Theodora's Diary Read online

  I hopped out and placed the parcel in the boot, then took Miss Chamberlain’s arm and helped her into the passenger seat.

  ‘I’m just taking the parcel to the post office for my neighbour,’ she explained. ‘Poor old thing, she doesn’t get out much. Arthritis, you know.’

  Poor old thing! Miss Chamberlain couldn’t be far off 90 herself.

  ‘Not at work today, Theodora?’ she said as I drove on.

  ‘No. Actually, I was just setting off for a day at the seaside.’ A compulsion seized me. ‘Would you like to come?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to hold you back. I know what you get up to, you young girls!’ She winked knowingly.

  What exactly did she think I was going to do in Dymchurch in March?

  ‘Nonsense, I’d love to have some company.’ That, at least, was true. Miss Chamberlain herself is like a breath of fresh air. The combination of the elderly lady and the sea breeze would be just what I needed.

  After the claustrophobic grid of suburban avenues and drives with their ranks of uniform, double-glazed semis, it was a relief to hit the open road. Hedges flanked the grey tarmac and small villages passed in the blink of an eye. I decided to avoid the motorways and risk becoming stuck behind a tractor or flock of ambling sheep along the country lanes.

  As it happened, we made good progress and, with Miss Chamberlain’s companionship, the journey passed rapidly and very pleasantly. Even my recalcitrant car decided to cooperate on this occasion.

  We arrived in Dymchurch at lunchtime. It appeared to be closed. The gaudy souvenir shops were shuttered against the brutal wind. Even the funfair seemed to be wrapped and muffled in winter tarpaulins.

  ‘There’s probably a pub somewhere along the coast,’ I gasped as the wind snatched my breath. Miss Chamberlain’s eyes were watering and it looked as if she would be blown off her feet. I took her arm and we walked along the top of the sea wall from the car park to a seafront pub next to the funfair.

  The warmth and smell of freshly fried fish embraced us as we entered. I ordered two cod and chips, a bitter lemon for Miss Chamberlain and half a pint of shandy for me. We sat at a table in the corner to wait for our food.

  ‘What’s the matter, dear?’ She placed a wrinkled hand on mine.

  ‘Oh, nothing really, I just fancied a day out.’

  ‘People don’t just fancy a day out in arctic weather in the middle of March. Is it something to do with your young man?’

  ‘You’ll think this sounds silly,’ I began. Then the whole story came pouring out. Miss Chamberlain nodded sympathetically and didn’t laugh once.

  ‘What should I do?’ I implored.

  ‘Well, you might wonder what a silly old spinster like me knows about young people. But, believe it or not, I was young once and I used to walk out with young men. One even asked me to marry him. I know it’s hard to imagine, but he did.’ Her cheeks began to glow as she remembered.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He proposed to me at the seaside. Not here—it was down at Brighton. I used to teach down there. He was a nice young man, lovely straight teeth and an honest smile. He’d bought me a diamond ring. He bought me dinner, then got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. But … but I turned him down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought I could do better. I was a teacher and he was a fisherman. He asked, I turned him down, and no one ever asked me again.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘I have sometimes wondered how things would have turned out. But regrets, no. Never hold onto regrets, they only make you bitter. I’ve led a full and blessed life. The Lord has been very good to me and I wouldn’t change a thing.’

  The landlord brought our meals over to the table.

  ‘Just be aware that you need to make the most of opportunities when they arise. Make sure you make the best possible choices for the best possible reasons.’

  We tucked into our fish and chips in silence. I narrowly avoided the double chocolate gateau. After lunch, the sun came out and Miss Chamberlain insisted she wanted to go down to the beach. ‘I haven’t come all this way to leave without having a paddle!’

  I took her arm to steady her along the pebbles and shingle, until we reached the strip of sand. She took off her shoes and stockings and dipped her feet in the icy water. I wondered if it was really good for her, but if you can’t do what you feel like when you’re nearly 90, when can you do it?

  I walked back to the edge of the shingle and sat facing the sea, with the wind wrenching my hair away from my face. My life is full. I don’t need Kevin, or marriage, or babies. I just want someone to take me paddling in the sea in March when I’m nearly 90.

  Thursday 25 March

  Found out the origin of Tom’s strange reference to not wanting a horse. Ariadne explained that, against her advice, Tom had answered an advertisement in his bird-spotting magazine and joined the ‘Friends of Duntrotting Animal Sanctuary’.

  ‘I told him not to. I knew there was something dodgy about that place,’ she snapped. ‘Now we get phone calls three or four times a week asking if we can take a retired dray horse or a lame mare.’ She looked daggers at Tom, who visibly shrank under her glare. ‘Now I suppose we’ll have to change our phone number. Every day I arrive home from work expecting to find a Shetland pony grazing on the lawn.’

  Friday 26 March

  Kevin actually bothered to ring me today.

  ‘Hi, Theo, how are you?’

  ‘Where on earth have you been for the last week?’

  ‘But I told you: Paul, Jez, Kev 2 and me arranged this European tour.’

  European tour? Had they suddenly become the Rolling Stones?

  ‘What tour?’ Then it dawned on me. He had mentioned something about his team going to play in France, Holland and Germany.

  So, that was it. He’d been living it up, sampling the finest of European culture, food and lager, while I’d been suffering the agony of emotional torment on my own at home. Any hopes I still entertained of continuing the relationship fizzled away like a second-hand firework.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he continued, ‘but everyone I’ve spoken to since I got back seems to think we’re not going out any more. Come on, Theo, what’s going on?’

  ‘You and your precious football being more important than us. That’s what’s going on,’ I retorted.

  ‘I don’t understand. I certainly haven’t said anything to anyone.’

  ‘I don’t think you need say anything.’

  ‘But they think it’s all over.’

  ‘It is now!’

  I replaced the receiver with a satisfying clunk, rubbed my hands together—and burst into tears.

  Saturday 27 March

  No food. Nothing to spread on my toast this morning. Now I haven’t even got any bread to toast. Ought to go shopping. Can’t be bothered. Declan offered to take me out to the pub to celebrate my birthday. Probably feels sorry for me. Instead I sat at home and ate digestive biscuits with mashed potato. Digger has gone away for the weekend, to get ‘renewed’ or something, so I can’t even talk to him.

  Sunday 28 March

  It’s my thirtieth birthday. I have no man, no money and no marmalade. To cheer me up even further, I face the prospect of a sermon from Nigel Hubble followed by lunch with my parents. They aren’t speaking again, due to my mother’s insistence on doing the catering for my brother’s wedding herself—Greek taverna-style, with a bouzouki player. My car is making funny noises and I’ve found my first grey hair.

  I think I’ll stay in bed.

  Monday 29 March

  Today I received a birthday present from Declan that didn’t explode, turn parts of me black, or make raspberry noises when I sat on it. He must be slacking.

  Why are people so cruel? I’ve been given no less than six boxes of chocolates for my birthday and I can’t eat any of them for another 87 hours 48 minutes.

  Now I truly understand the meaning of suffering.

  Tuesday 30 Ma
rch

  No card from Kevin. If he’d had the audacity to send one I would have been obliged to burn it, of course. He’s even denied me the satisfaction of doing that. The pig! The phone rang several times, but I ignored it in case it was him. I have nothing to say to him.

  Wednesday 31 March

  Eventually answered the phone today and wished I hadn’t. Kevin said that he needed to talk to me and that it had all been a terrible mistake. I said I would rather talk to Attila the Hun as he was probably more considerate, and put the phone down on him.

  Consoled myself by playing the CD that Declan gave me. It really didn’t have any backward messages or rude songs on it. I checked by playing it several times. I’m worried about him. What if he likes me? He’s quite good-looking and certainly has a sense of humour, but if I went out with him it would be like dating Jeremy Beadle.

  Anyway, he’s got a girlfriend.

  And, as far as I know, he isn’t a Christian.

  And I’m not over Kevin.

  I wish Digger was here.

  April

  Thursday 1 April

  APRIL FOOL’S DAY

  Checked the tops of doors carefully for buckets of water on the way from the entrance of the building to my office this morning. Examined my telephone for black ink on the earpiece. Scrutinized my answer-phone for messages to ring Mr C. Lyons at London Zoo.

  Nothing.

  No rubber snakes in my desk drawers, no rude screensavers on my PC. Declan must, I decided, be saving it up for a really big one.

  Twelve o’clock came and went. Still nothing. In fact, I hadn’t seen him all morning. His jacket was hanging on the back of his chair, so I knew he must be lurking somewhere in the building. Somewhat disappointing, really, as I’d bought a rather spectacular nail-through-the-finger trick and was desperate to beat Declan at his own game.

  At about 2.30, I overheard someone from accounts moaning that Declan had been in the records room all day and was he ever going to get off his lazy backside and do some work? This was my chance. I attached the nail so that it looked as if I’d hammered it straight through my finger, applied a generous quantity of fake blood and staggered into the records room groaning in synthetic agony. Declan sat on a low wheelie stool with his head in his hands.

  ‘Aaaghh! I’ve just hammered this gruesome six-inch nail right through my finger!’ I wailed.

  ‘Seen it before,’ said Declan without looking up.

  ‘But there’s loads and loads of blood!’ I waved the grisly injury under his nose.

  ‘Not in the mood.’ His voice sounded thick and flat.

  ‘Declan, what’s wrong?’ I knelt in front of him. His hair hung over his face and I could see his eyes were rimmed with red. ‘What on earth has happened?’

  ‘She’s gone. She’s finished with me.’

  ‘Who? Katherine?’

  ‘Gone back to Ireland.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Says she needs some time. Time to think about the two of us. Got up this morning to find a note through the front door. At first, I thought it was a joke. Well you would, today being today and all that. But it wasn’t a joke.’

  ‘Declan, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? I’ll buy you a coffee in the canteen.’

  ‘Nothing to say, really. Thanks, but … can you cope if I go early today?’

  ‘Of course. Look, if there’s anything I can…’

  ‘No, no. Thanks.’ He heaved himself off the stool and trailed towards the door.

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  Declan didn’t turn round, but raised one hand in a halfhearted wave. As much as his ceaseless practical jokes make me want to stick sharp things in him, I hate to see him so dejected. Especially with today being today and all that.

  Friday 2 April

  GOOD FRIDAY

  Sat in church and thought about life. You only realize how much you need something, or somebody, when they aren’t there any more.

  That was profound.

  I feel even more depressed.

  Think I’ll go out this afternoon and buy a self-assembly bookcase. That will stop me having any more profound thoughts.

  Saturday 3 April

  Kevin phoned again. Still can’t bring myself to speak to him. This time I said he had the wrong number and pretended to be the Chinese restaurant. Perhaps this time he got the message.

  Sunday 4 April

  EASTER SUNDAY

  CHOCOLATE!!!

  Oh, and Jesus rose from the dead, of course.

  Hallelujah!

  Monday 5 April

  EASTER MONDAY

  Spent the whole of the holiday weekend assembling my bookcase. It looks really splendid now. The only snag is that you can’t actually put any books on the shelves.

  5 p.m.

  Phoned Dad to ask his advice. He said I should have asked for one with gravity-proof shelves. I think that was his idea of a joke. Still, he came round with a screwdriver and a pot of glue and fixed it for me. Bless him.

  Tuesday 6 April

  Declan wasn’t at work today. He’d phoned in sick with a migraine before I arrived. Toyed with the idea of phoning him at home. After all, I’m no stranger to a broken heart. Comforting the downcast could be my ministry.

  Decided not to phone today. He probably needs the space.

  Wednesday 7 April

  Nearly phoned Declan, but chickened out at the last minute. What if he really has got a migraine? The last thing he’d want is someone from work pestering him. I don’t want to turn into Jeremiah Wedgwood.

  Thursday 8 April

  Passed Kevin’s van on the way back from the station this evening. It was parked outside Miss Cranmer’s house. I resisted the urge to let his tyres down.

  Friday 9 April

  Declan came back to work today. I asked him how he was and he said he was OK.

  When people say that, do they really mean it?

  How can you tell?

  I kept looking at him when he wasn’t looking at me, but still didn’t know if he was really all right. By lunchtime, I was worried in case he really wasn’t, so I followed him to lunch and hid in the chemist’s while he bought a ham sandwich and a coffee from the deli. I sauntered casually around the other side of the lake, carrying a newspaper in front of my face while he ate his sandwich and drank his coffee in the park. Then I followed him back to the office, but he kept turning round, so I had to keep ducking into shop doorways. I don’t think he saw me.

  After he had hung his jacket on the back of the chair, I walked nonchalantly to the filing cabinet next to him to observe more closely, examining him for signs of distress. He flapped the file he was holding down on top of the pile of papers on his desk. ‘Theodora, I thought you’d like to know: I’m thinking of going to the toilet now, just in case you’d like to come with me.’

  Saturday 10 April

  Having finished all my Easter eggs several days ago, I discovered to my delight that the village post office is selling off its stock of Easter eggs at reduced prices. Bought more than I care to admit to on paper.

  Sunday 11 April

  There’s a women’s conference to be held at St Norbert’s later this month. It’s called ‘Decide Now!’ and promises to be ‘a time of discovery, blessing, and ministry’. Can’t decide whether to go or not. I always feel apprehensive about conferences. They invariably seem to be called something like, ‘God’s Warriors Charge into Battle with Swords Aflame’.

  I never feel like one of God’s Warriors. I feel more like the chap who goes around cleaning up after the horses.

  Monday 12 April

  Don’t think I’ll bother to go.

  Tuesday 13 April

  Today I bought pale blue nail varnish and matching lipstick from the make-up counter in a very fashionable department store. Does this mean I’m officially over Kevin?

  Wednesday 14 April

  Ariadne says my new lipstick and nail varnish make me look as if I’m suffering from heart d
isease.

  Thursday 15 April

  Ariadne wants to go to the conference and wants me to go with her.

  Friday 16 April

  I think I’ll go. I think.

  Saturday 17 April

  Easter eggs all gone. I’ve worked it out. I think that, in the last two weeks, I must have consumed more than my body weight in chocolate.

  Oh dear. Cottage cheese beckons.

  Monday 19 April

  Work hasn’t been the same since Declan came back. He looks identical, with his floppy fringe of hair, and he’s still as charming, but he’s lost his sparkle. It’s as if the pilot light has gone out. He hasn’t played a single joke on anyone for weeks. A serious Declan. That’s serious.

  Tuesday 20 April

  Ariadne and I are definitely going to the conference. Might get a zap from God and discover my ministry. What do people wear to conferences? I don’t want to look like a novice.

  Wednesday 21 April

  Put a plastic spider in Declan’s in-tray to try to cheer him up. Found it later in the bin.

  Thursday 22 April

  Replaced Declan’s pens and pencils with rubber pencils and put a fake inkblot on an important document. No reaction.

  Friday 23 April

  Declan says he wants to talk to me. He’s invited me out for a drink next Thursday. This means one of two things: he either wants to ask me out, or he wants to rebuke me about the practical jokes. Oh dear! I don’t want to go.

  Saturday 24 April

  Ariadne looked nervous as we entered the normally subdued atmosphere of St Norbert’s. She was wearing her maternity ‘tent’ for the first time and obviously felt under-dressed without her tent pegs and guy ropes. The church was packed with women of every possible description and representing every continent. There were old ones, young ones, black ones, white ones, fat ones, thin ones, ones in flowery dresses and blue rinses and ones with shaven heads and purple dungarees.

  Charity came bounding towards us through the crowd. She was wearing a dress so large and so flowery that I fully expected to see Alan Titchmarsh concealed within its folds. She patted her bulge and said to Ariadne, ‘You must be Theodora’s sister. I must admit, I was astonished when she told me you were joining us in the “Mothercare and coffee morning” set.’