‘Super shitty as they also put the word out. Everyone knows everyone. I worked there twelve years. Not one arse contacted me. They were all too scared of it being catching. And it’s all about contacts.’ With a quick turn of the steering wheel, he pulled out into the fast lane to overtake, the sudden rush of acceleration pinning me back into my seat. ‘I’ve applied for dozens of jobs. Most of the time I don’t even get a response, let alone an interview. I’ve contacted a score of people on LinkedIn and guess what, I’m suddenly a social pariah.’
‘That’s crap,’ I said, horrified. ‘Surely something will come up.’ But that was a hopeless platitude. What did I know? I’d not been out in the job market for years. How would I feel? It was bad enough being signed off at the moment. I might be unemployable myself.
‘Easy for you to say that.’
‘I’m sorry…’ I flicked a glance at the overgrown beard and long hair. And then I really was sorry because I understood exactly how he felt.
‘How are you feeling?’ I paused, tentative because I knew that if it hadn’t been for the cut on my arm, I’d have had to be dragged to the doctors. ‘Perhaps… you ought to see a doctor.’
The sudden tightening of his eyes told me everything.
‘I can’t see how that will help unless they’re doubling as recruitment consultants these days?’ he asked with a low buzz of menace in his voice. Menace was good. Emotion was good. I’d got a bit too used to him being a lifeless husk. Maybe he needed goading to actually feel something.
I risked being burned. ‘Well maybe you are… a bit down. I didn’t realise how on edge I was until I went to see a doctor.’ And in that moment I realised that it had been a relief to be told there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t going quietly mad in my own head.
‘No shit, Sherlock. Of course I’m down. I lost my job. But a doctor isn’t going to fix that.’
‘Maybe it’s worth talking to one, though. What about your sister? Maybe she could help.’
‘What, get me a job as a hospital porter? Now there’s an idea.’
‘It’s called being practical and trying to provide a solution. But it’s fine; you carry on feeling sorry for yourself instead.’
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d gone too far but then he spat out a humourless laugh.
‘We’re a right pair. They could probably name some trendy jeans brand after us, Stressed and Depressed. And yes, before you jump on it, I was depressed. I’m starting to feel better now. The running helps. And bloody Hilda poking me in the stomach. I was determined to sort myself out then. Probably the six cans of lager I was drinking every night didn’t help.’
I smiled. ‘She can be rather direct.’
‘Bloody rude, you mean, but it’s very entertaining. I am sorry I never texted. It was nothing to do with the date and everything to do with me feeling sorry for myself. I treated you badly and I do regret it.’ He shot me a small, sad smile.
And where did that leave us now, I wondered. Still very much in the wrong place and time.
‘And ironically, you’re the last person to deserve it. You’re the only person who’s asked how I’m feeling since I was made redundant.’
‘I can’t be. What about friends and family?’
I saw him wrinkle his nose. ‘I haven’t actually told my family. Remember, high achievers all round. I was already the loser because I don’t have a “proper” profession. Luckily my folks are away in India for a few months. My sister works such long hours that I get away with the odd text and my brother is far too busy and important to bother with me.’
‘Friends?’
‘Funny, they tend to melt away when you can’t afford to dish out for overpriced continental lager. Splashing the cash loses its appeal when you don’t know if you’ll still be able to pay your mortgage in a year’s time. I got a good pay off… but with jobs not forthcoming, I realised I needed to be careful and that they weren’t such great mates after all.’
I rubbed a finger back and forth along the line of my eyebrow. I could relate to that.
Was it any easier if friendships died slowly through neglect or overnight when the rug was pulled out?
‘At least we’ve got Hilda,’ I said.
‘Pitiful isn’t it, two thirty-somethings reliant on a septuagenarian.’
Ash tossed his hair, making me smile. I really did prefer his longer hair and the way it softened the sharp angles of his face.
‘Or something to be celebrated.’ Hilda had certainly brought some fun and light into my life in the last week. ‘Saturday was fun. Better than eating pizza on your own. Who says friends have to be of the same generation?’
Ash didn’t say anything for a second or two, giving the impression he was carefully weighing up what I’d said.
‘But would we have given her the time of day in the park if we were our previous busy, fulfilled, career-driven high-flying selves?’ He took his eyes off the road to dart a sharp glance at me.
‘That doesn’t make either of us sound particularly nice, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t. And there are thousands of lonely old people out there. Not even old, in some cases. Just lonely.’
Both of us lapsed into thought. He was right. Despite work, I’d been lonely for a long time. Moving to Churchstone, I realised, had been a subconscious effort to do something about it, even if it had been totally unrealistic. You had to put some effort in to make and keep friends. Not having a job or going to work certainly brought the flaws in one’s life into sharp relief.
Is he as lonely as I am?
‘I’ve been worrying about recruiting volunteers to help with the parkrun, but maybe that’s an angle we can tap into. Invite people to get involved. They don’t have to run; they can be marshals and all sorts of other things. We’re going to need quite a few people and a hardcore, committed team if we’re going to sustain it.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been reading up.’
‘Hilda has. She’s the original silver surfer. Keeps sending me links. Yesterday it was to a blog post entitled, How to Start a Park Run. It was quite helpful. Did I tell you I spoke to the council guy?’
I relayed my conversation with Neil Blenkinsop.
‘And the Harriers chap is really interested and keen to meet up as soon as possible. Sascha at The Friendly Bean has said we can use the café as our headquarters, if we like.’
‘You’ve made good progress in a week.’
‘Hmm, I seem to have been caught up in Hilda’s tidal wave. And…’ I shrugged, I was enjoying getting involved in something. Once the girls had gone, life was going to be very quiet. I’d got used to them filling a hole in my big, empty house. To my sudden disquiet I realised I wasn’t looking forward to them going home at all. I was going to miss them.
Chapter Sixteen
Tring was a pretty place nestled high up on the Chilterns, although at that point we were yet to appreciate just how high up on the Chilterns it was. Darren’s house was an end-of-terrace tucked away in one of the narrow streets in the conservation area.