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Sarah—‘Yes, over a candlelit dinner.’
Kim—‘On the third night of your honeymoon?’
Sarah—‘Yes.’
Kim—‘You told him about John?’
Sarah—‘Yes.’
Kim—‘And the abortion?’
Sarah—‘Yes. But I also gave him the opt-out clause. I told him if he wanted to annul the marriage then and there he could do so.’
Kim—‘You wanted out then, Sarah. That’s why you told him. You wanted out then. You just couldn’t do it yourself. Problem was, neither could he. Not then, anyway.’
Sarah—‘I realise I’ve betrayed him, Kim.’
Kim—‘Yes, but what’s more important is that by staying with him, Sarah, by marrying him, having his child, you’ve betrayed yourself.’
We sit in silence again. I think about what Kim’s just said. I love her clarity of thought. My thoughts are clouded by my feelings. When I’m with her I realise how much my anger, my fear, my pride have clouded my reason for such a long time. How I’ve become immune to the hurt, as though the emotional bruises are now an integral part of me. They have been there for such a long time. My feelings of self-contempt and wanting to do the right thing are so strong. I’ve always thought staying with Paul is the right thing to do—when I know, have always known, it’s not. But now there’s Ben. Little Ben. And it’s not his fault that this has happened. And I’ve got to protect him. And think of him. And think of myself.
Sarah—‘You’re right, Kim. Of course you’re right. But you’re not on the inside. I am. And I can’t see this the way you can. Without the emotion.’
Kim—‘Without what emotion? You can’t think straight because you’re angry and upset and perhaps a bit guilty, but also probably because you’re not eating enough and can’t think straight. You don’t love this man, Sarah.’
Sarah—‘I think I do.’
Kim—‘Well, I think you think you do, if you get me. But I don’t think you do. I think you’re proud and jealous and want to do the right thing, even if it’s not the right thing for you. And Paul has never been the right thing for you. Paul treats you like a child. He’s become your daddy and he just wants to control you. And now he resents you for it. He’s a controlling bugger, Sarah. Get out of this marriage now. He’s done you a favour. And if there is a she, which there may be, I think she’s done you a favour, too.’
Sarah—‘I’ve got to try to save the marriage, Kim. Even if it’s just for Ben’s sake.’
Kim—‘You should only try for your sake, so at least you can look back and say you did try and won’t always wonder if perhaps, maybe, it could have worked. Ultimately, you must make your own decisions and your own mistakes. That’s the way everyone learns in life. Not through other people’s mistakes. But take it from me, as a friend who knows and loves you for all your faults, you married a man who doesn’t know and love you for all your faults, Sarah. And he isn’t your friend anymore.’
We don’t talk through dessert. I sit and think. Kim lets me while she eats both apple pies and then complains of indigestion.
Duncan walks over to our table with the bill. Kim grabs it.
Kim—‘I think I should pay for this one. I’ve eaten most of it.’
Sarah—‘Thank you, Kim. I’m very lucky to have you as a friend.’
Kim—‘Bollocks. We’re lucky to have each other as friends. You’ve helped me through shit in the past. Perhaps this is my time to pay back. I’ve seen this coming for a long time. It’s what you need.’
Sarah—‘I haven’t asked a thing about you. How is Jamie?’
Kim—‘Oh, Jamie is fine. He’s working on a merger. He’s floating the company and it’s taking up all his energy and time, and I wish he could spend more time with me. But he can’t. You know. The usual.’
Sarah—‘He’s lucky to have you. You’re wonderful and special.’
Kim—‘I know. I tell him that all the time—usually just before I go down on him. He always agrees. Usually because I threaten to bite if he doesn’t.’
Sarah—‘I haven’t gone down on Paul for years. Forgotten what it looks like. Well, erect anyway.’
Kim—‘Probably small. He has a big house, big car, oversized ego and bank account. Say no more.’
Sarah—‘It always was small. But having a child doesn’t help. I’m not as, well, tight as I used to be. I’ve been doing those exercises. The ones with the pencil. But I don’t want to get lead poisoning.’
Kim laughs.
Kim—‘His penis is about the size of a pencil, is it? Oh, well. You’re missing nothing, then.’
We get up. Duncan comes over to say goodbye and gives me a hug, whispering.
Duncan—‘You look thin, Sarah. Hope everything is okay. Your friend is a pig.’
And smiles.
Duncan—‘Thank you. Lovely to see you.’
Kim—‘I don’t think your waiter friend likes me.’
Sarah—‘He likes your appreciation of his food. And your curly pink tail.’
Kim—‘Hug, then.’
We stand outside Circle and hug for five seconds. I start to sob again, very quietly, so my body shakes and aches. I have this feeling of dread, of something being just round the corner, that makes me feel faint and ill. And I can’t fast-forward this bit of my life. I’ve got to live through it and learn from it and grow. And standing there, with my friend, I feel terrified. And alone.
Kim—‘I’m here for you, Sarah. Your friends are here for you. And the one good thing about this whole mess is that you’ll find out who your friends are. And that’s worth a lot. Some people go through life and never find out. And another thing. If you don’t listen to anything else I’ve said today, listen to this. Don’t leave the house, and if you find out he has got someone else call me. Any time. Day or night. E-mail, if you like. Text. Anything. Paul sounds like he’s being a mean bugger. He’s arrogant, so will be self-righteous in anything he does—even when it is suggesting his wife and child leave the house. He’ll validate his behaviour somehow, so you’ll look bad and he won’t. Because that’s the way his mind works. He’s always been a good liar. He’s manipulative, mean, insensitive and self-obsessed. You just wait. You’ll see him for what he is soon enough. He’ll make himself out to be the injured party. Don’t let the bastard get you down any more than he already has.’
Sarah—‘I love you, Kim. Why can’t men be more like women?’
Kim—‘Because they have willies, darling. Because they have willies. And that’s where they keep their ego and their brains. Give Ben a big kiss from me. And call me. Now, I’ve got to get this twat’s article done.’
Journey back to Chelmsford takes an hour, but somehow it seems shorter this time. My mind is not on the journey, but buzzing with everything Kim’s said to me. Her insight into the situation, which I can’t see because I’m living it.
I collect Ben from nursery. His little face when he sees me and calls out ‘Mummy’ moves me to tears. He sings the Teletubbies theme tune in the back seat. I’ve got to try to make it work for his sake. I’ve got to try. But I’m tired emotionally. I’m tired of living in a house I hate, in a relationship I hate, with a man I think I’m growing to hate. And I think I hate myself. Kim’s right. I’ve got to deal with this head-on. But Paul and I have never been able to talk about the big issues—and it’s even worse now. So what can I do?
Back at the house, I let Ben play in the garden with his new bike, then give him tea—salmon in white wine and garlic. It’s really for his daddy, but somehow I don’t think Paul will turn up tonight. Ben is eating more than I do at the moment. I bathe him and read him a bedtime story. The one about the witch—Room on the Broom. He likes that one.
Ben—‘I lub you, Mummy.’
Sarah—‘I lub you too, Ben.’
Ben—‘Are you okay, Mummy?’
Sarah—‘Yes, I’m okay, Ben.’
Perhaps he senses something is wrong. They say children can sense things clearly at this age. They’re like animals; they know when something is wrong. No hiding anything from them. I feel very protective towards this little boy.
I work on the She feature, but don’t feel in the mood to write about romantic breaks, somehow. I switch off the computer. Perhaps Paul will make it home tonight. Perhaps not. So I wait in the sitting room and watch reality TV, which has absolutely nothing to do with anything real at all. Sets are fake. Situations are fake. People are fake.
The front door opens. The alien returns. It’s nearly eleven.
I get up and walk over to greet him. He looks morose and drunk.
Sarah—‘Hi, would you like something to eat?’
Paul—‘No, thanks. Had something on the train. Think I’ll just go to bed.’
Sarah—‘Okay. You do that. Say night-night to Ben.’
Paul—‘Will do.’
I hear Ben’s bedroom door open and a faint, ‘How’s my best boy, then?’ And a kiss. And a quiet ‘I lub you, Daddy.’ And, ‘Can I have a dog?’
Then I hear him go into our bedroom and close the door. I stay downstairs for ten more minutes. Watching blankly as a couple tear each other apart emotionally on Temptation Island.
I check on Ben, who is snoring happily in his mini-bed which has just been converted from his mini-cot. Our son is now a fully-fledged little boy, with Buzz Lightyear duvet and pillows. His room is the nicest in the house. Bright yellow walls, now almost covered with his drawings and paintings, and scribblings of his name and what he did for the holiday and what he likes to eat and what his favourite television programme is. Carpet deep blue, hiding all the baby sick and mess that comes as part of the package with children, especially boys. Because I’m told little girls are so much tidier and more mature.
But I’m so very pleased I had Ben—that I had a little boy. I remember clearly how I felt when I was in the labour ward and this little red and puffy bundle squished out and looked around as if to say, ‘Where am I now, then?’ And Paul was there to see his son come into the world, and he beamed with pride and love that day. And I remember the midwife took Ben away and quickly cleaned him. I said I wanted Ben straight on the breast, and he immediately hooked onto my left nipple and never liked the right as much. And he travelled with me wherever I went, and awoke every two hours for the first three months, and I didn’t mind one bit. I knew then he had a lovely nature. A gentle and kind nature. My sunshine.
Just a pity my dad never saw him. I was five months pregnant at his funeral. Hope he’s looking down now and smiling on us both. He would have loved this little bundle of joy. Ben’s a cuddler, and the best thing in the world is when he wraps his little arms around me and looks me in the eyes and says, ‘You’re very beautiful, Mummy.’ Because for that brief moment I feel I am.
Paul is fast asleep. Snoring loudly. Farting silently. Must open windows. Last time I didn’t, and almost threw up when I woke up. Don’t want to be gassed in my sleep.
Paul still an alien in the morning. Perhaps he thinks I’m one, too.
Paul—‘God, it’s bloody freezing in here. Why are all the windows open?’
Sarah—‘Thought we could do with some fresh air.’
Paul—‘I’m going to be late tonight. Work to do. Don’t wait up.’
Sarah—‘Okay. Is everything okay?’
Paul—‘Yes. Have you thought about what I said? About moving out?’
Sarah—‘No. Don’t think it’s a good idea. I work from here, and this is Ben’s home. It’s easier for you to move into London and get yourself a flat if you need the space.’
Paul—‘Told you how I feel about that.’
Sarah—‘Told you how I feel about that.’
Paul—‘We’ll talk tonight.’
Sarah—‘We won’t, because you won’t be back till late.’
Paul—‘The night after that, then. But we need to talk. I need space.’
Sarah—‘I know you do.’
Paul—‘I don’t like it when I’m around you.’
Sarah—‘I know. At the moment I don’t like it when you are around me either.’
Paul—‘Look, why don’t I give you an allowance of, say, thirty thousand a year, and you can look after Ben and yourself. I’ll even find you a house.’
Sarah—‘This is madness, Paul. What the fuck is going on?’
Paul—‘I told you, Sarah. I just need space. Don’t hassle me. Got to go now. Going to be late.’
Paul—alien, former lover, former friend—leaves bedroom. Prada underpants, smelling of something spicy. Soap on a rope worn out.
Confused, I get up and see if Ben is awake, so he can wave goodbye to Daddy. Ben is toddling towards me, big smile. ‘Hello, Mummy, hello, Mummy. Can I watch Teletubbies?’
Sarah—‘Say goodbye to Daddy, Ben.’
I pick him up and hand him to Paul. Paul’s face warms and softens and he smiles at this little boy and cuddles him, and I think, Hey, these moments are worth fighting for.
Twelve-thirty. Half an hour early. Circle again with Kim one week later. Half a stone lighter. Looking like someone out of a concentration camp. Distraught. Corner table.
Sarah—‘He’s got someone else.’
Kim’s face screams I told you so. Her lips don’t move. I continue.
‘He came home the other night, drunk as usual, and suggested we sleep in separate rooms. Don’t mind about that one little bit. He’s become really farty—so at least the bedroom smelt okay in the morning. Anyway, he was more morose than usual. Kept asking me when I was moving out. Got so bad over the past week I actually agreed to it at one point. And that seemed to please him. He actually hugged me and looked into my eyes and said that we could still be friends. His friend. What happened to being his wife! I asked if he was okay, said I was his wife, not just his friend, and didn’t feel he was being particularly friendly to me at the moment. In fact, I told him I thought he was a prat. And that he was neglecting Ben as well. Who’s had chicken pox all this week. And he hasn’t come home until after midnight each night. Then he said because I had failed to move out, to give him space when he had asked so nicely, he thought the only way forward now was a divorce. A divorce.
‘I was stunned. I asked if he’d met someone. His exact words were—I can remember them so clearly—“There is someone else.” As though this someone else was in the room with us at that moment. Like a ghost. I froze. Then collapsed. Then screamed. Completely lost it. Couldn’t really take in what he said to me after that. Crying. Ran into the other bedroom to get away from him. Didn’t want to be in the same room as him. I’d wanted to talk to him for such a long time about so many things, but at that moment, Kim, I didn’t want to talk to him or see him or know him. He followed me. And tried to hug me. But now I think about it, it was more like restraining me.
‘I thought, Fuck you. I think I said fuck you, actually. Well, screamed fuck you. But that’s understandable in the situation. I asked him if he loved her. He laughed and said of course not. I asked where they’d met. He said in a bar. I wanted to know so much—but didn’t want to know anything, if you know what I mean. Because it made it worse.
‘Paul then said that he thought it best if we slept in the same bed that night after all. He said he was worried about me. I didn’t want to, Kim. I really didn’t want to. But I did sleep in the bed. I couldn’t sleep. He was so drunk he went straight to sleep. Farting and snoring. Thought about lighting a match and blowing him up in his own gas.
‘I couldn’t sleep. At about 1 a.m. I got up. Got in the car half-dressed and headed for Samantha’s house. Rang on her bell. She looked confused, but woke up fully when I told her what had happened. She looked shocked. Couldn’t believe it. Not Paul. Not lovely, cuddly, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth, devoted Paul. Told her devoted Paul had found a new model and wanted a divorce. She said it was probably the woman’s doing. That she’d probably given him an ultimatum.
‘I stayed for about an hour. Then drove back. I’d sobbed a lot. Hard. And it was good to be hugged by a friend. When I got back the prat was still fast asleep, and next morning he said he hadn’t realised I’d gone. I had to drop Ben off to nursery, and asked Paul if he could call in sick today at work. He said he was too upset to go in, but wanted to be by himself. He said he was confused. I remember sitting on the bottom stair with him by my side, telling me he was confused. Then watching him from the bedroom as he walked down the street towards the centre of town. Listening to his Sony Walkman.
‘He didn’t come home that night. He’d told me he was due to see her that night. That they always met on Friday nights. But I asked him not to meet her this Friday night as it would be different this time. I would know where he was, what he was doing. And that would be particularly cruel.’
Kim—‘He stayed out, didn’t he?’
Sarah—‘Yes. He stayed out. All night. And I was destroyed, Kim. And it’s been nearly a week now. And I can’t talk and I couldn’t talk. You’re the first person other than Samantha that I’ve told. Because I think, hopefully, it’s a blip. But this has been going on for nearly a week, and I’m being strong for Ben but I’m weeping inside.’
Kim leans over and hugs me. I don’t know how long she hugs me. But Duncan usually welcomes us with the menus in the first five minutes, especially as he now knows the extent of Kim’s appetite, but I think the man has a sixth sense. Either that or he’s shocked by my size.
Kim—‘So you haven’t told anyone else about this?’
Sarah—‘Samantha has been there for me, but she’s just got engaged and I don’t want to burden her too much with this nightmare. The girl’s full of hope and love at the moment. She has no time for reality.’
