I could resign!
The earth will keep on spinning. Carol will appoint a replacement. And no one will die in the process.
Easy.
I switch on the bedside lamp and struggle up to peer at the clock. It’s three-forty-five but suddenly, I’m wide awake.
I could resign.
Yes. I could. I really could.
I prop up my pillows and sink back to reflect on the rebellious thought that’s giving me goose bumps.
I’m probably kidding myself. It can’t possibly be as simple as it seems.
Can it?
Right now, my heart is saying it might be.
I need tea to help me think straight.
As the kettle boils, I lean against the fridge-freezer, carton of milk in hand, wondering how I ever imagined that working for Carol could turn out well.
With such a terrible dynamic, it was never going to be easy. We were best friends and then it all went wrong. Since when was mutual resentment a solid basis for a good working relationship?
We’re also completely different characters. Carol is domineering and aggressive in the workplace, while I tend to be long-suffering and compliant.
In short, Carol walks all over me and I allow it to happen.
It’s a recipe for disaster and I have to get out.
Back in bed with my tea and the comfort of a newly filled hot water bottle, my mind starts ticking over, feverishly weighing up how I can possibly afford to make The Great Escape, because the thought of spending just one more day working at that place seems suddenly intolerable.
She didn’t return to the office after the presentation yesterday, which was a relief, to say the least. But I’ve got to face her some time.
If only to hand in my notice.
My hot water bottle is in danger of springing a leak, I am hugging it so tightly.
Of course, if I resign, it means I’ll have to give up my flat and that’s always been the biggest sticking point. Going back to live with Mum and Tim will be tricky.
Leaving here will be heartbreaking.
But my whole future is at stake. I need to keep sentiment out of it and view moving back to Mum’s as merely a stepping stone to something better.
As for earning a living, I keep thinking about what Shona had said; ‘You’ll never guess what the big sell-outs were. Your Christmas baubles and your candles. Clever old you!’
It’s time I listened to Fez. Took the plunge and started trying to make money doing something I love for a change. Will people part with real money for my glassware? They did at the Fayre, so maybe …
I sip my tea, suddenly desperate to make it a reality. It might take a while to get a website up and running. But in the meantime, I could sell my work at craft fairs. And while I’m at Mum’s, living rent-free, it won’t matter so much if the money arrives in dribs and drabs. Plus, of course, I could use Mum’s garage as my workshop.
The feeling of freedom this conjures up is so deliciously invigorating, I want to spring out of bed. Take my old glass-blowing equipment out of storage and get going now.
Then I think about Charlie. Will he still want to know me when he hears what I have to tell him?
I pick up the angel snow globe that’s sitting on my bedside table and cradle it in the palm of my hand.
When he saw this, he thought of me. Our night at the oyster restaurant made me feel happy and alive for the first time in years.
But I will not cry.
I seem to have crossed some sort of mental threshold. There’s a steeliness in me that I don’t think was there before.
I’ll tell him tomorrow.
Next morning, in the cold light of day, my determination doesn’t seem to have waned at all.
I get ready for work with a lightness of spirit.
I will do this! I will resign today and work out my month’s notice, while planning the next stage of my brand new life. I’ll talk to Fez because he’s the ideal person to advise me on the whole website/business thing.
And I’ll phone Charlie.
I arrive at the office, all pumped up, my little resignation speech planned right down to the part where I magnanimously wish Carol well for the future and express a fond hope that we can be friends.
Now I just need her to get here.
Every time I hear a noise in the corridor, my heart misses a beat.
By ten o’clock, Shona has asked me twice if I’m all right, I suppose because I’m so restless. I keep popping over to the filing cabinet and oh-so-casually glancing out of the window that affords a view of the car park to see if she’s arrived yet.
By eleven, I’m so psyched up that I actually jump to my feet when my phone rings.
‘Hi, Mum.’ I collapse into my chair again. It’s seriously fortunate I don’t have to resign every day or I’d be a basket case by the end of the week.
‘Hello, love. Sorry to disturb. Just wondered if you could keep Tim company tonight while I go to drama rehearsals? Bunty wants one last run through before the dress rehearsals.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Are you sure? I hate imposing.’
‘Don’t be daft. I love coming over.’ I hesitate. ‘In fact, I sometimes wish I hadn’t moved out.’
I have to broach the subject of moving back in and now seems as good a time as any.
Mum laughs. ‘Well, I never thought I’d hear you say that! But I thought we agreed it was the perfect arrangement, you moving into your lovely little flat?’
‘Well, yes. It’s been great. But it was fantastic when we were all together as well, wasn’t it?’
There’s a brief pause.
‘Er, no!’
‘Oh, thanks, Mum!’
She laughs again. ‘Sorry, love, that came out all wrong. It’s not you. You know I love your company. But this house is way too small for all three of us. If you’d stayed another month we might have ended up killing each other.’
Wow, this is going really well.
‘I’m joking,’ says Mum.
‘I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I hang up, feeling like I’ve fallen into a pit with no way out.
All my old fears come charging back into my head and settle down in their easy chairs. (It’s like they’ve been off to Spain on their holidays but couldn’t wait to get back for a proper cuppa and some decent telly.)
I want to lay my head on the desk and weep.
Of course I can’t resign. There’s far too much at stake.
And Mum’s right.
We’d kill each other.
‘Coffee?’ asks Shona brightly, popping her head round the door. ‘Or do you want to live dangerously and try some of Ella’s dandelion tea for a change?’
I try to smile but I can’t gather the strength.
‘Same as usual, thanks.’