Million Love Songs(3)
Simon left on Boxing Day. Packed a box – I’m sure it’s not called Boxing Day because of that – and went to live with The One of the Crystalled Vajayjay. I couldn’t bear to stay in that house on my own – the one which we’d shared together. Where we’d loved, laughed and made our plans. Neither, quite frankly, could I afford the rent on my salary.
So I handed the keys back to the landlord and moved away to Milton Keynes without a backward glance. Not a million miles – barely ten miles down the road. And I know what you’re thinking – Milton Keynes! Why not the golden sands of Cornwall or the fabulous hills of Lake District or the heather-strewn borders of Scotland? Somewhere you’d go on holiday and yearn with all of your heart to go back. Why Milton Keynes? No one aspires to live in Milton Keynes. But, you know what, it’s flipping great here and sometimes too much change is unsettling. Everything else was up in the air. I needed somewhere different but familiar, if you know what I mean. Plus I needed a new job and quick. Milton Keynes has everything you’d ever want. Good shopping, good theatre, a surfeit of lakes and more trees than you can shake a stick at. The concrete cows. Don’t mention the cows – everyone does. IKEA is a three-minute drive from my house. What’s not to love? How far do you have to go for your BILLY bookcases? Think about it.
My granny annexe is great too. Honestly. I can have it all decorated from one end to the other with a super-size can of magnolia and a free weekend. At least in theory. I have, of course, yet to put this to the test. It’s not exactly Princess Sparkle Palace yet – but, believe me, when it’s all nice and freshly decorated it will be both sparkly and palatial.
Cleaning? An hour tops. My kind of housework. I still need some bookshelves putting up and my wall art from Next is still stacked behind the sofa awaiting attention, but I’m pretty much settled in now. Sadly, the thing I miss most about Simon is his ability with power tools. I can tell you now that’s not a euphemism for anything. It might have taken months of cajoling, but when he set his mind to it he was a demon with a Bosch hammer drill. And that’s, essentially, the hardest thing about being single. You have no one else to do … well … anything. You fly solo with finances, decisions, outings, holidays. All of it. The grind of being the only one is relentless. I have to think about everything. Sometimes I think my brain will go into overload with all it’s got to hold in there. Yet it’s infinitely better than being with someone who thinks having a sparkly noo-noo is more important than a sense of humour or integrity. I must remember that.
Anyway, I’d better get a move on or I won’t have my shiny new job to go to. I grab my bag and jump into the car which only requires three f-words before firing into life. Maybe it needs a new battery or alternator or something else under the bonnet which may not be quite right. Another thing that guys are very useful for. I’m perfectly capable of doing it, but when you’re a couple you kind of automatically fall into Blue Jobs and Pink Jobs, right? I’m already sorted with putting out the bins myself and if I had any grass, I’d be perfectly fine about cutting it. I’m just going to have to get used to googling car maintenance stuff.
I’m on the late shift at work today which means I go in for four o’clock and am lucky if I’m home at midnight. The plus side is that I get most of the day to myself to chill out, read, watch telly and put off the hour’s housework for as long as I can. You win some, you lose some.
The pub is called the Butcher’s Arms and is one of a chain of five similar pubs in the area owned by a small, family-run company. It’s set in the lovely village of Great Blossomville, about a ten-minute drive out of Milton Keynes’ city limits and into the leafy Buckinghamshire countryside. It has a thatched roof, overlooks the village green and usually has about three hundred top-of-the-range cars parked outside it – making our relationship with the long-suffering residents of Great Blossomville somewhat tetchy. Inside, it’s all stripped wooden floors, chalk blackboards and artfully arranged things made out of hopsack.
The drive is lovely and I take the time to turn up my music, letting Kylie soothe me, and enjoy the countryside around me – while fully maintaining my concentration on the road at all times, obvs. It’s spring and the hedges are coming shyly into bud. The sun’s out in force today and the worst of the winter feels long behind us. Everyone feels better in spring, don’t they? It’s all that new life, new hope shtick. I’m happy to buy into it, though. It makes your heart soar just a little bit, doesn’t it? I won’t be downtrodden and disillusioned. I’m going to be bright and filled with optimism. You heard it here first!
This year, for me, is onwards and upwards.
Chapter Four
Parking in one of the spaces reserved for staff right next to the bins, I hurry inside. We’re not busy at this time of day although we always have our regular retirees who drop in for an early-evening pint. As well as catering for vegans, gluten-avoiders and lactose-intolerant customers, we are also dog-friendly. Canine companions are allowed in the bar area, so a few of the older guys who live in the village pretend they’re taking their pooches for a walk and come straight here for a swift hand-pulled craft beer instead. A couple of them queue up at the door for opening time at twelve. We serve afternoon teas too and the last of the ladies enjoying those are just getting ready to leave. I drop my bag and jacket into my locker in the staffroom and tie on my apron. My hair gets a bit of a fluff and I whip round with some fresh lippy. Gotta look the part.