The Time of My Life Read online

  He gave a wry smile. ‘But you would do that to your life.’

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  ‘So let’s just get started,’ he said, pressing the power button on the computer.

  Nothing happened. We sat in an awkward awful tense atmosphere while he became frustrated with the computer. He pressed the power button over and over again, tested the socket, unplugged it, plugged it in again.

  ‘Just check the—’

  ‘I don’t need your help, thank you. Please take your hands off the—’

  ‘Let me just—’

  ‘Get your hands off the—’

  ‘… twiddle the connection here—’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d just—’

  ‘There.’

  I sat back. The computer made a whirring noise.

  He took a slow breath. ‘Thank you.’

  He didn’t mean it.

  ‘Where did you get that computer – 1980?’

  ‘Yeah, about the same time as you got that jacket,’ he said, eyes on the monitor.

  ‘That’s just childish.’ I pulled my jacket in tighter around me. I folded my arms, crossed my legs, looked away. This was a nightmare, this was worse than I ever could have imagined. My life was an absolute bastard with a chip on his shoulder.

  ‘What did you imagine this would be?’ he asked, finally breaking the silence.

  ‘I didn’t know what this would be,’ I said, still in a huff.

  ‘But you must have imagined something.’

  I shrugged, then thought of one of the images I’d had of me and Life in a canoe somewhere picturesque, him rowing, me reading from a book of poetry in a pretty sun hat and a Cavali dress I’d seen in a magazine that I couldn’t afford – the magazine as well as the dress. I thought of me in a magazine doing my interview about Life with blowdried hair, a full face of make-up, contact lenses, a draped asymmetric dress, good lighting. Maybe even a vase of lemons and limes beside me. I sighed and finally looked at him again. ‘I thought it would be like a therapy session. You’d ask me about my job, my family, if I’m happy, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Have you ever been to a therapy session?’

  ‘No.’

  He looked at me intensely.

  I sighed. ‘Yes. Once. When I quit my job. It was around the time I dumped my boyfriend and bought a new apartment.’

  He didn’t blink. ‘You were fired. Your boyfriend left you and you’re renting a studio flat.’

  I gave him a weak smile. ‘Just testing you.’

  ‘It would help the whole process if you didn’t lie to me.’

  ‘They’re not lies if the end result is the same.’

  He lit up a little, if that was possible for him. He undimmed anyway.

  ‘Tell me how that works.’

  ‘Okay, so if I was to say that I won the lottery then that would be a barefaced lie because I’d clearly have no money but I would have to live my life as if I was a millionaire which would be complicated to say the least, but if I say I quit my job it doesn’t matter because I no longer work there so I don’t have to keep up the pretence of going there every day. If I say I bought a new apartment, it’s not a lie because the fact is I don’t live in the old one any more and I’m living in a new one.’

  ‘And the last thing you said.’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘About your boyfriend.’

  ‘It’s the same thing.’ To my surprise, I struggled saying it because I knew he wanted me to say it. ‘Saying that … I dumped him is the same thing as saying … you know … the other way around …’

  ‘That he left you.’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘Because …’

  ‘Because the outcome is still the same.’

  ‘Which is …’

  ‘That we’re not together.’ And on that note, my eyes filled up. I hated my eyes, the deceiving bastards. Mortified is not the word. I can’t remember the last time I cried over Blake, I was so over him I couldn’t even begin to explain it but it was like when someone asks you if there’s something wrong over and over again, and usually after a while something is wrong – you’re angry and you want to physically hurt them. The same thing was happening now, because he was making me say all those words, making me say them out loud in a method of trying to fool me into admitting something he thought I hadn’t dealt with; it was as though it was working and I was feeling sad for that person that he thought I was. But I wasn’t that person. I was fine. Everything was fine.

  I wiped my eyes roughly before any tears fell. ‘I’m not sad,’ I said angrily.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘So tell me about your job.’

  ‘I love my job,’ I began. ‘It gives me an enormous sense of satisfaction. I love working with people, the communication with the public, the innovative business environment. I feel like I’m doing something worthwhile, helping people, connecting with people, that I can direct them onto the right path, make sure that they are guided. Of course the enormous plus—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you. Can we just clarify what it is that you do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked down and read, ‘You translate instruction manuals for your company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this company makes fridges, cookers, ovens, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Yes, they are the largest appliance-manufacturing firm in Europe.’

  ‘Okay, carry on.’

  ‘Thank you. Where was I? Of course, the enormous plus side to my work is the people I work with. They are the kind of people who inspire and motivate me to reach further and higher not just in my field of employment but in my life.’

  ‘Okay.’ He rubbed his forehead. It was flaky. ‘These people that you work with are the people you refer to, in private, as Graham the Cock, Quentin aka Twitch, Louise the Nosy Bitch, Mary the Mouse, Steve the Sausage and Edna Fish Face.’

  I kept a straight face. I was quite impressed by my imaginative nicknames. ‘Yes.’

  He sighed. ‘Lucy, you’re lying again, aren’t you.’

  ‘Not really. They do make me want to be a better person – better than them. They do make me want to reach further and higher in my office so that I can get away from them. See? Not a lie. Same outcome.’

  He sat back and studied me, ran his hand across his stubble and I could hear the scratching sound.

  ‘Okay you want to hear the absolute truth about that job or about any job?’ I offered. ‘Fine. Here it is. I’m not one of those people who lives and breathes their job, I don’t take it so seriously that I want to stay longer than I’m paid for or want to socialise with the people I spend most of my waking hours with and would never choose to say more than two words to in the real world. I’ve stayed in that job for two and a half years because I like that gym membership is included, even if the gym equipment is crap and the room stinks to high heaven of smelly jockstraps, it saves me money on going elsewhere. I like that I get to use the languages I spent years finessing. I don’t have many friends who speak German, Italian, French, Dutch and Spanish with me.’ I tried to impress him with that.

  ‘You don’t speak Spanish.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, killjoy, but my employers don’t,’ I snapped.

  ‘What happens when they find out? Will you get fired – again – in a similar spectacular style?’

  I ignored him and continued my spiel. ‘I don’t use the vomit word “passion” that I hear so many people use these days when they talk about their work, as if that alone will get you through the day. I do the job I’m paid to do. I’m not a workaholic.’

  ‘You don’t have the dedication.’

  ‘Are you advocating workaholicism?’

  ‘I’m just saying it takes a certain amount of consistency, you know, the ability to throw yourself wholly into something.’

  ‘What about alcoholics? Do you admire them too? How about I
become one of them and you can be proud of my consistency?’

  ‘We’ve moved away from that analogy now,’ he said, irritated. ‘How about we just say straight out that you lack focus, consistency and dedication?’

  That hurt. ‘Give me an example.’ I folded my arms.

  He tapped a few keys on the keyboard, read for a while.

  ‘Someone at work suffered a heart attack so you pretended to the paramedics that you were his next of kin so that you could go in the ambulance and leave work early.’

  ‘It was a suspected heart attack and I was worried about him.’

  ‘You told the ambulance driver to let you off at the end of your block.’

  ‘The man had an anxiety attack, he was fine five minutes later.’

  ‘You’re half-assed, you waste time, you never finish anything that’s not a bottle of wine or a bar of chocolate. You change your mind all of the time. You can’t commit.’

  Okay so that finally got to me. Partly because it was just rude but mostly because he was completely correct. ‘I was in a relationship for five years, how is that a problem with commitment?’

  ‘He left you three years ago.’

  ‘So I’m taking time to be with myself. Get to know myself and all that crap.’

  ‘Do you know yourself yet?’

  ‘Of course. I like myself so much I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with me.’

  He smiled. ‘Or at least fifteen minutes more.’

  I looked at the clock. ‘We have forty-five minutes left.’

  ‘You’ll leave early. You always do.’

  I swallowed. ‘So?’

  ‘So nothing. I was just pointing it out. Would you like some examples?’ He tapped the keyboard before I had time to answer. ‘Christmas dinner in your parents’ house. You left before dessert. Didn’t even make main course the year before, a new record.’

  ‘I’d a party to go to.’

  ‘Which you left early.’

  My mouth fell open. ‘Nobody even noticed.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Again. It was noted.’

  ‘Noted by who?’

  ‘By whom,’ he corrected and pressed the down button over and over. I wanted to move to the edge of my seat but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I sat quietly looking around the office, pretending I didn’t care. And because I was pretending I didn’t care, I realised that meant I did.

  Finally he stopped tapping.

  My head whipped around to face him.

  He smiled. Then he pressed the down button again.

  ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m sorry, am I boring you?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’

  ‘Well, now you know how I feel.’ He stopped tapping. ‘Melanie.’

  My best friend. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She was the girl who was peeved about your leaving early.’

  ‘Nobody says “peeved”.’

  ‘Quote, “I wish for once she could just stay until the end.” Unquote.’

  I was a bit annoyed about that, I’m sure I could think of plenty of times I had stayed till the end.

  ‘Her twenty-first,’ he said.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘The last time you stayed until the end of one of her parties. In fact, they couldn’t get rid of you, could they? You slept overnight.’

  Tap, tap, tap.

  ‘With her cousin.’

  Tap.

  ‘Bobby.’

  I groaned. ‘She didn’t care about that.’

  Tap tap tap.

  ‘Quote, “How could she do this to me on my birthday? My grandparents are here, everybody knows. I’m mortified.” Unquote.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me that.’

  He just shrugged.

  ‘Why is this a big deal? Why are we talking about this?’

  ‘Because they are.’

  Tap tap tap.

  ‘“I’m sorry she left, Mum, want me to go talk to her?” That’s Riley, your brother.’

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’

  ‘“No, sweetheart, I’m sure she’s got somewhere more important to be.” Unquote. You left your family lunch yesterday thirty-two minutes ahead of time in a rather dramatic fashion.’

  ‘Yesterday was different.’

  ‘Why was it different?’

  ‘Because they betrayed me.’

  ‘How did they do that?’

  ‘By signing off on my life audit.’

  He smiled, ‘Now that’s a good analogy. But if they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here, with me.’

  ‘Yes, and look how swell it’s all going.’

  Silence.

  ‘So let’s cut to the chase. This meeting is about me leaving dinners and parties early.’ That wasn’t so bad, I could deal with that, I would just explain why I left each event, where I was going afterwards. This whole thing could be over sooner than I thought.

  He started laughing. ‘Hell, no. I just got sidetracked.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We don’t have much time to cover anything. Shall we arrange to meet again?’

  ‘We’ve got thirty minutes left.’

  ‘No more than five going by your usual exit strategy.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ I said.

  ‘Okay.’ He leaned forward. ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m sitting here, wasting my time talking to you, is what I’m doing.’

  For the next part he didn’t need notes, he just stared straight into me. ‘You get up at seven a.m. every morning except Saturdays and Sundays when you arise at one p.m.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You have a nutrition bar from your corner cupboard, a cappuccino from Starbucks at the end of your block, you buy the newspaper, sometimes you drive, sometimes you take the train to work, you do the crossword. You arrive at work between nine and nine thirty, you don’t get started on anything until ten. You take a cigarette and coffee break at eleven, even though you don’t smoke but think it’s unfair that smokers receive extra breaks. You take an hour lunch break at one p.m. You sit alone, you do the crossword. You are always late back to your desk. It takes you until two thirty to begin work again but for the afternoon you are diligent and complete your work. You finish at six p.m.’

  ‘Why are you telling me things that I already know?’ I spoke like I didn’t care but in truth it was disturbing to listen to. It was disturbing to know that all the little things I did in secret were being noted by somebody, and being logged in a computer for some stressed-out office nerd to read like I was some sort of solitaire game.

  ‘You go to the gym every day after work. You’re supposed to jog for twenty minutes but always stop at seventeen, you work out for thirty minutes more. You sometimes meet friends for dinner, you would always rather be at home, you always leave early. You go to bed, you do the crossword. You get up at seven a.m.’

  He left a silence.

  ‘You see a theme emerging?’

  ‘I’m prone to solving crosswords? So what? What’s your point?’

  He sat back then, studied me again with his tired unblinking eyes.

  ‘No. What’s yours?’

  I swallowed a large dry lump that had formed in my throat. ‘Well, that’s very profound.’

  ‘Not really. It’s just a question. Okay, why don’t I speak in a way that you understand. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave here in thirty minutes, exactly on time at the end of our meeting, then you’re going to try to forget everything we’ve talked about. You will succeed. I will be reduced to an annoying frustrating little man who made you waste a few hours of your Sunday and you’ll go back to living your life exactly the way you were.’

  He stopped. I waited for more, but there wasn’t anything. I was confused. He couldn’t possibly believe that. Then I got it. ‘That’s a lie.’

  ‘It’s not a lie if the outcome is exactly the same.’

  I didn’t want to ask but I had to. �
�And what’s the outcome?’

  ‘You’ll be as alone and as bored and as unhappy as you were before you met me, but this time it will be worse because this time you’ll know it. You’ll know it every second of every day.’

  And on that note, I grabbed my bag and left. With exactly thirty minutes to go, just like he’d said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Silchesters don’t cry. It was what my father had told me when I was five years old and I’d fallen off my bike after taking the stabilisers off for the first time. He had been beside me, guiding me along the driveway of our home, though he was further away than I’d have liked but I didn’t want to tell him that because I knew he would be disappointed. Even at five I knew that. I didn’t hurt myself, I was more in shock over the feel of the hard tarmac as my knee slammed down on it and as the bicycle got crushed between my legs. I’d held out my arms to him for help but in the end I got to my feet by myself under his instructions. I still remember his voice. Move the bike away from your leg. Now stand up, don’t make that noise, Lucy, stand up. I’d stood up, hunched as though my leg needed amputation, until I was told to stand up straight. I’d wanted a hug but I didn’t say so, knew that asking for and wanting one would be wrong in his eyes, but knowing in my heart that it wasn’t. It was just the way he was and that’s what I always understood. Even at five years old. Apart from the time Blake left me and when Life reminded me about it, I rarely cried and rarely felt the need to.

  In the end it had all ended so quickly. We were together for five years, we had a sociable, fun, busy life together. We had talked about marriage and all of those things and while we weren’t remotely ready to do any of them yet, the understanding was that we would eventually. To each other. When we grew up. But in the process of growing up, I lost him. Somewhere along the way. Not over one day, it happened gradually, he disappeared a little more and more every day. Not his presence, we were always together but I felt like he was going somewhere, even when we were in the same room. Then he sat me down and we had the chat. And that was it. Well, the chat came after an important conversation.

  He’d just signed the deal to do his new travel show at that time so he’d started travelling on his own, I suppose it was kind of practice, or that’s what I thought it had been at the time but maybe it was something more. Maybe he was searching for something he just couldn’t find in our converted bread-factory apartment. Sometimes now I think he was seeing somebody else but I have absolutely no reason other than paranoia to back that up. He had been on a trip to Finland and when he returned you’d swear he’d just walked on the moon or had a religious experience. He wouldn’t stop talking about the calm, the quiet, the peace, how much he was at one with whatever the hell else could survive in minus forty degrees. He kept telling me how I had no idea, I couldn’t possibly understand what he was talking about. I told him I could understand. I understood the calmness, the clarity, the contentment in life when you have that perfect moment. Yes I did, I understood. I didn’t use the same words when he was describing it, my eyes didn’t light up to a pure icy blue as if I was seeing the gates of heaven, but yes I understood those feelings.