Love Is Usually Where You Left It Read online

  The first bit of decorating that Clive ever did in his life was in Jack’s room. When they moved in to this house the room was a strange mish-mash of different coloured squares, each about half a metre in size. It felt like what life would be like if you lived inside a giant Rubik’s cube. Clive painted the walls blue and the ceiling white and then hand painted a lovely landscape scene with a large tree and a family of cute owls sitting on it. It was a perfect little nursery; a lovely room for Jack to begin his life. Clive smiled as he remembered their first few months with Jack as a baby and, in particular, those nights that all new parents go through in which you believe you may never, ever sleep again. Those nights when it seems that your baby was just born to cry; and cry and cry and cry and ….. oh, you know what I mean. (Anyone with kids really knows what I mean!) Nights when, through a cocktail of complete exhaustion, and the helplessness of not knowing how to calm a hysterical baby, a family of cute owls that you know are not real, because you painted them on the wall yourself, begin to occasionally wink at you. And then talk to you. And then fly down and begin to nibble at your toes.....

  Clive snapped out of that particular, nightmare-ish memory and remembered Jack as he grew. The relief of being able to paint over those bloody, freaky owls and replace them with (his own collection of) Star Wars posters, and then football stars, and then scantily dressed women (again, mainly from his own collection; but shhh, that’s a secret) and then different musicians and bands. The memories of a baby growing into a man, right here in one room told through the changes of colours and posters on the wall. Clive smiled again as he thought of Jack and the love he would always have for his boy that was now a man as he also wondered whether he had taken all of those scantily dressed women posters to university with him. He best probably check later by having a good look around.

  “It’s just the two bedrooms innit?” Slick asked Clive after he’d obviously felt like he had slagged the bathroom off quite enough. Can bathroom suites actually be so old that they “could have been similar to those on the Titanic”?

  “Yep, just the two” he replied, knowing full well that Slick could criticise the house off as much as he wanted, but could never take away the years of happy memories that came with it being a home.

  Back in the front room, Slick explained to Clive how he (not Slater’s, but he; like he owned the bloody firm) would not just be selling a house but would be “providing a full service”. This included advising on price and advertising strategy, constant appraisal of market conditions, expert advice on improvements and alterations should offers not be immediately forthcoming, professional assistance on finding their next house and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  Then came the final insult.

  “These little houses in this area are great for first time buyers who have, what shall we say, limited budgets? What about you – I take it you’re moving to a bigger, nicer one now?”

  I think it was the emphasis on the word limited that struck the first cord with Clive and the fact that it was delivered as if it didn’t have a “t” in the middle and by a jumped up little shit who had done nothing but insult him for the whole duration of his visit. Before he had arrived, Clive had assumed that he would be telling the estate agent about his and Gayle’s impending split and asking for advice about the rental market for small flats in the area, but he wasn’t going to discuss that with this young prick. A guy who walks into your house, holding his palm up to stop you talking while he finishes his private conversation with, most probably, friends of his that are every bit as rude as he is? A guy that walks around your house and criticises every aspect of it; maybe so that he can convince you to agree to a low selling price, increasing his chances of a quick sale? Ripping apart any DIY jobs that he notices, whilst probably knowing that the man who did the majority of it was standing right next to him?

  OK, Clive did have, actually more-than-one, bad day when tiling the bathroom, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, after Slicks behaviour and complete rudeness, there was no way that Clive was going to let him sell the house. NO WAY! Because someone like Slick couldn’t notice real life things. The things about a house, that may not seem perfect to idiots like him, but are ultimately the things that turn a house into a home. THERE WAS NO WAY SLICK WAS SELLING THEIR HOME.

  “Shall I take some photos now, save me coming back again?” asked Slick, completely oblivious to his own prick-ness. (I know that’s not a real word, but it should be, so I’m sticking with it.)

  “I know you phoned me first because I’m the best,” he continued, ignoring the fact that Clive phoned Slater’s first because they probably paid more money than anyone else and were at the top of the local estate agents search results on Google.

  “Besides,” added Slick, “you don’t really want to arrange for other estate agents to come round and traipse around your house do you?”

  Clive thought about it.

  “Yeah take your photos now.”

  The young prick had a point: how many other young pricks did Clive want wandering around his house, insulting him? It was also such a faff having to organise people to come round, and then remember what time they said they were coming and then anxiously wait around to see if they’re actually on time or not. It was much better to get things out of the way in one go; and then Clive could go and fulfil his date with Knobhead, the snooker table and the beer.

  Chapter Eight: Moving On.

  Gayle pulled into the car park and noticed straight away that someone had parked a rather shocking pink Smart car in her usual parking bay, C3. For God’s sake, you set off for work a little late, drive yourself insane in a traffic jam, arrive a few minutes later than usual and the whole world thinks that they can just change the normal, and accepted for years, status quo? It just wasn’t on. The nearest alternative bay she could find was E10 and meant that her walk into the building would take, at least, seven seconds longer. Ok she needed to calm down. She couldn’t let her earlier road rage to morph into car park rage and cultivate any more unwanted, psychopathic thoughts; especially now she could see that so many people had parked so close to other cars. It’s a wonder some people had actually been able to get out of their cars. Gayle took some calming, deep breaths as she got out of her car and began walking towards across the car park. As she did, the slight worry that the darkest clouds you could ever see in the sky meant the imminent arrival of some severe rain passed immediately as she saw a different sight that stopped her dead in her tracks. For parked up at the first loading bay was an Aqua-Kool delivery van and, yes, sure enough there was Lee getting ready to unload the company’s latest delivery.

  Damn it, there was yet another reason that Gayle should have made sure that she had time for a shower this morning. She quickened her step and headed for the reception at the main door. If she was quick she may just have time for a couple of minutes “freshening up” in the toilet before heading to her office and, hopefully, catching Lee as he delivered the huge bottle for the office water dispenser.

  “Morning Lena” she said as she passed through reception. As usual she was ignored by the receptionist known as Lena (in fairness, her name) who was, as Gayle always assumed, pretending to be speaking to someone through the silly phone headset that she insisted on wearing. She didn’t have time to wait and insist on, at least, a fake smile response from Lena because she needed to speed on quickly to the women’s toilet. Once inside, Gayle realised that she needed a miracle to be able to “freshen up” to anything even close to being acceptable. Fortunately, these days, miracles are small enough to carry in handbags.

  In less than a minute she had lined up her “scrubbing-up first aid kit” on the ledge above the sink: Her can of dry shampoo, her mini, non-stain, roll-on anti-perspirant, her travel-size Armani Diamonds perfume, her semi-posh-occasion earrings and her compact make up kit that consisted of two black mascara primers, her two favourite lip pencils, a rose powder blusher, a translucide compact powder, 6 power eye shadows and 4 different lip
colours.

  In just three minutes flat, Gayle had used all the items from her first aid kit, packed them away, and was triumphantly looking at herself in the toilet mirror. She had gone for the reddest of her red lipsticks without really thinking about it; the red she would only usually go for on a night out. She wasn’t sure what that meant but she felt good about herself as she gazed into the mirror. She had even been able to re-work the dry shampoo miracle and release her hair from its tight ponytail; and it actually now looked quite nice hanging around her shoulders. She even thought that she may never wash it ever again.

  Now that she was happy that she looked good there was only one thing left to do. She took a deep breath and forcefully yanked the wedding and engagement rings off the third finger on her left hand. It took quite some effort, maybe because her fingers were much thicker than they were when she got married all those years ago, but eventually she managed to pull them clear of her finger. She looked at her finger, now free of the golden rings, and the tell-tale band of pale skin that accounted for nearly twenty years of marriage. Would her finger always look like that, even if she never put the rings back on ever again?

  She sighed a little as she twisted both rings around in the palm of her hand. They didn’t look like much, very unimpressive really, but they had represented every penny that Clive could afford back in the day and used to mean the world to her. She sniggered slightly as she stared at the two rings and not three. Clive always promised that he would buy her an eternity ring that would sit on her finger next to the engagement and wedding rings; but he never had. She realised that it was much easier to say things, than actually do them, as she let the rings slide out of her palm and into the “secret” little section at the back of her handbag. She zipped them away and looked back at herself in the mirror, re-asserting some strength of mind making sure she didn’t allow herself to cry again.

  She was ready to go into the office and was now appropriately stunning to “bump into” Lee. (Well, as much as she could hope to be in three miraculous minutes.)

  Lee was the man who delivered the water that supplied the twelve dispensers that were located throughout the warehouse and adjoining offices. Gayle had been responsible for ordering the water for the last ten years but, curiously, the company seemed to have been going through more and more water for the eighteen months or so that Lee had been supplying them. Strange really.

  Lee was not exactly what Gayle would describe as her “typical type” but, then again, what was her typical type? She had only ever had a serious relationship with one man in her entire life and that was Clive. And Clive and Lee were just about polar opposites. Lee had a skin-head, tattoo sleeves on both arms and the kind of muscle-bound physique that only came from spending hours and hours at the gym. Clive still had the type of hairstyle that looked cool on the members of Oasis about twenty years ago, thought tattoos were for sailors and prostitutes and the only time you heard him mention anything close to “gym” was when he used to boast he had met Jimmy Saville in 1987 whilst being in the audience one Saturday morning on Going Live. (A “claim to fame” he had not used for quite some time.)

  Gayle didn’t really know much about Lee and, on seeing him for the first few times, his shaven head, tattoos and physical appearance had intimidated her somewhat. After a while, and a few conversations though, she realised that he was a nice guy and his “image” began to become a real turn on. He had that kind of Vin Diesel swagger and buff-ness about him and almost seemed thrillingly dangerous. Exciting. Electrifying. Exhilarating. He may not be as cute as Clive, but not many were. Anyway this wasn’t about Clive.

  Lee was in his early 40’s, was divorced and had two daughters - ages of 12 and 10, and he and Gayle flirted every time he made his water deliveries. At least Gayle thought it was flirting, it had been so long since she had spoken to any male, who was not one of the brain-dead morons who worked on the warehouse floor, that she was possibly mistaking it for just friendly conversation. But the fact that her two fellow office workers, Jennifer and Janine, who were both considerably younger and, so Gayle thought, prettier than her, did not have the same kind of “chemistry” with Lee that Gayle did, did make her think that there was “something” there.

  Gayle was “unofficially” the office supervisor and, as such, had to manage both Jennifer and Janine who, in a kind of “Jedward” way were referred to by the boys in the warehouse as “Jennine” or “Jannifer”. They obviously thought this was clever but “Jennine” sounded a lot like Janine and “Jannifer” sounded a lot like Jennifer, and so when anyone would say Jennine or Janine or Jannifer or Jennifer it was unclear if they were referring to the pair of them or just one of them. I’m confused just typing this! As such, they were often also referred to as “the two J’s”.

  Gayle’s supervisory role was probably more of an informal agreement attained through longer service and age rather than anything you could actually “see”, you know, in something like a pay packet. Before Jenny and Janine, a girl of similar age to Gayle, Tina, had worked there. She was probably the closest thing Gayle had to a best friend back then but she left about two years ago after finding a new job and Gayle missed her terribly. But that’s what people do: move on to new challenges, better jobs and better lives. Well, except for Gayle who was still here, stuck in the same old rut.

  Gayle walked into the office just at the perfect time, as Lee was picking up a new, full, water bottle; perfectly flexing his triceps as he did. He was replacing the old, empty one that he had obviously already removed. (No need to have seen that as the lightness of an empty bottle means no muscles are flexed whatsoever.)

  “Hi Gayle!” said Lee as she walked in the room “You are looking as sexy as ever!”

  Gayle could feel her cheeks reddening straight away.

  “Oh please!” she flirted back regardless, “I was late up and didn’t have any time to get ready properly..... I must look a right state?” (Yes this was spoken as a question that she wanted answering.)

  “No way!” said Lee, just as she had hoped. “You look amazing!”

  Gayle smiled at him as she walked around the room to her desk by the window. She felt that, as she had worked there the longest, she deserved to have the best desk by the window and, in an attempt to stop someone else using it every day, had purchased her own name plate to sit on the desk. Thankfully, despite her lateness, no one had been tempted to try and steal her desk this morning or put her name plate in the recycling bin – again. Gayle straightened her name plate as she got around her desk and shuddered slightly as she recalled the number of times people are amused when they mistakenly think that, instead of saying her name was Gayle Ford, she has actually said Gayle Force. Oh the endless humour that can come from marrying into a name that makes you sound very similar to a severe weather event.

  Gayle looked over at the paperwork inbox and saw that it was almost overflowing with work yet to be processed. It seemed no one had been tempted into doing any work, despite the fact that Jenny seemed to be looking at her phone (she had regularly answered that she was busy organising her diary when asked if she needed some work to do) and Janine was painting her fingernails.

  “Ok, just about done here!” said Lee, putting the empty bottle over his shoulder and looking as sexy as someone carrying a huge bag of ice in a Baileys advert.

  “Ok, thanks Lee” said Gayle. “I’ll speak to you in a couple of weeks..... when we need some more water!”

  She laughed nervously after speaking, but without knowing why.

  Lee walked towards her and gently sat on her desk. It creaked slowly straining under the weight of a gorgeous, skin-headed, tattooed muscle man..... who was sitting on Gayle’s desk!

  Her heart began to flutter.

  “I don’t want to speak out of turn” he began, as Gayle stared helplessly into his big, brown eyes. “But you’ve said before about splitting with your husband and Jenny just told me that it’s happening now..... is there any chance that you’d let me tak
e you out for a drink? Maybe Sunday night?”

  Gayle knew that her mouth was wide open, probably capable of capturing large owls, let alone flies, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least it seemed that Jenny had done something productive today.

  “Erm…” she started. “Ok. Why not? It sounds good!”

  “Great!” said Lee. “How about the Farmers Arms on the village high street? It’s just been done up.”

  “Ok. Why not? It sounds good!” said Gayle, knowing straight away that she had just completely repeated the six words from her last sentence.

  “Shall we meet there then? Eight o’clock?” asked Lee.

  “Ok.....Why not?..... It sounds good!” said Gayle, accepting that these may be the only words she would ever be able to speak for the rest of her life.

  “See you Sunday then gorgeous!” said Lee winking, as he stood up and relieved the desk of his considerable mass.

  “See you later Jenny..... Janine.” He added as he walked out of the door.

  “Bye Lee!” they both swooned after him before, once more, concentrating on their phone and nails respectively.

  Wow, thought Gayle. She had a date..... with Lee!

  She couldn’t help but send a look over to “the two J’s” that said “He asked me out, not either of you two. What do you think about those “happy, laughy lines” now?”; but they were both too busy to notice. Instead she thought about what this actually meant – the time had finally arrived that she and Clive said they were going to move on..... and she was moving on.