Secrets

“The time has come,” the Walrus said. “To talk of many things, of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings.” Well, I’m not going to talk about shoes and ships or sealing wax – and although I did make a big pan of delicious braised red cabbage this week, I won’t be talking about cabbages. Even though I did forget about it and left it in the oven overnight. It was fine, I had turned the oven off, I just forgot the cabbage was in there. I found it the next morning, portioned it up, and put it in the freezer.

And as for kings – I think you’d have to be living on Mars not to know that Britain has a new king and that he is to be crowned this weekend. Today. I have the TV on and the long-winded run-up to the ceremony is happening in the background as I write.

Am I a royalist? I’m certainly not anti-royal. I think the Royal Family play a vital part in making Britain what it is. I think if we ever did away with the monarchy then we’d be reduced even further down the worldwide stage to being some impoverished and insignificant chilly little island off the coast of Europe. Spiralling ever deeper into recession and poverty and dreaming of long-ago glory days, Britain would be nothing. The pomp and circumstance of the Royal Family – despite, or maybe even in spite of the way some of them behave – is what elevates us into something out of the norm.

I feel it would be a shame to willingly throw away one of our greatest assets. I’ve had very strident anti-royals shout in my face about how much they cost taxpayers. Yet, they fail to consider the revenue the royal family generate in tourism, merchandise, and TV revenue. The whole world loves the pageantry that many in this country sneer at. I mean, how many millions of people around the world tune in to watch royal weddings, funerals, and coronations?

Anyway, that’s just my humble opinion. I don’t think the Royals cost us anything. I think they are a self-funding institute that does more good than harm, and honestly, are the anti-royals suggesting another Civil War, for heaven’s sake? Because we Brits did that once and look what we ended up with. Oliver Cromwell. A boring, self-righteous, bible-bashing prude who didn’t like parties or the theatre and didn’t see why anyone else had to right to enjoy themselves.

Hmm, not tempting.

Anyway, the Coronation is happening today and tomorrow it is my road’s street party. Once again, our road will be closed and we will hang bunting and flags, contribute food and drink, and enjoy ourselves despite the weather. It’s not looking good. I cannot believe we’re into May and I’m still having to put the heating on because it’s so cold.

Anyway, I hinted at things happening in my life which will mean big changes for me, and followers on Instagram will have gathered there was something AFOOT.

Up until now, I’ve been unable to say much because nothing was resolved, and I honestly have no clue who reads this blog. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that everyone knows everyone and the only way to keep something secret is not to talk about it.

As you know, I told you a couple of blogs ago that my boss had handed in his notice. This was a complete shock to us all. I always thought he was such a company man that if you cut him in half he would have the company logo all the way through him – like a stick of rock. Apparently, he has been fed up ever since the lockdown and has been planning his escape. Whilst I am stunned at this level of duplicity because if I’d tried to keep such a secret inside me for almost three years, I think I would have exploded, I completely understand his motives for going. It started me thinking. I’m not keen on my colleagues. Individually, they are all right. Together they are backstabbing tell-tales who create such a toxic “back to school” vibe, that it has been making me more and more reluctant to go to work.

As our personal sales targets have risen to ever-unrealistic heights, the tensions between my colleagues have also risen. It’s a bit dog-eat-dog, despite our best endeavours to play the team card, and petty jealousies and resentments are rife. It’s stressful and unpleasant. I don’t think I fully appreciated how stressful I was finding work until my boss announced his departure. Suddenly, I realised the one person who acted like an adult and stuck up for me when the others were sticking their knives in was no longer going to be there. I wanted to vomit. This sick, tight knot formed in my stomach and wouldn’t go away. My boss had also been the only one with any understanding or sympathy for my writing. He always arranged the rota, so I had alternate Fridays off to attend my local author meetings. He would arrange my workdays so I could have the odd weekend off to attend book fairs and the like. There was no guarantee that the new manager would be so accommodating. I had the feeling they wouldn’t be accommodating at all.

Now, I dislike change. I resist it for as long as I can. I tend to stick to people and situations way beyond the point when I should have cut my losses and moved on. But. When I decide to do something, I tend to do it immediately.

Within three days of my boss dropping his bombshell, I had reactivated my old account with the online recruitment site, Indeed. Updated and tweaked my CV and had a trawl through the part-time jobs offered to see what was out there. If I was a healthcare worker I had my pick of hundreds of jobs. It was a sobering reflection of the crisis our NHS is facing when they are so short-staffed. Likewise, if I wanted to be a cleaner or work in hospitality. Whilst I would be very good working in hospitality, the pay is shocking and the hours worse. I wanted to improve my working situation, not make it worse. My current job pays very well, and I knew I would struggle to find anything to come anywhere close to my salary.

I applied for a few part-time roles as an administrator and in sales. I even applied to be a paid companion to the elderly. I was offered that job and the hourly rate was good, but they couldn’t offer me enough hours to live on. I went on a few interviews and was offered a couple of jobs – but on closer inspection, there was always something not quite right. The ad stated only occasional weekend work, but in the interview, I am told it was all weekend and every weekend. Or the ad was coy about the pay and when you outright ask it’s shockingly low. Stuff like that.

Anyway, I finally went for an interview at a local tile showroom. Straight away, everything felt right. Fantastic all-girl team that was welcoming, kind, and funny. The interview lasted over two hours and turned into an informal chat at the end of which I was offered the job. Yes, it’s sales, which I wanted to move away from, but it’s not so front-line, heavily commission based. There won’t be the cut-throat need to outperform your colleagues all the time. The shop isn’t open Sundays or Boxing Day – so there’s that. I was upfront and honest with the manager about my writing and my need for the odd weekend off. She was excited and encouraging about my books and said so long as she had enough notice, it wouldn’t be a problem. There were just two drawbacks. The shifts would still be a little bit unpredictable – not as much as where I currently am when I sometimes don’t know from week to week what days I am working, but still a bit uncertain. And then there was the pay. Without the big commission payouts I’d come to rely on, it would mean quite a big drop in income. Too big a drop if I was honest with myself.

Promising the manager I would think about it, I drove home with my head in a whirl. I had the next day, Tuesday, off and spent it thinking and looking at finances. I wanted the job but didn’t see how I could make the money work. The only option was if I did Airbnb. But that could only work if I had predictable shifts and worked the same days every week. It was unlikely I was going to find a job that offered that – not with my skill sets.

Work was … challenging … seeing how excited my boss was as he worked his last few days I grew ever more desperate that once he escaped, the prison door would clang shut on me and that I needed to do something fast.

I kept playing with the sums but couldn’t make them stack up. On Friday, I reluctantly phoned the manager of the tile shop and told her that although I would love to join them, the money just didn’t work. She was disappointed. I was disappointed. It was all horrid.

Work dragged on all the next week. I wasn’t sleeping. I felt sick all the time and on the verge of tears. A crop of hives erupted on the back of my neck. My stomach was … unsettled … if you know what I mean. I knew I was suffering from stress. I talked to friends about it. Things came to a head Wednesday night. I couldn’t sleep. I kept waking up. Finally, at 4am, I got up and made tea. I had the feeling I was standing at a crossroads and only I could tell which was the right direction for me to take. I went over the sums again and realised something. Even if I found this mythical perfect job for the same three days every week, say, for example, I worked Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I would only be able to let the room for Airbnb for three nights – Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. At £50 per night, it would be £7800 per year mostly tax-free. Very nice.

BUT I realised, that was only IF I let the room every single one of those three nights, every single week of the year. How likely was that to happen? After all, there were going to be times I didn’t want to let the room – if I was ill, or away – and times I had no bookings. Wasn’t I simply swapping one stress for another? Trading in a well-paying job for the uncertainty of Airbnb. And then there was the constant bed changing and laundry. Potentially three times a week I would have to completely strip and remake a bed. And I would have to keep the house at a hotel level of cleanliness all the time.

More stress.

Airbnb was beginning to look like a bad idea. Then I thought about taking in a permanent lodger. I know I said never again, but I’d had lodgers for almost eighteen years with a small child and then a teenager in the house. If I could manage it then, surely it would be easier when it was only me in the house. Only two people sharing a bathroom. No noisy child to try and keep quiet.

Hmm, worth thinking about. It would also alleviate the whole “having to be there for check-in and check-out times”, there would be no bed to strip or laundry to do, plus no constant stream of strangers parading through the house. There would be only one person who would quickly become a friend. This would be their home. They would have paid a damages deposit and so were less likely to trash the place or steal anything.

It had been over a year since I’d advertised for a lodger and then the most I could get for my room was £500 per month. How much could I get now? I logged onto the letting website I use and checked out rooms like mine in my area. I was stunned to realise that prices for rooms had risen to £600 per month. About the same as I’d get for Airbnb, and it was guaranteed.

Excitement rose in me. Maybe this was the missing piece of the puzzle that I’d been looking for.

Then realisation crashed onto me. In my desire to do Airbnb, I had bought that mahoosive hotel-style, king-size bed with matching bedside cabinets that now filled the room. Perfect as the room was for overnight luxury stays, it was not set up for long-term living.

Oh, poop. What to do?

I found my tape measure and went down into the basement and carefully measured the bed. I then went upstairs and measured Franki’s old bedroom. Nope. Due to the narrowness of the room, the bed simply wouldn’t fit, no matter which way round I tried it. What about the small back bedroom? Although smaller, it was a box shape. I measured. I measured again. Yes, it would fit. Just. True. It would fill the space – the room would identify as bed – but it would fit.

The day bed, desk, and other bits of furniture in the back room could go into Franki’s old room to create a comfy sitting room/office for her when she came home.

The lovely sturdy grey wooden small-double bed that was currently in Franki’s old room could go down to the basement for the lodger to use. It would match all the colours down there, would provide the lodger with the best mattress in the house, and being more sensibly proportioned, would ensure the maximum amount of living space for the lodger.

It was doable. It was all doable. Yes. It would involve major dismantling and relocating of three beds plus other furniture, but it could work. It could be the solution.

Very excited, I messaged Franki. I needed to run the idea past them. I had promised that they would have the basement and the big bed every time they came home. I needed to see if they were okay with a slight change in plan. In my distraction, I didn’t notice the time. I’d been up since 4am and it was now only 7.05am. I had messaged a teenager at university on their day off at silly o’clock in the morning. It did not go down well.

A snappy reply came back. Then a video call from an irate teenager annoyed at having life-changing decisions dropped on them so early in the morning.

We talked. I explained. I reassured them that there would ALWAYS be a room in my home for them. But, if I didn’t find a less stressful job I would end up in an institute, sucking my thumb, and rocking quietly in a corner. And, if I didn’t find another source of income they would be sharing a cardboard box with me on the streets.

We talked for a while. Compromises were reached. Franki accepted we would put the king-size bed in the tiny boxroom – for now – and see how it worked. If it was ridiculously big for the room, then we would sell it and buy a more sensibly proportioned double bed.

Her terms?

That I did not attempt to sort out and arrange their old room, that they would do it when they came home in the summer.

Deal.

And that in the summer we would make/buy a bigger and better habitat for Poe the Tortoise.

Deal.

I then got ready for work, my head swirling with plans and possibilities. As I drove to work I saw I was a little bit early. The place that offered me a job was in the same retail park as my current place of employment. Much to my shock, as I turned onto the park I found my car turning left instead of right and I parked in front of the tile shop.

Still not quite believing what I was doing, I walked in. One of the girls I’d met before at my interview was standing behind the counter.

Hello, she said in surprise. What are you doing here?

Is the job still available?

Yes.

Umm, I think, can I have it?

A big smile spread across her face.

Yes.

Umm. Okay. Great.

It was arranged that the manager, who wasn’t in that day, would call me the next day to discuss it and I went to work still unable to grasp what I’d done. It felt surreal. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The next day, the manager phoned, and we had a long chat. She asked what had changed regarding finances and I explained about my plan to get a full-time lodger. I think she was a little concerned until I explained that this wasn’t my first rodeo, that I’d taken in lodgers for almost eighteen years with never a rent-free period.

When I went to work on Saturday, I took my boss to one side and had a quiet chat with him. I confessed I’d been offered a job and he was pleased for me and very supportive. He told me to whom I had to send my resignation letter and how to find out how much holiday I was owed. As I had Sunday off it would be the last day I saw him. We’d all had a whip round and bought him a leaving card and present, which he was touched and surprised by. I honestly don’t think I’ll get anything when I leave – a card at most.

The next day was the Indie Author Fair at St Ives, Cambridgeshire. Four of us were going in two cars and we planned an early start. I was driving and had never been to St Ives before so wanted to allow plenty of time for finding the venue, unloading the car, and then trying to find the car park which we’d been assured was close by.

Loading the car at the crack of dawn, I wondered what the day would bring. It was the first time the fair had been held so it was very much a suck-it-and-see situation. The weather was looking set to be a fine dry day and the roads were empty – it was a Bank Holiday weekend after all. We reached St Ives in good time, found the venue and, to our delight, a row of free parking spaces right in front. Perfect! The early bird catches the free parking spot. As we parked, the other half of our party turned up in their car.

The organisers turned up soon after and led us into the venue explaining that they hadn’t had a chance to set up yet, but if we wanted to leave our trolleys of books in the corner there was a Costa Coffee two doors down where we could go and get a much-needed coffee. Another author whom I knew off Instagram and had video chatted with a few times was also attending – and she too had arrived early enough to grab a free parking spot and join us for a bucket full of excellent coffee.

And what a day it turned out to be.

The organisers were brilliant and super helpful. The other authors were wonderful. The venue was great. And the crowds of people who poured in all day had come for one thing only – to buy books! I talked myself hoarse chatting to people about my books, and I sold, I sold a LOT. When I finally had a chance to add up the cash and card payments I had taken a total of £80 in cash and £194 by card, which is amazing for a small six-hour-long local Fair.

By the time I got home, I was beyond exhausted. The stresses of the past few weeks, not sleeping, the anxiety about my job situation, and the worry about finances, together with the early start, the drive to and from, and the long day being perky and bright, had left me wrung out. I ate something – I can’t remember what – unpacked all my boxes and put them away, then fell into bed for an early night.

Over the weekend, I received an official email offering me employment at the tile shop. This was real. This was happening.

Monday was a Bank Holiday, so the store was busy. We were down a member of staff because my boss had left, so we were kept on the go all day long and I didn’t have a chance to even think about writing a resignation letter, let alone sending it to HR. Besides, Head Office doesn’t work Bank Holidays – it’s only us shop staff that do that. Home, dinner, and another early night. Tuesday was my one day off and I had so much to do, so thought it best to try and get some sleep.

I was awake and up by 4:30am on Tuesday. I had so much to do and one day to do it in. I made tea and made a list. It was a long list. First, write my resignation letter, and try and persuade my printer to print it. It had a stroppy fit because I wasn’t using proper Epson ink. Get over it, I snarled and persisted until it reluctantly spat out the single page which I signed and scanned to my laptop. One copy was sent to my divisional manager with a copy sent to HR. There, it was done. No going back now.

Next, final check of the paperback version of Mage Quest, upload it and hit publish. Final check of the eBook version and upload it. I’ve taken the opportunity to polish Erinsmore as well, so uploaded the paperback and eBook versions of that. It sounds like a quick and simple task, trust me, it’s not. What with all the checking and double checking, and tweaking, and sending it back and forth to my formatter because it needed amending. Finally, it was done.

I made a universal purchase link for the book. This will direct people to the book’s listing on their local Amazon from wherever they are in the world. I also ordered my author copies.

Then I gathered together everything my website designer would need to make the page for Mage Quest on my website and sent it to him.

Then the book details had to be uploaded onto my Goodreads page and an author review written and posted.

I stripped and remade my bed, did two loads of laundry, tidied, polished, and vacuumed the basement. I also cleared the basement of as much stuff as I could.

I made posts for social media promoting the launch of Mage Quest as a paperback, its pre-order status, and the eBook sale on Erinsmore.

I had an hour-long phone call with my parents to update them on everything that was happening in my life – a book fair, a book launch, a decision to change jobs and take in a lodger – there was a lot to tell them.

I’d borrowed the Vax from them because my hall and lounge carpets and a couple of rugs desperately needed cleaning. I set it all up and away I went. Something was wrong. My socks were wet, and nothing seemed to be coming out of the nozzle. Looking down, I realised the pipe carrying hot clean soapy water to the carpet seemed to have a split in it and hot water was gushing out. Bum! I frantically tried to work with the puddles of water on the carpet and scrub it in and then suck the water out. It didn’t work terribly well but it got the worst off. Looking at the colour of the water collected in the base of the Vax, it was clear my carpets were very overdue for a good clean.

I finally ate dinner at gone seven, collapsed on the sofa and binged a bit more Broadchurch – I know I’m ten years late to the party but I’m really enjoying this tense British crime drama series. And then an early night. I was a big bit tired – can’t think why.

Wednesday I was on shift with one of my colleagues. I was unsure whether or not to tell him I was leaving, In the end, I did, and it was just as well I had because HR phoned up about it and spoke to him. That would have been a bit of a shock if I hadn’t already told him. Unbelievably, they are already advertising my job but not as a part-time position. No, it’s being advertised as a full-time role. Nice to know I wasn’t being completely paranoid when I felt pressured to do more hours.

So, it’s too late to change my mind now – not that I want to.

There was just the question of a lodger. Logging into my account on the letting website I use; I scrolled through the people looking for a room in my town. I decided I wanted to try for a female lodger, so concentrated my search on women looking for a room. One, in particular, caught my eye. Almost my age, looking to move because her family live here. Her interests tied in with mine and in her bio, she came across as quiet and respectful. I privately messaged her, along with four other women who seemed suitable.

Two never bothered to reply.

One came back immediately and said thank you for reaching out, but she’d already found a room close to her workplace. I wished her well and that was that.

One replied that she was not going to pay £600 a month for a room and that her budget was £425. I had another look at her list of demands on her bio – off-street parking, her own private bathroom, and a balcony! Jog on, Juliet, that isn’t going to happen, not with the way prices are now.

The original lady I’d spotted came back and seemed quite keen. We messaged back and forth, and arrangements were made for her to come and see the house Friday evening. I warned her that the room was not yet in the state it would be. That it was currently full of bed, but if she could picture the room empty I could show her the bed that would be going down there and the choice of furniture there was to choose from – desk, armchair, TV etc. So, she could effectively customise the room to suit her needs.

Anyway, Friday morning, I scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen until they shone, tidied, polished, and vacuumed everywhere. Had lunch, then went on my author Zoom call. Sadly, one day I know I will always be working at my new job will be a Friday so I will no longer be able to attend the meetings – unless I pop in for an hour during my lunch break. Then it was time for the potential lodger to arrive and what can I say? She was lovely, we clicked immediately. She liked the house, the room, the garden, and I think (hope) she liked me. She left saying she would think about it and discuss it with her daughter – who came to the viewing with her – and let me know. A couple of hours later she texted that she loved everything and please could she move in the following Friday.

Now, I just have to hope my dad and brother can come and help me move three beds and a ton of furniture before then.

There is a feeling of kismet about everything that is happening. I wanted a friendlier, less stressful work environment. One came along. I needed a lodger. One came along. Do I dare to hope that after many years of adversity and bad luck, the wheel has finally turned and I’m on top instead of being crushed in the mud?

I just glanced at the coronation to see Charles being helped into ceremonial robes. I hate to say this, but he looked like someone’s ageing dad struggling into a dressing gown.

And now I must stop. You must be fed up with my ramblings and I need to eat something and make a start boxing up all Franki’s belongings from the back room to keep out of the way whilst all the furniture is moved.

One last thing, Mage Quest ~ Volume Two of the Erinsmore Chronicles ~ is now available to pre-order in eBook format at a special low sale price of only £2.99, and to buy as a stunningly illustrated paperback.

Erinsmore ~ Volume One of the Erinsmore Chronicles ~ is currently on eBook sale for only £1.99. But Hurry. Official launch day is the 16^th of May when both books will go up to their normal retail price of £3.99 each. Both books in all formats are available from Amazon.

Take care everyone and I’ll catch up with you again in two weeks when hopefully I’ll be able to report a smooth arrival of the lodger and that my departure from one job and commencement of a new one is all progressing as it should be.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Julia Blake