* * *
The cork came out of the Pouilly Fumé with a satisfying plop. I poured myself a large glass and turned on the TV. Anything was better than my own company. It seemed to be soap time, but I soon found the BBC 24 news channel. I watched it without paying any real attention, until a face appeared on the screen that I knew. I stopped drinking and turned up the volume. It was Justin. An old photo, but him for sure. I’d missed the start of the report but the gist was clear enough. He’d been rushed to hospital. He’d been found just in time. Suspected overdose. His wife was flying in from Canada.
Poor bastard, I thought, and filled my glass. So he was married. Of course, they could be separated or anything, but I still felt lucky that I hadn’t spent the night with him. My life was complicated enough.
I grabbed my cell phone the instant it rang, hoping it was Attila. Without checking the screen, I answered.
“I assume you got the letter?” It was Diana. I felt ill.
“I don’t really think now is a good time.”
“Always avoiding the issue. Typical. I want to sort this now.”
I sighed. There was little point in putting it off. “Fine. Go on.”
“My lawyer says that if you admit unreasonable behavior we can have it sorted quickly. Under the circumstances, I think it’s the least you can do.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Don’t you?” Her voice rose.
“Oh, come on, Diana.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t fuck with me. You haven’t been entirely honest.”
“How dare you? Do you know, you’re just…”
I let her stew while she sought the words. Even she must have realized her plan was in danger.
“You run off with a man and expect anyone to believe that I’m at fault?” she asked.
“Well, as you said, under the circumstances.” I poured another glass of wine. I was beginning to enjoy myself.
“Look. How about if we meet?”
“Meet?” Right then, I would have preferred to stand on my head in a sewer.
“Look, I just thought,” her voice softened, “that this is all too quick. Maybe if we talk it over we can find a way.”
“A way to do what?”
“I know there are women who live with gay husbands. Can’t we at least try?”
“Try what? Are you seriously suggesting that we somehow stay together in a sham marriage?”
“But if you could, you know, see men as well?”
I collapsed into the chair. Then I stood up and paced the living room. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to live a lie anymore. Don’t you understand? And,” I didn’t give her chance to intervene, “aside from me being gay, I don’t want to be with you anymore. Don’t you get that? I can’t stand being with you. I can’t stand your mess and your nagging. Not for one more day.”
“Why don’t you come round? Maybe if we have the night together?”
“You have some bloody cheek.”
“What do you mean?” There was curiosity in her voice now.
“You’re the one who’s been having the affair.”
“Lies.”
“You have. Don’t deny it. At least I remained faithful until the last.”
She was laughing and crying on the other end of the phone.
“I wasn’t the first to break my vows, was I?” My throat ached from shouting.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Who’s lying now, eh?”
“This was a mistake. I’m going.”
“Not before I tell you this. No fault divorce, Diana, or I’ll be turning the tables. You’ll go down as an adulteress.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“Can’t I? I have all the proof I need. From D to C, even our naughty bits love each other. Sound at all familiar?”
She hung up.
* * *
It was almost two in the morning. The wine had worked wonders for a few hours but now it was keeping me awake, filling my head with thoughts of Amsterdam. What dives was Attila frequenting and what was he up to right now? I regretted my vivid imagination. Even plotting my moves on the divorce front didn’t drive away the sordid images.
I decided to make some chamomile tea. I wrapped myself in the robe that had become mine and descended the spiral stair. As I reached the last step, I became aware of the main door opening. I stopped. The light from the hallway spilled into the living room and cast a dark shadow on the floor. I went hot and cold all at the same time. Jesus, did Attila have a wife, too? Was this her? Or maybe a jealous lover who would cut me up and put my remains in the freezer for Attila to find on his return?
“Oh, you’re awake.”
The sound of that voice.
“Attila!”
He switched on the main light, and there he was with his suitcase, just as he’d left in the morning. He smiled at me and his eyes glistened.
“Hi.” He put his case on the floor. There was a crumpled look about him. His shoulders sagged, and his face reminded me of a bloodhound. He seemed almost shy.
“What are you doing? You’re in Amsterdam.”
He pushed the door shut with his heel. “I got the first available flight back.”
“But…I don’t understand…” I stood on the bottom step, unable to move.
“I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“I am. I am. Of course I am.” Now I rushed towards him and he opened his arms.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked and he crushed me in his arms.
“It’s OK. You’re back. But…I still don’t know why. What happened? You were so determined.”
“It must have hurt like hell. Can you forgive me?”
“Yes, of course. But…what changed?”
“When I left this morning, almost as soon as I’d closed the door, I wanted to come back to you. I felt bad, leaving you like that. Oh, Christ, I can’t believe I did that to you.” I felt him tremble and knew he was crying.
“Please, darling, stop. It’s forgiven.”
“You’re lovely, do you know that?” He wiped his eyes with one hand and looked at me.
“I don’t know about lovely.”
“You are.” He stroked my cheek. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Then I thought about my last relationship and how it was good in the beginning, but all the jealousy and the mistrust corroded it, ate it away like cancer. Then on the flight there I realized that maybe it was all my fault.”
“What was? What was your fault?” I led him by the hand to the sofa and we sat side by side on the edge.
“Going with other men. I think that’s the problem, isn’t it? My previous relationships were shallow, unsatisfying, at least for me, so I had to go off and find what I needed elsewhere. What I saw as clinginess was just my boyfriends’ love and their obvious hurt at what I did to them. It wasn’t them at fault, it was me.”
I followed the argument. It certainly struck a chord with me, but I wasn’t sure where this was leading.
“And? You’re having regrets?”
“No, not regrets, not like that. I just don’t want it to happen like that with us. And I realized then that it’s me who has to change, not you. I have to commit myself to you for this to work.”
“You would do that, for me?”
He nodded. “I love you. I know that, more than anything else, I don’t want to push you away. Once I acknowledged that, I had to come straight back. As soon as we disembarked, I went straight to the ticket counter to change my return. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get on an earlier flight. God, the wait at the airport was interminable.”
“But why didn’t you call?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Is that bad?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m in love with you, Mark. And I know that I only want to be with you.”
I could hardly believe it. Whether he could actually stick to it we’d have to see, but the desire was genuine. I was ab
out to explode with joy. I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. “I’m yours, Attila.”
His big, dark eyes looked at me. “And I’m yours. All yours.”
I lowered my hands and, for the first time in ten years, slipped the wedding ring off my finger.
~ The End ~
~ About the Author ~
Tristram La Roche was born in London and spent much of his childhood in Europe. His career has included tourism and yacht charter, as well as a brief period working as a freelance journalist. His interests include travel, art, theatre, cinema, books and current affairs, and he is passionate about the rights of the GLBT community. On My Knees is his debut romance. Tristram lives in London with his husband.
Find out more about Tristram here:
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On My Knees Page 8