Ups and Downs

Warning – this post is for those of a strong constitution. Take the last few quotes as they are meant, with a pinch of salt.

Yesterday was a real rollercoaster of a day. Starting with the Bad News from Himself’s tooth, at least he made an appointment to see the dentist on Tuesday and he’s decided that if he can find the crown, he will ask Mark to fix it temporarily until he can get a plate made, and will then play with that.

‘I was talking to another musician on Sunday and he glues his plate in so he can play,’ he said. I wasn’t sure of that but felt it best to keep quiet. Any glimmer of hope on the horizon is worth gold dust in this household.

I then saw a cryptic note on the kitchen table.

‘What’s this?’ I said trying to make sense of the note.

‘Oh,’ he said vaguely. ‘C rang. She sounded rather upset. I wasn’t quite sure what it was about so I said you’d ring her back.’

(You can see why most of the really good secretaries/PAs are women.)

I did and found that the poor thing, who’s had a terrible time recently as her father was beaten up, had received a threatening phone call the previous night. The police were less than helpful and don’t appear to be able to do much. No comment.

She was off to see the police so I asked her to call later as I had a meeting in Truro. Set off, deeply worried by – well, everything really.

The Good News is that the meeting I had with a magazine editor went very well and I got many more commissions than I expected. And no deadlines, so I can work on the novel as well without chaining myself to the computer.

I rushed out of the building, trying to ring Himself with the good news only to find he was nowhere to be found (and his phone’s run out of money). Went on to another writing meeting where we spilled our news of the last few weeks, words tumbling out over bowls of coffee and cake in Waterstone’s café. There’s nothing like exchanging writing news with people who can really share what you’re going through, and somehow every minute was too short, and an hour and a half sped by with still not enough time.

I left there and when I finally spoke to Himself his voice was flat. ‘Well done, Pop. I’m really proud of you,’ he said, misery etched into his words. I could tell the cornet practice had gone really badly so when I got home I reiterated the offer of Plan B. ‘I don’t think we’ll need that, Pop,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait and see if I can get the crown back – if I’ve swallowed it, it’s got to come out. How long does it take to digest things?’

‘About a day,’ I said, wrinkling my nose at the thought of the forthcoming investigations. ‘Maybe 2 depending on what you’ve eaten.’

To cut a long story short, that evening we saw our friend who’d received the horrible phone call, had a glass of wine with her and her partner and sent them off with sleeping pills.

After walking Moll this morning we dashed back and Himself headed towards the smallest room in the house. Minutes later he disappeared into the yard with a bucket and started hosing things down. If you get my drift.

Then I heard a mighty ‘Hey!!!!’ and he stood there grinning, holding the tiny bit of crown aloof, like an Olympic medal. ‘And don’t you blog about it!’ he said. Some chance.

He came into the bedroom later (my “office”) and stared thoughtfully out of the window.

‘I wonder what else is in there?’ he said. ‘Can I sell it?’