Page 7 of Be More Octopus

'Hope, I suppose. Hope that she would turn back into the woman I fell in love with. I got occasional glimpses of that woman but fewer over the years. And there was you. If I'd left, she would have played up to the solicitors and judges and made me out to be too evil to be allowed anything to do with you. We both know how well she could lie. I wouldn't have stood a chance.'

'But once I'd left home …. '

'After 25 years, it didn't seem so bad. I guess I became institutionalised in a way. Being treated like a major annoyance was just the norm. I'd forgotten what a proper relationship should be like. I had no friends left. I'd lost my confidence. When she died, it was like the sun coming out after a storm. I saw our marriage for what it was for the first time. I realised she was never the woman I fell in love with. It had all been an act to lure me in.'

'You seem to have your confidence back now, though.'

'I'm enjoying making up for lost time,' he grinned, then he seemed guilty at being happy. 'I'm sorry about Connor. But better you found out before you got married. There's someone out there who'll treat you properly.' He pulled Em into a big hug, kissing her on the forehead. 'Don't settle for second best like I did.'

The smoke alarm interrupted them.

'Oh bloody hell,' he laughed, pulling the frying pan off the heat and grabbing a tea towel to waft the smoke away. 'Perhaps, your mother was right. I am an incompetent fool!'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Em spent Monday evening scrolling through a list of available rooms. Too expensive, in the wrong area, no broadband, unfurnished, smoking household. It was so depressing. How did anyone with a normal job live independently in Birmingham?

Work had been dire today too. Her manager, Cheryl, was hard to deal with at the best of times, but what could you expect from someone who kept a well-thumbed copy of 'Leadership Tips from Atilla the Hun' on her desk? Today she'd been particularly shitty, hauling Em into her office to complain about the number of calls Em was dealing with, or rather, not dealing with. 'I don't care if Mrs Smith's cat is missing. Once she paid for her insurance renewal, you should have got her off the phone.'

'She was upset. She had no one else to talk to.'

'This isn't the Samaritans. You should be getting through 33.5 calls a day on average. Do you know what your average was last week, Emily?'

Em shook her head.

'32.8. That's not even close.'

0.7 calls below target felt close enough to Em. What even was 0.7 of a call? 'If I cut them off, you complain that my customer satisfaction ratings aren't high enough.'

'Other people manage to hit their targets without compromising their ratings. Toby exceeds his targets every week.' Cheryl's expression became dreamy as she pointed to Toby's stats on the whiteboard.

Bloody Toby. Cheryl had the hots for him even though she was married and he was at least 20 years younger than her. And Toby was more than happy to flirt enthusiastically with Cheryl to keep her sweet. Of course his call stats were terrific. God help any customer who got through to him. He got rid of them as quickly as possible by giving them whatever duff information popped into his head. Then the poor souls phoned back days or weeks later, angrily complaining that their issue hadn't been resolved, which meant everyone else had to spend valuable time placating them.

How did I end up here? Em lay back on her bed and shut her eyes. She thought about what she and Lucy had wanted their futures to look like when they were at school. She remembered summer lunchtimes, lying in the sunshine on the school playing field, watching the clouds float by in a blue sky as they fantasised about what they'd be doing in 10 or 20 years' time.

Lucy had visualised a life full of fast cars, impossibly handsome men, and designer boutique shopping funded by running her own business. And she'd achieved all her objectives.

Em's dreams were simpler. She was going to be a professional artist living in London in one of those gorgeous mews properties she used to see in films. Ideally, it would have a studio attached, and she'd have a caring boyfriend who made her laugh and possibly a cat or two to keep her company while she was painting. But Em hadn't ticked off a single item on her list.

Was it because she didn't really want that? No, that life still sounded perfect to her. But she'd stupidly allowed herself to be derailed by other people's wants and needs. So what was she going to do about it?

Time to come up with a plan. Sticking with the same job wouldn't move her forward at all.

Given that she was struggling to find anywhere to live in Birmingham, she ought to look for a job somewhere else. London would be even more expensive, so it was too soon for that part of the dream. And she needed to start painting again before she could consider charging for her work, so that would have to wait too. Em needed something not too challenging that gave her time to work on her art, plus somewhere to live while she saved up for her own place.

Holiday rep, perhaps? But it was May, so they'd all be sorted now. She scrolled through various job websites for ideas. Cabin crew? You could see the world, but the application was for spring the following year. She'd be serving at least 20 years in prison for murdering Cheryl if she didn't change jobs before then.

She searched for 'Live-in jobs'. Most of the links were not live-in at all or only live-in for part of the week. Then one of the websites caught her attention. The Lady. Em's mother always kept a copy of The Lady magazine on the coffee table, thinking it gave her an air of sophistication on the rare occasions they had visitors. Em remembered it had a section full of jobs working for the well-to-do. That might be an option. She clicked through to their vacancy section. This was more like it.

She scrolled past anything that required a couple.

Cooking was out too - Em was a disaster in the kitchen. Her report from her Year 9 Food Teacher said it all: 'I suggest Emily pursues a career that enables her to afford to live on Marks & Spencer ready meals.'

Gardening was a non-starter - she couldn't tell a pansy from a petunia.

Quite a few middle-aged or elderly gentlemen were looking for someone to be a companion. Em wasn't sure whether that was code for something else, so she ignored those.

But one vacancy that caught her eye.