Semra's Tale

I stepped out of the station with my colleague Monica. The tagline under the town’s name read: the birthplace of the industrial revolution. I felt like I was walking into a history lesson. Monica glanced at her smartphone then pointed down a desolate high street.

It’s fair to say I never like working away, especially in towns like this. northern and industrial. As we began to walk I looked around me at the neo classical architecture. It would have been an impressive introduction, but the shop fronts were empty or filled with charity shops, fast food outlets and bookmakers. There was also the odd pub that looked far from welcoming. It’s a town that lives on memories of a golden age. A bit like my mother in-law

I shouldn’t be too critical, my husband is a northerner, proudly so. John was born in a town like this. He always tells me that being born in a place like this gives you soul. That having dirt under your fingernails gives you a healthy perspective of life. An inner drive to better yourself but not to forget your roots.

However, as true as that might be. John wasn’t exactly open minded when we first met. I think he had hardly interacted with a minority before he met me. Spending the first year of my life in Turkey, my parents moved to the UK to complete their further studies, Hence, I have lived most my life in London. Truth be told I see myself as a Londoner rather than Turkish.

Luckily for me, we both now live in the south where it's nicer, sunnier with better shopping... Not to mention more diverse. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the north. Its countryside is to die for. But my home is the south. It always will be.

Monica and I walked to the bottom of the street where we found our town centre hotel, a Premier Inn. It was a cheap and cheerful chain hotel but for a town like this may as well be a Hilton. I didn’t plan on spending the night here. Not that I had told Monica that. Instead, I planned to make an excuse after the pitch at the hospital then catch the last town out of Dodge.

The one good thing about this God awful trip is... Monica.

Monica is ten years older than me. She was fast approaching middle age. Not that you’d know it. She is young at heart. She looks like a former glamour model, even if it's one on a downward slope. Tall, blonde, relatively slim with a healthy chest but fighting the crow's feet and laughter lines. The office flirt. All the men love her. But so do the women. Basically, Monica is best summed up in four letters. MILF. As John crudely put it

But he had a point.

Not that I’m a lesbian. Far from it. But Monica lightens my day. She’s pretty awesome, really. My manager, my mentor, she’s even becoming a friend. That’s why when she asked me to go on a sales pitch to a client in a far-flung provincial town, I jumped at the chance. A girl needs a friend. But since I met John my friend count has dwindled. I’m not complaining. I’m happily married. But it was something that played on my mind.

And I don’t have a child.

That’s the main thing missing from my life. I and John had been trying for over two years now. It will happen. I think it’s just fate. Maybe when I get my promotion to Product Manager.

Life will work itself out. It always does.

~

The pitch proved highly successful. More so than we had imagined. Monica took the lead of course. She hammered the buyer until they were putty in her hands. She could sell sand to Arab or bad weather to a Brit. I backed her up with clean and crisp stats. We sold them a dream and they bought it. They didn’t just take the trial of our dementia , they signed up for two years. Two whole years! Head office couldn’t believe it until we sent over the paperwork. So shocked, management said we would not just be rewarded through our bonus scheme, but have also been forwarded a hundred pounds to celebrate tonight.

As I said, I had toyed with getting an early train back south. But Monica had other ideas.

Resting on my hotel bed texting John, I heard a knock. I was about to ask who it was when Monica let herself in. Her blonde hair flowed in locks as she stood in the doorway holding a bottle of champagne. Wearing a slim fitting trouser suit over an ivory blouse and high heels. She gave me a smile.

“Semra. It’s only fair you join me. But we can’t talk about work or kids.”

“I don’t have kids.”

“Good point. Of course, you haven’t. OK. Without me talking of kids, then.”

“It’s just...”

“You’re pregnant?”

“No,” I let out a sigh. I was becoming a little too broody for my own good. “Unfortunately not.”

“Please. Forgive me for always going on about motherhood. You’re still young. Enjoy yourself, there’s no rush. I used to be young and fun as you.”

“To be honest, I would like to be back home with John.”

“What?” Monica arched her trimmed eyebrows in mock shock. “Maybe you’re not as young as you look.” She offered me a glass. “Now, I know John is a handsome man. But from time to time a girl's gotta let her hair down.”

“I know. But…”

Struggling with the cork, she then whooped when it burst free, and quickly poured the champagne into a glass. “A night out is good for the soul. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“It does. I can see your point. It has been a while since I’ve been in a bar.” I thought for a moment… in fact, it had been years since I had a girly night out. “Maybe, Monica, I’ve gotten too comfortable spending my Friday nights on the marital couch.”

“Then, please? I owe you a drink for earlier. I was good, but my new favourite backed me good and proper. Plus, I’ve been waiting to take you for a drink. I think me and you will be a hit in the bars, Semra. More so, in a town like this. The cougar and her cub. - That’s what they call it now.”

“We’re both married.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’re only window shopping.”

I chuckled. “Every girl likes window shopping, I suppose.”

John was on an evening shift. Even if I got the last train back to London. I would be home alone until seven in the morning. Truth be told, when he gets back he’s always a zombie, anyway.

“Sure. Count me in.”

“That's the spirit, girl.”