The Begining of the end?

Thursday 15th April 2004.

Rick has changed.

Well, I suppose, in fairness, I changed first.

After being very full on initially, he suddenly pulled away from me. By
his own admission, he kept me at arms length. He wouldn't let me into
his life and decided that the relationship was becoming too full on for
him.

That's me, it's the way I am. You get all of me, or none of me. I can't
do it any other way.

He got scared.

We have an honest relationship and he talked to me the whole time,
telling me how he felt and trying to make me feel secure and okay with
things.

I wasn't secure and although I decided to stick with it, I wasn't
really okay with the way things were going.

I learned in my last relationship how to pull back on my emotions as a
defence mechanism when I felt things going wrong. Over the space of
twenty-four hours, I decided that I wasn't going to be hurt again. I
understood Rick's position. He's very recently out of his relationship
with his wife. He felt it was too soon to be in a committed pairing
with someone else. I love his company and made a conscious decision to
accept what he offered me and to try and just make the best of it. I
told him that it wasn't ideal for me and that, although it was okay for
now. I wasn't going to be in for the long haul because I want more from
a man than half emotions. My feelings for him didn't change. It was
just a case of damage limitation. I was trying to acclimatise myself to
a light relationship with no strings attached and maybe looking at it
as a cooling off period before we broke up. Like everything between us,
this change on my part happened very quickly.

He came through last Friday and we had a fantastic night. We went to
the flicks with Marty
then to Pizza hut. The film, 50 First Dates, was fantastic. I didn't
fancy it, the trailers didn't do much or me and I'm not keen on Drew
Barrymore. But I loved it, we all did. We came home and watched another
DVD which was good too but a bit slow, then we went to bed and made
love. The next day he had to leave at lunchtime but made it clear that
he didn't want to. I always hate it when he leaves but this time it
didn't feel quite as bad because I'd accepted that that was the way it
worked.

We had a great time, we laughed like a pair of kids over nothing. We
had good sex and lots of cuddles and warmth between us. But I was
different. I think I was just as loving as normal, maybe a little
quieter. There was nothing uncomfortable between us, in fact, Rick said
that with every night we spend together he relaxes with me more and
becomes more comfortable. But, even so, he knew something was
different.

And he didn't like it.

His way is to mull things over in his own time. I'm impulsive I go on
instinct and feelings. He likes to get his head round things and look
at them from all angles before jumping either way. It's a good
combination.

He went home. We kept in touch by telephone on Saturday. On Sunday I
received a call. He said he wanted to talk to me when he got home
because he had something important to tell me.

I'm not going to give a blow by blow account of the whole conversation
but the gist was that he'd been thinking things over. He said he misses
me terribly when we're not together and that he doesn't want a half
relationship after all. Next time I go to his house (whenever the hell
I can wrangle a day off) he is going to introduce me to his parents and
to his daughter. I know that's huge for him and it scares me to hell.
What if they don't like me? But I want to be part of his life. I want
everything out in the open. I want us to be a proper couple. He wants
that too.

He's changed this week. He worked things around so that I got a
mid-week visit on Wednesday. He was going to come and stay overnight
but I had to do a sleepover from 10 pm with a terminal client. So he
came from five until ten. We made love, went out for a meal and then
went to the pub. It was a good night. It made it hell going off to work
though.
It seemed obscene tending to a man in his last few hours of life when I
felt so alive and happy.

Five minutes after Rick arrived. Adam landed hoping to cadge some tea.
I never mind when he comes for a meal because he's a good mate and it's
a give and take friendship. I knew Mary was coming after work for milky
coffee. It's become a bit of a ritual, so I didn't mind Adam being
here. I didn't offer to feed him though or he'd have been here for
hours and I just anted some time alone with Rick.

Rick and I were talking in the pub when Mac walked in. He moved away
last year so it was a lovely surprise to see him there. Mac's another
good mate. He always makes me feel good about myself because he always
makes me feel valued as a person ? but ? after saying that, Mac is the
biggest bullshit merchant I've ever known.

It's funny that both Adam and Mac made an appearance while Rick was
here. We, Rick and I, were talking the other night and he asked me if
two people of opposite genders can ever be just friends. He'd been
talking to his first wife Carol about it earlier in the day. They were
both of the opinion that you can't have two people being friends
without some sexual chemistry, or without there being some in the past
as with them.

Without hesitation, I said that I disagree and gave my friendships with
Adam and Mac as examples. I had to admit that when I first met Mac, for
about a week, I fancied the pants off him. Until, that is, I got to
know him and then I wouldn't like to be his girlfriend for quid's. I've
never had any romantic feelings for Adam.

Mac loves his little lad, he falls 'in love' weekly but really the
only person apart from his son (who he worships) that he really loves
is the great and spectacular Mac. He's a cracking lad, but I see right
through the charm. I've seen an aggressive side to him that scares me.
And I don't like men who frighten me. I've stood face to face with him
and shouted as loud as he has. I've calmed him when he's been in rages.
I've mopped up his blood and covered for him when he's landed himself
in trouble. I've walked away from him when he's been aggressive and
told him straight that I don't like him sometimes. I'd physically fight
him rather than admit that he frightens me. I'd never in a million
years back down from him. And although he swears that he'd never hurt
me, I don't entirely believe him. I've seen the warm and wonderful side
of Mac. I've also seen him out of control. I don't like being around
people who get that way. Although I love to se him I'm glad he lives
away now.

One day, when his ex wife was moving away and taking his son, he hit an
all time low. Most days he just ranted and I let him. He was looking
after his mother's house. They had gone away on holiday so weren't
there for him when things really kicked off for him. Not their fault at
all just circumstance. He had a bucket full of anti-depressants, some
prescribed to him by his GP some he bought 'elsewhere'. I took them off
him and threw them away. Okay, I was bang out of order and it wasn't my
place to do that. I had no right to throw his medication away but I did
it. He was making silly threats and it seemed the sensible thing to do
at the time.

He went home and drank a bottle of whiskey. I got a call late that
night telling me to get to his mother's house straight away and to
bring his tablets with me because he was going to take them all and I
couldn't stop him. He said that if I didn't take them to him, he'd jump
off the roof. It's a five storey house. I don't react well to being
threatened. I considered just ignoring him and leaving him to sleep it
off. I know from working experiences that people who scream and shout
about killing themselves almost never do. However, alcohol was clouding
his judgement so I went. I was living with Tat at the time and Mac also
threatened to beat Tat up if I didn't take his medication round. He
hated Tat and Tat did wind him up that night.

I went.

Mac was in a bad way. He told me to give him the tablets and leave. I
told him, truthfully, that I didn't have them and he lost it. Mac is a
big man. He's well over six foot and heavy. I know that he's all mouth
but, I've seen him punch (thankfully never a person) and he's got some
power in those fists. I abhor violence. It terrifies me. He threw a
punch at the wall beside me. He had no intention of hitting me, I want
to stress that, but he was trying to intimidate me. He hit the wall an
inch from the side of my head. I think it was probably that punch that
broke two of his fingers. I told him I was leaving and he locked me in
and wouldn't let me out. He kept screaming for his tablets. I told him
I'd call the police and he ranted about what he'd do to them if they
turned up. He started kicking and punching walls and doors. Not near me
this time but it was still very frightening. Eventually he burned
himself out and started crying. He was hurting, I know that, but I
don't like the way he handled it.

That's not the only time I've seen his violence. I've never known him
to hurt a person, only himself. He's a good mate, but little and not
too often is plenty enough when it comes to Mac. To hear him talk he
ran Butlins single headedly. He shows people his shrapnel wound from
when he was 'shot in Northern Ireland'. I know that it is a scar from
having a growth removed, but it makes a good story. Last week he was a
famous DJ, next week he will probably stop the war in Iraq. That's Mac,
he's lovely, he's fun. He's larger than life and he's a people person.
90% of the time he's placid and loveable ? but he's got a side that I
don't like at all.

Work is going well. It's not what I want to do with my life anymore but
I have to admit some of the old buzz is coming back as new challenges
present themselves. On Wednesday, I sat all night with a man who was
dying. I love doing terminal care because it doesn't frighten me. Some
people are scared of dealing with grieving loved ones. I've got it
sussed, I just keep plying them with endless brews and doling out
tissues. There is nothing else you can do for them.

I'm working with a lady(40 ish) who, four months ago, had her right
eye removed due to cancer. She has lost the sight in her left eye and
has to have that taken out as well. I've worked with a lot of blind
clients and enjoy the job because to do it well you have to be able to
think like a blind person. You an never understand what it's like for
them but you can work out what can be done to make things orderly for
them. This lady is the first person I've dealt with, on a one to one
basis, who is just coming to terms with her blindness. She has only
just come out of hospital. She's scared and insecure. Helping her to
cope with her condition is a huge responsibility and it's the tiny
incidental details that make the job so important. Knowing which hand
she favours so that when I load her toothbrush with paste for her, I
lay it in the right direction for her to pick up. The little trick of
covering her medication pots with cling film so that if she knocks the
pot over she doesn't lose the tablets. Using the simile of a clock face
to tell her where each item of food is on her plate. Cutting her meat
in the kitchen before I take her tray in and not doing it over her
shoulder as you would with a child. Telling her, without awkwardness,
that her carnations are beautiful and describing how purple they are so
that she can enjoy them too. Don't get me wrong, I haven't got all the
answers. For one thing, I need to learn the difference between my left
and right. Twice today I got them mixed up when I was directing her to
things on her table. But she made me feel good about the job I'm doing.
She's a damned nice lady.

I don't want to be a nurse though, I want to be a writer. I probably
make a better nurse.

Rick's coming tomorrow and Marty's coming home from Bolton. We aren't
doing much, DVD and a pizza I think, quiet night in. Can't wait.

Rick's not a reader, but he's reading Better the Devil You Know. He
says he's hooked and hates having to put it down. He doesn't lie to me
so I know he means it. It wouldn't matter at all if he didn't like my
book but it makes me feel proud that he does. Luckily he's got a copy
of the re-print not the original. It's still got a shite edit but it's
a hundred times better than the first print. And he's reading Lizard's
Leap to his daughter. That was my idea. I thought that if he read it to
her it might ease the way a bit for when I meet her. At least we'll
have something to talk about. When I've sussed out her character and
personality, I'm going to write her a part into Portals of Parallax,
the third book in the Leap series. That's the beauty of Leap. I can put
almost anybody into it and make them fit.

I've done no house work today. I came home from work and when I should
have been cleaning, I got straight onto a writing job that I had to do.
If I start cleaning after I've done some more editing tonight, I'll be
useless tomorrow for work and my two men coming. Yet, I feel inadequate
for not fitting everything in nice and neatly. I'm still campaigning
for the forty hour day.

It's late and I've got to be up at seven thirty for work. Night night
dear diary, sleep tight.

Wednesday 12th May 2004.

It's been ages since my last entry. So much has happened but I
literally haven't been able to find the spare time to write it up. I
could, and will, blame work. I hate my job and blame it for everything
from the decline of moral decency to my personal lack of sleep.

As you know dear diary, I have returned to full time nursing. It's a
sorry state to be in when you spend more than you earn. My recent
spending is within the bounds of control, but only just. I haven't
bought anything much for myself for years. I haven't bothered to buy
for the house. Suddenly as the pounds shed I can see what all the fuss
is about again. I was bored to tedium by our Kerry's oohing and aaahing
over the latest tiny top or skimpy skirt. It bore no relevance in my
fat world. My wardrobe was simple, twelve pairs of super-size stretch
black pants and twelve steretch-forever tops that covered as much as it
was humanly possible to cover. I've awoken.

Anyway, point is, pay attention a Soozie mathematics lesson here,
spending x spending = oh shit!

I began my new-old working lifestyle with enthusiasm. First week was an
exercise in rota building and wasn't so bad. It didn't take long though
before my rota was bursting at the seams, same old story, same old
song, too many clients and too few staff to cover them.

By the end of my second week, I thought I was going to die. I didn't
know my name and yet was expected to dispense category A drugs
competently.

It began normally. I worked an average day, beginning at eight in the
morning and ending at ten at night. The inning and outing, constant
showering and uniform to daywear changing made me dizzy, but that's par
for the course when you have to go out to work many times a day.

It was Thursday when things started to get silly. I worked all day
Thursday, finished my last client at ten to ten and went straight onto
a terminal care nightshift. I left him at eight o clock and was ten
minutes late for my first call of the day. I worked all day Friday.
Saturday I went straight onto a nightshift after working eighteen
calls. I did another eighteen calls on the Sunday. Was I in a fit state
to do my job safely? Probably not, but we got by. What I did was
illegal and immoral. The company should never put clients in the
position of being worked by someone who has had no sleep but, I needed
the money.

Tough, but not too bad, you might be thinking. Okay, add to my working
day at least three hours driving between clients and several calls at
exactly the same time.

9.00 - 10.00 Simpson
9-30 - -10.00 Smith
9.00 - 10.00 Kendall
9-30 - 10-30 Robinson (fictitious names)

See? Not so good is it?

Add to the equation that most of the calls are in different towns. So,
for example, you might have Simpson -Dalton. Smith - Ulverston.
Kendall- Barrow. Robinson - Ulverston.

We have no time allowance. So as one call finishes at nine thirty the
next one begins at nine thirty. We are constantly late for our clients
and spend the entire day playing a losing battle of catch up. Some of
the calls are double handlers (require two people, meeting at the same
time) These calls *have* to be done on time. They rarely are.

The result is primarily disgruntled and inconvenienced clients and
staff getting it in the neck from all angles causing low staff
morale.

Surprisingly, I got quite a buzz from doing the week from hell. One
client wound me up to the hilt, long story, won't bother going into it.
I enjoy the challenge of working under pressure and trying to keep
everyone happy.

The down-side is, that very few of my clients got their full time
allowance that week. It became a race to see how much time I could
shave off each call, not helped by the fact that my first 'going in
blind' call of the day was to a new lady who didn't know me, was
elderly, paranoid and a dedicated worritter. That first, half hour call
took me well over an hour thrusting me even further into time
warp.

And what were my rewards for that week's hard slog? Just under three
hundred quid at Six twenty an hour, only one pound more than the
unqualified HCA's. Rick was here for the Friday and Saturday, I hardly
saw anything of him.

By comparison, last week, I refused all extra cover and took off,
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Next week, I will have just over
thirty quid to pick up.

I'm not really whingeing about it, I'm typing with a grin. It's hard on
the clients and poorly paid but the work gets done and usually with
good grace and humour.

Marty has developed hay fever, out of the blue one morning he got up
looking as though he'd been punched hard in the eye. He was prescribed
a low dose of Loratadine. It didn't have much effect. I've been on that
for my monkey disease and found it useless too. He's back at the
doctors tonight for something more effective.

Things with Rick couldn't be better, well, they could, but only if I
was allowed to take a big ole rubber and erase his wife from his data
base. Viv has become a huge problem for me. I'm jealous. He's going on
a stag weekend this week to Amsterdam. Twenty-two men let lose in a
faraway city full of available women and I couldn't give a bugger. It
doesn't bother me in the slightest, but, one mention of his wife and I
go an alarming shade of green.

We had a fantastic weekend at his house a couple of weeks ago. We went
for long walks, made love, and wandered round Clitheroe. We met up with
friends and went to the local pub, got to hob nob with a very famous
soap star who was so legless she could barely walk, and spent time just
doing things with the kids. It was idyllic.

Marty fits snugly in age between Rick's two kids. Billy is sixteen and
Kate is eight. Marty got on so well with both of them. I was amazed.
After an awkward beginning at dinner Billy asked Marty if he'd like to
go to his room and play on his playstation. After that some of Billy's
mates came round and he could quite easily have used that as an 'out'
and left Marty to us, but he included him in the game. I appreciated
that so much. Bob and Lynne came round for supper and we made an
impromptu decision to go to the pub. We left the lads playing
backgammon and when we got back, at almost two in the morning, they
were still sitting in the same position as we left them.

The next day, Billy had to go to work. Kate came round and immediately
hit it off with Marty. I think she had a bit of a crush on him because
when we said we were going or a walk in the woods she skittered off to
get changed. She came down, much later, wearing a little black skirt
and a halter neck top. We pointed out, tactfully, that she might find
jeans and t-shirt more appropriate for tree climbing and then had to
wait another age for her to change again. She's lovely. She's loud and
precocious. Sometimes she speaks so innocently, without thinking about
what she's saying first. She knows exactly how to twist daddy round her
little finger and I intend to take lessons. We got on very well and she
told me, in a very grown up voice, that she swears quite often, but
'only in my head'. We had a great time.

The sun shone and we spent time in his garden and things were
'perfect'.

But they weren't. He can't get over his wife. He's finding it hard
adjusting to his new way of life. People there are used to seeing him
out with Viv, so, when they see him with me, he feels guilty. He still
thinks as a married man and I *hate* it. On the way home I decided I
was going to end our relationship. I got it into my head that, like
some of my men before him, he was ashamed of me. I promised myself
after Tom, that I'd never be with a man who was embarrassed to walk
down the street with me again.

We talked on the phone and then again in person when we got down to the
real problem between us.

He admitted to me that he still loves his wife. He became emotional and
started crying over her. It hurt like hell. He swears to me that he
loves me. That he wants to be with me. That I'm ten times the person
Viv ever was, and yet he still loves her.

The problem I have is that he hasn't been put in a position that he's
had to choose between us. I want that situation to arise. I truly want
Viv to want him back, something that Bob and Lynn, his friends assure
me will never happen. The stupid thing is that I *know* for a hard and
fast fact, that if he had the chance to return his life to the way it
was when he had his wife and daughter, it would be a case of bye bye,
Sooz. That is something that hurts like hell and I'm finding very hard
to live with. His wife was a bitch to him. Lynn told me that she only
married him for money and security and never did love him. She was cold
and unresponsive to him before finally leaving him for another man. And
yet, he would still rather have her and the non-marriage they had, than
a life with me.

I'm running second best and know it. I had two choices, put up with it
or bail. I've made my choice and, for the time being at least, I'm
sticking with it.

He says that it's not so much her that he wants as his old lifestyle
and his blind misconception that he had a happy marriage. He's been as
honest as he can be with me and swore that he doesn't want to lose me.
He's asked me to be patient with him and I've agreed but I know that I
can't live like a mistress for much longer. He thinks it's going to be
alright. He says that every time we're together he becomes closer to me
and misses me more when we're apart. It's only been three months, he
had fourteen years with her. Of course he's going to find it strange
and awkward when he's holding my hand and sees someone who hasn't heard
about his marriage break-up.

Apart from that everything is perfect, he's been working up here for
the last two weeks and has been staying with me. We struggle to pack
everything we want to do into a day. We've had some good nights out.
Our sex life is great and he says Paul was a dickhead and he was only
making excuses for his own inadequacies when he blamed me and made me
feel as though his sexual problems were my fault. We've shopped and
walked and had a lot of fun. It's fantastic having someone to cook for.
Marty and I rarely lay the table for just the two of us. I love making
Rick interesting pack-ups for work. It's nice (surprisingly) being
woken at five in the morning when he gets in from nights. He knows just
how to make sure I want to wake up at that time and has a fantastic
recipie to stop me being grumpy. He says he feels guilty waking me, but
I love it.

It was my birthday last Thursday. It was the best birthday I've ever
had. Even better than the one when I got married the day before and
spent my birthday in Manchester airport waiting to go to Corfu on
honeymoon. It was really weird how everything has changed. Last year I
was forty, it was a landmark birthday and yet, not one single person
remembered except Marty and Martha. This year I was swamped with gifts
and well wishes.

Rick bought me a lovely card that said ?to my girlfriend. Seeing it
there, in print, quantified it and made it real. I got a, me to you,
teddy and a digital camera. It's a fantastic gift. I love it.

We were invited to Aunty Mo's for dinner. It was lovely, but she
pinched my plate when I'd only had a couple of mouthfuls. I have to eat
very slowly and when I lay my knife and fork down people think I've
finished. It was funny.

I'd mentioned a few weeks ago that I needed a new coffee table. Mo
bought me a nest of them. They were exactly the same as the lightwood
ones I had been looking at. She couldn't have picked a better pressie
in fact, Rick and I had been looking for some that afternoon but the
ones I wanted had sold out. Mo's are smaller than the ones I saw but
otherwise identical.

There was another surprise when we got home. I had a beautiful bouquet
of flowers delivered from the florists. Marty had told me that he had a
surprise for me, but denied all knowledge of the flowers. I
automatically thought that they had come from Rick and thanked him for
them. He denied that they were from him too. Marty kept me guessing for
awhile but eventually I found out that they were from him, not only
that, he went to the shop, ordered them, picked them, paid for them and
arranged a delivery time all on his own. He's twelve years old and it
seemed such a mature gift for a little boy to give. Sometimes he can
really surprise me with his maturity and other times he's a three year
old trying to get out.

I didn't see Col on my birthday, he had other fish to fry but he rang
me up which was lovely. When I saw him on the Saturday he brought me a
cd player for my car. The player is worth more than the car.

I have spent so many birthdays feeling alone and unloved. This year was
perfect.

And ? dear diary, get this. I've lost over six stone now. I don't look
good yet, but I'm getting there. Life is so bloody magic.

Rick is concerned and has completely the wrong impression of me. He
thinks I'm fast and loose with money. For years I've spent nothing on
myself at all. It's fantastic and such a buzz going into shops and
buying anything I want. It doesn't matter if it's too small, I know
that in a few months whatever I buy will fit me. So it's an incentive
buying things in too small sizes.
Last week he was mortified when I bought a skimpy pair of purple hot
pants. The docs have guaranteed me a size twelve and say that I
*should* make a perfect size ten. I so nearly almost bought the size
tens but common sense prevailed and I opted for the twelves. They are
tiny, I did go silly and bought a size ten vest to go with them though.
Before my op I had a forty double D bust. It is now thirty four C. Not
the pert little boomers I want, but not saggy hot air balloons either.
I can walk for miles and even 'do' hills now.

I'm going to start going out with Col a couple of nights a week. He
hunts his dogs, ferrets and prey birds. I won't do that. I'm anti-hunt
but he assures me that he often either flies his birds or just walks
the dogs. We are going out for a long walk tomorrow night and I'm
looking forward to it. A few months ago, the thought of walking further
than a mile would have been an ordeal and something to wriggle out of
if I could. Now, I love walking. I'm sitting writing this in size 18
tight fit jeans. I can get into a sixteen but breathing is a luxury.
These jeans are comfortable. Before my op I could no longer wear my
size 26 jeans.

My boss has just been on the phone with another night shift client for
me. Two nights a week. She's not terminal care but a dementia sufferer
who is awake all night. She lives with her daughter and the poor woman
(daughter not client) is exhausted. Because her mother wanders at night
and eats anything small enough to put in her mouth, I am not allowed to
fall asleep but the daughter has said that she doesn't mind at all if I
write on my lap top if her mother doses. So it's not a bad call.

Fifteen minutes and I'm going for my walk. I have to meet Marty at the
doctors at four ten so will have time to do my walk first. Just time
for a quick fag and a glass or orange juice before I set off.
Unfortunately I'm back to full time smoking again. Rick disapproves but
smokes cigars himself.

Sian's just been. She's very depressed. The problem goes far deeper
than just being anorexic. She's unhappy with her marriage, troubled
with her son, David and generally depressed. All she does is work and
stays in the house. Hell, I understand that one better than anybody.
There's an 'open mic' night at the Cav tomorrow, I've suggested we have
a night out there. She's well up for it now, but she'll call off
tomorrow because D, her hubby, will get jealous and possessive and give
her so much hassle that she'll feel it's just not worth it. I'm hoping
that D will be okay with her going out with me. I've always got on well
with him. Sian had an affair a couple of years ago and he's never got
over it. He knows I'm in a relationship and not out on the pull so he
might just be okay about it. I think she needs to make a stand for
herself. I don't mind if he comes too but Sian could do with a break
from her home, hubby and kids. I think it would do her good. We'll see.
It was funny today. She said she'll come round one night. I said I'd
make supper for us. It will be a supper that neither of us will eat.
She's anorexic and I've got no stomach! But we can sit and look at a
nice spread and pass things that we aren't going to eat to each other.
All we'll need is The Mad Hatter and it will be like a meal from
Alice.

So, busy day tomorrow. Work all day. Home, bath, sort myself out to go
walking with Col, then home shower and ready to go out with Sian. What
the hell is an open mic night anyway? I'm assuming it's something like
Kareoke. Sian has got a cracking voice. Four years ago, when they had
karaoke at the Bull, we used to go out every Saturday night. She was so
full of fun, Leah was less bitter and twisted then. It used to be a
great night. If Sain can go out and get up to sing again I think it
might remind her of the fun she used to have, the fun she used to be. I
hope she comes. She looks bloody awful and needs a confidence
boost.