judge a person by the company they keep – so what did this say about Tim and Suzie? And yet part of her felt unnerved, undermined and small. Embarrassed too – because a sappy sorry was all she’d managed and it really was the wrong word to use when what she’d meant by it was pardon. Her mind twisted away from the reality of the situation – that Suzie’s unpleasant ownership of Tim probably came just from insecurity. Vita didn’t stop to think how she obviously loomed pretty large for Suzie too. It didn’t cross her mind that Tim didn’t know about the call and that Suzie had deleted it from the list, slipped the phone into her bag and smuggled it back into his jacket a little while later.
*
When her hands had stopped shaking and her voice didn’t sound too brittle, Vita phoned Candy, relating what had happened in such a tumble that for a while Candy wasn’t sure who said what and whose phone was whose. But once Vita was all talked out and was ready to listen, Candy said something that made her think.
‘Where’s the triumph in leaving you for someone like that?’ she said to Vita. ‘Do you see? This should make you feel good. The triumph would be if he’d progressed from you to someone superior. By that I mean more gorgeous – not that that’s possible, darling – someone brighter, more successful. Has he? How does this woman measure up to you, Vita? Think about it. She doesn’t! She’s not the new you. She doesn’t even come close. If she’s the best that man can get – then his barre is set pretty damn low.’
Vita actually took notes, scribbling frantically on the back of an envelope no doubt to transfer some of Candy’s pithiness to Post-its later.
‘And don’t boost his ego by mentioning it to him,’ Candy said. ‘Bloody men – they do love being between two women. Whether they’re being fought over – or fucked.’
‘Candy!’
‘It’s the most clichéd male fantasy, honey,’ Candy said before vaulting onto her high horse. ‘I absolutely guarantee you that the man you meet next will be an improvement on Tim. Do you know why?’ She didn’t wait for Vita to answer. ‘Because you learned from your heartache, while he didn’t. He ignored it. He hasn’t dealt with any issues. The natural scheme of things in this universe of ours dictates that until he does, his life will be flatter, poorer and much worse than it was. Karma, honey. It’s the law of karma.’
Vita did love Candy’s moral indignation, her outrage, her passion – they were her trademark, they were contagious.
‘There are character traits you’ll no longer tolerate, basic moral coda on which you’ll insist,’ Candy was saying. ‘I know Michelle’s said the same and it’s true. You are destined for a much better relationship because all you wanted and worked for was a good relationship in the first place. Meanwhile, look at what shit-for-brains has gone and done for himself – look what he’s settled for.’
My lovely sweary friend, Vita thought. Michelle – sensitive and wise. Candy – a firecracker of identical unwavering support, but expressed at top volume with a potty mouth.
‘I know,’ said Vita, ‘I do really know. I promise you.’
‘Then you need to start acting like it, cupcake,’ Candy said. ‘Which means what he does and who he’s with should hardly dent your thoughts. Certainly, it shouldn’t take up an entire phone call and all my choicest fulminations at – blimey – at almost midnight.’
‘OK.’
‘Vita, you started to take as the norm the way he treated you, the way he behaved. You won’t know what’s hit you when you have the good relationship – the normal relationship – that’s so coming to you.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And I’m going to bloody love every moment of saying told-you-so.’
Rick
It was to be an early start on the first Thursday in July – but not that early. On the morning of the trade show, Vita was woken not by the alarm clock – when she reached for it, she saw to her annoyance that there was still half an hour to go – but by a peculiar noise. Very peculiar. Dull but unmistakable thuds, no rhythm, no pattern, just every now and then thud thud thud. Accompanying this was sporadic screeching. Part car, part angry child, part something last heard on a David Attenborough wildlife programme. Both noises kept her paralysed in bed for a while. What the hell was that? And that? Who’s out there? What on earth is going on? Gingerly, she crept to the window, stooping low and peeking out as if expecting to confront some hideous monster direct from Roald Dahl.
Even at that early hour, a fine day was in the making; wisps of coral-coloured clouds were already filtering off a pale blue sky like dreams drifting away in one’s reverie. There was no one out there. The garden was still. Vita straightened a little, craned her neck, tried to see over the tangle of Mr Brewster’s hedge into his garden. Thud. Where was it coming from? There it was again. This time, she looked down to see a small, unripe pear fall to the ground. Then the screeching again, a dreadful noise, irate and threatening. Then silence. She looked up and, staring back at her from the branches of her pear tree, was a most peculiar bird with virulent green plumage. Vita thought, I must be dreaming, you don’t get parrots in Hertfordshire. But high up in the pear tree were two – wait! Three! Four! All of them clashing with the peaceful morning, clashing with the subtle hues of the foliage and the vibrant green of the young pears, clashing with what should be a delicate dawn chorus at this hour, clashing with all that was meant to be natural and normal to a small back garden in the home counties.
Had they seen her? If they had, they didn’t care. If they had, they’d have seen her start to grin, fascinated to see them peck at the unripe pears whilst posturing to each other like rock stars mid-act; looking just as exotic and incongruous as if a band had been perched in the branches. They worked at the pears quite viciously until they fell, then they moved on to another fruit. Well, what a sight! A smorgasbord for parrots! Vita praised the munificence of her very own pear tree as she dressed. She went quietly into the garden but by that time, though still early, the birds had gone. Plundered fruit lay around the ground like delicacies spoilt children had taken just a bite of. Would they come again – and if so, perhaps at just a slightly more civilized hour, please? There were plenty of pears, plenty!
Vita enjoyed trade shows. There were two a year that were essential to attend. Mostly, Tim had gone, justifying that she was a liability because she ordered far too much merchandise purely because she liked chatting to the traders. Then he softened this by saying he was rubbish in the shop. The truth was, he wasn’t rubbish. He just found it boring. He didn’t like customers and he didn’t much like the stuff the shop sold, but that’s why he mastered the trade shows early on – he could select objectively. And he didn’t fall for schmooze partly because it was a tool he used himself to such great advantage. He knew never to buy whilst there but always to show interest, to talk numbers, to take cards and give out his own. He would bring Vita pictures and information, the occasional sample and then he’d sit her down and show her spreadsheets of their stock, their sales, their forecasts. He’d tell her to think about Easter or Christmas or Halloween or Valentine’s. Then Tim would place the orders. He liked hearing the supplier’s surprise – Well! What do you know! That good-looking guy who we spoke to at the show, who wouldn’t commit, whom we swapped cards with? He’s placing an order and a good one at that! This strategy always enabled Tim to secure the lowest unit price.
Double-checking and double-locking, Vita left the house with mixed feelings. She was looking forward to the show – but a text from Tim reminding her not to buy a thing made her wonder if she should go at all.
‘Stapler.’
