up a husband so she ends up looking like the loser?
My God, but I’m pathetic sometimes.
I go into the kitchen, pull open the fridge and grab the bottle of posh champagne that Andy and I liberated from an after-show party. It’s good stuff that we’ve been saving for a special occasion.
Tonight feels special enough.
Ten
I pay for my binge with the type of headache that makes me consider spending the morning getting my affairs in order, in case I don’t see out the day. On the bus ride into work I shade my eyes from low winter sun.
‘Christ you look rough,’ says Stage Door Paul.
Angela is next in line to extend my torment. ‘Bloody hell,’ she says. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Fuck me, you must have had a good night,’ says Bryn, the new boy on the counter, who’s proved to be a tad too cocky for my liking. Only two weeks earlier, he sat before me tongue-tied and simpering as I interviewed him for the job.
I take off my coat, grab my bag and head to the loo.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
My colleagues spoke nothing but the truth. I left home hoping for the best and now it’s clear I only made up half of my face and forgot to do anything with my hair.
The door to the ladies opens and Sharon takes one look before laughing. ‘Crikey, Lisa, you don’t do things by half, do you?’
I want to hold a grudge, but in the painful light of day and with barely enough functioning brain cells to regulate breathing, I let resentment go and laugh too.
‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ I say when I get my breath back. ‘I was being a twat. I’d had a hellish day and I suppose I needed someone to blame.’
‘We all have those sorts of days.’
‘So we’re still friends?’
‘Of course.’
She studies my face. ‘Do you want to borrow some slap?’
‘I’ll take anything you’ve got,’ I say and set about making myself look at least part way human.
‘Andy was mortified, you know.’
‘Why?’ I say.
‘Well, he was the one who started it all.’
‘It’ll do him good to stew. I wish he’d think before shooting his mouth off.’ I struggle to rescue a stray eyelash. ‘I might forgive, but I don’t forget.’
‘He’s scared you won’t help him with the audition.’
‘I ought to refuse.’
‘But you won’t?’
‘Of course not. I’ve already checked the rota to make sure I can take a couple of days off to go with him. Are you OK to cover for me on Thursday and Friday? I’ll do the weekly report on Saturday.’
‘Of course. You don’t need to ask.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Love the new haircut by the way.’
‘Thanks, I thought it was about time I grew up, I am a mother now after all.’
I allow myself a second glance in the mirror. It isn’t quite the car crash of earlier. Sharon obviously spends a good deal more money on make-up than me.
‘You must tell me where you get this,’ I say.
‘How about we go late night shopping together next Thursday?’
‘Deal.’ I say. ‘Now, let’s go face our public. Is Brian in yet?’
‘I think he’s been called away to a meeting at head office. Probably for the best if Audrey is coming in today.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
I might look less like the wreck of the Hesperus, but I’m in no mood to face Audrey over coffee and a sticky bun. My mobile rings.
It’s Bryn. ‘There’s someone at the counter to see you. She says you’re expecting her.’
‘It’s her,’ I tell Sharon. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘You’ll be fine, what’s the worst she can do?’
‘Don’t start me off,’ I say and walk like a woman condemned to death.
Audrey spends almost two hours telling me what a thoroughly crap husband Brian has turned out to be. I want to ask her about some of the things he told me, but how exactly do you casually ask about a miscarriage over a double cappuccino and a blueberry muffin? She mood swings from bitter Audrey to sad, lonely co-dependent Audrey and then to
My God, but I’m pathetic sometimes.
I go into the kitchen, pull open the fridge and grab the bottle of posh champagne that Andy and I liberated from an after-show party. It’s good stuff that we’ve been saving for a special occasion.
Tonight feels special enough.
Ten
I pay for my binge with the type of headache that makes me consider spending the morning getting my affairs in order, in case I don’t see out the day. On the bus ride into work I shade my eyes from low winter sun.
‘Christ you look rough,’ says Stage Door Paul.
Angela is next in line to extend my torment. ‘Bloody hell,’ she says. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Fuck me, you must have had a good night,’ says Bryn, the new boy on the counter, who’s proved to be a tad too cocky for my liking. Only two weeks earlier, he sat before me tongue-tied and simpering as I interviewed him for the job.
I take off my coat, grab my bag and head to the loo.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
My colleagues spoke nothing but the truth. I left home hoping for the best and now it’s clear I only made up half of my face and forgot to do anything with my hair.
The door to the ladies opens and Sharon takes one look before laughing. ‘Crikey, Lisa, you don’t do things by half, do you?’
I want to hold a grudge, but in the painful light of day and with barely enough functioning brain cells to regulate breathing, I let resentment go and laugh too.
‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ I say when I get my breath back. ‘I was being a twat. I’d had a hellish day and I suppose I needed someone to blame.’
‘We all have those sorts of days.’
‘So we’re still friends?’
‘Of course.’
She studies my face. ‘Do you want to borrow some slap?’
‘I’ll take anything you’ve got,’ I say and set about making myself look at least part way human.
‘Andy was mortified, you know.’
‘Why?’ I say.
‘Well, he was the one who started it all.’
‘It’ll do him good to stew. I wish he’d think before shooting his mouth off.’ I struggle to rescue a stray eyelash. ‘I might forgive, but I don’t forget.’
‘He’s scared you won’t help him with the audition.’
‘I ought to refuse.’
‘But you won’t?’
‘Of course not. I’ve already checked the rota to make sure I can take a couple of days off to go with him. Are you OK to cover for me on Thursday and Friday? I’ll do the weekly report on Saturday.’
‘Of course. You don’t need to ask.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. Love the new haircut by the way.’
‘Thanks, I thought it was about time I grew up, I am a mother now after all.’
I allow myself a second glance in the mirror. It isn’t quite the car crash of earlier. Sharon obviously spends a good deal more money on make-up than me.
‘You must tell me where you get this,’ I say.
‘How about we go late night shopping together next Thursday?’
‘Deal.’ I say. ‘Now, let’s go face our public. Is Brian in yet?’
‘I think he’s been called away to a meeting at head office. Probably for the best if Audrey is coming in today.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
I might look less like the wreck of the Hesperus, but I’m in no mood to face Audrey over coffee and a sticky bun. My mobile rings.
It’s Bryn. ‘There’s someone at the counter to see you. She says you’re expecting her.’
‘It’s her,’ I tell Sharon. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘You’ll be fine, what’s the worst she can do?’
‘Don’t start me off,’ I say and walk like a woman condemned to death.
Audrey spends almost two hours telling me what a thoroughly crap husband Brian has turned out to be. I want to ask her about some of the things he told me, but how exactly do you casually ask about a miscarriage over a double cappuccino and a blueberry muffin? She mood swings from bitter Audrey to sad, lonely co-dependent Audrey and then to
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