THE MASTER PLAN
It ended in disappointment every time. I mean, I didn’t rush, I thought carefully about things, looking for omens which signalled what was meant to be, and I always found something. I think that I’m really good at detective/analysis type problems, but in this particular scenario those skills never seemed to work for me. So frustrating.
When I told others of yet another disappointment they tended to look at me with a silly grin on their face, as if I was telling them a joke or something. But none of this is a joke. It’s a real ambition of mine and they should have been encouraging me, not looking at me in a patronising way as if I’m stupid. It would happen. I was sure of it. It was just a matter of time.
I had a go at my sister about it the other day. She‘d switched into one of her lecture modes and when she was like that it really cheesed me off. So, as soon as she started I found myself going rigid, before going straight onto the attack. Attack was always my best form of defence.
“You’re wasting your time,” she’d said. “You might as well give up ‘cos it’s never going to happen Liz.”
“Of course it is,” I said. I think that I might have been a bit loud because we were sitting in a café at the time and she quickly told me to lower my voice, said that I was causing a scene and embarrassing her. That’s Gwen, my sister, all over. She never likes to be stared at. Likes to keep herself to herself and blend in. She’ll never take a risk if she can avoid it. That’s probably why she ended up marrying John instead of Pete. He’s the steady type, but totally boring I’m afraid. Pete was much more adventurous and certainly a lot more fun than John. But I could see that it might have been like being married to a roller-coaster — up one minute and down the next.
As for me, well I just went along with Baz as he seemed to be nice, and he said that he loved me. I never have to worry about him being trustworthy or reliable. He’s a good man. The only thing is that we never seem to have enough money. I suppose that having a couple of kids tends to drain the coffers quite quickly and when you’re both on just above the average wage you know that there’s not going to be much to spare. It only needs something to go wrong in the house or with the car and we struggle. And Baz always leaves that sort of thing to me. I’m Chancellor of the Exchequer as far as he’s concerned. As long as he has enough to buy his mints he doesn’t care. He’s addicted to the bloody things, ever since he’d given up the fags during one of my earlier economy drives. Just moved from one addiction to another in effect. The house doesn’t pong of cigarettes anymore but just smells like a Polo’s factory. At least it‘s cheaper than nicotine.
I decided that I needed a system, a more scientific approach and that was what I was trying to develop. Without it I was never going to get anywhere. Over the weeks I began to keep a record, a book of what I’d discovered, and this helped me in terms of my planning. I didn’t let anybody else see it though. It was in my underwear drawer, covered by knickers and bras, most of which, I have to say, were well past their best, but I didn’t have the funds to buy new ones at the time. There were other things to buy which were more important. Like food for example.
I’d usually go to bed whilst Baz was watching some nonsense on the tele and I’d get my book out and work on my plan. When I heard him coming up the stairs I’d put the book away quickly as I didn’t want him to see it. He might ask too many questions and it could get awkward and, anyway, I was never in the mood for an interrogation at that time of night.
Meanwhile, life droned on as usual. More pressure on the credit card. The kids had to have new shoes for school (again) and Ritchie, my son, seemed to be growing even faster, sprouting up like the weeds in our garden. I said to him, “Ritchie, you’ve got to stop growing. I can’t keep up. That’s the third pair of trousers this year for goodness’ sake. And we’re only in October.” And then Ritchie looked at me and rolled his eyes before saying, “And how am I supposed to do that mother?” He always spoke to me like that when he felt that I was saying something daft. He had a point.
Finally, I was ready to put my plan into action. I was really excited about it. I’d worked on it for almost six weeks, ‘cos I was determined that I wouldn’t do it until I was confident that it would work. I checked out everything at least half a million times. As far as I was concerned it simply couldn’t fail.
The day after I woke up feeling really excited. This was it. This was the day when all of my dreams would come true. I thought about what I would do. I decided that I needed to remain calm and stay in control. That was important. Those around me might all go scatty, but not me. After all, I’d been waiting for a long time, and I decided that I would be composed and serene. I quite liked the idea of being like that. I smiled as I imagined the scene. Everybody flinging their arms around me and telling me I was wonderful and me just being cool, calm, and collected.
I decided not to rush, took a shower and prepared breakfast. Then I checked. It couldn’t be. Surely not? I stared hard at the screen, expecting it to change as a result. I must have looked like a stranded cod fish. There must have been some mistake. Maybe I was looking at the wrong thing. But I wasn’t. My heart plummeted down to my boots. It hadn’t worked. My careful planning had all been for nothing. I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong, I had been so certain of success.
Baz came downstairs and saw my face. He should have known better but he decided to ask what was wrong. My response was such that he said that he had to rush as he was due into work early and he belted out of the door at a rate of knots. I should have said “sorry” for being a bad-tempered old bag, but I was too upset.
I felt as low as I’ve ever felt. I need time to think about things, but I must say I’ve got no answers, no solutions. All I knew was that there was no point in planning anymore. I slung the book into the bin. Might just as well stick to Lucky Dip. It can’t be that difficult to match six numbers. I mean, it’s got to be someone hasn’t it? It could be me, right? Right?
