Chapter 47
Is there a German word for shock, relief, elation and panic all rolled into one? There should be.
I end the video call with Niles with my heart flapping until eventually, I realise I need to stop, breathe and think about this rationally.
If I wasn’t already acutely aware of how lucky I am to have been offered a new job – with a promotion and pay rise – then I certainly become so in the next twenty-four hours, when one colleague after another exits the building after a series of Zooms.
Kayla is given the option to stay at the Manchester branch – reporting to a new regional manager – while the roll-out of The Neutral Company takes place, at which point she can reapply for her job.
She immediately opts for voluntary redundancy.
There is no shortage of positions locally for someone at her level. The same, sadly, cannot be said for me.
I spend the weekend after the meeting assessing my options and investigating alternative employment here in the North-West for someone with my experience. It is thoroughly depressing.
‘There are other retailers based here in Manchester, but none of them like Fable & Punk,’ I tell Sam, on the steps of the clubhouse on Sunday after he’s just finished team training with the men, while I’m heading to Rusty Racquets.
‘And the higher you go up a career ladder, the fewer your options. I can find literally nothing. I must have looked on every job website there is.’
‘Would you consider a less senior role?’ he says, tentatively. ‘I do realise that would be a bitter pill after all your hard work over the years.’
There are some jobs a few rungs down I could feasibly go for.
But, even if I were to swallow my pride and go head to head against candidates too young to remember life before Taylor Swift, how would I make ends meet given the drastic salary drop?
I have already considered the possibility that I’m being too materialistic here.
That I could in theory survive on 10p noodles like I did as a student or get rid of the car and cycle everywhere.
I wondered if I could hit on a lucrative side hustle, like learning to crochet so I could make stylish coasters to sell on Etsy, or sourcing unloved items from charity shops to repurpose.
But who am I kidding? I’m never going to fund Frankie through three years of university that way, let alone cover my mortgage for the next decade.
‘I’ve thought about it. But I did some sums this weekend and I can’t see how it could realistically work,’ I tell him.
‘So you’re actually considering the alternative? Moving to London, I mean?’
‘I’ve got no choice,’ I say. But I realise that Sam couldn’t ever understand what this feels like. He’s unlikely to find himself in a similar situation with a job like his.
‘Well, that would be . . . terrible.’ I register a look of quiet devastation on his face. Which I feel weirdly uncomfortable about, for reasons it’s hard to unpick.
I’ve never quite been brave enough to have the ‘friends with benefits’ conversation, but where does Sam think this is going between the two of us exactly?
What future is he imagining? Certainly not one I’ve ever promised.
And while I never planned to move away, if I need to do so, then the decision is nothing to do with him.
‘It would be a huge upheaval, but it’s not like I don’t know London really well,’ I say, with a note of defiance. ‘And I love the place. I spent the happiest years of my life there.’
At this, he looks positively winded.
I look down at my feet, feeling a knot begin to form in my gut.
Because I refuse to believe I’ve said something wrong, when all I’ve spoken is the truth.
Being in love with my late husband and considering the years I spent with him to be the best in my life is not something I am willing to feel guilty about. Not ever.
‘Session’s about to start, Jules!’ Nora calls. I glance over and give her a wave before turning back to Sam.
‘Look,’ I sigh, in a conciliatory tone. ‘I haven’t decided anything yet. I’m just saying . . . I need to keep my options open. My limited options.’
He presses his lips together and nods, before looking back up at me. The sight of those melting green eyes thaws me a little. He picks up my hand and squeezes it. Then he leans in to kiss me softly on the cheek. I feel my heart compress.
‘I just wish I could do something to help,’ he whispers, as my head begins to throb with the mess of it all.
I tell my parents and Jeff about my dilemma on the phone, but after the experience with Sam, I play it down – possibly a little too much.
By the end of our conversation both seem under the impression that, while a move to London is theoretically possible, something will come up and it’ll never actually happen.
I see Sam again on Tuesday night and, when he raises the subject, I tell him I haven’t made my decision yet and leave it at that.
It’s pretty easy to move on. I often find I have temporary amnesia around him and on this occasion we end up in his bed, obliterating my woes with pleasures of the flesh, until I drive home at 2am, entirely without regret about how tired I’ll be the following day.
But while I’m brushing over the issue of a potential move with everyone else, there is one person I really need to have an honest and open conversation with. Frankie might be going to college in September but this is still her home and always will be.