there. I feel like his glorified housekeeper. And, now the housekeeper receives a reward, doesn’t she? I grimace as I climb in beside him and he puts his arms around me.

  “Mrs Richards,” he yawns. “Tonight I’m bushed, so your ‘B’ day bedtime bonk is aborted. You’re off the hook.” He kisses me lightly on the cheek and turns away from me.

  “That’s not like you? What’s brought this on?” I say, astounded. “Are you alright?” Geoff grunts quietly in reply. Seconds later, I hear the sound of gentle snoring.

  I lie in bed feeling troubled. Geoff never turns down the opportunity for sex on a Saturday night. He’s let me ‘off the hook’? That’s unheard of. My heart rate rises and my insecurities crowd in. There must be a reason why. I don’t know if I dare broach the subject. Geoff must know something. What if he confronts me about Him? Oh God. What’s going on?

  Week Two. Saturday, 2.30 p.m.

  FORGO YOUR CREATURE COMFORTS

  AND SPEND A NIGHT UNDER THE STARS.

  Being the proud holder of a Girl Guidi
ng official Camp Permit badge supposedly qualifies Pippa to lead wild-camping adventures. Today, she is in charge, excited at the challenge of cultivating a love of ‘getting back to basics’ in me. “Don’t bank on it,” I say cagily, swatting at an imaginary insect.

  I’ve not been a fan of camping since a disastrous school trip to Dieppe. It put me off for life. Ah, the memories. It rained continuously for the five days that we were there. The campsite turned into a veritable mud bath, we morphed into mud-coated savages and, worst of all, the palaver of getting up in the night and peeing in the cold and then having to try to remember which was your tent… I shudder involuntarily.

  Tonight, I’ve been press-ganged into spending a night under the stars, in the wilds (our local woods). If I was on my own out here with crawly beasties for company, I’d have to be sectioned by morning. “What if an animal creeps up on us in the middle of the night while we’re sleeping? When I was in the Yosemite National Park, bears would rip open tents with their claws to get at food – including toothpaste, of all things. It’s true,” I assert as she chuckles. I swat again.

  “Oh, Mother!” she giggles. “There’s nothing there. It’s all in your head.” She expertly unpacks groundsheets and sleeping bags. “You won’t find any bears or poisonous spiders – nor any of those creepy crawlies from I’m a Celeb. And, there’s no fear of midges either at this time of year. Come on,” she shouts over her shoulder, “It’ll be dark soon, and you’ll be well pissed off if we don’t get organised. It’s supposed to be fun – and at least it’s not raining.”

  My mouth drops open. She is never like this at home – and not a mobile or a screen in sight. “I bet this challenge is to get me back for loving I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here,” I mutter as Pippa hands me a smelly green tarpaulin. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Geoff has had a hand in this one and dropped a few critters in for fun. At least being here will prevent me from breaking my ‘From Lust to Dust’ plan.”

  Pippa takes me on a ‘site familiarisation tour’. I am very grateful for this, as I have a fear of getting lost – anywhere. My sense of direction has never been the best. “Take this whistle. If you are unsure of where you are, blow three times and I’ll know to come and rescue you,” she says handing it to me. “Wear it at all times and use it if you need to.”

  “That’s impressive – and so kind of you. I’m liking this awesome alien,” I giggle, hanging it around my neck and giving her a hug. “I’d love to see a bit more of this at home.”

  “Aww, thanks, Mum. Do you think you could try to um… stop complaining now? It’s a bit immature.”

  I make a decision. “Okay, you’re right. I am being childish, and I’ll try to get involved. If I do, I might just begin to enjoy it.” A sudden thought crosses my mind. “Did you bring a portaloo?”

  “No. Here.” She passes me a spade. “Get digging over there.” She points to an area a fair distance from our camp. “And after you’re done, replace the turf. You do realise there’s no toilet roll either?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “I don’t want to go – well not yet, anyway. I was just asking,” I retort. I resolve not to go until I get back home.

  4.30 p.m.

  Now, this is more like it. Head torches on, we forage for our tea. We have found a few apples nearby and now, at Pippa’s request, I am busy picking puffball mushrooms. “The challenge says that you should be a hunter-gatherer, and we will use them to make a delicious tea,” she explains.

  “I never knew you could eat these,” I remark. “They’re not poisonous, are they? I remember your father getting excited about mushrooming one time, and if it hadn’t been for Bob, he’d have ended up in A and E,” I laugh.

  “These defo aren’t going to kill us,” she replies. “It’s Mr Draper’s recipe. He said they swore by it during the war, so I decided that we should give it a go.”

  “Ooh. If it works out, well, that’s another cheap and nutritious meal to try,” I laugh. “Now, what about water?” I continue.

  “Over there, from the stream,” indicates Pippa, “but boil it first so that it’s safe to drink. Use this canister.”

  I don’t half feel useless. It’s as if we are back in the Freaky Friday challenge where we reversed roles. Today, Pippa is taking the lead. She is the parent and I am the pathetic child.

  Sunday, 1.00 a.m.

  The chain around my neck is strangling me. I take it off.

  3.30 a.m.

  I need a wee.

  3.45 a.m.

  Oh, I need a wee.

  4.00 a.m.

  I go to take a wee. Wow, it’s dark, I reflect, stumbling outside to find a suitable spot.

  4.04 a.m.

  How do I get back?

  4.06 a.m.

  Where is my sodding whistle? I panic.

  4.09 a.m.

  “Mum?”

  “Thank God!” I cry.

  Back under the safety of the canopy, I feel quite silly. I was convinced that I was lost in the woods for an hour or more, but according to Pippa, it was more like a five-minute thing. She chastises me for ignoring her instructions and puts me firmly in my place.

  6.30 a.m.

  Waking up cold, damp and aching from lying on the hard ground, I remember what I hate about camping. The magic of last night has passed, and I’m ready for a hot shower. As we wait for Geoff to pick us up, I sense a tiny knot in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t seen him for much of the past week. We’ve both been busy doing ‘stuff’ and have not had time to talk. I’m still worried about why he aborted our usual weekend bonk, but I’ve decided to keep quiet about it. If he wants to raise the issue, he can.

  “Have you had a good time?” asks Pippa.

  “Yes, I honestly have, darling. It’s awesome seeing you so independent and doing something you enjoy. Spending quality time with you, without your mobile and um… other distractions, has been wonderful.” I pause. “I felt free and… unrepressed.”

  “Other distractions? Like Dad, you mean? Yeah, it’s been good for you to get away from him. You’ve chilled. Bea said he’s a millstone around your neck and your marriage is a car crash waiting to happen. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but I think I do now,” she replies flippantly.

  My curiosity is piqued. “Really?”

  “Do you really love Dad – or just the life he provides, Mum? Dad’s always been like he is. Evie and I laugh it off and get on with stuff in spite of him, but you’re the one who married him, and you must have known…” She stops mid-sentence. “Dad’s here.”

  “Did Bea say anything else?” I probe.

  “Yeah. She said something really weird – that something small’s created complicated things, but that I shouldn’t worry because chaos is good and leads to order and opportunity.”

  “When was this?”

  “Dunno. Not that long ago. I think she called it the Butterfly Effect. She was super-drunk at the time – flapping her arms about like wings and laughing a lot. Come on, Dad’s waiting.”

  Bewildered, I follow her to the car and Geoff drives us home.

  11.00 a.m.

  “Have you been cleaning the outside of the house while I was away?” I shout across to Geoff, who is jet-washing his car. I point to an array of items strewn across the garage floor.

  “Eh?” He follows my gaze.

  “Well done, you!” I applaud. “Using baby wipes is an interesting idea.”

  “I cleaned all the windows and ledges. Even though I’ve been feeling a bit off – since last weekend, actually,” replies Geoff smugly.

  Ah, that explains why he was so tired that Saturday night and avoided sex.

  “Shall I put this lot away in the garage? Where’s the bucket, Geoff?”

  “No, it’s okay. You carry on,” he replies. “I’d better feel alright tomorrow for the big piss-up conference. Hope the d
rugs Jay gave me do the trick.”

  “Golfing Jay? You let a friend give you…? What pills? Do you think that’s wise?” I caution.

  “They won’t kill me. Hopefully, they’ll sort me out. Save your lectures on drug-taking for the children, please,” he replies. “I don’t need it, Amy. I’ve got to leave at lunchtime, and it’s a bloody long drive to Norwich. Do you think I could use that bag you took away with you? Could you get it for me, now?”

  I take my bag upstairs, unpack and tidy our bedroom. As I make the bed, I notice a packet of amoxicillin antibiotics on Geoff’s side. Three have been taken. I shake my head in disbelief at his behaviour as I put them back where I found them.

  Week Four. Adriano’s Restaurant. Friday, 9.30 p.m.

  “So, pet, when we were last here, we helped you decide how to be reckless and spontaneous. What did you do?”

  I panic. What should I say? I plump to tell a half-truth. “I can happily report that I was totally reckless and spontaneous as was requested and can provide evidence if necessary,” I lie.

  Bea raises her eyebrows. “Was it worthwhile?” she probes.

  “I think I enjoyed it as much as you enjoyed the Haunted House challenge,” I smile sarcastically.

  “I know,” she mouths across to me.

  “You know what?” I mouth back.

  “What you did.” Bea winks.

  “And what was that, exactly?” I flash a silky smile.

  “What are you two up to?” interrupts Cate.

  “Nothing,” I giggle. “Just having a bit of fun across the table.”

  Is Bea having me on? She knows Him. He might have told her. Would he? Perhaps he told Jason too? For the rest of the evening, we trade knowing glances and I feel ever so slightly anxious.

  11.00 p.m.