The Decisions Of Billy Kimble.

Billy Kimble was at a crossroads. He had a decision to make, and Billy wasn’t good at making decisions. He went to the fridge and took out his third can of beer and sat down at his new “Oak Furnitureland” kitchen table.

At forty-two, his life was going nowhere, and maybe it was time for change.

As far as he could see, he had four options.

Option one. Stay where he was, change nothing, keep living in his two-bedroom, eight hundred pounds a month flat and continue working in the accounts department where he’d been for the past ten years. Life was okay, he was never going to be rich, but the job was secure, and he could just about afford all his monthly bills. But, on the downside, he was bored. Promotion was impossible, his boss was younger than he was and a complete dick head with no sense of humour or compassion. To afford to own his own home, he needed to earn more money. More money would mean leaving and finding a job at a much bigger company, but the job market wasn’t great, so moving on wasn’t realistic at the moment.

Option two. Move in with his girlfriend, Kathy. They’d been together six years, and he knew she’d like the idea. She was eight years his junior and rented a one-bedroom flat just a few miles away.  They’d save a fortune on rent, and they’d have a better lifestyle. But he liked his independence, besides, Kathy was hard work. She had four different weeks each month. He’d named them. She had a Killing week. This was the week she absolutely hated him. She’d disagree with everything he said, she’d criticise his choice of clothes, aftershave and trainers. She’d complain about their relationship, and at least once during that week, she’d try to kill him. She tried to stab him with a butter knife one day when they were in the kitchen. It had left a nasty bruise just beside his belly button. Another time, she threw a coffee machine at him! It just missed his head by an inch. The killing week was the worst of all the weeks. After Killing week, Love week began. This was the week where she couldn’t get enough of him. Sex was amazing, they did it in every room and in every position. She loved every inch of him and told him so constantly. He liked Love week. Then came Cry week. She cried for no reason. A lot. She’d call him at all hours in floods of tears and say she didn’t know why she was crying but she just had to. He’d learnt never to watch a sad film with Kathy during the crying week or to mention anyone who was dying of cancer. After this came Anxiety week. She’d overthink everything, worry about small things and things that were way beyond her control. She’d see an article on the news about water pollution and start worrying about drinking tap water and even bottled water. She’d convince herself that all the Buxton spring water that she was drinking must be contaminated, so she’d boil it first before drinking. There were days when all the weeks got mixed up.  He remembered a day in August last year when she tried to kill him in the morning, then they went to bed and had amazing sex, soon afterwards she was crying and in the evening she was worried about a warning light that had come on in her four year old Fiat and convinced herself that the engine was about to blow up and kill her somewhere on the A12. Maybe he wasn’t ready to move in with Kathy just yet. He wasn’t very experienced in the ladies' department and wondered if all women were the same. He googled to try to find the answer. He put in women and mood swings, and all it came up with was cycles and hormones. This was nonsense as Kathy didn’t ride a bike and wasn’t on drugs. So, he just assumed that all women were the same. If this was true, then he might as well stay with Kathy. Better the devil you know, as his old dad would say.

Option three. Move back in with his parents. They’d be delighted. He was their apple. He’d save a fortune on rent. He figured he’d be able to put away about fifteen thousand a year. After five years he’d have seventy-five thousand in the bank and a great deposit for his own place. But this would really piss off Kathy, especially during the killing week. She’d probably come round and burn the house down. Besides, his parents were in their early seventies at the moment and in reasonably good health. In five years, they could be ill and dependent on him. He would become their carer. No way could he leave them and then he’d be stuck with the responsibility of making their meals and wiping their arse. No, not yet.

Option four was a bit off the wall. Pack a bag, get on a plane and get the fuck out of Dodge. He didn’t really know what it meant, but he’d heard it said by one of the flash guys in the sales department, and it sounded good. He guessed it meant just run away and forget about everything and start afresh. He liked the idea, but it wasn’t practical. Who would feed his cat? It wasn’t really his cat, it was a stray that had wandered in one day, and he’d fed it. That was two years ago and the bloody thing just kept coming back every day for food. He liked it, it was company and he’d given it a name. Gerald. Maybe he could take Gerald with him? Some countries let you take pets with you, but that would mean he’d be limited for choice on where he could go and one bag would suddenly become two because he’d have to pack for Gerald as well. No. Option four was a non-starter.

A fourth can of beer was opened and again he sat down. It felt like Deja Vu, and it was. Billy had had the same conversation with himself about two months ago. The options were the same that day, but the only decision he made was to buy the new kitchen table.

He closed his eyes and thought long and hard. Then he had a lightbulb moment. Things became clear. Maybe two chairs wasn’t enough? What if he had friends round for dinner? He might need four.

His decision was made. He’d pop into “Oak Furnitureland” in the morning and buy two more chairs.