How to Break Your Own Heart

by Maggie Alderson

  ‘You’re looking terribly well, Amelia dear,’ she said, as we settled on to her terrace for our now customary Campari and soda sundowner.

  ‘Am I?’ I said, slightly too quickly.

  Hermione was looking at me intently with those bright blue eyes of hers. They were set very deep within the folds of her wrinkled face, but the intelligence shone out of them. I was sure she had spotted my afterglow.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You have been looking a little weighed down by care of late, but this evening you have your radiance back.’

  Bingo! She knew. She was looking at me with the hint of a question on her face, one eyebrow slightly raised.

  I grinned back at her. I couldn’t help it. ‘I, er, ran into an old boyfriend,’ I said, and then just burst out laughing. Rather a girlish giggle.

  She laughed too. A silvery tinkle of a laugh that told me I didn’t need to be any more explicit. Hermione of the four husbands knew exactly what was going on.

  I went back to the cottage from Hermione’s place earlier than usual that evening, about seven thirty, because I’d hardly had any sleep the previous two nights with Joseph and desperately needed to catch up on my zeds. As I lurched slightly through Checkpoint Charlie, I realized I was starting to feel quite light-headed from it, especially with the Campari on top.

  I went straight to bed and fell into a dead sleep, only to be woken in what seemed like the middle of the night by my mobile ringing. Feeling extremely disoriented, I answered it without checking who was calling, thinking it might be Joseph. It wasn’t – it was Ed.

  ‘Amelia?’ he said, his voice very quiet and tentative.

  My stomach turned over giddily. It was weeks since I’d heard Ed’s voice, and it was so very familiar it made my heart surge in a peculiar way. I also felt a concurrent pang of extreme guilt about how I had spent the last couple of days. My heart felt as dizzy as my head.

  ‘Are you there, Amelia?’ he asked, when I didn’t answer.

  ‘Yes,’ I croaked out. ‘Sorry, Ed, I was asleep. I’m still half asleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you, but I can’t stand it any longer, Amelia. This has gone on long enough. We need to talk.’

  I really couldn’t think of anything to say. It was such a shock, and I was so sleep-fuddled I felt like a zombie.

  ‘When do you want to do that?’ I said, dully, still not able to think straight.

  ‘In about ten minutes,’ said Ed. ‘I’m coming to see you.’

  That woke me up.

  ‘You’re coming to see me now?’ I said. ‘In Winchelsea? In the middle of the night?’

  ‘It’s ten o clock,’ said Ed.

  I put my head in my hands and shook it.

  ‘Why now?’ I asked him.

  ‘I got back from another trip to France today, and the flat seems so desolate without you in it,’ he said, sounding sincerely upset. ‘I miss you so much, Amelia…’

  What could I do? It was his house: I couldn’t tell him not to come. Well, I could have, but I was so zonked out from lack of sleep – and other factors – I couldn’t think straight enough to do something that drastic. And he sounded so sincerely upset, I didn’t have the heart.

  So I got up, put on my dressing gown and stumbled downstairs to make some strong coffee, hoping to get my brain half in gear before he arrived.

  I hadn’t even finished drinking it when he tapped on the back door. It was weird to have him knock, but somehow right in the circumstances. I opened it, and there he was, looking particularly dashing in a white linen shirt which showed off his suntan. He had a bottle of Krug in each hand and his most winsome smile on his face.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I was hugging him. It was a completely automatic response to seeing someone who had been the most important person in my life for the last fifteen years after the longest separation we’d ever had.

  His smell was so familiar, my body just seemed to melt against his, and he hugged me tight, kissing me repeatedly on my neck in a way I realized he always had but which I’d long ago stopped even noticing. He nibbled my ear and I felt something starting up inside me. Something sexual.

  ‘Oh, Melia,’ he said, a catch in his voice. ‘I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so lonely.’

  Suddenly, hearing him speak, in that slightly self-pitying tone, snapped me back to reality. What was going on? Just twelve hours earlier I’d been clinging on to Joseph at Kiki’s door; now I was hugging Ed at mine. Or ours – whatever it was. I pulled away.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, consciously putting the kitchen table between us and picking up my mug of coffee, like a shield. I was worried that if Ed looked closely at me in that moment, he would know exactly what I had been up to.

  Instead he was looking at me with rather pathetic puppy-dog eyes, which had a strangely hardening effect on my heart. I now deeply regretted giving him that confusing hug, but it was too late: he was coming round the table towards me, his arms open, clearly expecting some more. I put my hand up and backed away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ed,’ I said. ‘Just give me a bit of space here. I need to take all this in. I was asleep when you rang and I’m still in shock. Just let me be for a while.’

  He looked extremely disappointed, mixed with a hint of irritation, presumably that it hadn’t all immediately worked out exactly as he wanted it, but he quickly rallied himself.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m so happy to see you, Amelia, I’m going to open one of these bottles to celebrate.’

  I let him busy himself getting glasses out while I sat at the table and finished my coffee, still trying to get my brain in gear. I clearly didn’t do a very good job of it, because when he handed me a glass of Krug I took it and practically knocked it back in one. He quickly filled it up again.

  ‘So,’ I said, the champagne buzz almost audible in my ears. ‘How come you’ve got in touch with me now? You’ve had nearly three months to do it and nothing – so why now?’

  ‘As I told you, I got back from France again, and the flat feels so horribly empty, I really can’t bear it. And then I had dinner tonight with all these happy couples, and it reminded me so painfully what we had. I miss you so much, Amelia. I had to come and talk to you immediately and try to sort this out. I was too angry and hurt to do it before, but now I realize we have to. We can’t go on like this, or we really will split up, and neither of us wants that, do we?’

  ‘Don’t you have Dervla for company?’ I asked him, deliberately changing tack, because I was intensely irritated by his assumptions about what I might want but didn’t feel up to discussing it.

  A strange look crossed his face. ‘She’s gone to stay, er, somewhere else,’ he said.

  He put his head back and ran a hand through his hair. As always, I thought how refined he looked in profile. He had such an elegant neck.

  ‘Oh, I’m going to have to tell you sooner or later,’ he said, sighing deeply and looking at me again. ‘I’ve had a bit of a falling out with Mommy dearest.’

  I said nothing, just raised my eyebrow as Hermione did when she knew there was more to be said.

  ‘She was going to come to France with me on this last trip,’ he continued, ‘but at the last moment she had a subsequent and better invitation – something smart in Hampshire – so she didn’t come with me. When I got back, I found that, while I was away, she had moved into your bedroom. She’d dumped all your things in the spare room and just moved in. I’m afraid I lost my temper with her.’

  I shook my head. It didn’t surprise me; it was exactly the sort of thing I’d expect Dervla to do – but I was surprised that I didn’t mind more.

  ‘But you can’t stop her staying in what is partly her flat, can you?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Ed. ‘She did remind me of that. In fact, she threatened to call her lawyers in, so I’m putting her up at Claridge’s until she goes home. That’s the only deal she would accept, and it’s costing me a bloody fortune, but I can’t have her in the flat any longer. I want
you to come back, and I quite understand that you won’t while she’s there. She’s been dreadful to you and it’s time for her to let her claim on the flat go. I think I am going to try and buy her out of her share of it, for the sake of our marriage.’

  I just looked at him, amazed – did he still think it was all about his mother?

  ‘Ed,’ I said gently, ‘I can’t seem to make you understand – this is not about your mother. As you well know, I have a truly dreadful father of my own, so dealing with psychotic parents is second nature to me. I can’t pretend I love having Dervla to stay, but I can handle it for a few weeks each year – especially now I’ve got this place to escape to. She’s not the overriding problem in our relationship, Ed. I moved out because of issues between us which have been building for a long time, and I’m really disappointed if you still haven’t figured out what they are.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you had better tell me, then,’ he said, looking quite beaten.

  He refilled both our glasses and I drained mine again. Where the hell should I start? The horrible snobby list? The separate bedrooms? The rubbish sex? The general world-according-to-Ed lifestyle? Or the big one – the baby issue?

  Ed stood up and opened the second bottle of champagne. I took a big gulp the moment my glass was full. He sat down next to me.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  I took a deep breath. ‘We have separate bedrooms, Ed,’ I began.

  He looked incredulous. ‘We’ve talked about that before,’ he said, looking quite relieved, as though that was sorted. ‘Is that such a big problem for you?’

  ‘Yes…’ I started.

  ‘Well, we’ll start sleeping together again. As I said before, it was only because I didn’t want to disturb you coming to bed late, but now you’re working for yourself, you don’t have to get up so early anyway. We can start sharing a bed again immediately, I don’t have a problem with that at all.’

  He raised his glass and then clinked it against mine, smiling broadly as though it were a great joke to break his own rule about glass-clinking. I really wasn’t in the mood for his Bertie Wooster snob humour.

  ‘That’s not the only thing, Ed,’ I said, becoming more impatient with the way he was looking at me so cheerfully, clearly thinking it was all going to be as easy to resolve as he’d assumed it would be.

  ‘Fire away,’ he said. ‘What’s the next point on the agenda?’

  I was so frustrated by his stubborn obtuseness, I really couldn’t think what to say. The fact that he didn’t know what we needed to discuss said it all. Just seven little words summed up the major problem between us, I worked out: YOU WON’T HAVE A BABY WITH ME! And if that still hadn’t properly sunk in with Ed, I wondered if there was any point me saying anything to him again at all. Ever.

  Making it even harder, my head was really starting to spin. With the lack of sleep, the black coffee and now the champagne, I was feeling almost faint – and even before Ed appeared I’d already been cranked up to an emotional fever pitch about what had happened over the days before with Joseph. It was all too much.

  ‘You know what?’ I said, putting my fingers on my temples, taking a couple of deep breaths and trying to compose myself. ‘I’m not up to having this conversation right now. Can we talk again in the morning?’

  ‘OK,’ said Ed cheerfully, as if everything was going perfectly to plan. ‘Let’s crash out and we’ll resume at breakfast.’

  I stood up, swaying a little, and made for the stairs.

  I fell into bed and sank immediately into a strange state of semi-consciousness. I felt paralysed with tiredness, but at the same time my head was racing. It was like my brain knew my body was asleep, but I was conscious of it, so I couldn’t be asleep. I kept slipping in and out of that feeling, and time became all loopy and confused.

  I don’t know how long it was before I felt Ed get into bed beside me. Maybe he’d been there for ages and I’d only just realized, but he was definitely there and he had his arms around me. I was lying on my side and I could feel what was clearly an erect penis pressing into my buttock. Immediately, it awoke all the intense sexual feelings of the last few days. I was fired up in an instant.

  In my asleep/awake state my body took over and without thinking twice about the implications I reached behind me to grasp Ed’s hard-on. Then, before I knew what I was doing I had rolled over and started kissing him, and then I was on top, riding him hard, pressing myself down on to him, pushing my breasts in his face, one hand between my legs to increase the sensation.

  In what seemed like a very short time, Ed shouted out and I knew he had come – seconds later, so did I.

  I collapsed back on to the bed and fell immediately into a blessedly deep sleep.

  25

  The next morning I woke up to sunshine streaming through the window. I glanced at my clock and saw it was nearly eleven. I felt completely disoriented. Had Ed really appeared at the cottage the night before – or had I dreamed it all?

  Then, with a lurch, I remembered everything that had happened. Ed had turned up when I was fuddled with sleep and coffee, we’d had the best part of two bottles of champagne and I’d had hot sex with him. And it had been that way round – I’d had sex with him. He hadn’t had that much to do with it. Otherwise, there would have been a condom involved.

  Oh my God! I thought, sitting up suddenly, as an unfamiliar sticky feeling between my legs confirmed it. We’d had unprotected sex – one of the very few such incidences in the whole time we’d been together. Quite ironic really.

  But as I took that on board, I started to feel really confused – and more than a little ashamed. What I had done with Ed didn’t seem right. Had I been unfaithful to Joseph with him? But Ed was my husband, so that didn’t add up. And why did I feel more guilty about betraying my adulterous lover with my husband than the other way around? I turned my face into my pillow and groaned. What a mess.

  Then my phone rang. Of course, it was Joseph. I saw his name on the screen and immediately turned the phone off. I really wasn’t ready to talk to him. Now, that whole scenario was starting to feel like some kind of a feverish dream.

  Had I really spent three nights and two days making love to Joseph James Renwick – the first boy I had ever kissed, best friend of my brother, Captain of the First Fifteen, legendary teenage consumer of tequila slammers? Or was I still married to the man downstairs? I didn’t know what was real any more.

  I lay there a bit longer, feeling increasingly panicky and muddle-headed, and then I heard noises in the kitchen. Ed was clearly up. I forced myself to get out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown.

  Working as always by my father’s rule, I reckoned it was better to face him and get it over with – although I didn’t have a clue yet how I was going to explain that, while I had ravaged him sexually just a few hours before, I wasn’t ready to move back in with him yet.

  Ed was sitting at the kitchen table when I came down the stairs, immaculately groomed and dressed as usual, in a fresh blue linen shirt, with two cups of coffee and the Saturday Telegraph on the table in front of him, everything as normal – except I hadn’t seen him at breakfast for well over two months. And it was usually me who made the coffee and got the papers.

  ‘Morning,’ I said, as casually as I could. I bent down to kiss him on the cheek, but he put his hand up to stop me.

  ‘It’s OK, Amelia,’ he said. ‘You can dispense with the amateur theatrics.’

  I sat down at the other end of the table and looked at him. Now I was even more confused.

  Ed folded his arms and looked at me with the coldest expression I had ever seen on his face.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘who are you fucking?’

  I stared at him, truly lost for words. Not just at what he had said – but how he had said it. Ed never spoke in such vulgar terms.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, feeling a treacherous blush rising up my neck.

  Ed nodded. ‘I’m right then,’ he said, a bitterly triumphant lo
ok on his face. ‘ That blush always did give you away, Amelia – but not as much as your whorish behaviour last night. I’m speechless.’

  You were pretty speechless at the time too, I wanted to say, apart from the odd orgasmic groan. But I could see that making smart remarks was not going to help the situation, so I said nothing.

  ‘I am so disappointed in you, Amelia,’ he said, very quietly. ‘I didn’t think things could get any worse between us, but never for a moment did it occur to me that, while we were having what I had assumed was a brief separation, you were going to start shagging around town. Presumably Kiki is your guide in these matters, as in all else these days.’

  Probably because there was more than a grain of truth in what he was saying – at least in the Kiki part – my astonishment was fast turning to indignant fury.

  ‘Hang on a minute, Ed,’ I said. ‘What about that Jane Seymour lovely I saw you dining with at the Wolseley a couple of weeks ago? How come it’s OK for you to “shag around town”, as you so elegantly put it, but not me?’

  He frowned for a moment, looking mystified, and then he started laughing. Not a nice laugh.

  ‘Irina?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know what she was called,’ I said, ‘but she was certainly your full Solitaire fantasy. Did she read your tarot after dinner? Did you enjoy fondling her hair? Frankly, I couldn’t believe how quickly you found her. Did you get her through an agency? Bond Girls-to-go?’

  Ed stood up and put on his jacket. He fished his keys out of a pocket, threw them up into the air and caught them again with casual mirthlessness.

  ‘I think this conversation has just come to an end, Amelia,’ he said. ‘Possibly for good.’

  I stood up too, now absolutely furious. Fully shouting. Hello, Daddy.

  ‘So that’s it?’ I said. ‘It’s fine for you to sleep with someone else, but not me – so now you’re just going to walk out without further discussion? Without even being man enough to find out why I left you in the first place.’