Knowing I had a getaway gave me the strength I needed to pull myself together and speak without my voice breaking.
I set off to walk past. ‘My cab is here. I should go,’ I replied as coolly as I could manage.
‘Off out, are you?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, I’m meeting somebody,’ I lied, somewhat surprised at his interest.
‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘Well, er, stay safe.’ Stay safe? Infuriatingly, she, seemingly secure in her bubble of gorgeousness, didn’t seem at all bothered by the exchange as she stood waiting patiently at the door.
‘I’ll manage. Bye, Daniel and Keeley, is it?’ I knew it was Kelly – I was just feeling very, very bitchy. Without waiting for a reply, I hopped in the cab.
‘Where to, love?’ the chirpy driver asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied sullenly. ‘Just anywhere away from this village.’ I sat back and stared out of the window. 'Somewhere with a chip shop, perhaps?'
Twenty minutes later I sat, looking somewhat overdressed, in a fish and chip shop in Knaresborough, picking at the batter on my fish and wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. An outsider looking in may have even mistaken me for a life-sized bottle of ketchup.
I was heading for divorce, about to lose my home, and my business had all but fallen down the pan. Yet there I was, parading around trying to make someone jealous who didn’t want me anyway, and actually, didn’t even bloody deserve me. I’m an idiot. Jen was right: my life wasn’t in the village. I didn’t have a bloody life any more. I threw my half-eaten food in the bin and called a cab. Maybe it was time to leave Tinbury after all.
When I got home, my first thought was the big padded envelope on the side. Giving him his divorce would be just the first step in the moving-on-and-focusing-on-Hannah phase. I grabbed it from the pile, which had grown somewhat since I’d last checked. Sitting down, I tore open the envelope and slid out the glossy pack. It wasn’t divorce papers. The sapphire and turquoise cover was broken by the pointy white hull of a grand-looking ship. The information pack. I opened it up; it was full of information about working in an on-board spa. A typical working day, places you’d visit and testimonials – it was all as Cathy described.
As I flicked through the enticing pages, thoughts of divorce papers dissolved as I contemplated applying. Could I really do it? I wasn’t sure whether it was a perfect idea or a ridiculous one. I could at least apply, I reasoned. I fired up my laptop and filled in the online application. Screw it – I’m doing it!
***
My solicitor had said the divorce shouldn’t be too tricky. Other than the house, most of our assets were already his and hers. We’d agreed that I would keep the house and Daniel had the good grace to agree that the mortgage repayments he’d made over the years, essentially covered his ‘rent’ for living there at the time and, as such, he was happy to decline a buyout, which was just as well since I couldn’t afford one. There was little equity in the property anyway as we’d remortgaged it a few years back to pay for an expansion at Daniel’s shop, so I could have argued he’d already taken his share of the equity had I have needed to.
It was a bizarre feeling, to talk about our marriage like some kind of business deal. There was no emotion in the process from Daniel’s nor the solicitor’s point of view, which in some way helped me with my composure. Every now and then, though, an item would be dryly mentioned, like his car – a sporty Audi A5 that of course he would keep. But it wasn’t just a car was it? It was the car in which we’d travelled together, the car in which we’d kissed and on a few occasions, gone a little bit further. It hurt to think of it as just a car, or just a house or just a running machine when they were all so much more. The meeting confirmed once more that I had to leave the village – it was suffocating and I needed some time away.
I returned home bone-tired and scooped up the mail on the way in. It was mostly bills of course, but one plain envelope stood out. My fingers trembled as I tore it open. It was a feeling not too dissimilar to the one I had when I’d finally opened my initial divorce papers just a few weeks before. Once I’d yanked the thick cream paper from the envelope, I scanned it quickly for the news I’d been waiting for.
We are pleased to offer you the job of on-board beauty therapist.
I felt lightness in my chest and had to control my breathing, taking deep breaths in and out. Then I read the paragraph again but slowly that time.
We are pleased to offer you the job of on-board beauty therapist. There will be a compulsory six-week training course to attend prior to your embarkation. Please see the attached for details.
My head spun. Everything I’d been through over the past few months cycled around: Daniel, my salon, my house, and then this – the first piece of good news I’d had since I could remember. I sniffed, but it wasn’t enough. Frustration, sadness, and happiness burst out at once and I found myself heaving tears from the pit of my stomach.
I’d had many ups and downs, with Jen driving me to the interview in Leeds herself because she was sure I’d chicken out. I almost did as I sat there wedged into my smart Next dress. I’d eyed up the competition nervously, all of whom appeared younger and more confident than me. Two candidates went in before me and then it was my turn. Standing up to walk in, I tugged at my dress. It felt somewhat shorter than it did when Jen had coaxed me into it, and far too tight around the bust. Jen said it had looked fine; it didn’t seem fine.
‘Mrs Davis, take a seat.’ A woman dressed in a smart grey suit smiled politely and gestured to a chair positioned in front of three other chairs where another woman and a man were sat, wearing blank expressions. I swallowed hard. I’d never been interviewed by a panel before. I sat down and clasped my hands together on my lap to avoid: a) visible trembling and b) flapping them about like a crazy person.
The questions were straightforward enough: ‘talk us through your salon experience,’ ‘where did you qualify?’ and so on until the final question, which stumped me. ‘How do you think you’ll cope being away from home for nine months?’ I flipped through my brain like a teenager in the Eighties going through a Filofax searching for her crush’s number. I came up with two options:
• Confess all, let these people know I was cast aside like garbage, that I’d lost everything and was clinging to this job opportunity in a last-ditch attempt to regain some sanity and dignity.
• Give a normal-person answer.
‘I admit it will be tricky at times but I’m sure working hard and enjoying what the ship has to offer will keep me occupied. Running my own business often meant I didn’t see family and friends much but having the clients to talk to helped ensure I never really felt it. I’ve read in the literature that Wi-Fi is available to employees so email and video chat would be an option,’ I replied politely and added a low-key smile at the end, in the hope it came across that being away would be just a small matter to me.
They seemed pretty satisfied with my answer and asked if I had any further questions before telling me they’d be in touch. That was that. After all the build-up, being dragged around shops in York by Jen, and researching the company and role, the interview was over. I let my shoulders sag when I closed the door behind me.
It seemed such a distant memory as I sat there holding the acceptance letter. I’d done it! I allowed myself a smile, whilst simultaneously the last of my tears escaped and slowly crawled down my
