Chances. Freya North
then she thought, is this a skewed version of Aesop’s dog in the manger? I don’t want Tim – but I don’t want him wanting anyone else?
And then she thought, For God’s sake, shut up! This is doing me no good at all. All this thinking and wondering that I do isn’t going to change him or the past. What a waste of quarter of an hour – sitting, staring into the middle distance, sifting through all that emotional junk. She knew there was nothing of value in it – she’d been through it with a fine toothcomb over and again.
Go to London! Go to the trade show! Do something different.
Vita phoned Jodie.
Tim was at the bar when his phone rang. Suzie heard it, reached into his jacket pocket for it, saw it was Vita and answered it before she really thought about the ramifications.
‘Hullo? Tim’s phone.’ Purr, she told herself, purr. ‘Who is this?’ Just let her think that Tim no longer puts a name to her number!
Vita felt the adrenalin rise in her throat and dry it out immediately. ‘It’s Vita.’
‘Well, this is Suzie.’
There was silence while Vita scurried through thoughts about what to do in this situation; the pressure of having just a few seconds to frantically sort through a mental filing cabinet for a missing page of instructions of what to do in an emergency.
‘Why do you phone?’ Suzie was suddenly asking. She was outside now. Tim would just think she’d gone out for a smoke. Say he came out? And if he didn’t, how would she return the phone to him without him knowing? It was dangerous, mad, exciting – to be on his phone to his annoying ex. But this opportunity was too good. She’d figure it out later. Seen my phone? No. Wonder where it is? I don’t know. Weird. Oh look, Tim, your phone’s in my bag – you must have put it in there on our way here. Later, later – all that could wait. In the here and now she had Vita, cornered.
‘Why do you phone in the evenings?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard. Could you not phone us in the evenings. Tim’s got a life, you know, outside of work. It gets on our nerves.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh, come on, Vita – I’m Suzie. The Suzie. We’re together – so back off.’
Vita was shaking, not just because Suzie had hung up on her, but because the level of aggression had been horrible. People were usually nice to Vita – probably because her line of work was to provide lovely items to gladden the heart. Even the mad old shoplifting lady went about her crime with a genuinely sweet smile and a warm, Hullo, lassie. Vita tried to tell herself to judge a person by the company they keep – so what did this say about Tim and Suzie? And yet part of her felt unnerved, undermined and small. Embarrassed too – because a sappy sorry was all she’d managed and it really was the wrong word to use when what she’d meant by it was pardon. Her mind twisted away from the reality of the situation – that Suzie’s unpleasant ownership of Tim probably came just from insecurity. Vita didn’t stop to think how she obviously loomed pretty large for Suzie too. It didn’t cross her mind that Tim didn’t know about the call and that Suzie had deleted it from the list, slipped the phone into her bag and smuggled it back into his jacket a little while later.
*
When her hands had stopped shaking and her voice didn’t sound too brittle, Vita phoned Candy, relating what had happened in such a tumble that for a while Candy wasn’t sure who said what and whose phone was whose. But once Vita was all talked out and was ready to listen, Candy said something that made her think.
‘Where’s the triumph in leaving you for someone like that?’ she said to Vita. ‘Do you see? This should make you feel good. The triumph would be if he’d progressed from you to someone superior. By that I mean more gorgeous – not that that’s possible, darling – someone brighter, more successful. Has he? How does this woman measure up to you, Vita? Think about it. She doesn’t! She’s not the new you. She doesn’t even come close. If she’s the best that man can get – then his barre is set pretty damn low.’
Vita actually took notes, scribbling frantically on the back of an envelope no doubt to transfer some of Candy’s pithiness to Post-its later.
‘And don’t boost his ego by mentioning it to him,’ Candy said. ‘Bloody men – they do love being between two women. Whether they’re being fought over – or fucked.’
‘Candy!’
‘It’s the most clichéd male fantasy, honey,’ Candy said before vaulting onto her high horse. ‘I absolutely guarantee you that the man you meet next will be an improvement on Tim. Do you know why?’ She didn’t wait for Vita to answer. ‘Because you learned from your heartache, while he didn’t. He ignored it. He hasn’t dealt with any issues. The natural scheme of things in this universe of ours dictates that until he does, his life will be flatter, poorer and much worse than it was. Karma, honey. It’s the law of karma.’
Vita did love Candy’s moral indignation, her outrage, her passion – they were her trademark, they were contagious.
‘There are character traits you’ll no longer tolerate, basic moral coda on which you’ll insist,’ Candy was saying. ‘I know Michelle’s said the same and it’s true. You are destined for a much better relationship because all you wanted and worked for was a good relationship in the first place. Meanwhile, look at what shit-for-brains has gone and done for himself – look what he’s settled for.’
My lovely sweary friend, Vita thought. Michelle – sensitive and wise. Candy – a firecracker of identical unwavering support, but expressed at top volume with a potty mouth.
‘I know,’ said Vita, ‘I do really know. I promise you.’
‘Then you need to start acting like it, cupcake,’ Candy said. ‘Which means what he does and who he’s with should hardly dent your thoughts. Certainly, it shouldn’t take up an entire phone call and all my choicest fulminations at – blimey – at almost midnight.’
‘OK.’
‘Vita, you started to take as the norm the way he treated you, the way he behaved. You won’t know what’s hit you when you have the good relationship – the normal relationship – that’s so coming to you.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And I’m going to bloody love every moment of saying told-you-so.’
Rick
It was to be an early start on the first Thursday in July – but not that early. On the morning of the trade show, Vita was woken not by the alarm clock – when she reached for it, she saw to her annoyance that there was still half an hour to go – but by a peculiar noise. Very peculiar. Dull but unmistakable thuds, no rhythm, no pattern, just every now and then thud thud thud. Accompanying this was sporadic screeching. Part car, part angry child, part something last heard on a David Attenborough wildlife programme. Both noises kept her paralysed in bed for a while. What the hell was that? And that? Who’s out there? What on earth is going on? Gingerly, she crept to the window, stooping low and peeking out as if expecting to confront some hideous monster direct from Roald Dahl.
Even at that early hour, a fine day was in the making; wisps of coral-coloured clouds were already filtering off a pale blue sky like dreams drifting away in one’s reverie. There was no one out there. The garden was still. Vita straightened a little, craned her neck, tried to see over the tangle of Mr Brewster’s hedge into his garden. Thud. Where was it coming from? There it was again. This time, she looked down to see a small, unripe pear fall to the ground. Then the screeching again, a dreadful noise, irate and threatening. Then silence. She looked up and, staring back at her from the branches of her pear tree, was a most peculiar bird with virulent green plumage. Vita thought, I must be dreaming, you don’t get parrots in Hertfordshire. But high up in the pear tree were two – wait! Three!