Smooth Blue

Following the trail

2006-06-17T23:06:00.000+01:00

Earlier this evening, I sat in the window seat of my cosy new home and watched the sun set. The sky was full of soft pinks and purples and I felt so content but, as the sun was sliding down behind the sea, the walls around me seemed to close in and I longed for fresh air.

As soon as I stepped outside, I noticed two lit candles nearby. Each had a lover’s knot tied around the base in red silk thread and I knew they were a sign from Jez. I began to search for further signs. There was a driftwood arrow pointing towards the beach and I crossed over the road and stood on the promenade, gazing out to sea. The strains of an orchestra playing “Margaritaville” drifted around me and, in the distance, I could see the waves washing up on the shore.

I walked down the steps on to the beach where I saw something glittering at my feet. It was a locket on a chain, the sort that you might win on a fairground; cheap metal but it looked like gold to me. I fastened it around my neck and looked for the next clue. I couldn’t miss it. Straight ahead was a huge heart drawn in the sand. There were pebbles in its centre, spelling out the letters J and T. And finally, a row of flickering red candles burned in the sand, leading me towards a boat where a dark silhouette waited. I knew it was Jez and I longed to take those final steps towards him but I was afraid. Afraid it was a dream and I would awaken to emptiness as I have so often lately.

“Toni,” he said, “Toni, it’s me.”

He held out his hand and I took one step forward. Only one step. And then I waited in the soft salt air.

“Jez, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He walked towards me, each step an eternity, until he held me in his arms.

“Everything’s going to be OK,” he said. And I knew it would be.

Jez

2006-06-15T17:36:00.000+01:00

You’re probably going to think I’m crazy but I’m convinced Jez is here, in this village. First of all, I was about to throw away the envelope from AP yesterday when I noticed, in the bottom right hand corner, Jez’s initials and a tiny heart. At the time, I thought it might be an old envelope from Jemima’s or AP making some sort of joke but then, this morning, outside the front door, I found a small carving of a narrowboat, like the one Jez had. It was about the size of the toys you get in Kinder Surprises. It was warm in my hand and all sorts of images of the weekend we spent on the boat came flooding into my mind, as though they had been compressed into this tiny little boat somehow.

I think he’s trying to send me the message that he’s here. I needed to find a way to contact him so I bought a postcard of Che Guevara from the souvenir shop (there’s a local link with Guevara but I’ll not go into that here). It looks like the painting that was on his narrowboat. I’ve left it next to the door step, held down by a heart shaped pebble I found on the beach. Dr Flingle was walking past and I thought he was going to tell me to take it away but he just shook his head and said, “Women!”

Back inside, I started thinking about the things I’ve done. Do I deserve to be with someone as nice as Jez? I’m not convinced that I do. But you can’t wipe out history. What I can do, and I’m going to do, is to use AP’s money for a good purpose. The other day, I heard some music. When I followed it up, I found it was being played by The Genius Child Orchestra and I overhead someone saying they were short of funds. So I’m going to give the money to support the work of The Genius Child Orchestra. Picar is a wonderful place but it is a little short of music.

Perhaps when all this tainted money is gone, I’ll be able to start afresh. I know that’s what I was doing three months ago when I started this blog – it didn’t work out but I’ve learnt so much on my journey, I’m much more prepared this time. And I might be able to make that fresh start with Jez, you never know.

A Letter

2006-06-14T17:23:00.000+01:00

I went for a long walk this morning, along the seafront. It was very early, even before the fisherman had gone out, although some of them were getting their boats ready. The sea air gave me an appetite and I stopped at the café for breakfast. I got chatting to the woman who runs it and she says she might have a job for me. Washing up again.

I ate my bacon and eggs outside, watching the boats bobbing off to the fishing grounds. It looks like a good life, being a fisherman. Living your life with the rhythm of the sea. Being a part of its ebb and flow. Like breathing but much much more.

When I got home to the cottage, there was a notice on the front door. “Dr Flingle’s surgery closed due to bereavement.” I unlocked the door and went in. There was a strong smell of licorice.

“Lock it,” a slurry voice said. It was Dr Flingle.

I locked it behind me and peered into his office. “Are you OK?” I asked.

“Hadbit toomuch ‘f thegreenfairy,” he slurred.

“Pardon?”

“The Green Fairy. Absinthe.” He lifted the bottle to show me.

“Has something happened?”

“She’s gone, gone. Run off with that efffffffff’ing Polemite Preacher.” He put his head down on the desk. “Left me for a bloody preacher.”

“But it says bereavement on the door.”

He lifted his head. “’S’right. She’s dead to me.” He picked up the bottle and poured another glass. “Dead and gone.”

“If there’s anything …”

“No, I’ll be fine. Fine. Fffffing fine.”

I turned to go.

“Oh,” he says, “Oh Tanya.”

“It’s Toni.”

“Oh yes, Toni. For you.”

He handed me an envelope, a bit sticky and stained from the absinthe but with my name clearly handwritten on it. I kept turning it over and over as I went up the stairs. Behind me I could hear Dr Flingle muttering, “Always said she was plastic. Always.”

Inside the envelope was a lot of money and a note:

Dear Toni

It worries me that you’re going to get yourself in too deep working for Morgan, especially as it was my idea. It’s tough, even for people like me and I can tell that you aren’t as strong as I am. I’m giving you this money in the hope it will encourage you to break free while you can. Take yourself back home to England and pay off those debts. Be a nurse again and help people instead of doing them harm.

When I told you this was an easy way to make money I was wrong. I realise that now. If I could get away from it I would but it’s too late for me. It’s not too late for you.

AP

It’s made me feel really guilty about AP. I know now I shouldn’t have accepted that extra job from Tristan. But it can’t be helped.

My New Home

2006-06-13T19:20:00.000+01:00

I’ve found somewhere to live. It’s only half a cottage, the upstairs rooms of a doctor’s surgery but it’s full of ‘original features’ and has a brilliant sea view. The walls are bumpy and whitewashed and the windows are leaded in a diamond pattern. There’s an open fireplace which the doctor tells me still works but I don’t need it just now. I think some of the furniture might be original too. It certainly looks old enough.

I spent this afternoon sitting in the window seat reading a book I found in the bottom of the wardrobe. “Easter Parade,” by Richard Yates. The sun was shining in and, behind me, I could hear the sea washing up on the shore. Sometimes, it seemed like it was saying, “Jez, Jez,” but then I’d get drawn back into the story and I wouldn’t be able to hear it any more.

Tomorrow I’m going to do some more practical things. Try to find a job. Contact Ann at home to ask her to put my house up for sale and then use the money to pay off my debts. That will be my commitment to staying here so I can truly settle. I think I can be happy here.

Down b- La-e Tao

2006-06-12T06:56:00.000+01:00

I’-e been sleeping down b- La-e Tao for the past few nights. I left the Golden Chain in the middle of the night, crept out so that -emima and AP wouldn’t -now. AP seemed to be ill, he was confined to his room and I saw -emima bustling in and out loo-ing worried. I had to lea-e. I couldn’t loo- -emima in the e-e after what Morgan as-ed me to do and, of course, I couldn’t let AP -now I was refusing m- mission. It’s all a bit scar- but, for some reason, I -now it’s going to turn out alright.

Before I go an- further, I’d better e-plain that I’m using a -e-board that onl- has nineteen letters so -ou’ll ha-e to be patient and a little proacti-e in reading this. The computer belongs to a -illage of dolls that is nearb- and, although the whole thing seems -er- strange, I’m not letting it worr- me. As long as it’s connected to the internet, I’m not going to let it worr- me. That’s the best thing around here. I saw a man with a radish on his lip –esterda-, but I’m not letting that worr- me either.

There’-e been a couple of times in the past three months when I’-e found m-self in Picar with nothing. The first was after m- impulsi-e -ourne- to Picar and the second was after m- une-pected return from New –or- when I was hoping to go to England. But I’-e planned this time. I’-e got a ruc-sac- pac-ed with clean clothes (lots of –nic-ers and soc-s, -ou can ne-er ha-e too man- -nic-ers or soc-s) and a debit card for m- Picardian ban- account which is stuffed with mone- from Morgan (he paid reall- well). Plus I bought a tent and a sleeping bag so I am -uite comfortable at the moment.

I ha-e a plan though. There’s a fishing -illage where I’m hoping to rent a cottage. It’s possibl- a bit too near to The Golden Chain but it’s a -er- close-lipped place. As
-ou’re entering the -illage, there’s a sign that sa-s, “What happens here, sta-s here,” and, fingers crossed, news of me being there shouldn’t get bac- to -emima (or an-one else for that matter.)

I don’t thin- I’ll be going bac- to England -et. I don’t thin- I can go bac- to England. This place won’t let me. I’m sad about that because -ez is there but I carr- him in m- heart and in m- head so at least I ha-e that. I’ll tr- to settle here, ma-be find a -ob in the -illage. Probabl- gutting fish, -nowing m- luc-.

There’s a rag doll here waiting to use the computer so I’d better go. “Important Polemite mission wor-,” she keeps sa-ing, “It can’t wait, it can’t wait.” I’ll let -ou
-now about the cottage.

I can't

2006-06-08T07:24:00.000+01:00

Details of my next mission arrived this morning from Morgan.

I can’t do that. Not to Jemima.

PS

2006-06-05T13:13:00.000+01:00

Nearly forgot to tell you. AP’s here. He keeps trying to talk to me but I keep telling him I’m busy. I don’t like the look in his eye. I don’t think I want to hear what he wants to say.

Cochrech Industries

2006-06-05T13:11:00.000+01:00

I paid Tristan a visit this morning at Cochrech Industries. It was what Morgan wanted me to do and, as I’d had a card from Tristan asking me to call him, the two combined very nicely.

CI is up near Parallex Point. I asked Jemima the best way to get there without actually telling her I was visiting CI. She suggested a taxi because it can be difficult to get there on foot. I’d expected Tristan to be an uptight businessman but he was much more relaxed. Like an aging hippy with long hair and sandals. He took me into his office and then went to find us some coffee; his secretary is off sick. As he left the room, another door in the office swung open – it must not have been properly closed. I went to close it, but as I neared, I saw inside. It was full of television monitors, all with names underneath: Jez, Leo, Lucy, Brim and AP are the names I can remember but there were lots of others. My name wasn't there thank goodness.

Only two monitors were turned on. One was Leo’s. It showed Leo in a open air sort of place but, although there was green grass and sunshine, it didn’t seem to be outdoors. Do you remember that film, The Truman Show? Well, it was like that, all natural looking but with huge lights hanging high above. Leo looked so lost.

Charles’ monitor showed the scene I saw when I arrived. The film crew and a barefoot man. But it wasn’t the gorilla footage that was showing, it was the image of the crew and the man who, now I think about it, must be Horace’s brother.

I tried to turn Jez’s monitor on but the switches were too high up and I couldn’t reach. Then I heard Tristan whistling as he returned with the coffee. When we’d settled down in the comfy chairs in the corner of his office, he asked me to keep an eye out for Horace. That’s all. Keep an eye out for Horace. So I said I would, although I don’t think I’ll see him.

As soon as I got back here I sent off the information to Morgan. I’ll not bore you with the details of how I do that, but it’s a complicated process I can tell you. I got a message back saying he’ll send me my next mission. It should arrive on Thursday.

Is it a dream

2006-06-02T16:21:00.000+01:00

I know I got on the plane to England. I remember having my passport looked at and taking my shoes off to go through the security check. I remember! There were the announcements over the tannoy and looking around the shops for presents for Anne and Kevin and Jez. And then walking down that tunnel thing on to the plane and sitting in my seat next to a very fat bloke and thinking I’d never get out to go to the bathroom.

Next thing I know, I’m in a cave with “K3” painted in red paint above my head. I was soaking wet and finding it difficult to breathe. It felt as if my life force was being drained from me by the vampire tide pounding against the entrance to the cave.

I waited until the waves were a long way distant and then I set off up the beach, shivering in the half light. The smell of the air and the feel of the wind against my skin told me I was in Picar. Home again, I thought, and then realised that it’s not my home. My home is in a place where they fly red and white flags for football matches and where Jez is probably sailing down the canal in his narrowboat.

I walked and I walked for what felt like hours. Up off the beach and onto a path that led uphill. In the distance I saw a group of people and, when I was closer, I realised it was a film crew. One of them turned the camera towards me and filmed me walking towards him. “Help,” I said, “Help, I’m lost and I don’t know what to do.” The cameraman slid a gorilla mask back down over his face back and moved the camera back towards a shoeless man. His eyes turned towards me, although he didn’t move his head. He reminded me of Horace somehow. “Can you help me?” I asked. He moved his head slightly from side to side in an infinitesimal negative shake. “Keep still,” shouted the gorilla director. These people were no use to me, they were too caught up in their own fantasy.

I carried on walking. I saw a lake in the distance with what looked like a tiny figure nearby but I knew, instinctively, that this was a person who could not help me, a person who needed help himself. So I walked some more and eventually found a telephone box. I called Jemima. Reverse charges for all I had in my pockets was the card that strange man gave to me in Reykjavik.

“I knew you’d be back,” she said, with more than a gloat in her voice. She came and picked me up, fed me and settled me back in Lucy’s room again. And that’s where I am, wearing a t shirt that Jez left behind, one that smells of him. I wish he was here. It’s weird, I know he’s in England because he told me so but he feels to be nearer somehow. I almost believe that I could stretch out my hand and touch him.

So is it real or is it a dream? And how did Morgan know to send the details of my next case to Picar when I’d insisted I was going back to Manchester? There they are, lying in an envelope on my/Lucy’s bed waiting for me to read. Maybe the whole trip to New York was a dream and now I’m back in reality.

I can’t think about it anymore. I need to get some sleep.

Homesick

2006-05-30T07:07:00.000+01:00

New York is wonderful. Fantastic. London and Manchester rolled together and then some. The buildings. The people. The buzz. I love it.

But, for some reason, it’s made me homesick. I look at the Empire State Building and think about Urbis. I see the shops and long for the Trafford Centre. Whenever I turn on the tv I wonder what’s happening in Corrie and Big Brother 7. I have to go home. Soon.

I’m not saying I regret coming here. It’s been great. Sunday was fantastic (after I got some birthday emails.) I went along to the opening of Helium’s installation. The crowd were well impressed when they took the cover off this enoooooormous balloon and the night sky appeared on a sunny New York afternoon. I’d hoped Brim would show but he didn’t, although I really thought I saw him in a tree at one point.

Then Helium, and some of his arty friends, took me to help celebrate his success at a bar that was all glass and shiny chrome. They toasted my birthday too. I stayed a bit longer than I intended and had more to drink than I should have.

Afterwards, I went to another bar to meet AP and Morgan. (AP never mentioned the cookout and I didn’t like to bring it up.) This bar was very dark and we sat in a booth away from everyone else. Morgan’s a dark haired, dark skinned little man. Shorter than me even. He talked a lot but I didn’t take in everything he said. Or maybe I did at the time and some of it was lost in the journey back to soberhood. Anyway, there was lots of talk about protocol and levels of security and responsibility and missions. I felt like I was being led down some sort of a maze with no exit. It was clear that Morgan wanted me to go back to Picar but I was very firm. Manchester is home and where I intend to go. He said there are things I can do in Manchester for him but it won’t be as lucrative as Picar. That’s fine with me, I said, I’ll have my nursing when I get back.

I seem to have packed a lot in during my time here. Seen the Statue of Liberty from the air and up close. Went to a recording of the David Letterman show. Actually managed to get a ticket to see The Colo(u)r Purple tonight. But I’m ready for home. Going to try for a plane for Thursday or Friday. It’s time I faced up to my problems. At long last.

In New York

2006-05-28T16:48:00.000+01:00

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear me,
Happy Birthday to me.

Well, no one else was saying it, not even Jez, so I thought I'd say it myself.

On my way

2006-05-27T14:10:00.000+01:00

Here I am in Reykjavik with three hours to kill. Tiny airport with hardly any shops to wander around but, luckily, there’s a couple of computers that accept dollars. Had to so something to stop going crazy.

There’s a man at the other computer who keeps looking at me. He’s wearing a coat with an enormous hood that comes right over his face. In England they wouldn’t let him into a shopping mall, never mind an airport. And his hands on the keyboard have a green ti “Oh my God he’s coming over.”

He’s gone now, thank goodness. I was scared, I can tell you. The only bit of his face that I could see was his tiny red eyes from within the darkness of his hood. He didn’t say anything apart from, “Toni Hutton?” I answered to my name in the hope it would make him go away. Which it did but before he left, he gave me a card. On one side there are the name and address of Cochrech Industries in Picar and, on the other it says, “Toni, give me a call when you get back to Picar, Tristan.” There’s a telephone number underneath. Yeah, right, like I’d do that. Even if I go back to Picar, which I doubt.

Whoops, gotta go, they’re calling my flight. Talk to you soon.

Stranger and Stranger

2006-05-25T11:59:00.000+01:00

I’ve got my ticket to New York. Paid for by my first money order from AP’s ‘people’. I leave from Kallarackel Airport at 3pm on Friday and arrive at La Guardia at 6pm Saturday (New York time). The actual journey will be 38 hours with time differences and all that. It’s made worse by the fact I have to fly via Reykjavik; God knows why. Even the travel agent said he’d never heard of anyone flying via Reykjavik. Anyway, it’s all booked and I’ve started to pack.

Jemima keeps saying that it will be difficult to go. Or rather to stay away. She says I’m a person who belongs in Picar, even though I’ve only been here a short time. There’s something about this place, some force that lets you leave but soon makes you come back. And then she went on about a cave and vampire tides and K3 coming for me. Strange!

Talking about strange, I went with her to see Leo yesterday. It felt weird right from the start. Jemima packed a bag for him. It held, and this is the honest truth, an Adidas shoe (size 10), a miniature trunk, a story about a couch arguing with a rug and something she called a mollydoll. She added a pot of jello (you can never have too much jello she’s always telling me) and a Kallarackel cake.

As we left the Golden Chain, there was a man in front. “That’s Charles,” she said and, handing the bag to me, she ran after him. But she didn’t catch up with him. “Totally disappeared,” she told me, adding, “That was Horace’s brother.” It took quite a while to get to the hospital, it’s hidden out in the countryside somewhere quite far from here. It seems to be some sort of mental institution, very forbidding outside but friendlier inside, apart from the locked doors. And the nurses! Not like any nurse I’ve ever seen before! A bit too friendly with the patients if you ask me. Actually saw one on a patient’s bed, lying next to him. They wouldn’t put up with in Manchester, I can tell you.

Anyway, they talked for ages. Very intense it seemed. I couldn’t catch most of it, I was in the corner out of the way, but the odd word came to me. I caught K3 (again!), Cochrech and Tristan. They talked about Lucy too. And then we came back here. Not sure why I was there really.

When I came in I checked my emails. There was a sweet one from Jez, saying he’s back at home sorting things out and, if I go back, maybe we could meet up for a chat and a coffee some day. But there wasn’t one from Brim which worries me. I’d emailed him asking if he wanted to come to see this Helium thing in Central Park. I hope he’s alright. He’s so vulnerable – perhaps someone’s hung him out to dry.

There was one from AP. Talking about maybe having a cookout while I’m there and about me having a serious chat with someone called Morgan. I don’t know if that’s a first or last name.

So, I’m off tomorrow to the big Apple. Wonder why they call it that? Talk to you when I’m over the jet lag and the journey.

Another One Gone

2006-05-23T05:21:00.000+01:00

Horace has disappeared. Gone in the night. No message or anything. I'd been getting worried about him. He kept saying, “I’m being watched, I’m being watched,” and refusing to look at the window in case it was true. I never noticed anything but, I was so tired by then, I probably wouldn’t have noticed an elephant even if it stood on my toe. Just before he left, he told me he’d found something, a clue, about where Lucy is but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. Now I’ll never know.

And there’s another thing. When we discovered he’d gone, Jemima turned to me and said, “I know where Leo is.” There’d been a phone call from a nurse (another nurse!) telling her that he’s in some sort of hospital. She’s talking about visiting him and she wants me to go with her for moral support. I’ve said yes but that it will have to be quick because I’ll be getting out of here soon. My life just gets more and more complicated.

Jez's Gone

2006-05-22T13:42:00.001+01:00

Jez’s gone. Left. I’m devastated but, in a way, I don’t blame him. We tried to make it together in an artificial situation, in a place where neither of us belonged, when neither of us was settled. So no wonder it didn’t work.

And the last week has been absolutely chaotic. There’s Horace for a start, all over the place, going on about finding Lucy and Leo when none of us knows where they are. I knew he was getting on Jez’s nerves and I’m not surprised. Expecting him to do stuff on the computer that he really wasn’t able to do. I did my best to help Horace, tried to find out information for him. Asking everyone questions, looking through the cellar, things like that. Have to say I’ve got quite close to old Horace. He’s had a tough life really, lost contact with his twin brother, Charles, and now he’s looking for his twin children, especially Lucy, and getting nowhere.

And the other thing is, I’m doing some work for AP, well not directly for AP, there are other people in charge but he’s the one I’m sending information to. Don’t understand it really, what I’m doing, but it seems to be going OK, no complaints yet anyway.

So, all in all, I’ve been running round like a fool for a week. No time to post in my blog or anything. Life should be a bit easier now. Jez’s gone, which is a shame, but now I don’t even have to pretend to respond to those come-to-bed eyes. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, it was just that I didn’t have time.

My job for Jemima finishes this week as well. Holber’s coming back to work on Thursday. And I think Horace will be going soon too, I think he’s learnt all he can and it’s obvious Jemima doesn’t want to be around.

I think it’s coming to decision time. Do I stay here? Do I carry on working for AP when I know there’s more to it than appears on the surface and there might come a point where I’m involved so deep that I can’t get out? Sometimes having money isn’t worth the price to pay. So maybe I should go back to Manchester and being a nurse. My four weeks unpaid leave is nearly up and my job and my flat are waiting for me.

But the other thing is, I’ve had an email from Helium. He’s doing one of his balloon installations in Central Park soon. It will be an enormous balloon that reflects the sky for most of the time, but when it changes it will show the night sky (in the day) and the day sky (in the night). So one minute there’ll be a seemingly empty blue sky and the next there’ll be a big chunk of nighttime in the middle of it, complete with shooting stars and the moon. It starts on 28 May, which is my 36th birthday and I’m thinking that, maybe, I could go over to New York to see it. I could make that crunch time, time when I decide finally, home or carry on with this lucrative but suspicious deal AP’s sorted out for me. Maybe I could even meet up with him, talk face to face, find out more about what’s involved. I think that’s what I’ll do.

I’ve never been to Central Park. Or to New York if it comes to that. I wonder if there are bears in Central Park? Probably, because I’m pretty certain there’s gorillas.

Twins

2006-05-14T12:14:00.000+01:00

Yesterday afternoon I went to the hospital with Jemima to visit Holber, the woman whose job I’ve been doing. It was weird to be back in hospital again, my feet squeaking on the lino floor surrounded by the antiseptic hospital smell that had an occasional undercurrent of urine and boiled cabbage. I felt like I should be in my uniform, bustling down to A & E ready to face the scared, the belligerent and the intoxicated. But instead I followed Jemima to Holber’s bedside and sat quietly while Holber told us that she was hoping to come home soon and, after a week’s convalescence, she would be fit to work again.

When we arrived back at the Golden Chain there was a strange man sitting on the doorstep. Well, he was strange to me but Jemima knew him. It was Horace, the husband who’d left 10 years ago. No one had seen him since, but from the way he talked to Jemima, you’d think he’d just popped out for a packet of jello. At first, when he started asking, “Where’s the twins?" I thought he was talking about me and Ann and I suddenly felt a huge pang of homesickness.

Jemima told him that Lucy had gone away to help a friend and she hadn’t seen Leo for about 7 years. He tended to find life difficult and she suspected that he’d had some kind of breakdown just before he left. “Left suddenly,” she said, “I came home one evening and he was gone. No note or anything.” She glared at Horace. “Like father, like son.”

Horace paced up and down asking, “How do you know he’s not dead?” but not listening to the answer Jemima gave, which was that Leo sent the occasional postcard saying, “Don’t worry, I’m doing OK.” She offered to get them for him and went into the house to find them. Horace followed her in and within minutes I heard raised voices in the kitchen. “You should have looked after them,” he shouted, “I left you in charge of my twins and when I come back, I find you’ve let them go off God knows where.” “They’re adults,” Jemima said, “adults!”

I went upstairs out of the way. Jez was on the computer. “Hey, look at this,” he said as soon as I walked through the door, “They did a virtual funeral in an online game for one of the players who really died.” “Yeah?” I said, not really listening. “And a bunch of other players raided the funeral,” he went on, “and it all ended up in chaos.”

I sat down on the bed and said, “Holber’s coming back to work soon. I’ll lose my job.” “Hmm?” said Jez, still looking at the screen. Then the door burst open and there was Horace, his face all red and angry. “Clues,” he said, “I need clues about where Lucy is. I’ve got to find her. Maybe she knows where Leo is.” He pulled the pictures down off the wall and stuffed them in his pocket. He took the books down off the bookshelves, flicked through them then tossed them on the floor. When the bookshelves were empty but the floor was piled up, he searched through all the drawers, most of which had mine and Jez’s stuff in. Any letters or documents, including the one from Aliss, he slid inside his shirt because his pockets were full. Then he turned to the computer. “Get off there,” he said to Jez, “I need to look for clues.” Jez hesitated before standing up and letting Horace sit down in front of the computer. He put his hands on the keyboard and then looked up at Jez. “How do you work this damn thing?”

I left them to it and went to sit out in the garden and try AP again. It was still his answerphone and I left another message. What’s up with these people, saying mysterious things and then never having their mobile turned on?

The Picnic

2006-05-11T10:55:00.000+01:00

Went for a picnic with Jez on my day off. We walked up to the top of Isagor hill, it was very steep and we were knackered when we got there. It was a windy day but we found a sheltered spot where we could look down on the waves crashing on the shore below us. We’d made sandwiches, Marmite for Jez (he has a thing about Marmite) and ham for me. Jemima had made us two pots of jello which, unfortunately, had become a bit scrambled with the journey but they still tasted good. And of course we had Kallarackel cakes. They aren’t really a cake, more like a flapjack made from a mixture of oats, honey and cinnamon. They are deeeeeeelicious!

We did a lot of talking while we were up there. I was glad because Jez had been pretty quiet since he arrived. We both came clean about what was bugging us about our old lives and what we wanted to do for the future. We haven’t made any decisions yet but one thing’s for sure, we won’t be doing anything hasty.

I told Jez about a strange thing that happened with AP, the bloke who came for the conference. I was talking to him again on Tuesday and he gave me his card, saying, “it's not that hard to get out of debt if you're open to the right kinds of opportunities.” That was weird because I hadn’t mentioned my debts to him. I wondered if Jez had said anything because he and AP were having a right old chinwag the other day. Jez said he’d never mentioned me. They were talking about techie type things and then, suddenly, AP started talking about fires. Man’s obsessed if you ask me.

And there’s another weird thing. I helped Jemima out with cleaning the rooms and I did AP’s room. He’d left some things in there. Obviously packed in a hurry. There was a bottle filled with clear fluid which I emptied down the sink. It stunk the room out, a chemical sort of smell. Maybe it was dry cleaning fluid. Anyway, I had to open the windows because the smell was making me dizzy. Then I found a length of cord, about 2 feet of it I think. I was going to hang on to that because it could come in useful. Then I found the other stuff. In the bottom of the wardrobe there was a single shoe, bit big for AP I would have thought. And on the bedside table there was a notebook with lots of tiny writing in it. I couldn’t read most of it, but on the last page it said, “TS, PNS, GP, BSU, P68, 05.09.06.” Me and Jez kept trying to explain it. The best one we did was – the Scandinavians, playwright no sex, granny panties, black silk underwear, Paris 68.

Jez said I should call AP. Let him know what I’ve found and then maybe we could sort out sending it all off to him. And I could ask him what he meant about getting out of debt. I think I’ll do that.

Jez and King Kallarackel III

2006-05-09T10:46:00.000+01:00

Jez arrived late last night. He was exhausted poor thing. It’s a long journey and it was made worse by the hassle he had at the airport. Then, of course, he’d had passport problems before that. So all in all, he’s had a tough time. I had no idea when he’d arrive but I just happened to look through the window as a battered old taxi drew up and he staggered out. He looked totally lost as he stood there, searching through his pockets for the money to pay the driver but when I ran out of the door his face lit up and he held out his arms for a hug. Magic!

We carried his bags in together and I made him some coffee. He didn’t want anything to eat, although I offered. Then we sat on the sofa for a chat but his eyes kept closing and he couldn’t follow what I was saying. “Time for bed,” I said and he didn’t protest. As soon as he lay down his eyes closed and he’s still asleep now, even though I’ve been up for hours. So I thought I’d come and do my blog and then see if he’s ready to wake up when I get back.

As soon as he’s fit I’m going to show him round the town. It’s an interesting place is Picar. Jemima’s been telling me some of its history. The English were here for about a hundred years but it’s not a time the locals talk about fondly. They’re more interested in what happened before the English were here, particularly the king that the English deposed, King Kallarackel III. He was a really good king, benevolent is the word they use. No one ever went without in this area, even beggars who wandered into town soon found themselves with a roof over their head and food in their stomachs. It’s a philosophy they’re keen to carry on, although in these modern days it’s obviously not as easy.

But the most important effect that King Kallarackel had on this town is his interest in dolls. He was obsessed with them. They had to be a particular shape, long and thin, like him, but apart from that, they could be as individual as the maker wanted. “I don’t like bland dolls,” he used to say, “Anything but bland.” This area became famous for its dolls and they still export them world wide.

One of the things that people always said about King Kallarackel was that he wore his heart on his sleeve and so the dolls often had a heart-shape stitched on the left sleeve. After the English left that began to change. The doll makers wanted to make a more impressive statement about King Kallarackel’s heart, about how important it had been. They started to make the left arm in an actual heart shape - the upper arm would be made like an aorta, the elbow would be the heart itself and the forearm would be the inferior and superior vena cavae plaited together. The hand would be veins intertwined for the palm and separate for the fingers. They still make the dolls like this to the day. Sometimes they mark veins all over the doll’s body, all leading to the aorta at the shoulder. I’ve seen some of the dolls for sale in shops. For some reasons they remind me of Tug Christ, the doll that Kevin bought for my mother’s birthday. I think it’s because they are the sort of doll that gets inside your head and you keep thinking about it.

Anyway, I’d better get back and see if Jez has woken up. Talk to you soon. Oh, and I’ll tell you about Kallarackel cakes next time.

Jez and a Job

2006-05-04T19:11:00.000+01:00

I’ve had a couple of emails from Jez. He was all ready to race over to see me (bless!) but he hasn’t got a passport. He’s going to Liverpool on Friday to try to get one as quickly as possible. I can’t wait to see him. I’ve told Jemima he’s on his way and she’s quite happy for him to stay at the guest house.

And the other good news is: I’ve got a job! I’m a washer-upperer. Jemima stopped me on my way out the other day. The woman, Holber, who usually does the dishes for the guest house, has gone into hospital and so Jemima needs a replacement for a while. She said that, as I’m staying in Lucy’s room and not one of the guest house rooms, she’s willing to give me free bed and board if I help out in the kitchen. I agreed and started straightaway. There are a few other tasks, such as clearing tables, but it didn’t take me too long to do the work, and then the rest of the time’s all mine. It gives me something to do and will help out with the finances.

It’s going quite well really, apart from this morning when the toast stuck in the toaster. Both me and Jemima were out of the room at the time and it was billowing black smoke by the time we went in. One of the media analysts (here for the conference) came out to ask what was going on. His name’s AP – I don’t know what that’s short for. He ended up telling me about a big fire there’d been in New York recently. Then we talked about the difference between English, American and the local breakfasts which focus heavily on fruit and yogurt. Nice guy. Then Jemima walked past and raised one eyebrow at me and I knew I needed to get back into the kitchen.

It's all very different from nursing but I think that's what I need for a while. That's why I've changed the template for my blog. Now it really is a Smooth Blue blog!

Second Thoughts

2006-05-01T15:32:00.000+01:00

I’m back here sooner than I expected. I’ve just discovered Jez left me a comment for my post last Friday. I missed it before. He’s talking about giving everything up and coming over to find me. It’s weird, I never really thought about how my coming here would affect other people. Imagine him being willing to give everything up for someone like me. And Brim has written some wonderfully sensible stuff in his blog about how he suffered similar debt problems in the past and recovered. He says that it was slow going but it’s possible and he says I shouldn’t be using another credit card because it will only make things worse. He is so right.

It’s made me stop and think about what I’ve done and what I’m going to do in the future. I’m not ready to make any definite decisions just yet but I’ve done a couple of things just to leave some doors open. I’ve sent an email to the hospital, saying I’ve got some problems and asking if I can take one month’s unpaid leave. I don’t think they’ll say no, I’m a good nurse and it won’t cost them anything. I’ve also sent an email to my brother Kevin asking him to tell the family that I’m OK, although I haven’t told him where I am.

Finally, and most importantly, I’ve sent Jez an email telling him exactly where I’m staying. I’ve also said that he must think long and hard before he comes over. It’s not that I don’t want him to come, it’s just that I don’t want to risk ruining his life if he’s not 110% certain. My head is saying he should stay where he is, my heart is longing for him to find me.

Journey's End

2006-05-01T15:16:00.000+01:00

I arrived in this seaside town at about 8 am on Saturday morning. It had taken another fifteen hours after my last posting. It was raining heavily as I walked along the seafront, searching for somewhere to stay. Most places were full; there’s a big conference centre nearby and there’s a media analysts conference on. I ended up at a guest house called The Golden Chain run by a woman called Jemima. She too was full but she looked at me, exhausted and soaking wet, and offered to let me stay in her daughter Lucy’s room. Lucy’s away. Jemima told me she’d set off for Las Vegas but apparently ended up somewhere else, helping a friend of hers.

I was grateful for a place to rest and I slept for a long time, only waking up in the middle of Sunday afternoon and, even then, I didn’t feel like doing much. I went out for a burger and then back to the room. Lucy seems to be an interesting person, with an extensive range of CDs, including many by Ezra Kire, and photos all over the walls of places she’s traveled and people she seems to have met, as most are signed. One is of a girl called Aliss H and there was a letter from Aliss lying on the windowsill. I tried not to read it but my curiosity got the better of me and I pulled out several sheets of delicate lavender paper, covered in tiny writing. I won’t break Aliss’s confidences but I will tell you that the last line was, “I’ve got to get out of here.” I know that feeling so well.

Later on I went for a walk on the promenade. Up on the hills, the white painted houses glowed pink from the rays of the setting sun and I thought that this was a good place to take a break from my problems. Back at the hotel I found a book on the bedside table by Mary Robison, “Why did I ever.” It’s not a style of book I’ve ever read before (the cover describes it as minimalist) but it kept me interested until late last night.

Today I’m exploring the town a bit more. That’s how I found this internet café and decided to do a post. Now I’m off to check my emails. I’ll tell you more soon.

What Have I Done??

2006-04-28T17:56:00.000+01:00

I can’t believe what I’ve done!! The constant phone calls about my debt finally got to me and, before I knew what I was doing, I was at Manchester Airport with my shiny new red and gold credit card. I booked on the first available flight, I didn’t care where it was going.

It was quite a long trip but I didn’t spend the journey thinking about what would happen when the plane landed. Instead, I watched the films, listened to music, read the in-flight magazine - I got really interested in an article on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder where people have to keep doing the same things over and over, like counting. I think the woman next to me wanted to talk but I blanked her because I didn’t know what I would say if she asked where I was going. Or why.

After the plane landed, I found the bus station and caught the first long-distance bus. I don’t know anything about the place where it’s headed. We’ve already been traveling for some time now. We’ve driven through small villages where cats looked up curiously from their perches on warm windowsills then, remembering that curiosity killed the cat, they hid their fear in sleep. Passed through cities where ravens strutted along office block rooftops and sirens screamed in the background. Up through the hills and down into the town of Altvistle where we stopped for lunch, omelettes, at the Loaf and Wheel. Then we forded the great river, Rothwyll and drove for many more miles before drawing up in a run-down bus station.

The driver told us the bus needed some maintenance which would take about two hours. I headed straight for the internet café I’d spotted on the way in. First thing I did was to send Jez this email:

Hi Jez

I’ve done a runner. Left my little flat in Manchester to start a new life in … who knows where.

What can I say? Except, of course, that I’m sorry. I just couldn’t take it any more. Even my hopes for a possible future with you were drowned by the constant pressure of being in so much debt. So, I’ve flown away. Remember, I told you about how I felt when I went for the helicopter ride over London. How I wanted to take off. Well, now I’ve done it.

Maybe my leaving won’t be too difficult for you. After all, you have your boat and you’ve started a new life too. In some ways, I wish that you could sail over here and see me, but that’s not possible is it? Narrow boats don’t travel over the sea.

Still, if you ever wanted to come and see me, when I’ve settled, maybe we can arrange it. I think, now, I might be able to afford a plane ticket for you if you want one. Just let me know.

Whatever happens, though, we must keep in touch. When I’ve found a place to stay, I’ll send you my address.

Lots of love

Toni
xxx

This café is called The Webbery and it has a giant spider’s web painted on the ceiling. I’ve just noticed that the threads of the web lead down the walls to each computer. It makes me think again about the links between us that the internet makes and it raises my hopes that I won’t lose touch with Jez. Or Brim. They’re such special people.

Now, I’m going to go for a walk around this town, whatever it’s called. Maybe I’ll buy myself some supplies, like toiletries and a spare pair of knickers. God knows what the place where I end up will be like. I hope there’s more shops than there seems to be in this dump of a town.

In a Quandary

2006-04-24T18:40:00.000+01:00

Jez, Jez,
I must confezz,
My life’s a mezz.

I had such a good weekend with Jez. I went down to stay on the narrow boat he’s thinking of buying. I wouldn’t say it’s the nicest boat I’ve ever seen, there’s a strange smell (dog?) and it’s damp. But it’s got great character and is obviously built to last. The name, “Lone Star” is painted on the side in red and gold in traditional style. On the doors is a painting of Che Guevara and, inside, there’s a little woodstove. When it got cool in the evening, Jez set it burning. It was a bit smokey but we opened the Che Guevara doors and it soon cleared. Generally, the boat has a really hippy feel to it. I kept saying things like “cool,” and “Right on, man.” It’s very Jez.

He’s such a great guy, although his friend Tim’s a bit of a pain. I laughed so much, especially when we were feeding the ducks on Saturday afternoon. We had some serious conversations as well, when we went for a walk on Sunday morning. I think he’s as dissatisfied with his life as I am with mine. I can imagine us having a real future together.

But then I came back here and I’ve spent all day answering calls from people chasing me for money. All day. I still haven’t rung for that loan and I don’t think I ever will. I can’t face the thought of tying myself to paying that amount of money every month. But if I don’t do that, then how am I going to pay back my debts? I’ll end up in court, I know I will.

How can I have a future with Jez? How can I expect him to make any sort of commitment to someone like me with my problems? I know there are a lot of people with worse problems. There’s that guy under house arrest, the one who killed cats. I was reading about another guy the other day. Ezra Kire his name is. He’s a musician who is homeless in New York. That must be terrible. I don’t think I’d like to live on the streets there. Or anywhere really. And my hair dresser was telling me about someone whose daughter, Aliss, is missing. I can’t think of anything worse than that.

So I’m not saying that I’ve got the worst problems in the world. And I’m not saying that, maybe, me and Jez couldn’t work it out. But I am saying that my pride probably wouldn’t let me get seriously involved with someone when I have so much debt.

What on earth am I going to do?

Boring, Boring, Boring

2006-04-20T12:39:00.000+01:00

Another boring day in a boring flat in a boring place with nothing, nothing, nothing to do except to go to a boring job at 2 o’clock. Still I’ve got the day off on Saturday. I’ve sent Jez a text asking if he wants me to go down to see the boat. I hope he does. I’m so sick and tired of the same old life, day in, day out. No more poker, no more highs and lows as I win and lose. No more nothing. I’ve even sunk to watching morning television, that programme with Philip Schofield and the fat woman, Fern I think she’s called.

They were talking to Shayne Ward who won X Factor the other day. Did you know he’s a twin? And from round here. They said that Will Young’s a twin too. It got me thinking. Perhaps I should do something like that if being a twin helps somehow. Obviously, I couldn’t do X Factor, I can’t sing for toffee. But maybe another sort of show. Make life more interesting. There’s always Deal or No Deal. That might solve my debt problems. It looks like fun too, staying in a hotel for several weeks, making friends and going on the show till it was my turn. I could win £250,000. That’d be good although there’ve been a few low wins recently. If I only won 1p, I’d have to go into hiding. Would be too embarrassed to show my face. But I think I’ll find out how to get an application form. It’s worth the risk.

I wouldn’t mind Big Brother either. I know they have to rough it sometimes, hardly any food and all that. I could spend my summer sunbathing and playing games though. It has to be better than this. I wonder if they’ve done the auditions for this year?

Have to be careful with reality TV. There was that one where they convinced people they were going to be astronauts. You’d feel so stupid wouldn’t you? And then there’s the one in America where they set you up on a date but then a gorilla, or at least a man in a gorilla suit, comes in and wrecks it all. It’s bound to come over here. I couldn’t cope with a gorilla messing things up, even if it wasn’t real.

Maybe I’m better just waiting to see how it works out with Jez. He might be just the touch of excitement I need to improve my life.

Rainy Tuesday

2006-04-18T11:01:00.000+01:00

It’s raining really hard. I’m on a late, start work at 2 this afternoon. I was planning to go out this morning but having looked at the weather I’ve changed my mind.

I called Jez on Sunday. We talked for about an hour. He’s really nice to talk to. One of those people you can feel relaxed with, where you don’t have to watch what you say all the time. He’d been to see the narrow boat he’s interested in and he’s going to try and raise the money to buy it. I said “Don’t look at me for a loan,” and he laughed and said he knows about my debts and he wouldn’t even try. That’s what happens when people you know read your blog. He’s asked me to go down there on Saturday to have a look. I said I’d try but I’m supposed to be working. I’ll ask today if I can take Saturday off. Haven’t been able to ask before, the woman who sorts the rota has been off for Easter. Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?

I think I’ll go and watch some episodes of Scrubs now. I wish the people in the hospital where I work were more like them, laughing and joking and occasionally bursting into song (and looking like Turk). But like the rest of my life, it’s just a boring place. Maybe now Jez’s back, things will get better.

Jez

2006-04-15T11:18:00.000+01:00

Did you see that Jez left me two messages on my last posting? See, I said the internet linked everyone together! He wants me to ring him. And I will but not today. Probably tomorrow (Sunday) in my break. I’m not ringing him today, even though it’s my day off, because he won’t be there. He’s going to look at a narrow boat with his friend Tim. Thinking about living in one. Sounds like a good idea to me. He needs to get away from his mother. So I’ll have to wait until Sunday to talk to him.

A strange thing happened yesterday. I was reading an article in The Guardian. I don’t usually look at the Guardian, it’s a bit intellectual for me but I’d gone to see our Kevin to tell him about my blog before he finds out for himself. I wanted to tell him to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, this article was about a couple getting in touch with each other again through a blog. The man, Graham, said he was in debt. It sounded a lot like me and Jez, except the opposite way around. Thing is, though, it was all a con and Graham wasn’t really Graham at all. I worried for a bit, thinking what if it’s not Jez? But then I remembered I have his phone number. His real phone number from when I knew him before. And I talked to his mother. And I’m not after his money which is probably a good thing because he hasn’t any as far as I remember. Athough narrow boats can be pretty expensive ….

Talking about debts and stuff, Ann’s been on at me to ring those loan people. I’ve been meaning to do it but I’ve been a bit busy, writing my blog and thinking about Jez and all that. But I will do it. Probably on my next day off which is Wednesday.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Some idiot company’s sent me a credit card. A few weeks ago I filled in an application form that fell out of a magazine. I didn’t think they’d send me one. But they did. Do these people not do credit checks? They’ve given me a credit limit of 10 grand. Stupid fools. It’s sitting there, on my coffee table, all red and gold and shiny. I’d cut it up but I can’t bring myself to do it. Think I’ll hide it somewhere then forget where I’ve put it.

BTW Brim, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry if I sounded a bit stroppy about you putting my blog address in your blog. I’m really really pleased you did because it means I can get in touch with Jez. It was just that it was a shock when I saw what you’d done.

Mum's Birthday

2006-04-11T11:20:00.000+01:00

We went to a Chinese restaurant last night to celebrate Mum’s 60th birthday. Had a great night. Ate a lot, drank a lot, laughed a lot. Sometimes it’s good to be with family. As long as it doesn’t go on too long.

I clubbed together with Ann to buy Mum a classy DAB radio. She loved it. Insisted on testing it out in the restaurant. Got a few glares I can tell you.

She listens to the radio a lot. Moves from one station to another according to her mood. Classic FM, Radio 2, Smooth, Saga, even Radio 1 sometimes. And when they have ring-in competitions, she’s in her element. She’s had her voice on more radio stations than I’ve had hot dinners. God knows what her phone bills are like.

My brother, Kevin, bought her a religious doll! It’s called Tug Christ and is made of metal with nails in it. And covered in blood! He bought it on the net from a company called The Softest Person. I thought it was pretty tasteless myself but Mum was thrilled. Doesn’t take much to please Mum. “Here’s a used lollipop stick, Mum.” “Oh thank you dear, that’s lovely.” “I found a bit of fluff under the bed and thought you’d like it.” “Oh, smashing, I’ll add it to my collection.” It’s sad really but she’s happy in her own little world.

Which is more than I was when I got home. Remember when I went to London? Well, I told that artist, Helium, that I had a blog. Told him in confidence because I don’t want Ann or any of the people at work reading it. I can’t go on about things if I think someone I know will read it. That’s why I’m using a false name. You know, when you say you’re a nurse, working in A & E, around Manchester and you have a twin, people are going to start working things out aren’t they?

Anyway, it seems that Jez has been looking for a nurse from Manchester!! Which is me! And Brim found out, asked Helium and Helium told him my blog address. Brim only goes and puts it in his blog doesn’t he? So Jez can read it.

I was really angry at first. That’s an invasion of privacy. Then I calmed down and I was pleased because it probably means me and Jez can get in touch. I don’t think the people I mix with are into the net so they won’t find me. Especially as the name at the top says Mandy but I’m really called Toni. So I think I’m safe. There’s only Kevin who likes computers and I can easily bribe him to keep his mouth shut. Been doing it for years.

So Jez, if you read this, get in touch. Maybe we can make it work this time.

A crap day!

2006-04-04T20:56:00.000+01:00

What a crap day. First I was late for work, stuck in a traffic jam. When I got to the hospital it turned out the cause of the jam was a big traffic accident. 1 person killed, 6 seriously injured. We all pretend these things don’t affect us, but of course they do. Not only that, A & E was full of other patients complaining that they had to wait and we had to spend all day running to catch up.

After work I called in at Tesco’s to buy some food because I had no food in. I stocked the trolley up but completely forgot I don’t have credit cards anymore. I told the woman on the till I’d run out to the cash machine. She wasn’t pleased. Neither was the queue behind me. When I got to the machine it would only let me have a tenner so I’d to go back to the woman and tell her to clear it all. If looks could kill! An assistant took the trolley off me to empty it to make sure I didn’t do a runner without paying. Then I went round again and bought cheap stuff. Beans, eggs, loaf of own brand bread. Damn Ann and her big pair of scissors.

Back home I thought I’d try ringing Jez to cheer me up. He was out but his mother was in. That woman certainly can talk. She went on and on and on about nothing in particular. Not only that, I forgot to leave my number and I’m definitely not going to risk calling again. Couldn’t face going through that again.
.

The Internet Part II

2006-04-02T18:45:00.000+01:00

I was going on the other day about how wonderful the Internet is. About how the whole world’s joined together with a silver thread. And I’m not saying I’ve changed my mind. But there’s another side to it.

Have you ever seen that tv ad? I think it’s AOL. At the beginning of the break they talk about how wonderful the net is. How kids can learn so much and it can help them with their homework and all that. But then, later in the break there’s another ad talking about the risks, about how some people use the net for their own devious purposes. It’s that sort of two sidedness that I’ve been thinking about.

I’ve had so much pleasure from being on line but there are things there that don’t necessarily bring out the best side of people. In my case it’s the gambling. It’s so easy. I started at a time when I was lonely. It wasn’t long after I’d split up with Richard. I’d got used to being a couple and was finding it hard to adapt to being single again. I found a poker site one night and I went in to have a look. I had fun. Real fun. There was a buzz in playing and it stopped me feeling lonely. I won quite a bit of money.

For a couple of months I went on the site regularly. It filled the evenings and made me feel happy again. Maybe it was coincidence, I don’t know, but my social life improved around that time. I made some new friends and started going out again. I didn’t need to play poker to fill my evenings.

Then I met this guy at a party. Jez his name. He was a right laugh and I thought we’d make a great couple. When he said he’d call me I believed him and, like a fool, I sat in waiting for the phone to ring. But it didn’t. By the time I realised he wasn’t going to call I was back playing poker on a regular basis.

Gradually it stopped being fun. Where there’d been a buzz, there was now a leaden feeling, one that stopped me getting up and walking away. Plus I was losing which meant I had to carry on playing to cut my losses.

Not any more. Last night I unsubscribed from all the sites where I’ve been playing and I changed my email address so that they can’t send me emails inviting me back. I’m determined not to get involved again.

I’m going to have to find another interest. Look up old friends. Start going out again. I still have Jez’s number. I wonder if I should call him. Before I was being all girly. You know how it is. Saying I wouldn’t call him because he’d said he’d call me and had let me down. But maybe I should take that risk. He could have lost my number and be wishing I’d contact him. It might be worth a try.

Ann descends

2006-04-01T21:14:00.000+01:00

Last night Ann descended on me like a cloud of black bats. I opened the front door and there she was, looking at me with the most serious face I’ve ever seen. As she stepped into the hallway she said, “Go and make the coffee,” and waved a carrier bag in the air adding, “I’ve got the biscuits.”

I could hear the carrier bag rustling as I made the coffee. I took the cups through to the lounge. On the coffee table there was the packet of biscuits (double chocolate chip cookies), a calculator, a pile of leaflets and the biggest pair of scissors I’ve ever seen.

“OK,” she said, “before you settle down, go and find those credit card bills.” I hesitated. She pointed to the door. “Go on. I’m not asking, I’m telling you. We have to sort this out.” I went into the bedroom, climbed on the bed and lifted the suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. It took me a while to find the key; I remembered putting it in a safe place but not exactly which safe place. Eventually I remembered it was in an old handbag in the bottom of the wardrobe, along with a lot of other things I need to be secure but easy to find. As I closed the wardrobe door I realised she was in the room with me. “Just making sure you don’t run away.”

Back in the living room, we opened the envelopes between us and sorted out the most recent ones. Ann handed me the calculator and started reading them out. “Barclaycard, six thousand, Mastercard, three thousand five hundred …”

It came to just over 25 thousand altogether. I didn’t think it was so much. We were both quiet for a while then Ann reached over and picked up a biscuit. “Right. Now we know what we’re dealing with. It’s a lot of money and it’s going to take time but you have to pay it back. So, I think the solution is a loan. Consolidate. That’s the word they use.” She brushed the crumbs off her chest and picked up a leaflet. “I’ve looked through these and this seems to be the best. In the Pink Loans.” She pointed. “Here’s the number. Get ‘em rung.”

Like the wimp that I am, I rang. I talked to the woman who, I have to say, talked a lot of sense. She worked it all out. I could borrow twenty five thousand and pay them back over ten years. That was the shortest period where I could afford the repayments but doing it that way would cost me twenty two thousand in interest, on top of the twenty five thou. Forty seven thousand pounds. Can you believe it? I said I’d call her back.

“I need to think about it Ann. It’s a lot of money. Don’t push me any more, I’ll sort it out next week. I promise.”

She looked at me. I think she saw my determination not to agree anything that night. “Alright then.” She wagged her finger. “But you better had, that’s all I’ll say. You better had.”

I picked up a biscuit and took a bite. I thought it was over. I’d forgotten about the scissors though. She picked them up and waved them. “Give me your cards.” I shook my head. She pointed the scissors straight at me. “Get them.” I opened my bag, took out my purse and extracted my cards. I watched as Ann cut them into tiny pieces. “No more online poker for you young lady.”

After she’d gone, I came to the computer and turned it on to write my blog. Wanted to get it off my chest. But I didn’t do that. What Ann didn’t know, and I didn’t tell her, is that I don’t need my credit cards to play. They have my details already. I went into the Aces High site and played all night. Lost five hundred pounds.

This morning I was too tired to go into work. I gave them a call and went back to bed. Stayed there all day.

I can’t go on like this. I really can’t.

What a weekend!

2006-03-27T17:11:00.000+01:00

Wow, what a weekend that was. Talking, eating, drinking, clubbing and a helicopter ride!

We got into Euston about 3 on Friday afternoon. Went for a walk before we took the tube to Sarah’s. Like always I was overwhelmed by London. The buzz. The rush. The people. Workers clutching briefcases and walking with purpose. Shoppers hands full of carrier bags searching for bargains. Tourists dawdling along, looking up at the skyline, stopping to take photos. Mime artists and buskers. People riding in rickshaws. I must have looked like such a small town girl, wandering along and gawking. Then down into the Underground where the air hangs heavy and still until the trains stir it up and it washes itself around your face and moves your hair about. It was pretty crowded on the train, lots of people going home from work and I had to stand, clinging tightly to the rail, terrified I was going to fall into this old bloke’s lap.

Sarah’s apartment is fantastic, on the eight floor of a huge apartment block. The lounge has one wall that’s all glass so there’s a great view over London. You can see the Thames and everything. We couldn’t get her to tell us how much it cost but it must be a fortune. Mark, her boyfriend, works in the City. He did tell me what he did but I can’t remember now. Last year, he and his three brothers bought a helicopter between the four of them and he’s just got his licence. He promised to take us for a ride over London on Saturday afternoon.

We didn’t go out on Friday night. Sent out for a Chinese and then spent all night talking. It was late when we got up Saturday morning (didn’t go to bed till 6) and by the time we’d had breakfast it was after 4 but Mark still kept his promise.

When we climbed into the helicopter the sun was going down and the sky was all pinks and soft blues. As the helicopter climbed into the air the Thames looked like a mirror, all silver, but it had gold highlights in it from the setting sun. We flew over the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, the House of Commons and we saw where they’re building the Wembley Stadium. As we were flying around, it was gradually getting darker and the lights were coming on. By the time we were ready for landing we could see that the Thames itself was almost black but it was filled with light – whites, yellows and neon reds and greens, reflections that moved and rippled along with the water.

The helicopter ride felt so good I find it difficult to put into words. The earth below me: tiny people’s lives going on in tiny buildings, tiny cars waiting at tiny traffic lights. An enormous sky around us, going on forever. I wanted to fly off on my own, put out my arms and set off, speeding through that great sky, go places, meet people. See the world. Touch it. Taste it. Feel it. Leave my boring life behind me and take off. But I haven’t got the nerve. Or the money.

After the helicopter ride, we went to eat. Indian place called the Usha. After that, clubbing. You know when the music gets inside you? When the rhythm replaces the rhythm of your heart and you have to move the rest of your body to match it? That’s how it was. The person right in the centre of the dance floor unaware of anything but the music. That was me. Eyes closed. Feeling it. Being it.

I should have stuck to the dancing but I did a bit of drinking as well. A lot of drinking. It all became a bit of a blur. There are only two things I remember. One is snogging some guy and his girlfriend becoming so upset we had to leave and go somewhere else. And the other is me telling Ann about the poker and the debts and the unopened credit card bills and her shaking her head and saying, “In vino veritas”. I haven’t heard the last of it, I’m sure.

I don’t know what Ann meant by saying Sarah’s lonely. She has the greatest social life I’ve ever heard of. She’s mixing with all sorts of people: doctors, musicians, politicians, the lot. There’s an artist friend of Mark’s living nearby. He calls himself Helium, although I don’t think that’s his real name. Sunday afternoon he took us out on a tour of some artistic installations around the area. One of them was his. It was a huge balloon that was designed to reflect the sky so that much of the time it was invisible. Then, every so often it would turn green so that, suddenly, there would be a green balloon where previously there seemed to be only sky. Afterwards, we went to visit a friend of his, a man called Brim. He lives in a house absolutely full of stuff. Well, rubbish really but he said they’re all possibilities. He also said something that I made myself remember because it made such sense to me. He said, “It’s essential to be flawed because if you’re not flawed you’re deceiving yourself, which is the biggest flaw of all.” I’m going to write it down somewhere. I need to think about it some more.

We caught the 10.30 train back this morning. A couple of times on the train back I saw Ann looking at me and I thought she was going to start with the lecture. But then she’d sigh and talk about something else. It’ll happen though, when she’s ready. Just wait and see.

There’s always a bloody fly in the ointment.

Ann comes to call

2006-03-23T00:26:00.000+01:00

My sister Ann came round to see me tonight. She’s 15 minutes older than me and thinks that gives her the right to tell me what to do with my life. Most of the time I let her get away with it, it’s easier than arguing.

First thing she says, as soon as I open the door is, “Why haven’t you called me? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” My answer to that, of course, is, “You haven’t rung me either,” but she takes no notice. Then I tell her to sit down while I make a drink but, being Ann, she has to follow me into the kitchen. She’s in there quicker than an ambulance on an emergency (she’s a paramedic.) “Bit of a mess,” she says looking round, “How can you live in this tip?” I turn my back on her and switch on the kettle. As the kettle starts making the whooshing noise that means the water’s boiling, I hear her opening cupboards asking, “Where’s the biscuits?” Before I have chance to say, “Top cupboard, on the left,” she’s opening the middle drawer. I mean, who looks for biscuits in a drawer? Everyone knows you keep biscuits in the cupboard.

She pulls out the bundle of unopened mail and waves it in the air. “What’s these?” she asks. “Nothing,” I say, trying to take them off her. She pushes her face towards mine and says, “What are they? Love letters?” I grab her arm at the elbow and force it to bend, so I can take the envelopes from her. I hold them behind my back, dodging her grabbing hands. My heart’s beating so hard I can hear it and I feel like I’m going to faint. “Keeping secrets,” she says, “Keeping secrets from your only sister?” “I don’t need to tell you everything,” I reply, my voice wobbling about all over the place.

She goes quiet then. She knows she’s gone too far. The kettle clicks off and she goes over to finish making the coffee. I go into the bedroom, close the door behind me and look round for a good hiding place. I don’t want Ann saying she’s going to the bathroom and doing a quick search round my room. She can be like that sometimes. In the end, I push the bundle of mail into the suitcase on top of the wardrobe and click the padlock shut. I’m not sure where the key is but I’m in no rush to open those envelopes anyway.

Back in the lounge, she looks at me curiously. “That’s not like you, getting letters and not opening them. You’re usually the first to the door when the postman comes; I’ve even seen you get excited about junk mail.” “They’re nothing,” I say, “Just ads and things. I’m going to buy a shredder and get rid of them. Data protection and all that.” She waits a minute, her face crinkled up and her mind ticking over. “How do you know what they are if you haven’t opened them? There’s something suspicious going on. Maybe I should talk to Mum.” “Ann,” I shout, “For God’s sake, I’m 35. Don’t start threatening me with Mum. You wouldn’t like it if I did that to you. Let’s talk about something else.”

There’s a long silence. I can’t think of anything else to say and I’m at the point of thinking I’ll switch Coronation Street on when she pipes up with, “Are you working this weekend?” “No,” I reply, “I'm on a late tomorrow, then a split on Tuesday.” “Do you fancy a girly weekend in London?"she asks, "Go down there on Friday and come back Monday morning?” “What brought that on?” I ask. “Remember Sarah I used to work with?” she says, “She’s just moved down there and she’s feeling a bit lonely. We could go shopping or clubbing or just chill out in her new apartment. She tells me it’s pretty special.”

It sounds good to me but, “I’m broke,” I tell her, “I can’t afford it.” “Course you can,” she says, “It’s only money.” I’m about to say I definitely can’t go but then I remember I haven’t played poker in a while. That must have saved me a fortune. Not only that, I haven’t had a treat in ages. “OK,” I say, “Let’s do it.”

The Internet

2006-03-21T07:40:00.000+01:00

Whenever I think of the internet, I imagine a globe covered with people sat at keyboards, all linked by silver threads. How fantastic is that? It still amazes me that I can talk to anyone, anywhere at any time. Like last night, for example. I was in a chatroom talking to a woman who was supporting a man under house arrest. Charles his name is. I don't know which country he's in. I don't think he's in England, we don't have that sort of house arrest over here. I was going to send him a message of support but then I found out he killed cats so I didn't want anything to do with him. But, even so, without the Internet I wouldn't know of his existence or be able to talk to someone connected to him.

I used to do a lot of chatting on the net and I've met all sorts of people over the years. Up to about six months ago I spent most of my evenings in chatrooms. Sometimes even all night. I don't do that so much now, I'm more into poker but I'm on a bit of a losing streak so I'm trying to take a break from playing. I'm missing it though.

I'm back

2006-03-18T15:35:00.000+01:00

Here I am back home between shifts. There’s a pizza warming in the oven and a bottle of red wine on the kitchen table so I’m spending a few minutes back on my blog while I wait for my late lunch to be ready.

One thing began to worry me this morning. I put my real name on here. Which I suppose is fine, it’s not like I’m a criminal or anything. But it struck me that here is the place I plan to open up and I’m not going to be able to do that if there’s a chance that someone who knows me might read it. So as soon as I came in I took my real name off.

Then I began thinking again. I don’t want to go under the name of Smooth Blue. It’s not a people name, it’s a blog name. I don’t want to be anonymous either. I’ve decided to use the name Mandy (I know it’s the name of a song by Barry Manilow but you can’t have everything!) I’ll add Mandy to the three other names I use on the net. What did I say before about split personality?

Anyway, I’ve just heard a ‘ping’ from the kitchen so I’m off to eat, drink and watch a couple of episodes of ‘Scrubs’ on DVD. Talk to you soon.

A smooth blue ocean

2006-03-18T09:57:00.000+01:00

I'm feeling good today. Had a bad night but now I’m raring to go. It’s been a tough few months: I’ve felt like a tiny boat being tossed about on a stormy grey sea. But this morning, I believe I can get it all under control. The future spreads out before me like a smooth blue ocean under a cloudless sky.

This blog is one of the things I’m going to do to make my life better. Not that I think it will solve everything but I know I need to talk, to let go the things that whir round my head at night and stop me sleeping. It’s not that I don’t have people to talk to. I’m not a Billie-No-Mates. I have lots of people to talk to. Friends at work, friends on the net, my mother (if I was really desperate and didn’t want a sensible answer) or my sister. But they aren’t the right people to talk to about the things I want to say. They wouldn’t understand or they’d lecture me about it or they’d know exactly what I needed to do but it wouldn’t be what I wanted to do or be the right thing to do. Or they’d understand exactly what my problems are but they have the same problems and they’re not admitting to them in public either.

And I have to say, most of these people don’t really know me. They think they do. They see this sensible, level-headed, career-oriented nurse who works hard and occasionally plays hard. Who never lets things get her down, never steps beyond the boundaries of what is sensible, never takes a risk, never makes a gamble. But when I lock my door at night and turn on my computer then I become someone else, someone they don’t know, maybe even someone they wouldn’t like. I’ve turned into a split personality.

Oh no. I’ve just looked at the clock and realised it’s time to get ready for work. I’m working on a split today. 10 till 2, then 6 till 10. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. (Who was it who said that?)