Leaving

'What about when it doesn't matter?' she said. 'What do I do
then?'
And I sit, in silence, digesting the words. Already my mind starts to
wander and I know what she means.
Because there are places I'd rather be. Even now - and I have only just
got here. The kettle isn't boiled and I have not taken off my
coat.
She turns away and I take a gentle breath.
She's good looking, in a nice, pleasant way. Mousey brown hair, blue
eyes. Small, delicate features. A button nose. I know this list, I have
studied it in my mind.
She comes back from the kitchen with a mug of tea and starts talking
about work again.
'You know, there's this point when you realise that all the
work&;#8230; it wont work. And then it wont matter because all that
effort will have been wasted. No-one will remember that I was stressed
or care about any of this.'
And she waves her hand to include everything: me, the room, the house
and the street.
She is wearing blue jeans and a sweat top. She hands me the cup and
waits for me to comment. We have had this conversation before. She will
be redundant in the next couple of weeks and she expects my
support.
She wants me to know how hard she has worked for the company; that she
has stuck at it when she could have walked away. She is a "sticker".
She has told me time and again. She stays until things work out because
that's what she does.
I hold the tea in both hands, leaning forward, elbows on knees, like I
am going to say something.
But I have said it all before and I am not sure where to start. I know
the script, but I have forgotten the intro.
Because, really, I am not a sticker. I find myself staying in places
longer than I should, but not because I'm a hard worker, and not
because I think I can make things work. They either happen or they
don't.
But we are both still here, so I know I should say something.
'Look, you know what's happening. There's nothing you can do, so you
should just get on and find something else.'
I realise this is not particularly helpful.
She reacts immediately - 'then what about the last two years?' - and I
start to think about our last 18 months.
She talks about how it feels to be dumped on the scrap heap, and I
realise that neither of us are talking about work anymore.
But we are both too scared of the consequences to talk.
In any case, I don't believe that time should be thrown away, or
erased, or burned, or whatever you do with old memories. But I am
worried that I am not going to be able to sit this one out.
That in two months time she will resent what I have been and my
cowardly decision to stay with her.
It is at this moment that she realises that I am not, that I have not
been, thinking about her job.
She realises that I am already looking for something else, and that she
is already redundant.
That is what I genuinely believe she thinks. There is a pause as she
finally absorbs what she has suspected.
I haven't drunk my tea. My arms are still leant forward on my knees,
earnestly.
We are both staring: we have finally caught sight of the bottom two
thirds of the iceberg.
Then I realise that she has been waiting for this moment as well. She
is not surprised, but she has had enough.
I have tested her patience too much. She is not talking anymore. She
wants me to make the move, to answer to her. She puts her hands on her
hips defiantly, taking a step back to show me the door. And it all
comes down to this.
I thought she would kick me, lose her temper with me. But instead, all
she said was: 'I think you should go,'
And it is her turn to be quiet. There are no pay-offs. Instead I am
reluctantly glad. She looks shattered.
I am pleased she has made the decision, but I do not think she is. She
would have liked me to have had the courage. Just for me.