ChapterOne
I’m calling it.This year is officially my most rubbishyearyet.
Olive Brewster’s Most RubbishYearYet.
My top fivereasons for this declaration are asfollows:
Reason Number One:My brother Alex and his girlfriend Donna are kicking me into the teeny box room of the house we share. Donna wants to use my big room as a studio for her new scented-candle business. She hasn’t even started making any scented candles yet! But apparently they ‘want to be prepared for when it happens’ and need me ‘not to be a dickaboutit’.
Reason Number Two:I’m twenty-seven years old and I work as a fishmonger in Manchester Indoor Market. It was supposed to be a temporary job to help me pay my way through university. Nine years later I’m still here. It’s not terrible, I suppose. But it’s not exactly captivating either. The regular customers are pretty sweet and I know the job back to front, but mostly I’m skint and spend way too much time elbow-deep in cod, avoiding eye contact with all the fish who still have their heads and are definitely staringatme.
Reason Number Three:I haven’t had sex in almost ten years. Not even a tiny bit of sex. The entire world tells me it’s something that would make me feel amazing if I did it. But I’m entirely convinced that sex is a really dumb idea. I’ve seen first-hand how it makes people lose control, become selfish, turns them into reckless boneheads ruled only by their peens and vajeens. I don’t want to be like that! I like my life simple. Safe and sure and certain… and sex-free. Or at least I thought I did… Because the thing is, last month I watchedAtonementfor the first time, and you know that scene where Keira Knightley and James McAvoy do it standing up in that posh library? Well, it gave me a rather pleasant and curious sensation in my very own vajeen. A rather pleasant and curious sensation indeed. My sans-sex lifestyle has never, ever bothered me before. My first time was fumbly and awkward and not something I was eager to repeat. Plus, I’ve not met anyone I fancied in years, so it’s never really been an issue. But… now I’m starting to wonder. What if everyone is right and I’ve been missing out? I can’t get the thought of that steamy library sex out of my mind. I think of it multiple times a day and it won’tbuggeroff.
Reason Number Four:Last month I did one of those Buzzfeed quizzes that let you know which Harry Potter character you are. I got Buckbeak. Yeah, I know. I couldn’t remember Buckbeak either. Not even one of the main players. Not even ahuman. I mean, why even include that as a possible result on the quiz? It’s just hurtful. I only thank God that I wasn’t in Hufflepuff. Ain’t nobody wantthatshit.
Reason Number Five:My best friend Birdie isdying.
* * *
‘Are you all right,dear? You look like you’re abouttocry.’
I’m tugged out of my melancholic daydreaming by the customer I’m serving – an elderly fellow called Norris who comes to the market every single Thursday afternoon to buy a peppered tuna steak for his supper. He’s been coming here for as long as I’ve been working at this place. Always Thursday afternoon, always a peppered tuna steak. I find the routine of his turning up so regularly, always choosing a certain dish on a certain day very comforting. He’s a man after my own heart. Where possible, it’s nice to know what to expect! Birdie objects when I say this. She reckons the fun of living is all about the unexpected. But I’ve experienced the unexpected and let me tell you, I am not aboutthatlife.
‘Oops, sorry, Norris.’ I smile at him. ‘My mind was somewhere else! Tunasteak,yes?’
I reach into the chilled counter to grab the fish fillet when Norris’s gravelly voicestopsme.
‘Actually, love, I think I’ll go for a seabasstoday.’
I freeze, my hand dangling mid-air inside the counter, my eyes sliding across to my colleague Tall Joan and then to my boss Taller Joan. They don’t seem to notice that Norris, who has been getting the same tuna for time immemorial, has suddenly changed his regular order toseabass.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask suspiciously, wondering what on earth has caused Norris’s unforeseen change of habit. ‘Are… are you… is everything okay,Norris?’
I think my question comes out more accusatory than I intend it to, because Norris frowns, his thick white eyebrows lowering so much that they almost obscure his heavy lidded blue eyes. ‘I just fancied something different is all, Olive. Nice to switch things up once in abluemoon.’
Nice to switch things up? The last time I switched things up was in 2010 when I bought some coloured contact lenses on a ‘whim’ and people thought I hadglaucoma.
‘Oh.’ I say, fumbling over his new order. ‘Cool. Totally!Great!’
Somethingdifferent.
Fancythat.
* * *
On my wayhome from work that evening, I button up my plum-coloured duffle coat and wander through central Manchester towards the tram stop that will take me back to the rural suburb of Saddleworth where I live. The sky is still blue and bright, the springtime weather crunchy and fresh like a Granny Smith apple right out of the fridge. I amble through Piccadilly Gardens, saying hello to the friendly florist with her pretty pop-up flower shop. At Café Milo, I stop, as I do each week, to pick up a big cup of tea, cheese and ham baguette and custard tart for Mickey, the homeless man who can always be found on the benches by thefountains.
I smile as I approach the busking cello player outside Superdrug. He’s there playing for the commuters every Thursday night without fail. I toss a pound coin into hiscellocase.
‘Thanks, Olive!’ he yells cheerfully asIpass.
‘Cool cello playing, George!’ I call back, giving him a thumbs up. I have Fridays and Saturdays off work so I won’t see him again until next week. ‘Have a brilliant weekend,George!’
‘Youtoo!’
I’m about to reach the tram stop but, before I do, a smiley-faced woman jumps right in front of me and blocks my path. Who is this person? What does she want from me? Why is she in my face, smiling so loudly? If I were a cat, I’d be all puffed up right now, fur on end, hissing, allofthat.
‘I’m not looking to invite Jesus into my life at the moment,’ I explain, concluding that a person so smiley can only be someone who has recently discovered the lord and wants me to dothesame.
