part0008

A s soon as we got home I went straight out to the kitchen and stuffed my pee stained jeans and boiler suit into the washing machine with a few other bits of washing and turned it on. I felt better as soon as it started to fill up with frothy suds and all evidence of my humiliation vanished.

Except for the knickers of course.

I washed my hair and then had a lovely long soak in the bath with lots of scented bubbles; it was fabulous. After years of having hurried showers in shared bathrooms – because the other occupants always wanted to be in there the minute I’d locked the door – it was heaven to luxuriate and relax. Flynn had already hopped into the bathroom before me and true to his word he was out within ten minutes.

I was fully expecting to spend the evening on my own but while I wallowed in the bath Flynn shouted through the door to ask if I wanted to share a takeaway. ‘Sounds great!’ I’d shouted back and the next thing I know he’s hammering on the door to tell me it’d arrived.

I think I’d dozed off because the water felt a bit cold and my fingers had gone all wrinkly so I jumped out and quickly dried myself, had a bit of a heated debate with the Beccabird (have you no pride!) about what to wear - but I won so I went downstairs in my pyjamas and dressing gown. It’s not like Flynn hasn’t seen me in them before and we’re housemates so I don’t need to dress up for him.

Flynn was busily opening foil trays and had arranged them nicely on a tray on the coffee table along with the cutlery and plates and it smelled delicious. ‘Righto,’ he’d said as I came into the lounge, ‘We’ve got Chicken Balti, Lamb Madras, Chicken Tikka and Pilau rice. Oh and bhajis, naans and poppadums of course.’

He didn’t bat an eyelid at my pyjamas and he was wearing checked cotton trousers and a t-shirt that looked suspiciously like loungewear, which is what men like to call pyjamas, so he obviously feels the same as I do. I mentally stick two fingers up to the Beccabird.

‘Is that alright?’

‘Great! Balti’s my favourite,’ I say, settling myself down on the sofa.

‘Should have asked really but I took an educated guess. You don’t look like the korma type to me.’ He hands me a plate.

I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not.

‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing. It’s my treat, you’ve been a big help today, I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘But you’ve paid me far too much already.’ Flynn had insisted on giving me a hundred pounds when we got back.

‘No arguments, and I told you, she’s paid me over the top for the job. Now, sit down and eat.’

I do as I’m told and I load my plate with Balti and rice and a naan bread as well. We tuck in and the Balti tastes like the best curry that I’ve ever eaten in my life because I’m so hungry. If this is what manual work does for you then I obviously need to do a bit more of it. Sausage watches every mouthful we swallow for the first few minutes but then realises it’s futile and with a theatrical sigh he gives up and trots over to lie on Flynn’s feet.

When I can’t possibly fit any more in I watch as Flynn scrapes every last morsel of food out of the foil containers onto his plate. It must be his third helping and I can’t help wondering where he puts it all because there’s not an ounce of fat on him.

He catches me watching him and winks at me and I quickly find the hem of my pyjamas really interesting as I feel my face start to heat up.

He’s gay , states the Beccabird with a exasperated sigh.

I know. I don’t need telling but I do have to keep reminding myself because it’s easy to forget, how typical of my luck that I meet a really lovely guy and he has to be gay.

You wouldn’t stand a chance with him even if he wasn’t , you-know-who reminds me.

I’m well aware that he’d be way out of my league even if he was available and not gay, but a girl can dream, can’t she? I’m not doing any harm.

‘I’ll just clear this lot up and we’ll watch some telly, eh?’ Flynn says as he wipes the last of the naan bread around his plate, shoves it in his mouth and starts stacking plates and dishes.

I jump up to help him.

‘No. You sit down. I’ll do it,’ he says firmly as he goes out to the kitchen. ‘You get the telly fired up.’

I pick up the remote and after puzzling over the hundreds of buttons on it I finally find the right one and turn on the enormous television. I can’t help remembering when Jonathan and I were together; I don’t want to but I can’t help it, he’s popped into my head and is refusing to leave. Thinking back, I concede that he might possibly have just about managed to order a takeaway if I’d prompted him but I’d have been the one getting the plates out and then clearing it all away again afterwards while he sat and watched me. And I’d have been paying for it all too. It would never have crossed his mind to get up and help or actually do anything around the house, that’s what I was there for.

What did I ever see in him?

Hold that thought, says the Beccabird helpfully, and the next time you see him perhaps it’ll stop you from following him.

Flynn comes back in and flops heavily onto the sofa and groans as he rubs his stomach.

‘Think I might have eaten a bit much. Greedy bastard.’

I laugh and he joins in.

‘You should have stopped me, sheer greed. Can’t bear to waste anything either.’

‘You could have put it in the fridge and finished it tomorrow,’ I suggest.

‘Not possible, I have to clear the plate, or dish, or pot, it’s the way I was brought up. Think I’ll have to get the Rennies out.’ He gets up and disappears back out to the kitchen and reappears minutes later chomping on indigestion tablets.

‘Okay, enough whinging from me, what do you want to watch, The Voice or the film on the other side?

‘I don’t mind.’ I really want to watch The Voice but it is his television so I feel I should let him choose.

‘The Voice?’ he says, reading my mind.

I smile and flick around the channels until I find it and put it on. We watch and argue over who is the best singer but gradually lapse into a comfortable silence as tiredness overtakes us both. I never get to see the end of The Voice because the combination of a hot bath, a big meal and a hard day’s work means that I fall into a deep sleep.

‘Hey, sleepy head.’

I slowly open my eyes and stare into the eyes of Flynn who is gently shaking my shoulder. I stare at him in confusion, my brain still half asleep as I wonder who this gorgeous man is when he smiles and breaks the spell.

‘You’ve been asleep for the last hour. You probably ought to go to bed.’

‘Oh God, yeah, I was lost to the world there.’

‘it’s all that fresh air, I’m knackered, too.’

I haul myself out of the sofa and up the stairs, hoping that I wasn’t sleeping with my mouth hanging open and drooling.

Why? demands the Beccabird. Why would it matter?

It wouldn’t matter, I tell her, it’s just about standards.

I ignore her guffawing and after a pathetic attempt at brushing my teeth I fall contentedly into bed and have the best night’s sleep that I’ve had in a long time. As I drift off, I can’t help thinking that it was also the best evening that I’ve had in a long, long time.

I was going to pretend to be ill on Sunday so I didn’t have to go back to that house but Flynn said he could manage on his own if I didn’t want to go as we’d done so well with the pond. So I did lie a little bit and say I had a few things I had to do and if he was sure he was fine then I wouldn’t come.

So apart from the knickers it all worked out very well.

I keep thinking about those knickers – what will that woman think of me? Obviously she’ll think I’m disgusting but will she say anything to Flynn? If I was her I wouldn’t – but on the other hand I did make a hole in her wall.

What if she puts it on Facebook? I can imagine it – a photo of a wet pair of knickers with #dirtycow next to it. God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Although I wouldn’t see it and there’s no way it could be connected to me. Unless Flynn’s a friend of hers on Facebook. I hope she doesn’t put it on his business Facebook page. Oh God.

She seemed quite posh and well to do so I’m just praying that she’s far too well bred to mention it to Flynn or put it on social media. I should have owned up straightaway and avoided all this but it’s too late

I’m so annoyed with myself, I seem to attract minor disasters and embarrassments although I try so hard not to. I do have more than my fair share of bad luck though, I mean, okay I lied to Em about not wanting her flat but people tell far worse lies than that all the time and get away with it. And the knickers – what’s the odds of forgetting them? Slim, I should think but somehow I managed it. Anyway, I can’t do anything about it now so I might as well just forget about it and put it out of my mind and hope for the best.

I’m hoping that my second week at Atkinsons is going to be better than the first. I feel a bit more settled in and have even chatted to some of the youngsters in the tea room when I’ve been making my morning coffee. They seem nice enough although not much interested in me, of course, due to my advanced age, but I think it’ll be okay working here.

As long as I keep out of Em’s way .

In a way I feel as if I’ve been here for years because the work is just the same, different people, same job. It’s not exactly taxing, either, I’m sure that I worked harder at Westchester but I’m not complaining.

When I arrived in the office this morning, I felt a bit more comfortable and not so standout new. Everyone seemed to spend the first half an hour chatting about their weekends and didn’t seem in any hurry to start work so Trina and I made ourselves a coffee and had a good catch up.

Just before lunchtime an email pops into my inbox; an essential office socialising event has been scheduled for Friday night and we’re all being encouraged to attend. It’s a ‘relaxed opportunity to meet your fellow Sales and Marketing colleagues to build a better relationship.’ We used to have these when I first started at Westchester but Atkinsons gave up after a while because no one could ever be bothered to go.

I turn to Trina who is staring at her screen without moving so I know she’s probably internet shopping.

‘Have you seen the email about the office socialising?’

‘No, just doing my big shop, hang on and I’ll have a look.’ A few clicks of the mouse and she quickly reads it.

‘Are you going?’ I ask.

‘Definitely, wouldn’t want to miss a free night out. You’ll come, won’t you? We could share a cab because I don’t live far from you.’

I’m pleased she’s said that because I don’t fancy going on my own.

‘I’ll go if you’re going,’ I say. ‘What actually happens at an essential office socialising event?’

‘It’s basically a pub crawl and everyone will go because Atkinsons will stump up for most of the booze. ’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘It is, and you never know who’s going to get absolutely ratted and make a big show of themselves. It’s usually one of the youngsters and they have no shame at all. At the last one, Leah,’ she nods in the direction of a heavily made up nineteen-year-old seated halfway down the office, ‘Made a big play for the one of the salesmen who’s at least twice her age. She wasn’t a bit embarrassed the next week at work. Thought it was hilarious.’

Free booze; that sounds dangerous. I will go, I decide, but I won’t drink. I don’t want to be the one making a big show of myself.

The Beccabird laughs mockingly.

‘It’ll be this office,’ Trina goes on, ‘All the salesmen, who by the way, fancy themselves something rotten, and the whole of Marketing. So a big, big crowd. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to meet more people.’

‘Sounds good, I’m definitely up for it.’

‘Good. We’ve got all week to get our outfits sorted.’

‘I thought you said it was a pub crawl?’

‘It is but don’t let that fool you, everyone will want to look better than everyone else and I can guarantee you that apart from some of the men no one will be turning up in jeans and old jumpers. I’m going to treat myself to a new outfit, might get my hair done as well.’

I look at Trina’s perfect blonde hair piled into a messy updo; she always looks so smart and trendy – I haven’t seen her wear the same outfit twice yet.

‘Your hair always looks lovely. I wish I could do mine like that,’ I say.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she says, pleased with the compliment. ‘But I’m not kidding when I say everyone makes an effort.’ She leans over towards me and lowers her voice, ‘One year, Em even had hair extensions put in.’

‘It’s true – and they looked great too. Must have cost her an absolute fortune. But you know what – by the Monday morning they were gone; like they’d never existed.’

Trina nods, wide eyed and mouths, ‘not normal .’

I laugh but I can’t help agreeing, hair extensions, for one night ?

‘I can put your hair up for you if you like. Come to mine a bit earlier and we’ll have a little drinky and I’ll do your hair.’

‘Oh, that’d be great, I can’t do a thing with it myself.’

‘And we can go out on Thursday lunchtime to look for our outfits,’ she lowers her voice, ‘I happen to know that Ed and Em are at a meeting in Bristol all day so we can take a longer lunch.’

‘Great.’ Although I feel a bit worried getting caught. ‘What if someone dobs us in though?’

Trina laughs her donkey bray laugh. ‘Listen, most of them will be at least an hour late so there’s no chance of that. While the cat’s away...’

The next couple of days passed uneventfully and I didn’t see Flynn again until Wednesday night. He seemed quite normal towards me and he didn’t even mention the gardening job so I’m hoping I’ve got away with the knickers thing. We were chatting about nothing in particular quite normally and I kept checking his expression and he didn’t seem to be laughing at me so I think everything will be okay as long as I never see posh blonde woman again.

On Thursday lunchtime Trina and I went into the town centre to buy an outfit for Friday night. Atkinsons is so close to the shops that we walked there in about ten minutes so in a way I can see what they mean about the parking permits. Almost.

I had Flynn’s cash from the gardening job and I’d decided that I was going to blow it on a nice outfit. I’m really starting to look forward to this night out.

We went to a very chic boutique type shop off the precinct where Trina says she gets a lot of her clothes and after a lot of trying on I bought myself a very nice little black dress. The hundred pounds wasn’t enough but I thought, well, why not, it’s not as if I go out very often so I might as well get something really nice. It’s not too short but it has a nice swingy little skirt on it which shows off my best feature – my legs. The top is quite fitted and, though I say so myself, I do look quite good in it. Trina got some vivid pink fitted trousers with a strappy white top and it looks sensational on her; I wish I had the guts to carry off something like that.

Our lunch hour was nearly over but Trina said no way was she going to get back to work on time and waste the opportunity for a bit of skiving so we called into Joey’s cafe for a coffee and a cake. As we sat there I couldn’t help remembering that just a couple of weeks ago I’d stood across the road and pretended to make a phone call. I cringed inside as I remembered how I followed Jonathan. But worse than that was the gut-wrenching jealousy that I’d felt as I watched him kiss the woman in the window. How could I possibly feel jealous of Jonathan with another woman after everything he’d done to me?

Would I? Is the Beccabird right? Am I one of those women who always goes back for more no matter how badly they’re treated? I can’t blame the Beccabird for thinking that because I did go back for more seven years ago and I did it more than once. But I like to think that I’m different now, that I’ve changed and I won’t ever be treated like that again.

So why did you follow him? the Beccabird asks.

It does worry me though; I was quite sure I’d got over him completely but as I hadn’t seen him for seven years I was under no temptation so I couldn’t test how I felt.

Can I really be sure that I won’t make a fool of myself again?

‘Penny for them?’ Trina is studying me from across the table.

‘You were miles away, lost in thought.’ She smiles and I think that one day I’ll tell her all about it because I think she’d understand.

‘Mentally going through my shoes, deciding which pair I’m going to wear tonight.’

‘Ah, now that,’ she says, taking a slurp of coffee, ‘Is a very important decision and deserves a lot of thought. Got to show those marketing types how to dress for a night out.’

‘I’ve got a nice pair of black velvet kitten heels.’

‘Sounds perfect; we’ll knock ‘em dead, you wait and see.’

I have my new dress on with my black velvet heels and I’ve carefully applied my make-up and though I say it myself I don’t look too bad. I’m about to put my coat on and leave for Trina’s when I hear the familiar noise of Flynn’s truck. The front door bangs and Sausage comes trotting in followed by Flynn who sticks his head around the living room door.

‘Hey, Flynn, how’s it going?’

‘Good, another week over. You going out?’

‘Yeah, work do.’ I pull a face, ‘Can’t be bothered really.’ I wonder why I’m lying when I’m so looking forward to it.

Flynn looks me up and down and raises his eyebrows. ‘Nice dress.’

‘What? This old thing?’ I laugh. Do not blush, I tell myself.

‘Where’s it at? Somewhere posh?’

‘No, it’s basically a glorified pub crawl but apparently everyone makes a big effort to dress up.’

‘Well, have fun. I’m off to the kitchen to fry me up half a cow. Starving.’ He pats his flat stomach.

Which is when I remember; I’ve been so intent on tarting myself up that I haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime. Not good to drink on an empty stomach.

You’re not drinking, the Beccabird reminds me.

No I’m not drinking , but I’ll have to have one or two otherwise I’ll look like a total party pooper. I put my shoulders back and hold my head high; I’m determined to enjoy myself tonight and no one is going to spoil it. Especially not that bird.