Letters to a Love Rat

by Niamh Greene

  The couple walk quickly away, the girl looking over her shoulder as if she half expects me to take a running jump at her and wrestle her to the ground. I can’t believe what I’ve just done. Maybe I need help – a one-on-one with a psychiatrist. Or perhaps something more concentrated – like an intensive residential course somewhere. It mightn’t be too bad, not if there were steam rooms and massages on site.

  I quickly start half-jogging, half-hobbling back home. I have to get back inside before I say or do anything even worse. It’s not safe for me to be out here; who knows what else I might do? I look around and realize I’ve come further than I thought. I definitely can’t walk back because my feet are throbbing with pain, so before I have time to think about it I’m waving down a passing taxi, stumbling into the back seat and giving directions to my flat.

  ‘Tough day?’ The taxi man catches my eye in the rear-view mirror as I lean back into the seat and try to breathe. He can obviously tell from my expression that things are not rosy in my garden.

  ‘You could say that.’ I smile wryly at him. It’s not his fault my life is so awful; there’s no point being rude. And anyway, I like taxi drivers – they’re always so interesting. They all have brilliant stories to tell about people throwing up in the back of their cabs or having humdingers of arguments. If I wasn’t feeling so awful I’d get him to tell me some.

  ‘Well, cheer up, love. It might never happen.’ He winks back at me.

  I smile weakly at him but I don’t answer. It already has happened, I want to tell him. I’m in a living nightmare and I have no idea how it all came to this.

  ‘Anything nice planned for the weekend?’

  The cab driver isn’t giving up. He really wants to make small talk.

  ‘Not really,’ I offer, hoping this will be enough to placate him. ‘Do you?’

  I hope he doesn’t. I don’t want to hear about it if he’s doing anything even remotely nice.

  ‘Yeah, I’m taking the wife to Marbella. It’s our ten-year anniversary.’

  He’s beaming at me. In fact, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I think he’s puffing out his chest with pride, just a little.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I say, horrified. He’s going to tell me all about his perfect marriage, I just know it. I wonder if I can get out here, before I have to hear all about how happy they are together, how they love each other more now than they ever did, how they’re probably going to renew their wedding vows in sunny Spain. But the traffic is streaming by so I’m trapped in the back seat. I couldn’t get out even if I wanted to.

  ‘Yeah, we can’t wait. You married?’ He glances at me in the rear-view mirror again.

  ‘Um, yes,’ I say, feeling more uncomfortable. Technically, I’m still a newlywed, even if I don’t feel remotely like one. I twist my wedding band on my finger. It feels hot against my flesh, like it shouldn’t really be there.

  ‘That’s nice.’ The taxi driver nods approvingly. ‘How long you been hitched?’

  ‘Not long,’ I say, desperately trying to think of something to change the subject. I’ll ask him about football – that’s a good one. Now, which league is which? Is the premier league different to the championship league, or are they the same thing? Or maybe premier league is rugby? For the life of me, I simply can’t remember. I’ve never been any good at pretending to like sport, and now my mind is utterly blank. I can’t even remember the name of a team.

  Before I can head the taxi driver off with a weather comment, he’s in again.

  ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t do without my missis. She’s an angel on earth.’

  He sniffs. From where I’m sitting it looks like his eyes are actually welling up with tears. This is all I need.

  ‘Oh,’ I squeak. I don’t know what else to say.

  ‘Yeah, we’ve been through thick and thin together, so we have. She’s my best friend, do you know what I mean? There’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with.’

  We’re stopped in traffic and this gives him the opportunity to blow his nose loudly into a handkerchief he’s just produced from up his sleeve. This would be the perfect chance for me to give him the fare and escape, but I can’t because what he’s just said has rocked me to the core.

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ I say weakly, my head spinning. And I do. Because that’s the way things were between David and me. We were best friends as well as lovers. He was the one person in the world I wanted to spend every day with, the one I wanted to share every experience with.

  ‘Yeah, there has to be that something special between you – that magic – for it to last.’ The taxi driver snuffles now, overcome with emotion. ‘We’re so lucky, aren’t we? Not everyone finds their soulmate.’

  He gives me a watery smile and I nod my head, misery washing over me because I have a horrible feeling that Charlie and I never felt that way about each other. I’m not sure we had that magic between us, that special something that keeps people together for ever. That special something that David and I had.

  ‘Is this your place, love?’ the taxi driver asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  He pulls up to the kerb outside my flat, the car shuddering to a halt.

  As I look at my front door, my heart sinks. I don’t want to go back inside and face Charlie’s letter or what it means. I don’t want to have to figure out what to do next. I want to tell the taxi driver to keep driving as fast as he can away from here, to keep going and never stop, because deep down inside I’m starting to think that getting married to Charlie might have been the biggest mistake of my life.

  Julie’s Blog

  9.01 a.m.

  Very bad night. Got so frustrated trying to get Mr X to stop snoring that I finally gave up and slept on the sofa. This has got to stop. It’s been going on for days now. I don’t think I can take much more.

  9.02 a.m.

  Maybe I could get him some nasal strips – that might help.

  9.03 a.m.

  Or I could ask him to have one of those operations – the ones where they cut out the frog thingy in your throat so you don’t snore any more.

  9.06 a.m.

  Or I could ask him to move out and get his own place, then I could have some peace and quiet and complete control of the TV remote again… Oh, where did that come from? I don’t mean that. At least I don’t think I do. It’s just that I was really hoping things would be good between us again after the wild stationery-cupboard sex, but they’re not, and I can’t help feeling that it’s because, deep down, we have absolutely nothing in common except a passionate lust for each other… and even that’s waning. I couldn’t help but notice in the harsh bathroom light this morning that Mr X is getting a small bald patch. And, even worse, wiry hair is growing in his ears.

  9.08 a.m.

  It must be the sleep deprivation. It’s making me really grumpy. I’ll be fine once I get a good night’s rest.

  9.09 a.m.

  But if he tries to tell me just one more time that I haven’t lived until I’ve tried organic porridge, I’ll kill him, I really will.

  9.18 a.m.

  Just saw the new janitor. He cocked his eyebrow at me as if to say, ‘I know all about you leaving your knickers in the stationery cupboard, you harlot.’ God, he’s gorgeous. I bet he’s a great dancer. And I bet he doesn’t think that watching a documentary about global warming is a fun way to spend a night. He looks like he could move. In more ways than one. Not that I’m thinking about that, because I’m completely committed to Mr X, but sometimes I wish things could go back to the way they were – when it was just lots of secret shagging and no strings attached. And no boring documentaries.

  10.55 a.m.

  Email from N:

  You know that new James Law movie, Back to the Wild: Even Wilder? Guess who just snagged us invites to the wrap party!!!!! You have to come!! He is such a riiiide!!!!!!!

  Damn, damn, damn. Really want to meet James Law – he’s been all over the papers since he split with his ex, Angelica
– but Mr X has already said he’s going to make us a special meal tonight. Have a horrible feeling it will be something with raw vegetables in it again. Maybe I could do both. Will email N to get further details: time, location, dress code, probability of actually meeting James.

  11.03 a.m.

  Email from N:

  Blazin’ Saddles bar, 6 p.m. You’ll definitely meet him – we have special passes to the VIP area!!!!!!

  Have to cancel Mr X now. This could be my one and only chance to meet James Law, the king of the 21st-century Western. I’m sure he’ll understand.

  Will just send him a carefully coded email to break the news.

  11.07 a.m.

  Email to Mr X:

  Really have to stay late tonight. I’ve been working so hard on the campaign for Mr Dick Lit that I’ve loads of other stuff to catch up on. Don’t want any of my other clients suffering! Can we do dinner tomorrow night instead?

  No point telling him the truth – that would only make him feel bad. Can’t believe I have an exclusive invite to meet James Law tonight, in the flesh. If UC One knew she’d die – ha!

  11.10 a.m.

  Mr X back at desk. He’s just opened my email.

  11.11 a.m.

  He doesn’t look happy. He’s frowning – and not in a cute, crinkly nose way, in a really angry way. He’s also bashing files about. There could be a chance he hasn’t taken this well. Unless he’s annoyed about something completely different. He has been behaving a bit strangely since his birthday – really grumpy and touchy.

  11.14 a.m.

  Email from Mr X:

  OK.

  Right. So he is annoyed about tonight. Well, that’s totally selfish of him. As far as he’s concerned I’m staying behind to work, so what’s his problem? It’s not like he knows I’m going to meet James Law at a wrap party. And even if he did know, he shouldn’t mind. He should be happy for me. I love James Law, and tonight could be the only chance I ever get to meet him. It’s very selfish of Mr X to make me feel bad. I don’t make him feel bad for moving in with me, even though he didn’t ask me first.

  11.17 a.m.

  Maybe I should make him feel bad about arriving on my doorstep without any prior consultation with me. Maybe then he wouldn’t make such a fuss about nothing. Well, he’s not exactly making a fuss I suppose – he hasn’t said much. But that’s not the point. The point is, even if he doesn’t know it, he’s making me feel guilty for wanting a fun social life. And that’s not right. Just because he thinks sitting indoors cooking leeks and taping National Geographic is fun, doesn’t mean I do. Perhaps I should tell him how I feel – that I can’t stand the way he carefully wipes his organic mushrooms with recycled kitchen paper before he sautés them in ethically sourced extra-virgin olive oil, or that even the thought of sharing another intimate meal with him in my flat makes me want to scream.

  11.19 a.m.

  But I can’t tell him any of that. He left his wife for me. He’s already proven how much he loves me, I can’t let him down. Even if I am starting to feel a little… suffocated. Not trapped exactly. But close.

  11.21 a.m.

  God, he looks really morose. The guilt is killing me. I’d better email him back.

  11.22 a.m.

  Email to Mr X:

  I can still do tomorrow night. We could go out?

  11.25 a.m.

  No reply from Mr X. Still looking very sulky and banging files about. Will just have to let him get over it.

  11.31 a.m.

  Just got email from UC One. As self-appointed Head of the Social Affairs Committee, she has planned an action-packed activity weekend for all employees. She says it will be an excellent opportunity for bonding while partaking in orienteering, kayaking and hill-walking. Cannot think of anything worse. Nothing to worry about though – am sure Mr X will veto it as a ridiculous idea. Will send him a joky email to make friends. He’ll have to reply to that.

  11.34 a.m.

  Email to Mr X:

  Where does she get her ideas from: the stupid store?! That trip sounds like hell in the Highlands!

  11.36 a.m.

  Mr X has sent email to everyone to say UC One’s corporate-bonding weekend is an inspired idea and we must all go. What’s he playing at? He can’t possibly think it’s a good idea for employees to decamp to a remote location and pretend to like each other.

  11.55 a.m.

  Mr X still ignoring me.

  11.56 a.m.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. Am sure I could meet James Law another time.

  11.58 a.m.

  Email from Mr X:

  Urgent. Need publicity update for Dick Lit campaign ASAP.

  Hurrah! He’s sending me coded messages again – that’s a start.

  12.00 p.m.

  Email to Mr X:

  Of course. We can ‘discuss’ it later.

  12.02 p.m.

  Email from Mr X:

  I would prefer a written report on my desk first thing in the morning.

  12.04 p.m.

  Email to Mr X:

  Yes sir, Mr Boss sir.

  At least he’s got his sense of humour back.

  12.06 p.m.

  Email from Mr X:

  I’m not joking. First thing in the morning. I told you: I can show no favouritism.

  Oh my God, he’s not joking! He’s taking revenge because I’m going to meet James Law tonight! He’s almost… threatening me! Am furious. Now I’ll have to write a detailed PR report before I leave work. If I miss meeting James Law, I’ll never forgive him. Never.

  2.15 p.m.

  Email from Mr X to all employees:

  Further to my last email, I want to stress that all employees will be expected to attend the upcoming activity weekend – lame excuses will not be accepted. Unless a family member dies, you will be there.

  Am trying to think of a family member I haven’t killed off yet.

  2.18 p.m.

  Email from janitor:

  Hey there. You going on this weekend away?

  He obviously sent that to me by mistake. Why would he care if I was going or not? Will just ignore his email.

  2.26 p.m.

  Email from janitor:

  Hey there. I said, are you going on this weekend away?

  Oh my God. That email was for me. Why does he want to know if I’m going? What’s it to him?

  2.29 p.m.

  Email to janitor:

  I might.

  2.31 p.m.

  Email from janitor:

  I think you should. We could get to know each other properly. We could ‘bond’.

  Is he flirting with me or am I imagining it?

  2.33 p.m.

  Email to janitor:

  Are you flirting with me?

  2.35 p.m.

  Email from janitor:

  That depends. Have you ditched Grandad yet?

  Oh my God. He knows about me and Mr X. He’s put two and two together. I have to deny it.

  2.37 p.m.

  Email to janitor:

  I don’t know what you mean.

  2.39 p.m.

  Email from janitor:

  Sure you do. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Come on the trip. It’ll be fun. I promise.

  Open Forum

  From Devil Woman: I knew it! She likes the janitor!

  From Hot Stuff: And he likes her! God, he sounds gorgeous… and is it just me, or is anyone else going off Mr X a bit?

  From Angel: I thought you said Mr X and Julie were like Cathy and Heathcliff?

  From Hot Stuff: Yeah, but didn’t one of them die in the end? I have to watch that again, I’m sure I have it on DVD somewhere.

  From Sexy Girl: Well, I am totally going off Mr X. Can you believe Julie might have to miss meeting James Law? I’d never forgive anyone if they did that to me. I LOVE him.

  From Devil Woman: You know what… now we know where the wrap party is going to be, we should go!!!

  From Hot Stuff: OMG! Do you mean it? I w
ould DIE if I got to meet James Law.

  From Sexy Girl: Devil Woman, you are inspired!! It’ll be a blast. Hey, is Broken Hearted online? A good night out would really cheer her up.

  From Broken Hearted: Hi there. Sorry, I can’t make it. I have something else on.

  From Devil Woman: What about the Plumber then, does he want to go?

  From The Plumber: Sorry, I have plans too…

  From Devil Woman: You two are SO rumbled.

  From Broken Hearted: What do you mean?

  From Hot Stuff: Are you guys dating??? OMG, that is soooo romantic! Julie’s blog has brought two people together!!!

  From Devil Woman: We’ll have a drink for you guys tonight – toast the happy couple! Hey, Angel, don’t suppose you’d like to come?

  From Angel: Maybe. If it’s not too rowdy.

  From Devil Woman: I bet you secretly love James Law. Go on, admit it.

  From Angel: I do not. But it might be interesting – in an anthropological way.

  From Sexy Girl: Loosen up, Angel. We are hitting Blazin’ Saddles hard!!!

  From Devil Woman: Yeeeee hawwww!!!!!!!

  Eve

  Dear Charlie,

  Things are finally looking up! I went on my date with Larry the vet and it turns out that Anna was right about him. He was absolutely gorgeous – six foot tall with a body to die for, amazing green eyes and blond hair. He could have stepped right off the pages of a Carla Ryan novel – I know that because I’ve finally started reading Second Chance at Love and it’s not half bad. I’m thinking I may even email Butch the prison officer to tell him I’ve become a chick-lit fan too. And not only was Larry gorgeous but he was charming as well – funny and witty and warm. I was absolutely dazzled by him. We hit it off straight away, laughing and chatting at everything and nothing – just like we’d known each other for ages. We were halfway through our first drink in the country pub where we met, the conversation was flowing and I was beginning to think that maybe my luck was really changing, when the pager Larry was wearing on his very cute hip started buzzing. Turns out he was on call and a farmer whose cow had just gone into labour wanted him to check that everything was going OK. I tried to hide the fact that I was disappointed he had to leave so soon – after all, we’d been getting on so well – but then he suggested that maybe I could come! He said that it wouldn’t take long and then we could get back to our drink. For once in my life I decided to go with the flow, so we piled into his Land Rover and sped to the farm, where an elderly farmer was waiting at the gate looking very anxious. Larry asked me if I wanted to come and see, but I opted to wait in the jeep. I’d seen All Creatures Great and Small dozens of times – I knew that a cow giving birth was not going to be a pretty sight. Sitting by myself, watching the glum sheep baying at me from the field opposite, was a far better option. But about half an hour later, Larry came galloping from the barn, dripping in cow slime and yelling that he needed my help. He was going to have to turn the calf to ensure a safe delivery. I knew what was coming next: he wanted me to stick my hand up that cow’s bum, just like James Herriot used to do in a cow emergency. But no, he only wanted me to talk to the poor distressed cow and keep her calm while the farmer took an urgent phone call about some corporate camping trip. Apparently he rents out some of his land to firms for those ridiculous bonding weekends that you used to go on sometimes.