COUNTDOWN

Published September 2, 2016 by Naomi Rettig

Sunday.13 days to go.

I haven’t written a diary since I was fifteen. I found it the other day and was transported back to those carefree days, the summer of eighty-five, cider by the river on a hot day, Simple Minds on the radio, ‘Don’t you forget about me’. Except, I had forgotten about me. Reading the teenage me I sound so vibrant and hopeful. Here I am now, anything but. I don’t recognize myself.  I don’t know why I’m writing this now, maybe I need a friend to talk to, but I haven’t got one. Diary, I will call you Claire. Claire is a nice name for a friend I think, someone who would listen to my ramblings over a glass of wine. I will obviously have to drink your glass of wine for you though, and I will chat to you every day. And chocolates, I think you’d be the type of Claire to share chocolate with me.

Monday.12 days to go.

I’ve had a shit day, Claire. I think maybe we can take it that every day is going to be a shit day so I don’t need to keep telling you that. Work was the usual. Vanessa was her top bitchy self, she ordered cupcakes for everyone in the office except me, because she thought I was on a diet. She didn’t need to say it as loud as she did. Becca squirmed on my behalf, then took her cake and retreated. I don’t blame her; I would have done the same. The urge to squish one of the cupcakes into Vanessa’s flawless make-up was high. I did it in my head. Slightly satisfying.

No sign of Malcolm when I got home, no take-away cartons, so he is eating out after work again. Or at his slag’s house.

I’m sat by the fire now, having our wine, LaVis Storie di Vite Pinot Grigio. It’s Italian and apparently is fruity with hints of ripe pear. I can’t taste any pear so they are very vague hints. It hits the spot though. Accompanied by a bag of Malteasers, standard size. Do you crunch or let them melt? I like to suck and melt myself.

Tuesday.11 days to go.

Vanessa ‘accidentally’ spilt my coffee over me today. She saw me coming through the door carrying it even though she said she didn’t. ‘Thank goodness you don’t wear expensive clothes’, she smirked and sauntered off. Bitch.

No Malcolm again this evening. His bed had been slept in when I checked this morning, so I know he came home at some point. I don’t know why he doesn’t stay at hers. He must think I’m stupid, or he doesn’t think about me at all. I should have left him years ago Claire, but falling out of love with someone doesn’t just happen overnight, it kind of erodes away, revealing layers you didn’t want to discover.

Our wine of the night is Cuvee des Vignerons, Beaujolais. A fruity style that goes well with chicken, lamb or cheese. I’m accompanying it with a Curly Wurly.

Wednesday.10 days to go.

Vanessa was on a training course today, hooray. The boss was in full perv mode, boo. He managed to collar me as I was photocopying in the stationary room. I offered to pass him down the staples but he said he didn’t want to interrupt me and he’d ‘just squeeze by’. A paralyzing smell of Jovan Musk assaulted my nostrils as he far too slowly rubbed his crotch across my backside, and then back again, as he retrieved the staple box. Either he didn’t have an erection or his cock was so tiny I couldn’t feel it through his non-iron polyester slacks. I’d punch him in the bollocks. If I could find them.

Talking of men with no balls, I saw Malcolm this evening. I was eating my microwaved Mexican rice when he came into the kitchen, said he had come home to freshen up as he was taking a client out to Oscar’s up town. Told me not to wait up. I didn’t speak, I wasn’t going to play along with his game of let’s pretend. I just finished my rice slowly. Years ago I would have been on his arm at a business meeting. Either he didn’t think I was an asset anymore, or he was lying and was going for a passionate night with the slag. Judging from the trail of Joop Homme left behind on his exit, it’s the latter. She bought him that for Christmas last year and he’s overused it since. I knew they were having sex when she bought him that, who buys their boss eau de toilette? Yes, Claire, a slag.

Wine of the night is Champteloup Rose d’Anjou, a perfect match to charcuterie. I’ve matched it with Galaxy caramel. The ‘sharing – but I’m a greedy bitch and not sharing’ size.

Thursday. 9 days to go.

Vanessa was back in full gorgon mode today. ‘I envy how you can wear sensible shoes and not care what anyone thinks. Although I guess because you’re so tall and broad you’d look like a transvestite if you wore heels.’ I’m now torn between a cupcake to the face or a stiletto in the head for her.

Malcolm graced me with his presence this evening. We ate separately, sat separately. I watched people competing to make the best quilt on TV, he did Sudoku. I’d forgotten how much his raspy breathing annoyed me. At least I won’t have to listen to that for much longer.

Wine of the night is Torres Vina Esmeralda, apparently it has delicate honey and fresh grape characters. I can taste the honey. Or that might be coming from the Toblerone accompanying it.

Friday. 8 days to go.

Vanessa was training a new girl today, Anna, she’s temping for Mandy while she’s off having baby number three. Vanessa introduced Anna to everyone in the office except me. How petty. Bitch. I was the invisible employee today, no one spoke to me all day, and even the boss didn’t stop to look down my blouse while walking past my desk. I don’t know what’s worse, being the target of nasty comments or being ignored.

Malcolm announced he was going away for the weekend on a golfing break with Jeff. I happen to know Jeff is on holiday in Portugal with Marie, there’s a photo of them both with green cocktails by the beach on Facebook. We spent the hour before he left in silence. Him packing, me reading Take a Break magazine. I had red lipstick on and wore the navy polka dot dress he once liked. He didn’t notice.

Our wine of the night is Beronia Reserva Rioja, with earthy notes of leather and coconut – thankfully not too leathered. Me and the wine. Accompanied by a Snickers and the crackling of the fire.

Saturday. 7 days to go.

The sun was out today so I wrapped up and went for a walk along the river. It was so relaxing. I felt like I didn’t have a worry in the world. I wish I didn’t have worries Claire. I know other people have worries too, maybe I could cope with their worries better and they mine. My serenity bubble was popped by a family enjoying a day of sunshine in the winter. It’s crazy how someone enjoying life can expose how much you’re not. I watched this young family, laughing and playing, and I started to crumble inside. I always knew Malcolm didn’t want children, I fooled myself that I didn’t either. I indulged in crying when I got home. I’m not a pretty crier. My eyes now look like I’ve had an allergic reaction to shellfish.

Wine of the night is Valdo Oro Puro Prosecco, fruity and bubbly. Accompanied by a Toffee Crisp.

Sunday. 6 days to go.

It rained today so I went and sat in the National Gallery. I didn’t look at the paintings, I’ve seen them many times before, I looked at the people instead. I spent the day seeing the stories of people passing by. An old lady was sat looking at ‘The Fighting Temeraire’ by Turner. She dabbed her eye with a tissue, I sat next to her and chatted to her about the painting. It was her husband’s favourite, he died five years ago but she came every year on his birthday to visit his favourite painting. Her husband was dead, and I envied her grief.

Wine of the night is Oyster Bay Merlot, an elegant wine apparently. What is an elegant wine? Elegantly paired with a box of Matchmakers, mint flavoured. An elegant chocolate.

Monday. 5 days to go.

Nauseous start in work today, I caught the lift at the wrong time. Morning rush crush. The boss was stood behind me and groped at my backside for four floors. I stood on his foot but I think he liked that as he squeezed harder.

Malcolm spent the evening working in his study. I heard laughter at one point. I haven’t heard him laugh like that since, well, I can’t remember when. That felt more of a betrayal than the sex. How dare she make him laugh like that. Slag. I turned up the volume on Bake Off, I’d rather listen to Mary Berry talking about soggy bottoms than listen to Malcolm laughing about pert bottoms.

Wine of the night is Brazin Old Vine Zinfandel Lodi, best served with saucy ribs or spicy, meaty pizza. Or Thornton’s chocolate covered toffee, as I am.

Tuesday. 4 days to go.

The boss commented ‘nice blouse Jane’ as he walked past my desk today. Vanessa said he was being sarcastic, then gave me death stares all day. How can she be jealous of me having the attention from a lobotomized sweaty octopus?

No Malcolm this evening, just a text informing me not to wait up, ‘tied up in work’. I bet they laughed at that pun.

Wine of the night is Vignale Pinot Grigio, it has a refreshing finish apparently, so I’d better finish it. Accompanying it with a Crunchie.

Wednesday. 3 days to go.

I spent all morning working on a client’s proposal, and I know I definitely saved it before I went to the toilet, yet when I got back it had been deleted and the recycle bin had been emptied. Vanessa looked very smug with herself all afternoon.

No Malcolm this evening, apparently a client wanted to see Mamma Mia. A co-incidence that the slag loves Abba I’m sure.

Wine of the night is The Hedonist Shiraz, voluptuous and silky. Just like me. Maybe not silky as I have stubbly legs today. Having a bar of Aero. Mint flavoured. Family size.

Thursday. 2 days to go.

Vanessa went into photocopy just after I’d come out. She made a huge song and dance that she couldn’t use the machine as I’d broken it. We both know full well I didn’t. An engineer had to come out and fix it, he said it looked like someone had shoved a pencil where they shouldn’t. I know where I wanted to shove a pencil.  The boss had me in his office for an informal chat, said I needed to start impressing him more if I wanted to keep my job. He licked his lips slowly as he told me this, while staring at my chest, I wanted to be sick. After dry heaving in the toilet cubicle, I heard Vanessa and Anna come in. Vanessa was telling Anna, ‘Jane does things like that all the time, any excuse to spend time with Mr. Warren, it’s disgusting really. Throwing herself at a married man all the time, as if he’d be interested in a frump like her.’ Bitch.

More laughing in the study tonight from Malcolm. I can’t listen to it anymore; I’m going up to bed to listen to Puccini’s Madame Butterfly instead. It’s ok to cry with opera.

Wine of the night is Cuvee Chasseur Vin de France, an easy drinking wine. I can confirm this. Paired with Ritter Sport marzipan. I will finish it in bed.

Friday. 1 day to go.

Best day ever in work. I bought a coffee and walnut cake from the W.I. stall in the library on the way to work. I chose one with the thickest buttercream on top. I deleted all my files and contacts from my computer, then retrieved the cake from the drawer I stashed it in. I had such an adrenalin rush carrying it over to Vanessa’s desk. ‘I have something for you.’ Her face was surprise/confusion/pleased, until I planted it full on in her face, then it was shock/horror/disbelief. I’m not completely mean though; I’d removed the walnuts from the top first. Seeing thick buttercream clinging to her false lashes was very satisfying. I licked my fingers then sauntered back to my desk, I picked up my handbag and coffee. It had gone cold as I wanted it. I walked back to the still shocked Vanessa and poured the coffee slowly over her expensive hair extensions. The rest of the office seemed to be in mid game of musical statues. The boss had stepped out of his room on hearing Vanessa’s shrieks and stood motionless, joining in with the game of statues. I walked up to him, adrenalin running on ahead. ‘You disgust me. Don’t ever touch anyone again without their permission.’ I grabbed his crotch and squeezed as hard as I could. I obviously hit the mark as his eyes watered and he let out a guttural cry and crumpled like a string less puppet. I let go of his sweaty groin and he dropped to the floor. I didn’t look back, I just walked to the lift, smiling.

No Malcolm this weekend, my choice though. I told him I had a friend coming to stay and we were having a girlie weekend of DVD’s and face packs lined up, so was there any chance I could have the house to myself?  He was so keen to get a free pass for the weekend it didn’t cross his mind that I’ve never had any friends visit or even mentioned any friends before. He smiled at me. A genuine smile. Oh how I wanted that smile to be for me, not just at me. He will never smile like that about me again.

Wine of the day is Jackson Stich Sauvignon Blanc, a punchy wine I am teaming up with Terry’s chocolate orange.

Saturday. D-Day

I treated myself to a pamper morning at Chiltern Spa. Manicure, pedicure, facial, hot stone massage and some reflexology. Maureen doing the reflexology was concerned at the amount of blockages in my body, I reassured her I was aware of them and it was being dealt with. She gave me a complimentary Indian head massage. She knew.

I started to feel tearful, maybe all the sessions released emotions I didn’t want freed. I escaped to the cinema to be distracted by someone else’s story. I was distracted by Captain America. After being amazed by superheroes I dined at the Ivy, feeling like a film star with my freshly manicured hands and glowing skin. I enjoyed an exquisite meal of rocket soup with walnut and apple salsa, fillet steak with a green peppercorn sauce, and burnt banana & butterscotch tatin with rum and raisin ice cream. I had a sedate stroll home and watched day turn to night. A curtain coming down on the final act.

Wine of the day? Hell no, Claire we’re having champagne of the day! Louis Roederer Cristal, with notes of apricot, hazelnut and Danish pastries! Blew £150 on this, it better be good.

My letter to Malcolm is written and placed on the hall table. It’s complete bullshit, in it I blame him and his affair for my suicide, declare my undying love for him and saying I can’t go on anymore knowing he is with her, blah blah blah. I know the guilt will eat away at him and slowly sink their ship of passion. It’s bad of me I know. I’m choosing to die today because I don’t want to die a slow and painfully lonely death as the cancer consumes me, but I want him to suffer too. I’m a horrid person. Although I’m not really that horrid, otherwise I would have made my death look like murder and framed him. See, I’m not that bad Claire. Just lazy.

I’m sat by the fire now, black and red negligee on, hair and make-up perfectly done. I have the one hundred co-codamol I’ve stashed by my side, and I’m washing it down with the champagne. I’m sharing my last moments with you Claire, but I’d rather be dying in the arms of someone who loves me. No offence. Would that make this more difficult though? Probably. No one is going to miss me, no children, no friends, and no loving husband. I wonder how long it will be before she moves in here? If haunting is possible I’m going to stay here and scare the shit out of her. Every day. Slag.

So here I am, D-Day. Death day. It’s our wedding anniversary today. I knew he’d forget. Twenty years ago I said I do. Now I’m saying I don’t. I have to throw you in the fire now Claire, our conversations over wine are not for anyone else’s eyes. You’ve been the best friend I’ve had. I’m sorry.

 

 

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