Journey to the Centre of Myself Read online

  He moves back. His feet scuff the floor. ‘Christ, that woman.’

  ‘So, where’ve you been going until eleven o'clock and where’s the money really from?’

  ‘Jesus, Karen, I’ve told you where the dosh is from. Sometimes we’re told to clock off early. That daft bat doesn’t know what day it is half the time. Are we done?’

  I clutch my temples. ‘Please could you leave, Adrian? I need time to think.’

  He scratches his cheek, a blank look on his face, ‘But –'

  I slam the betting slip in front of him.

  His face reddens. ‘It was just the once okay? It’s not like before, I swear. Look at the name; it was because of the name.’

  I crunch it up and throw it on the floor. ‘I said get out!’

  He flaps his hands. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll go to the caff. I’ll be back in an hour when you’ve had chance to calm down.’

  As the windows are open, the door bangs on his way out. I flinch. My heart thuds. I pour myself a brandy. I know I can’t go through this again, but what if I’m wrong?

  My reflection shows the stress I’m under. I stare at the crow’s feet around my eyes, the permanent frown line between my eyebrows, the grey threaded through my once dark brown hair. I must leave this time; things haven’t been the same since... No. I refuse to let my mind go there.

  I walk over to the table, pick up the newspaper and study the rows of horses’ names, their form. The two forty-five from Newcastle is called Berlin-da. Maybe it’s a sign? I fire the computer back up and make a reservation. I can do this.

  On the sofa twenty minutes later, I place my head back on the cushion and stare at the light fitting. I was a Personal Assistant before being made redundant. I ran my office with complete efficiency. In fact, I was so efficient they didn’t need me in the end. My redundancy money sits in a new account. It’s my ticket out of here.

  I pick up the phone and telephone my brother. He answers on the second ring.

  ‘I’m leaving him, Steve.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before.’

  ‘My cases are packed.’

  ‘And that.’

  ‘I’ve booked a flight to Berlin. At seven tonight, I’ll be on a plane out of here.’

  ‘Why so far away? You could have come here.’

  ‘I need time to think. I’m giving myself two weeks. Two weeks of travelling around, doing things on my own.’

  I wonder if he’s muted the phone as there are a few seconds of quiet, then, ‘Are you sure about this, it’s not like last time?’

  I inhale sharply. ‘No, it’s not. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘You can’t blame me for worrying.’

  The door bangs. ‘He’s back. I need to go.’

  ‘Please, phone me when you’re there.’

  I sigh. ‘Okay.’

  Forty-two, but still a little sister.

  I place the receiver down as Adrian walks into the lounge.

  ‘I’ve brought you a tuna mayo, love. It’s on the kitchen table.’

  ‘Sit down, Adrian, we need to talk.’

  ‘I’ll make you a drink, shall I?’

  I nod, hold my fingers on the bridge of my nose for a moment and then walk back through to the kitchen.

  ‘Look, I haven’t been exactly truthful.’ He runs his hand over his forehead and takes a deep breath.

  I tip my head to the side. ‘Really?’

  ‘The thing is, I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing just yet—it’s a secret.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘A secret involving bookmakers and unemployment? Save it, Adrian.’ I stand up. ‘Do you know what? I’m not interested.’

  I raise my hands to my sides, stretching out my arms like wings. I’m preparing for flight. ‘I’ve paid the mortgage and bills for the month.’

  ‘Okay, that’ll help.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’ I walk to the door and pick up my suitcase. He finally notices it.

  His face tightens, and then he gives me a quick smile. ‘Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on, Karen, love? Now don’t be hasty, sit down, we can discuss this.’

  I hold my hand up. ‘No.’

  There’s a stillness. Now I can hear Loose Women. I tell myself that’s what I’m doing, loosening myself from his hold.

  He puts his hand against the door. ‘You’re not going. You know what happened last time.’

  I turn to him, move right up to his face. ‘Adrian, I’m done. Living in the past, living with shadows, living with you.’

  He steps back, his face showing shock. Though I’m trembling, I step through the door with my bag held tight.

  ‘Karen!’

  I don’t turn around, so he can’t see the tears running down my face, escaping, as I am.

  I arrive in the centre of Manchester twenty-two minutes later. It doesn’t take long from Stockport station. There are a couple of hours before I have to be at the airport. Time to myself. This is new. Am I really doing this? I stop for a moment and take a seat on a bench. I rummage through my bag, lift out my travel wallet, checking everything is there; passport, health card, leftover euros from a previous holiday, e-tickets. I return it all and take out my small notebook and write in it ‘purchase more euros at airport.’ I suck on my bottom lip wondering what to do next. Do I have everything I need for the trip? With an idea in my mind, I head away from the concourse and out of the station. It’s a few minutes before I realise I’m whistling.

  The bookstore resides over three floors. Once I had large bookshelves adorned with books, each one like a rare jewel. I had to let a lot of them go when we redecorated the room that must not be mentioned.

  I locate the sign for the travel section and head to the second floor. In front of the shelf, I tilt my head sideways to read the titles. Top Ten Berlin. I allow myself to touch one and take it from the shelf. I flick through it, loving the smooth feel of the paper against my fingers. Top ten sights to see. Top ten cafes. Top ten museums, and a free pull-out map. Perfect. I place this horizontally on the shelf as I continue to peruse. Most of the books are similar, general guides, but then I notice another, City Lit, perfect gems of city writing it states and I pick it up intrigued.

  I sit on the floor in front of the bookcase, knees curled under myself and read. This is what I could do, write about my experiences, and keep a journal. I’ve written journals on and off over the years. I’ll enjoy it. I pick up the two books ready to head to the stationery section. My legs feel numb from being beneath my body weight and I shake them out.

  I’ll know my journal when I see it. I pick several up. One is stamped like an experienced traveller’s passport. I think not. Others have hearts, flowers, stripes, spots, but then I find it, the one that has to be mine. It’s a cream journal and on it is a white birdcage, the door is open and a bird stands outside the cage. The bird is yellow and orange, happy colours. There’s a matching pen. So much better than the tacky pen I traded in for twenty-four years of loyalty.

  Shoulders back and with a satisfied smile, I decide it’s a clothes store next. I'll dress in yellow and orange and be free.

  Chapter 3

  Amber

  I woke up this morning with the image of tapioca in my mind. Do you remember it? That awful gloopy stuff resembling tadpoles that they served you for school dinners. It was like glue in a bowl, but they believed adding a blob of jam to the middle would make a child forget that. I hated bloody tapioca. The dinner lady wouldn’t let me leave the table until I’d eaten the lot. Evil cow, I bet her husband made her swallow.

  Now I’m picturing sperm. That’s what Will wants, little tapioca swimming up my cervix and meeting my egg. It’s not going to happen. I reach for my mobile and order a new prescription of contraceptive pills. As I return my phone to my bag, I take out four days worth of tablets and make a show of walking to the bathroom bin and depositing the rest inside. Will, brushing his teeth, smiles at me. Toothpaste foams and drops from the side of his mouth like he’s rabid. He rinses
his mouth. He hasn’t brushed for his usual two minutes, but he can’t wait to speak.

  ‘Amber, that’s fantastic. We’re really going to try for a baby.’ His eyes gleam. As he speaks, spittle hits my face.

  ‘It might not happen straight away, you know?’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay. As long as we’re trying, I’m sure it won’t be long.’

  He leaves the bathroom and I sit on the toilet to wee. As I wipe myself, I see a familiar smudge of blood on the toilet paper. I once again picture the jam in the centre of the tapioca.

  As I race into the office at three minutes past nine, the other two secretaries are already sitting at their desks, conversing while their newly made drinks billow steam.

  ‘Coffee on your desk, Amber,’ says the twenty-two-year-old Support Secretary, Mirelle, so named as it meant worthy of admiration. Her parents couldn’t have chosen any better. She has long, golden blonde hair and a lightly tanned face that glows with vitality. A sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks would suggest the fairies themselves christened her with their dust.

  ‘Thanks. It’s needed this morning,’ I reply as I hang my coat on the back of the door. I then slump into my chair, throw my bag to the floor at the side of me and switch on my computer.

  We all work for a car hire company. It doesn’t sound very grand, but it’s well known and has its own repair division. Unfortunately, the economic crisis meant the recent downsizing was unavoidable. I’ve been here three months. At first I figured I had the tasks no-one else wanted to do, complicated but boring stuff like spreadsheets. Then people were given redundancy notices, and it became clear I had some of the workload the redundancies would leave behind. People's eyes would narrow in my direction. As time’s gone on, I sense Mirelle and Jo have accepted I’m around, and hopefully I can settle in a bit more. It’s not the best job in the world, but it’s not the worst either. I’ve had some of those being a temp.

  Mirelle and Jo shoot each other a look.

  ‘What?’ I ask as I search my face with my fingers for unknown horrors.

  Jo brushes her light brown curled hair behind her ear. ‘We want to know what happened Friday night.’

  I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. ‘What do you mean?’

  Mirelle smirks. ‘We mean… that as we were standing outside ready to move on to the next bar, wondering where you’d got to, we caught sight of you with a hunky individual. We saw him hand you a drink.’

  ‘Oh, is that all? He was just helping me get served.’

  ‘You walked away with a very triumphant grin.’

  ‘Yes, alone. Abandoned by you lot. I just fancied letting my hair down.’

  ‘I told you there was nothing to it,’ says Jo, going back to her work.

  ‘Boring.’ Mirelle sighs, leaning back in her chair, ‘for a second there I suspected we might have something in common.’

  I’m intrigued. What the hell could I have in common with the magnificent Mirelle? She walks into a bar and it’s like the Pied Piper has appeared, though to be fair, she does seem to get rats following her.

  ‘Stop winding her up, Mirelle.’

  I take a sip of my tea and appraise my desk, deciding what to do first.

  ‘So, nothing happened?’ Mirelle is not letting this go.

  I pause a second too long.

  ‘It did. I knew it.’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing. A drunken flirtation.’

  ‘That’s not good enough, I want info.’

  Jo stops typing. ‘You're married, aren't you?’

  Mirelle steeples her fingers. ‘She is. That’s why we have something in common.’

  ‘You’re married?’ I’m shocked as she doesn’t seem the sort to marry so young.

  ‘No stupid, I date married men. I cheat, like you.’

  ‘I’m not cheating.’

  ‘Hmm, very strenuous denial. I want deets, then I’ll decide.’

  The door opens and our Manager, Andi, walks in. ‘Everything okay out here, ladies?’

  ‘Yes,’ we echo.

  ‘Great, I’ll leave you to it then. As you can imagine things are a little hectic with the newly reduced workforce.’ The door bangs again on her way out.

  I type. Mirelle looks over her screen at me. ‘Don’t assume this conversation is over.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  She sighs and picks up a folder.

  The next hour plods on. We have our heads down, busy with our work. I hear Mirelle’s phone beep and watch as she checks it and smiles.‘Do you guys mind if I take an early lunch today and have an hour?’

  I know she wants me to ask what she’s doing and I’m so keen to get her talking again I can’t help myself. ‘Go on then, where are you going?’

  ‘Tell you what. I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine first.’

  ‘Fine.’ I sigh and put my pen down.

  ‘Did you get your leg over Friday?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘That’s your question done, now answer mine.’

  ‘She’s off to meet her lover,’ says Jo. ‘I don’t approve.’

  ‘Oh just because you’re loved up.’ Mirelle flicks her fringe.

  ‘Hardly, but still, I made my vows and I believe in sticking to them.’

  ‘Well I haven’t made any, so I’m not doing anything wrong.’

  Jo points at me. ‘No, but she has.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’ I hold up my hands.

  ‘Right, I’m sticking the kettle on and when I get back, I want to ask you both something.’ Jo walks out of the office and we look at each other.

  Mirelle raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, we’ve rattled her cage. Do you suppose she’s been cheated on?’

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Jo returns and sits on the edge of her desk. I don’t like it as I have to crane my neck to look at her.

  ‘Okay, so what do you agree is cheating?’

  ‘Bonking a married person?’ says Mirelle.

  I snort.

  ‘What about you, Amber?’

  ‘Erm, I accept a snog’s okay but anything more is a grey area.’

  ‘But only when you’re married right?’ says Mirelle.

  ‘Erm, no, if you’re in a relationship in general,’ I reply.

  ‘You’re shitting me,’ says Mirelle. ‘So if you’re not married and someone grabs your boob you’re committing adultery?’

  ‘Err…’

  ‘I believe penetration has to occur—whether it’s mouth, vag or bum,’ adds Mirelle.

  ‘Eww.’ I screw up my face.

  ‘Oh God, I’ll save that subject for another time. Anyway, Jo, what’s this about?’

  ‘Well, I believe that whenever you stop thinking about your other half and your thoughts are on someone else, you’ve crossed a line.’

  ‘What?’ Mirelle jumps up and grabs her coat. ‘You’re crazier than she is. I’m going to lunch.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I ask Jo.

  ‘Because that’s what I did in my first marriage.’

  Mirelle sits back in her seat. ‘Tell all.’

  Jo picks up her mug and runs her finger around the rim. ‘Well, there’s not a lot to tell. I met Charlie at work when I was still married to Rob. I spent so much time flirting and going for drinks with colleagues—including him—that my marriage fell apart. The irony is that I never actually did anything with Charlie, apart from being flirtatious, but I wasn’t present in my marriage and it floundered.’

  ‘But you didn’t cheat,’ says Mirelle.

  ‘Physically no, but I lost interest in anything Rob said. I didn’t realise I was Charlie this, Charlie that until Rob demanded to know what was going on. I told him we’d only been out for drinks after work, but it was enough for him. In his mind, I’d been unfaithful.’

  ‘Aren’t you married to Charlie now? Is it the same one?’ Mirelle is bouncing in her seat with the gossip.

  ‘Yes, we got toget
her after.’

  ‘Well, it must have been fate then.’

  ‘No. I think I settled as I didn’t want to have messed up my marriage for nothing, but I actually miss Rob, I always have.’

  We’re all quiet for a time.

  ‘Wow,’ I say.

  ‘So all I’m saying is consider what you’re doing.’ She turns to us both. ‘I’m no innocent, but I have the scars to show for it.’

  ‘It’s too late for me,’ says Mirelle and heads out of the door.

  Jo shakes her head and turns to me. ‘What about you?’ she says.

  ‘I've done nothing wrong. There’s nothing for me to consider.’

  Jo nods and turns back to her screen.

  My eyes drift toward my handbag. My phone says otherwise.

  When Mirelle returns from lunch, Jo is out of the office taking minutes. ‘Okay, fess up then, what went off Friday?’

  ‘You’re not going to leave this are you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I had a drunken snog.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’

  ‘Really? Nothing else?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Amber.’

  I reach down for my bag. ‘I got a text Saturday. Trouble is… I was so drunk Friday night I’m not entirely sure what I did.’

  Mirelle laughs and claps her hands. ‘Oh I love it, I knew you would be fun the moment I saw you.’

  Fun? Me? I feel like I lost that a while ago. I smile. It feels good that someone a few years younger than me thinks I might be fun.

  ‘So what does the text say? Show me.’

  I put it on screen and pass it to her. ‘There’s no clue what I got up to, is there?’

  She reads the screen aloud. ‘Had fun, but next time Amber it’s green for go’.

  ‘See I don’t know what he’s talking about. All I remember is a drunken snog and getting a cab home.’

  Distracted by an incoming email message, I don’t realise what Mirelle’s been up to until she hands my phone back and I see a message beneath the one I received:

  I prefer red for danger myself.

  I glare at her. ‘Mirelle, what have you done? I had no intention of replying.’