The Middle-Aged Virgin: A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel: Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles...

by Olivia Spring

  A few months ago, I’d even contemplated discussing it again with Rich, but he too was wrapped up in his work, which had become increasingly demanding. If I wasn’t mistaken, having a baby meant that we had to actually do the deed, and lately that’s been as likely to happen as Kit Harrington ringing my doorbell at 1 a.m., asking if I’d be up for a booty call.

  Plus, the more I started to question our relationship and realise that Rich and I no longer had a romantic connection, the more it seemed wrong to consider having a child together.

  But I won’t sit around waiting to find a man to try and fertilise eggs that the media tell me may be past their ‘best-before’ date. I’ll take things into my own hands, go and see a specialist and look at my options as a (soon-to-be) single woman. Maybe I could still look into the IVF route using a sperm donor? Or perhaps a surrogate? I need to get the facts and find out what is both feasible and right for me. Either way, I’ll start looking into things. Yep, that’s going on the list.

  7) Have fun/live life to the full

  Last and by no means least, whatever I do, wherever I go, whoever I meet, I’m always going to try to make the most of the situation. To embrace it and live life to the full. I know it’s a bit of a catch-all point, but I’m self-aware enough to admit that I can be a bit uptight and rigid at times. So I recognise that I need to relax a tad, try not to overanalyse everything and go with the flow more.

  Within reason, of course, though, as planning helps me feel so much better. The mere thought of disorganisation makes me want to break out in a cold sweat. You know, like when paper and pens aren’t lined up straight on a desk, or when the cushions aren’t equally spaced on the sofa (don’t you just hate that?). But I can do this. I will do this!

  Yes. I will make ‘living life to the full’ the mantra I follow at all times.

  I proudly set the pen aside on the table, took another sip of my wine, then flicked backwards through the pages until I reached the beginning of my notes. I read over the seven points again. How amazing it would be if I could achieve everything in the next twelve months, so that by the first anniversary of Albert’s passing, I could show him that I’d taken his comments on board and really started living my life?

  Exhaling deeply, I felt a rush of satisfaction, followed by excitement and then a twinge of fear as the reality of the challenges that lay ahead, hit me.

  All this in one year?

  Abso-fucking-lutely! No more hiding. No more existing. This wasn’t going to be easy. Particularly for a creature of habit like me. But in honour of my dearest Albert, I was determined to tick off every single one of those goals and make him proud.

  And if I was going to really begin living, now I’d made these big decisions, I had to tackle the most difficult ones straight away.

  First (and possibly the hardest) to address? Point number 2: End my relationship with Rich.

  Chapter Three

  Today was the day. It had to be. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

  We were now in February and I’d been back from France almost a week, yet I still hadn’t done it. I knew I had to end my relationship with Rich, but it just never seemed to be the right time.

  If I did it in the morning, then I could ruin his entire day. And what if he got upset, jumped in the car, drove to work and had an accident? I couldn’t live with myself.

  I considered having the talk on Tuesday, but he had that pitch to redesign a new library in North London. I knew how much work went into the pitching process, so doing it then, when he really needed to focus, would be just plain evil.

  I’d thought about Wednesday night too, but then I’d got back late from a client dinner. Plus, my mum always said never to go to bed on an argument, and surely we’d argue about it somehow. Or perhaps I’d say I wanted to end it and he’d say: ‘Brilliant! You took the words right out of my mouth—I’m sooo relieved you feel the same way!’ No. I doubted that would happen.

  That was the other thing. The words. How to say it. I hadn’t had much practice at ending relationships. Well, personal ones anyway.

  Whilst I was a high achiever academically and professionally, I hadn’t had a huge amount of experience with men. And less so with ending relationships, hence my apprehension.

  Much like how I was all about work now, before Rich, I was all about the studying. Getting straight A’s for my GCSEs, then for my A-levels and going on to secure a first-class French degree at UCL didn’t just happen. I had to put in the hours. Which hadn’t left much time for men.

  I had a few boyfriends at college. Nothing that lasted more than a couple of months, though. Then a three-year relationship with Kevin when I was about eighteen, which had ended when I’d got back from living in France and he dumped me.

  So it had been a while since I’d had to go through ending a personal relationship. And even then, I think I only ever dumped one guy. Carl Curtis when I was seventeen, who I’d been going out with for all of six weeks, when his insensitive housemate told me on the bus one afternoon whilst I was travelling back from my Saturday job working in Boots that they’d been sleeping together. When I’d confronted him later that evening, screaming ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking Debbie?’ he’d casually replied, ‘Because you didn’t ask.’ Bastard! It hadn’t been difficult to end things with him.

  Rich was a different kettle of fish altogether. I’d known him half of my life. We’d been partners for fifteen years. As much as I knew it was the right thing to do, because in truth, our relationship had been broken for years, it was hard not to be sentimental.

  He’d been so supportive. And he’d put up with a lot of crap from me. It wasn’t all his fault that our relationship had gone down the toilet. I had to take at least fifty percent of the blame—perhaps more. I was always working, or busy or exhausted, so would often push him away when he tried to make advances. And then I suppose after a while, he got tired of trying. So when I did instigate things again, I got why he might not have been so enthusiastic. He was busy with his work too. Plus he’s very much a creature of habit. Probably happy to do the same thing, eat the same food and follow the same routine for the rest of his life. But that’s not what I wanted.

  Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint how and exactly when these things start to go wrong, but it’s like weeds. It might start with just one. But leave it unattended, and that one multiplies. They spread like wildfire and before you know it, they’ve taken over the entire garden.

  I knew I needed to end it, but how do you do that sensitively to minimise the level of pain felt by someone you really care about? That’s why, for the past week, I’d been mentally rehearsing how best to phrase it:

  We have to end it?

  It’s time to end our relationship?

  I think we need to move on?

  None of them seemed quite right. Then I remembered what I always said to my team: keep it simple. Get your point across and then stay quiet. Don’t ramble on. Be succinct. So I’d settled on two simple words: It’s over.

  Then I’d practised my delivery. Like I would for a new business pitch. Trying to perfect the intonation of the words and my facial expressions. I needed to convey sadness, but also sincerity and conviction. Get across the fact that it had to be done and I was sorry about it, but no matter how much he tried to change my mind, I would remain steadfast and stick to my decision.

  So here we are. After not finding the right time on Thursday or Friday either, it was now a cold, grey Saturday morning—the weekend. Which surely had to be a much better time to do it anyway. No work to worry about (well, maybe a little, but neither of us were compelled to go into the office today) and at least thirty-six hours to feel like shit before having to drag ourselves back out to the real world again on Monday morning.

  Rich had been out late last night with his friends and had slept in, so I’d woken up at 8 a.m., showered, then gone for a walk on Clapham Common to get my thoughts together and psych myself up. Now I was on my way back home, I was hoping Rich
would be making himself a fry-up or maybe sitting in front of the TV and we could have this very difficult conversation calmly…

  I shut the front door gently behind me and poked my head into the living room. There was no sign of Rich, so I headed to the kitchen. He wasn’t there either. The house was eerily silent. He’s got to be here, though, because his keys are still on the glass table in the hallway. Perhaps he’s upstairs?

  I padded up the steps and headed for the bedroom. It’s gone 11 a.m. He can’t still be sleeping? I opened the door. The bed’s been made, so…

  I heard the shower in the en suite switch off. Oh, there he was. Perhaps I’d just wait in the kitchen. Maybe I’d make him breakfast. Soften the blow a little. As I turned around, ready to go back downstairs, I heard the en suite door open.

  ‘Morning, Soph!’ Rich said, flashing me a smile as he finished tying the towel around his waist.

  Shit. I need to do it. If I don’t say it right now, I’ll bottle it.

  ‘Soph, what’s up?’ he said, frowning.

  I froze. I needed to say it. Actually, he’d just asked me how I was. So that could be the perfect in. By saying it’s over, I’d be telling him exactly what was up. Do it.

  Do it now!

  ‘It’s over.’

  I did it.

  I said it.

  Fuck.

  ‘What the fuck, Sophia?’ snapped Rich, nostrils flaring. ‘What do you mean it’s over?’

  As I stared into his hazel eyes, I started to ask myself the same question.

  My mind went into a trance. You know how people who have a near-death experience say their lives flash past their eyes? Well, as soon as I’d said those two words, it was like my brain started playing a film of my life with Rich. When we’d first met at college, when we’d bumped into each other years later at a party and he’d asked me out for a drink, our first date at Browns in Covent Garden, our first kiss and how we’d moved in together literally months later. Then how supportive he was when I’d decided that after just a couple of years working in PR for other people, first at a fashion and beauty agency on the King’s Road and then in-house at L’Oréal, I wanted to take the plunge and go it alone. Ever since then, he’d been there cheering me on and supporting me, yet here I was fifteen years later, breaking his heart.

  ‘Earth to Sophia!’ screamed Rich, stomping his feet.

  I snapped out of my thoughts. Rather than reminiscing, now would probably be a good time to start explaining myself.

  ‘Rich, I’m so, so, sorry. It’s just…I mean, you must know it’s not right. We’ve…’ Jeez. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d spoken at conferences in front of thousands of people, been interviewed live on national television, yet now I was finding it hard to string a sentence together. And tears? I know it’s difficult, but get it together.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘We’ve grown apart, Rich,’ I said, regaining my strength. ‘We don’t have that connection anymore. We’ve just let the relationship slide for too long. Gone past the point of no return. I’m sorry, but it’s over.’

  Even though it felt like my heart was physically being ripped to pieces having to say those words to him, I took my own advice and stood there firmly in silence. No rambling, just quiet.

  ‘Why now?’ Rich replied, face contorting. ‘Where is this coming from? I know we’ve had our challenges in the past, but I thought we were fine.’

  ‘First of all,’ I said, crossing my arms awkwardly, ‘we’re both guilty of working too much. We don’t get to see each other as often as we should, and when we do, invariably we end up talking about work.’

  ‘Well, I’m so sorry for trying to be a good listener,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I thought I was being a good boyfriend by always asking you how your day was every night when you got home from work and giving you time to get things off your chest.’

  ‘Yes, it’s true, you are a supportive boyfriend,’ I added. ‘I’m not disputing that. You’ve been there from the beginning, through thick and thin, and have always been a shoulder for me to cry on during the tough times when I was building the business. But as terrible as you may think it sounds, it’s not enough. “Fine” isn’t okay. I need more from my life.’

  ‘What do you mean, you need more?’ he said, frowning as he crossed his arms.

  ‘After what happened with Albert, I realised that I’m just existing, not living. We’re together because it’s easy. It’s convenient. It’s safe. Think about it, Rich.’ I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. ‘We’ve known each other since college—close to twenty-three years—and been together for fifteen. That’s a long time, and yet we’re not married, we don’t have children, we don’t do anything remotely fun together anymore. We’re more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend. I mean, be honest: when was the last time we had sex, or even had a proper kiss?’ I said, looking him straight in the eye.

  ‘Um…well…’ he muttered sheepishly as he looked down at the cream carpet. ‘I know it’s probably been a while, but come on, Soph, we’ve both had a lot on our plates.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I said, placing my hands on my hips, ‘but it’s more than that. We’ve just grown apart. We used to laugh and go out. Now on the rare occasions that we actually are together, we don’t do anything other than watch TV. We’ve become different people. I want to travel, you like staying at home. I love eating out and experimenting with food, you’d be happy to have steak and chips every day for the rest of your life. I want to have fun and experience new things and meet new people. Your idea of a good time is binge-watching multiple seasons of Game of Thrones or playing games on your iPad in bed.’

  ‘It’s not playing games per se. It helps me relax and think strategically,’ he protested.

  ‘If that’s what floats your boat, Rich, that’s fine. But I don’t want to waste my life anymore. I owe it to myself to do more. Not because I’m being greedy, but because I’m alive. I’m healthy, I’m successful, I’m lucky enough to have so many opportunities that other people would only dream of, but I’m not making the most of them, and that’s got to change.’

  ‘But we’ve been together for so long!’ he said, running his hands through his cropped brown hair. ‘Surely you don’t want to throw it all away, just like that? Let’s talk about it,’ he pleaded as he stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders. ‘Maybe we can cut back on work hours so we can spend more time together.’

  ‘Rich, I don’t think—’ I replied before he interrupted me.

  ‘I can try the travel thing if you want,’ he suggested. ‘As long as it’s not anywhere too hot. And I guess I’d be up for eating out occasionally…I’m not one to experiment with exotic dishes, though, as I can’t afford to get food poisoning or take time off work, especially if we win this library pitch, but…I’ll try. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll change!’ he said, now squeezing my shoulders and giving me his puppy-dog eyes. ‘I love you, Sophia, and I don’t want to lose you.’

  Dammit. He’s pulling on my heart strings. I can feel my resolve weakening…

  No. I had to trust my gut. As hard as it was, it was time for this chapter to end. I needed to move on. I knew it was the right thing to do. I had to stand firm.

  ‘Rich,’ I said, stepping back and removing his hands from my shoulders. ‘I love you too. I will always love you, but like I said, it’s not enough.’

  He paused as he glanced at the carpet once again. I sensed he was lost for words and trying to think of a solution.

  ‘Are you not attracted to me anymore?’ he said, glancing down to scrutinise his stomach. ‘Is that it?’

  His looks weren’t the issue. Six foot four and in good shape, I still found him attractive, but yet somehow the sexual connection was no longer there. Technically it didn’t make sense, but it’s how I felt, and it was really hard to explain. Even on the very rare occasions that we did try to get physical, it was, well, awkward. It didn’t feel right. Whatever
we’d had in those early years had gone.

  ‘Rich,’ I said gently. ‘You’re a smart, handsome, amazing guy…’

  ‘Well, if I’m so amazing,’ he snapped, ‘then why do you want us to break up? Is there someone else? Is that it?’

  ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘Of course not! Where would I find the time for that? I can’t explain. It’s just…’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief at least, I guess,’ he interjected. ‘I don’t know how I’d cope with knowing that you’d been with another man. Well, maybe we can work on getting that spark back, then,’ he suggested. ‘What about trying counselling again?’

  ‘We tried that already, Rich. Twice. Each time, we said we’d work less, try going out and having fun and being more intimate. And each time, things would change for a couple of weeks and then they went back to normal.’ Stick with your gut. Stay strong, Soph. Stay strong. ‘No, Rich,’ I insisted. ‘I’m sorry. It’s too late.’ His face fell.

  ‘You mentioned that we’ve been together fifteen years but aren’t married,’ he said, perking up like he’d suddenly had a brainwave. ‘I didn’t think you were into the whole fairy-tale wedding thing, but if it helps, we can get married…’

  ‘Seriously, Rich?’ I said, eyes widening with disbelief. ‘You think getting married is going to solve this? Getting married would be a disaster. Look, I know you’re trying to think of a solution, and believe me when I say that this isn’t at all easy for me, nor is it a decision I’ve taken lightly. If we’re honest, we’ve both known for years that things haven’t been right. That’s why we tried the counselling, and when it didn’t work, I just kept pushing my feelings to the back of my mind because I was too busy to process it properly and found it too daunting to face the thought of losing you. But I can’t do it anymore. As painful as this is, I have to face the fact that it’s over. I’m so, so sorry.’

  He sat down on the corner of the bed in a daze. He looked totally crushed, like I’d just taken a pair of ten-inch Louboutins, plunged them into his heart and slowly rotated the heels round and around and around. On a scale of one to ten, with ten signifying feeling like a total and utter shitbag, I was currently off the scale at about a hundred. This was truly awful. I feel like the worst, most evil woman in the entire world.