It Had to Be You (5 page)

Two weeks have passed. Christmas has been and gone and I’ve moved in with Muffy, and I’m going slowly insane. Christmas means that everywhere has been closed like forever. I haven’t had one reply from the job agencies, not that I am in any fit state for an interview. I spend my days in my pyjamas and sit on Muffy’s couch with my computer on my lap and the chocolate teapot beside me. It’s not a teapot made of chocolate, just in case you thought it was. It wouldn’t have lasted this long if it had been I can assure you. I bought it when Oliver and I holidayed in St Ives last year. It’s a lovely white teapot with red polka dots. Of course, the thing with teapots is that you never use them do you? It’s far easier to throw a teabag into a mug isn’t it? So when Oliver started nagging me about my addiction, I decided the teapot was the best place to hide my stash. Chocolate that is, not cocaine just in case you were wondering. Although I’m beginning to think at the rate I’m going through M&Ms that cocaine may be cheaper and carry far less calories. I’ve hardly been out of the flat. Well, I went out once to get some supplies and even then with my coat over my pyjamas. It was freezing, but any hope I had of dying from pneumonia never materialised. I just ended up with a filthy cold. I haven’t stopped eating, mostly popcorn, marmite sandwiches and cheese crackers. My keyboard is covered in crumbs and the ‘F’ key keeps sticking. Just as well. I keep looking at Oliver’s Facebook page but his profile gives nothing away except for a daily update on the state of his bad back. Well, if he will get his leg over Brown Nipples what does he expect? Muffy says he puts on a pained look when she pops round and says things like
Tell her I’m okay. She needn’t worry
. Ha, as if I do. I wonder if he has seen her again, not that I’m interested of course. I’m totally over him, I mean I really am. As for Muffy, well she soon let the side down. As soon as Christmas was over she was back on the Ryvita and tuna salad. She’s so boring. Still, at least she has a flat and a job. I’ve got neither. She’s also got plenty of food. I promised to join her at the gym today, and I was intending to but you know what it’s like. So I’ve stuck a Rosemary Conley DVD on instead and I will make an effort to Salsa with her. Just as soon as I’ve finished this fried egg sandwich, I really will. Oliver has given up phoning me. I had hoped he would offer me the flat but oh no, the bugger is still there, living in luxury while I just fade away. Muffy gets my post on the way home from work each day and a pile of unopened letters sits on the coffee table. I stare at it thinking I really should check them. I lean forward and drag the pile towards me and begin the painful process of going through the post. The first one is a glitzy Christmas card with a little note inside. Don’t you hate those round robin things? I think the post office should supply sick bags when they deliver them. I unfold the note as I pop another cheese cracker in my mouth. From Ruth and Greg, do I even know a Ruth and Greg? Well, obviously we don’t see each other often do we else they wouldn’t have seen fit to send me an A4 sheet with their life story printed on it. Oh well, might as well read it now, after all I’ve got sod all else to do with my time.

‘
Oh what a year it’s been! [
You can say that again, mine was great up until Christmas Eve.
] So let me tell you all about our wonderful life this year. January was a bit of a struggle; Greg broke his thumb and couldn’t work for a couple of weeks. [
Oh God no, how absolutely tragic.
] It was a tough fortnight and we had to help him out with our savings, poor thing. [
Crikey, you should have had my fortnight. I wonder if they have any savings left for me.
] February saw me start my much anticipated Pilates class; I’m now a fully qualified Pilates teacher. I feel so blessed. [
Pass the sick bag
] Tom turned four and we are preparing him for school in September. He has already started playing the piano and has a real talent for music. [
Yeah right
] In March we whisked the family off on a mini-break to Austria for one-to-one skiing lessons, we felt we deserved it. Our swimming pool dream came true, just in time for summer. We had a lovely party to celebrate which was attended by the local councillor no less. [
Deep envy, NOT
] We hired private caterers, it made such a difference. A bit more expensive but Greg’s bonus more or less paid for everything, and we give thanks for that. [
Ha, my bloody bonus did well too. Paid all of a parking ticket, an overpriced taxi, and a Christmas tree that almost took my eye out. Beat that if you can ... But I do give thanks, I think.
] In September Gabrielle was offered a place at an all-girls school and now she is the most popular girl of her year. [
Bloody lesbian, no doubt
] She is doing amazingly well. [
I bet
] Her teacher predicts all As for her GCSEs, we are so proud. An Oxford graduate if ever there was one. [
More sick bags please
].

Are these people for real? Who the hell are they anyway? How can you get letters like this from people you don
’t even remember? Maybe I should write my own belated round robin. Yes that’s what I’ll do.

‘
Hi Everyone,

I don
’t suppose you give a toss but I’ve had a shit year. Things were going well up to Christmas Eve and then my boss decided to give me my Christmas bonus – oh, did I say Christmas bonus? I meant to say Christmas boner. So, this next year will be ‘challenging’ and ‘full of new opportunities’ as I struggle to survive jobless and homeless. Did I say homeless? Yes, that’s because I left my prick of a boyfriend at just about the same time as your little angels were passing their grade three piano exams and getting the school prize for being the best child ever, and not to mention coming out as lesbians at their all-girls school. So, spare a thought for me as your teenage daughter embarks on her gap year mission to feed the starving of Africa, as I will be on a mission to feed myself, and will be en-route to the job centre. And no, I didn’t have a holiday of a lifetime in the Bahamas last year as you all did, nor will I be having one this year. I may have a day trip to Skegness and I give thanks for that, and now you can all sod off. You boasting up your own arse pricks.’

I sigh heavily and throw all the Christmas cards in the bin without reading them. There
’s a limit to how much you can read of other people’s good fortune without tying a noose around your neck isn’t there? Honestly, I was never this bad tempered until Oliver slept with what’s-her-face. I turn off Rosemary Conley, I mean seriously, who wants to look like her anyway? And switch on Jeremy Kyle instead, far more entertaining. It’s always nice to see someone else suffering like you isn’t it? I glance nervously at the bills and breathe a sigh of relief when I see they are not so bad after all. I study another letter curiously. It looks frighteningly official. Oh no, what if my parking ticket payment didn’t go through? The postmark is the 28
th
December. It’s the 9
th
January now. I wonder if a relationship break-up counts as mitigating circumstances. Shit, this is all I need. My mouth goes dry as I rip open the letter. If I have to pay out any more money I seriously will have to consider selling my body. I scan the words quickly.

Dear Miss Grayson,

Please contact Mr Hayden, of Hayden and Carruthers to discuss your inheritance from Mrs Vera Cramton. The reading of the will is to be heard on the 2
nd
January at 10.15. We look forward to seeing you.

Yours Faithfully

Martin Hayden.

Oh my God. Great Aunt Vera left me something in her will. That
’s just amazing. I mute Jeremy Kyle and grab my mobile with my heart pounding. But I’ve missed the will reading. Hell, why didn’t I read my stupid post? I punch in the solicitor’s number and wait. It seems like forever before anyone answers. Please let it be money. I don’t care if it’s not a lot, just a little will help right now. Maybe my luck is finally changing.

‘
Hayden and Carruthers, solicitors of repute, Samantha speaking, good afternoon, how can I help you today?’ says a woman in a squeaky voice.

Blimey, that was a long speech. I
’ve almost forgotten what I was going to say.

‘
Hello, can I speak to Mr Hayden please?’

‘
What is it concerning?’ she asks sweetly.

‘I’ve received a letter from you …’

‘
Reference number please?’

‘
I’m sorry, what,’ I say, quickly scanning the letter for a number and feeling the first stirrings of panic.

‘
I can’t see one but …’

‘
Just putting you on hold, are you okay to hold?’

Well no I
’m not. I’m very anxious actually, but before I can reply there is a click and I’m listening to music. Correction, I’m listening to something, but I wouldn’t have the gall to call it music. It’s that
drive you to despair
stuff that should be banned. It’s seriously criminal. I’m sure they play it in the hope you’ll hang up before they get back to you. You can almost hear them saying, ‘Another one bites the dust’. They can’t even play it at the right speed. I crush a cheese biscuit between my fingers and feel my teeth grind. Seriously, if it wasn’t for the fact that I may be inheriting a fortune I would hang up. The music sounds like it is coming from an old gramophone with a slow turntable. It’s excruciating, it really is. It’s the music you hear at a crematorium service, you know, at that moment when someone’s coffin goes through the
curtains. That painful moment when you want the whole thing to be over and, just in case you don’t seem upset enough, they play this music to induce the tears. My heart races and I feel sick. I feel my finger hover over the off button on the phone. If I wasn’t depressed when I made this call I will be soon. There is a click.

‘
All our operators are busy at the moment. Your call is important to us, please hold,’ chirps a slightly robotic voice.

Yeah right. And back to the droning music.

‘Hayden and Carruthers, solicitors of repute, Samantha speaking, good afternoon, how can I help you today?’

Déjà vu or what?

‘Hi Samantha, you had me on hold. It felt a bit like a pre-execution dinner to be honest.’

‘
Oh yes, do you have your reference number?’

She
’s totally ignored me.

‘
No, there isn’t one actually. I have …’

‘
There is always a reference number, right at the top of the letter.’ she says abruptly.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

‘I assure you Samantha, there is no reference number,’ I say firmly.

Silence and then,

‘You’re sure the letter is from us?’

Does she think I
’m some kind of dimwit?

‘
The letter has your name on it,’ I say.

‘
My name?’ she asks puzzled.

‘
Not you personally, but the solicitor’s name …’

I
’m beginning to wish I had never started this.

‘
And your name is?’

I
’m so tempted to say Lady Gaga.

‘
Binki Grayson.’

‘
Binki did you say?’ she repeats.

Blimey she recognises me. It must be millions that Aunty Vera has left me. Wait till I tell Muffy.

‘Yes, that’s …’

‘
That’s an odd name.’

What a cheek.

‘I say, you’re not …’

‘
No I’m not. It’s Binki with an …’

‘
Oh, are you okay to hold?’

‘
No,’ I shout.

Click and I
’m back in the crematorium. I’ll be stabbing myself soon. I groan and the phone clicks again just as the television automatically turns Jeremy Kyle back on.

‘
So you’ve slept with fifteen of your fiancé’s friends?’ shouts Jeremy to a spotted face woman.

I don
’t believe this.

‘
Hello, Miss Grayson?’

I wonder if I should explain that it isn
’t me that has slept with fifteen of my fiancé’s friends.

‘
Yes,’ I answer quietly, thinking it best not to get on the wrong side of her.

‘
Putting you through to Mr Hayden now.’

Thank goodness. Another click and there is a male voice.

‘Miss Grayson? I’m pleased to hear from you. We were thinking you had perhaps gone away for Christmas.’

‘
Something like that,’ I laugh.

‘
Right, let me have a look at what we have for you,’ he says thoughtfully.

I cross everything and say a quick prayer.

‘Ah yes, I remember. Mrs Vera Cramton.’

I hear a rustle of papers.