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JANUARY

Antibes Juan-les-Pins.

I’m forty-two years old and I’ve run away from home. There. I’ve written it down so there’s no denying it. It’s the honest truth behind the falsely cheerful announcement I made to friends and family before Christmas. “I’m having a belated gap year. Such fun.” Running away though, is actually my default position for coping with the hell of the past months.

At least I hope I’m going to cope, and that’s what this blog is really all about. Keeping this diary is my way of getting all the angst out of my system - apparently this method is highly respected and much recommended by psychologists everywhere. Write down the angst and let it all hang out.

Does writing a private blog count as a diary? Because that’s what I’m planning to do. Not expecting anyone to read it. Just want to write it all out of my system. Not committed to paper obviously as I’m writing on my laptop. I hope it works because right now I’m still very angsty.

(Please note all names have been changed to protect the innocent in the unlikely event of somebody actually reading my ramblings.)

So, today is officially the start of the rest of my life. I know that’s a cliché but hey, it’s my blog so if I want to use a cliché I will. It’s not as if Mrs Singer (my old English teacher) is standing over me, muttering “find some original words”. I expect there will be some rude words too, creeping in alongside the clichés.

Of course I’ve not run away permanently. I’m just having the gap year I never had when I was younger. In my family you left school and either went to college or got a job. I did a Business Diploma at our local polytech and then went to work on our regional newspaper.

Twenty-three years later I was the women’s page editor, mother of Katie and wife to Ben. Ah, Ben. The love of my life.

I turned out not to be his. Six months ago we had, I thought, a great holiday in Cape Town. Got home on the Sunday night, unpacked my case and started to throw things into the washing machine. Suggested Ben did the same… only for him to shake his head at me.

“Sorry Jessica, but I don’t want to be married any more,” and he picked up his still packed suitcase and left. Just like that. Didn’t even give me the chance to scream abuse at him.

Of course I went to pieces at first. Cried for days, weeks, kept telling people he’d be back. It was just the male menopause. It wasn’t until the divorce papers arrived that I finally began to accept my marriage was over.

I didn’t know until then either, that he’d shacked up with Samantha from Sales. His not wanting to be married any more apparently only applied to being married to me. He was keen to marry Samantha as quickly as possible – the fact she was now pregnant and was applying pressure might have had something to do with it of course.

Anyway, the day the divorce papers arrived was also the day that – after one glass of wine too many (actually it was bottles not glasses) with my best mate Bella – I said “Stuff him. I’ll get a new life too.” Which was when the plan to do a ‘Shirley Valentine’ and have my long delayed gap year in the south of France was conceived.

Bella was all for coming with me a la Thelma and Louise – not that we planned that kind of adventure – but then she was headhunted for her dream job in TV and no way could I let her turn it down just to keep me company. So, she’s got her new job, earning bucket loads of money and a great social life, while I’m here in Antibes Juan-les-Pins having to kick-start the rest of my life, on my own, without a fabulous job, and a social life that isn’t.

I’ve never actually lived alone before. I lived at home with my parents until I got married. Ben and I bought our first house together.

Can’t help wondering if I’ve actually made the right decision coming out here. Oh, I’m looking forward to having the total freedom to do what I want, when I want – it’s just the thought of doing it all alone. In a foreign country.

Bella did fly down with me to help find an apartment, and we saw the New Year in together – sitting at a crowded pavement cafe down on the bord de mer with the obligatory bottle of champagne. And would you believe it – Bella pulled!

Too early for me to be even thinking about dating, but I couldn’t help feeling a tad jealous. Not about her pulling a good-looking sexy Frenchman, but about me not having anyone in my life at the moment who is remotely interested in me.

Will there be anyone ever again? Or am I going to languish on the scrapheap where Ben has tossed me, slowly disappearing, unloved and unnoticed into old age?

Must, must, stop thinking like that. I’m at the beginning of an adventure – even if right now it feels more like the biggest mistake of my life.

Jacques, owner of the cafe, couldn’t do enough for us on New Year’s Eve. Insisting on giving us the bottle of bubbly when Bella went to pay, telling her she had beautiful eyes. At least that’s what we think he told her – Bella’s French is worse than mine and Jacques’ English appears to be limited. He “‘opes to see her again when she visits with her friend.”

3rd January.

Took Bella to the airport this morning and returned the hire car. For the first time in years I’m going to be without a car of my own – something I’m quite relieved about, seeing the way they drive down here. They. Are. Mad. Honestly, for a nation that virtually reinvented the roundabout, the French appear to be remarkably clueless about how to negotiate them. French men in particular seem to regard indicators as an optional extra as they rarely bother to use them.

Sitting having a croissant and coffee before her flight was called, Bella said, ‘You going to be OK on your own?’

‘Of course. Next time you’re down it’ll be a non-stop social whirl introducing you to all my new friends.’ Under the table I crossed my fingers, praying it would be true.

‘Well, if you decide it’s not going to work and you want to come home, you know there’s always room at mine,’ Bella said. ‘Mind you, I’d probably call you all kinds of names for not making a go of it down here. I quite like the idea of jumping on a plane every few weeks and coming down to see you.’

‘So I’m your holiday destination of choice for the next year am I? Thanks,’ I said. ‘One more reason to make a go of things and stay then.’

A quarter of an hour later, hugging each other goodbye outside the departure lounge, Bella said, ‘Look after yourself and have a great gap year, Jessie. Remember – you’ve run away, nobody knows you down here, so you can reinvent yourself as the person you’ve always wanted to be. I’ll see you soon.’ With that she was gone.

Walking out through the busy airport concourse to wait for the bus, I thought about what Bella had said. The person I’ve always wanted to be? Surely I’ve been that person for twenty-three years: a woman happily married to the man she loved, with a beautiful daughter and a good job. All gone – thanks to Samantha from Sales.

Now I’m alone in a foreign country without a husband or a job. I do still have the beautiful daughter who – well let’s just say she doesn’t approve of my being here. Thinks it’s me having the mid-life crisis, not Ben. She’s always been close to her dad. Don’t think she knows about the new half sibling that’s on its way yet. Ben said he was picking the right moment to tell her. Right moment? Pfff.

4th January.

I didn’t bother making any New Year resolutions this year. The normal ones – like take more exercise, lose two stone by Easter etc – didn’t seem applicable seeing as how I’ve lost two and a half stone since last year. I suppose writing this diary is a sort of resolution – especially if I write regularly. I’ve also decided to brush up on my ancient schoolgirl French and take some French lessons, so that’s another thing to put on the To Do List. Find a French class.

Tried to ring Katie earlier but her phone was permanently engaged. Had to leave a voice message.

5th January.

I love the apartment I’ve found. It’s on the top floor of a Belle Epoque villa with lots of atmosphere and, from a small balcony off the sitting room, a view out over the Mediterranean. There’s also a tiny roof terrace at the back of the apartment where I can eat and where I plan to sunbathe à poil. I know I can go topless down on the beach but I always feel self-conscious doing that – even when Bella and I do it together. Couldn’t possibly do it on my own. So the terrace it will have to be if I want an all over tan.

There are some pots out there I’m planning to fill with some colourful plants to brighten it up a bit. Have to admit the garden at home is one thing I’m really starting to miss. When I think of all the hours I spent out there getting it just right… and now, I’ll probably never see it again.

Ben and I had planned to create a cosy arbour this year with a mixture of honeysuckle and jasmine and a hidden bench where we’d sit and sip a glass of wine of an evening. Wonder if Samantha is a gardener?

There’s a total of six flats in the house, two on each floor. Haven’t met any of the other residents yet. I think my immediate neighbour is away as there’s been no sign of life since I moved in last week.

The agent did tell me a couple of yachties who are rarely here rent the first floor, and the ground floor front apartment is on permanent rent to a local veterinary practice for various locums they need from time to time. The remaining garden apartment is currently occupied by a Swedish woman.

Maybe I’ll knock on a few doors next week, see if anyone is around, introduce myself and invite them up for a cup of tea – or a glass of wine. I’ve no idea whether that is the done thing in France or not but hey, they can only say “Non” can’t they? I do need to get some sort of social life going and probably get some sort of job in case the divorce money takes time to come through.

I’m going to be indulgent and give myself a bit of a holiday first though. Explore the area. Cannes, Nice, Monaco, Italy just across the border from here – they’re all on my radar to visit.

Thankfully the apartment has a TV – French channels only though – which, if nothing else, will be good for improving my language. The internet connection is already set up too, so top of my To Do List is setting up a bank account and transferring some money. Better write out what I want to say and make sure my trusty translator has got decent batteries before I venture into a branch.

10th January.

My New Year / New Life hasn’t got off to the greatest beginning due to my soon to be ex-husband starting to cock things up.

18th January.

Once Ben and I were on speaking terms again after the initial hoo-hah of him dumping me, we both agreed selling the house and splitting the money equally was the way to go. Katie would carry on living there with him until it was sold. So far, so good.

Got an e-mail early last week from Ben saying he wants to buy me out and keep the house. I don’t have any real objections to that, although it will be funny thinking of Ben living there with his new woman. I know my solicitor will make certain I get the market value I’m entitled to, so I hope Ben realises how big a mortgage he’s about to saddle himself with.

No I bloody well don’t! I hope he overstretches and bankrupts himself, and Samantha has to live in a rabbit hutch. I know, I know – I’m a cow really.

It makes me hopping mad to think he’s given no thought to how Katie will feel living in the house with Samantha – not to mention the baby when it arrives. Apparently he told her about the baby when he told her about buying me out and moving Samantha in. Talk about tactless.

What is it with soon-to-be ex-husbands? Are they all complete and utter.......? Or is it just mine? How come I never noticed how insensitive Ben was when we were married? Or did I just ignore it? Too busy to tackle him about it.

29th January.

Just had a frantic call from Katie crying down the phone, telling me Ben’s moved Samantha in, how much she hates her and how she can’t possibly live in the same house. Of course it’s all my fault – not sure how she worked that one out – and if I hadn’t taken off to come down here she could have just moved in with me.

I did tell her, again, that she was welcome to the spare bedroom in the apartment – but that suggestion was greeted with derision. I might be selfish enough to take off and ignore my responsibilities but she has her part-time job, college and friends to consider. There was no way she was going to run away like some people.

Her “You just don’t seem to care about me any more” jibe was hard to take though. But then in the next breath she tells me Ben has promised that if she stays and makes an effort to get on with Samantha, he’ll pay her college fees for the last two terms. Needs to keep in with him then.

No point in reminding her that I didn’t have much in the way of “responsibilities” to ignore. I was made redundant precisely three months after Ben left. No husband and no job effectively wiped out every commitment apart from looking after her – and she’s told me often enough ‘I’m all grown up now Mum, I can make my own decisions. Look after myself.’

No point either in trying to assure her I did care about her – she was past listening.

31st January.

Between trying to calm Katie down over the phone and telling Ben to tread gently with his latest plans as far as she is concerned, I’ve been a bit stymied sorting out my own life down here. But after much to-ing and fro-ing I’ve finally got a bank account – you wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through for that. All to stop money laundering I was told. Cue sarcastic laughter. Why would they worry about that with me? My money is so squeaky clean it’s like one of those washing powder adverts where everything smells of springtime in the countryside – before the muck spreaders are out.

I’ve joined a French conversation class, found the quickest way to walk into Antibes from here and also signed up for the obligatory top-up health insurance which I hope I never have to use. Finally, I’m ready for my new life. Still angsty though and trying to plot a way of killing Ben without getting caught.