Mr Clarkson had smashed his own toilet on purpose because it had happened several times before. No one could break toilets quite like Mr Clarkson, who had had two new ones in the last year alone. She was aware that he knew that she knew he’d smashed up his own toilet. She couldn’t understand why he insisted on continuing this charade. Perhaps it gave him something to do.
‘Is that all, Mr Clarkson?’ she asked.
‘You’ll be hearing from my solicitor,’ he barked, then kicked one of the grey plastic waiting-room chairs against the wall. He picked it up by the back rest as if he was going to throw it at the security screens, but snorted and let it go. It tumbled across the floor and came to rest under Jo’s window. When he left the office Jo, and the queue of people waiting to see her, breathed a sigh of relief.
Today can’t get any worse , she thought.
Then the phone rang.
‘Cresta Community Housing Association,’ said Jo, robotically.
‘It’s me,’ said a voice she recognised as Sean’s. ‘You ought to know that I’ve sort of moved out.’
Jo couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could somebody ‘sort of move out? When she’d gone to work that morning she’d been cohabiting with her boyfriend and now he was telling her that some time during the day he had taken it upon himself to de-habit or un-habit, or whatever the word was for a boyfriend moving his stuff out without telling his significant other. What was worse was that he hadn’t even cleared his throat before he made the announcement. He’d just said it.
‘Did you hear me?’ asked Sean, when Jo didn’t reply. ‘I said I’ve moved out.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘I mean exactly what I’ve said. I’ve moved my things out of the house.’
‘You’re leaving me?’
‘Things aren’t working between us, are they? We need to take time out from the relationship to find out what we really want from life, don’t you think? Surely you must see that.’
Jo knew that Sean was trying to persuade her to agree that their relationship was over. But she didn’t want it to be over.
‘I don’t see it like that,’ she countered. ‘Not at all. I can’t believe that after all the time we’ve been together you’ve got so little respect for me that you’re telling me our relationship is finished over the phone . . . when you’ve already moved your stuff out. ’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘This is so typical of you.’
‘I didn’t want a scene.’
‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ she snapped. ‘You’d like everything to be clean and clinical. Well, you can’t just slip out of my life like that. You can’t do it to me!’
‘It might not be permanent. I just think we need to get our heads round what’s going on between us. We need to get some perspective because if we don’t we’re dead in the water.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Davey’s going to put me up.’
‘I hope the two of you will be very happy together.’
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ said Sean. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘If it’s for the best,’ she said, ‘then why am I so upset and why are you so relieved?’
Sean remained silent.
‘Don’t move out,’ said Jo, desperately, as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Please don’t. I know things haven’t been very good for a while and it’s all my fault, but I promise you I’ll change. I really will. But don’t move out! Not even for a night!’ She was clutching at straws now. ‘You’ll hate it at Davey’s. He’s never got any food in and his place is a pig-sty. Stay with me and we’ll work everything out, okay?’
‘No,’ said Sean. ‘It’s not okay. I’ll speak to you in a few weeks.’
And then he put down the phone.
Three
Jo had spent the last two days crying and was now scrolling through the numbers in her mobile phone’s address book, looking for a friend in whom she might confide. Forty-seven numbers were stored on the memory.
‘Is that all, Mr Clarkson?’ she asked.
‘You’ll be hearing from my solicitor,’ he barked, then kicked one of the grey plastic waiting-room chairs against the wall. He picked it up by the back rest as if he was going to throw it at the security screens, but snorted and let it go. It tumbled across the floor and came to rest under Jo’s window. When he left the office Jo, and the queue of people waiting to see her, breathed a sigh of relief.
Today can’t get any worse , she thought.
Then the phone rang.
‘Cresta Community Housing Association,’ said Jo, robotically.
‘It’s me,’ said a voice she recognised as Sean’s. ‘You ought to know that I’ve sort of moved out.’
Jo couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could somebody ‘sort of move out? When she’d gone to work that morning she’d been cohabiting with her boyfriend and now he was telling her that some time during the day he had taken it upon himself to de-habit or un-habit, or whatever the word was for a boyfriend moving his stuff out without telling his significant other. What was worse was that he hadn’t even cleared his throat before he made the announcement. He’d just said it.
‘Did you hear me?’ asked Sean, when Jo didn’t reply. ‘I said I’ve moved out.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘I mean exactly what I’ve said. I’ve moved my things out of the house.’
‘You’re leaving me?’
‘Things aren’t working between us, are they? We need to take time out from the relationship to find out what we really want from life, don’t you think? Surely you must see that.’
Jo knew that Sean was trying to persuade her to agree that their relationship was over. But she didn’t want it to be over.
‘I don’t see it like that,’ she countered. ‘Not at all. I can’t believe that after all the time we’ve been together you’ve got so little respect for me that you’re telling me our relationship is finished over the phone . . . when you’ve already moved your stuff out. ’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘This is so typical of you.’
‘I didn’t want a scene.’
‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ she snapped. ‘You’d like everything to be clean and clinical. Well, you can’t just slip out of my life like that. You can’t do it to me!’
‘It might not be permanent. I just think we need to get our heads round what’s going on between us. We need to get some perspective because if we don’t we’re dead in the water.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Davey’s going to put me up.’
‘I hope the two of you will be very happy together.’
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ said Sean. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘If it’s for the best,’ she said, ‘then why am I so upset and why are you so relieved?’
Sean remained silent.
‘Don’t move out,’ said Jo, desperately, as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Please don’t. I know things haven’t been very good for a while and it’s all my fault, but I promise you I’ll change. I really will. But don’t move out! Not even for a night!’ She was clutching at straws now. ‘You’ll hate it at Davey’s. He’s never got any food in and his place is a pig-sty. Stay with me and we’ll work everything out, okay?’
‘No,’ said Sean. ‘It’s not okay. I’ll speak to you in a few weeks.’
And then he put down the phone.
Three
Jo had spent the last two days crying and was now scrolling through the numbers in her mobile phone’s address book, looking for a friend in whom she might confide. Forty-seven numbers were stored on the memory.
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