I envy her. “I know what you mean, Melanie. But Steve is a nice guy really and I don’t mind looking after him, honestly.” Yeah right, who the hell am I kidding?
At home, I’m cold 90 percent of the time and not just emotionally. Unbelievably, in this day and age, Steve’s rented terrace has no central heating and other than the plug-in electric radiators which cost a fortune to run, the only other form of heating is the real fire in the living room, which takes at least three hours from being lit before it throws out any real heat. On many a night I’m just getting warm by the time we need to go to bed. On really cold evenings when the temperature continues to drop as autumn draws in, I’ve taken to making up a bed on the rug in front of the fire and falling asleep as the last embers give up their final throws of heat and light.
“This is ridiculous,” I shout at Steve one evening, when the outside temperature is so cold that ice has formed on the inside of the bedroom window. “This is the 20th century, Steve, we don’t need to be living like this. Sort it out!”
I’m frustrated that it takes an ultimatum from me before he has the motivation to step up and take action to improve our living standards. Two months later we’ve moved from the crappy run-down terrace to a three-bed modern semi on a 1970’s estate on the outskirts of the town. Despite our more homely living arrangements, our relationship trundles along much the same as before. I realise I have to face the fact that I’m simply not in love with Steve and I’ve become a middle-aged housewife long before my time. I may have been attracted to him once (on some level at least) but any attraction has disappeared under the weight of domesticity. Fortunately, he rarely makes a pass at me these days, so I don’t have to suffer his lumbering body attempting to mount me too frequently. Most days he just annoys me and I either find myself sniping at him or attempting to stay out of his way as much as possible.
As Christmas draws closer he begins to talk about the future. Despite his immaturity Steve is almost 30 and he’s obviously beginning to think longer term, his desire to have children and the possibility of a life together permanently, which suddenly jolts me into needing to take action. The original picture I’d imagined on my journey down south nine months ago of us standing at the altar surrounded by our families as we take our vows, now has the potential to become a hideous reality and although I feel metaphorically and financially trapped, at least without a ring on my finger or a babe in my arms I’m still comparatively free if I can just find a way to leave, which I know now I need to do before Christmas. The thought of pretending to play happy families with his relatives over the festive season or take the risk that he may propose publicly is sufficient for me to discuss my problems with Melanie.
“I just don’t know what to know, Mel.” I finally share my inner thoughts with her one lunchtime while we’re munching on our sandwiches.
“What do you mean, you don’t know what to do? Just leave him, Vicky. Leave and go find somewhere else to live.” She makes it sound so simple. Perhaps it is.
“But I can’t afford to live on my own. Where would I go, what would I do? I’m stuck and don’t know how to leave?”
“Don’t know how to, or don’t want to?” she asks, raising her eyebrows quizzically. “In life, Vicky, you need to make the decision first, then the hows will work themselves out.”
I think about what she’s just said. “Oh, I definitely want to leave him. I suppose I’ve just been waiting for the how to appear before actually doing something about it. OK, decision made. I’m definitely going to leave him within the next month. There, I’ve made the decision and said it out loud.”
She smiles encouragingly at me.
“...even if I have ab-sol-utely no idea how the heck I will do it, or where I will live next!” I laugh nervously as the magnitude of my impossible situation stares right back at me.
“Great, so here’s an idea. Why don’t we get a place together?” she suggests out of the blue, taking me completely by surprise and offering me the how I’d been waiting for. “My landlord is making noises that he might put his house on the market very soon, so I reckon I’ll need to look for somewhere else to live in the next couple of months anyway. If I know we’re going to live together, I’ll give him notice and we can start looking for somewhere suitable to rent for the two of us. See, I told you it’s simple. You should never worry about making a decision based on what needs to happen next, Vicky. Always make the decision first, and I guarantee the hows will appear.” She sounds so matter of fact and profoundly wise. I suppose having left her homeland a couple of years ago, travelled halfway around the world and having had to sort out many places to live and work since, sorting somewhere new to live with me seems far less daunting to her than me.
“Really, Melanie? Are you sure?” My insides take a secret leap of joy.
“Absolutely. Why not? It’ll be fun.” She sounds so relaxed as she takes another bite of her sandwich, smiling warmly over to me.
“Ok, let’s do it. I’ll plan to leave Steve in a month’s time, which will give you time to give notice and time for us to have sorted out somewhere new to rent. I can stick it out for a few more weeks. Hell, I’ve stuck it out for this long.”
The next morning however, despite our intentions to secretly secure somewhere to live before I end it with Steve, so that I’m not left homeless, I finally lose my cool. I had come down into the kitchen, to find the benches strewn with his dirty dishes from the night before, an overflowing ashtray in the lounge (my pet hate as it makes the whole house stink) and the final straw - he’d eaten the last two slices of bread from the breadbin and failed to replenish it with a new loaf out of the freezer to thaw overnight, meaning I have nothing to eat for breakfast.
“Steeeeeeeve, you fucking twat!” I scream up the stairs. “There’s no fucking bread in the breadbin and the place is a pigsty - again.”
“What going on?” He appears at the top of the stairs, still half asleep, dressed only in his boxer shorts, his semi-horn clearly visible through the gaping hole at the front. He’s scratching his head vacantly with one hand and his balls with the other. Although I’m all fired up for a fight, instead I just shake my head in disgust, and turn on my heel to head out of the door.
“Never fucking mind. I’ll get something at work.” I slam the front door extra hard, hoping to release some of the pent-up anger that is coursing through my veins.
Once at work, Melanie and I hatch a plan to get me out today. I simply can’t stay a minute longer. I’m to call in sick to our Regional Office. Mark’s not in today so no one need know that I actually came into work this morning perfectly fit and well. They will think I’ve made the call from my sick bed. Then I’m to head back home once Steve has left for work and pack up all of my gear into my little Renault 5 and drive back up to Swindon. Mel has already called her landlord, Timothy, who confirms he is happy for me to bunk in with her for a couple of weeks while we find somewhere new to rent. He’s a divorcee and used to live in the house but has recently moved up to London himself and plans to put the house on the market once Melanie and his other remaining lodger have moved out. I’ve met him on a couple of occasions when I’ve been round to Mel’s for supper and he’s seems like a decent bloke and I’m very grateful.
Once I’ve moved all of my stuff up to Tim’s, I return to the house and sit quietly in the lounge listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall. The minutes pass agonisingly slowly as I wait for Steve to come in from work, so I can officially end our relationship. Finally, I hear his car pull up on the drive and I start to shake, my nerves overwhelming me. I’m not afraid of him or think that he would do anything stupid to hurt me, but Steve is my longest and most serious relationship to date and I’m not looking forward to what I have to say or how he will react.
He realises something is up the minute he walks in the door and notices the house is half empty. Being a woman, I’m the one who’s provided the few soft furnishings or items that have attempted to make our lives more comfortable
and our house more homely. He may never have noticed the pictures on the walls previously, but now he’s noticing the bare patches, even though I suspect he couldn’t tell me what had hung there before if I was to ask. I give him a few seconds to take in what he’s seeing as he continues to scan round the room.
Finally, he asks, “Victoria, what’s going on?”
“Steve, I’m leaving you.” I stand up, attempting to sound ten times more confident than I feel. I wish my legs would stop shaking.
“I’ve left a cheque for my half of the rent and utilities for the next four weeks.” I point to a pile of paperwork on the dining room table. “After that it’s up to you what you choose to do.” I’m fortunate that it’s his name on the rental agreement and the utilities, and we’ve never got around to setting up a joint bank account, so legally I can walk away without any liability. Giving him four weeks of contribution towards the bills and rent, is merely a gesture and feels like the right thing to do.
He looks dumbfounded. Shocked. Speechless. As if all of this has come completely out of the blue, which I suspect for him it has. Despite our more frequent arguments of late I’ve never threatened to leave him before now. I almost feel angry that he’s so immune to my needs and feelings, that he’s had so little awareness of my unhappiness for basically the entirety of our relationship that I’m buggered if he’s going to make out that he’s the victim in all of this. That he’s the completely innocent party.
“Steve, I’m sorry. But I have no desire to be old before my time. You don’t want a girlfriend, you want a housekeeper and I’ve had enough of cleaning up after you. I want to be with a man who makes me feel like a woman, not their mother.”
“What are you talking about? Are you not happy? I thought we loved each other? This can’t be just because I ate the last slices of bread last night, is it?”
I look into his eyes and all I see is a frightened little boy looking back at me. I have no desire to kick him when he’s down and I haven’t even got the energy to explain how far off the mark he is.
“Steve. You’re blind,” I say, closing my eyes in frustration. My mouth devoid of any saliva. All I want to do now is get out of there as fast as possible, so I temper what I really want to say and instead finish the conversation. “I’m sorry but there really is no point discussing this anymore. Goodbye, Steve, and please say goodbye to your family on my behalf. They’ve all been very kind and decent to me.” I decide I’ll write his mother a nice letter and send it in a Christmas card in a few weeks’ time, even though she’ll probably throw it straight into the bin. “I’ve left my key on the side in the kitchen,” I add, standing up and making my way towards the front door for a final time. I refrain from adding, “next to your pile of dirty dishes and the sticky patch of orange juice you spilt this morning and failed to wipe up - you disgusting slob.”
“Goodbye Steve,” I say firmly, indicating that these are my final words before I close the front door behind me. Once outside, I lean back against the door and gaze skywards. It’s an ominous sky tonight. A large bright full moon peeks out from behind the thin threads of clouds that cross the early evening sky. I feel as if the sky has meaning. The dark clouds in the foreground hiding the pure white light of the moon behind. It’s as if the heavens are sending me a message: hang in there, Victoria because behind the clouds, brightness is coming.
“I sincerely hope so,” I say to myself under my breath. Second only to leaving my family to move in with Steve originally, this is the most momentous action I’ve ever taken. I hope I’ve made the right decision. Are my expectations for what I want out of my life too high? Steve may not be exciting or dynamic, but he has a stable job, I doubt he would have ever cheated on me, and despite his messiness I’m sure he will make a good partner for someone. Just not for me, I decide firmly.
I wonder what life holds for me now. I feel as if I’m on a preordained journey, as if this step was a necessary part of some bigger picture. As if a greater force is leading me somewhere to a future I’ve yet to experience. I know I’m young and inexperienced, but I also know I’m ambitious, and I know I want more. More out of a relationship, more out of my life generally. I feel like I’m on the search for something. For the piece of me that is missing. If only I know what it was, then perhaps I would know where to go hunting for it.
“OK, universe,” I say out loud in the car as I drive the 30 minutes back up the M4, “I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m headed, so if you have a plan for me - it would be really helpful if you could give me a hint sometime soon.” It would be nice to know that I’m at least headed in the right direction and I haven’t just taken yet another wrong turn.”
It does feel as if something is coming though, as if by leaving Steve something has just shifted in the world around me. I decide it’s pointless trying to overanalyse things that I have no control over and instead make a decision that I will fully embrace my new life living with Melanie and I’ll be open and unafraid to whatever comes along. Strangely I feel calm and content for the first time in a very long time.
Later that evening, Melanie and I head out for a celebratory Indian meal followed by a frenetic night of dancing in the local nightclub, Route 66, in the centre of town. I completely let loose, dancing with free abandon. I feel as if a switch has been flicked back on deep inside me. It’s as if my life had been put on pause for the past 15 months before starting once again. My body feels as if it just been thawed out after being cryogenically frozen. It’s an amazing feeling and Melanie and I laugh our heads off as we throw back the vodka during happy hour, enjoying the glances we are getting from members of the opposite sex.
“I’ve had more fun tonight, Mel, than I’ve had in a very long time. Thank you,” I say as we both drunkenly fall into the back of a taxi at 2am to head back to Tim’s.
“You call this fun, Vicky? We haven’t even got started. Trust me, this will become just one fun night in a very long list of many - let the games be-giiin.” She shouts dramatically, sitting bolt upright on the back seat of the taxi, gesticulating as if refereeing a gladiatorial tournament.
Despite the draining events from earlier in the day, the lateness of the hour and the prospect of work early tomorrow morning, I feel more alive than I’ve done in ages.
“Indeed, Mel,” I reply with gusto mirroring her body language, “let the games be-giiin.”
Chapter 5
Victoria
The following five months living and working alongside Melanie could not have contrasted more sharply than my life prior. A couple of weeks after my escape from Steve-dom (or as Mel likes to refer to it, ‘Steve-doom’) Mel and I rented a small but modern two bedroom semi-detached house (with toasty central heating!) in a small village called Wootton Bassett on the opposite side of the motorway from where we work, reducing my commute down to a ridiculously trivial five minutes. We join the gym at our local Marriott Hotel, which has a pool, sauna and jacuzzi, so most evenings either together or independently we’ll pop along for a quick swim in the pool, a soak in the bubbles of the jacuzzi or to sweat it out in the gym.
Melanie is a tall, slim, natural brunette and very trim, which previously I’d thought was down to her genetics, as we’d basically eaten the same things at work for the year we’ve known each other but now having lived with her as well, I see how well she eats and how much care she takes of her body generally. Most evenings she either eats a healthy chicken salad or cooks her meals from scratch. Take-outs and fast food are rare.
“It’s only so I don’t feel guilty splurging at the weekends, Vicky,” she offers as way of explanation one evening as she’s sitting down to yet another colourful salad. “Life is all about balance, Vicky. Work hard but play hard as well. Look after yourself during the week, so you can splurge at the weekend.”
...and splurge most weekends we do. She introduces me to her older sister, Michelle, who has also moved over to the UK for work. Michelle lives in London and we trek up to town fairly regularly to han
g out, eat, party and generally have fun. We also hang out with Timothy, Mel’s now ex-landlord, and his friends. Tim is only a couple of years older than us and a strong friendship developed between Mel and Tim when she lodged in his house in Swindon. Tim’s friends are a nice bunch, most of whom also work in finance, and we spend many an evening either attending or hosting dinner parties with his crowd. I did wonder at one point whether there was something going on between Melanie and Tim, but he has a girlfriend - allegedly. I say ‘allegedly’ as no one has ever met her. He tells us she’s also a divorcee, with a young son which keeps her anchored at her house in the country, while he works up in the City, visiting her most weekends and the odd night during the week.
There is also the family Melanie used to work for as an au pair who live in a village in southern Wiltshire - the Grays. The mum, Margaret, is especially welcoming when Mel introduces me to them all. They live in a large country house which despite its grandeur is full of love and homely warmth inside. On more than one occasion when Mel and I have been in desperate need for a calmer weekend, Margaret has taken us under her wing and stuffed us full of delicious home cooked grub and gallons of tea as we’ve sat around her large farmhouse kitchen table together, chatting away long into the night as between us we’ve attempted to put the world to rights. Margaret has opened her home and her heart to the both of us and I’m very grateful.
I’ve also taken Melanie north on a few occasions to meet members of my family and my ‘old’ friends - the friendships I’ve had since childhood. However, being such a long way away, it’s not a trip we take often. Even if we fly up from Heathrow, travelling up and back takes up most of the weekend. Despite this, all my friends and family welcome my new antipodean friend with the northern warmth that is as synonymous with our northern culture, as our diverse landscape or colloquial accent.
One of the major bonuses of working in the travel industry is the access to cheap travel. As certified travel agents we can apply for what’s known in the industry as an AD75. An agent’s discount of 75 percent off the price of all scheduled flights, which basically means we only ever pay 25 percent of any airfare, and that’s in addition to the free flights and bonuses the airlines and hotel reps are often giving away as incentives for us to promote their particular brand over their competitors. Wages in our industry are not great, so Melanie and I gladly accept every perk on offer.
Belonging: Two hearts, two continents, one all-consuming passion. (Victoria in Love Book 1) Page 4