Chapter 6
Café customers inched their chairs in as I squeezed through to get to the only free table.
Offering one apology after another, I finally plonked myself down, glad to be off my feet.
Callum’s smirk and Rory’s head tilt were imprinted on my brain.
But as I anticipated the best sweet treat and frothy coffee the place had to offer, instead of trying to erase the images, I embraced them.
They obviously thought I was past my prime and not worthy of respect.
As if my brain was somehow linked to my ovaries causing its cells to shed at the same rate as my eggs.
But while perimenopause gave me hot flushes, itchy skin and brain fog, it was also my superpower.
It gave me clarity. An ability to cut through bullshit no matter how it was dressed up.
If Callum and Rory thought I was going to lower myself and come up with a presentation just to keep my job, they had another think coming.
I had more dignity and self-respect than the two of them put together.
I reached down and slipping my foot out of my shoe, rubbed my burning feet. I should have known better than to tackle my Christmas shopping in heels. Even in trainers, gone were the days where I could shop for hours pain free.
Glad to have escaped the crowds, I looked out onto the busy city square where young and carefree couples passed by, gloved hand in gloved hand.
Women laden with carrier bags hastened in and out of shops.
My heart went out to them. Despite the cold, they looked hot and bothered as they, no doubt, bought last-minute presents before their afternoon school pick-up runs.
While some mums struggled to cut through the crowds thanks to prams and squealing toddlers who were more interested in the window displays than shopping, in contrast, men wearing cashmere coats and scarves talked into their phones as they seamlessly strode ahead, not even sidestepping for those in their path.
I felt like I was the only one seeing the unfairness.
Sometimes I wanted the world to stop so I could get off.
A young waitress wearing a reindeer antler deely bopper interrupted my observations. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said as she placed down my order, but without waiting for a response headed off.
Her nicety was clearly performance and as I watched her go, I felt invisible all over again.
Picking up my fork, I swooned as I dug into the cranberry tart.
It was dessert perfection. Layers of crispy filo pastry crumbled in my mouth.
Filled with orange custard and cranberry sauce, each flavour danced on my tongue.
I was in sweet gourmet heaven. My waistline had taken on a life of its own of late and needed zero encouragement, but if I couldn’t treat myself after the day I’d had, when could I?
It was just what I needed to boost my energy levels.
Like many of the people around me, I’d been racing around getting my Christmas shopping done.
Admittedly, all thanks to Rory and Callum.
I wondered if I should thank the two of them for cranking me into gear. Rather than let them ruin my day altogether, I’d channelled my displeasure and gone from not knowing where to begin, to whizzing around the shops like a Tasmanian devil.
I glanced at my numerous shopping bags, silently congratulating myself for finding the most perfect of presents.
Because of her predicament with Richard, Joyce had been the easiest to buy for and if the biggest box of chocolates I could find didn’t compensate for her dietary dilemma, hopefully the recipe book I’d picked up for her husband would. Lord knows, he needed it.
As desperate as she’d been to give her recently retired other half a new sense of purpose, Joyce should never have allowed Richard to take over cooking duties.
Having tasted his efforts, I knew his food was the stuff of nightmares.
I grimaced. Just the thought of the man’s never-again spaghetti bolognaise made me want to gag and with my appetite suddenly gone, I put down my fork and slid the plate of cranberry tart to one side.
Coming up with a gift for Hattie had taken a little more thought. She wasn’t just a die-hard wool crafter, she was the proprietor of The Knitting Nook, which meant she had everything she could possibly want to hand. I smiled, picturing Hattie’s many projects. She always had something on the go.
She could be knitting a blanket, crocheting Christmas stockings or felting slippers, but such was her kindness, rarely were any of her makes for herself.
My heart warmed thanks to the envelope poking out of my handbag and I couldn’t wait to see Hattie’s face when I handed it over.
Having a tough time of late thanks to that so-called boyfriend of hers, a bit of pampering at one of the best spa hotels Leeds had to offer was just what she needed.
I scowled. As long as she left Gideon at home…
A thought struck. That reminds me. I must pick up something for Alex.
Thanks to recent events, I’d chosen a heated shawl for Mum.
According to its description, it was light-weight, airy and had heating wire technology at the press of a button.
As well as having a hood, it had pockets.
Perfect for when Mum sat out on Dad’s bench: no way would she catch pneumonia in that.
Picking up my coffee mug, I wondered if I should go back and get a heated shawl for me too.
As barmy as I thought Mum was for talking to the winter heather, not only would she love it if I joined her, we might both feel closer to Dad.
I chuckled as I imagined the two of us raising a glass and wishing Dad a happy Christmas.
I wrinkled my nose, realising that probably wasn’t the best idea.
With my mental well-being already called into question, conversing with the greenery would be handing Callum all the ammunition he needed.
If he had his way, I’d be joining Mum at Maple Manor.
I scoffed at the man’s stupidity. Instead of disregarding the fairer sex he should’ve known that a) seven out of ten men are happy to let their wife choose a house; b) three out of ten men buy houses they dislike solely to please their wife; and c) three out of four women take the lead in the house-buying process.
Women were neither his skivvies nor invisible and we certainly weren’t obstacles to overcome.
We were the ones paying his wages. Talk about biting the hand that fed him.
As I sipped on my coffee, I supposed the same could be said of Rory.
Whether he’d realised yet or not, getting rid of me, especially in a difficult market, would be catastrophic for him.
The branch’s sales figures would plummet, something head office wouldn’t like at all.
I let out a laugh. And you had the gall to question my sanity.
I considered my younger self. It saddened me to think that back then Rory’s words would have left me consumed with self-doubt and no way would I have had the courage to walk out on him; the man was my boss.
Insulting my own intelligence, I’d have analysed the countless interactions I’d had with Callum, wondering what I could have done or said wrong to make the man dislike me, let alone want to get me into trouble.
Now I was older and wiser, I knew like didn’t come into it.
I saw the situation for what it was – one colleague denigrating another to get on the next rung of his career ladder.
I sneered. Whoever Callum met on the way up, he was sure as hell going to meet on the way down and having met lots of Callums over the years, I knew I wouldn’t be the only one waving him on as he plummeted.
As I finished my coffee, I felt a renewed frustration.
But if there was one thing I’d learned thanks to my perimenopausal awakening, it was that anger was a force for good.
Properly channelled, it enabled me to focus on what really mattered.
I put my empty cup down. Like stuffing Rory’s presentation and finding an employer who respected me.