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Chapter Four

The next day I’d had five missed calls from Connor but I’d decided I wasn’t going to call him back for at least two days, or maybe not at all, and I certainly wasn’t going to contribute to our savings this month. So on Monday morning, to avoid having to stand on a boiling hot bus with my face in someone’s sticky armpit, I treated myself to the train into Moor Street. I could also nip into Selfridges before work and buy a beautiful cat-free mug / vintage style teacup so I could at least halt my descent into mad cat lady. I found a beautiful one in Cath Kidston after spending too much time looking at too many bags and purses, which left me exactly four minutes to run the length of New Street.

I muttered an apology to Doris for being seven minutes late.

‘That’s fine,’ said Doris. She barely looked up. Very strange. I was expecting a five minute lecture at least. But no, not even a ‘In my day if we were late, they tarred and feathered us and marched us up and down Corporation Street until we were dead’. I unwrapped my mug and presented it on the desk in front of Ayesha for her to admire.

‘Good weekend, Ayesha?’ I asked, wanting her to notice my mug.

Doris made a snorting noise.

Ayesha very quietly said ‘Yes, thank you.’

Ayesha was always a little bit subdued on Monday mornings, but normally responded with ‘Messy’ or ‘Totally off my face’ or ‘can’t remember’. Usually she livened up before lunch and told me everything she’d got up to and all about her complicated love life. Perhaps she really had been ill. It was certainly within the realms of possibility. Or maybe Doris and Ayesha had been bickering again and I’d missed an almighty row. Maybe one of them had brought up the missing Blueberry Activia yoghurt saga again.

Ayesha had insisted it wasn’t her who took it, Doris was convinced it could be no one else. Ayesha had suggested it could have been one of the girls from finance – because if anyone needed bifidus digestivum, it was those lot. Doris had said that you couldn’t tell by looking at anyone whether they needed beneficial bacteria or not and Ayesha said that indeed she could because she had done GCSE Food Technology. This had upset Doris a lot because they didn’t have GCSEs in her day or Food Technology or Computers. But were they really still arguing over a yoghurt? Surely not?

‘Who likes my new mug, it’s gorgeous isn’t it? I bought it in Selfridges. And… it hasn’t got any cats on it. Ta dah!’ I did my best magician’s assistant impression and used my hands to frame the mug, drawing attention to it from different angles but no one seemed to be taking any notice so I added another ‘Ta-dah.’

I was disappointed with their lack of enthusiasm so I took a photo of my mug and uploaded it on Facebook.

‘Drink anyone?’

Doris said nothing, her head was bowed and Ayesha didn’t answer but was motioning to something behind me with her head, making her eyes big and raising her eyebrows. I recognised the look. Last time she did it was when she’d been to Global Gathering for the weekend, but this time it looked intentional, rather than involuntary. Puzzling.

‘What are you doing with your head, you mentalist?’

Then it clicked. How could I have not recognised the international distress signal for ‘Jurassic Bleach is behind you’?

‘Oh.’ The tea would have to wait. If I didn’t acknowledge him, maybe he would go away and find someone else to talk to about velociraptors and Domestos.

But it wasn’t him. It was something much, much worse.

‘Nice of you to join us Fiona, are you taking your coat off or not staying?’

It was Juliet Jackson. Regional Manager. AKA The Wicked Witch of The West Midlands. Like Doris, she had been with the company for forty years. She was the same age as Doris, but looked twenty years younger. She wore an expensive suit and always had the shiniest tights.

‘Juliet! Hi. I didn’t know you were visiting this week.’ Then I actually gulped. This woman was pure evil. She was probably going to sack me on the spot for being late. Last time she was here, she gave Phil in IT a disciplinary because she’d caught him on the internet looking at The Jedi Federation of Rowley Regis’s website in work time. He’d left the office in tears and spent the next week actually rocking. He hasn’t really been the same since. He wears a shirt and tie to work now instead of comic book T-shirts, and he’s stopped talking like Yoda when we ask him for IT help.

‘Can I have a word, Fiona? Pop into the office for a sec?’

Ayesha looked terrified. Doris looked up at me and smiled. This was bad, very bad.

‘Popping’ into the office sounded so innocent and fun, like there might be a tea party in there or puppies. And yet every bone in my body told me I wasn’t to go in that room. It was like a horror film when you know you are not really supposed to look in the basement because something bad will happen to you, but you feel compelled to even though you know there’s mad axe murderers hiding in there waiting to kill you and eat you. From where I was standing, I would rather fancy my chances with the mad axe murderers than Juliet.

Everyone in the office was looking at me as I made the walk of doom. Part of me hoped she would be kind and sack me on the spot for being seven minutes late – I couldn’t handle having to sit there rocking for a week like poor Phil.

‘Please. Sit down,’ she said and gestured to a chair.

‘I’m sorry I was late, Juliet, I had to get something on the way.’

She leant against the desk, towering over me in her four inch heels.

She didn’t say a word for what seemed like ages. Then she folded her arms.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Doris.’ She made a face as though she was intently listening to something very important I was saying, even though I was not saying a word. I was wondering whether it was a signal I should say something about Doris.

‘Well, Doris is…’ I searched for something to say.

Juliet waved a hand in front of me. This meant I should shut up. Rude.

‘As you know, Doris is retiring shortly and we are looking to fill her role…’

‘Actually, Juliet,’ I said, feeling brave. ‘I was wondering if it was possible for me to look into a different role in food development or somewhere else, away from the distribution centre?’

She thought for a minute, looking at me with a puzzled expression, and then simply said ‘No.’ and waved me away.

No. Just like that, she wouldn’t even consider it.

Over the weekend I had felt like everything I had planned for was slipping away from me, but maybe this was the thing that got my plan back on track. Clearly, a move to another department was out of the question, which just left Doris’s job. Could I take it? With Doris’s salary, I was fairly sure I could buy a place of my own straight away. Taking Doris’s job would be the sensible option and it didn’t mean I had to be like Doris, I didn’t have to get four cats.

‘Right, okay then, well of course, I’d love to accept Doris’s position.’

‘Oh you are funny, Fiona’ Juliet said and she touched me on the arm, smiling a tight smile which looked like it was causing her pain. ‘Now, be quiet while I explain’ she snapped.

‘As you know we are legally required to advertise the role, but you stand a very good chance of getting the position. Of course, we couldn’t have any more repeats of this morning. Lateness isn’t acceptable and I will be observing you all this week. I’ll be looking out for how you operate as a team, to see how you are all getting along. Then we can touch base at the end of the week. Off you go.’

I’ll admit, this wasn’t the change I had hoped for. Not only did she dismiss me moving to another centre, she wanted me to actually apply for Doris’s job. Even though I had started to fill in the form already, this now left me unsettled because it meant I would be choosing to do Doris’s job.

Doris looked relieved to see me back so quickly. Ayesha got up, put a comforting hand on my shoulder for a moment before picking up the mugs. She grabbed the mug she was using, Doris’s three cat mug and my beautiful new Cath Kidston mug and started towards the kitchen muttering something about emergency biscuits in case of shock. She was stopped in her tracks by The Wicked West of The West Midlands.

‘Sit down please, Ayesha. What time is it?’

‘Twenty past nine’ she said.

‘And what time is tea break?’ The whole office had eyes on Ayesha.

‘I don’t know.’ Ayesha shrugged. ‘Is it whenever you fancy a cup of tea?’

‘No, Ayesha.’ Juliet glared at her ‘Tea breaks are at half past ten, and three p.m.’ She turned to face the rest of the office. ‘And that goes for everyone.’

She took the mugs from Ayesha’s hand and marched off to the kitchen with them. So I couldn’t even look at my beautiful new mug. What a cow.

The kitchen was completely rammed at ten-thirty. Ayesha came with me. Everyone was very gentle with Phil in IT and we let him use the urn first. He seemed okay at first but his hands must have been shaking as his R2D2 mug banged against the urn. Poor Phil.

I found Doris’s mug. I wouldn’t be able to get away with making her a Coftea today, not with all these people around. I looked again, but I couldn’t find my new mug, and I didn’t want to use my old cat one, so I had to use a funny metal tin mug thing. I pretended it was a camping mug and that I was on a fake-cation, but really it was more like a mug you would have if you were in prison and wanted to protest about something or other by rattling it on your cell door.

*

After work, I filled Steph and Sinead in on my disastrous couple of days and Sinead’s response to whether I should apply for Doris’s job was that I should ‘Follow my heart, that’s the only way to make sure you were happy.’

I admired Sinead’s optimism, but ‘following my heart’ was such a vague thing to do that it struck me as one of those things people say when they don’t have a bloody clue what else to do. It was like an excuse to be irresponsible.

I’d also quizzed Steph on what I should do and she’d said ‘Wait and see what happens.’ Brilliant.

I hadn’t bored them with the details about Connor, because I reckoned they were sick of hearing about him and I was sick of thinking about him. I still hadn’t called him back despite even more missed calls and apologetic texts. So I was going with the See What Happens approach on that one.

‘Anyway,’ said Sinead. ‘You’ll feel loads better after seeing Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam, everyone does.’

I wasn’t so sure.

‘You do know where this place is, don’t you?’ Steph asked Sinead.

‘I do! It’s round this next corner.’ insisted Sinead.

Every corner in Digbeth did look a bit the same, but I did wonder if she was lost.

‘You said that five minutes ago’ whined Steph. ‘I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this. If there is one whiff of patchouli, I’m not staying. Christ, my feet are killing me. We’ve been walking for miles.’ She leant against a wall to adjust the straps on her shoes.

‘Maybe Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam can heal your blisters, Steph’ I offered as Steph steadied herself using my shoulder.

‘Actually, Chelsea says any problems to do with the feet are to do with your ability to move forward in life.’ said Sinead, walking ahead purposefully.

‘Hmm, yeah or maybe it’s something to do with wearing six inch heels to work.’ I suggested. My feet were killing me too. I hated to admit it, but they were a teeny bit puffy. Christ, was I getting cankles? It was probably dehydration from not being able to get a drink whenever I wanted. And maybe the heat? And wearing my coat a lot in the middle of a heatwave.

‘We’re going out afterwards though, aren’t we?’ asked Steph.

‘Yes, we are definitely going out afterwards.’ I said. Every other Monday we went to the pub quiz with Kirk.

‘We’re here,’ called Sinead from a few yards ahead.

A small purple sign above a door on the former warehouse told us we were at The Himalayan Healing Centre.

Stepping through the doors, Steph and I looked at each other and gave approving nods, we were suitably impressed. It was stylish inside, white décor with a few nice touches. Nothing like some of the places Sinead had taken us to before, which were all crystals and musty curtains and sitting on cushions and incense burning everywhere.

White uniformed staff took our names and we paid our £9.95. They said they had run out of five pence pieces so it was actually ten pounds, but still, I wasn’t going to worry about a mere five pence. There was hardly a mirrored skirt in sight. In fact everyone seemed quite ordinary. There was wine and orange juice in champagne glasses on trays on the table. It was more like a spa or one of Steph’s fashion events than Sinead’s hippy gatherings.

Sinead went off to speak to some bloke with weird trousers.

‘Total waste,’ sighed Steph as she watched Sinead flirt with him.

‘He could be so very hot, but those trousers. Eek!’ ‘I said.

‘I know. It shouldn’t be allowed. So, what we are we doing this bank holiday weekend then?’ she asked. ‘The very exciting White Swan beer garden or shall we go into town for shopping and tapas? Or cinema and cocktails?’

‘I was actually thinking of going to the caravan with Mum and Dad. Connor will be working. And I’ve already booked the leave off.’

‘You’re going to Weston? For August bank holiday? Are you crazy? Are you taking your four cats along with you and some knitting?’

‘I love Weston. Anyway, it’s too late to plan anything now. We’d have to research it and organise it.’ I shrugged. ‘And you started knitting, remember? When you read that Gwyneth Paltrow did it? Anyway, Wayne and Colleen have got a caravan now, caravans are cool.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t do knitting for fun, did I? It was an accessory, it’s different. So are you really going? Don’t you want to do something fun instead? Bloody Weston!’ she tutted and rolled her eyes.

I did want to do something fun, I just wanted to plan for it.

Sinead skipped back over to be greeted by an excited Steph who grabbed both Sinead’s arms so tight, it startled her.

‘Hey Sinead. Let’s all go away this weekend. It will be brilliant.’

‘Well, it’s funny you should say that, because I was talking to this guy over there–’

‘You should never trust a man with crazy trousers,’ said Steph, eyeing him up and down.

‘Agreed,’ I nodded, after taking another look.

‘And he said he has four spare weekend tickets for this, and we can have them!’ Sinead beamed and passed a leaflet to Steph.

Steph turned her nose up ‘Camping? That’s even worse than going to a caravan. What is wrong with you two?’ She forced the pamphlet back at Sinead.

I took the leaflet and unrumpled it, smoothing out the creases.

‘Give me a look.’ I said, sensing Sinead’s feelings were hurt. I read out the headline.

‘The Castle Festival. Interesting. Not all mirrors-on-your-skirts business is it?’ I wouldn’t ordinarily be interested, but the free part definitely caught my attention and it would be nice to go away.

‘Why is it free? Is he in a cult? Is that why he has those trousers? Because it’s what they have to wear in his cult?’ Steph questioned.

‘No! It’s not a cult.’ said Sinead. He’s promoting it and he has spare tickets. He said if we took part in a few activities we get to stay in this yurt for free at the Find Yourself Festival field and we get free passes to the Castle Music Festival. And the sheep festival is on.

‘Sheep festival? Back to knitting again are we?’ Steph said.

‘Gwyneth Paltrow goes camping.’ I offered. I was really warming to the free holiday idea. Much better than a fake-cation in the caravan.

‘Anyway, it’s not camping, it’s glamping. We’ll have our own beds in a luxury yurt,’ Sinead offered, trying desperately to sell the idea to Steph, who just rolled her eyes.

A willowy woman appeared. ‘Please ladies, make your way to the Theatre Room.’

‘Come on, I‘m not sitting near the front.’ Steph yanked my arm almost out of my socket and we made our way to the not quite accurately titled ‘theatre’. There were three tiers with black plastic chairs. At least there were chairs, and we didn’t have to sit cross-legged on cushions.

‘We’re not going to have to hug anyone are we? Or talk to imaginary angels?’ I asked. ‘I’m not doing that again. That was a total bloody waste of seven-fifty.’

‘Shush,’ said Sinead.

‘What is that bloody racket?’ Steph shuddered at the sounds coming out of the speakers as we took our seats.

‘It’s chakra music,’ said Sinead tentatively, knowing it wouldn’t go down well with Steph.

‘It’s bloody creepy is what it is. Chakras, my arse.’ muttered Steph.

A woman in a smart white suit and perfectly coiffed blonde hair gracefully walked down the steps on the stage.

‘Namaste!’ she said brightly.

Most people in the room responded as brightly.

‘Oh fuck, here we go.’ muttered Steph.

‘Will you shut your face?’ whispered Sinead angrily.

‘You shut your face.’ Steph said crossing her arms.

A moonfaced mirrored skirt lady on the row in front turned round and smiled kindly at us which I knew from experience of going to Sinead’s new age affairs meant ‘I want all of you to shut your faces but I’m too busy pretending to be uber-positive and have all my chakras in order so I can’t tell you to shut up’.

I imagined that one day, the mirrored skirt lady would probably flip, all that smiling and positivity couldn’t be good for you. You could tell she wasn’t really calm inside. If she was, she wouldn’t have turned round to basically tell us to shut up. It was, I was fairly sure, all an act. One day she’d be queuing up for her henna in The Body Shop and someone would push in, and that would be it. She’d go totally bat crap crazy and go on a rampage, smashing the white musk bottles to the floor screaming like a banshee. The angels wouldn’t be able to help her then.

A sharp nudge from Sinead brought me back to reality. ‘Will you listen?’

Smiley mirror lady turned again and shushed us this time. I hadn’t technically said anything, but as I suspected mirrored skirt lady was a secret psychopath, I thought I’d be quiet.

Anyway, I was listening. Sort of. There was something about not fearing your inner goddess, blah blah blah, something about fearing change, something about embracing change, not fearing change and it was all quite frankly a load of nonsense. It was all so wishy washy, and I couldn’t see how you could embrace change if you didn’t have a clue what you wanted to change in the first place. You needed some kind of plan for doing that. Sinead’s ‘follow your heart’ philosophy was all very well if you knew what your heart wanted to do in the first place. I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat and slumped down and folded my arms. I was momentarily distracted by weird trousers bloke’s backside. Not in a ‘checking out his backside’ kind of way, simply wondering about the trousers and where he’d bought them. I bet Doris had better curtains than that. I tutted.

Sinead gave me another dig. Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam instructed us to close our eyes. I looked at Steph to see if she had closed her eyes. They were half closed. I closed my eyes.

‘Take three deep breaths. Visualise who you want to be. Maybe it’s someone you know. Someone people love to be around. What does she look like? This could be the woman you want to be, the woman you want to become.’

I wasn’t very good at this stuff and I didn’t really want to play but I did see a blurry figure coming into view. It was bloody Doris. Oh God, it’s Doris. Why am I thinking of Doris?

‘How does she walk? How does she move? Is that how you move? How you would like to move?’ Ms Moonbeam was almost singing the words.

Get out of my head Doris. Think of someone else. Anyone else. Oh good lord. Doris again? Really? ‘Can you imagine what it is like to be her? What does it feel like?’

Oh God. It would feel vile, and I wouldn’t be able to operate a computer, and I’d drink Coftea and I’d enjoy it. I desperately tried to think of someone else.

‘Now imagine you are stepping into her body, you are becoming her. This is your inner goddess and you’re reconnecting with her. Doesn’t that feel good? You can be like her. Embrace her.’ I looked around at Steph, her eyes fully closed now. I tried to keep my eyes open so I could escape my Doris vision but Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam’s voice was so soothing and hypnotic. As much as I tried to resist, there I was stepping into Doris, sealing my fate as a mad cat lady.

‘Breathe it in.’ said Chelsea, making lots of oohing and ahhing noises. ‘Doesn’t it feel wonderful?’

No, it didn’t feel wonderful. It felt like crap.