Crazygirl Falls in Love (33 page)

“So Penny, tell me honestly, how’s he been? You know, since
the redundancy?”

Bingo.

“I think he’s okay, but he could use a friend. When was the
last time you two caught up?” I played along.

“I admit I haven’t been the best at keeping it touch, it’s
been so busy and the missus is pregnant with our
second.”

“Oh my gosh, I hadn’t heard, congratulations
Colin!”

“Yes. Most exciting,” he’d replied unconvincingly. Guess he
wasn’t overly enthused at losing another three years
sleep.

I decided to ask Colin a very specific
question. I already knew He Who Shall Not Be Named didn’t genuinely
want to get back together with me, so what
was
the reason? As soon as Colin had
mentioned the redundancy my always suspicious lawyery brain had
started to forge a theory,

“So Colin, the reason I was calling is this. I have a Polish
passport so I’m fine with staying in the UK indefinitely. It’s a
different story for him, he only has his Australian one and he’s
over thirty. What’s he going to do if he can’t find a
job?”

“It’s going to be difficult. HR cancelled his visa last month,
so unless he finds another job he’ll have to return home. Unless
you forward the wedding date and quickly organise a Polish passport
for him? It’s not ideal but it wouldn’t be the first time you Poles
have jumped the queue,” Colin had chuckled.

“Oh. I see.”

I thanked him and said goodbye. So that was the reason. I had
expected as much. I hadn’t believed for a moment that Voldemort had
wanted to ‘catch up’ and ‘talk about old times’ out of the goodness
of his own heart. He definitely needed something. His self seeking,
egomaniacal soul only acted for his own interests.

Yet even though I had assumed as much all along I still felt
hurt and humiliated, and old wounds were being reopened. He had
tried reconciling with me just to get an EU passport? Is that what
I had boiled down to in his eyes? A cheap and easy ticket to UK
residency? How dumb did he think I was? And just how awful was this
person who I had once been engaged to?

My night was ruined. I was supposed to be out with a lovely
man I’d been crushing on since uni, and yet here I was again,
disgraced and humiliated. It felt like last year all over
again.

Nate was looking at me with concern as I finished speaking
with Colin. When I hung up he spoke up,

“Are you okay?” he had taken both my hands in his.

I looked down at the kindness represented in his strong hands
and impulsively launched myself across the table, locking lips with
his. I needed that kindness. I needed to grab it, steal it, run
away with it and make it my own. He tasted like
peppermint.

We made out for a while.

“I’ve wanted to do that since first year,” he said when I
finally pulled away.

“Let’s go into the bathroom,” I had whispered, trying to sound
seductive.

“What?!”

“Come on, you know the Mile High Club? Let’s start a new club.
The... ugh... London pub club.”

“Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

After three more rapidly consumed Long Island Ice Teas (which
on top of the initial one made it about sixteen standard drinks in
twenty minutes) and some clumsy attempts at sexual cajoling from my
part, we stumbled into the disabled toilet taking with us Nate’s
stuff, my stuff and of course, He Who Shall Not Be Named bag and
laptop....

Guess I don’t need to explain what happened next.

In my defence, my initial reasons had nothing to do with an
immature ploy to deface my ex’s things. I thought... I don’t really
know what I thought to be honest with you. I guess I reasoned that
if I could convince a desirable man like Nate to agree to doing the
nast nast in a public toilet it would confirm that I was way hot
and sexy myself. Which, naturally, would make me feel less
worthless and hollow. I reasoned that it might make me feel
fabulous and beautiful and attractive again. I thought it would
make me forget that I had almost been used for an EU
passport.

And how right I was!

My romp with Nate did all those things and more. We emerged
from that poor deflowered toilet, bodies tingling and
Penny-confidence restored. Boomtown.

Thank god the other pub peeps weren’t the most observant. The
majority were students halfway through a Super Centurion challenge
(a hundred shots of beer, one every minute, then necking three
pints. First person to finish without dying wins). Between them and
the coked-out bartenders no one noticed us emerging shamefaced from
the bathrooms. Well, Nate was shamefaced. I was feeling on top of
the world, especially after using my ex’s laptop as a mattress.
Again in my defence, it had originally been a hygiene issue. There
were literally no clean surfaces in the human sized Petri dish that
were the Churchill’s toilets.

I handed He Who Shall Not Be Named things to the bar manager.
Except the ring, that would have been a little too tempting for
even the most honest of men,

“My friend’s gone AWOL, would you mind holding his things for
us? He was in here before, wearing the sunglasses.”

Bartender-man had nodded.

“And when he comes back would you mind passing on a message
from me?” I continue.

Another nod.

“Tell him nice try, and good luck getting a visa.”

That’d learn him,
no one
messes with the Pennymeister!
A third nod and the barman had taken the gym bag, where I’d shoved
the recently defiled laptop.

Nate and I returned to Kensington Wine Rooms and shared a
plate of calamari. Then in one of the more sophisticated moments of
the evening he bought me a long stemmed rose on the way back to my
place. I was a little sad when he flew back to Berlin the next day.
If we lived in the same city who knows, maybe something more
serious would have eventuated. Then again maybe not, it was
possibly the worst start to a relationship you can get. That and
filling up your crush’s bathtub with vomit after too much ethanol
on a first date.

***

Back to the present

I remain in my state of wild eyed insanity all the way back to
the office. I’m an utter mess by the time I arrive. I look awful. I
look ugly. I’m probably frightening small children and the
elderly.

Ignoring my colleagues I march up to my desk where I reach
into the second drawer. There I find my two undated resignation
letters. They’ve been sitting there for the past three years. The
first is the tried and true, burn-not-the-bridge one,

Dear Sarah,

Re. Resignation notice

It is with regret that I submit my formal notice
of resignation, effective four weeks from today. I have
enjoyed working at Gribbles, and I appreciate the training and
growth opportunities I have received here. The support from the
Real Estate team has been invaluable to my professional
development. Your mentoring has allowed me to strive for continual
improvement and for that I am truly grateful. I hope that we will
continue our professional relationship as I move forward in my
career.

I wish you and your team continued growth and
success.

Sincerely,

Penelope Jones

The second is quite a bit different. I’ve added to it bit by
bit over the years, pretty much every time Angrypants hurt,
hindered or subjected me to accusations of incompetence and
stupidity. Also, that time she raided the emergency stash of Juicy
Fruit I keep in my fourth drawer.

Dear Sarah,

Re. Resignation notice

I am thrilled to inform you that I am resigning. I have
been waiting for what seems an eternity to find a job with a
comparable salary and a more supportive manager. Heck, just a
manager who doesn’t treat me like scum would be a significant
improvement. That day has finally arrived.

[I feel like I have to interject here. Obviously, I haven’t
got a job to go to at the moment. But at the time of writing I
assumed I would have]

I have despised working for you since the second day I was
hired (the first was alright, I spent most of it making coffees for
the bigwigs upstairs). I don't like the work and I don't like you.
You are a rude, abusive bully, and the most idiotic, laudably
imbecilic manager I've had the misfortune of working for. They
pay you an astronomical salary to run this team yet you haven’t
managed to retain a single employee besides myself for longer than
twelve months? What the hell, man?

Oh and by the way, going around the room telling our
colleagues what we don’t like about each other was THE WORST team
building exercise in history. You owe Hilary an apology for
mentioning her dandruff problem.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking, you’ve said it often enough.
That I’m slow, that I’m unprofessional, that I’m stupid. Remember
when you asked me to buy you lunch from that Mexican place and they
served it with pico de gallo instead of beef? Then in front of the
whole floor you yelled that I was a good for nothing, and if I
couldn’t manage a lunch order how would I ever make a decent
lawyer? I didn’t say anything at the time, but seriously Sarah, how
was I supposed to know pico de gallo isn’t meat? They look
and
smell the same. How
Sarah... How?

Anyway, for all the times I haven’t managed to get your lunch
order perfect, please accept my sincerest apologies. I hope the
Juicy Fruit that kept disappearing from my fourth drawer last year
was sufficient restitution. And you know what, maybe you’re right.
Maybe I’ll never make a good lunch-buyer or real estate lawyer. But
hey, at the very least I know that huevos rancheros are supposed to
be served with a tortilla.

I know you expect me to help you with a transition, but I
have no intention of doing that. Have fun figuring out the files on
my computer. I can barely figure them out myself most of the time.
You’ll have to get IT to hack into most of the folders because I
forgot to keep a list of passwords.

I’m sure you’d like to organise a going away thing for me but
I’m not interested in your disingenuous attempts at gratitude. And
don’t worry about writing me a reference, even though I’m sure
you’d be glad to recommend my work and knowledge.

I don’t need a reference from you.

I don't want a reference from you.

Consider this bridge burnt.

Sincerely,

Very Happy To Be Gone (aka Penelope Jones)

I think for a moment. Do I really want to do this? Am I really
this stupid? Stupid enough to get blacklisted from the profession
I’ve oozed blood, sweat and tears for?

Yes. Fuck ‘em. I sign the bottom of the second letter and walk
across to my ex-boss’ desk. I shred the first letter on the way.
Don’t need anyone knowing I was considering resigning with dignity.
I stand over her desk for a moment. Last chance to back
out.

I place the signed resignation letter onto Sarah’s keyboard.
It isn’t in an envelope. I want every single person who walks past
to read it.

***

The realisation of what I’ve just done hits
me exactly seven minutes later. I stop in the middle of the busy
Canary Wharf street and emit a low whimper. My legs go wobbly and
no matter how much I try to control them they don’t stop. My body
feels heavy, my stomach is in knots and I’m queasy. I feel even
worse than after the Paddock Wood half marathon last year. And that
was
not
cool. I
had to imbibe fifteen glasses of Gatorade and eat nine bananas
before I felt human again.

I stand on the street outside my former office building, my
low whimpers turning into pained kitten-wails. I resist the urge to
lie down in the middle of the road and let a lorry run me over.
Instead, I move to the corner of the pavement to get out of
people’s way. Cars rush past me. The world starts to spin a
little.

My first instinct is to call Chloe but she doesn’t respond. I
call her again, leaving a shaky message asking her to call me back.
Next I try Emma and Mags, who also don’t pick up. I tell them I’ve
resigned over voicemail, hoping that’ll make them call me back
sooner. I’d call my parents but it’s 2:00 a.m. in
Melbourne.

I’ve never felt so scared.

I make my way unsteadily to the Tube. I walk past Upper Crust
and it smells nice but I don’t stop. If I eat anything now I’ll
likely have a similar incident to that five-year old boy from the
bus. The Jubilee train comes in under a minute and I’ve beaten rush
hour which is ace (I’m trying to find the positives in a
desperately non-positive situation). I take a seat because sitting
helps the weakness plaguing the lower half of my body and the
queasiness in my belly.

As I begin to fully comprehend what I’ve just done, the first
spurts of panic start and I get a tight feeling across my chest. I
begin to hyperventilate. The other passengers start looking at me
with concern and for some reason this embarrasses me worse than
anything else that’s happened today.