I was just about to leave the pub last night when my phone beeped. I was quite surprised to find this message from M:
in Dundee. can’t find ur flat.
I rang immediately, and discovered this to be the following scenerio had ensued:
After thinking that I had successfully talked R and D out of driving up to Scotland and beating the almighty living shit out of Fife, they kept an eye on my blog, and when I posted today that Fife was yet to leave they all decided to come up to Scotland to rescue me. M’s got a car now, so D met him in Kingston (where he’s still living), and they picked up R along the way. They were at mine a mere 8 hours later.
You know, so many of you have written on my comments section that I’ve got friends and family to support me through this, and until now, I didn’t realise how right you are. I cannot believe they have done this.
I met them at the Riverside Tescos and took them to the flat. Fife was still there and nothing was packed.
We opened the door, and he started talking, ‘I know you want me gone, but…’
D cut him off. ‘No. You are leaving.’
R asked what has my stuff and what was Fife’s. I said that none of the furniture was mine, except for the telly and the matress. Immediately M and R picked up the coffee table and began walking to the door with it. D said to Fife, ‘We’re putting this out on the street. You can either move it, or leave it there to be ruined or stolen. I don’t care.’
M and R continued bringing Fife’s stuff out the flat and down the stairs to the street.
The look on Fife’s face was priceless. You could tell, part of him wanted to fight, but he was in too much shock.
D then said to Fife, ‘Now get your clothes and the rest of your stuff.’
Fife just stood there.
D then asked if I had any boxes so that all of Fife’s books and extra bits could be packed away. Luckily I didn’t throw any of the boxes Fife moved into the flat with away, I just broke them down and shoved them under the bed. (Aw the bed. I’m going to miss the bed. I liked not sleeping on a mattress on the floor.) D pulled them out and began building them back up, and she said to Fife, ‘If you don’t tell me what is yours I’ll assume that all the books and papers are [mine]’s, and I’ll leave them here for her to keep.’
Fife just stood there.
‘Fine, I’ll do it myself then,’ and D went into the kitchen, rummaged around until she found some bin liners, went into the bedroom and started shoving anything that looked like Fife’s into bags and boxes. Honestly, I was in shock myself and just stood there as well. They were all so efficient.
It took a moment for Fife to come out of his daze, and he was too smart to have it out with the ‘gang’, so he pulled me aside and tried to ‘talk some sense’ into me as he put it. ‘Have you taken a pregnancy test?’ he asked.
‘None of your business,’ I replied.
‘It is my business. If you are pregnant, how do you think you will support yourself? You need to think realistically and practically about this,’ he argued. ‘Moving my stuff out and living in an empty flat on your own is not a responsible thing to do. You need to start thinking like an adult…’
Holy shit, that last part got my back up. ‘Me? Me act like an adult? That’s rich coming from you, the man child. You lie to get your girlfriend pregnant, you live off your ex-wife but refuse to get a divorce, you don’t discipline the children you already have…’
It was his turn to cut me off, ‘You do not bring my children into this,’ and he puffed himself up so that he was quite tall. He got right into my face, and I looked down at his fingers, which had only recently come out of the splints from being broken after hitting the wall.
But I wasn’t going to back down, ‘I will bring your children into this. You through a stranger into their lives when they needed time with you. You are so obsessed with breading you’re neglecting the kids you already have.’
That hand, the one that had until recently been bandaged, went up, and I thought, If he’s fool enough to punch the wall again and break the rest of his fingers, so be it.
What I had forgotten about was that D was keeping an eye on us, and out of know where she came flying. She landed on top of him with a tackle that would make a rugby player proud, and she started beating the ever living shit out of him, screaming that he would not EVER raise a hand to me.
M and R dropped what they were doing and pulled D and Fife off each other. One more second and Fife would have started defending himself, and as feisty as D is Fife could have hurt her.
‘I suggest that you go outside, get on your phone, and find someone to come around with a van to help you move your stuff,’ said R to Fife.
‘That bitch,’ Fife started. ‘She fucking went at me.’
Now M stepped in, ‘Mate. I would do as we suggest or the police will be called, and its us against you. [D] was merely protecting her friend from a batterer.’
‘Fuck!’ Fife yelled as he stormed out the flat. On the stairs I heard him calling several people, and a lot of the conversation went like this, ‘Yes, I know it’s Sunday night…’
Eventually, a van pulled up in front of the flat. Of all people, it was Helen and Dave. I was gobsmacked. Gobsmacked that Fife rang them, and even more shocked that they came to help. And where did they find a van on Sunday night? Dave and Fife loaded the van as Helen stood, arms crossed, foot tapping. Fife was going to get a right bollocking when they got home.
I felt like I should say something. I went outside and over to Helen; I told her ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not doing this for you. And I’m certainly not doing this for him. I’m doing this for my kids,’ and she walked over and got into the van.
After the van left, there sat D, M, R and myself in an empty flat. Nothing to sleep on, but they had anticipated this and brought sleeping bags. That night, as we lie on the floor eating pizza, we actually laughed about it. I mean actually laughed. The shock on Fife’s face. Their cunning plan to move him out. D beating the snot out of a man who’s twice her size. It was funny.
M then said, ‘Oh I forgot. I got his keys off him. They’re on the kitchen counter.’
I said thanks, then M added, ‘Now you’re not going to like this, because you’ve been doing this whole independent thing lately.’
‘Yeah, I liked you better when you were needy. You’d just ask for help. Much easier,’ R said half joking.
‘We’re worried he’s going to come back,’ M continued. ‘So, we’ve asked [HarryPotter] to come stay with you for the next couple of nights.’
Oh shit! This is not good. So not good.
I asked how they even got HP’s phone number, and M reminded me that I gave it to them over Jubilee weekend, because M and HP were hanging out while I had that meeting with Paris.
‘What did he say?’ I asked.
M assured me that HP claimed it would be no problem.
‘Do you tell him why?’ I asked further.
‘Yeah, because you kicked Fife out and Fife’s mental, that’s why.’
I asked if they told him about my potential ‘situation’, and M said he ‘didn’t think so’, but he assumed that HP knew anyway. I pushed M to remember, ‘Did you say anything to him about it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ was all that M would answer.
I told them that HP had no idea about me and Fife, or my ‘situation’.
‘Well, he didn’t let on that he didn’t know. I just asked him to come stay with you, and he said “okay”. It’s not a big deal,’ M argued.
D then piped up. ‘Unlike these fuckwits I actually properly read your blog. Yes, I know you and [HarryPotter] have had a weird conversation this weekend, but I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s cool and he wants to help.’
Is he really cool with it? Fuck! I’m sure he’s not. What am I going to do? I could call and tell HP that I don’t need him to come around, but what if Fife does come back? It’s highly likely that he will, and it would be good to have someone else here. But HP, why HP? Why couldn’t one of these guys have stayed with me?
As it turns out, D has had to take annual leave to help me out (knowing that she wouldn’t be back for work on Monday) and can’t take more time off. M’s got to be back at work for an evening shift tonight. And R’s got plans with his family while he’s back in the UK.
They’ve just left, and I’m doing a bit of blogging before getting ready for work. I can’t believe when I was in London for the Jubilee I thought the gang would never be together again. How happy I am to be wrong. I guess certain friends will always be around.