Four Takeaways and a Funeral

3. Unemployed

Chapter Three

Unemployed

A beer in the hand is worth two in a keg.

Rodger had sold the Read to Be Thankful Bookshop for the second time, leaving me unemployed and soon to be broke. I had woken up to a “no need to go in – shop sold” text bleeping on my phone, accompanied by several of those annoying smiley faces.

I had no idea it was up for sale. When I say no idea, I mean I had ignored anything Rodger said that I didn’t like. So when he said…

“I could work there until…”

“Please run until…”

“Will you take care until…”

I ignored anything said after the “until”… until, that is, the text with the smiley faces.

It had taken a while after the separation for us to be on civil terms again, and part of those civil terms was me taking care of the shop.

Originally, Rodger had arranged to sell the shop to a family friend of Shifty’s who had plans to make it into a deli with chairs outside. The last thing Lochgilphead needed was a deli with chairs outside, especially when the deli was vegan.

Smoked tofu in Lochgilphead is as popular as sunscreen and outdoor swimming. There aren’t many vegans in Lochgilphead, just as there are not many days when you can sit outside, especially next to a garage full of broken cars bound for the car cemetery. In the end, the sale fell through and Rodger asked me to run things until he could find another buyer, which I thought would take forever. Shops stand empty for years in Lochgilphead. In fact, it would probably be easier to sell a meat pie to a vegan than sell a shop in Lochgilphead.

Having stared at the text on and off all morning, I eventually decided to confront my ex. As I walked into the bar, he, in mid pint pull, looked up with a blank face.

“How can you spring this on me like this?” I said. “I love that shop.”

“There is springing and there is ignoring,” said Rodger, cryptically.

“And I could have taken over…” I muttered. “In time.”

Which was not strictly true; I had as much chance of finding money for the shop as convincing Mavis that curry was haute cuisine.

“With your belly dancing?” said Rodger – not so cryptically. “There is only so much of that bullocks a town can take.”

I watched him polish an already dry glass. He was not in good trim. He and Shifty had fallen out about the menu for the à la carte dining room. Turned out that Shifty was right and that steak tartare was a step too far for Lochgilphead.

Rodger was still sore from losing.

“And this time it’s different,” he snapped. “They want to keep it as a bookshop. And have already paid.”

I looked at him.

“I – we need the money,” he said, gesturing to the empty bar. “This place drinks it up.”

“Typical,” I said, looking at the only customer at the bar.

The old boy blinked and titled his glass at me.

“And I can’t afford to pay staff,” he said. “Well – you, actually.”

He began to talk about his plans with Shifty and how putting the Argyll on the map was high priority. “I need to focus on my artist talents – to save this place,” he said. “It’s our only hope.”

I let out an over-the-top laugh, causing the old boy to choke on his pint.

“Priority,” I said, “don’t think so, just walked past ‘entrepreneur of the year’ in reception. He was flicking through Fyne fishing like he was at the dentist.”

Which was not strictly true.

Shifty had been tossing out the out-of-date leaflets when I marched in. I stood with a “ready to do battle” stance, and he didn’t even look up; instead, without a glance, he said, “Tell His Lordship I’ll be in in a minute.”

Can’t remember the last time Shifty looked me in the eye. I think he’d rather I just went away. I used to think it was guilt, seeing as he had taken Rodger from me; now I realised it’s more to do with his mother, Betty.

Betty spent her evenings in my garden with the Bag Lady, who lived there in a teepee. And according to Shifty, spending time in my garden was turning his mother into a stranger with weird ideas. And no matter how many times I told Shifty that I had as much influence on Betty and the Bag Lady as he did the weather, he still blamed me.

“My mother has turned into a lunatic raving about the afterlife and ghosts,” he said. “And it’s not healthy, an old woman sitting by the fire drinking so-called tea.”

Rodger with his “I told you so” stance wasn’t much help either. But then Rodger never liked the Bag Lady, even back in the days when she sang in front of the bookshop.

I stared at my ex, and he snorted as he often does when grumpy. “It’s a great offer and I would be a fool not to take it,” he muttered, flicking off his tea towel under the sink.

I told him, “Withholding information was one of your most annoying talents,” skipping the tempting; “not that you had many” insult.

Until he pointed out that he hadn’t been withholding – I had not been listening. One of those moments where even one witness is one too many. The old boy watched me shrink as Rodger explained how many times he had told me.

“Splitting up is painful enough,” I said, “without you rubbing it in.”

Then Shifty entered, having heard the whole thing. He stood by his partner with usual solidarity and told me that “the whole splitting issue was past tense” and that I should “move on.” Then, he started to lecture me about how if I wasn’t prepared to listen, what was the point of having a mobile?

“Why don’t you get rid of your phone?” he said. “That would save you a bit.”

I told him that I did listen “but sometimes with filters on,” and Shifty with a loud tut snapped, “Filters – what next?”

I left after that, deciding to avoid the Argyll along with the new soon-to-be-refurbished, soon-to-be-open, under-new-management Read to Be Thankful. The truth was, without a wage I couldn’t afford a packet of crisps, let alone a pint or a new book.

Here’s me in the middle of menopause, living on last night’s leftovers, while Rodger was talking about artistic licenses with a partner as loyal as a pit bull terrier.

I moaned to my pals and immediately regretted it. The Bag Lady told me I was exaggerating and should apply for benefits.

Mavis, having told me to listen to Rodger many times, said little apart from “I told you so,” which I chose to ignore.

While Sheryl said I had fallen into victim mode and should find another job.

In the end, a job found me.