Monday and Tuesday I was away seeing clients. I stayed away on the Monday night, after all there was nothing to go home for. I stayed away on the Tuesday night as well, but that was a little more unplanned.
I had phoned Greg Dickens of ITP, with the intention of meeting him and beginning to build some relationship with him which I thought was vital to the project. I reminded him that he had intended to buy me lunch, how about it now? His idea was that he would buy me dinner, but only if I could promise to make it late enough and alcoholic enough to warrant him staying in a hotel. OK, I said, somewhat dubiously, but he was the customer.
I needn't have worried. It turned out that he was a happily married man with two young children. But his wife was away visiting her father in Scotland, as he had just come out of hospital. Her mother had taken the opportunity to come and stay with Greg to look after the children. Unfortunately, his wife's mother and father were divorced, and this ex-wife took every opportunity to tell Greg all that was wrong with his father-in-law, and how her daughter shouldn't be visiting. Greg was in need of a break, an excuse to be away for the night.
So we went out to an excellent, and expensive, dinner at ITP's expense. Followed by an evening drinking and ending up in a lap-dancing and pole dancing club. Neither of us bought any lap dances, but Greg and myself got very drunk and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I do remember Greg and myself pledging our life-long friendship to each other somewhere between the club and the taxi rank at about two o'clock in the morning.
I woke up with a horrible hangover, but feeling relaxed. That boys' night out was as good a stress buster as a visit to the gym. It just killed more brain cells.
I got back to the office mid-morning on Wednesday. I sat at my desk drinking a cup of coffee when Dave came in. He looked at me "Good night last night?" he asked, smiling.
Why do guys always enjoy their friend's hangovers? "Yes. Educational." I responded.
"What did you learn, other than alcoholic beverages give you a hangover?"
"I don't think I wish you to pursue this line of enquiry. But I have one of my own. Are you busy at the weekend?"
"Might be. Why?" he looked at me suspiciously.
"Because I need your body." I smiled "Mainly to help me carry crates and boxes and some furniture. I'm going to move into a flat down on River Mead."
"Class! Sure, I'm not doing anything particular. Maddy and me have had a parting of the ways. When?"
"I'd heard. Sunday?"
"Sure. What time? Who told you?"
"How about eleven o'clock. Then we can shift one load and take a pub lunch as a well deserved break. It should only take two runs in all." I chose to ignore his other question.
I phoned Rose to tell her I was ready to sign the lease for Blindside. Apparently it was in her office, waiting for me. So I went along at lunchtime and signed. So simple, so quick, a new phase of my life opens up.
Later in the day I went to find Mr Jameson, the office superintendent. I explained to him my problem, and within half an hour he was back in my office asking for my car keys, so that he could put a set of crates into it.
Then I phoned a van hire company, and booked a van for the weekend. It was a lot cheaper than I was expecting, which made a change.
Back home that evening, I started the job of packing up my clothes and the things that were obviously mine. I was surprised at how easy it was. Not a single heart string was plucked, it was a job to be done and I got on with it.
Thursday came and went in the office. I worked a bit late, but got back to the house by seven-thirty. As I came in the front door I was aware of a different atmosphere. The odd picture missing from the walls, the crates packed with clothes lined up in the hall. It was becoming just a house, slightly denuded of personal history.
I shut the front door. Then I thought, it would be more welcoming to Beth if I left it open. But then again, if it was shut she would have to knock or use her key. I wondered which, so I shut it. Beth pressed the bell at two minutes to eight, with her hands full of bags and holding a casserole dish. "Sorry I knocked, I couldn't get my keys out. Take this, there's more in the car."
Once in the hall, she looked round at the crates, at the bare patches on the walls, her face fell to sadness. She looked at me and her eyes filled with tears, she sniffed and straightened, "I've brought coq-au-vin, it just needs heating through." And she headed for the kitchen.
She busied herself in the kitchen, determinedly not looking at me. I watched her for a while. She may not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she pressed my buttons. I was aware how graceful, she was, how her breasts moved softly under her summer dress, how her neck looked soft and vulnerable as she filled saucepans with water at the sink. But I was also aware that she was a total mystery to me.
I broke my own daydream to break the ice, to mention the unmentionable, "It seems like half a lifetime since we were both in this kitchen. I've come to think of that day as Fateful Friday." It was my half hearted attempt to be light about the core of our pain.
Beth looked round at me "It's a good name." she said quietly. Her eyes said so much more about hurt, remorse, and sadness.
"Have you decided what you will do? Are you going to come back here?"
"Yes, I guess so. I have no where else to go. Life with Mummy and Daddy is so full of things not being said, I think I'd rather be here by myself."
"How did they take it?" I asked
"Well, Daddy hasn't found a way to talk about it, yet. It'll take him a couple of weeks, but then we'll sit down for a heart to heart, but only when he has something to say."
"And your mother?"
