51 Weeks

by Julia Myerscough

  The opening bars of Dirty Cash, The Adventures of Stevie V start up on loop and the lights dim. The air is heavy with anticipation, the bass is pumping and people are clapping.

  “Here,” Ewan hands me a bucket. “Sing, and collect that cash.”

  “Give up your cash, that’s all that we ask for,

  As much as you can, you know the score.

  Help Amy with her challenge, please,

  We’re begging you on bended knees.

  Empty your pockets,

  Your purses and wallets,

  Dosh, Wonga, Loot, Green,

  Give it up for Amy’s dream.”

  We sing in unison as I sashay around the room, cajoling my guests into throwing their loose change into my bucket.

  10.30 p.m.

  The disco is rocking, and I’m on a high as I introduce Pippa and Evie to my friends.

  “Amazing routine, Amy,” slurs Weird Dan, giving me an impromptu hug. “My article’s finished. Fancy meeting up some time to check it over before I try to publish?”

  “I’d love that,” I reply warmly.

  “Eh up, Jase!” shouts Dan over the music as he wanders past. “Won yourself that bird yet, mate?”

  “You know each other?” I ask.

  “We were at school together,” replies Dan.

  Memories of that meeting in Pizza Pizza, when Jason admitted using me to try and hook up with one of my friends, remain graphic. “Who is it then, Jason?” I ask.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” His Tommy Cooper Fez falls to the floor.

  “I want to know now!” I laugh, retrieving it for him. “Cool hat.”

  “Fezes are awesome. My ambition is to play the word Fez as many times as I can on Wordie. D’you play Wordie, Amy?”

  His voice startles me. Act normally, I admonish myself. He’s in your ex-box. I stare once more into his cornflower-blue eyes and feel myself weakening. Nothing has changed since the day I first met Him. Even dressed as the Six Million Dollar Man, he is having an effect on me. “Never,” I lie, “and you? Nice outfit by the way. Most appropriate,” I titter.

  “It’s most fun when you’re hammered,” he snickers, swigging his beer. “What’s your username, then? I’ll give you a run for your money.”

  “Amyr21,” butts in Claire.

  “Hey,” I hiss.

  “Oh, why not? Especially after what your bastard husband said about moving abroad,” she mutters fiercely, her hand tugging at a chain around her neck.

  “Glad you agree with me for once – about my husband, I mean,” I laugh. “Where is he?”

  Oh no, I think, as I catch sight of Geoff cavorting to the Human League’s Love Action in a threesome with Jess and Mrs Mon-Key. It’s all a bit too full on for my liking.

  “Claire? Do me a favour and go and tell those three to stop that ridiculous display of lust action to Love Action? It looks like they’re filming a porn movie. Still, at least they kept him occupied. I must thank them later.”

  December

  Week Two. The pub. Friday, 7.00 p.m.

  Lord, do not be far from me, I mutter under my breath. You are my strength. Come quickly to help me. I am breaking the rules, but…

  The pub door swings violently open, making me jump, and I find myself nervously finger-combing my fringe in preparation for what is to come.

  “Clarabell. To what do I owe this pleasure? I trust this won’t take too long. Places to go and people to see.”

  I squirm under his gaze but keep my voice neutral. “Why don’t you sit down, Geoffrey?” He pulls up a chair opposite me and smiles.

  “Well?”

  “I know about your Saturday nights,” I say quietly.

  “What do you know about my Saturday nights, exactly Claire?”

  I sip my coffee. “This is really hard for me. I’ve gone behind everybody’s back to meet you and talk about this, because I care. I‘ve prayed daily for you and Amy and your marriage, and I really thought that things were improving until I heard about all this. Did you really think you would be able to keep your latest game secret? I didn’t want to believe Bea when she first told me, and Amy had convinced me that you were working on your family problems, but…” My voice trails off.

  “Busybody Bea’s been spreading gossip, has she?”

  “It’s not gossip, though, is it?” I gulp.

  “Explain yourself, Clarabell.” The smile is replaced with a condescending sneer, and I flinch at the steely note in his voice.

  “I don’t understand why you keep doing it?” I state calmly. “And this time, well, it’s deplorable. ‘Marriage should be honoured by all and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.’ Please do the right thing before it’s too late.”

  “And what do you suggest I do?”

  “Well, you could go to counselling or the church for support and guidance, perhaps?”

  “How thoughtful of you,” he replies coolly. “I’d rather you didn’t tell me what you think I might like to do. I know exactly what needs to be done, and I’m not the one who needs help.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s my wife who needs help, and I am sorting her out. Did she put you up to this?”

  “What?” I’m taken aback. “I’m here of my own free will. I’m your greatest ally, and I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? I came to terms with why you married Amy instead of me a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still love you. Who else would have helped you to cover up your past indiscretions? Without me, your life would be in tatters.”

  “I’ve always been grateful to you for that, and I appreciate your discretion in helping me keep Amy blissfully unaware of our relationship and specific aspects of my private life. Don’t I reward you for your efforts?” He points to my red leather tote and the fine gold chain around my neck. I finger the chain lovingly.

  “You do, I’m sorry. I’ve spent all year listening to her bleating on about it all, and I’ve acted like the perfect friend. I think I’ve persuaded her that what she’s going through is perfectly normal for someone of her age and that she’ll pull through. The last thing I want is for you two to split up, because I know how much you need her – and you are so special to me. I’m determined she doesn’t do anything silly. What about you and me?” My voice cracks. “What more can I do?”

  He chuckles and leans forward, unflinching. “Don’t go giving me those puppy dog eyes. We will leave very soon. It’s taken longer than I anticipated, but she’s coming round to the idea now. A fresh start is what she needs – without unnecessary distractions.”

  “You think that by moving her abroad you’re going to solve everything?” I croak. “You’re deluded if that’s your game. Running away won’t help this time. The reason why you’re emigrating is nothing to do with Amy and her wellbeing. It’s all about you.” My eyes harden. “Listen to me. Where are you going to go the next time and the time after that? I don’t know what I can do to mitigate the scandal that’s going to hit the streets very soon, but Australia is not the answer. It sounds like a great plan, but it won’t work. Please don’t go. I need you in my life – and what about Adam Anthony? See sense, and let me help you and Amy while there’s still time. We’ll work something out, like we’ve always done.”

  In desperation, I try to take his hand, but he shrugs it off. “What about my nephew?” he says scornfully, getting up from the table. “I’ll still be able to keep in touch with him through Jess, and Amy will remain none the wiser.”

  “But what if…” Geoff grabs my hands and tugs them sharply, his voice hardly audible.

  “Pull yourself together, woman. I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for this. If you really want to help Amy and my children, I suggest you focus your energies on supporting us through our relocation. I am doing thi
s with the best of intentions, you know, and in part, it is to do with Amy and her, erm, wellbeing – as you so tactfully describe it.” He smiles and puts on his jacket. “However, our future plans are of no concern to you or your cronies, and if you’ll excuse me, I have to leave.”

  “For some Jx2=OH!?” I reply sadly. His eyes flash menacingly, making me suddenly afraid.

  “Tut tut, Clarabell. That behaviour won’t do you any favours with me; you know that. I’ll be in touch.”

  Saturday, 6.30 p.m.

  “Are we eating tonight?” harrumphs Geoff from behind his e-reader.

  “Why don’t you make tea tonight for a change?” I reply offhandedly, tapping away on my mobile. My last challenge was to become a Microsoft Office Wizard, and I’m pretending to practise my skills when really I’m playing Wordie.

  “You do the shopping. You know what there is,” he replies.

  “Go and have a look and see? That’s what I do,” I say, tapping away. “It’d be nice to switch it up a bit at the weekend. I’d love a night off from meal planning and cooking.” Inside I feel quite sick and take a large gulp of my Pinot Grigio as I wait for his response.

  Geoff goes on the attack. “Do you realise how long you’ve been on that app? One hour,” he replies curtly. “Totally unproductive time that could have been spent making our evening meal, using that gym subscription I gave you for your birthday to rid yourself of that flab you’re still lugging around, or discussing our relocation that you appear to be avoiding. What’s the next strategy you’re going to employ to avoid everyday life, darling?” He tries to snatch my mobile out of my hand. It falls to the floor. He picks it up and slips it into his back pocket.

  “I’d like my phone back, please?” I ask politely.

  “When you’ve agreed to stop using that app as your current avoidance strategy, Amy. I think that you’ve been living in suspended reality for too long, resulting in a psychological disorder. Others convinced me that your bad behaviour is down to the menopause, but I think differently now. The good news is that your problem is treatable and you will be sane again. You just need to see your GP to get the ball rolling. In six months’ time, when you’re having treatment and we’re living our new life, you’ll thank me for sticking by you.” His mobile vibrates.

  “I’d like my phone back, please?” I repeat slowly, my anger mounting.

  “Not yet. I want you to realise that I’m no longer prepared to carry on making allowances for your behaviour and attitude towards me. Do you agree that you’ve been avoiding things?”

  “Yes,” I reply truthfully. Inside, I am livid.

  “Well done.”

  Geoff pats me on the head and offers a sympathetic smile. “That’s step one in curing you. Girls,” he smiles broadly. “Your mother has acknowledged that she is ill. She’s on the mend.”

  He stands over my chair. It’s overbearing. “Now, Amy, will you agree to discuss our relocation later this week?”

  “Yes,” I lie.

  “Great. Then you may have your mobile back.” He places it on the side.

  I down my glass of wine, willing him to go.

  “Drinking too much is an avoidance strategy.”

  I close my eyes.

  “That’s another.”

  “What is?”

  “Closing your eyes to block me out. See what I mean? I’m going out in an hour or so and need to eat.” A flicker of amusement passes across his face. “Actually, I’ll get my fill elsewhere.”

  “What’s wrong with staying in, Dad?” asks Pippa. “You’re out every Saturday night. Where do you go?”

  “Somewhere I feel happy and with people who appreciate me and my worth,” he replies, stomping out of the lounge.

  I stare after him, glowering in defiance but saying nothing… yet.

  9.00 p.m.

  “You okay, Ames?”

  “It’s Saturday night, I’m fine and on the wine now that Geoff’s out.” I let out a brittle laugh. “Claire?”

  “Sorry. Got distracted. Hey, it’s the first week of December. A couple more challenges and then what? I won’t be sad when it’s over, you know. Your exploits have become a huge part of our lives, but I’m not sure if it’s been a… constructive process? In some respects, it’s been developmental, yet going about it the way you have has come at a cost.” Claire sounds odd, distant, uptight. There’s another silence.

  “Let’s just say it’s not turning out as I imagined,” I say. “I don’t know how I’ll feel when I reach the end, Claire. It’s a bit surreal. Nothing will ever be the same again. Are you there? Claire?”

  “So, what’s in store for you this time, Amy?

  I read from the slip of paper. It says:

  RETREAT RETREAT.

  “You’re not emigrating?” she gasps.

  “No. I’m not changing my mind and going along with Geoff without good reason,” I reply sharply. “Something that happened earlier this evening has confirmed my interpretation of this challenge. I am going to withdraw, unplug and take a digital detox.”

  My gut tells me that this challenge isn’t about doing anything wacky. It’s a golden opportunity for self-reflection. I never get the chance to sit and think for any decent length of time, and given my current situation and the fact that the end of the year is coming, I am ready for it.

  “I can see why you want to do that, and I think it’s worthwhile – but what about Pippa and Evie?”

  “Geoff can cook and clean and deal with everything,” I reply coldly. Let’s see how long it takes for him to resort to avoidance strategies, I think. “Will you keep an eye on things while I’m gone?”

  “Um, I don’t think I can, Amy.”

  “Why?”

  “Ames… listen. I have to go. Have a great time and make some good decisions – some rational decisions. I’ll pray for you. Bye.”

  What was that all about? I wonder as I hang up. She was acting very strangely.

  Sunday, 4.00 p.m.

  I’m almost ready to go. Living like a hermit, I’ll only require the basic necessities. Renouncing technology and fripperies sounds great, and I’m sure I’ll return relaxed and reinvigorated. With this in mind, I packed the following:

  •Onesie.

  •Toiletries.

  •Underwear and a change of clothes.

  •Food and drink.

  •Money.

  An hour later I repack, adding:

  •Mascara. (I feel it’s wrong to leave it behind.)

  •Perfume. (For use as an air freshener if the house smells musty.)

  •A toilet roll. (I’m not taking any chances.)

  •Bathroom cleaner and cloths. (I abhor a dirty bathroom.)

  10.30 p.m.

  I’ve found my very own desert island in the Lake District. Someone who rents a house on an island in one of the many local lakes has agreed to loan it to me. I just have to work out how to get to the house from the mainland. There’s no transportation, you see.

  My daughters and I sit together in the study, drinking steaming mugs of hot chocolate, discussing my dilemma.

  “Go in this – a swan pedalo. You’d look like a bird on the lake. No one would see you. You’d be invisible.” Evie shows me images of graceful swan pedalos at the Olympic Park in London. “They are big and stable and you pedal them like a bike…” she reads.

  “Well done, Evie. Dilemma solved,” I giggle.

  There is an aggressive bang on the door from Geoff. “Shouldn’t we be in bed? You all know the rule.”

  “Boring predictable fun-sucking millstone,” mutters Pippa as we file past him.

  “That is all the more reason for us to move away,” he comments loudly so that she can hear. “She needs new friends to teach her some respect.”

  I inform Geoff that I am abandoning the family and return
ing on Thursday evening.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks.

  “It’ll be good for me,” I rationalise. “It will help me to… erm… think things through.”

  His face lights up.

  “What a fantastic idea. I’m delighted that you’re finally seeing sense. You go away to think. Make some notes and we’ll discuss everything when you get back. I’ll work from home this week. I’m sure I can swing it,” he gushes, rubbing his hands with glee. “Once you’ve had time alone, without that lot, I know you’ll see the benefits and appreciate that it’s a move I must make. Here, take this bundle of websites and articles that I’ve printed off for you to read.” He pulls a bulging plastic wallet from under the bed. “I’ve had this ready for you for ages. HR said that it will help you to feel more comfortable with the idea of going and answer all those irksome questions you probably have,” he smiles.

  “What do you mean, once I’ve had time to think without that lot?” I ask.

  “Well, you know. Without influence from those friends of yours,” he states.

  “Oh, yes. Right,” I say. Keep quiet. Do not inflame the situation – just take the wallet and thank him.

  “Thanks. It’s very, um, thoughtful.”

  “Don’t say I don’t look after my wife. I only have our best interests at heart. Inside are important documents about visas and my draft Contract of Employment. If you could cast your eye over them before you get back and sign the documents, I can crack on before the Christmas break begins proper.”

  Yep, he still thinks I am going to go…

  I can’t believe how brazen he is. Why would I even want to look at his Contract of Employment and information on visas, let alone sign forms right now? I haven’t said I want to go. And he doesn’t get the meaning of this challenge at all.

  I take the wallet from him and say nothing further, apart from making my excuses to leave the room so that I can go and tell Evie and Pippa of my imminent departure. As I turn away, I catch sight of his reflection in the window. A smile creeps across his face and he punches the air in triumph. “Mwahahahaa! Houston, we have lift-off!” I hear him crow. I see him send a hurried text.