Diary of a Desperate Wife and Mother - aged 35...and a half

Focusing On The Present...For Now

Thursday

Victoria's Diary aged 35 and a Half

I have avoided my diaries for a couple of days now...I have no clue how I feel or what I want to say, but today I am attempting to at least acknowledge what is going on. I have discussed Steven with Gemma and tomorrow I am going to see Father Joe. Steven has messaged me to say he will be local to me from Saturday until Monday night and he can meet whenever I am free. Gemma has also text to remind me that I am booked in for a bikini wax because clearly what I really need in my life right now is a bloody bikini wax! Paul is being super patient and supportive but I think we both know that this weekend might be my one and only chance to meet with Steven again and if I don't take the plunge I might regret it.

Between Paul's serious expression and concerns for me in terms of meeting Steven and the can of worms that can never be put back in and Gemma's fixation on whether Steven's profile picture has been photo shopped or at least put through a filter my head is spinning. Paul wants me to be happy and not to try and run off with Steven and Gemma, well she wants me to be happy and also wants me to take photos of Steven to see if he really is that flawless. I laugh every time she mentions it and as much as I know she is trying to lighten my mood and the weight on my shoulder I also know that she is serious and rightfully so because having cyber stalked him Steven really does look a little too good to be true.

My Dad came into work today, he wants to book a holiday for him and my Mum as it's their golden wedding anniversary next year. He was clueless as to where she'd really like to go, but he wants to take her somewhere special, somewhere she'll love and won't ever forget. I offer to sound my Mum out and get back to him as he wants it to be a surprise for her. As he'd timed his visit to coincide with me finishing work we went and had a cup of tea and a slice of cake together in the café  I laugh as we sit down and I remember his confusion when the barista used the word grande instead of large. Once I clarified for him my Dad actually asked 'what is so wrong with asking if I want small, medium or large'? The barista, who was a very petite but scary looking woman with black and white hair and a rather aggressive demeanour just looked at him blankly whilst he shook his head and then ordered cake too. I have a very nice looking slice of carrot cake and my Dad, he has an Eccles cake the size of a bin lid.

We sit and chat, without saying anything really and then he asks if I am ok? He then goes on to tell me that I seem distant and a little lost, like he hadn't seen for a very long time, since Steven left. I stare quite wildly at his perceptiveness and try to brush him off, but he is having none of it. He tells me that he loves me, that there is nothing I could say that would ever change that, not for him nor my Mum then when he sees that I am struggling to know what to say or do he simply says, 'remember that Vic, always remember that' before asking how the kids are and Paul, do we have any holiday plans? We chat for a while and although I offer to buy more tea, or even a 'fancy' coffee, an offer my Dad turns down 'at these ridiculous prices' and then goes on to make a comment about 'even Dick Turpin wore a mask'. With no more drinks we go home, me to mine and my Dad to his own home, but not before he tells me not to mention the holiday plan to my Mum and not to tell Paul, who is my Dad's business partner that he wasn't in the office doing the accounts. I agree to both, although Paul has already text me and said my Dad has gone AWOL, probably to avoid doing the accounts, but my Dad doesn't need to know that. My Dad isn't ready to retire yet, despite having been able to for many years, but he likes to be purposeful and being involved with the business gives him purpose, but the truth is that Paul runs the business on a day to day basis and is far more hands on with the physical labour than my Dad is now.

I spend some time with Finn, playing board games after his bath and before bed and it's fun, for us both, even if Finn does like to make up rules and changes the existing ones if he's losing. I would like to meet the person responsible for thinking up the one we are currently playing, or any of the games my son favours, the more disgusting the better...there's one involving a plastic dog that you have to feed until he poos, then there's the one that involves a can of squirty cream, but we can't play that one, we have no cream, we did have, but uninhibited, sober sex with my husband saw that off a couple of nights ago. So, we are playing the game whereby you literally take turns to pull the snot from a plastic face but eventually someone pulls one out and the head explodes, sending brains everywhere, clearly when my Mum and Nan used to warn me about picking my nose they knew what they were talking about.

Once we're all played out I put Finn to bed and read him a story involving an underpants wearing superhero who is permanently averting some poo related disaster. He falls asleep quite quickly leaving me at a loose end. I go into my own bedroom and settle on my bed with my old diary. I am startled to see my signature on the page I open it at, my old signature, Victoria Smith and then others. I laugh as I remember writing these, practising them, trying out various versions of them out for size; Victoria Pallister, Tori Pallister. I remember doing the same just before I married Paul and it is that point that my husband chooses to come into the room. He watches me for a few seconds before preparing to leave me alone.

Watching him turning away I make a decision and put my diary away. I am going to have to face the past soon enough, by discussing it with Father Joe and most likely by meeting Steven over the weekend so I don't need to do this, I do not need to reread what my life once was, I know what it was and what I planned on it being, but now, right now I need to leave it in the past and instead focus on who and what I am, Victoria Marsden, wife and mother not Tori Smith, Steven Pallister's girlfriend, future air steward or God forbid, Tori Pallister, wife of Steven and owner of a house with a conservatory!

Throwing my diary back in the drawer I follow Paul with the suggestion of watching something on the TV or a film, just the two of us and anyone else will just have to wait until tomorrow.