Page 102 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘You could have switched the scoop, still had this article for yourself. It would have been easy to divert it away from yourself.’
I smile. I could have. ‘Maybe.’ He still seems confused. ‘Tell me, young Tim. What’s your goal with journalism? Where do you want to go with this? Be honest with me.’
He hesitates for a moment like you would in an interview. I help him along. ‘I was once you. I graduated from university, I got some small gigs in local papers and one of those inflight magazines writing filler articles. And then I worked forInStyleandRed, naturally.’ I point down to my poor clothes selection for the day as proof. He smiles. ‘And I did the big City thing, I met celebs and got to travel and attend events and it wasn’t highbrow but it was fun and just part of a wider life experience.’
He starts to get where I’m going now.
‘Do you miss it?’
I pause for a moment to think about that.
‘We all miss and mourn our former selves but I traded up. I got Danny, the girls and I still get to write. I have an idea for an article in the pipeline anyway. About sex education in schools. One day, when Polly gets bigger and can wipe her own arse then maybe I’ll go back to it proper…’
‘And turn into Diana…’
‘You are not that young that I can’t give you a slap.’
He smiles. ‘You’re right. The Wezzie isn’t my forever job.’
‘I could have written an article about the Captain. I could have made this about myself and my career and used it as a step up from local stories about local people. But when it comes to what I want, it’s not that.’
He seems surprised at the admission. Stu also studies my face, trying to read me.
‘Nah, you need it more than I do. I like you, Tim, but you don’t belong in Kendal. Use this. Meet people. Get into journalism that’s worth your skill and talent. I’ve had the big City experience and you need that too. Come back here when you’ve discovered a love for fleece and mountain walks.’
‘Or mint cake?’
I laugh. ‘Exactly.’
Tim leaves when the cake runs out, the orange folder under his arm, whilst Stu and I hang around so we can finish this epic fried breakfast that could have easily fed a family of five. We all hug it out and in that moment, I’m comforted that we did the right thing. I’ll have a glance over the piece so I can fact-check and correct his grammar but I have a feeling this is heading in the right direction, that he’s on our side. We still don’t know what will come of the Captain but he’s no longer lurking in the shadows. He’s a proud alter ego with a story and a voice.
But still, I worry. I worry about Danny. I wonder how this story will end. Looking in the mirror opposite, I also am wondering what in the crap has happened to my hair. In the mornings, I think I’m fashioning a messy bun when in daylight it looks more like I’ve combed my barnet through with a hedgerow. Meg Morton, journalist at large…whatever happened to you?
A little hand reaches up and grabs at my cheek, smearing me with baked beans. Oh yeah, you happened. I hold Polly tight and smell the top of her head. She giggles. I’m sorry, little one. I seem to have palmed you off on your uncle of late. I’m sorry I dress you in hand-me-downs and we haven’t really thought much about giving you a hairstyle with your platinum blonde locks. She smiles. I go to pick her up from her highchair. One of the few things I miss about my kids during the working day is the weight of their bodies on mine when I pick them up or hug them; little arms around my neck and wandering eyes that scan your face so they can imprint it into memory. Little Polly Lemon Drop. You and your sisters re-wrote the story. Bar a few days off here and there, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I go to find some baby wipes in her change bag. Instead I find three swimming nappies, half a pack of Doritos, a cuddly dinosaur and some Rizlas. Bloody Stu.
‘You fancy some bacon? I think I’m done.’
I look down at Stu’s plate, the scene of some sort of breakfast massacre. He rubs his belly. It is hard to think of an alternative life where this man is a high-flying legal expert but he’s told us he’s tied all the ends up for us and done what he can to protect his brother. I have to take his word for it, don’t I? He has egg yolk down his top that he scoops up and licks off his fingers. A figure appears at our table. Sarah. I had a feeling that she would meander over to stick her oar in.
‘Nice breakfast? Who was that before?’
I return her fake smile from earlier.
‘A work colleague, Tim.’ Tim who’s gay and who I found in a threesome situation with our headteacher and his wife, and who’ll be writing an article about my husband who is that Mintcake fella that all those people are talking about. Just smile, Meg…
‘Is he single? New in town? Where’s he living?’
I don’t respond to any of the above but allow Stu to take over the conversation. ‘Sarah Milner, always a pleasure,’ says Stu, knocking back his tea but not looking too impressed. Both of them have sketchy knowledge on each other being locals but Stu also knows too much about this woman from the incident at the exhibition the other day.
‘Stuart,’ she replies, curtly. ‘Just he’s a new face. I’m curious.’
‘You know what they say about curiosity, Sarah Milner,’ says Stu, attempting to diffuse the situation with humour. She doesn’t get the message.
‘Anyway, I was hoping to bump into you as I heard from Natalie Walsh’s brother that you and Danny were in the cop shop a couple of weeks ago?’
Stu smiles broadly. How the hell did that get out? I glare over at Stu. This was his doing and it’s quite obvious that Natalie Walsh would have heard from her husband whose nose we broke. I look over at Stu to defend my honour. He smiles back. He glances over at Polly who grabs his fingers.
‘Fender bender, innit? Danny had been at it behind the wheel.’
