I'd had that job for six years. I was good at it. I was very good at it. Everyone said so. The boss, my colleagues, the customers. They couldn't do without me, could they?
So it seemed. Then the pandemic hit, the lockdown froze us out of business, the company shut down for who knows how long? There were redundancies, but not for me. I was put on the furlough scheme and, to begin with, the boss man topped my salary up to full pay. But when it became clear, after the first three months, that even without a full lockdown any more we still wouldn't be able to get back to work, that luxury came to an end.
No real worry, I still got more than enough to pay the mortgage, pay the household bills, feed myself and... well, there wasn't much to spend the rest on anyway. Going out? Don't make me laugh.
But the months dragged on, the end of the year loomed, and another big wrecking ball headed our way. Brexshit. The boss kept us informed of what we needed in the deal, if there was ever going to be one, to keep us viable. But when it came it was clear that the dog's breakfast of an end product was a killer blow. The extra red tape would soon have wrapped us in a slow death by strangulation. This was the end.
Redundant. No matter how much the word was sugar coated, no matter that I was released ever so reluctantly and with such huge regret, I was still out of work for the first time in my life. During the biggest recession, with rocketing unemployment, in a country that was going backwards, under a government that blended heartlessness, greed and incompetence into a mediocre cocktail of despondency. I'd never claimed benefits before, but I knew the scare stories about universal credit and how badly it had been implemented. With few savings behind me my mortgage was going to become an immediate problem. I saw myself turned into one of those people who have to make decisions about whether to feed himself or keep warm. In a world without hugs.
Morose about my uncertain future, aware of how easily I could let myself roll about in a mud pit of self pity, I ventured out into the daylight. Trying to avoid the idiots walking along with their heads looking screenwards. Or the couples who were too oblivious of others to walk single file for the five seconds it would have taken. I turned into the local park, where at least the pathways were wide and there was space to get away from people.
I didn't see her at first, hidden behind the approaching pair of legs. I sought eye contact with the woman approaching, seeking to determine which side we'd each be safest on, but she turned away, looking back. And then I saw her, a scurrying leg-whirl of white. I moved to my left, the lady to hers, and her companion stopped in the middle, and looked at me. Little brown ears, soft eyes, frantically excited tail, and so, so tiny.
"How old?" I asked.
"Nine weeks, too wee for a lead yet. But she's curious about everything and everyone."
I crouched down to get a closer look, and little Ms Nosey came right on up to my outstretched hand. Trusting, fascinated, expecting to be loved. She was gorgeous, cute, infectious in her 'the-world-is-wonderful-cos-I'm-in-it' confidence. I wanted to pick her up and take her away in my pocket, and never let her go.
"She's lovely."
"I know." The dog walker grinned her delight at this addition to her life.
"Maybe I'll see you both again." I said, rising, thinking it was the puppy I really meant. But when she said "I hope so. I'll be round again this time tomorrow. Best be going now, too cold to stand around." And she walked off up the path. The pup, uncertain who offered most, stopped to look up at me, looked up the path, and bounced off after the one who would feed her. Her owner looked back to check. On me and the dog.
I completed my walk with a smile on my face, and a lighter step than before. Was that all it took to make my world seem a brighter place? Yes. The cutest bundle of joy turning up, an attractive woman who didn't see the darkness I'd been wrapped in, and a future that, however uncertain, would always throw up a life that needed to be lived. There's always a way.
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