Good Enough

by PH Morris

Louise was on a course all week, which meant I could not share my knickers story with her until Friday. So, I just ploughed on with my end-of-month reporting, dashboards and general stats for the board report I was writing.

  Thankfully the rain ceased to a drizzle by the time I left work, and luckily the wind had dropped, so I was happy with my singular weather. My hair, on the other hand, was a bit frizzy by the time I got home. I called in at the supermarket on the way home, deciding to make Thai red curry for David, with coconut rice.

  When I got home, it seemed that the jungle drums had beat very loudly, as someone had thought it hilarious to take all my underwear, pretty or otherwise, white, black or chewing gum grey, and scatter it around the flat.

  “Ha Ha,” I announced loudly as I dropped the bags on the counter. David peered from around his bedroom door, smiling broadly.

  “Oooh, you little minx, fancy going out with no knickers on,” he laughed.

  “Oh my god, David, I did have knickers on,” I protested; “they just weren’t big enough,” I finished quietly.

  “I know, I’m just teasing you. Got to say, Mel, you are proper ditz for a clever girl.” He looked contrite.

  But I threw a packet of poppadums at him, in any case. He caught them gracefully with a “Hey, watch it.”

  That evening we chatted and drank wine, and we both decided on an early night as we had lost a bit of sleep over the weekend; mine, he rightly pointed out, was my own doing.

  After I had scooped up all my undies, including the unattractive ones, which David enjoyed pointing out were more Bridget Jones than Brigitte Bardot. Maybe if I got a man, I could rectify that.

  So, by 10pm we were both in bed. That night I dreamt of blue eyes and yellow bursts and a rough beard snuggling my cheek. My alarm woke me, damn it. Then I realised the scratchy beard was Ted, who I had been snuggling up to all night.

  I gave him a forlorn stare into his only remaining eye and silenced the alarm.

  The rest of the week was busy, with the Campbell deal looking like it was going to go ahead.

  There wasn’t too much to do from my perspective as nothing was changing from my side, but the boss was using me as a sounding board on a regular basis, checking his thought processes with me. It was exciting and flattering. He said my advice was sage, and that made me feel old.

  In his office, the day before the agreement was signed, he said that he wanted me to be involved in the post-agreement alignment, which he said would be working with the other company and seeing if there were things that we could glean from their processes and get ‘best of the breed’. He said it would involve some travel. Six months ago, I would have objected and stated I couldn’t do it, but now I didn’t have ties, and for the first time I enjoyed that thought.

  “Well, Mel, we are almost there. I’ve been on the phone with the lawyers, and we are very close to the deal. It certainly helps that the family has strong connections in the UK.” He rubbed his stubbly chin, lost in thought.

  “Growing a beard there?” I teased. “It’s not even November.”

  “Har de har, Mel,” he tried to smile, but I could see that he was tired. “No, don’t suit one; just a late one last night and up early so didn’t get the chance.”

  “I don’t know, I think you could suit a little goatee; beardedness is all the rage.” I tried to hide a smile and failed.

  “Oh, bugger off, Mel; haven’t you got someone to sack or recruit, or both?” he quipped.

  “Surprisingly, no; everyone has been good and not left. So, quiet on both fronts. But I do have a crucial lunchtime meeting,” I offered.

  “Lunchtime meeting? Lunch with your pal is not a meeting.” He raised an eyebrow, smiling more warmly this time.

  “Well, we discuss all sorts of work matters, I’ll have you know, critical work matters, and she has been off all week, so we have lots to talk about, important lots.” I stood and walked to the door.

  “Yeah yeah, get lost,” he said to my back.

  I turned around and looked at the top of his head as he went back to the paperwork. “You want a sandwich?”

  “No thanks, Suzy is grabbing me something,” he replied, but didn’t look up.

  I closed his door quietly. I felt for the guy; however, but both he and I knew the deal was going through and then, hopefully, the crazies would stop. Little did I know the crazies were just getting started!

  I enjoyed my lunch with my work wife and, of course, she was itching to know what my Edinburgh weekend had been like.

  Her face was a picture when I told her about the knickers, and she said, as expected, “These things could only ever happen to you.”

  Which was right, but I had to admit I was happy, happier than I had been for ages, but I did have a looming doubt.

  Again, Louise reminded me that it was ‘typical me’.

  I changed the subject quickly and talked about the hot guys we had met in Scotland, and she was particularly interested in Mr Tall, Blonde and Rugged, aka Al. I gave her the detailed info, but she wanted more.

  “Come on, Mel, there’s got to be more; don’t be coy, it doesn’t suit you,” she nagged.

  “There’s not much to tell. He bought us a drink, he remarked on my arse, then his mate got into a fight and, poof,” I clicked my fingers, “he was gone.”

  “Oh god, Mel, so close.” She took a top large bite of her panini and then fanned her mouth.

  “Told you it was hot,” I nagged her back.

  She swallowed quickly and with a pained expression. “The panini or Mr Rugged?” she sniggered.

  “Both,” I laughed.

  The afternoon dragged, and before I left, I called in on Nick to see if I could help at all.

  He was on his phone, and I asked Suzy if he would be a while.

  “He’s on to the lawyers; it looks close to being signed,” she responded.

  “Right, I might hang on another half an hour, see if he needs anything.” I bit my lip, deep in thought.

  “Okay, I’ll let him know if he comes off the phone,” she smiled warmly.

  “Okay, Suz, thanks. Have a good weekend.”

  “You too,” she replied.

  Back in my office, I sent a quick email to Nick.

  ‘Just been up to see you. Do you want me to stay or do anything? M’

  He replied quickly and succinctly.

  ‘No, you head off. N’

  I fired back a quick response.

  ‘Ok. Call me if you need anything. I’m only ten minutes away.’

  His reply was: ‘Ok’

  So, I packed up, locked everything away and left my floor. There were just a couple of guys left, who were also packing up for the day, and I waved at them through the glass panelling.

  Back on the warm summer street I casually walked home. How different is this weather from earlier in the week? But there I go again, talking about the weather in such a British way. I did feel good, and Lou was right: I deserved to be happy.

  A few summer classic tunes on my phone was what I needed on this warm evening. I was staring at my phone, deciding on the artist or the album, one earbud in, when I bumped into someone stepping out onto the street in front of me.

  What I first thought was, Silly arse. Who steps out without looking? But my manners got there first, and I was already uttering, “Oh, sorry,” before I looked up into Anne Marie’s perfectly made-up face.

  “Oh my god, Melissa,” she gushed, “fancy seeing you here.”

  She spoke over dramatically.

  I could barely speak.

  “Oh, hi, Anne Marie, how are you?” Damn those manners; I didn’t give a shit how she was.

  I then noticed that she had stepped out of a boutique shop with a stylish designer bag over the crook of her arm. She saw me looking between the shop and her arm.

  “Oh,
I’m great, thanks, Melissa, just doing a bit of retail therapy.” I hated the way she said my name like a hissing snake.

  She looked me up and down and smiled; it was not a friendly smile. “You look, erm… nice,” she offered. Why did it sound like an insult?

  “Have you seen Mark lately?” she asked with a raised HD brow. Why the fuck was she asking me of all people?

  Well, that threw me.”Er, no, I… I thought you and he… were… were a thing.” I couldn’t find the words.

  She shocked me with a peel of laughter. She fake-wiped a pretend tear from her eye with coffin-shaped red-tipped nails. God, this woman is high maintenance, I thought unkindly, but she was getting on my very last nerve.

  When she composed herself, she finally explained. “We did the ‘do’ a couple of times, but he didn’t float my boat, you know what that’s like,” hinting that we had obviously both done the ‘do’ as she called it.”Eew, is that weird?” She put her hand up to her mouth in shock.

  Yes, it was eeew, but I was caught on her fishing line, and I knew I didn’t want to know the answer to the next question, but I just needed to know.

  “When did you meet Mark?” I asked, as casually as I could muster, but she had me, and she knew it.

  Tapping her manicured nail on her artificial pouty lip, “Mmmm it was about a year ago, I think, yeah. We met at some launch of that new project, last August it was, but of course I didn’t know about you; I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.”

  “I have to go,” is all I had to offer.

  I knew what she was implying. She’d made it clear, and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I stepped around her, put my music on and walked quickly away; if she called after me, I didn’t hear her.

  Why the fuck was she back in my life? She was indeed like an old penny. A dirty old penny.

  I got home in record time, the lift was out of order, although it was only three floors, and I was a hot mess by the time I burst into the apartment.

  The place was empty, and I needed to get cool and calm down, so I stepped into the shower and cried and cried. I needed David, but I also needed a minute.

  I remembered that back in August he had been to some launch party and he hadn’t come home. He’d said he’d got drunk and crashed on some mate’s couch. Back then it had sounded plausible; now I felt like a simpering, gullible idiot.

  That was it, I was done with him and with her. Sure, she could be lying to get at me, but why would she lie? He was a weasel and a wanker. So, fuck him and fuck her.

  I walked out to the hallway to grab some more tissues, when David walked in through the door with some shopping.

  “Just had to nip out for cat food and I got…” he paused. “What happened?”

  He put the shopping on the floor and came towards me.

  “I’m okay,” I countered.

  “You most certainly are not; tell Auntie D what happened.”

  “Oh, David, you are not going to believe this.”

  I spent the next ten minutes telling David what Anne Marie had said. He didn’t interrupt, apart from to say words like ‘shit’, ‘wanker’ and ‘bitch’.

  At the end he was quiet and reflective, and after a minute he said, “You know she could be making it all up to get at you?”

  “Yeah, that did cross my mind, but why? I’m nothing, and she’s, well, gorgeous and doing well for herself, and why would she be interested in me?” I fanned a hand down my body in explanation; with my swollen eyes, puffy face and the way I looked at this moment, wasn’t it obvious?

  “Well, for starters,” he went on, “don’t always believe what you see; my mum used to say, ‘all fur coat and no knickers’, no pun intended,” he smiled warmly. “Anyway, what it means is that just because someone flashes their wealth doesn’t mean it’s all paid for. Wealthy people don’t do that, they are discreet and cautious, so if you want my view, I bet it’s all on credit cards.” He folded his arms with a humph.

  “I don’t know, David, but in any event why would she try to get back at me?” I argued.

  “Well, funny you should say that. She’s jealous!” he stated.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, why on earth would she be jealous of me? She got to stay with our parents; she wasn’t given up. Do you know she’s only a bit younger than me? They gave me up, and she got kept? So, I wasn’t wanted, and they kept her; they never even tried to get me back.” I was crying again. This was the crux of the matter. I wasn’t wanted, and she was.

  David scooted over to me, put his arm around my shoulder and whispered, “Don’t you see it, babe? You’ve got it all backward; from what I understand of those families, they can hardly manage financially from one week to the next. They spend what little money they have on the wrong things; the way I see it is, you got out of there, you had an amazing life, with parents who took you places and did things with you. You had seen the world by the time you were ten; she probably only saw her back garden and her parents fight. It’s Anne Marie who is jealous, because you got the life she wanted.”

  “Do you think so?” I sniffed.

  “I know so. Listen, put them out of your mind; they only get to win if you let them. So what if he was doing the uglies with her? You got out of there and escaped. You have a whole life ahead of you, surrounded by family and friends, you have a great job, things are changing at work. All is good; you had a lucky escape. And if you really want to know, you could always ask him outright,” he offered with a shrug.

  “Oh no,” I affirmed, “there’s no way I am asking him: he could say she’s lying, and then I still won’t know who to believe; he could say nothing, and then I would believe her. Either way, it’s better not knowing. You’re right, sod them. I’m done. They deserve each other.”

  “Atta girl.” David ruffled my hair, stood gracefully and went to pour us a glass of wine. We ended up watching the box set of Walking Dead on Netflix until it was time for bed.

  I decided I was having a lie-in on Saturday; and it was going to take something earth-shattering, like an actual earthquake, to get me moving. I woke up a couple of times and then nodded off again.

  It was getting late as my stomach was grumbling, and I looked at the clock – 12:30 – wow, I’d slept past lunch, and I wasn’t even a teenager – yeah, me!

  I heard the buzzer go outside and David’s voice, then the door opened, more sounds, and then the door closed. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened my door. David had fully dressed, apart from his cat slippers, which I found distressing to Marmalade, as you put your foot into the cat’s stomach.

  “Afternoon, sleepyhead, you look… erm…what’s the word?” He waved his hand in circles as if trying to pluck the word out of thin air –God, I must look a mess –”rested, yes, that’s the one, rested.”

  “Who was that at the door?” I mumbled while rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand like a toddler.

  “It was a delivery for you,” he said, gesturing towards the box on the countertop.

  “For me? I haven’t ordered anything; did you?” I asked suspiciously.

  Holding both hands up, “Nope, seriously, nothing to do with me. Open it; you won’t know unless you open it.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, turning the box around. It was about forty-five centimetres tall and approximately nine centimetres square. Very odd. My name and the apartment address were printed neatly on the label, with just a PO sender address.

  Grabbing a knife from the drawer, I carefully started to slice through the parcel tape, finally breaking through the cardboard and finding polystyrene packaging. Frowning, I looked up at David, who shrugged.

  “It looks like a lamp,” I offer. “A hideous lamp.”

  I lifted the monstrosity out of the box and placed it gingerly on the countertop. It was a plastic statue of a little boy and a little girl holding an umbre
lla under a lamp post.

  “What the hell is that?” David asked, horrified, and stepped back from it like it was radioactive.

  “Let’s have a look in the box; there must be a confirmation,” he offered. He grabbed the box and then rooted around in the bottom. He pulled out a white piece of paper. Huddling together, we tried to decipher the document and look for a clue.

  The document was an invoice addressed to me, with the details of the lamp, which was ‘Rainy days’, priced at £59.95. There was a return address, which was a PO Box number, and a phone number.

  “I’m going to call them now; I am not paying for shit like this. There must have been a mistake,” I confirmed.

  I dialled the phone number and got a voicemail: “Thank you for your call; this is DBT Gifts. We are sorry, our offices are closed. We are open from nine to five, Monday to Friday. Please call back.”

  Grabbing the receipt and a pencil out of the drawer I wrote DBT Gifts on the paper. I ended the call and then clicked on the Google app and searched on DBT. It was a genuine online gift store.

  “Well, I can’t find anything out until Monday,” I sighed.

  “Well, I am not looking at that FM,” David declared and put the item back in the box.

  “FM?” I asked.

  “Yeah, fucking monstrosity,” he confirmed, and he wasn’t wrong.

  It was pushed into the corner of the kitchen, out of the way and partially out of mind, and we got on with a very slobby weekend of doing bugger all.

  On Sunday, I got a quick text from Nick to say everything had gone through okay, and I was happy and relieved. I fired a quick reply to say, ‘Phew and congrats’

  Monday came around and off I went to work with the invoice in my bag. I would call up at lunch and see what I could find out.

  The morning went by quickly, and I met Lou at lunch, and while she was ordering our lunches, I phoned the number of DBT.

  Lou was coming back to the table when I put the phone down to their customer services line.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well nothing,” I offered. “They can’t find out who ordered it. I told them it wasn’t me, and they said it was from one of those magazines, like Bella or Best, where they have advertising space and the person can clip out the little ad and fill it in and send it off. So, they think it was me who ordered it. They said that if I don’t want it, then I need to return it and pay the P&P.”