Chapter Twenty-Five

I’m staring at Russell’s face, debating with myself whether this is the right thing to do. Either it’ll make everything perfect again, or I’ll make things ten times worse. But what choice do I have? I can’t leave the situation as it is, and I trust the advice Gran has given me.

Right.

Here goes.

Scooping up a spoonful of the washing powder, water and white vinegar mixture, I very slowly place it on Russell’s cheek, wiggling the spoon until most of it has dolloped onto the cushion.

‘Please work, please work, please work,’ I’m chanting to myself as I rub the mixture into the coffee stain, my bottom lip pinched between my teeth. I’ve already tried washing it three times – twice with stain-remover stuff – so if this doesn’t work, I’ll have to come clean and tell Russell and Jed that I’ve ruined one of their photo cushions.

Most of the stain seems to have lifted with Gran’s magic concoction, so I bung the cushion cover into the washing machine before it changes its mind and the stain returns. There was a moment of mild panic this morning, when Jed almost made an unplanned return to Clifton-on-Sea after the temp agency contacted him to let him know Danny (the face-tattooed bastard) would no longer be covering the required shifts, and my mind went straight to the cushion cover. The stained cushion cover that I managed to hide from Russell a few days ago but would not go unnoticed once Jed was living back in the flat. The crisis was averted when the temp agency got back in touch to confirm they’d arranged alternative cover and Jed’s return was cancelled, but I decided I couldn’t put it off any longer. Either the stain had to go or I’d have to come clean, because I couldn’t take another scare like that again.

Maryam will be starting as our new temp today, and I wanted to pop down to the shop to show her the ropes before lunchtime, even though it’s my day off, but I’ve got my second driving lesson with Connie so I’ll have to leave her in the capable hands of Claire. Maryam will be fine, as long as Claire doesn’t try to sleep with her too.

I’m fizzing with nervous energy as I wait for my driving instructor to arrive. I can’t remember anything from the last lesson as it’s all a blur of fear and major panic, which makes the situation a million times worse. I try crocheting to calm myself down, but my fingers feel fat and useless, and even stalking through Paul’s Instagram isn’t helping. Bizarrely, I find myself scrubbing the shower cubicle. Even more bizarrely, it seems to take the edge off my nerves, and I find myself singing along to one of Russell’s Seventies compilations (he has many, along the lines of Best of 70s Hits , The Greatest Hits of the 70s and The Ultimate 70s Chart Toppers , but they all seem to have the same songs, just shuffled in a different order). I’m feeling much more Zen-like by the time the shower cubicle is gleaming, but the nerves come rushing back as soon as I spot Connie’s plum-coloured Toyota pulling up outside. I wonder if I’m actually going to throw up as I trudge down the stairs, or if the swishy, acidic sensation is going to remain with me for the duration of the lesson.

‘Good morning!’ Connie’s tone is as bright and jarring as her outfit, which consists of a knee-length mustard skirt and matching jacket with a magenta blouse and teal-coloured tights. She looks as though she’s going for a business meeting at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

‘Yeah, um, good morning.’ My tone is flat as I shuffle towards the car. There’s a grid to the left of me that I can throw up into if this queasiness amplifies, but what will I do if I have to hurl while I’m in the car?

‘Are we ready for our next lesson?’ Connie’s smiling at me, all toothy and gummy, but I can barely lift the corners of my mouth. Why am I doing this again? Ah, yes. Paul. Being a grown-up. Self-sufficient. Not having to rely on Mum to ferry me around. ‘We’ll go over what we did last week – moving off, what happens when we approach a junction – and then we’ll get going.’ She climbs into the passenger seat, ducking her head low so her beehive hairdo doesn’t get damaged, and I creep towards the driver’s side, my gaze finding the grid one last time before I drop into the seat.

My legs feel like jelly as my feet find the pedals, and my hand is visibly trembling as I put the car in gear, but the nerves seep away as we move along the narrow road and turn on to Woodland Road, past Shona’s house and the church and Arlo and Edith’s school. The overwhelming fear of maiming people trumps nerves, it seems.

I somehow survive another lesson, which included passing two buses (when did they get so BIG?) and some bastard beeping at me, but he can go fuck himself because I drove a car . Badly, but whatever. Connie seems happy with my progress (though I think she’s incapable of feeling anything but joy) and I’m oddly looking forward to my next lesson.

I pop into the shop afterwards so I can meet Maryam. She seems lovely and chatty, and she can already wrap chips better than Ross. I manage to pull Claire into the back room, so I can check in on her after the whole Danny thing, but she seems fine. Says she’s ‘totally over it’ and has chalked it down to a bad experience she’ll eventually roll her eyes over.

‘I can’t believe he left us in the lurch like that though.’ I flop down on one of the chairs, experiencing the usual momentary pant-shitting fright as it wobbles. ‘Maryam seems nice though.’

‘She’s great.’ Claire pokes her head out of the door, to check on the shop. ‘Fab with the customers, even Gwen, who told her the story of her finding that porno in the Dumbo video case without Maryam batting an eyelid, and she’s more than capable with the fryer. Needs a bit of work on her potato slicing though – her chips are far too thin. But then she did work at The Plaice is Right last summer, and their chips are crap. We’ll soon teach her the right way. Uh-oh.’ Claire pulls a face. ‘Fleetwood Jack’s just turned up. I’d better get back out there before he scares Maryam off and we end up having to find a new temp tomorrow.’

I slip out while Jack’s recounting the story of how he toured with Led Zeppelin and head up to the flat to sort my washing out before it starts to smell damp in the machine. Most of it is put in the dryer, but I drape the delicates, plus the now stain-free (hurrah!) cushion cover, over the radiators. I feel a little bit sad as I cover the spot that Bolan’s kitty hammock used to take up. He was a pain in the arse at times (usually at six in the morning when he was pawing at my face) but I miss him. Perhaps I’ll get a cat of my own once I have my own place. A cat that enjoys a lie-in and doesn’t take its anger out on my pot plants.

With the washing taken care of, I stick one of Russell’s Seventies compilations on and settle down on the sofa with my crochet bag. I’ll be going over to Gran’s later and I want to have at least two finished legs, and not just to rub my superior sausage-dog-making skills in James’ face. I want to show Gran that she can take it easy over the next few weeks, that she doesn’t have to worry about her commitments. A temporary lollipop lady has been installed outside the school, her shifts at the charity shop are being covered, and James and I have the sausage dog project in hand. All Gran has to concentrate on now is healing.

‘So Melvin isn’t the dad of the triplets?’

I take a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before I release it slowly. ‘No, because he had the snip last summer.’ Seriously, we’ve been watching Waiting on You together for a few weeks now and James still can’t keep up? Either that or he’s deliberately winding me up. ‘And her husband, Elvin, isn’t the dad either, because he was working away when the babies were conceived.’

‘So Elvin is really bad at maths then?’

‘No, Joanna fudged the dates, so he thinks he’s the dad, but she thought it was Melvin.’

‘And Melvin didn’t think to tell Joanna he’d had the snip so couldn’t be the father nine months ago? Why did he have to wait until she was being wheeled into theatre to blurt it out? In front of her husband , who now knows she cheated. So now Joanna’s a single mum to three babies with no idea who the father is, because let’s face it, it could be anybody from that restaurant, employee or customer. It really is mind-numbing trash.’

I lay my crochet down on my lap and raise my eyebrows, making sure James has finished his mini rant before I speak. ‘Just when I was starting to like you, you go and diss one of the best shows on TV.’

‘ Starting to like me? You mean you didn’t like me straight away? How did you manage to hide it so well?’ If James is offended by my previous mistrust of him, he’s better at hiding his true feelings than I am as his face is alight with mischief. His features fall, however, when he looks down at his crochet. ‘Can you show me how to make a magic loop again?’

James has completed the head of his sausage dog and has moved on to the body, but he’s had five goes at a magic loop and hasn’t managed it yet. Not that I’m counting his failures, or feeling in any way smug that I can make a magic loop without the aid of Gran or YouTube tutorials now.

‘Like this.’ I demonstrate the procedure slowly, waiting until James has carried out each stage before I move on to the next. ‘There you go. You’ve done it.’

‘Thanks.’ James consults the pattern to see what the next step is. ‘I’d have been trying to do that all night without your help.’

I shrug, but I feel a little glow. I think it’s another helping of smugness at first, but it feels different. Nicer. Sort of warm and fluffy and not tinged with bitterness.

We sit in companionable silence as we work, one eye on our crochet, one on the TV, until my phone beeps with an alert from the job-search app I signed up to earlier in a bout of proactiveness. It’s become quite clear I have no direction when it comes to a career path, but time is marching on so I’m going to have to wing it and apply for any office-based job.

‘Do you think I could be a payroll officer?’ My finger’s hovering over the apply button. The salary looks pretty good, and it’s a nine-to-five so no post-midnight locking up, and it’s on the outskirts of Preston, so not too far away.

‘Do you want to be a payroll officer?’ James doesn’t take his eyes off his crocheting as he asks, his fingers moving with alarming swiftness. He’ll have finished the body before the end of this episode of Waiting on You if he carries on like this, and then I’ll only be two legs ahead.

‘It isn’t a career option I’ve ever thought about, to be honest, but I have a maths A level and I’ve been taking care of the admin side of the chippy while Russell and Jed have been away, so the idea isn’t too out there.’

‘What’s happening with the chippy?’ Gran shuffles forward to reach for one of the chocolate chip cookies on the table, shooting me daggers when I shift in my seat to help her out. ‘You haven’t been fired, have you?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ I slouch back down against the sofa, my finger still hovering above the button on my screen. Still undecided. ‘I’m just looking for somewhere I can start a career. Finally .’

‘But you love your job.’ Gran frowns at me. ‘Why would you give that up?’

‘Because it’s hardly high-flying, is it?’

‘So what? There’s more to life than high-flying careers, you know. I was a dinner lady when your dad was small, and I loved it. It was only a few hours a day, and the money was pitiful, but I have such fond memories of that time, of the other ladies and the kiddies.’ Gran sighs and shakes her head. ‘I gave it up, once Reggie went to big school and didn’t need me around so much. We needed the money, you see. So I took a full-time position as receptionist at the doctor’s surgery that used to be over by the church. Dr Redman was a miserable bugger, God rest his soul, and I hated every minute of that job. I couldn’t wait to retire, and not because I wanted to sit in my slippers watching television all day.’ Gran harrumphs and lifts a slipper-clad foot. ‘Anyway, my point is, why would you give up something that you enjoy? Not everyone can boast that they’re so happy with their job.’

I do love working at The Fish & Chip Shop Around The Corner, but I can’t help thinking about my old school friends and how much they’ve achieved since that summer they all went their separate ways while I remained stuck in a weird time loop. And I think of my to-do list that I still need to fulfil before Paul’s return. As much as I love working at the chippy, working with Russell and Jed, and Claire, and as much as I adore our customers and look forward to each day, it’s time to move on.

I tap the apply button and push away the sadness it brings.