Good Enough

by PH Morris

  “I see, so what can I do for you?” I dreaded to hear what was coming next, but pretending she wasn’t there would just not do.

  “Well, I was wondering,” Kat batting her eyelids at me, “where a busy lady with tired legs could get an iced latte around these parts.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I heard there was a coffee place around here somewhere, but I don’t know, do you?!” she yelled.

  I knew she was referring to the coffee shop located right behind me.

  “All right, I give in, what would you like?”

  “Oh my god, I thought you would never ask?!”Kat yelled, trying to embarrass me.

  She turned to her fellow water babies as if quietly consulting, which was ridiculous as Kat did nothing quietly. They nodded their heads as if coming to a consensus.

  She had moved a little closer to the decking by now, carried by the momentum of the moving pedal boat, even though she’d stopped pedalling a minute or so earlier.

  By now she was in line with the decking, and I was just about to tell her to be careful in case she ran into it, but instead of bringing the boat to a halt by back-pedalling, she pedalled a little bit… and then the boat and all three willing participants disappeared underneath the decking.

  Looking over the edge I couldn’t see anything, and then I heard something…

  “Cooeee…” The sound came from beneath the decking and, just visible between the slats, I could now see Kat’s smiling eyes – she was loving this.

  I was now talking to the decking like a loon, and as new people came past us, I looked like the crazy person. There was nothing to do but play along with it.

  “One mango smoothie, one iced latte and one skinny cappuccino,” came the detached voice.

  About twenty minutes later, once the boat had been returned, we all sat around crying with laughter at Kate’s stony face, like this was something she did every day.

  My stomach hurt from laughing.

  All too soon we were standing in the car park clustered around my Mini, giving hugs and kisses and promises of doing this again soon. Hopefully, they meant getting together, not commandeering a pedal boat.

  However, I could feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. The weekend had been a fantastic escape, and I had an idea of what I was going to do but didn’t know if my conviction would waiver the minute I walked back into my and Mark’s home.

  Of course, all the girls had agreed to come en masse, and Shelle had uncharacteristically offered to kick Mark in his “nuts and crackers”. I lied and said I was going to spend some time at my mum’s and that I was just popping home to collect my things. But I had decided that this was something I needed to do.

  I’d fired off a short text to Mark that morning, which read:

  ‘I’ve been away with the girls this weekend; I am home at 5pm this evening. Please don’t be there or contact me. I plan to stay a few days until I get myself somewhere to stay’

  A reply had pinged almost instantly.

  ‘Oh my god, Mel, thank god you’re okay, I thought you had done something stupid. Please don’t rush to leave. You can stay at the house for as long as you need. The rent is paid to end of Sept. I will respect your wishes, and I won’t be there later. Text me if you need anything.’

  I was just about to text back and say, ‘Thanks, I will’, and then thought bollocks to it! Then I felt outraged. Who the fuck does he think he is? I re-read his text and found myself focusing on seven words. ‘I thought you had done something stupid. ‘What like? Kill myself? What a total moron. Was I such a total loser that he would think I would top myself over him? Either that or he thought I was dense.

  I didn’t owe him anything, so I didn’t even reply.

  Back in the car, I wave to my, more than slightly, bonkers friends, push my sunglasses onto my face and brave the journey home. Home – that was a word that was going to change how I felt about the place Mark and I had lived in for the last four years. Would I find another place called home?

  As I drove the ninety-minute journey, I started to think about the last few days. The revelation that Mark had made a few days ago seems like aeons away.

  In all too short a time, I was pulling up on the drive. Mark’s car was absent, and there seemed to be no life at home… scratch that, at the house.

  As I got out of the car, my neighbour Joan was leaving the house. “Hi, Mel, lovely day, isn’t it? I’m just off to the garden centre, I’m re-doing my hanging baskets.” I love Joan but she rarely breaks for breath.

  She notices my overnight bag and continues:

  “Oooh, have you been away for the weekend with Mark? Bet you had a lovely weekend, the weather has been fantastic, where did you go?”

  I walk as quickly as is polite to the door, unlocking it as I’m speaking.

  “I did have a lovely weekend. Thank you, Joan; I’m just going to unpack. Have a lovely time at the garden centre; try not to spend too much.”

  I just hear her shout “Bye” as I sneak inside and close the door; at least seeing Joan was enough of a distraction to stop me moping on the doorstep or sitting in the car like a saddo.

  As I adjust to being inside the house, I look at the hallway; surprisingly it seems just the same as it did four days ago. I tentatively open the living room door, and it looks tidy: the cushions which were strewn on the floor days ago are positioned back on the couch at their usual diagonal jaunty angle. I close the door and trudge upstairs, each step feeling like a booming echo through the empty house. I stop just outside our bedroom door and push it open. The bed is made. I put my bag on the bed and sit next to it.

  I unpack my clothes, throwing the dirty items in the wash, and as I go to put my toiletries back in the bathroom, I realise that some of Mark’s stuff is missing: his razor and shaving foam. I know there is no point in fully unpacking. I check Mark’s wardrobe, and I know that quite a few things are missing. I pick up a photo of us at the side of the bed and turn it face down. I don’t want to dwell.

  He’s packed, and I’m a little broken-hearted, but I did tell him not to be here, so I guess I should have expected it, but it still hurts.

  What am I going to do? I have work in the morning, and I can’t slip into a tear-soaked emotional mess again. I need time.

  Right, first things first. I fire off a quick text to Louise to say I’ve got a migraine and that I’m not going to be in tomorrow, asking her to let the boss know. I haven’t had one of those for ages, so I know the boss will be okay with it, but I know that Louise will see right through it. The phone rings almost instantly, but I turn it to silent and let it go to voicemail. I know I can tell Louise everything on Wednesday.

  I weigh up my options and discount them almost immediately: they are pretty bleak.

  Stay here for a few weeks – not happening I would be listening to some grunge music and dyeing my hair black in days.

  Move into a hotel (for a few weeks) – again like option one and, besides, I would be skint.

  Go and stay with Mum and Dad (for a few weeks) – omg – no, no and thrice no.

  Sort my own shit out and do something for me – looks promising, but what???

  An incoming text lifts me from my thoughts as I see it’s from Kat.

  ‘Hi, hun, you okay?’

  Before I reply, I notice the unopened message from Shelle from two days ago, with David’s contact number.

  I open the text and hover over the contact, then click it. It rings three times, and I’m about to click end when David’s voice comes onto the line.

  “Hello, who’s this?’

  “Oh hi, is that David? It’s Mel, Shelle and Kat’s friend.”

  “Oh, hi, sweetie pie, how was your girlie weekend?”

  Within minutes I’m laughing and joking with David like we’re old friends, and I know I will like him. I can tell that S
helle has filled him in on all the details of Mark’s break-up with me, but he doesn’t ask.

  By the end of the hour-long conversation, he has persuaded me that moving in with him will be a good thing for both of us and that I am doing him a huge favour. I can do this, I think…well, at least for a couple of weeks.

  No pressure, that’s what David said about 100 times.

  So, that’s it, no time to waste, and I begin packing a suitcase of things that I will need for a few weeks. Just a few weeks, no pressure.

  Chapter 4

  I stare at the message on my mobile with directions of what to do when I get to the ramp of the apartment building, and I key in the code and follow the ramp down to the bay he said I could park in. I fire off a text to tell him I’ve arrived safely.

  When I arrive at the correct floor, I step out of the lift and look both right and left, figuring out which way to turn, when I hear a “Coooeee” and I smile. What is it with that as a greeting?

  David is as I remembered: 5ft 10ins, with warm brown eyes and dark hair and a well-groomed beard with just a few days’ growth.

  David’s apartment is surprisingly spacious; it’s a newly developed building which was originally part of the Potato Wharf. The ceilings are high, and there is exposed brickwork and painted iron columns and views over the canal basin.

  He gives me the quick tour, pointing to my room which surprisingly has its own en-suite bathroom, then he shows me his bedroom and bathroom and, because everything is open-plan, he merely points out where things are stored.

  The kitchen has antique brass-effect cupboards in a dark tarnished gold with polished concrete worktops. The flooring is made up of stone flagging with golds and greens, and I can imagine it will shine like a beetle’s wing when the light catches it.

  The living room has broad and deep sofas in a soft cream colour which look like giant marshmallows, and I just want to flop down on one and tuck my feet underneath me. I feel a little like a loose part just standing there, and David tugs my jacket off my shoulders and puts it on the back of one of the bar stools.

  “Wine?” He’s already padding to the kitchen and opens a cupboard and removes a considerable golf-ball-shaped glass.

  Before I can say anything, he’s lifting a bottle of white from the fridge, and even though he pours a sizeable amount into the glass it barely fills one-quarter of it. He passes it to me, and I take a little sip, and it’s crisp and fresh.

  “Come and chill,” he says, walking back to the living area.

  I kick off my shoes and gesture to my feet to check if it’s okay to put them on the sofa. David takes another sip of his wine at the same time, nods and waves his hand at me in agreement.

  “Seriously, Mel, please make yourself at home. I don’t have many rules, and I can’t remember what they are; the rest we can figure out as we go along.” He smiles a warm and friendly smile and reminds me of Shelle in many ways.

  The sofa is just like I imagined it would be, and we chat easily about music and the food we like. David confesses he is not a clean freak around the house but likes a clean kitchen. He doesn’t really want to cook, but he loves to bake. Which is good, because I am okay with cooking meals and, although I can bake, I hate washing up, so this could be a great partnership.

  “So, I heard from Shelle that you and erm… Neil recently split up.” Thank goodness I didn’t call him Juan by mistake. David is quiet for a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry, David, how insensitive of me. Please don’t feel you need to talk about it if, you know, if…” and then I stop, as David is grinning at me.

  “Why are you laughing?” I feel like I’m missing something

  “I just wondered if you were going to call him Juan. I know that that’s what Shelle calls him and, before you ask, it’s all true. He did have plenty.”

  I am mortified.

  “I’m kidding, Mel, just having you on…Your face, though!”

  Now we are both in fits of giggles.

  “It wasn’t a serious thing,” he finally says once he’s stopped giggling. “Now that I’m about to start on the long-haul flights it just seemed like the right time to bring things to an end, really,” he shrugs. “He’s a nice enough guy, and he’s a nurse, so between his shifts and my new work patterns we figured we would just hook up if we are both in the area, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I guess it must be diff—Arrrgggh!” I scream, as a little ginger and white cat jumps onto the sofa scaring the bejesus out of me.

  “Marmalade, you naughty boy,” admonishes David and leans forward to scoop him up, then settles back on the couch, scratching him behind his ear, and Marmalade responds with loud purring, like a little motorboat.

  “Sorry, David, he just surprised me. I didn’t mean to scream like a girl.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it; you should hear me when there’s a spider in the bathroom. That’s why I got Marmalade, so that he could deal with anything creepy or crawly,” and he shudders as if recalling some such incident.

  “Anyway, do you fancy popping out for a spot of tea? There’s a little bistro nearby, and you can sit at the canal-side and people-watch.” He makes the people-watching sound like a guilty pleasure.

  “Sure, I can unpack later.”

  He wasn’t wrong, it was literally a few minutes away; and he continues with his animated stories, and I’m just happy to smile and looked shocked at all the right moments.

  David disappears to the toilet, and I notice a chill on my legs and realise that it has gone dark. It is probably later than I thought. Checking my phone, I see it’s past 10pm, and although I told Louise I wasn’t in tomorrow, claiming a migraine, I do feel very guilty, and then I realise I may have been seen out and about in Manchester and tomorrow I will be faking an illness.

  I decide that I will fire a quick email off to my boss and ask for a day’s holiday for tomorrow, citing ‘personal reasons’, and say that I will explain on Wednesday.

  I fire off a quick text to Louise, adding a bit more detail:

  ‘Hi, Lou, sorry I’ve not been in touch. The big news is that Mark and I have split up. I don’t want to talk about it right now, but I will explain all on Wed. I’m ok (ish) and need tomorrow to sort a few things out. I’m taking tomorrow as a holiday, and I’ve emailed Nick to tell him about the day’s holiday. Don’t say anything to anyone else. I’ll tell all on Wed over a coffee, my treat. Love M xx’

  Almost immediately, I receive a reply:

  ‘OMG, Mel, I can’t believe it. Hope U R ok, see you Wed, you know I am here if you need me, see you soon Lou xoxox’

  David returns and, reading me well, says brightly, “You ready for off? You look knackered.”

  “Yeah, I am,” and I do feel tired.

  We stroll back to David’s in comfortable silence and ride the lift to his floor. As he opens the door and we step in, he says, “Oh, that reminds me, here,” and into my hand he places a set of keys, on the end of which is a face of a cat in little fake diamonds.

  “Thanks, David, I do appreciate it,” and this minimal and utilitarian act of kindness nearly sets me off, plus the wine hasn’t helped me control the emotions.

  “Hey,” he says sharply, “we will have none of that. Anyway, it really is a bad concept for Feng Shui,” and he waves his hands in the air with dramatic effect. I smile a little, so it has the desired effect. He gives me a warm and brief hug, and we say our goodnights.

  I head to my room and drag my suitcase with me. Taking in the place, which is rather lovely, I feel like a traveller, I unzip the case and lay it open like a clamshell on the floor, pull out my make-up and toiletries, and head to the bathroom. I decide to unpack in the morning. Ted is the only thing that comes out of my case, my old bear. He’s not particularly handsome, with one eye missing, and he’s still rough to the touch, but he grounded me in the early days – just a little bit of comfort i
n my messed-up world – and here he is again. One of the few constants in my life.

  Speaking of constants, I lie in bed and fire off a quick text to Mum saying that I am doing okay and staying with a friend. I make a promise to go up at the weekend. I don’t get a reply and hope that she will get the message in the morning when I feel more like speaking. I lie awake for a while thinking and end up having a little pity party for one; I try my best to cry quietly into the pillow and am not sure how successful my attempt is, I feel like a total loser. I eventually fall asleep.

  The next day is bright and sunny, and the bedroom is coated in a warm glow. I hadn’t realised that the window blinds would be so thin, when I went to bed, and I will have to invest in an eye mask or thicker curtains. I wipe sleep from my eyes and check my reflection in the mirror – my eyelids are fat, and I rub at them and splash water on my face in a half-arsed attempt to improve the overall look. I fail.

  I can hear movement from the kitchen, and singing I think – well, humming – and I can definitely smell something yummy and sweet.

  I shuffle out of the bedroom and down the short hall, to see David with his headphones in having a little boogie while mixing a ready-made batter. As if sensing my approach, he turns and smiles.

  “I am making pancakes. Want some?!” he shouts.

  “Yes, please. Is that coffee?” I nod to the pot.

  If he notices my swollen eyes or the less than quiet crying, he doesn’t let on.

  The ready-made pancakes and homemade coffee are both pretty good, and I offer to wash up, but David refuses and shoos me off for a shower.

  The shower is hot, and I feel better within minutes.

  I pull on simple cotton shorts and a T-shirt, and with my hair in a towel turban I turn my attention to the suitcase. It takes just a quick ten minutes, and the contents are hung up, folded and put away. The wardrobe is large and fits my stuff in easily. I don’t know how long I will be here, but for now it’s a good start.

  The rest of the day I spend on the phone to my folks, firing off texts to those who ‘need to know’ and thinking about the days ahead and, although it is painful to tell people and then deal with the questions and the pity, it does feel like the more I say it, the more real it becomes.