Five Go Glamping: An adventure in the countryside for grown ups

Five Go Glamping: An adventure in the countryside for grown ups Liz Tipping ‘Five Go Glamping is a must-read story full of friendship, romance and self-discovery…. I loved it!’ – Little Northern SoulThe hilarious and heart-warming romantic comedy you need this year!Glamping Check listFestival ticketsDouble check best Instagram filterAvoid thinking about work/Connor/five year plan!!A four day break from her hectic life to relax in the countryside and hang out at a local festival (for free!) is just what Fiona Delaney needs. With her best friends, great tunes and a cool looking hat her Instagram shots are going to look A-Mazing!Until suddenly glamping starts to feel a lot more like camping and Fiona’s in desperate search of a comfy chair, wi-fi and a chilled glass of wine. But when she finally makes it to the local pub she discovers this trip could be more than just a holiday, it might just change her life forever…What reviewers are saying about Five Go Glamping‘Fun-filled, witty and uplifting, Five Go Glamping is a quick read but a memorable one. It features a great combination of friendship, romance and adventure and the story builds up vividly to the extent I felt like I was there myself, watching the madness unfold.’ – Reviewed the Book‘Liz Tipping’s writing style was great, it was fun, flirty, great characters and kept me thoroughly entertained with some wonderful witty words and some gorgeous heartwarming moments.’ – Kraftireader‘Believe me, if you are in a need of a book that’s going to make you laugh out loud, has style, glamour and interesting storyline – than do not look any further! Five Go Glamping is what you’re looking for!’ – On My Bookshelf‘This is an energetic and lively story, packed full of friendship, romance, mishaps and laughs. I raced through the book and I enjoyed Liz Tipping's style of writing, which made me want to keep on reading long after I should have been in bed!’ – Curious Ginger Cat Glamping Check list Festival tickets Double check best Instagram filter Avoid thinking about work/Connor/five year plan!! A four day break from her hectic life to relax in the countryside and hang out at a local festival (for free!) is just what Fiona Delaney needs. With her best friends, great tunes and a cool looking hat her Instagram shots are going to look A-Mazing! Until suddenly glamping starts to feel a lot more like camping and Fiona’s in desperate search of a comfy chair, wi-fi and a chilled glass of wine. But when she finally makes it to the local pub she discovers this trip could be more than just a holiday, it might just change her life forever… Five Go Glamping Liz Tipping Copyright (#ulink_40179ef8-e652-576c-9a90-0ced87441808) HQ An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015 Copyright © Liz Tipping 2015 Liz Tipping asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474036511 Version date: 2018-07-23 LIZ TIPPING is a writer of romantic comedies. As well as reading and writing novels, Liz enjoys John Hughes films, science fiction box sets, reality television, Irish sausages and ginger beer. She lives in Birmingham and has a degree in Communication where she specialised in Film Studies and Photography. Contents Cover (#u4841957b-f0e1-5b1b-9740-df3011194307) Blurb (#ue718f419-1bcb-5674-af78-af946f8e5927) Title Page (#u3ae9e5cb-4ca8-5b0d-adf8-1df1d4582711) Copyright (#ulink_b86d2abd-c934-5295-a220-5685a3c1dbb4) Author Bio (#u45b4c25a-875e-52d1-92a8-42e4c6fd7570) Acknowledgement (#u60c5c57e-b710-5408-a76f-6286085b2729) Dedication (#ua581f4a0-2ec4-53a5-9abb-9feea7e43af1) Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Endpages (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Huge thanks to my superstar editor, Victoria and all of the team at HQ Digital for their enthusiasm and hard work. Special thanks to my agent, the incredible Juliet Mushens, for all her help and support. Thank you to all my wonderful friends, twitter pals and the incredible 100 day writing gang for cheerleading and encouragement. Thank you to Paul who supported and encouraged me the whole way through with love and humour (and almost, nearly, learned to cook.) Thanks to Mum and Dad for encouraging my love of reading and for taking me into town to spend my pocket money on Enid Blyton books. That’s how this whole book thing started. Thank you to all my family, old and new, Mullallys, Keatings and Hills, especially Cecilia who loved her romance books. I wonder would she like this one? For Paul Chapter One (#u89e70465-7af0-5a87-95f4-0e26999636bf) It was Saturday. It was bad enough having to work on a Saturday in the first place but even worse that it was going to be the hottest day of the year. Worse still because Ayesha had called in sick – this time saying she had gastroenteritis. I suspected it had more to do with the fact she’d gone straight out after work last night. I didn’t have any hard evidence, of course, but I’d seen her Facebook status which read: ‘WTF is KEBab KIngdom shut for!! Nevr shut. Alwys open. Noooooooo.’ The last ever recorded incident of Kebab Kingdom being closed before five a.m. is believed to be in 1993 so all of this suggested she’d had a great night. Apart from Kebab Kingdom being shut, of course. That must have been disappointing. But not nearly as disappointing as my own Friday night. I had been looking forward to it all week and had managed to escape the office on time for once so I could go home and spend the evening cooking a romantic anniversary meal for my boyfriend. Connor, who had been absolutely convinced he would be there around nine, had failed to turn up at all. He had always worked at the weekends as a club promoter, putting on bands and DJs and that kind of thing, but this summer he’d been even busier with outdoor events and festivals. It was hard to even remember the last time he’d had a day off and I was getting really fed up of it. I had waited roughly half an hour – keeping the food warm on the stove before delivering it to the table –, and a further twenty minutes sat at the table on my own, looking at the clock, willing him to get there. I eventually started on the now cold stroganoff myself, but simply didn’t have the stomach for it any more. The food I had spent hours on was completely ruined but it still looked okay so I took a photograph and uploaded it to Instagram. It instantly received a flurry of likes and that made me feel worse because nobody was going to eat it no matter how good it looked. I’d blown the tea light candles out and retired to the sofa, having lots of conversations with myself about what time to go to bed or whether to stay up late and wait for Connor with another glass of wine. I’d chosen wine and now I also had the makings of a hangover. Not the hangover of epic proportions like I imagined Ayesha was experiencing. Ayesha’s would be monumental. I only had a dull headache with excessive carb cravings and slight dehydration from three glasses of Pinot Grigio. Three big glasses, but not quite a whole bottle. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a social life at all, it just wasn’t epic like Ayesha’s. I often went to the pub with Steph and Sinead and Kirk, but I was trying desperately to save some cash for our own place. This meant I would only ever stay for one or two drinks, taking advantage of ‘buy two glasses of wine, get the bottle free’ offers and switching to tap water to hang onto the pennies. But it would be worth it when Connor and I got the keys to our own place. Besides, I didn’t have Ayesha’s stamina for partying these days. I wondered whether I would even have the energy to go to the pub with Steph and Sinead later and thought I should probably stay in anyway as I had gone slightly over my budget for the week, splashing out on all the fancy ingredients for last night’s disastrous meal. And so whilst Ayesha would be at home enjoying her wonderful hangover, I was stuck at work all day with Doris. Ayesha had once said that you had to have four cats to go Full Mad Cat Lady. Doris had three. She was retiring in a couple of weeks and I was pleased she was going because a) I wouldn’t have to listen to her any more and b) I could apply for Doris’s job. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do but when I had Doris’s job I would be even closer to owning the home of my dreams. I had even begun filling out an application for her role, which asked me to match my skills with those in the job description. I don’t think anybody knew what Doris actually did, but I knew she thought she was important and I assumed from that it meant she earned significantly more money than me. ‘Doris, what’s your job description?’ I asked. ‘Oh really, Fiona. For heaven’s sake.’ I knew I wouldn’t get an answer out of her. She actually didn’t need to reply to me anyway. I already knew what her job description was: 1. At random intervals exclaim defensively ‘Well, we didn’t have computers in my day’ and phone the IT people all the time. 2. Accuse people of stealing yoghurts/biscuits/cakes/pasta salads from the fridge and insist everyone labels their own food. 3. Steal other people’s food. 4. Suddenly become incapable of telling the time shortly after half past one every afternoon. Say ‘Does that clock say twenty to two or twenty to three? I can never tell.’ Do this every day, without bloody fail. 5. Say ‘I’ve been here for forty years’ to anyone who will listen. 6. Never, ever make Fiona and Ayesha a cup of tea and when they very kindly make you one complain about some or every aspect of it. 7. Embrace burning martyrdom by saying ‘I have to do everything’ and ‘I suppose I shall have to do it myself’. 8. You may be required to work Saturdays paid at time and a half, even though you don’t need to as the mortgage on your massive five bed house was paid off long ago. ‘So do you know what my job description is then?’ I asked, knowing I was pushing it with interrupting Doris. ‘You ought to know what your job is after nearly fifteen years,’ she said. Perhaps I should know, as I had indeed been here for almost fifteen years, ever since I’d left school in fact. I rifled through my drawers to find the brown folder with all my personnel stuff in it and pulled out my original contract. The pages had yellowed a little bit and I noticed how it had been put together on a typewriter so it looked like an ancient document. I held my breath as I read the contract, hoping it would tell me that I did something exciting. ‘I’m an office bloody junior?’ ‘Language, Fiona.’ said Doris. Surely I couldn’t still be an office junior, could I? But there it was, written at the top of the page. ‘I thought I was one of those customer services thingy people. Isn’t Ayesha the office junior now? Can you be an office junior when you are thirty? Is that even legal?’ I shoved the contract back into the drawer and folded my arms. This wasn’t how I thought my life would turn out. I was fairly sure I was meant to have achieved something by now and at the least I shouldn’t be an officer junior. The career officer at school had advised me to apply for this job at Dynamic Food Processing when I’d said I wanted to cook. At the job interview I’d talked about how I loved Home Economics, and that I’d quite like to work with food, perhaps in the development centre where they developed the recipes. They’d said I would need more qualifications for that, but that there was a role in the distribution centre and I could start off there. They said I may be able to side step. But it had been nearly fifteen years now and I hadn’t stepped anywhere. I hadn’t even moved desks. I also hadn’t seen anything resembling food since I started here. By the time the food arrived for distribution, it had already been processed to within an inch of its life, dolloped into plastic containers, covered in cardboard sleeves, and packed into trucks ready to be sent off to the supermarkets. As well as days spent moving figures from one spreadsheet to another, I also spent time manning the customer service lines. This usually involved people ringing up and shouting at me. Doris said I spent too long on each call, but I felt it was important to listen and I had learned over the years that most people weren’t really upset with their gone off food or the microwaving instructions leaving them with a frozen lump of chicken in the middle of their meals. Most of the time they just wanted to let off steam. A burnt lasagne was the final straw for some people, the thing that tipped them over the edge. I always had the impression all they wanted was for someone to listen to. So I listened. I still hoped that one day I’d be moved to the food development centre where I’d spend my days inventing wonderful creations. Sadly, the only time I saw any food now was when I was manning the company’s social media accounts and people sent pictures of foreign bodies they had found in their ready meals while they shouted at me in caps lock. I still cooked all the time at home. Mainly because if you’d seen some of the pictures I had, you’d never eat a ready meal again. On Saturdays, less people wanted to complain and the phones were fairly quiet so the topic of conversation was always Doris’s cats. I knew all their names and which cat food each of them preferred. If me and Ayesha talked about anything, Doris told us off, but talking about her cats was fine, so we talked about cats a lot to avoid doing work. Today’s hot cat topic had been mange. As Saturday working was voluntary overtime, we were allowed to clock out when we wanted, but because I was saving I felt I had no choice but to stay and Doris knew this. I was bored out of my brain (which apparently shrinks when you are hungover) and the afternoon seemed even longer as I had taken my lunch break at eleven-thirty. I was daydreaming about what I would cook for my tea and I hoped Connor would be back to share it with me. I was starving again, so I tore open the emergency Jaffa cakes when Doris got her time blindness. ‘Fiona, does that clock say twenty to two or twenty to three?’ She moved her glasses up and down, blinked a few times and widened her eyes – which made her forehead wrinkle – then squinted. ‘Only, I can never tell. You’d think the least they could do was buy us girls in the corner a clock that told the time properly.’ ‘It’s twenty to two, Doris.’ I said, for the sixth time that week. I sighed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be really hungover like Ayesha. Or I wanted to be spending the day with the girls, or Connor if I wasn’t so cross with him. ‘You can always check the clock on your computer.’ ‘We didn’t have computers in my day.’ ‘Do you want tea or coffee, Doris?’ I asked, with my mouth full of Jaffa cakes. I was desperate to get away from her, even for five minutes. ‘Coffee. And not too much milk like last time.’ I took our mugs to the kitchen and half-heartedly rinsed them. There were crumbs in the bottom of Doris’s mug, even though she hadn’t brought her own biscuits in since 1987. Out of habit I reached for a third mug for Ayesha when something dawned on me. Ayesha doesn’t have her own mug. Doris has her own mug. And I have my own mug. And both mugs have got cats on. Doris has got three cats on her mug. There are four on mine. I have gone full mad cat lady like Doris without even realising it, stuck in this ridiculous job, being sensible and saving all my money instead of having fun. Right there, at that moment, I was prepared to fully abandon my savings plans and spend at least a tenner on a ‘buy two glasses, get the bottle free’ deal down the pub. ‘Doris, I’m going home now. Now.’ I plonked her extra milky coffee in front of her and struggled into my coat. ‘I don’t need to be here on Saturdays, it’s voluntary, so I’m going. Now. I am going to be spontaneous’. ‘Spontaneous? You?’ said Doris. ‘Yes,’ I said. I could tell by the way Doris was looking at me that she didn’t think it was possible for me to be spontaneous. I planned everything. I always knew exactly what I was going to be doing and when. I had started it several years back when I began My Five Year Plan – a series of goals I was going to achieve, all designed to make me happy. My main goal was to buy my own place, so lots of the sub goals involved how to save money. Doris’s job was also in my target as a career goal, not because I particularly wanted to do Doris’s job, but because it would take me a step closer to my own home. The bigger the deposit I had, the less my mortgage would be, and then I would finally have the freedom to do whatever I wanted with my life. Perhaps going back to college to get the qualifications I needed to change my career. And it also meant that Connor and I could save to get married. Not that he had asked me yet, but it was all in my plan. My Five Year Plan was divided up into each year, then month, then week, and detailed exactly how much I needed to save each week to reach my goal. It had started off in an old battered notebook, but now I used apps and calendar reminders which bleeped at me to let me know what I should be doing and when. My social life, working life and even my meals for the week were planned with military precision. As long as I was working towards my goals, I was happy, but it did mean there was little time for spontaneity, which is why Doris was looking at me as though I had gone mad. I was taking the immensely significant step of leaving work early on a Saturday and I hadn’t planned for it. Maybe I could even go shopping and buy something new to wear which I hadn’t budgeted for. I was going to call Sinead and Steph and tell them we were going out early to sit in the beer garden. ‘We’d all like to say “hello to spontaneity” and go and enjoy the sunshine but I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere at the moment – you’ve taken your lunch and you can’t take a lunch if you have only worked for four hours. Sit down, Fiona’. She motioned me to sit. ‘You will simply have to work the half hour you have taken for lunch and then you can go. That is, unless you want to leave me to do everything myself.’ Half a bloody hour. She might as well have said ‘until the end of time.’ I slumped in my seat and sulked, a few minutes afterwards I realised I still had my coat on – my gorgeous, yellow, coat. Yes, it was the hottest day of the year, but it was a size twelve Topshop coat so therefore practically a size zero and I hadn’t got into a size twelve Topshop anything for two years – this is because size twelve clothes don’t fit you if you are a size fourteen, like me. I tried to take it off while still sitting down as if that was a normal thing to do, but I got my arm stuck in a sleeve and had to stand up which somehow made me even more stuck, so I left one arm in my coat and sat down. This was exactly the sort of thing that happened when you didn’t plan for it. I spent the next twenty-five minutes looking at the screen answering queries while trying to shrug the coat sleeve off while Doris tutted and complained about her coffee. When I’d finally worked off my lunch hour, all enthusiasm had left me. I’d talked myself out of my Great Escape. There didn’t seem any point going early now. After I’d freed myself of my coat, I made myself a hot chocolate in my four cat mug. Then I made Doris another cup of coffee and dunked a tea bag in it for a few seconds. I don’t know why, I just felt like it. She said it was lovely and I was disappointed she liked it but also rather pleased that at least someone had appreciated one of my inventive creations. What seemed like decades later, it was finally five o’clock. I left work feeling troubled and upset and decided I definitely wasn’t working next Saturday as it was a bank holiday weekend and I would definitely be having some fun! I made my way down New Street and took a right at the end to head towards the Bullring markets to pick up some ingredients for tea. The carrier bags laden with vegetables cut into my hands as I walked towards Selfridges to catch the bus. On the way home, I planned what to do with all the vegetables for the week and wondered if Connor would be joining me to eat them or if would I be Instagram-ing them with the world without having anyone to actually share them with. As I was wondering what kind of meals I could cook for a cat, Connor sent a text with an apology, saying he ‘might’ be around later. I muttered ‘tosser’ under my breath, but not as quietly as I thought and an old lady in front of me turned round, glared at me and tutted. ‘Well he is,’ I said. A year or so ago, Connor absolutely fitted in with my Five Year Plan perfectly. He was successful, focused, with big plans for his business, and knew exactly what he wanted. But now, Connor was so busy he barely had time to see me. Part of me wondered if he wasn’t committed to me, let alone the plan, but he would always reassure me that he was doing this for us and our future. But today I was troubled by it all. Now I had seen my future as a mad cat lady and with Doris retiring, and the realisation I had already been working there for fifteen years, I was frightened that if I didn’t do something drastic, I’d spend the next thirty years at that same desk. I was worried my five year plan wasn’t working. Chapter Two (#u89e70465-7af0-5a87-95f4-0e26999636bf) Steph arrived as I was ordering at the bar. She had persuaded me to come out after I called her on the way home. She said I simply had to come and I was not allowed to waste perfectly good beer garden weather. ‘Steph, do you think I am going to be a mad cat lady?’ Her eyes darted around as she looked for a table out in the beer garden. All I wanted her to say was ‘No, this will never ever happen to you. Ever. And I will do all in my power to prevent it.’ But she didn’t. She was too focused on bagging us a seat, probably motivated by her need to escape the pain of her ridiculously high shoes. Steph always looked effortlessly glamorous. She had wavy long blonde hair and although it wasn’t natural, she never ever had roots. She was the only person I knew to have highlights which actually looked natural. My hair had always been a challenge until the invention of Frizz Ease. Remarkably, even though I’d stood all the way home from town on a packed, sweaty number 50 bus, it was holding up okay today. It was stifling on that bloody bus, but I couldn’t take my coat off as there wasn’t enough room. I’d thought about it, but there were women and children around and there may have been flailing arms as I tried to escape the coat. Steph shrugged ‘I don’t know.’ She was so focused on her mission. ‘Do you like cats? Is this something to do with your plan? Quick! Table!’ Steph swiped up the bottle of wine and two glasses from the bar and made a dash for the doors, shouting behind her ‘Get another glass for Sinead.’ As we settled ourselves at the table I continued my cat lady chat. ‘I mean, cats are okay. I do like them. But I don’t want loads or anything. And I do want to come out on Saturday nights but I have to save. ‘I took a long drink of the chilled white wine. It was still really hot outside, even at seven o’clock. I took my shoes off and felt the grass under my feet. ‘How many cats do you need to be a mad cat lady then?’ Steph pushed her sunglasses on to the top of her head, more attentive now she’d grabbed us a table. ‘Four.’ I said this confidently, now knowing it to be fact. ‘Get three then. Or maybe only two. Why are you getting a cat, again? Does Connor like cats?’ ‘I don’t know, actually,’ I said realising it was strange that after a couple of years together I didn’t know if he liked cats or not. I worried that it should be something I absolutely knew. ‘I don’t really want a cat at all but I’m worried that I will end up like Doris if I don’t leave my stupid job. Where’s Sinead?’ Sinead was great at giving thoughtful advice and words of wisdom, whereas Steph was more practical – apart from when it came to heel height. ‘Doing some of her hippy bollocks, she’s having her chakras cleared with Tibetan bowls or Himalayan bells or something,’ Steph rolled her eyes. ‘It’s supposed to make you feel calm. I told her the only bells that actually makes you feel calm is the whisky. But wine is much nicer. Cheers. Hey, you know what? Stroking cats is supposed to make you calm and happy.’ ‘Well, Doris at work isn’t calm and happy. Quite the opposite in fact. She’s always miserable. She only has three so she’s not full mad cat lady. It’s definitely four for that. And I have four on my mug and Doris only has three on hers and I barely see Connor so I might as well be single.’ ‘It’s not that bad, is it? Have you two been arguing again?’ said Steph with her eyebrows raised, looking concerned. ‘Oh I don’t know, Steph. I haven’t really seen him to have an argument with him!’ I said and slumped down. ‘It all seems like such hard work, you know?’ ‘I know,’ said Steph. ‘Maybe it’s time to change your plan then?’ Even though I had considered it earlier, I now bristled at the thought of it. ‘Hmm,’ I said ‘I’m not sure.’ I had spent so long saving, and all those Saturdays at work would be for nothing. I didn’t want to give up on my dreams now. I’d only have to do Doris’s job for a few years. I could still leave long before I became a cat lady. Steph rolled her eyes. ‘What’s the point in having a plan if it doesn’t make you happy? And what’s the point of a boyfriend you never see? Honestly Fi, he ought to be making a bit of an effort.’ ‘He said he won’t be so busy once summer is over. There won’t be so many festivals and events and I’ll see him more.’ This was one of things I was hanging onto; once the festivals and the summer parties were over, he’d be back to working less brutal hours, and things would be back to normal. This is what I hoped for anyway. ‘It kind of is the end of summer,’ said Steph, delivering a crushing blow as I realised it was almost September and I had spent barely any time with Connor. No summer picnics, no strolls in the park, no weekends away, holidays or days out on the beach. No time to stop all the planning and to just be for a little while. ‘I feel like I’ve missed it,’ I said. ‘I know what you mean, I am so tired. I could do with a holiday,’ said Steph, sighing. Steph had not taken any holiday since Christmas, she’d been working so hard trying to win accounts which would get her a promotion. She worked ten-hour days but at least she was doing what she wanted and was successful. But it was taking its toll on her – she looked a little dark around the eyes, as though she’d not slept for weeks. With both of us now feeling really miserable, we did the only thing to do in this situations; we checked in with Facebook, tagged each other and uploaded smiling selfies of ourselves ‘feeling happy’ while we waited for Sinead to arrive. ‘Seriously though, Fi, are you happy?’ I thought about her question for a moment, and was relieved when Sinead arrived so I didn’t have to answer. Steph sniffed her to check for patchouli in case she’d gone full hippy. ‘Good, no patchouli, you may still be my friend,’ she teased while pouring her a glass of wine. ‘Clear off, Steph.’ Sinead gave her a gentle shove. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Connor let Fiona down again last night and now Fiona is getting a cat. Four cats, actually.’ ‘Oh, no, again? Very calming, and pets are also good for moving the energy around. Very good feng shui,’ said Sinead. ‘Plus, nice company, you know, if you’re lonely?’ ‘I’m not getting a sodding cat! And I am not lonely. I don’t think.’ I winced. Sinead had managed to hit a nerve while simultaneously hitting the nail on the head. ‘She doesn’t need her feng shui sorting out,’ Steph started to laugh. ‘What she needs is to be sorted out. What she needs is a good sh-’ ‘Steph!’ Sinead and I shouted at her. ‘What? I was going to say Chardonnay! Ha. Christ knows I do. I haven’t been on a date in years. Don’t have the time.’ Steph winked and topped up my glass and laughed the dirtiest laugh. I found it hard to believe Steph would be struggling to meet anyone. ‘What about that bloke from Fiona’s work who you went for a balti with on Ladypool Road last month? That was a date wasn’t it?’ asked Sinead, smiling encouragingly. ‘That doesn’t count. I have erased it from my memory.’ she said. ‘His favourite film was Jurassic Park Two. And he said he liked the smell of bleach. Seriously, who likes the smell of bleach? A mad axe murderer or a serial killer, that’s who. Therefore, it does not count as a date. It was more like a sociological investigation into the mind of a psychopath. Or a prison visit.’ She shuddered. It was a very ill-informed decision of mine to set up Steph on a date with Ken from work. Not my finest moment. I didn’t know about his liking for dinosaur movies or cleaning products before the date, but still, it’s never a good idea to set up your friends with work colleagues. ‘And he ordered a korma too,’ said Steph. ‘He said he didn’t really like spicy food.’ ‘Oh no,’ Sinead looked at her with pity and touched Steph’s hand. Perhaps slightly overreacting. ‘I know,’ said Steph. ‘What a wuss. That is such a girly thing to do. Where are all the real men, for heaven’s sake?’ ‘They’re not in here for a start,’ ‘I said. ‘Look at the state of them. I used to love it here.’ It used to be an old man’s pub before it got hipster-y and uber-fashionable, when the only food they served was a cheese cob wrapped in cling film. We would spend hours in here and treated it like our living room, meeting up after work and staying until closing at the weekends before heading into town. Me and Connor had our first date here. Now it was all black walls and chandeliers and blackboards full of cocktails and ridiculous tapas creations and I hated it. The people were different too. Once it had been full of all sorts of people, old men popping in and out of the bookies, supping pints of mild. Now it was full of hipsters, wearing the same sorts of clothes the old men used to wear but with designer labels on them. Connor still liked it in here, he mingled with all the hipster types, but it didn’t feel real to me any more. It was all so pretentious. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t been on holiday this year,’ Sinead said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘We could all do with a change. A rest. We’re all overworked. We’re burnt out. I was reading about it on Goop. Women our age are tired because we want it all but what we really need is some fresh air,’ she announced. ‘We need fresh air, peace and quiet, country walks. A break away from it all. We could go camp–’ ‘Forget it.’ I interrupted. ‘I know what you are going to say. I’m not going camping. Not after last time. If I could afford to go on holiday, which I cannot, I’d want to go somewhere warm or to a spa. Somewhere nice where you don’t have to put your coat on to walk to the showers.’ ‘A break would be nice,’ said Steph wistfully. ‘A holiday would do us all good.’ ‘Can’t afford it,’ I continued. ‘I haven’t budgeted for a holiday. I need to get this deposit saved and get this promotion at work and then I can go on all the holidays I want.’ A holiday did appeal to me massively; I wanted a change of some sort and maybe a holiday could be just the thing I needed. Time to get some clarity. My thoughts ran through all the things I wanted to change: I was unhappy at work, unable to pursue anything I really wanted to do; I hadn’t saved enough for my own place; Connor was around less and less. My five year plan was already crumbling and I didn’t know whether a holiday would fix any of that. ‘I feel like I need a new thing, you know?’ ‘What kind of thing?’ asked Sinead. ‘What I mean is, you have a thing Steph – you have a proper grown-up career and you are glamorous and can run in skyscraper heels. That’s your thing.’ I turned to Sinead. ‘And you Sinead, you have all your stuff going on. And your interests.’ I waved a hand up and down in front of her gesturing to her rose quartz jewellery. Steph and I had both said we would never speak to her again if she a) started wearing patchouli oil or b) started wearing any kinds of clothes that had mirrors in them. As it was, she was fairly stylish and a little bit quirky and we hoped it would remain that way. ‘But for me, everything is just so boring and repetitive! I haven’t achieved anything from my plan. I don’t have my thing. I haven’t found it.’ ‘You have lots of things! Let’s see. You are excellent at cooking. And you are excellent at listening,’ said Steph. ‘That’s true,’ said Sinead. ‘You always listen to us and you come up with great solutions all the time. Plus, your new coat is nice.’ It was nice of her to say but Nice Coat wasn’t really the sort of thing I was looking for. ‘Maybe I should ask for a change at work,’ I announced. ‘But you hate change,’ said Steph, ‘That’s why you’re always moaning about this place. You’re always plotting and planning your way through everything.’ ‘You should take small steps. If you want opportunities to come your way, you have to make room for them,’ said Sinead. ‘I know what you need,’ she continued, ‘I picked this up at the Himalayan Healing Centre. Listen, this could be the thing for all of us.’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a flyer and when I saw it, I knew that this was going to be the worst idea ever. Worse even than Steph going out with Jurassic Bleach. Chapter Three (#u89e70465-7af0-5a87-95f4-0e26999636bf) I suggested we all pile back to mine where I would cook us a midnight feast and we could discuss Sinead’s plan for us to attend ‘Fire up your life with Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam for ?9.95’ on the way. Steph and Sinead always marvelled at how I cooked up such treats on a shoestring budget and they jumped at the offer. It also meant we could swing by the off licence and I could make even more savings on my budget. As we approached my flat, I saw Connor’s car outside. He was talking on the phone and as the three of us approached, he gave a wave and carried on his conversation on the telephone. I could see he’d had his hair cut and while he looked great, I couldn’t help but wonder how much it had cost. His beloved car, which I was never allowed to drive, seemed to look shinier than usual too and I wondered if he had paid for some ridiculous valeting service, further eating into our savings. ‘How much did that cost?’ I said as he got out of the shiny car. ‘I’ve missed you too, babe,’ he said, smiling. That smile. And those crinkly eyes. And his general smoking hotness. At one time, it was all enough to make me melt, but I was still so cross about the anniversary dinner, he’d have to do a better job than that. ‘I suppose you want to come in then,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He tilted his head to the side and I admit I started to melt a little before I straightened myself up, determined not to be swayed by his charms. I needed to let him know how cross I was. ‘You could have called,’ I said. ‘You know I have to work, Fiona,’ he said. It wasn’t that I minded he worked so late or even that I didn’t get to see him as often as I liked, it was the thoughtlessness. What was he doing that kept him so busy, he couldn’t even send a text? Yes, it was important that we both worked hard and put everything we could in the joint savings account, but the sociable aspect of his job meant a lot of the time these ‘meetings’ he went to were nothing short of going out clubbing. I reminded myself that once we had the money saved to get a place, he wouldn’t have to ‘network’ so hard, and I might get to have my Saturdays back. Steph and Sinead looked a bit embarrassed and said a quick hello to Connor before saying their goodbyes, hugging me and walking back towards Steph’s house, leaving me and Connor alone. ‘Come in then,’ I said. He grabbed his bag out the boot, a Luis Vuitton hold-all I hadn’t seen before. ‘Is that new?’ I said. ‘We’ve talked about this before, Fiona. I have to look the part, don’t I?’ Looking the part was one thing, but if he hadn’t even earned what he was spending, I was worried he wasn’t saving enough for us. I didn’t know if it even mattered to him any more. He seemed to be more concerned about status and being seen to be cool than spending any time with me. We went into the kitchen where he dumped his bag by the washing machine and headed for the fridge. ‘Anything to eat? I’m starving’ he said, rooting through the fridge and freezer. ‘I cooked for you yesterday,’ I said. ‘I know, I know,’ he said ‘I’m sorry, but I was sorting out a really good deal. I’m doing it for us, for our future. Five year plan, remember?’ ‘And what then,’ I asked, folding my arms. ‘How do you mean?’ he said picking with his fingers at the leftover lasagne I had earmarked for Sunday lunch. ‘Yeah, well I’m not entirely sure about the plan any more,’ I said. ‘I was thinking of doing something else. Leaving work, getting a different job. Maybe going back to college.’ I’d been thinking about it all day. Steph was right, I had spent too long plotting and planning and I was missing out on stuff. ‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said ‘We’ll get our own place first and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want.’ ‘But I want to leave now, I hate it there. I’ve been there too long. It’s okay for you, you’re doing what you love. What about me?’ ‘Fi,’ he said. ‘You know you can’t. I thought we were saving?’ ‘Well maybe I don’t want to be saving, maybe I want to be living now.’ ‘Maybe I could move in here,’ he said, spooning my lasagne into his mouth without any thought about what he was doing or saying. ‘Save some money that way?’ I thought about it for a split second and then his bag by the washing machine caught my eye. Did I really want him moving in here to my one bed flat, coming back at all hours, only to never see him? I shrugged and leant back against the counter. ‘Maybe we should have a break?’ I suggested. I wasn’t sure whether this was what I wanted but I did want to see how he reacted. ‘Like a holiday?’ he said, ‘I don’t think we could afford that.’ I couldn’t believe he was so arrogant that he hadn’t even considered I meant a break as in splitting up. I stared at him in disbelief for a second and then considered whether to push the issue. What would he think if I told him I wanted to split up? The thought of it frightened me, it was such a massive change. Steph was right, I did hate change. Connor had appeared in my life as I was formulating my plan and I had taken it as a sign that we were meant to be. I had changed my plan to accommodate him in it, adding ‘Get married by thirty’ to it. Splitting up with him now felt like I would be giving up and it terrified me. ‘So what exactly are we’re going to do when we’ve saved up all the money, at the end of the five year plan?’ ‘You know,’ he said grabbing a fork and starting on another dish. ‘We’ll buy a place, live together.’ He paused and looked at me. ‘Live the dream.’ ‘What’s your dream?’ I asked. ‘Being with you,’ he said. ‘You know. Marriage, kids and stuff, all of that. We can do what we want.’ ‘How romantic. Is that a proposal?’ I said. ‘If you like,’ he laughed. ‘When?’ ‘When we have the savings. When the five years are up. Going to grab a shower, yeah?’ he said. I headed off to bed feeling exhausted and was dozing off when Connor returned from the bathroom, got under the covers and went to sleep. ‘Happy bloody anniversary,’ I said to him. * Connor was taking up the whole of the bed in the morning and I knew he wouldn’t surface until noon so I sloped off to the living room and began the day lying on the sofa watching Country Tracks, wishing I hadn’t had that last glass of wine last night. After Connor had gnawed the corners off all my food last night, I would have another day’s cooking ahead of me, rustling up some new creations for the week. Maybe Connor would let me use his precious car to go to Waitrose for some posh ingredients. I was still cross with him for missing our anniversary dinner and not calling, but after I’d slept on it I felt happy that at least he’d said he wanted to marry me, even if it was the most half-hearted proposal ever. At least he was trying. The landline phone ringing startled me, but at least I knew who it was. ‘Hello, Mum.’ Who else uses the landline? ‘Have you forgotten you’re to come to dinner?’ ‘No, of course I haven’t.’ I had. ‘I bet you’re not even dressed, are you? Is Connor with you? Will he be bringing you in that lovely car of his?’ I could hear the exasperation in her voice. ‘Yes, he’s here, and we’re leaving now, in fact.’ I lied again as I struggled out of my pyjamas. ‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘I’ll be delighted to see him. You’ve got a real winner there. A real winner!’ I actually thought at one point she might even applaud. ‘Yep. Really lovely, Mum. Have to go, I’ll see you in a bit.’ I hung up and ran up the stairs to Connor. ‘Wake up,’ I shouted on the way up the stairs. ‘We have to go to Mum and Dad’s.’ He stirred under the duvet, his brand new haircut had messed up during the night. ‘Come back to bed,’ he said. ‘I can’t, we have to go, come on get up.’ ‘I’ve got a meeting,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go as soon as my washing is dry. Will you stick it in the dryer for me?’ ‘As soon as your washing is dry?’ I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. Just when I had decided to be a little more sympathetic about his long working hours and putting his lack of contact down to forgetfulness, he came out with this. ‘Is that all you’ve come here for, to get your washing done and somewhere to kip for the night? You absolute utter knob head.’ I dashed back down the stairs, pulled all of his still wet washing out the machine into the basket and ran back up the stairs as fast as I could. Then I tipped the big pile of wet clothes all over the bed. ‘Here’s your bloody washing!’ I said. ‘Don’t be like that Fi,’ he said, struggling to get out from underneath. ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’ ‘Well how did you mean it then?’ I said. ‘What could you possibly mean other than you’re treating the place like a hotel? I don’t see you for a week and then you turn up with your shiny car, your hundred pound haircut, and your crap proposal.’ ‘Come on Fiona, please?’ he said, standing up. ‘I want you to help me out a bit.’ ‘And I want you to make an effort,’ I said, thinking about how if I did have four cats, they wouldn’t expect me to do their washing for them. ‘I’ll make an effort, I promise, give me a chance. It’s almost September, things will quieten down soon,’ he pleaded with me. ‘I have to go,’ I said, turning and leaving the room. ‘At least let me give you a lift,’ he said. Despite not wanting to be anywhere near him, I did want to get to Mum’s on time, so I reluctantly agreed. But I ignored him the whole way there. ‘Look, I’ll be back later,’ he said as I was getting out of the car ‘I promise.’ ‘I don’t want you to come back later,’ I said and I slammed the door on the car. Connor used to be such a big part of my plan. I knew people said relationships weren’t easy, but it felt like ours was hard work all the time. At times it was so awkward, like I didn’t know him at all, not like I’d spent five years with him. And I didn’t want it to be hard work, I wanted it to be easy and fun and to be with someone who made me laugh, and who looked after me. Someone I felt safe with. As it was, Connor had now become another one of the things that was not going right with my five year plan. That and the fact that my five year plan had so far taken six years… * Why do people insist on having a roast dinner whatever the weather, just because it’s Sunday? Blisteringly hot outside and my parent’s kitchen was like a sauna. All the windows were steamed up after excessive vegetable boiling in The Massive Saucepan. I‘m not entirely sure where I developed a love of cooking from, but it probably had something to do with that saucepan. ‘Can we open the back door, at least?’ I asked. ‘No, we’ll have next door’s cat after the roast.’ Mum insisted. ‘Makes a change from rice pudding,’ said Dad, putting his Sunday paper down. Mum didn’t get it. Me and Dad both laughed as Mum attempted to remove blackened Yorkshires from an oven tray. ‘Where’s that poser of a boyfriend, then?’ ‘Working,’ I said, not wanting to think about him or get Mum started on how marvellous he was again. I was still seething with him. ‘Never done a decent day’s work in his life, I bet’ Dad muttered. Dad wasn’t in the Connor fan club like Mum was. ‘Oh what a thing to say!’ said Mum, ‘Fiona’s done herself proud managing to catch someone like Connor. I wonder when you will get married. Maybe you could do what Brendan and Katie next door did and get married abroad.’ She was spooning peas onto the plate now, rapidly. ‘Careful with those peas Maureen,’ Dad said. She ignored him and carried on piling peas until they were reaching critical mass. ‘I don’t think he’s that keen anyway,’ I said, wondering if he was planning to ask me properly. A proper proposal. ‘Don’t be silly Fiona, I am sure he will be asking you any day now.’ ‘Now they’re back from their honeymoon, Brendan and Katie are taking their whole family on a fake-cation. The whole family and all the grandchildren. Can you imagine?’ She looked wistful and said ‘A Fay Cay Tion’ again quietly, punctuating the air with her fork after each syllable. ‘And what the bloody hell is a fake-cation when it’s at home?’ Dad asked her, putting his knife and fork down. ‘Well,’ she began, taking a breath and then putting on her posh phone voice. ‘Say if you really wanted to go to the Bahamas, well, you don’t go to the Bahamas, you go to Costa Brava or to Devon to a place they make look like the Bahamas. So they go to Lloret de Mar but they stay at the Hotel Caribe and they eat Caribbean food and have themed dances and they pretend they are in the Bahamas. It’s all themed you see. Oh can you imagine. It’s a themed Fay Cay Tion.’ Again, with the punctuation fork. She looked so pleased with herself. ‘And what would be the bleeding point of that, now?’ said Dad, winking at me. ‘It’s for the recession!’ she said sharply. ‘What do you mean, it’s for the recession? That bloody lot could afford to go to the real thing if they wanted. They must be earning a fortune, big house like that.’ He muttered something about council tax bands. I was enjoying Dad having a go at the neighbours. ‘But that’s the wonderful thing. They said they can afford to go to the Bahamas but they wanted to go on the fake-cation anyway. They said they wanted to give something back. Isn’t that wonderful? All the money they have and they want to give something back.’ She beamed. She was calmer now having been on holiday in her head with the Callaghans. She turned to me. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go on a fake-cation? It would make me so proud if you did, Fiona. Maybe you could ask Connor to take you.’ I took this to mean ‘Wouldn’t you like to be like the next door neighbours and marry Connor and then go on a fake-cation?’ ‘Of course I bloody well would! Who bloody well wouldn’t want to go on a fake-cation? But as it is, I am probably going to get four cats instead and be a mad cat lady and I am never going to see the end of my five year plan – and right at this very moment, I am not entirely sure that Connor is the person for me or whether I ever want to get married and would actually prefer to live out my days like Doris and have as many cats as I can fit in my house.’ I’d said that out loud. More kind of shouted it. Mum and Dad both looked concerned about my enthusiasm for a fake-cation and the four cats. I hoped she wasn’t going to say ‘It’s okay if you don’t like men in that way.’ Like she used to before I met Connor. ‘You break my heart, Fiona.’ She had put her knife and fork down and was now wringing her hands. ‘Oh, leave her be, Maureen and eat your dinner,’ said Dad. I felt my eyes filling up a little bit. ‘I tell you what, love,’ said Dad, noticing something was up, ‘if you really want to go on a fake-cation, why don’t you and Connor come to the caravan with me and your mum next weekend. I’ll paint a sign saying ‘Skegness One Mile’ and then it would be like a fake-cation because really we would be in Weston-super-Mare.’ I laughed and said I’d think about it. Later on, Dad dropped me back at home at the flat and a fluffy black cat peeked at me from behind a bush and slowly made his way over. ‘So, what’s your story then?’ I asked him as I stroked behind his ears. ‘And is it good luck or bad you are bringing me?’ I can never remember. He was quite sweet with lovely big eyes. His fluff was deceptive though. I noticed as I stroked him, underneath he was really boney. I explained very clearly to him that if I fed him, it was in no way to become a regular thing as I was definitely not a cat person. At all. I went back inside and grabbed a tin of tuna, emptied it into a bowl and presented it to him on the steps. He must have been starving as he ate it in a minute flat and had licked it almost clean. I stayed up until about eleven and then went to bed, trying to sleep on the still slightly damp sheets where the washing had been earlier. My head was spinning with the weekend’s events. It hadn’t occurred to me before that I could abandon my plans of saving up, of being with Connor, of us moving in together – it was all so fixed in my head. When Steph and Sinead suggested I didn’t have to follow it, it seemed nothing less than crazy. I’d been working towards it for so long, that I felt afraid to do anything else. Maybe I’d wait until September and see if things would change, it was only another week or so and I could decide what to do about everything then. Chapter Four (#ulink_40179ef8-e652-576c-9a90-0ced87441808) 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 d?cor 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. Chapter Five (#ulink_40179ef8-e652-576c-9a90-0ced87441808) ‘I can’t believe she signed my book. So inspiring. Wasn’t it wonderful?’ Sinead was ecstatic in the cab on the way to The Swan as she hugged a copy of ‘You Can Do It’ by Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam. ‘It was okay actually. I quite enjoyed it.’ said Steph and she sounded like she meant it; she definitely seemed a lot calmer than normal. I didn’t say anything and just looked out the window. I couldn’t believe Steph had liked it. All of it was rubbish. After the stupid visualisation part, Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam went on and on about how you had to seize your destiny, but how could you do that if you didn’t know what your destiny was in the first place? My phone rang. It was Kirk. ‘Where the bloody hell are you all?’ he shouted, always the drama queen. ‘I’m having to do the picture round on my own, there’s twenty bloody questions this week. I’m a nervous wreck!’ ‘Calm down Kirk,’ I said soothingly. ‘We’ll be there in a second. Isn’t Gav with you?’ ‘He’s not coming. But there’s someone else here I want you to meet. His name is Brian and he’s gorgeous.’ ‘We’re here. See you in a sec. Take deep breaths.’ I made faces to the others and they rolled their eyes. ‘He says Gav isn’t coming and he wants us to meet someone gorgeous called Brian’ I said. None of us really liked Gav, and we were all glad he wasn’t coming. Since Kirk had met Gav, he hardly ever came out with us and we blamed Gav for making Kirk boring. ‘Oh.’ Sinead’s eyes actually filled up with tears. Brian was indeed gorgeous and so cute that Sinead stopped dead in her tracks. ‘I want him,’ Steph cried. Steph went to pick him up, but he wriggled towards me so I stretched out my arms and sat down with him at the table. He was so beautiful. He nuzzled into my neck and licked my cheek. He was without a doubt the most beautiful pup I had ever seen in my life. ‘I told you he was gorgeous, didn’t I?’ Kirk beamed like a proud parent. ‘Shall I officially introduce you? Fiona, this is Brian Harvey. Brian Harvey, this is Fiona.’ ‘Brian Harvey? As in Brian Harvey out of East 17? As in ran over by his own car Brian Harvey?’ Steph looked disgusted for a split second until she looked at Brian and fell in love with him again. ‘Give! My turn!’ I passed Brian Harvey to her and she cooed for a minute until he licked her face which she didn’t like and she passed him to Sinead. ‘He does look a lot like Brian Harvey,’ said Sinead. It was weird, because he sort of did. But he was still gorgeous. Kirk pretended to be annoyed with us for not taking the quiz seriously, we never did, but really he was delighted because we were all a little bit in love with Brian Harvey. He had a bit of a moan that we hadn’t asked him to come to Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam but we said it was a girls’ thing. Then he wanted to know why the chap with the crazy trousers was allowed to go, because Sinead hadn’t shut up about him. Kirk said he must be gay, Sinead insisted he wasn’t. Sinead said he was in touch with his feminine side. I said it was more like he was in touch with his crazy trouser side. ‘So we’re going then? To the festivals?’ Sinead pleaded. ‘You promise there are hair straighteners in the yurt?’ asked Steph. ‘I promise.’ I could see Sinead was getting excited. Steph raised an eyebrow and looked even more intrigued. ‘And we get a proper bed. A proper bed each? And it’s free? Okay then. What do you reckon, Fiona?’ ‘I’m not sure. Because you know, the caravan and everything.’ Yes, I was trying to make a caravan with my parents seem more appealing than a free weekend in a luxury yurt. And to be honest, it did. If Steph and Sinead were going to join the Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam cult, then I’d be safer in Weston and I wouldn’t have to pretend to be a tree – or worse, Doris. But it was free. And it might be my last chance to have fun before I ‘seized my destiny’ and turned into Doris in September. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/liz-tipping/five-go-glamping-an-adventure-in-the-countryside-for-grown-ups/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.