Chapter 12
12
I’m still staring at the piece of paper when a movement outside catches my eye, and I look up to see Rebecca’s SUV pull into the space in front of my car. I smile as she carefully positions it to make sure it’s not on the kerb, before opening the back door to allow Rollo to climb out. Feeling the need to hear a friendly voice, I quickly cross to the front door and open it.
‘Nice parking,’ I call.
She turns and grins. ‘You have to be so careful round here. I haven’t worked out who it is yet, but some busybody reports you to the council if there’s so much as a wheel out of place.’
‘Really?’ I reply. ‘I wonder if that’s the same one who reports your car as abandoned if you don’t move it frequently enough.’
‘Bound to be,’ she says, laughing. ‘Anyway, how are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you working from home on a weekday before.’
‘I’m not working from home,’ I tell her. ‘I quit this morning.’
‘Really? Someone made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?’
‘Nope. I decided I needed a change of career.’
‘Sounds interesting. What’s the plan?’
‘No idea.’
Her mouth drops open. ‘Wait a minute. Are you seriously telling me you’ve quit a lucrative career without the first clue what you’re going to do next?’
‘Yup.’
‘Bloody hell. You’ve either got lady-balls of steel or you’ve lost the plot.’
I smile. ‘I guess I’m about to find out.’
Rollo tugs at her sleeve. ‘Mum, we’re going to be late,’ he whines.
‘Sorry, darling. Listen, I’ve got to run but why don’t you come over for a glass of wine later if you’re not busy?’
‘I can assure you I’m not busy. What time?’
‘Eight? I’ll have fed this one and we can have a proper catch-up.’
‘I’ll see you later then.’
I stand and watch as Rebecca and Rollo hurry up the road and into her house. I’ve got something to look forward to now. It’s only a glass of wine with a friend-slash-acquaintance, but it’s a start, and maybe a proper friendship will come out of it.
Returning to my study, I stare at the paper again for a while, before scratching out number three on the list. Number one is easy to get out of the way, and number two is going to take a lot of figuring out. Everything else can wait.
I pull out my mobile and dial Mum and Phil’s number.
‘Thea!’ my mum exclaims when the call connects. ‘What a treat. You never call in the week.’
‘I’ve got some news,’ I tell her carefully.
‘You’ve been promoted again, haven’t you? Oh, darling, congratulations.’
‘I haven’t been promoted. I resigned.’
‘You what?’
‘I quit. I decided I didn’t want to do this any more and I handed in my resignation.’
There’s an uncomprehending silence. ‘But you love your job,’ she says eventually.
‘I loved my job. Past tense.’
‘Oh, darling.’ Her tone has changed to one of concern. ‘Is everything all right? You aren’t ill, are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Then I don’t understand, sorry. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since forever, and you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are. Why would you chuck it all away?’
I sigh. This was never going to be an easy conversation, but I’m pleased she’s engaged, at least. Normally, she’d have switched to telling me about Saffy’s latest achievement by now. I tell her about my wobble after John Curbishley’s funeral, and how I just lost the love for what I do.
‘Do you think you ought to talk to someone?’ she says very carefully when I finish.
‘Like who?’
‘I don’t know, some sort of professional. A counsellor, maybe.’
‘What, you think I’m having some sort of breakdown?’ I ask incredulously.
‘I wouldn’t say breakdown,’ she replies hurriedly. ‘But this is a big thing, and it’s very unlike you. I just wondered whether maybe things have all got a bit much for you lately. They do work you ridiculously hard. You might be suffering from burnout or something like that.’
‘I’m not suffering from anything,’ I tell her robustly. ‘I just decided I wanted to do something different with my life, that’s all.’
‘But you’ve invested so much in this and you’re obviously good at it. I just wonder, if you talked it all through with someone who knows about these things, whether it might be helpful. How are you sleeping?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I read an article recently about how not sleeping well is linked to depression.’
‘I’m not depressed, Mum, and I sleep just fine.’
‘OK. Will you do one thing for me though?’
‘What?’
‘Come and stay, just for a few days. I’m worried about you. You were so thin and pale at Christmas, and now this. Let us look after you for a bit while you recover. I’m sure Saffy would be pleased to see you too.’
‘I don’t need to recover, because there’s nothing wrong with me.’ I’m starting to get seriously pissed off now.
‘Well, the invitation’s there if you want it. Think about it?’
‘Fine. I will.’
The conversation wraps up pretty swiftly after that. I think Mum realised that she hadn’t handled it particularly well and I didn’t really feel like talking to her after she’d effectively questioned my sanity. My mood is a lot darker as I stare out of the window. Am I burnt out? Is this a breakdown? I don’t feel like either of those things are true, but all the tears I’ve shed this afternoon might be telling a different story. As if on cue, they start falling again. What on earth is the matter with me? How can I have gone from high-flying lawyer to weeping wallflower in the space of just a few hours?
‘For God’s sake, get a grip, Thea,’ I mutter angrily as I dab roughly at my eyes.
I unlock my phone again and launch the browser, entering ‘Symptoms of depression’ into the search box. Most of them I can dismiss easily. ‘Low sex drive or low self-esteem’ are definite nos. Some of them are just irritating, like ‘neglecting your hobbies’. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ I snarl at the phone. ‘I don’t have time for hobbies.’ However, ‘feeling tearful’ strikes a nerve, as does ‘finding it difficult to make decisions’. In the end, I decide to cut myself some slack on that last one; I’ve made a pretty life-changing decision today, so the fact that I couldn’t put together more than two items on my to-do list shouldn’t be a cause for concern.
So I’m tearful, that’s all. Nothing to see here; move along, please.
Things are no better the next day. My drink with Rebecca last night was great fun, and I was tipsily congratulating myself on our blossoming friendship as I made my way home. However, as soon as I got into bed and tried to go to sleep, it was as if my mind had been waiting for just this moment to go into overdrive.
‘What the hell have you done?’ it whispered.
‘It’s fine. It’s the right thing.’
‘Is it? You shot your career in the face without a backup plan? I thought you said you weren’t like your father, but this looks exactly like the kind of thing he would have done.’
‘He wouldn’t have done it, because he would never have got as far as I did in the first place, and I’ve got a whole year to come up with a plan.’
‘Ha. You’ll be so intensely bored by the end of next week you’ll be crying out to go back. Would they have you back?’
‘Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back.’
‘You will. Maybe your mum’s right. Maybe you’re depressed, or burnt out. You should have just asked for a break, rather than burning the whole thing to the ground. You’re an idiot, and you’ve ruined everything.’
‘I know what I’m doing. It’ll be better once I have a plan.’
‘Honey, you patently don’t have a clue what you’re doing. People who know what they’re doing don’t nuke jobs they’ve trained their whole lives for.’
After a sleepless night, I called my mother again and took her up on her invitation to stay. I was surprised how delighted she sounded, and also how good it made me feel. Although I’m still a bit annoyed with her, the idea of home-cooked food and people around me is a lot more appealing than sitting in my house staring at the walls and eating ready meals of uncertain age from the freezer.
I’ve had to pull off the M20 into Maidstone services because I’ve been crying most of the way here. If I turn up at Mum and Phil’s like this, they’ll pack me off to a lunatic asylum before I’ve even crossed the threshold. At least I’m more prepared today; I couldn’t find any tissues at home but I’ve crammed a load of loo roll into the glovebox so, once I’ve finished my latest episode, I’ll use that to dry my face before sorting out my makeup using the rearview mirror. As I wait for the tears to stop, I turn my attention to the people coming and going around me. I’m reminded a little of how I felt walking to Skinners’ Hall after John Curbishley’s funeral inasmuch as I feel I really don’t belong here, outside, during the day. This is going to take quite a bit of getting used to.
‘Darling! We’re so glad you could make it,’ Mum exclaims as she opens the door and wraps me in a hug. From the tone of her voice, you’d be forgiven for thinking I was bestowing some enormous favour on her, rather than the other way around. ‘I’ve made up your room and lunch will be on the table soon. Phil’s at work, of course, so it’ll just be you and me. How long do you think you’ll be able to stay for?’
‘I don’t know. A couple of days? I don’t really have any plans but I don’t want to get under your feet.’
‘You won’t be under my feet. You’re always welcome here, Thea. Stay as long as you want. It’ll be a treat having you around again.’
I can’t decide if she’s being genuine or just over-compensating for suggesting I’m having some sort of breakdown yesterday. As she gently releases me, I look into her eyes and try to read her, but it’s impossible.
‘Why don’t you take your things upstairs now, and then you can settle in after lunch. I told Saffy you were coming and she’s promised to call in after she’s finished work.’
Of course, she would have been on the phone to Saffy the moment our call was over. I do feel a flash of irritation as I carry my overnight bag upstairs to my old room. Could I not have had my mother to myself, just for once? I banish the thought as soon as it appears. Now is not the time for childish competition. She’s probably a bit anxious because she doesn’t know if I’m going to suddenly start acting all erratically, and has called in Saffy for backup. Actually, it will be nice to see her and maybe she can help me manage Mum.
I’m no longer surprised by the tears that spring from my eyes as I open the door of my bedroom. Nothing has changed in here since I moved out to go to university and, as I gaze around the room, it feels a little bit like all the years since have been for nothing. I was so certain what I wanted to do back then, and I’d laid out every step to achieving my goals. I open the top drawer of the desk I spent so many hours at, doing schoolwork and revision. Inside, among various other nicknacks, is the A4 pad I was using for revision notes during my A levels. I turn to the back page and there, in my neat handwriting, is my career plan laid out like a flowchart. My eyes blur as I read it; I achieved every one of those goals apart from senior partner by forty. In fact, I hit junior partner quicker than I’d originally planned; on my world domination chart I’d written that I’d get there when I was thirty-five.
I wonder what eighteen-year-old Thea would make of the soggy mess standing here now. I don’t think she’d be very sympathetic. I’ve always been a fighter and I think she’d feel that I’d let her down by giving up and throwing in the towel like this.
After listening carefully to make sure that Mum’s still downstairs, I cross the landing to the bathroom to sort out the mess the latest crying bout will have made, before going down to join her for lunch. A couple of days is all I’ll need, I tell myself. Make it clear to them that I’m not mad, enjoy Mum’s cooking, and I’ll be right as rain by the end of the weekend.