Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (3 page)

I want to tell her that I don’t find her in the least bit funny, and that I do mind her saying. Bloody hell, I need Maltesers. I reach into my drawer and see that I have eaten them all. Wonderful. At this rate I will hang beautifully at the top and droop just about everywhere else.

‘I broke up with my fiancé
actually, and I also need to find somewhere …’

‘Oh, and my mum said I prepare myself for lunchtime. You know, so like at the end of the day, why can’t she do the same? That’s what my mum says anyway.’

I stand up and knock over my chair.

‘Karen, with all due respect your mother doesn’t actually work here. The doctor in question cannot plan her time like you can. There are emergencies, or she may run over time. You always have a set lunch break and we should all support each other. It really is not unreasonable for one of our GPs to ask you to fetch her sandwich when you are getting one for yourself
…’

I glance at my watch.

‘I’ll have a word with the doctor. I’m sure she didn’t mean to offend you.’

I watch with a sinking heart as Karen sits down
, crosses her legs and leans back in the chair.

‘I also want to discuss the uniform with you. Cheryl says she looks awful in navy, and personall
y I think those tops are a bit sixties so I brought you this. This is what they wear in other surgeries.’

She slides a glossy magazine across the table. I stare at her astonished.

‘You read
The Lady
magazine?’

She laughs.

‘Aww don’t be daft, what would I be doing reading that? My mum gets her cleaning jobs from there. Anyway have a look at the bit on receptionist’s uniforms. You can keep that.’

A sense of relief envelopes me when she finally stands up.

‘You should get some sleep. You look like crap.’

With that final insult she leaves my office and I head out to meet Georgie.

***

I now unders
tand why people use the phrase
flat hunting.
I’m beginning to think even hunting for weapons of mass destruction was a walk in the park compared to this. We must have viewed everything in Chelsea. Those I could afford were either in areas so rough that even the cats wore hoodies, or so small that you couldn’t even swing a cat in them. Not that I want a cat of course, but it would be nice to have the option. One flat on the top storey of a high-rise building didn’t have a lift and when we finally reached it Georgie nearly had to give me CPR. The flat itself was so small that I could sit on the loo and still reach the front door, and even that one was out of my price range.

‘I’ll have to move further out,’ I say miserably.

‘Well, you can’t go any further up,’ quips Casper, ‘or you’ll be in heaven and none of us will want to visit you there, at least not yet.’

He slides his hand through my arm.

‘Come on love, let’s get a doughnut.’

Sighing, I shove
The Lady
magazine into my handbag and follow everyone back downstairs with a growing feeling of desperation. If I eat much more I won’t be able to squeeze into my little Beetle. Doughnuts turn into lunch and we all pile into the Veggie Grill. Bess, the owner, greets us with,

‘Howdy guys, no Charlie today?’

‘She dumped him, turned out to be a bit of a git,’ I hear Casper whisper as he takes three menus.

I have never felt more depressed in my life. It looks like I will never find a flat in Chelsea. It seems if I want to stay here I will have to consider a house-share, or even a bedsit. Jane, the practice manager, is away for another two weeks, sunning herself in the Canaries, which means I’ll have to chair the doctor’s meeting this afternoon and bring up this stupid sandwich thing of Karen’s. Life just doesn’t seem the same now that Charlie has gone. I’ve lain awake at nights trying to think what it was that I could have done to make him change his mind about me. I feel certain he isn’t with anyone else and it isn’t like I’ve suddenly ballooned after piling on the weight, or am covered in warts all over my body. I’m not unattractive. I’m no beauty queen, but it would be unreasonable for any man to expect that wouldn’t it? My hair is long but well cut and expertly highlighted. I wear nice clothes. I’m not over the top fashion conscious but I know what works and what doesn’t. I wear very little make-up as my skin glows naturally. I’ve tried really hard to be a good vegetarian. Did I mention that Charlie was a devout animal activist? He is forever attending some animal liberation conference or the other. I’m not quite as good at it as he is. He is now actively involved in the
Freedom for Farm Animals Association
also known as the FFFAA. I always forget an ‘F’, which is easily done isn’t it? In fact when I’ve had a few drinks I tend to forget several ‘F’s and have called it the FA, which has caused many an upset. Well, it’s a silly name. Why not just call it
Save the Cows
or something? The FFFAA sounds like a terrorist group. Charlie takes it all very seriously and once nearly broke up with me when I made a Mary Berry Madeira cake. How was I to know he thinks eggs are living things?

‘How would you like someone eating your child?’ he asked angrily, making me feel like I had just baked three live babies in my oven.

‘It’s only a cake,’ I had argued.

‘Try telling the chicken that.’

I didn’t like to say that maybe the chicken wouldn’t understand or possibly even care. I’m all for protecting animals from animal cruelty and unnecessary killing, and I hate zoos, but I do feel Charlie goes a bit too far. When someone tells you to let a spider run free around your house it just isn’t normal is it? A
life is a life
he would say,
whether it be
spider or human
. How am I supposed to sleep with a family of spiders under my bed?

I’ve struggled to remember if I have broken some other animal code of ethics recently. Surely he hasn’t left me because I called it the FA instead of the FFFAA. You have to agree there are far too many ‘F’s.

I’m a nice person. I try to listen to everyone’s problems at work and understand their point of view. I should probably speak up for myself more, and I let the practice manager put on me a bit. Charlie is always telling me off for that.
You’re doing her job for her. No one will ever realise how much you do until you stop doing it,
he had said once in a moment of anger when I had arrived late for a dinner date. But I know my job isn’t the reason he called off the marriage. Georgie said it’s just cold feet and in a few weeks he will come running back. I doubt it somehow.

‘So what is it with
The Lady
magazine? The flats in there will be ten times pricier than those you’ve looked at,’ asks Georgie, popping a sugar cube into her mouth.

‘One of the receptionists wants me to look at uniforms. There is an article in there apparently,’ I say.

Bess returns and we all order the sweet potato and pomegranate salad.

‘I’ll have to move to Battersea,’ I say.

‘You could take one of these housekeeping jobs. You know how you love cleaning,’ laughs Georgie, flicking through the ads.

‘Oh, hey look at this. If this isn’t you I don’t know what is.
Woman needed for help around the house. A bit of cooking, some housework but mostly companionship to professionally retired doctor. Non-smoking.
That’s perfect for you, him being a doctor and everything,’ she laughs. ‘Oh and hey, you get your own little cottage on the estate.’

‘Pray, where is this fab estate?’ asks Casper, shovelling a forkful of sweet potato into his mouth.

‘Ah,’ Georgie grins.

‘The fly in the ointment,’ smiles Casper.

‘It’s in Yorkshire actually.’

‘Ooh I say, Yorkshire. Where men are men and women are wenches. Perhaps I should apply
,’ laughs Casper.

I push my plate away. How can they think it so funny that I will soon be homeless?

‘It’s not a joke you know. I may well end up back at my parents, can you imagine that?’

‘I’ve been trying not to.’

Georgie lays her hand on mine.

‘We’re just trying to cheer you up.’

Georgie slides the magazine across the table to Cas.

‘Seriously, you could do worse than look at some of those. At least you get a job and a home all in one. There may be something close to London. We’re not a million miles from the country after all. We could come and visit you.’

‘Well thanks, but no thanks. I’m just not the domestic goddess type.’

Bess walks towards us with a tray, and Casper pretends to fall off his chair.

‘I can feel a piece of heaven coming our way,’ he shrieks.

Bess blushes.

‘I’ll be with you in a sec Mrs Randall. Feel free to bring little Basil in,’ acknowledges Bess to a waiting customer.

We all strain to see little Basil.

‘It’s her dog,’ Bess whispers, and then more loudly, ‘Here you go – a special treat. Just don’t expect this treatment every time. Hot fudge sundaes all round to cheer you up, and I know it’s an old cliché Alice, but there are plenty of fish in the sea and when one door closes, another one opens.’

‘Like this door for instance. It sounds perfect for you
,’ says Casper, flicking back a page in the magazine and leaning back to read it aloud.
Responsible woman required to help on large family estate near Truro, Cornwall,
you’re most certainly responsible.
Organisational skills an advantage,
that’s right up your street.
Needed for general maintenance around our large farmhouse,
it sounds grand, what?
Nothing onerous as other staff will be employed.
There you go, a practice manager but without the practice.
Knowledge of farming not necessary. Administration experience essential as this is a working farm.
This is so you Alice.
Some light domestic chores to be undertaken. Candidate needs to be flexible with G-S-O-H. Up until recently you have always had a G-S-O-H,
this is definitely you Alice.’

‘Considering my situation, I happen to think I have maintained rather a good sense of humour. Thank you very much.’

‘Nice bedsit with all mod-cons for successful candidate, and use of car. UK driving licence essential.
It’s worth a go isn’t it? Like Georgie said, we can come down at weekends.’

‘I was thinking more like Chesham, Casper not bloody Cornwall, but still
… P. D. James wrote a brilliant book set in Dorset, you could go there. Just don’t go to Cheverell Manor,’ she adds gleefully.

I can’t believe they are serious.

‘Cheverell Manor?’ queries Cas.

‘Well, in the novel
…’ begins Georgie.

‘
Right, can we perhaps not do murder stories today darling,’ Cas sighs.

‘They’re mysteries actually. Maybe you should read one when you’ve finished watching re-runs of
Queer as Folk.

‘Ooh bitchy,’ he laughs.

‘It’s a bit extreme don’t you think?’ I interrupt, ‘relocation, change of career, not to mention the farm, I mean come on. All I need is a flat. I don’t need to go all the way to Cornwall.’

‘This is the best bit;
Applicants should apply via email to Lady Blanche Fairfax-Mason.
It’s almost bloody royalty. You’ll be taking care of the corgis. Just imagine you’ll most likely meet Prince Harry or something. There you go, he likes an older woman. It will be like something out of a fairy tale …’

‘Like Princess Diana all over again,’ quips Georgie.

‘Honestly what are you lot like,’ laughs Bess, clearing our plates.

‘I’m not applying for a job in Cornwall on a sodding farm. What if Charlie changes his mind? He isn’t going to chase me up there is he? How much is the salary anyway?’

‘Cornwall is down darling, not up,’ Casper grins. ‘Are you going to eat that sundae or stir it into a giddy mess? This is aristocracy darling. Money is the last thing to discuss.’

I push the dish towards him.

‘It’s first and foremost for a non-aristocrat like me.’

‘If Charlie wants you back he will chase you up the Swi
ss Alps,’ says Georgie, removing
The Lady
magazine from Casper’s sticky fingers.

‘See it as something temporary. You can do it for six months, get some money behind you. We’d all get out of London if we could wouldn’t we?’

‘Speak for yourself darling,’ chips in Cas.

‘Well, I’m not applying and that’s that. I can’t believe you’re even talking about it,’ I say pulling my phone
from my bag to check the time.

Shit, it’s nearly two-thirty.

‘Bugger, I’m late for the practice meeting. Shit.’

‘You wouldn’t have any of this stress in Cornwall. It would be all sheep dung and cream teas. You wouldn’t even have to learn the language.’