Didn’t sleep well last night – I kept having weird dreams about Ian where he did things like announce he was emigrating and then turn up to pick up the girls to take them with him. In one dream he arrived at the house wearing my wedding dress and announced he was having a sex-change operation.
‘Ian wants to meet,’ I messaged to WIB. ‘What do you think it’s about?’
‘How do you mean meet?’ asked Lou. ‘Like a date?’
‘God, no, not a date,’ I replied. ‘He reassured me quickly on that one. A bit too quickly, if anything.’
‘Do you think he’s met someone else?’ asked Sierra, never one to beat around the bush. ‘Perhaps he wants to tell you he’s getting married again?’
Nooooo. He wouldn’t, would he? I mean he could obviously, I’m not saying that. It would hardly be very fair of me to divorce him and then tell him that he now had to live and die alone, but still … That would be weird.
‘How would you feel about that?’ asked Lou.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t really feel anything, should I? I didn’t want to be married to him, so I can hardly refuse to let him marry anyone else.’
‘No,’ said Sierra, ‘but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel anything about it. He’s still the father of your children. Well, child at least. But children, too. You know what I mean.’
‘Plus he was your best friend for all that time,’ said Lou, ‘and if he marries someone else then that probably draws a line on you ever being able to get that back, doesn’t it?’
Oh God. Does it? I know things are still strange between us at the moment, but I guess a part of me had always assumed that one day we’d get back on track and he would go back to being just Ian, not ex-husband Ian. I don’t want someone else to replace me. How selfish is that? Very.
‘Maybe he’s been offered a new job?’ said Lou. ‘What exactly is it he does again?’
‘He’s a management consultant,’ I said. ‘He co-owns the business with a friend and they’ve done it for years. It would be pretty big news if he was leaving.’
‘Well, he did want to talk to you alone,’ said Sierra, not helping at all. ‘Perhaps they’ve decided to sell up and he’s going to retire early to the Caribbean.’
‘No way,’ I said, ‘he wouldn’t leave the girls. He’s stayed in Dorset even though it means he has to travel ridiculous distances for work in London. I don’t think he would move away.’
‘New wifey it is, then,’ said Sierra.
Help.
Minutes spent imagining Ian’s new wife – 34,901 (roughly). Pounds in my bank account – more than when I started the day.
I’m putting make-up on in the mirror in the hall, ready to go out and meet Ian.
‘This isn’t anything weird, is it?’ asked Flo, looking suspicious.
‘What do you mean, weird?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Flo, ‘only you’re putting lipstick on and wearing that fancy top you wore at New Year.’
‘If I remember rightly,’ I said, ‘you told me I looked like a supply teacher in it, so I’d hardly wear it to impress anyone, would I? And no, it’s nothing weird, I just don’t go out as much as you, so sometimes it’s nice to put on a bit of lippy.’
Flo shuddered. ‘Don’t ever say the word “lippy” again,’ she said. ‘It sounds awful. Like something a supply teacher would say to try to make the class think she was cool.’
‘Understood,’ I said. ‘Now be good, get Jess to bed in an hour – and only one more choccy biccy each.’ I was being cruel with my abbreviations, but sometimes she deserves it, bossing me about like I’m six years old and she’s my primary school teacher.
‘Gah, Mum, no!’ she shouted at me as I opened the front door. ‘Choccy biccy is worse than lippy! Stop it!’
‘Bye, darlings!’ I shouted back, and shut the door.
On the way to the pub I had a quick scroll of Instagram, just to calm the nerves. I’d wanted a glass of wine before I left but Ian would have known and I wanted to appear cool about the whole second marriage thing.
I had a look to see what @simple_dorset_life had been up to. She’d been making Kefir Colada – I really must tell Lou about her.
‘Did you know that your gut is like a second brain?’ the caption said. ‘Feed it the right things and you create a balance and harmony that’s reflected in your thoughts. The name Kefir comes from the Turkish word keyif, which means “feeling good” after eating, and it contains more probiotics than natural yogurt. Many studies have shown the influence of probiotics on mental health, so if you want to reduce anxiety you could do a lot worse than to whip up this tasty treat. #feelinggood #kefirlove #simplelife’.
I definitely did want to reduce anxiety, but suspected the Boat and Anchor might not sell a lot of Kefir. I considered a regular pina colada, but I thought a mini umbrella and a pineapple chunk might look a little out of place as part of a Serious Talk.
I was spared the decision anyway, because when I arrived, Ian was already there and had bought me a large glass of white wine. Probably for the best.
‘Hello,’ he said, standing up as I approached the table. ‘You look nice for a school night.’
‘Flo says this top makes me look like a supply teacher,’ I confessed, ‘but what do fourteen-year-olds even know, anyway?’
We sat down and I took what could probably be called a swig of wine.
‘I hope I didn’t worry you,’ Ian said, ‘saying I wanted to meet like this.’
‘No, not at all,’ I said, lying, ‘I’ve barely thought about it. I’m happy for you, honestly I am.’
‘Happy for me?’ He looked puzzled.
‘For the wedding,’ I said, and then remembered that he hadn’t told me yet. ‘I mean, I just kind of figured that was what you wanted to talk about, that you’d met someone else.’
He laughed. ‘You’ve barely thought about it but you have me married off already?’
‘OK,’ I confessed, ‘so perhaps I’ve thought about it a bit. Lou thought you might be moving away, but I said I didn’t think you’d do that, so Sierra was sure you must have met someone else.’ I had another swig.
‘So what’s she like?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘My new bride?’
‘Oh, you know: beautiful obviously, but very smart too, and very together. She probably has an investment portfolio, but also she volunteers at a children’s home when she isn’t working as a professional photographer and part-time model.’
‘She sounds intense,’ said Ian. ‘When would she even have time to see me?’
‘Oh, she’s very well organised,’ I said. ‘She probably has a personal assistant who arranges all your dinners.’
‘I see,’ said Ian. ‘Well, she sounds like a catch. I feel almost disappointed now not to be marrying her.’
‘Who are you marrying then?’ I asked. I took swig number three and noticed the glass was nearly empty.
‘I’m not marrying anyone! That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘It isn’t?’ I asked.
‘It isn’t,’ he said.
Talk about making a fool of yourself. I drained the glass. Ian watched. ‘Would you like another drink?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’ll get them.’
While I was at the bar I messaged WIB. ‘Ian is not getting married. Repeat. No marriage. Will keep you posted.’
I came back from the bar with our drinks and sat down. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my London flat,’ he said.
Ian has this flat in London that he inherited when his dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack when Ian was eighteen. He’s lived in it, on and off, and sometimes rented it out. It’s not one of those ‘bought for £10,000 now worth three million’ London flats, but any kind of London flat is a nice flat to have.
When we divorced I didn’t want to have to split it – it’s a piece of his dad, after all – which is how I ended up with the house in Barnmouth.
‘I’ve sold it,’ he said.
‘What? When? You didn’t say anything. I thought you wanted to keep it because of your dad?’
‘I did,’ he said, ‘but my priorities have changed. What I really want is to own somewhere down here that can be a proper home for the girls. Something secure. You know I hate renting. Plus, I wanted a bit of cash to invest in the business and it just felt like the right time.’
‘Wow, well, I’m pleased if you’re pleased,’ I said, ‘and I’m sure the girls will be too. Thanks for telling me.’
‘There’s something else,’ he said. ‘I got a decent amount for it, so after buying somewhere here and taking what I need for work, I have some left over. I’m putting some of it into savings for the kids, but I want to give you some, too.’
‘Oh gosh, no, I don’t want any money,’ I said.
‘I thought you might say that,’ he said, ‘but it wouldn’t really be for you. I don’t imagine you’ll spend it on hair extensions or anything. Think of it as a maintenance bonus. It was never really a fair split in the divorce, which I know was guilt on your side, and I want to balance things out a bit.’
‘I really don’t think I’d feel comfortable,’ I protested.
‘Like I said, it’s not really about you. It’s something I really want to do, plus it’s not millions – six thousand. Maybe you could take the girls over to France to visit your mum and dad? I know they’d love that.’
That was true. I’d been promising Mum and Dad a visit since the separation and they would love to see Jess and Flo. I argued with him for a little while, but quite honestly, I could really do with the money and he genuinely seemed to want to give it to me, so I wasn’t about to be too principled about it. You can buy a lot of Sylvanian squirrels and Jaffa Cakes with six thousand pounds.
Emergency glasses of wine needed to consider work dilemma – 3 (small). Slices of Maggie’s chocolate brownie eaten at work for stress – 3 (large.) Number of bacon sandwiches I ate during the period in my twenties when I told everyone I was vegetarian – at least 20.
I showed round a new volunteer at work. She’s called Charlotte and I really liked her until about ninety seconds into the conversation when she revealed that she doesn’t own a television. What is it with people who don’t own televisions? Why do they feel the need to tell you as soon as possible after meeting you?
It’s the same with vegans.
‘Oh, hello! My name’s Sarah and I haven’t eaten animal products for eight and a half years!’ Good for you, Sarah. I ate half a packet of ham standing at the fridge last night while I thought about what to cook for tea.
The TV thing especially gets on my nerves when it turns out that they do watch Netflix for hours every night in bed – on a tablet.
‘Oh, but I don’t watch any live TV, none of those awful reality shows.’
Just because you don’t watch Love Island doesn’t make you a better person than me. Netflix still counts, guys.
Steve has scheduled my ‘emergency meeting’ for Friday. He wants me to bring details of all current funding applications so we can evaluate them as a team.
‘Can’t you just leave?’ asked Sierra when I messaged WIB about it later from bed.
‘I can’t exactly just quit,’ I said, taking a big glug of wine (bed wine = best kind of wine), ‘I don’t have anything else to go to.’
‘But you could find something,’ said Lou, ‘and you were going to have to take a bit of time off over the summer holidays, anyway, weren’t you? It could be perfect timing.’
‘But what would I do in the meantime?’ I said. ‘How would I live?’
‘You’ve got the money from Ian!’ said Sierra. ‘It’s perfect! You wouldn’t have to use all of it, just enough to cover bills and stuff for a couple of months over the summer while you find another job.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Lou. ‘It’s karma, isn’t it? No, not karma. The other one that’s about coincidences. Synchronicity, that’s it. It’s synchronicity. The universe is telling you to quit, Frankie. You can’t ignore the universe.’
Obviously I don’t want to ignore the universe but could I quit? I have to admit that I felt pretty excited about the possibility. But how would Ian feel about me using his money to leave work? That didn’t seem very fair. I had finished my second glass of wine by this point so I decided to text him, lay out the scenario, and see what he thought.
‘I think it’s a great idea!’ he said. ‘It’s your money, Frankie, not mine. Plus, if you feel bad because you think it means you’re getting an easy time of it over the summer holidays, then remember it is the summer holidays – it’s not exactly a spa break, is it?’
Oh God, he’s right. Do I really want to have six weeks off with the girls? Obviously I love them etc., etc., but still. Summer holidays … Am I cut out for it? And are there many part-time, flexible jobs in Barnmouth for English lit graduates with a patchy, admin-based work history?
Had some more bed wine and gave it some thought.
Nothing from Cam. No messages, no calls, no ‘how’s my daughter that I hadn’t seen for ten years?’ What is the actual matter with him?
My emergency meeting with the board was at eleven o’clock, but I could hardly contain myself, watching Steve swagger about, smirking at me.
Every time he walked past me, which was frequently, he would peer over my shoulder or make some comment about hoping I was ‘ready to put my best game face on’. I never really understand people like Steve, or what they think they’re going to achieve by bullying people. What’s the point of making other people feel bad about themselves? Is it really just to make yourself feel superior?
By 10.50 I’d had four cups of coffee and could barely sit still.
At 10.55 the chair of the trustees arrived – Alan – and he and Steve went off into the meeting room.
At eleven o’clock exactly, Steve called me in.
‘Thanks so much for coming, Frankie,’ he said. ‘I know the last few months have been difficult for you, and we appreciate your willingness to address the issues you’ve been having with workload.’
Fuck off, Steve.
‘As I’ve explained to Alan,’ continued Steve, ‘the additional responsibilities do seem to have been a little too much for you, especially on top of your family commitments.’ He smiled. ‘This meeting is an opportunity for you to put forward suggestions you have for changes we could make and for Alan and I to offer support. Do you have anything you’d like to say first, Frankie?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do. I have a great suggestion in fact.’ I handed Alan the envelope I had brought into the room with me. ‘Alan, this is my letter of resignation. I’ve always tried to do my best for the museum but I made it clear when Angela left that the additional work I was being asked to take on wasn’t feasible within my hours, nor was I suitably qualified to undertake it. I have received very little in the way of support at a managerial level,’ here I paused and looked at Steve, ‘and I have come to the conclusion that the only option for me is to move on to a new challenge.’
Steve’s jaw had dropped. Alan was reading the letter.
‘What’s the matter, Steve?’ I said. ‘Are you not going to offer your support?’
While the adrenalin was still pumping, I decided to call Cam. It rang a couple of times then went to answerphone, which I suspect means that he saw it was me and decided not to answer. I left a message asking him to call me back as soon as he could.
I had a long chat with Mum tonight about Ian giving me the money and then quitting work. I could tell she was anxious about the job situation – she kept passing on snippets of our conversation to Dad, who was listening in the background, and I could hear the worry in her voice. I tried to reassure her that it was a positive thing, and that the money gave me the opportunity to think more carefully about what I wanted to do.
When we first moved down to Barnmouth two years ago in September, it was really just about finding something that worked around Jess and Flo, and then when Ian and I broke up the trustees at the museum were so good about changing my hours to fit our new week, (even if Steve was less impressed) that I don’t feel I’ve had the chance until now to think about what I actually want to do with the rest of my life. This could be that chance.
Mum didn’t sound convinced.
I promised her that once I’d found a new job and had settled in, we’d use some of the money to come and visit, perhaps in the new year. That seemed to cheer her up a bit. I didn’t tell her about any of the Cam stuff. There didn’t seem much point, really, especially not over the phone.
No call back yet from Cam.