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‘That wasn’t what I was going to ask, actually. Your dad rang the travel company to check whether there was still space on the flight and at the resort, and there is, so we wondered if you’d like to come with us? Our treat. We think you could use a break and some sun. What do you think?’
I’m just about to come out with the usual excuses about why I can’t go when I realise that Josh’s objections to air travel don’t matter any more. I’m a free agent and my carbon footprint, or whatever it is, has nothing to do with him. There’s just one thing standing in the way, but I might be able to do something about that.
‘Oh my God, Mum, I’d love to! I just have to square it with work.’
‘Ah, we didn’t think of that.’ Her face falls a little. ‘Your dad was so hopeful that you’d say yes this time that he’s already got the reservations on hold. They only hold them for twenty-four hours though, and your practice doesn’t reopen until the second of January, does it? Well, we’ll just have to hope there’s still availability then.’
‘I might be able to get an answer more quickly than that. Leave it with me.’
I fish out my phone and dash off a quick WhatsApp message to Tracey, my practice manager. She’s bound to be checking her messages even though we’re closed, and she and I have always got on well, so I’m sure she won’t mind hearing from me.
Hi Tracey, sorry to bother you on your holidays. Had a bit of boyfriend trouble (long story) and my parents have invited me to go to Antigua with them in Feb. Any chance of time off? Sorry it’s short notice. Charley x
I hit ‘send’, and I see two blue ticks. She’s on her phone. Great.
I can see that she’s typing a message, and I realise I’m nervous. I’d really like to go on this holiday. The only breaks I’ve had in the last few years have been rain-sodden camping trips in various parts of the UK with Josh, so a bit of winter sun would be a real treat. The difficulty is that we have patients booked in for February already, so it creates a bit of administrative hassle for Tracey. At last the reply comes through.
Hi Charley. No problem – was checking work stuff anyway as husband and kids glued to PS4 game. Sorry to hear about boyfriend. Do you need to borrow instruments to hurt him with? Re: Holiday. OMG, of course you must go!!! Don’t worry about us, I’ll arrange cover once back in the office. Love Tracey x
I show Mum the answer, and we’re doing a little victory dance round the kitchen together as Dad comes through the front door.
‘I take it you’re coming then?’ he asks. ‘Great stuff. They said they’d try to get us adjacent rooms, so we don’t have to spend hours traipsing across the resort looking for each other.’
‘Thanks so much, Dad.’ I give him a hug and he squeezes me tightly in return. ‘My pleasure, love. It’s worth it just to see you smile again.’
As I’m getting ready for bed, I realise that there are a couple of things I need to sort out before I can go anywhere. I’m going to need a suitcase for starters. I’m also going to need a swimsuit. I bash out a WhatsApp to Mads.
M&D have invited me to Antigua in Feb. Work says I can go :-D :-D. Where’s a good place to buy a swimsuit? Cx
The reply is back in moments.
Brilliant! Just what you need. Not prepared to tell you best place for swimsuit. You will buy something ugly, one-piece, and probably black. You need supervision. Mx
Shit. She’s a mind-reader. A black one-piece was exactly what I had in mind.
6
I’ve done it. I’ve survived the Christmas break, although New Year’s Eve was a little tricky. As I didn’t have any other invitations, I agreed to help Mum with the party she and Dad put on every year for a few of the neighbours. I guess it’s what would have been called a ‘cocktail party’ years ago. The guests pitched up at around eight o’clock and I spent the evening passing round drinks and the nibbles that Mum and I had prepared during the day. Dad put the TV on for the countdown to midnight, poured champagne to toast the new year in and then, after a couple of drunken renditions of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, we pushed them out into the dark to stagger back to their own houses. In the past I’ve often wondered how they make it home, given how some of them put the booze away, but none of them seem to have fallen in a ditch yet.
I have to say I’m not wild about the neighbours. Frank and Marion, who have lived in ‘Fairviews’ for as long as anyone can remember, are lovely, but I find most of the rest of them impossibly smug and self-satisfied. George, from ‘Shooter’s Lodge’, is the worst. I don’t think there is an ‘ism’ that he hasn’t embraced. He’s racist, sexist and vocally homophobic. His topic of choice this time was ‘all these damned migrants trying to cross the Channel so they can ponce off our benefits system. It’s not our fault their countries have gone to the dogs. Send them all back, that’s what I say. I blame the French. They don’t want them so they just encourage them to come here.’
His equally awful wife, Jean, egged him on with remarks like ‘George feels very strongly about…’ and ‘George has written to theDaily Mailabout…’ If she noticed that he openly ogled my chest every time I offered him a drink or a snack, she chose to ignore it. I, on the other hand, wanted to slap him. They might be 34C, George, but they’re not for you.
Anyway, it’s over, and I’m on my way to work. I’ve been looking forward to coming back and regaining some sense of normality after the events of the last week but, as I park in my usual spot in the car park, I feel rather discombobulated. Everything looks the same, and yet everything in my life is completely different from when I was last here. I remember wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as we locked up at lunchtime on Christmas Eve. I was looking forward to getting home and wrapping up the presents I’d bought for Josh and my family while listening to some Christmas songs on the radio, and maybe having a glass of wine or two. Everything was broadly OK in the world, and I was looking forward to spending a few days with my boyfriend and our families. Now, just a week later, all of that is gone.
What am I supposed to say when people ask me how my Christmas was? I’m not worried about the patients – they’re not really interested and only ask because it’s a way of making conversation. I’ll tell them it was fine, as that’s the expected response. But I’ll have to tell my work colleagues some of the truth, even if I gloss over the worst bits. I also don’t want to go over the story countless times with them one by one, as I really don’t think I have the strength for that. I could put a sign up in the kitchen I suppose: ‘Charley and her boyfriend split on Christmas Day. He was seeing someone else. She’s coping as best she can. Be gentle with her please’, but that seems a bit clinical.
As I walk through the door, I spot Tracey waiting for me. She calls me straight into her office.
‘Happy New Year and welcome back, Charley. How are you?’
‘Honestly, Tracey? I’ve been better, but I think I’m over the worst.’
This isn’t strictly true. I’m still prone to bursting into floods of tears. Usually it’s either when I’m alone in my room and the reality that Josh and I are no more comes crashing into the forefront of my mind, or when I allow myself to imagine what he and Scarlett are doing at that moment. But it can also be triggered by completely random things, like a particular song on the radio that reminds me of him. Have you ever noticed how many songs are about relationships and break-ups? I hadn’t, until Josh and I split. Now, every song seems to be about broken hearts. I’ve had to install a box of tissues in the car in case of random crying fits. I reckon I’ll be OK at work though; we have the radio on in the background to help patients relax, but I don’t really hear it as I have to be completely focused on what I’m doing.
Tracey is looking at me with concern. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened, or would you rather not?’
I fill her in on the broad brushstrokes. A couple of tears escape and run down my cheeks, but I do feel more in control, being in this environment. She hands me some tissues to wipe them away. When I explain my anxiety about having to repeat the story over and over again to everyone at the practice, she leans forwards.
