Copyright Helen Wilson 2012

It’s March 2017 now, of course, but my diary will begin some time ago.

(Entry 3) Monday 7 February 2005

The first weekend over – all quiet and surprisingly stress free.
The house is now clean and tidy whilst the trickle of deliveries over the last two days has meant that the empty rooms are now showing some signs of life.

Around eleven-ish this morning Tom popped around. Surprise, surprise! My darling son, as if, had apparently taken a day off university and driven over in his new black Mini to ‘see how Mumsy was doing’. Having said that he hadn’t a lot more to say for himself as per usual but, from his general nervousness, I got the distinct impression he was about to ask me for a little contribution, no doubt to ‘tide him over’ when I was saved by the arrival of the locksmith, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Tom had grown in the 12 months plus since we had last met up. Going from 17 to 19 had agreed with him and for the first time I noticed that his at times endearing boyishness had disappeared, as if by magic. Without any due care to my feelings, he told me quite unnecessarily that his father was ‘good’ – it must have been a new experience for him.
I made Gary, the locksmith, a coffee and Tom took one too. Gary took his cup from me, quite brazenly brushed my fingers and winked… ‘thanks love’, he said. What is it with the winks? Anyway Tom lasted another ten minutes and cleared out. I wasn’t sure whether it was the horror of locksmith flirting with his mother that caused the sudden departure or the fact that three local teenagers – who I had seen around at the weekend and who looked like they were due a stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure – were circling his car. Tom said he would try to back in the week and I shrugged my shoulders.

Gary finished up about an hour later having somewhat leisurely fitted new doors locks and window bolts. As I paid him – cash, of course, he winked at me again and smiled. He had a certain charm did Gary… I quite liked him in a liberated sort of way.

Tuna salad for dinner and a single glass of Rioja to follow – need to shape up!

Lying in bed writing this, I have this funny feeling that maybe things are on the up for me…

(Entry 2) Saturday 5 February 2005

Well, after all the haggling and long-ways-round to get me out of that man’s hair (not that he ever had a lot), I am at last in my new home. Admittedly some work will need to be done but as the van man who effected my move the day before yesterday told me: ‘If ever you need a helping hand – or two – love, I am there’ and he winked in a crude, knowing sort of way…. I have crossed his name from my diary list – I know that sort from old.

The three bedrooms have a musty smell, no doubt a result of the previous owner not being exactly meticulous about housework – is it possible to have rising damp on the first floor? Make a note to get a man in but preferably not one prone to winks.

Whilst checking for damp I looked out of the front window in the laughably noted ‘master bedroom’ to see my next door neighbour whose name according to Mr Wink is Chantelle, apparently an unemployed beautician from Dalston with terminally-dyed blond hair and a look that suggests a overdose of tanning parlour. Chantelle caught me looking and waved…. I waved back in my best manner and she gestured awkwardly, winked twice and giggled although I have no idea what she was gesturing, winking or giggling about. Winking by the way seems epidemic around here. Chantelle is the first woman, in my experience at least, that actually looked good in tight pink leggings and a red vest whilst smoking what I think such people call a ‘roll-up’.

(Entry 1) At the beginning Late January 2005

In 2004 I was 47 and you could say that I had it all. I lived in Hampstead, was married to man who earned a seven figure sum each year, had the looks, figure and poise of a young Deborah Kerr and had two beautiful teenage children. What I didn’t have simply wasn’t worth having, but in December 2004 it all went very wrong. My husband left me for a Chinese lady who had redecorated our bedroom in red Tibetan silk and green organza. At the same time I realised that I had never liked our children and, as they were away at school most of the time, that I didn’t know them anyway. My friends weren’t friends anymore and my husband’s lawyers were sneaky sons of bitches who stitched me up.

I came out of the marriage with nothing but a few clothes, some jewellery (that my husband was unaware of) and a settlement that would have shamed a man with no shame – but that’s my husband for you. If it has taught me one lesson it has been to never trust anyone in urinal manufacture again.

Anyway, not being one to dwell I bought a house on a former local authority estate near St Mary Cray in Kent for a knock-down price in February 2004 and set about living within my means.

I had a wonderful life when I was rich but this new life has thrown up an array of preciousness that has surprised me….. I’m just glad that I have managed to keep a diary…. it starts in February, 2005…