How to Break Your Own Heart

by Maggie Alderson

  ‘Are you all right, my most precious Heady?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘You can always rely on darling Daddy to make a party go with a swing,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’m sorry he was so appallingly rude to you.’

  ‘As I told your mother, please don’t apologize to me. I can take it. You know how I am about teachers – water, duck’s back, etc., etc. I just don’t want you to be upset by the old tyrant.’

  I sighed deeply and blinked hard, patting his hands, which were clasped around my waist, but staying resolutely facing towards the kitchen wall. I didn’t want him to see how close to tears I actually was. Tears of frustration that he couldn’t understand that what might be upsetting me was not my father’s bad behaviour – although that was bad enough – but Ed’s own attitude to the children issue.

  I would have to bring it up with him again soon, I told myself, but once again this was not the time or the place. I just wanted to get through the hours until we could leave there and I could feel like an adult again.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Ed,’ I said, when I trusted my voice not to quiver. ‘We’ll talk about this another time. Is Mum OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She was coming out here to see if you were all right, but then she stopped and asked if I wanted to talk to you first. She’s so thoughtful like that. I really don’t know how she stands living with him, so I’m going to go and make light and entertaining conversation with her – is that good?’

  ‘That’s very good,’ I said, turning round to kiss him on the cheek.

  He left and I leaned against the sink and let my head drop down. I suddenly felt exhausted. Surely, I told myself again, it was only a matter of time before Ed realized what we were missing out on as a couple or saw how unhappy it was making me?

  But my father’s outburst had reminded me, all too painfully, that perhaps nothing would ever change Ed’s mind. After all, lovely though he could be, he was the most stubborn man I had ever met – apart from my dad.

  So, drying my hands, smoothing down my hair and putting on a smear of the lipstick my mum kept in the cutlery drawer, in case of unexpected visitors, I readied myself to go back and join her and Ed in the sitting room.

  For the time being I would deal with it in the best way I knew, resorting to my family default setting – which was not to think about it. Because what was there to think? If he didn’t change his mind pretty soon, the only way I would ever be able to have children would be to leave Ed and find somebody else to have them with. And how could I possibly do that?

  17

  The next day didn’t start out much better for poor Ed. As a big treat for my mum, who cooked seven breakfasts, two lunches and six dinners a week – my father had a takeaway curry every Thursday night – we were going out for lunch on Saturday. To a pub.

  For Ed, it was the only thing worse than eating at my parents’ house.

  ‘If you can find me a pub where they have Château Lafite on tap, then I might like them,’ he’d once told me, with heavy emphasis on the ‘might’.

  But I still had a lingering affection for a good old English pub. When I was young I had been thrilled to go to the various real-ale venues enthusiastically frequented by Dick and his friends, to binge-drink Archers and lemonade or whatever sickly concoction the girls were into that week, and I still loved the atmosphere of the old pubs in the countryside around Maidstone.

  Driving out to one of our favourites, the Bell, in a small village about ten miles south, brought back just such happy memories, and I gazed out of Dick’s car window at the countryside, which was springing magnificently into leaf in the May sunshine, remembering many previous excursions there as a child, teenager and student.

  Adding to the sense of jollity was Dad’s absence. He’d had to go into school that morning for some kind of sporting fixture so it was just the four of us, which was a great relief all round. Especially to him, I imagined.

  I had long ago worked out that Dad experienced deep shame after an outburst like the one the night before, which had the unfortunate effect of making him even more bad-tempered the next day. He usually found a way to make himself scarce on those occasions, I’d noticed, and that morning I was particularly glad of it.

  I felt as though every brand-new beech leaf, hawthorn blossom and bluebell we passed down the narrow lanes on the way to the pub had turned out just to say hello to me, and I was feeling almost overwhelmingly nostalgic by the time we got there. So really I shouldn’t have been surprised to find Joseph Renwick waiting at the bar when we walked in.

  Mum was delighted. She’d always adored Joseph, so I was relieved that her excitement at seeing him gave me the space I needed to compose myself. I was still confused about those intense looks that had passed between us at Kiki’s party and in the hospital – and that freaky dream I’d had the previous weekend added greatly to my discomfort at seeing him again.

  So I was happy to lose myself in the mêlée of excited hugs, back-slapping and hand-pumping that was going on – Ed doing his best to look enthusiastic – as it became apparent it was no coincidence that Joseph was there. He was down in Kent for the weekend to see his parents and was having lunch with us by prior arrangement with Dick. I wondered absently which of them had suggested it.

  ‘So how were the birthday celebrations?’ asked Joseph, as we sat down at a table in the garden – a bench table, Ed’s idea of the third ring of hell in dining terms. ‘Any major nuclear explosions?’ continued Joseph, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  With extensive experience of my father as his deputy headmaster, his history teacher and his best friend’s dad, Joseph knew exactly what Stormin’ Norman was like and had always managed to be real about it in a humorous way.

  ‘Just a minor earthquake,’ said Dick, slipping seamlessly into family damage-limitation mode. I felt Ed tense next to me, clearly anxious that the details of last night’s outburst might be discussed again – and in front of somebody he disliked. So I quickly jumped in and told the story of what I had done with the wine.

  As it was still news to Mum and Dick, it went down very well, and the whole table was soon shouting with laughter. Most importantly, I felt Ed relax. Dick thought it was the best thing ever. The combination of alcoholic drink and outwitting Dad delighted him so very much.

  ‘Oh, my darling sister,’ he said, putting his arm around me and giving me a quite painful squeeze. ‘You are such an excellent girl. Even to my ignorant palate, I thought that wine was pretty decent for a wine club. I was thinking of joining. That is hilarious.’

  Looking across the table, I saw Joseph was also grinning at me. The sunlight was shining on to the lenses of his glasses, obscuring his eyes, but when he moved his head I clearly saw an expression in them I remembered from twenty years before. And from Kiki’s party. And from the hospital. Affection, admiration and unabashed sexual attraction.

  I looked quickly away. On top of everything else that had happened that weekend I really couldn’t take on the confusing feelings that Joseph still seemed to inspire in me.

  I felt almost as relieved as Ed clearly did to get on to Eurostar late that afternoon. He was smiling like a happy Buddha from the moment we cleared security at St Pancras. He loved that train as though the whole thing had been laid on specially for him, and his delight continued to grow as we arrived at the Crillon and were shown to our usual room.

  ‘Ah, Heady Bouquet,’ he said, pulling me into his arms as the porter closed the door behind him. ‘ This is more like it. Do you know, I don’t think I want to wait much longer to be reminded how nice the sheets are here. I think we should go to bed right now.’

  He undressed me slowly, approaching sex, like everything else, in his connoisseur’s manner, and by the time I was naked under the covers, his careful attentions to almost every part of my body had worked me up into a fairly dizzy state.

  But as he reached for the condom he had placed ready on the bedside table with his usual forward planning, I felt desire leave me in an inst
ant. I could hardly remember what it was like to have sex without one of those hideous raincoats. I wanted to feel skin on skin – everywhere.

  ‘Do you have to use one of those?’ I said to him, as he started to roll it on.

  He stopped and looked at me, puzzled. ‘What?’

  ‘Do we have to use a condom, Ed? It would be so nice to make love without one now and again. It’s not like we’re strangers having safe sex. I’d just like to remember what it feels like. A pre-birthday treat?’

  He slumped back on to the bed. ‘Well, it would hardly be a birthday treat if you got pregnant, would it?’

  ‘It would for me,’ I said, starting to feel really irritated, the suppressed emotions from the night at my parents’ house suddenly welling up.

  ‘Oh, Amelia,’ said Ed, his voice getting tenser. ‘You know how I feel about that subject. I’ve already had it this weekend from your father, and I really don’t need it from you as well. You know my point of view. End of discussion.’

  He sighed and threw the condom on to the floor. ‘Well, I don’t need that now, thanks, Amelia.’

  He got out of bed and started to get dressed. I watched him, speechless.

  ‘I don’t know where you have booked for dinner tonight,’ he said, as he zipped up his flies, ‘but it’s already quite late. I’ll be in the bar when you’re ready.’

  I lay there for a second, in some kind of shock, as a wave of anger rolled up inside me like nothing I had ever experienced before. It flashed through my mind in that moment that this must be what my father felt like just before he went off on one.

  ‘Is that it?’ I hissed at Ed. Then my voice got louder. I was shouting. ‘Is that all you have to say on the subject? Your hard-on has gone down so subject closed? Well, maybe I’ve got a lot more to say on the subject of contraception and pregnancy – have you ever thought of that?’

  I actually saw the colour drain from Ed’s face with shock. I was pretty shaken myself. I had never shouted at him before – in fact, I wasn’t sure I had ever shouted at anyone.

  ‘I’m not going to discuss anything with you while you are yelling like a fishwife,’ he said, his voice quiet but a little wobbly.

  ‘Well, isn’t that convenient?’ I said, still raging in mad-Dad mode. ‘You can only discuss the most important thing in our marriage when it suits you and if the appropriate conventions are observed. Well, life’s not like that, Edward Bradlow!’

  ‘Mine is,’ he said, very quietly. ‘And if you would like to have dinner with me – and perhaps discuss this in a more civilized manner – I will be downstairs.’

  I threw a pillow at the closing door and then just stayed there, kneeling naked on the bed, panting like a dog. I feared my eyes were bugging out, just like my dad’s did.

  I could feel the intense anger ebbing away, almost as quickly as it had come, but my heart was pounding, and I felt quite sick and shaky from the adrenaline rush it had triggered. No wonder my father was such a freak if he felt like this all the time, I thought. It was most unpleasant.

  I took a few deep breaths and wondered what to do. Ed had generously – ha! – said we could discuss the subject further over dinner. Unbelievable! Perhaps he’d like to table an agenda, I thought, put it to the committee.

  But I’d had enough of all that. For once in my life I needed to talk about this thing that mattered so much to me in a real and meaningful way, and I wasn’t going to do it in hushed tones over a tiny portion of duck breast, with painful waiters hovering around.

  I picked up the phone, dialled the number for the bar and asked the barman if he could kindly tell Mr Bradlow that his wife wasn’t feeling well enough to join him for dinner and he should make his own arrangements.

  The thing was, I’d been so busy before we left, I’d actually completely forgotten to book anywhere for dinner that night. It was a shocking oversight, and in normal circs I would have felt terrible about it, but now it seemed like some kind of perfectly set up revenge. He’d never get into any of the places he deemed ‘acceptable’ on a Saturday without a reservation. I hoped he’d end up at McDonald’s. It would serve him right for being so selfish.

  When I hung up, I still felt a bit wobbly and decided to have a bath to calm myself. As I stepped out of the bed my foot touched something cold and slimy on the carpet – it was the bloody condom. Horrid, smelly, rubbery thing. Yuk. I wrapped it in a tissue and threw it in the bin, although part of me wanted to drape it over Ed’s pillow.

  I ran the bath, grabbed the miniature of Scotch from the mini bar, poured it over ice – sacrilege in Ed’s opinion – slid into the deliciously deep, scented water and considered my situation.

  In every regard apart from this increasingly pressing baby issue, I still really loved my husband. I respected him, I admired him and I relished his company. He made me laugh. He spoiled me. He was very good to my mother and mostly thoughtful and generous to me. I enjoyed the things we did together and the glamorous experiences we had through his business. I still fancied him too, when I got the chance, even despite the bloody condoms.

  But his implacable attitude to my increasingly desperate desire to have a child just didn’t seem fair. What had he said again? ‘End of discussion…’

  Why? Why was his opinion the final one?

  And, I thought, topping up the hot water, if I was honest with myself, I was also beginning to resent sleeping alone in a separate bedroom, and the amount of time generally I spent on my own while he was holed up in his dark study with the door closed or gallivanting around France buying wine.

  If we had a baby, I thought, at least I’d have someone to talk to.

  I sighed deeply, feeling I’d reached a dead end in my thoughts, and after a few minutes just staring into space, I got out of the bath. Then, as an act of pure rebellion, I ordered room service, a style of eating Ed considered on a par with cannibalism.

  I rather enjoyed my dinner. I sat up in bed and had a hamburger, with French fries and lots of ketchup, giving him a mental finger as I ate them. I watched a couple of rubbish films on cable and then, noticing it was past midnight, vaguely wondered where Ed had found to have a dinner that was worth lingering that long over on his tod. After that I read for a little while and then fell asleep.

  I woke at 4 a.m. desperate for water – my mouth tasted horrible from the raw onion that had been on the burger – and it wasn’t until I completely came to that I realized I was still alone in bed. Ed hadn’t come back.

  It was so strange I immediately rang his mobile, but it was turned off and that was pretty much the end of sleep for that night. Ed never stayed out late like this, it just wasn’t his thing.

  I did know people whose husbands went on cocaine-fuelled benders ending up in lap-dancing parlours at seven in the morning, but that wasn’t Ed’s style. He stayed up very late in his study at home, but never out. And he never took drugs. He said wine, armagnac, coffee, animal fats, work and being with me provided all the thrills he needed.

  I kept trying his mobile, and when there was still no reply at 5 a.m. I really started to get worried. Perhaps he’d been mugged while he was walking the streets of Paris looking for somewhere to eat. Or maybe he’d been knocked over crossing the road and looking the wrong way after drinking too much. I wondered if I should ring the concierge desk and ask them to start calling the hospitals for me.

  I must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because I was woken by the sound of a key in the door. I sat up feeling really disorientated to see Ed walking in looking perfectly fine. I felt a surge of relief he was OK, followed by anger about what he’d put me through.

  ‘Ed!’ I cried out. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been asleep,’ he said, coldly.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In another room,’ he said.

  ‘Another room here?’ I asked, really confused.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I felt I needed a little time to myself after what happened last night – and the night befo
re, for that matter – so I managed to get another room here. I see you enjoyed room service.’

  He pushed my tray out of the door with his foot and closed it.

  ‘Where did you have dinner?’ I asked, stupidly. It seemed the only thing to say.

  ‘L’Arpège,’ said Ed.

  And then we caught each other’s eye and we both started laughing. It suddenly seemed so funny, but really it was just a blessed release of tension.

  ‘Well, at least you had a good dinner,’ I said, meekly.

  He sat on the bed and took my hand. ‘I would have enjoyed it much more if you had been with me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ed,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I blew up like that. It’s just I really don’t think you understand how serious I am about that subject.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Ed, sitting on the bed and taking my hand in his. He sighed and stroked the side of my face with his other hand. The warmth was back in his eyes. ‘You are right. I was dismissive about it last night, but I don’t think you understand how serious I am about it either.’

  We just looked at each other. Deadlock. What was I going to do, start shouting at him again? What would that achieve?

  ‘Never mind for now, my darling,’ he was saying. ‘We will talk about it properly, but can we leave it for the time being? We’ve had a crap couple of days, but we’re in our favourite city and there’s a bright blue sky out there – so let’s try and make today better, shall we?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Happy birthday, Ed,’ I said in a very small voice. ‘We’ll always have Paris…’

  After that disastrous start we had a great morning. He loved his present – a first-edition hardback of Dr No – and we had a glorious time drinking hot chocolate in Angelina’s, where we always had breakfast in Paris, then strolling through the Tuileries and sitting in the sunshine watching the Parisian world go by.

  Everything was great until we went back to the hotel to change for lunch. When we were in the lift on the way back down again Ed asked where we were going. I said it was a surprise.