Chapter Five
When I was a child, Aunt Grace would sit with me and tell me stories. She was so much more patient than my mother, who was always rushing about and couldn’t sit still. Mam was what people used to call a nervous wreck in those days. One of those women with a lot of nervous energy. I am sure she would have been given a different diagnosis today.
Aunt Grace was so different in that way. She was always a patient lady with a vivid imagination. She would tell me stories about unicorns in faraway lands and fairies at the bottom of the garden. She didn’t need to read me a book to tell me a story; she would capture it all in her imagination and tell it to me as if recalling an actual event that she had witnessed first-hand. Sometimes I wonder if imagination is genetic. I mean, of course, a robin does not land in your garden to send you a message; it’s hardly a carrier pigeon.
Still, the next day and the day after that, every time I go into the garden, there is the little robin, staring at me. In fact, as I am having breakfast, the robin lands on the windowsill and looks straight at me through the window as I eat my cornflakes. What on earth does it want with me? I have already saved it and fed it; hasn’t it got little robin friends of its own? Or is it a loner too? Perhaps that is the common bond we have.
The robin stares at me so much that I decide enough is enough – I shall take my uniform back to Charlotte today and get it over with. That should prevent the robin from stalking me any further and will mean that one of my dreaded tasks is done. Since I can’t face the Christmas queue at the post office, I decide I will quickly drop it at the front door of the bank and hope none of my former colleagues spot me.
Despite being under the watchful eye of the robin, it takes all day to find the courage to drive to the bank and face the outside world one more time. Since morning, I have done everything to procrastinate. I slowly opened my advent calendar and even chatted with Ken as he stood on the doorstep with today’s post. He had his Christmas Santa hat on today and reminded me how many days were left until Christmas. Why does everyone have to be so cheery at this time of year?
By the time I eventually reach the bank, it is practically closing time.
I get to the big front door and throw the bag with the uniform into the side of the building where the security guard normally stands. I only hope they don’t think it’s a suspicious package and they open the worn old carrier bag I found under the sink before anyone panics and calls a bomb disposal expert out. I plan on messaging Charlotte to say where it is as soon as I get back in the car as I don’t want to have to meet her with it. Hopefully, she can then send me my final settlement before Christmas with any luck, which will keep me going for a while longer. But then I hear a voice that sends all my careful plotting into disarray.
‘Hey, Olivia. Is that you?’
I try to rush away, but it’s too late.
‘Olivia, hi.’
I am cornered like a frightened rabbit. My eyes stare wildly as I see Paul, one of the cashiers I used to work alongside. Oh, please, no. Even the queue in the post office would have been better than this. I thought they’d all be busy. I knew I should have got here earlier.
‘Hello, I knew it was you. How’s things?’ he asks.
‘Fine. All okay.’
‘We’ve all been worried about you. We’ve tried calling, but your phone was off.’
I decide not to explain that I threw my mobile phone into the river after Craig left. What did I need it for? I certainly no longer required all those stupid social media apps. Who wants to post on Facebook that their husband has run off on Christmas Eve whilst everyone else is enjoying themselves with their families? And imagine if Josephine came up as a suggested contact and we had mutual friends. I don’t think I could forgive them for betraying me. I have my laptop for my bank account, and quite frankly, it has been very peaceful without a mobile phone. Nowadays, though, you can’t say that without sounding like some kind of oddball. But I’ll bet any money that, in reality, there are a good few people who would love to throw their phone in the river and enjoy the freedom that it brings. To be on the safe side, though, I give Paul the highly shortened version of why nobody has been able to get hold of me on there.
‘I lost my phone.’
‘Aww, how inconvenient. I’d die without mine.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t die. You’d be surprised how well you can manage. We never had mobiles when I was growing up, and we just enjoyed the moment.’
‘Right.’ Paul looks at me as though I have two heads and I realise I probably should have kept that bit quiet to such a social media queen. Of all people, Paul would be the last to understand.
‘Well, you’re here now. What’s your new number? We need to arrange a lunch,’ he says.
‘Oh, I didn’t bother replacing it. Been busy, you know. Haven’t had a chance to think about what type of new phone I want.’
‘You must have been busy. I can’t go anywhere without my mobile.’
That is because he is so popular. He never stops messaging people and people never stop messaging him.
‘So, what’s kept you so busy then?’
I think about how I can answer this innocuous question. I can’t tell him that I sit about in my onesie all day. I consider telling him how I feed the wildlife out at the mill, but don’t want to sound as though I am some kind of modern-day Snow White.
‘A bit of this and that, you know.’
Paul waits in silence for me to give more away so I find myself anxiously babbling about the wildlife.
‘If wildlife gets injured, I help them and things. You’d be surprised how busy I am taking care of the garden, and the vegetables too… In fact, I don’t have a second to sit down.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful to hear. I’m sure, umm, gardening is very rewarding. But I hope you have some time off right now. We’re all off for Christmas drinks. Can you join us? Please say yes.’
