Journey to the Centre of Myself (2 page)

‘Well, it’s not a no,’ he says walking off. He turns back to me as he reaches the doorway. ‘I’m off to the shops.’

‘Whatever.’

I push my head under the duvet. I need the beach; the hot sand burning my feet and exfoliating the skin, renewing and softening. The sea breeze would have cleared my head, the waves resonated their relaxing lullaby. But no, another twenty-four hours I can’t get back, time wasted on manmade materials.

I think about the word, manmade. I whisper it. It makes my lips smack as I say it. Manmade. It’s a sensual word. A powerful word. Our decisions are manmade. Do I get a say at all? I repeat the word manmade out loud, a mechanical wave which I oscillate through to almost silent and back again. Amber is here, now she is disapppppeeeaaarrriing, now I am
here
. I sense the muscles at the back of my neck tighten. I don’t think the Paracetamols will be of any use now.

We said we’d have three children, in those heady early days, when my heart thudded through my chest and my stomach fluttered when I saw or thought of him.

I remember his proposal in front of the Eiffel Tower as the clock struck midnight. The lights danced and sparkled along its frame, and he presented me with a ring to match its dazzle and brought the same to my eyes.

Now, when I eventually hear the door bang shut, I sigh with relief and get out of bed to check my mobile.

It’s
him
. I must have given him my mobile number.
Idiot.

My stomach flutters as I picture his face. My mouth waters. I place my hand on my chest and watch it rise and fall as my heart beats faster.

This is where it started.

Chapter 2

Karen

I’m leaving my husband today.

Adrian is both a liar and a cheat. I have the evidence on screen. Placed on the kitchen table, the laptop is open and positioned to my left. Put there and tilted, for ease of display.

The paperwork I need lies on the table to my right.My case is packed and ready.

I stop myself from tapping my foot on the floor; it sounds like a moth hitting the light fitting. I have been waiting for an hour, fidgeting; getting a glass of water, collecting the post and looking at myself in the mirror—telling myself I can do this.

Jeremy Kyle drones through the wall. I resent my neighbour invading my silent protest.

My gaze returns to the tablecloth. Whatever possessed me to buy this checked monstrosity? It dazzles my eyes as I retrace the patterns, following the lines. I glance up at the cobalt blue, shiny, kitchen cupboards. I had loved these. Now I see them as a waste of money, precious resources, oceans of opportunities lost.

A key turns in the lock. Feet wipe the mat. The light thud of a bag placed on the floor, then a pause.

Slow footsteps approach the kitchen. The handle turns, the door swings open and a face peers at me, blue eyes crinkled with confusion. ‘Karen? What are you doing home?’

I take a deep breath. ‘I could say the same about you.’

He stares at me, trying to read my face, to find words that can help with his answer. ‘I’ve got a migraine coming on.’

‘Really?’ I press a key and the computer screen flashes to life, and then he knows I know.

‘Ah.’

We stand and face each other, still and silent.

The phone rings. Our gaze moves towards the lounge and back to each other. I break eye contact first and walk to answer it. I can’t leave a phone ringing.

It’s Steve.

‘Hi, bliss.’

‘Now's not a good time, can I call you back?’

He ignores me like bossy older brothers do. ‘It’s just a quickie to ask how Friday went.’

‘Not right now.’

‘Is he there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not at work, again?’

I sigh. ‘I thought you were coming to my do anyway?’

‘Something came up.’

‘Well, you missed nothing.’ I glare at the pen I had thrown on the desk in disgust. I push it and watch it roll off into the waste bin. Then I glance through the door at Adrian. He’s sending a text.

‘Karen, you there?’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Did he go with you?’

I hesitate before I reply. ‘No.’

‘Oh, Kaz, he’s a waste of DNA. When are you going to realise?’

‘I’ll ring you back.’ I hang up the phone.

As I return, Adrian moves his mobile into his pocket, and then adjusts his shirt.

I pick up my mug from the table, ready to take it to the sink. ‘Text who you want. I don’t care anymore.’

‘I was checking something love, while you were talking.'

‘Was it this?’ I pick up the newspaper from my right and place it in front of him. The racing page, with horses’ names, ringed for every race. ‘How much have you lost this time?’

‘Oh, is that what this is about? I’ve not been betting. I pick them to see if they would have won, a bit of fun, you know?’

‘Oh yes, we know how much
fun
you had last time.’

‘Come on, love, we’re past that now aren’t we?’

I press the computer keyboard again;
your connection has timed out
. I log in once more and point to the online bank statement. ‘Here is our last month’s bank statement. Could you tell me why I can’t see any wages being paid in for the last three weeks?’

He looks at the floor, then around at the walls. Anywhere but at me. ‘They paid me cash, that’s all. Here.’ He goes into his pocket and lifts out a wad of twenty-pound notes. ‘See?’

‘So you’ve been working for the last three weeks?’

‘On and off. Things are light on the site, but it’ll pick up.’

He scratches the back of his neck. ‘What’s started all this?’

‘Mrs Dudley asked me if you were okay since you’d been coming back home at eleven every morning.’

He moves back. His feet scuff the floor. ‘Christ, that woman.’

‘So, where’ve you been going until eleven o'clock and where’s the money really from?’

‘Jesus, Karen, I’ve told you where the dosh is from. Sometimes we’re told to clock off early. That daft bat doesn’t know what day it is half the time. Are we done?’

I clutch my temples. ‘Please could you leave, Adrian? I need time to think.’

He scratches his cheek, a blank look on his face, ‘But –'

I slam the betting slip in front of him.

His face reddens. ‘It was just the once okay? It’s not like before, I swear. Look at the name; it was because of the name.’

I crunch it up and throw it on the floor. ‘I said get out!’

He flaps his hands. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll go to the caff. I’ll be back in an hour when you’ve had chance to calm down.’

As the windows are open, the door bangs on his way out. I flinch. My heart thuds. I pour myself a brandy. I know I can’t go through this again, but what if I’m wrong?

My reflection shows the stress I’m under. I stare at the crow’s feet around my eyes, the permanent frown line between my eyebrows, the grey threaded through my once dark brown hair. I must leave this time; things haven’t been the same since... No. I refuse to let my mind go there.

I walk over to the table, pick up the newspaper and study the rows of horses’ names, their form. The two forty-five from Newcastle is called
Berlin-da
. Maybe it’s a sign? I fire the computer back up and make a reservation. I can do this.

 On the sofa twenty minutes later, I place my head back on the cushion and stare at the light fitting. I was a Personal Assistant before being made redundant. I ran my office with complete efficiency. In fact, I was so efficient they didn’t need me in the end. My redundancy money sits in a new account. It’s my ticket out of here.

I pick up the phone and telephone my brother. He answers on the second ring.

‘I’m leaving him, Steve.’

‘I’ve heard that before.’

‘My cases are packed.’

‘And that.’

‘I’ve booked a flight to Berlin. At seven tonight, I’ll be on a plane out of here.’

‘Why so far away? You could have come here.’

‘I need time to think. I’m giving myself two weeks. Two weeks of travelling around, doing things
on my own.
’

I wonder if he’s muted the phone as there are a few seconds of quiet, then, ‘Are you sure about this, it’s not like last time?’

I inhale sharply. ‘No, it’s not. I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘You can’t blame me for worrying.’

The door bangs. ‘He’s back. I need to go.’

‘Please, phone me when you’re there.’

I sigh. ‘Okay.’

Forty-two, but still a little sister.

I place the receiver down as Adrian walks into the lounge.

‘I’ve brought you a tuna mayo, love. It’s on the kitchen table.’

‘Sit down, Adrian, we need to talk.’

‘I’ll make you a drink, shall I?’

I nod, hold my fingers on the bridge of my nose for a moment and then walk back through to the kitchen.

‘Look, I haven’t been exactly truthful.’ He runs his hand over his forehead and takes a deep breath.

I tip my head to the side. ‘Really?’

‘The thing is, I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing just yet—it’s a secret.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘A secret involving bookmakers and unemployment? Save it, Adrian.’ I stand up. ‘Do you know what? I’m not interested.’

I raise my hands to my sides, stretching out my arms like wings. I’m preparing for flight. ‘I’ve paid the mortgage and bills for the month.’

‘Okay, that’ll help.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ I walk to the door and pick up my suitcase. He finally notices it.

His face tightens, and then he gives me a quick smile. ‘Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on, Karen, love? Now don’t be hasty, sit down, we can discuss this.’

I hold my hand up. ‘No.’

There’s a stillness. Now I can hear
Loose Women
. I tell myself that’s what I’m doing, loosening myself from his hold.

He puts his hand against the door. ‘You’re not going. You know what happened last time.’

I turn to him, move right up to his face. ‘Adrian, I’m done. Living in the past, living with shadows, living with you.’

He steps back, his face showing shock. Though I’m trembling, I step through the door with my bag held tight.

‘Karen!’

I don’t turn around, so he can’t see the tears running down my face, escaping, as I am.

I arrive in the centre of Manchester twenty-two minutes later. It doesn’t take long from Stockport station. There are a couple of hours before I have to be at the airport. Time to myself. This is new. Am I really doing this? I stop for a moment and take a seat on a bench. I rummage through my bag, lift out my travel wallet, checking everything is there; passport, health card, leftover euros from a previous holiday, e-tickets. I return it all and take out my small notebook and write in it ‘purchase more euros at airport.’ I suck on my bottom lip wondering what to do next. Do I have everything I need for the trip? With an idea in my mind, I head away from the concourse and out of the station. It’s a few minutes before I realise I’m whistling.

The bookstore resides over three floors. Once I had large bookshelves adorned with books, each one like a rare jewel. I had to let a lot of them go when we redecorated the room that must not be mentioned.

I locate the sign for the travel section and head to the second floor. In front of the shelf, I tilt my head sideways to read the titles.
Top Ten Berlin
. I allow myself to touch one and take it from the shelf. I flick through it, loving the smooth feel of the paper against my fingers. Top ten sights to see. Top ten cafes. Top ten museums, and a free pull-out map. Perfect. I place this horizontally on the shelf as I continue to peruse. Most of the books are similar, general guides, but then I notice another,
City Lit
,
perfect gems of city writing
it states and I pick it up intrigued.

I sit on the floor in front of the bookcase, knees curled under myself and read. This is what
I
could do, write about my experiences, and keep a journal. I’ve written journals on and off over the years. I’ll enjoy it. I pick up the two books ready to head to the stationery section. My legs feel numb from being beneath my body weight and I shake them out.

I’ll know my journal when I see it. I pick several up. One is stamped like an experienced traveller’s passport. I think not. Others have hearts, flowers, stripes, spots, but then I find it, the one that has to be mine. It’s a cream journal and on it is a white birdcage, the door is open and a bird stands outside the cage. The bird is yellow and orange, happy colours. There’s a matching pen. So much better than the tacky pen I traded in for twenty-four years of loyalty.