by Betty Balaba
My mother had been in physio for three weeks by then, coming on top of nearly four and a half months in hospital. I was going from work to the hospital every day. I pushed on and somehow my body responded. I’m still not sure how I physically managed, but I knew I had to, so I found a way through the back pain as I had done through everything else.
I told Emma that I couldn’t, in the end, accept her generous offer of promotion. Yes, I even said generous. I couldn’t resist the private joke. But in my place, would she have accepted the job? No, she would have laughed in my face! Yes, I know a job is a job and I am glad I had one. But would I be working like a carthorse for no extra compensation? My ego could live without that prestige, thank you.
To her credit, Emma sensed this and didn’t try to persuade me; simply calling it ‘an offer I could refuse’. We both smiled. She wasn’t stupid and now she knew I wasn’t either.
Later, when popping out to get a sandwich for lunch, I walked the ‘scenic route’ through a side road lined with boutique shops and nice cafes. I don’t know why, because I definitely wasn’t planning on buying anything. I still persuaded myself into a chicken sandwich twice the price of the ones down the road in Tesco. I was about to head back to the office to eat it at al desko as usual, when something caught my eye. I stopped and peered in through the shop window. It was the most amazing midnight blue dress, with delicate lace arms and a densely patterned matching lace that covered the collarbones and the top of the chest. It nipped in dramatically at the waist. To say it was fitted was an understatement. An unforgiving dress indeed; no place to hide any extra baggage! But it was absolutely stunning though, the type of dress I once would have gone for like a shot without a second thought to the cost. A real must-have statement.
But now, I realised sadly, it would look horrific. Sophie’s words came back to me: “Just because they make it in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it.” Still, my legs, apparently of their own volition, took me into the boutique. A sales assistant approached me and smiled nervously.
“I’ll let you browse…” she said. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
“Thank you,” I said, already scanning the small space for the dress. There it was, peeking out from the middle of a rail. I went through the hangers. Up they went: 6, 8, 10… 12… My hand hovered over the 12; the largest size they had. I felt a little angry: surely half the people of London, if not more, were bigger than a size 12? But what? No well-made clothes for us? I picked up the 12 and examined it closely. I already knew it was a small 12. I could hardly believe that not that long ago I would have been confidently reaching for the 8 or the 10. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. I didn’t want to be like a has-been prize fighter who kept mentioning their past glory, when now they couldn’t even bend down to tie their own laces.
The sales assistant came over, sensing blood. We were the only two people in the store.
“It’s a beautiful dress,” I said hesitantly.
“Yes it is…” she replied sympathetically. Both of us knew that this wasn’t my size. There was silence.
“It would have looked stunning on me once,” I said, then trailed off. I had thought aloud, and realised how sad it must have sounded to a stranger. Yet her eyes softened in understanding. What should I do? I fingered the discreet price tag. It wasn’t off the scale, but it wasn’t cheap either. I slowly exhaled. It would be a lot of money to spend on a dress that wasn’t my size. When would I wear it? How would it even be possible?
I smiled triumphantly at the sales assistant, and turned towards the till.
“I’ll take it!”
Her eyes widened but she took the dress from me. We arrived at the register at the same time.
“Cash or card?” she asked, as if this was quite a normal transaction; and I’d tried on the dress like anyone else.
“Card,” I said. I had hardly taken a cash dress-buying budget out with me at lunchtime! I knew the lady in front of me must be wondering what I was up to. Still, it was my money and I was buying the dress. It could have been a gift, after all. No explanation necessary! In reality, I would take this dress with me to my mother’s house as an incentive. One day in the not too distant future, I knew I would get into this dress. And it would look great!
Hot on the heels of this triumph of positive thinking, an email popped up on my phone telling me I’d been selected for the photo exhibition.
Excitement rumbled through me, and a silly grin spread over my face as I sat on the park bench with my overpriced sandwich. I had been picked out of all those people! Someone who knew about these things thought my photos were good. I couldn’t have been happier even if Tom Ford himself had offered to design a dress for me. Speaking of dresses, why couldn’t I wear my new dress to the exhibition? Stranger things had happened. That was an incentive if ever I heard one.
The email itself was short and to the point: Congratulations! You have been selected to exhibit at the ‘Hidden Treasures’ exhibition. Please submit six pieces of work which you would like to exhibit. I already knew the photos I wanted to submit – a series that showed the vivid progress of the sun towards sunset. And a series of tree bark. Now, that may sound boring: but close up, you had to study them carefully before you realised what you were looking at. Then there was a puddle with the moon reflected in a moody midnight blue, with the water like green and brown glass surrounding it. Then there was a magpie with its wings outstretched, about to take flight. It was fitting to include the magpie because Sophie said I was a bit of a magpie with the way I was attracted to sparkling things. That always made me smile. I decided not to tell anyone about my being selected for the exhibition: I would just invite them to the show.
Photography excited me in a way few things did. I never considered it as a living. I knew fashion photographers made money – maybe war photographers too – but what about the rest? Looking after my mother had made me feel more than anything that I needed a change of direction. Office work had been great. I had felt like a real grown up when I got my first office job after university, and still did. It had even been said that I had a talent for marketing. But as time went on, its shine had dulled. Could I change my career now though? It was scary to even think of it. I thought of Tarzan, only letting go of one vine when he had the next one in reach. Holding onto two at once would never propel him forwards. It all sounded great: but working part time while I pursued this dream might leave me stranded above the urban jungle, with a vine in each hand.
I thought about my rainy day fund. It had over half a year’s salary in it, which was supposed to go towards a deposit for a buy-to-let. That would be my retirement fund. At the moment, my pension would not give me enough to live on for more than a year once I’d retired. Thankfully, that was not going to happen for at least 35 years. But time seemed to be moving like a speeding bullet, and it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. I let my mind play Devil’s Advocate. If I left my job, how long could I survive on that money? If I was conservative, it would last a year: if not, nine months. I would still have credit cards and bills to pay.
How had I gone from being accepted at an exhibition, to leaving my job, to ploughing into my savings and embarking on a whole new career!? Yet it excited me more than anything else had over the last year. Maybe I’d had too many carbs and my mind was short-circuiting! Whatever it was, it had to be worth exploring further. After all, just because I started with something, it didn’t mean that I had to continue with the same thing for life. Surely no one had a job for life anymore? No rash decisions, I promised myself. But there was a big wide world out there: I wasn’t dead yet, so why not reach for my heart’s desire?
I did think about what Neighbour Andy had said, that no one who starts late in life succeeds. But then again I didn’t want to be a business mogul or top athlete (certainly not an athlete, not right now!) I simply wanted to enjoy what I was doing for most hours of the day and make enough so that money wasn’t a worry.
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sp; Glancing at my phone, I could see it was 2:10 p.m. I cursed under my breath, jumping up and out of my daydream. Devouring the last of my sandwich, I ran back the short distance to my office. When I stepped out of the lift, I was confronted with Greg and Sophie, laughing at some comment she had made. Greg turned to me.
“So glad you have found time to smell the roses,” he said. I tried to keep my breathing under control after the short run, which would have been nothing six months before. I bowed to him.
“I did not stop at the roses,” I said innocently.
“I can see that. You’ve been shopping.”
Both of them were eyeing my shopping bag.
“Get anything nice?” Sophie asked.
I shook my head, starting to head off what could be an embarrassing encounter; and made a break for my desk. Sophie called after me.
“This conversation isn’t over, lady!”
I knew she meant it; which meant slipping out at the end of the day without her waylaying me to see my lunchtime shopping.
Leaving the office for the hospital, I managed to slip out without Sophie stopping me to see my dress. Needing a boost, as ever, I picked up a coffee at the local cafe. As I stepped in, I saw the elegant man who’d been dressed in a charcoal suit who had offered to buy me a drink, months ago. He looked towards the door where I was but did not really see me. It had been ages since he had seen me so I guess he didn’t recognize me now. But my face had not changed that much! I couldn’t help glancing at him from under my lashes as I ordered my coffee. He still looked immaculate; this time it was a navy suit and what looked like monogrammed cuff links. I gave him a friendly smile as he left. He smiled back – but clearly because I’d smiled, not because he recognised me from before. Me, who he’d gone out of his way to ask out only a few months before! But I was still the same person inside; I hadn’t really changed, had I? Did some additional weight suddenly make me unrecognisable or invisible? Well appearance clearly mattered a whole lot to some people! And I obviously hadn’t learned how to dress in a way that flattered my new shape. My style had always been elegant; conservative with a twist. Now it has just descended into twisted generally! Now I felt that baggy clothes would be enough to hide all manner of sins. But I hadn’t realised that the baggier my clothes, the bigger they made me look. Sophie had already indicated with a single look which outfits shouldn’t leave the flat again.
Slightly wounded by being so obviously passed over by Mr Monogrammed-Cuffs, I walked the extra distance to the second closest tube stop rather than the local one.
Clearly, every little bit of exercise would help. The only problem was there was a small artisan French baker on the way. They had the best food and you could smell the freshly baked croissants in the street. If that did not tempt a person, nothing would. I walked past… then retraced my steps. My stomach started to rumble, literally. I would have loved one – or two, even – but by the time I arrived at the hospital, they would be limp and cold. Eating them on the way to the Tube was out of the question: I couldn’t have done it to my mother. Eating in the street was one of her strictest red lines. She was very old school that way. I gave up and carried on to the station, already mentally rewarding myself with a snack near the hospital.
The only seat left on the Tube was a flip-down one by the door. I squeezed onto it, shocked to find that I had become one of those people who actually took up space.
When did that happen? I used to be able to sit on these seats without spreading onto the space of the seat next to it. I used to hate it when people overflowed sideways onto my seat. ‘Keep yourself to yourself’, I would silently cry.
Now my body was tense as I made sure I kept on my seat. I was too big to be any less visible. I think I ate the wrong food because I felt like I wanted to treat myself; and from a kind of panic that I never knew when I might have the chance again. Since my mother had been in hospital, I hadn’t experienced a moment’s hunger. Yet before, I could be hungry for a few hours without a second thought. I told myself to stop putting myself down so much. There were more important things to think about – and I didn’t like how regular these negative thoughts were becoming.
Chapter 15
Truths You Didn’t Want to See
The call came just as I finished a strategy meeting with Emma and the heads of departments. My worse fear had been realised: My mother had taken a fall during her physio. They reassured me she was alright but was asking for me. I left work, with Emma’s blessing. “Of course you have to go,” she said.
I arrived at the hospital, imagining all kinds of things; each one worse than the last. I found my mother lying in bed with her wrist bandaged up, reading the paper. She had been walking then lost her footing and clutched a table, hurting her wrist as she grabbed for it: so it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. I probably hadn’t needed to leave work early for it – but I had. I stayed with her as she told me about all the exercises she had to do, and how the physio was apparently very pleased with her progress. We even had dinner; roast chicken for her, and a canteen-bought tuna baguette for me.
I hoped things would calm down after that.
But it was not to be.
Over the next two weeks, I was called back to the hospital six times – all with differing degrees of seriousness. I had told the hospital to call me if I was needed but the definition of needed was obviously being stretched. Fitting new shoes; choosing equipment; picking an exercise plan: all apparently had to take place in working hours. Emma’s patience was wearing thin, and I could see why. No wonder she made a sarcastic comment when I walked back into the office two hours later.
“Needed again? And so soon after last time!” I bit my tongue. After all, she wasn’t the only one who was getting fed up. I was getting physically and mentally exhausted trying to please everyone. Something had to give and quickly, otherwise I would start to slide and not be able to take care of myself or my mother. Standing in the bathroom alone later, I splashed water on my face. Not even chocolate was giving me the burst of energy it usually did; so now it was shock treatment. Sophie walked in as I was drying my face with a hand towel.
“Are you okay?” she said. I nodded, not entirely trusting myself to speak. “You know you can talk to me if it gets too much.” I nodded again, but I could feel my chin go. “No one would blame you if you needed to take time off. Compassionate leave, or whatever they call it.” I nodded.
Sophie was starting to go out of focus so I turned away. She moved closer so she could see my face. “You cannot go on like this!” she said. “You are strong… stronger than anyone I know. But even a strong person can eventually break.” I didn’t say anything. “You are running on empty and if you don’t do something, you will collapse. You are not putting yourself first on the list. Never mind that, you are not even on the list. You cannot look after someone if you are not okay yourself!” She was mirroring my thoughts exactly.
At that moment, I broke down. The tears flowed and my body shook as my guard finally crashed down. Sophie held me as I cried. Slowly, I started to gather myself again and she gently let go of me. When I caught her eye, I tried to laugh; turning embarrassment into a joke. I mean who cries like that at work? Me, clearly. For someone who hardly cried – other than at sad movies – this was mortifying. I did feel a bit better though. Whoever said crying doesn’t help obviously hadn’t been in my situation.
“I am sorry,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Never apologise for being human.” She had a point: perhaps I had been too hard on myself all along. Sophie handed me some paper towel. Confronting me in the mirror were two red eyes and my eyeliner had run everywhere. Sophie smiled, reading my mind.
“You don’t want people thinking that I beat you up in here!”
I started to laugh and she joined me, looking relieved that I seemed a little better. I blew my nose and dried my tears, not feeling self-conscious in front of her.
“You’re right. I can’t go on like this anymore,” I said. “I a
m going to leave work.”
Sophie was shocked.
“Just like that?”
“I have been thinking about it – but what else can I do? I’m like the living dead. My eyebags have hand luggage to join them!”
She laughed. “Your mum will be back on her feet soon.” She said, clearly shocked at my sudden decision; and perhaps worrying that she had accidentally encouraged it.
“That is what I thought before,” I said firmly. “But now it’s four and a half months – and she’ll still needs my help at home.”
“You are going to go back and forth from your house?”
“No… I’m moving in with her.”
“Oh Becca,” said Sophie, sensing what a backward step this was. “I am sorry.”
“It is okay!” I said. “Someone will rent my flat. I will get back to work once she is better. But she needs me now…”
“You’ll be a full time carer though,” she said. “Will you be able to stand it?”
“What choice do I have?” I said sharply. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Sophie put her arm around my shoulders.
“Make sure you don’t lose yourself in all this,” she said, the concern clear in her voice.
“I will not. I cannot.” I said, unsure if I was persuading her or myself. Was this the right decision? It had to be for now.
“Be careful,” she continued. “It can happen that way before you know it, your sole role in life is looking after your mum at the expense of your own life. Don’t hate me for saying this… but she has had her life, and now it’s your turn to live yours!” I listened quietly. “I am not saying you have to abandon her. But you also have hopes and dreams you want to fulfil.” I nodded quietly. “If you need me, I am available. Call me, day or night.”
I hugged her.
“Thanks, you are a true friend.”
We turned to walk out, just as Emma was about to walk in.
“Everything alright?” she asked cheerily.