Page 20 of Six Steps to Happiness
Willow nodded. “You’ve gone viral.”
“Facebook, Twitter, YouTube…” Bea said. “You’re on them all.”
“But I can’t be.”
“In fact, the way the numbers are growing,” Bea continued, “you might even end up on one of those TV mishap shows.”
“You mean I’m a laughing stock?”
Willow sat down next to Ronnie, giving her mum’s hand a reassuring rub. “I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly.”
“See it more as bringing a smile to people’s faces,” Bea said, “brightening their day.”
Ronnie threw her a look.
“I’m just saying. Silver linings and all that.”
As far as Ronnie was concerned, her mother-in-law could be as optimistic as she wanted. Ronnie still wouldn’t be able to ever show herself in public again. She thought back to that morning, trying to recall everyone present. Michael, Jack Shenton, the bodybuilders, she couldn’t imagine any of them uploading her onto the Internet. She let out a long drawn-out sigh, her heart sinking as she realised who the culprits were.
“Those bloody kids,” she said, recollecting the two selfie-taking teenagers. She looked down at the screen again. “Just when I thought life couldn’t get any worse.”
13
Pausing in her work, Ronnie gently pinched the bridge of her nose. The bruising around her eyes might be less prominent, but they were tired and strained from the delicate hand stitching she’d been doing. “Almost there,” she said, looking down at the mother-of-the-bride clutch. She ran her fingers over its purple velvet, before wrapping them in Sellotape and patting the fabric to get rid of any stray pieces of fluff. She smiled. Once she’d filled it with tissue paper to give it its body, the bag was complete and ready to send off to the customer. Stunning, even if she did say so herself.
Ronnie glanced around her studio, taking in her trusty Berninasewing machine, her rows of colourful textiles and linings, shelves stocked high with fabric dyes, button and zip boxes, and ornate handbag frames and clasps – everything a bag designer could possibly need. Surrounded by such beautiful things, that room had always been Ronnie’s happy place, her sanctuary.
Locking herself away after the gym incident had seemed like a good thing to do. Her ribs could heal and her bruises fade, along with the laughter over the video.Shemight forever cringe at the memory, but given time, someone else would become the latest Internet sensation and goodness knew she’d been putting off work for long enough. Escaping the world felt like an opportunity to get on with something productive. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, she could complete her commission piece and hopefully come up with a few ideas for the brand new collection.
Being in her studio at the bottom of the garden also gave her the opportunity to monitor next door’s comings and goings in preparation ofOperation Poltergeist, something Ronnie couldn’t wait to get on with. She looked at the notepad and pen by her side, before turning her attention to Gaye’s car poking out of number eight’s rear garage.
Productivity on two fronts; it was a win-win situation.
Reading her notes, Nick’s routine seemed pretty much the same as it had always been; leaving the house at eight in the morning and not returning until after six evening time. Gaye’s schedule, however, was less predictable. She came and went at various intervals, which did nothing to help in Ronnie’s planning. Ronnie scoffed. Neither did it do much for her self-esteem. Unlike her neighbour, a husband-thieving so-and-so, who had places to go and people to see, Gaye’s comings and goings highlighted the fact that Ronnie herself had nothing and no-one. Apart from Willow and Bea, she conceded. But, she supposed, being family, in the bigger scheme of things they probably didn’t count.
She checked her watch and realising that Nick would be home from work soon, thought back to the life he once shared with her. She readily pictured him dumping his bag in the hall, moaning about the stresses of his day before he’d even reached the kitchen. Not that Ronnie had minded listening to his complaints. After hours in her workshop, they provided her with a connection to the outside world, albeit vicarious. Since his departure, however, she didn’t even have that. It was just her and the telly for company.
Ronnie considered her lack of contact with the outside world, a place she supposed she’d never fully engaged in. She’d had acquaintances over the years, such as the other mums dropping their kids off at the school gates when Willow was young. Then there were her neighbours, but again, she hadn’t formed particularly close relationships with any of them. She might say hello and stop to chat for a minute or two, but no-one on Holme Lea Avenue had become what Ronnie could call a firm friend.
Looking back, it was as if Ronnie and Nick had lived in their own little bubble, even more so since their daughter had flown the nest. She wondered if that was why Nick had strayed. Was life with her too boring? Were they too insular? Not that that excused his behaviour. Ronnie had craved a bit of excitement herself at times. She sneered. Just not enough to commit adultery.
Having insisted that Willow and Bea give her some space to recover, the only person Ronnie had conversed with in what felt like weeks was the supermarket delivery guy and even then, only because her Hobnobs had been substituted for Digestives. She frowned as she contemplated her situation. “You could be dead and no-one would know it.” She thought about how easy it would be to fall into a completely solitary life. Everything a person needed to survive could be ordered over the Internet and dropped at the door, it was no wonder people found themselves cut off.
Ronnie shrugged herself out of it. Having never been one for pity parties, she saw no reason to hold one now. Besides, didn’t she like her own company? Didn’t her job as a handbag designer call for a quiet existence? And since the gym incident, she had placed herself in solitary confinement, so it shouldn’t really have come as a surprise to find herself feeling starved of human contact. If anything, her miserable state of mind was a good omen; a sign that she was ready to rejoin the outside world. Even if that world did only consist of her daughter and mother-in-law.
Turning her attention back to the handbag, Ronnie rubbed her eyes again. Sewing could be difficult at the best of times, let alone when the daylight faded. She opted to call it a day and getting up from her seat, unravelled the Sellotape from her hand before placing the mother-of-the-bride clutch on her worktable – a huge wooden construction that Nick had purpose made when she decided to take her designing dreams seriously. Running her hand along its surface, she couldn’t help but admire the table’s well-worn patina. It had served her well and would, no doubt, last for years to come. She thought it a shame how a piece of furniture could turn out to be more reliable than the man who built it.
A squeal from next door interrupted Ronnie’s thoughts and, checking her watch, she frowned. Obviously lover boy was home, but going off her own experience, Ronnie couldn’t think why the excitement; especially when during the latter years of Ronnie’s marriage, Nick always came in from work rather glum. With her curiosity getting the better of her, she tiptoed over to her workshop door and, glad to see their kitchen window open, prepared to eavesdrop.
As she listened to the two of them, Ronnie watched on as Gaye jumped up and down and threw her arms around Nick.
“Oh, darling,” her neighbour said. “What have I done to deserve this?”
Ronnie sneered. She could only imagine.
“I wanted to treat you,” Nick replied.
“Treat her!” Ronnie found the smile on her ex’s face nauseating. She waited for him to hand over a bouquet of garage flowers. Probably carnations, they were always carnations; an afterthought when he stopped off to put petrol in the car. Ronnie’s eyes narrowed when she saw nothing of the sort, instead finding herself watching Gaye rip open an A4 envelope.
