by Shaw, O. C
********
We haven’t left the room all day, so when we finally emerge it’s a shock to encounter other people in the lobby. We have to give up our feeling of intimacy and return to a state of paranoia, always wondering who might be looking at us, ready to report our misdemeanours.
James is quiet as we walk to the cars, before finally turning to me: “You don’t have to go back to him”, is all he says, his eyes intense as he looks for my response.
“Don’t I?” I wonder out loud. He was only verbalising thoughts that had been running through my own head all day. “So what would I do? Live with you?” I see the look of discomfort that flashes over his face, and a little part of me dies inside. “Thought so,” is all I say, as I move to open my car door.
“Lily, he doesn’t deserve you,” he says forlornly.
“Maybe or maybe not, but he is my husband, and he does need me. I don’t think he could cope without me,” I say honestly and realise it’s true, he can’t. I do everything for him. I sigh before adding, “I made my bed so to speak eighteen years ago, and now I should be lying in it.” I know I sound harsh, and he looks desolate for a moment which makes me soften. “I’ve had a wonderful day, James; it’s been like nothing I’ve ever had before. Thank you for showing me how it can be,” I say from the bottom of my heart.
“I need to see you again,” he says.
“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I can’t call in sick all the time, even given my accident-prone nature.” He at least manages to smile at that. “Let’s just see what happens, shall we?” I say, unwilling or unable to break it off entirely. He kisses me again, and we get into our respective cars. I let him drive off first, because I need to wait until my eyes are less blurry from the tears that have filled them along with the feeling of hopelessness which has washed all through my body. He doesn’t want me, I think sadly as I remember his reaction to my suggestion of coming to live with him. Thank God I didn’t tell him I love him.
***********
It’s a shock to be back home and cooking the evening meal after such a momentous day in my life. Greg and Ethan are thankfully oblivious to me and my strange mood. Ethan has met a new girl he seems to really like and is spending every evening he has with her, unless he is needed for work. He goes out half an hour after we finish dinner. Greg is frantically preparing for his meeting with Annie tomorrow, agonising over his selections. I’m not going with him; it would just be too awkward, and I don’t want to mix business and pleasure and lose a perfectly good friend over it. I have seen this routine a number of times over the years now, and I know from bitter experience that Greg’s descent into depression and despair after each knock back is longer and harder to recover from. I’m not sure I have the strength to pull us through another, given my own emotionally fragile state at the moment. Greg is back in the shed after dinner, so once I have cleared up I get out my laptop and write. It’s bliss to forget my own life for a few short hours and lose myself in the fictional lives of others. It stops me dwelling on James and our day together, although I am slightly sore from all our activities, so he is never far from my mind. I have turned my phone to silent to allow myself to focus on the book, so it’s not until I move to take myself to bed, having reached the halfway point in my novel, that I notice the texts waiting for me. I know without looking they are from James. There are three.
Thank you for everything. I can’t stop thinking about you.
I am surprised to see he is becoming less cautious with his messages, quickly pressing delete before moving on to the next.
I’m sorry. I know I disappointed you when we spoke by the car. Believe me when I say I’m working on it. I want us to be together
Again, I’m surprised by how unguarded he is becoming. I don’t understand what he means about working on us being together. He knows my predicament, so I can’t think what he’s working on. I scroll quickly to the last text:
I can’t forget the feel of you under my hands and around me, the taste of you on my tongue. Don’t cut me off Lily J x
I am shocked at the explicit nature of the text and the instant images of us together from this afternoon that form in my mind. The sound of Greg coming back into the house makes me drop my phone, and I am scrambling to retrieve it when he walks into the room.
He senses my discomfort instantly. “You okay? You look funny.”
I realise my face is flushed with guilt, and worse, I am aroused. “Yes, fine,” I say more sharply than I intend. I try to soften my voice, while palming my phone from sight. “I was just working on my book. I’m at a difficult bit, I need to concentrate.”
As an artist, he understands this. “Well I’m heading up to bed now. I want to be fresh for the morning.” He looks bright, even hopeful, and my heart sinks to think what another knock back will do to him – to us.
“Okay, see you in the morning. What time are you off?”
“About ten. I want to park, and then I’ll have to make a couple of trips with the canvasses.” He’s given this a lot of thought.
“I hope it goes well,” I say softly, and I mean it. He looks at me from the doorway for a moment, and his vulnerability is written all over his face. My instinct is to want to reassure him that it will be okay, that he will be great and they will be bound to want him, but I can’t do it. We’ve been here too many times before, and for his own sake I can’t give him false hope. It hurts too much when we have to pick ourselves up off the floor again.
“Thanks,” he says, before closing the door as he leaves the room. I sit there feeling sad for a few moments and wonder what is the matter with me before I realise it’s probably the most meaningful exchange we’ve had in weeks. More because of what wasn’t said than what was. I look back down at my phone and James’ text, wondering how on earth to respond before finally sending my message:
Today was beautiful – it meant the world to me. But I think we have to stop
I turn my phone off, unwilling to talk further, knowing how little it will take for me to cave to him again. And then I sit there and cry for a long time.
Chapter 25
I don’t turn my phone on at all the following morning. I can’t face it. I help Greg load up the car with all his stuff before getting the bus to the gym. It’s still relatively early considering it’s the weekend, so the gym is quiet. Stuart isn’t on duty; in fact, the only person I see who I know is Pete. At first he tries to avoid me, but I make a point of walking over to where he is.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly, trying to judge his mood.
“Hi,” he says, looking sheepish. His eyes dart about the room as if he’s looking for an escape route.
“Look, I won’t hold it against you if you want nothing to do with me,” I plough on, determined to say my piece. “I just want to apologise for Greg’s treatment of you at the pub. You did nothing wrong, Pete. I like having you as a friend, and I’m sorry my jealous husband can’t see that’s what it is, but I understand if you don’t want the hassle. I’m just mortified that you got sucked in to the carnival of humiliation my life has apparently become,” I say, looking at my feet. He’s looking at me with more affection than I deserve now.
“It’s okay, Lily, I understand. I’d probably be pissed if you were my wife and another bloke came sniffing round. I can’t deny I like you, you know that, but I do understand you only want to be friends, and I respect your decision.” He pauses, trying to decide what to say next. “He looked mighty pissed off with you, though. Were you okay after we all left?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mutter, not wanting to get into that can of worms, but touched by his continued concern for my well-being.
“Just remember you have lots of people who care about you, Lily. If you need me, just call.”
I nod before moving away to start my workout, hiding my eyes so he doesn’t see the tears threatening to spill out of them, relieved he hasn’t cut me off completely. God, I am pathetic at the moment, I berate myself. Any kind words, and I fall to pieces.
I channel my emotion into exercise for an hour and a half, and by the time I’m finished I feel amazingly better. Endorphins are the best thing ever, it’s official, I decide. As I make my way home, stopping on the way to pick up some shopping, I wonder how Greg has got on with Annie. I’ve avoided talking about it with her because I’m so worried that if she hates his stuff it will impact on our friendship. When I walk the last bit home from the bus stop I can see the car is already back. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad sign, but I’ve been out for a few hours so it could mean anything.
As I open the door a shout greets me, “Did you get my text?”
“No, my phone’s off, and I forgot to turn it back on. Why?”
“She only loved them!” he says appearing out of the kitchen with a big grin on his face. It transforms his face, and I get a glimpse of the man from years ago. “She really liked my newer stuff and wants some pieces for the shop. If they sell, she’ll keep featuring more. She’s planning an evening event that she needs me to go to, you know to schmooze the punters, let them meet the artist, that sort of thing which she reckons will help if I turn on the charm,” he says grinning, his voice full of excitement. “And then the icing on the cake is she’s networked with a load of other galleries across the UK and even a couple abroad. She’s going to share my details around, and if any of them bite I’ll have to go and do the same for their galleries. It might mean a bit of travelling, but the costs should be low if I just stay in B&B’s, and it could make all the difference. If the demand picks up then hopefully I’ll start being commissioned regularly.”
I think my mouth is hanging open at this point. I don’t know how many years we dreamed about this happening, and I had honestly given up hope.
“I can’t believe it – that’s fantastic,” I say, overwhelmed by the joy that is radiating off my husband. He grabs my hand and pulls me into a fierce hug, crushing me against his chest until I push away if only to breathe.
“It’s going to get a bit busy for me, because I need to get some canvasses finished. She definitely prefers my newer abstracts, so I want to make sure I have a supply ready if she wants them. I left her a few today that she’s planning to hang, so we’ll see what happens.” He’s so excited, the change is phenomenal. It’s like the small, pink, vulnerable male ego that had been withering inside of him has woken up, stretched and is now beating its proverbial chest. He’s standing taller and straighter – he actually looks five years younger than he did when he left the house this morning.
“I’m proud of you,” I say softly.
He grins before telling me, “This is the start, Lil, I know it is.”
I can only nod as he launches into his plans for the rest of the day which basically involve him painting in the shed for the foreseeable future. When he leaves the house I have to sit down for a moment, unsure of what has just happened. I reach for my bag and retrieve my phone, finally turning it back on for the first time since last night. There is a short delay before the texts start to arrive. There are four altogether, two from James and one each from Annie and Greg. I read Greg’s first:
She likes them Lil – I think this is it x
I smile at the joy he exudes, and a part of me is pleased he wanted to share his news with me first. I look at Annie’s next:
His work is beautiful sweetie. Really. I know u well enough to know you’ll be thinking I’m just doing you a favour. Believe me when I say as much as I love you I would never risk my business. He really is good A x
I feel a warm glow inside, both for Greg’s sake that he has earned this chance on his own merit, and for Annie, because she already knows me well enough to want to reassure me. I send her a quick text back.
Thanks Annie, you have made him a very happy man x
Then I steel myself and open up the first of James’ texts.
I knew you’d try and push me away again– it won’t work
I don’t even bother deleting it and just open up the second. It simply says:
Thinking of you, see you soon xx
I resolve to stay firm and not cave in to him, despite the fact that every communication he sends me increases my pulse. I manage not to reply to his text. I really meant it when I told him we should stop, I tell myself, and then wonder who I’m trying to persuade. The chance Greg and I have spent the last eighteen years waiting for has finally arrived, and I need to focus on supporting him to make the most of it, not spend all my time running around behind his back seeing another man. So why can’t I stop thinking about him? I wonder in despair.
I am determined to distract myself by cooking a celebration dinner, texting Adam and Ethan to let them know the good news and asking Adam to call his father tonight so he can tell him about it himself, and for Ethan to be home to share the meal. They are both delighted. It’s a small step and may never come to anything, but its significance to our family is huge – the boys know how much this means to their dad and promise to do as asked. I buy a bottle of prosecco so we can have something fizzy to celebrate with at the meal. When Greg finally comes in covered in paint and looking tired but happy, I swiftly pour us both a glass. Ethan arrives home five minutes later, and we sit down together to enjoy the first light-hearted meal since the night before Adam left. Thoughts of James flicker through my mind occasionally; I haven’t checked my phone again today. I wonder if he has texted me again, and then I reprimand myself for even thinking about him.
I wash up while listening to Greg chatting happily on the phone to Adam. I wonder how different our lives might have been if this had happened sooner. Would I have even looked at a man like James if Greg and I had been happier? Who knew if we would even have been happier if Greg had had more success in his career, and life had not been so hard for us, who knew what it was that had made our marriage become so hard?
I can feel the desire to look at my phone building in me. I have suppressed it for a couple of hours now, but I can’t resist any longer, rummaging in my bag until I find it. When there’s no message my stomach drops, and I feel sick. What if I have chased him off for good? I worry inwardly and then berate myself for caving so soon. My fingers hover over the buttons, but I force myself to put it back in my bag and finish wiping the sides. Ethan has gone out with his girlfriend again – he seems surprisingly serious about her – so Greg and I are alone again as ever these days. When he comes into the kitchen I think at first it’s to make his way down to the shed for more time painting, but he walks over to me instead and asks if I am nearly finished. He stands watching while I sweep the floor and then when I am done takes me by the hand and leads me up the stairs.
When we reach our room I walk to the window to close the curtains. There’s a Mercedes parked in the road outside that makes me pause for a moment because we don’t exactly live in an area where Mercedes are a common sight. I feel Greg step up behind me and put his arms around my waist, pulling me in to him, and I resist for a moment, closing the curtains before turning in his arms to face him. He kisses me gently and I close my eyes, willing my body to respond, but all I seem to see is James’ face in my mind. Angry with myself, I kiss Greg more forcefully, and he takes it as a sign and moves me to the bed. I can see he’s already aroused. We strip ourselves of our clothes and then move back together to resume our touching and kissing. I really want to feel something. I really want to be aroused and forget James and what he does to me, but my body remains resolutely unaffected. When Greg enters me my body seems cold and dry compared to my experience of the day before. Somehow knowing what it can be like makes this experience one hundred times worse. Greg is lost in the moment as ever, relentlessly pushing on towards his goal, while I lie there wondering what this means for me, for us. Can I do this for the rest of my life? Greg is grunting now, the precursor to his orgasm. The final thrusts are accompanied by a groan as he collapses over me, swiftly pulling out and leaving a trail of semen over my thigh. I shudder and hope he didn’t notice. I feel like a whore must feel as I allow my body t
o be used as a receptacle for his sperm with no emotional involvement on my part – we barely even kissed. It’s like night and day when I compare my experience with Greg to my experience with James. I know Greg cares for me in his own way, but I just don’t know if it’s enough anymore, and I’m not sure what it’s all going to mean for Greg and me or for our marriage.
Chapter 26
The urge to text James is now so strong I don’t know how I’ve managed to hold out for so long. I have become completely phone-obsessed, spending long minutes gazing at it, just willing him to text me. It’s making me pretty miserable company; I am being horrible to patients and staff at work as well as Greg and Ethan. Greg is on such a high that he barely notices my moods, but Ethan has virtually moved in with his girlfriend – just to get away from me, I suspect, as I have been such a cow to live with. I know I’m doing it, but I just can’t seem to help myself. The only thing that is keeping me going is I keep seeing Mercedes cars everywhere I go and have persuaded my deluded mind that James is watching me from afar, believing he still cares about me. I can’t believe he has given up on me so easily; in my darkest moments I imagine him with another woman in his arms, and mostly they look like Sarah from the Peak District trip. I keep hoping I will bump into him at the gym – I have been keeping to my usual schedule after work in the hopes he will do what he said he did last time, but so far he has been noticeably absent. Even Annie and Emma noticed my flagging spirits, despite the news about Greg, when we met at the pub last night. Emma kept looking at me with a worried expression, while Annie looked at me more knowingly. I have a feeling Stuart is aware of some of what was going on between James and me and may have said something to Annie about us. I love her for not judging me. On a rare good note, things at the gallery are going well, with Annie reporting a positive buzz around Greg’s work. He is building up to the evening event that will be featuring a selection of up and coming artists from the area, so I have hardly seen him the last couple of days.