Cait
Senior moments: 2.
Came out of Co-op first thing this morning to find my car had gone. Immediately reported it as stolen to the police.
Called Matt to tell him my car had been stolen. ‘And I think I might have left my mobile in it as well.’
‘So how are you calling me?’ he asked.
Ah.
Walked home and saw car outside the house. Uh? Ah … I’d forgotten I’d walked to the shop.
Must get a grip.
*
It’s my writing class this evening and I haven’t written anything for weeks, plus I’m meeting my friend, Lizzie, on Friday in London. I’d better have something to show her so that she can advise. I will not be defeated. Must come up with award-winning, bestselling book idea that will get snapped up by a production company and made into a film. Right then. That should be easy enough.
On the way to my study to start work, I experienced a sudden urge to clean under the sink, file my nails, dust the blinds, and then of course it was time for a cup of tea and to get ready for my job interview at the dentist’s.
I opened my laptop, went to mail and saw that there was an email from Debs.
From: [email protected]
CAIIIIIT, who’s the gorgeous man on your Facebook page? The Tarot cards were right. You’ve been holding out on me. Debs X
*
From: [email protected]
Just someone I knew ages ago. CX
*
From: [email protected]
Get you with your mysterious past. What’s the story? Maybe he’s the King of Wands we saw in the card reading?
DX
Argh. Keep calm, I told myself as I typed a reply.
From: [email protected]
Ancient history. Haven’t seen him in over forty years. CX
*
From: [email protected]
Find out if he’s single. Please. I like the look of him. You could introduce us? DX
I knew this would happen! No way, Debs, I thought, and it’s insensitive of her to even ask, though of course she doesn’t know what he had meant to me. I’d only ever told Lorna about him. All the same, I’m not introducing her.
From: [email protected]
Too old for you. He could be your father.
CX
*
From: [email protected]
Great! Bring it on. I could do with a father figure. Be a nice change from the immature idiots I’ve been out with. Besides, he looks sexy. Age is all in the mind. Sixty is the new forty and all that. Look at Goldie Hawn, Sigourney Weaver, Susan Sarandon – and Charlottte Rampling is in her seventies and still looks hot. You’re probably the same age as Tom? I don’t think of you as too old to be my friend. We are what we are. Plus older men – George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp …
DX
Nooooo. I knew it. Tom’d always had the women after him and now he’s pulling in cyberspace.
From: [email protected]
Point taken. I’ll see what I can find out.
X
But I won’t, I thought. Tom might be ancient history but he was my ancient history.
From: [email protected]
Great. Thanks.
Love you Debs X
I am a bad friend, I thought as I closed the laptop and got ready for my job interview.
*
A young blonde girl at the reception desk called my name at the dental clinic.
‘Mr Johnson will see you now.’
I got up and went through to see another young thing, this time a boy with pale cheeks and a shock of ginger hair, behind a desk. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said. ‘So, Mrs Langham. I see from your CV that you worked for a year as a doctor’s receptionist and before that as a teacher, but in between I am unclear about what you were doing.’
‘I worked in a library.’
‘Ah. And there are a few gaps in your CV over the years. What were you doing then?’
‘Bringing up my children.’
‘I see. Now. What do you think you could bring to the job?’
‘Enthusiasm, experience—’
‘Now let me stop you there,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I thought. Experience. You’re clearly way overqualified for this job. My concern is that you’d get bored and move on, then we’d have to train someone else up. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘That I haven’t got the job.’
‘I’m not convinced from looking at your work experience that we’re the ones for you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to find something else and put your skills to full use.’
I stood up. ‘Well thank you for your time.’
Once home, I made it to my study and opened my laptop. Hurrah. Cheers from the crowd.
I was about to open the file where I keep my ideas but, before focusing on writing, oh no, I can’t resist, it’s bigger than me, I have to …
- See what’s on at the cinema.
- Go through the online address book deleting all those who have moved or died.
- Check Facebook. Nothing from Tom, not that I was expecting there to be. The ball was in my court. My turn to reply to him. I could always see him when I go to London on Friday, I thought. No. No. Bad idea. DO some writing Cait. I will, I will …
- Watch a clip about a baby elephant being rescued from where he’d got stuck in a muddy hole as his mother watched. Aw.
- Google the word askew (Sam had emailed and told me to do it. V. funny. The whole page is askew. Clearly I have too much time on my hands.)
Finally I stopped messing about and wrote the word ‘The’. It’s a start.
Why is it a bad idea to see Tom? I asked myself. Because it’s one thing saying hi on Facebook, another thing meeting up, I replied to myself. But he suggested it, my thoughts continued. Shut up, mind, shut up. Get on with writing a bestselling, award-winning children’s book.
Stared out of the window at the row of houses opposite. New ideas? New ideas? Kids like angels. Kids like kittens.
Wrote a page about an angel kitten. Deleted it.
Wrote a page about a devil kitten. Deleted it.
Checked Facebook again. Anything could have happened in the last fifteen minutes. It had! Someone had posted a clip with a kitten riding about on top of a remote hoover and another of ants dragging the dead corpse of a worm. There’s no end to this v. important stuff.
Someone else had posted a quiz that reveals what kind of personality you have just by the colours you choose. Did the quiz. What rubbish. It said that I was a person who likes to procrastinate.
Had a look on the Rightmove property site for houses. Nothing in our price range that looked appealing. Depressing. Debs would say don’t limit yourself, expand the boundaries. I opened out the price bracket to look at the houses way out of our budget. That’s more like it. Lovely. I could see myself there, just need to find two million. Looked at another fabulous manor house. That’s more doable – we’d only have to find one and a half million. Must remember to do lottery.
Back to new ideas. Alien kitten? Deleted it. Vampire kitten? Butterflies? Wrote a page about a caterpillar that suffered from claustrophobia and was afraid to go into the cocoon. Deleted it.
I am writing drivel. Maybe I should do something else and come back to it, I thought. And not go on Facebook.
Went onto Facebook. Read a clip about how to get your very own personalized jar of Marmite. Life-changing stuff. Ordered two, one for Sam, one for Jed.
Dyed my greying eyebrows with honey-blonde dye. Left it on five minutes as instructed. Wiped it off. Perfect. I am young again.
Back to my study. New characters to appeal to children? Hedgehogs? Penguins? Meerkats? I like meerkats. Meerkats in underpants? No. Underpants have been done. A farting hedgehog? No, farting has been done. Bears? Done. Dragons? Done. Aliens? Done, done, done, also aliens in underpants. Fairies, elves, puppies? I’d done fairies. Unbeknown to Lorna and Debs, I’d based two characters on them. Sensible fairy and mad fairy. It had been a hit with my writing class. Maybe I should get that out to take to show Lizzie. But now what? Fat fairies. A fairy kitten, that could be cute. Probably been done. Fairies without faces. Oo, no. That’s just wrong. Vampires with no teeth? No. That’s it. I was out of ideas.
Managed to go to loo without Matt interrupting. Looked in mirror. Oh god! Dye must have continued working on my eyebrows, they are black. I look like Groucho Marx.
Back to work.
Creatures with dark eyebrows? Maybe I should ask Matt to brainstorm with me. He was a great ideas man.
No. I could do it myself. Dinosaurs? Been done. Dinosaurs with dark eyebrows?
Walk. I need a walk. All the creative-writing teachers say go and walk to let the unconscious mind kick in.
Put on my jogging trousers and walking shoes. Matt appeared in the hall.
‘Where are you going?’
‘For a walk. I need to clear my head.’
‘Can you get me some shaving stuff while you’re out?’
‘I’m not going near the shops.’
‘Oh. OK. Never mind.’ He seemed miffed.
*
I took a walk down by the canal. It felt great to be out in the fresh air, looking at trees, the sky.
So. A new angle on fairies? Would that work? What kind of fairies are there? The tooth fairy? Christmas tree fairy? Water fairies? Tree fairy? Too safe? Kids like an edge these days. How could I make it up to date?
What are Matt and I going to do? What’s going to happen with him? Should we move? I think we should. I don’t think he’s going to get a job. Our money might run out before either of us gets a job again, though we could do Airbnb as Lorna suggested. Best option, because we can’t really afford to move to the kind of house we’d like. Best paint the house anyway.
What will be best for Dad? He’s got too much time on his hands now that he’s on his own and so many of his friends have died.
Worry. Worry.
And Jed, my lovely boy. How’s he getting on in Thailand? He’s working in a beach bar but will have to come back eventually. His degree is in graphic design and there aren’t many jobs around. No wonder he decided to take off and see the world with his partner, Alex. Is he eating OK? Is he happy with that man of his? I’m not sure. I want him to be happy, be loved. Alex doesn’t strike me as a stayer. He’d better not break Jed’s heart. Jed’s a sensitive soul.
Worry, worry.
And Sam. He rarely gets in touch these days, apart from to send silly messages. Boys are hopeless at staying in touch. Always were.
How many people are living in my head? I asked myself as I turned a corner and the valley opened up to my right. Seems like a cast of thousands, and each with their own concern and opinion. Is this the first sign of madness? Deep breaths, that’s what I need to do. In, out, up, down, inhale, exhale.
I remembered that Debs had a list of flower remedies for different types of stress. I sent her a text. Need some flower remedies for inner madness. Which ones?
She texted back. I’ll bring my list next time I c u but try White Chestnut for a start. Tis gd for unwanted thoughts etc. What is going on? DX Had another look at Tom on Facebook. He lists London as one of the places he lives. Maybe you could message him and ask when he’s next in town.
I texted back – Nothing going on, just anxiety about job ending, etc. Think Tom lives in LA. That much was true; no way was I going to tell her that he was currently in the UK.
I stopped by the paint shop on the way home and got all the latest brochures. Had a laugh over the names. Salmon’s Back. Trout’s Eye. Elephant’s Fart. ‘Oh yes,’ I could say to tourists who booked a room if we did Airbnb, ‘we did the living room in Silent but Deadly. It’s a subtle shade but all the rage in Bath.’
God, I need some excitement in my life. Tom. Do you spend your days looking at paint charts? Doubt it.
*
When I got home, I saw that Matt had a visitor – his brother Duncan. They didn’t look alike at all, although they sounded the same. Duncan looked like a weary walrus, overweight, balding and pasty, from the many hours he spent indoors on his computer or watching sci-fi movies.
On the island in the middle of the kitchen were Rizlas, tobacco and a small lump of dope. Matt and Duncan were sitting on the floor, backs against the fridge, clearly stoned out of their minds. Matt was spooning what looked like ice cream into his mouth from a large plastic tub from the freezer.
Duncan grinned when he saw me, then winked. ‘Unleashed any hounds recently, Cait?’
‘Fuck off, Duncan,’ I said as he and Matt started sniggering. ‘And what are you eating?’
‘We got the munchies,’ said Matt.
‘How old are you?’ I asked.
‘It’s all relative,’ Duncan replied. He’d always been a stoner, even more so now that he’d retired. He grew his own grass and always had a supply of either that or cannabis on him. Usually, Matt never partook so to see him getting high was very out of character. He was the grown-up of the two, even though Duncan was his elder by two years. ‘Been there, done that,’ Matt used to say.
Matt pulled a face. ‘This ice cream tastes funny. What flavour is it?’
I went over to him and peered into the tub. ‘Cod. It’s left over from the fish pie filling that we had at the weekend.’
Matt and Duncan started to snigger again like naughty schoolboys.
Duncan offered me the joint.
‘No thanks. Got things to do.’
My reply set them off sniggering again. What is going on with Matt? I thought. Getting drunk, getting stoned? It’s not like him at all.
I left them to it to go upstairs and continue work on my bestselling, award-winning, original children’s book.
‘Should I go to the job centre?’ I asked the photo of Mum on my bookshelf. ‘At my age, should I be retiring?’ Mum had retired at the age of fifty-five. I knew what she’d say. ‘Do what makes you happy, love.’
*
5 p.m. Supermarket. Here I am again, the twice-weekly Kafkaesque nightmare, where I’m trapped in an air-conditioned aisle loading washing powder, coffee, tea, cheese into my trolley over and over and over again. See, Tom, this is about the level of the adventures I have these days. Sainsbury’s on a Monday afternoon, I thought as I went out to the car and lugged my shopping into the boot.
‘Done,’ I said as I closed the boot. ‘And now I will escape.’
A lady getting into the car next to mine gave me a strange look.
‘Er … I’m talking to my imaginary friend,’ I said. ‘I never go anywhere without her.’
‘Yes, I can see her. She looks very nice. Hello, dear,’ she said to an empty space to my right.
I am not alone in my madness.
*
Hauled cat food out of the boot and into the hall when I got home. Unpacked it all in the kitchen.
Matt came in and inspected the purchases. ‘Did you get my shaving stuff?’
‘Oh no, I forgot.’
‘Never mind,’ he said, and sauntered out with no offer to help put things away.
Resisted urge to throw tin of cat food at the back of his head.
I am a bad friend and a bad wife.
*
I will be a good wife.
Went to chemist to get shaving foam for Matt. Went next to the newsagent to pay the paper bill. I spotted a copy of Mojo magazine. I bought one, took it home and gave it to my born-again teenager husband who, still bleary eyed from the dope, was now lolling on the sofa, with Yoda on his chest, watching a rerun of Star Trek with the subtitles on.
‘Thought you might have lost this,’ I said as I handed it to him.
He didn’t laugh. ‘Not funny. You have no idea how painful it is for a man to lose his job.’
‘Oh, I do. And I do sympathize. I do. I’m sorry if that doesn’t come across. I know you’ve been used to being the man everyone wanted on their team, winning awards, brainstorming over boozy lunches, at the heart of the action. I know it must be hard.’
‘Mr Has Been, that’s me,’ he said.
‘Mr Will Be Again.’
‘Yeah right,’ he said as I heard the phone ring. I went to pick up in the hall.
It was Lorna.
‘Hi Lor—’
‘Tom Lewis, Cait. Facebook. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘What do you mean what do I think I’m doing? I told you he sent a friend request.’
‘And you accepted it. You told me you were going to delete it. He’s on your list of friends now.’
‘I know. It’s no big deal.’
‘He posted a love song on your page.’
‘I know. Sweet.’
‘Sweet? Are you out of your mind? He was the love of your life.’
‘Lorna, it was forty years ago, lot of water under the bridge, and I did get over him.’
‘Does Matt know?’
‘What’s it got to do with Matt?’
‘He’s your husband.’
‘Matt doesn’t do Facebook. I have two hundred friends. I haven’t told him about any of them. Why should I tell him about Tom?’
‘You know exactly why.’
‘He only asked me to be friends on Facebook, we’re not having an affair.’ I didn’t elaborate on the private message.
‘Be careful, Cait. As I said, I think you’d be playing with fire if you let him back into your life.’
‘I’m not going to let him back into my life. We can be friends on Facebook, that’s all. I haven’t even spoken to him yet, so there’s nothing to be careful about. Come on, long time ago.’
‘You’ve changed your tune. Look, I don’t want to tell you how to run your life but sometimes it’s easy to fantasize about the past, put a romantic slant on it.’
‘I won’t. He left me, remember? That pretty well burst any romantic bubble. What’s the harm in staying in touch now that we’re older and wiser? And anyway, I’m a long-time married woman now, not a young gullible girl.’
‘Don’t go and see him. Where does he live?’
‘No idea.’ It wasn’t a complete lie. I didn’t know where exactly. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t go and see him.’
‘It lists London on his page.’
‘Lorna, I can cope. Don’t worry. What do you take me for?’
‘I … I’m sorry, Cait, but after our chat after supper the other week, I know you’re going through a rough time.’
‘We’ll get through it.’
‘If you need to talk, I’m here OK?’
‘OK, but everything’s fine. Honest.’
After I’d put the phone down, I felt deflated. She was right, of course. It was one thing to make contact with an old school friend on Friends Reunited when that was around, but an old lover? Maybe not the best idea. It was classic. A bit of a thrill, an escape from the mundane. I also felt annoyed. Why shouldn’t I see him? He’d suggested lunch, not sharing his bed.
I looked on Facebook to see if there was anything more from him. Nothing. Should I reply? What should I say? Lorna’s warning and Debs’s request to hook her up had made me feel rebellious. I could handle Tom Lewis and why shouldn’t I see him? Judging by the photos I’d seen of him, he had children, they had to have a mother, so the chances were that Tom was still married to her and his getting in touch with me was purely to catch up on old times. So what was all the fuss? Old mate getting in touch, nothing wrong with that. Anyway, Matt was out getting drunk then smoking dope, why shouldn’t I have some fun?
I went to private messages and wrote: ‘Would love to see you and catch up. Am up in town next Friday, meeting a friend in the morning. Could be free afterwards around lunchtime. Does that work for you? Cait X’
I deleted the X.
My finger hovered over reply. Should, shouldn’t, should, shouldn’t. I pressed send. There. Done it. And what’s more I don’t care what you say, Lorna. I’m only curious, that’s all.
*
‘And do you have anything to show, Cait?’ asked Fiona, my writing tutor when she got to me at the class that evening. She was a sturdy-looking lady in her late forties with long wavy hair and a smiley face.
I shook my head. ‘It’s just not happening,’ I said.
‘Don’t despair, Cait. It will come,’ she said. ‘Even the greatest writers have times when it feels like they’re getting nowhere. The thing is not to give up. Keep writing. Write anything. You can always go back and change it, but you have to get started. If you don’t turn on the tap, the water can’t flow and sometimes, when it starts to flow, all the gunk that’s been blocking the taps comes out first. Don’t be put off by that, it’s part of the process. Only when the mucky water has been cleared will the pure water come through. You can edit a bad page but you can’t edit a blank one.’
Well, that’s me told, I thought. Good advice. Spent the rest of the class writing about a creature with six heads who gets caught in blocked drainpipe. It felt strangely familiar.