‘But I’ve made spiced falafels for him?’
‘I told you yesterday I was doing seasonal tuna salad – his favourite.’
Since my wife Kerry left, the maths teacher and pastoral lead have competed to be the best at looking after me: the grand supremo of kindness. Neither will blink. It’s not that they fancy me – I’m way too wrinkly – my best theory is that they’re subconsciously rehearsing for motherhood.
Kerry mothered me for a time after our youngest fledged. Mugs of cocoa would appear at my elbow during Match of the Day, mini marshmallows bobbing about like useless defenders. I don’t like cocoa – or marshmallows – but the kids did. Kerry started plumping my pillows on her way to bed too. This required a diversion on account of our separate quarters. My hunch that she no longer fancied me was confirmed when she went off with a Canadian cycling nut called Warren.
My colleagues have taken to calling me ‘pet’. They ask if I’m okay every five minutes and leave apples and cereal bars on my desk. The women top up my water without asking. The men administer absentminded shoulder pats on their way past.
Despite all this concern, their reluctance to take me home for the weekend is universal. There’s work and then there’s real life. You have to respect the boundary.
Nowadays there’s talk of ‘bringing your full self to the office’. Bad idea, that. My full self can be found boohooing into a William Morris print cushion which – in addition to no longer speaking to me of Britain’s trailblazing role in the international Arts and Craft movement – is smelling less and less like Kerry by the day.
But I’m trying to be open to it – my co-workers’ concern, their uneasy affection – trying to soak it up through the cracks for as long as it lasts. Romantic love? Turns out, it’s as perishable as tuna salad ‘accidentally’ placed on a warm windowsill. But kindness? Kindness goes on forever.
Next week, I’m making squash stew for the whole staffroom – my first five loaves and two fishes moment. It’s too late to be a good husband to Kerry, but this motley crew are stuck with me till I pack up my pens for the very last time.
‘I told you yesterday I was doing seasonal tuna salad – his favourite.’
Since my wife Kerry left, the maths teacher and pastoral lead have competed to be the best at looking after me: the grand supremo of kindness. Neither will blink. It’s not that they fancy me – I’m way too wrinkly – my best theory is that they’re subconsciously rehearsing for motherhood.
Kerry mothered me for a time after our youngest fledged. Mugs of cocoa would appear at my elbow during Match of the Day, mini marshmallows bobbing about like useless defenders. I don’t like cocoa – or marshmallows – but the kids did. Kerry started plumping my pillows on her way to bed too. This required a diversion on account of our separate quarters. My hunch that she no longer fancied me was confirmed when she went off with a Canadian cycling nut called Warren.
My colleagues have taken to calling me ‘pet’. They ask if I’m okay every five minutes and leave apples and cereal bars on my desk. The women top up my water without asking. The men administer absentminded shoulder pats on their way past.
Despite all this concern, their reluctance to take me home for the weekend is universal. There’s work and then there’s real life. You have to respect the boundary.
Nowadays there’s talk of ‘bringing your full self to the office’. Bad idea, that. My full self can be found boohooing into a William Morris print cushion which – in addition to no longer speaking to me of Britain’s trailblazing role in the international Arts and Craft movement – is smelling less and less like Kerry by the day.
But I’m trying to be open to it – my co-workers’ concern, their uneasy affection – trying to soak it up through the cracks for as long as it lasts. Romantic love? Turns out, it’s as perishable as tuna salad ‘accidentally’ placed on a warm windowsill. But kindness? Kindness goes on forever.
Next week, I’m making squash stew for the whole staffroom – my first five loaves and two fishes moment. It’s too late to be a good husband to Kerry, but this motley crew are stuck with me till I pack up my pens for the very last time.
