Chapter 11
11
JOEL
With the flowers and ready meals on the back seat, I placed my keys in the ignition, but I didn’t start the car. Glancing at the flowers in the rearview mirror, I muttered in a sarcastic voice, ‘They’re not for anything special – just for a friend to say thanks for a favour.’
I raked my hands through my hair, shaking my head. What the hell was that? My clumsy code for They’re not for my wife or girlfriend in the hope that the woman in Bloomsberry’s would respond with, In that case, how about a drink? As if something like that was ever going to happen. I’d come here to get a couple of fresh ready meals as I couldn’t be bothered to remake the chilli Chez had eaten, and some flowers for Chloe to thank her for taking in Imogen’s dress which I was collecting from Crafty Hollow shortly. I hadn’t expected to meet someone. Not that you could call that little episode meeting .
A shaft of light from who knows where had been shining on her hair as I approached the fridge and I’d stopped, momentarily captivated. I’d been reading Amber’s book on manifesting. I couldn’t send out positive thoughts for the future until I was clear about what I wanted. That was straightforward for Imogen, but I was still struggling with the work thing. I knew what I didn’t want – which was still helpful – but what I did want remained a mystery. As for meeting someone, I was more interested in personality and the type of relationship we had than appearance, but I thought it might be easier if I had a vague image in my mind. All I could think of was somebody who didn’t remind me of Tilly or Marley. They were both blonde with blue eyes so a brunette with brown eyes would be great. Neither of them ever left the house without wearing make-up so perhaps someone who embraced the more natural look. I’d stood by my bedroom window, feeling like an idiot, as I channelled my positive thoughts into the universe. I believed in the power of positive thinking – my interview had been evidence of that – but I wasn’t convinced by the whole manifesting malarky. And yet there she was – a naturally beautiful brunette with shoulder-length wavy hair, pink cheeks and full lips standing where I was heading with a shaft of light pointing her out. So did I say hello, introduce myself, flirt a little? Nope. I interrupted her thoughts, recommended some food and walked away. And then when our paths crossed again by the flowers… I tutted at myself. I was no good at this sort of stuff.
At that moment, she emerged from the garden centre and my heart leapt. Would it be weird to go up to her and ask her if she fancied going out for a drink at some point? What if she said no? What if she thought I was some creepy bloke who hung around garden centres trying to pick up women? What if…?
She pulled out of her parking space and left the car park and I exhaled loudly. There probably were blokes out there who could go up to a stranger in a shop and ask them out, but I wasn’t one of them.
As I drove home to drop off the meals, I pushed thoughts of my missed opportunity out of my mind and focused on work instead. The first night shift back after the takeover announcement had been hard work and I’d found myself clock-watching, willing for 6a.m. to arrive so I could go home. My team had wanted to know they had job security, but I had no reassurances I could give, and I hated that there’d been no more information. Telling them you’ll know as soon as I do felt like a cop-out and provided little comfort. The problem with having no information was that it invited people to draw their own assumptions and those were invariably negative. Several of the production operatives had asked if they could put me down as a referee on any job applications and, when Sal and I broke for ‘lunch’, both tucking into portions of spaghetti bolognaise I’d brought in from home, she confessed that she’d spent the weekend sending her CV out.
‘Before you know whether your job’s even at risk?’ I asked, surprised.
She put her fork down, her expression serious. ‘I’ve been here less than two years, Joel, and I know how these things go. Last in, first out. If your role goes, you’ll get a decent redundancy payout, but I’ll get hardly anything. I’d rather jump ship and secure a new role before I’m pushed and forced to catch the others who are already swimming.’
It was a good analogy and, in her position, it did make sense. She asked about my plans and I admitted to going round in circles, desperate to keep my job one minute so I could financially support Imogen and my brother, and hoping to be made redundant the next so that my hand would be forced and I’d have to rethink my career, although I had no idea what that would look like.
‘Something will turn up,’ she said, echoing what Amber had said. ‘Probably something you’d never have considered.’ She sighed heavily as she gazed round the office. ‘I’ll miss this place and I’ll miss working with you, but do you know what I’ll miss the most?’
Her serious expression turned into a big smile as she scooped up some bolognaise. ‘Your cooking. If I ever win the lottery, I’m going to employ you as my personal chef.’
It lightened the mood and we drifted off into an if I won the lottery fantasy discussion, our suggestions becoming steadily more ludicrous. While it didn’t help with my decision-making, it did help with the positivity and I left the shift convinced that being made redundant, while scary, might be the best thing that could happen to me.
When I arrived home, I braced myself for walking into a mess, but the house was surprisingly tidy. Chez must have taken on board what I’d said as he’d even loaded the dishwasher. Things were looking up.
Ready meals dropped off, I headed over to Crafty Hollow for Imogen’s dress. When Chloe had messaged to say I could either collect it this week or Samantha could take it to Fennington Hall – the grand hotel on the outskirts of York where Barney and Amber were getting married – I was going to ask Samantha to take it, but I imagined Tilly’s voice in my head, demanding to know why she hadn’t seen Imogen in the dress first, so I arranged to pick it up instead.
Chloe seemed really touched when I gave her the flowers, but it was the least I could do when she’d refused to charge me for the alterations. I’d carefully timed arriving at Tilly’s so that Imogen would be home from school but they wouldn’t be eating their tea yet. Surely Tilly wouldn’t object to me saying a quick hello to Imogen before I went to work.
Imogen answered the door in her school uniform and her face lit up. ‘Daddy!’
‘I’ve brought your dress,’ I said, holding the dress carrier and a bag up in front of me. ‘I’ve got your shoes and a headband too.’
Tilly appeared behind Imogen, scowling at me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Imogen’s bridesmaid dress was ready, and I thought you might like to see her in it before the wedding.’
Her expression softened. ‘I would. Thank you.’
‘Are you coming in, Daddy?’
I looked down at Imogen and shook my head. ‘Sorry, sweetie, but I need to get ready for work. I’ve got time for a hug, though.’
She squeezed me tightly and kissed me on the cheek. I hated always having to say goodbye to her, knowing it would be days before I saw her again.
‘Right, let’s get this door closed,’ Tilly said when Imogen released me. ‘We’re letting all the heat out.’
‘But I want to wave Daddy off.’
‘It’s too cold. Wave from your bedroom window if you must.’
Imogen raced upstairs and I returned to my car, waving as I started the engine. I was about to pull away when the front door opened and Tilly emerged, pulling on her coat. Surely she wasn’t going to have a go at me for turning up announced?
I wound my window down and looked up at her expectantly.
‘I spoke to Greg about the Daddy thing and it’s all a misunderstanding. Imogen had asked him whether the twins would call him Daddy and she seemed put out that she was the only one of the kids who wouldn’t call him that. He said he wouldn’t mind if she ever wanted to call him Daddy but there was no pressure.’
That wasn’t how Imogen had told the story, but I knew better than to suggest Greg was a liar.
‘Fair enough. As long as that’s the end of it.’
‘It is. Greg and Imogen are fine, and it won’t crop up again. Thanks for having a word.’
She turned as though to go, but paused.
‘Something else?’ I prompted when she didn’t speak.
‘Yes, it’s… erm… Are you going to lose your job?’
I tensed. ‘Why would you ask that?’
‘Greg knows someone who works at your place. He said there was a big announcement about a takeover and that there’ll be redundancies.’
‘Yes to the takeover, but there’s been no announcement about redundancies.’
‘But there will be some?’
‘Nobody knows. It’s all speculation.’
‘But speculation comes from somewhere, so that must mean?—’
‘Speculation is speculation,’ I said, determined not to give her any ammunition against me. ‘It comes when nobody knows so they start making guesses and sometimes those guesses seem plausible enough to get presented as the truth.’
‘So you’re not about to lose your job?’
‘Hopefully not, but no job is ever safe. If there are redundancies and I’m one of them, you don’t need to worry. I won’t be looking for a child maintenance reduction.’
‘You think I only care about the money?’ She sounded hurt at the suggestion.
‘Can you blame me?’ I didn’t need to clarify that she’d continually fought me for payment increases over and above what would be considered reasonable. She’d know exactly what I meant.
Tilly folded her arms and bit her lip – her telltale sign that she knew she was in the wrong and was squirming about it.
‘Whatever happens, Imogen won’t be left without,’ I said, my voice softer. ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything. See you on Saturday.’
Tilly didn’t say anything, but she stepped away from the car which I took as a sign that I was free to go. I suppose it was na?ve of me to think that news of the takeover wouldn’t reach her.
As I drove away, I hoped she didn’t get to hear that I’d missed out on a promotion as I really didn’t want her to know that. Or did I? Maybe it would be good for her to know that I’d been trying for years to secure that promotion so that I could spend more time with our daughter. What if part of her awkwardness was a misguided belief that I didn’t care that much because, if I did care, I’d have done something about it? What if she thought that me no longer chasing her via my solicitor was further evidence of that uninterest? Tilly’s mind worked in mysterious ways and, ridiculous as all that sounded to my logical brain, I wouldn’t put it past her to connect the dots in that way. Well, I’d prove her wrong. If my job was at risk, I’d take the cheque and run. If it wasn’t, I’d still leave. Amber and Sal both believed something would present itself, but I couldn’t sit around waiting for that to happen. I’d trawl the online job boards, look at the local college prospectus and ask around as there had to be stacks of opportunities out there that I’d never have thought of myself. And after what had happened earlier in the garden centre – even though I’d messed it up – it couldn’t hurt to engage in a little more manifesting. Things were going to change and I was going to make that happen.