The Week I Ruined My Life

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  ‘How was the wedding? It was last week, wasn’t it?’ Corina keeps eye contact, straining her neck in the process.

  ‘Hmmm?’ He looks uncomfortable.

  ‘Your brother’s wedding, the Pimple, wasn’t it last week? You get through that heartfelt speech you were telling me all about, Trev?’ Tilting her head to the side now, sporting a pretty convincing sympathetic face.

  ‘Your brother didn’t get married?’ The sexy blonde girlfriend says running one hand down her sleek ponytail. ‘Who is yer one?’ Her head does a dart in the direction of Corina.

  ‘Did you call me a one?’ Corina looks up at her.

  ‘Listen, I don’t know you nor do I want to. Me and Trev, we have only just got back together, it’s a fresh start so whatever he did or didn’t do to you is in the past, sweetheart, OK?’

  ‘Of course, delighted for you both,’ Corina says, nodding at the blonde before pressing Trevor some more. ‘But I’m speechless the Pimple isn’t married? And after all the effort you put into that speech, Trevor? You spent an entire evening telling me about how you guys swung on that same old battered tyre-tree as kids in Salford; latch-key kids, I think you called yourselves? About how your abusive dad drank himself to death and was found face down in Salford precinct in a pool of his own vomit by your schoolmates? About how you and the Pimple worked paper rounds at three in the morning to buy tins of tuna to live on?’

  ‘Why did you tell her your dad was dead? Billy’s not dead,’ the girlfriend says now, frowning through a suspiciously line-free forehead.

  ‘And how you lads saved up and sent your mum to Lourdes to try and cure her unidentified disease of the legs.’ Corina turns to Amanda, all sympathy. ‘She can’t walk, as I suppose you know … tragic …’

  The girlfriend looks around and I know it’s for a hidden camera.

  ‘But we just dropped your mum to Zumba class? What kinds of shit are you spilling to birds out there?’ Her voice is hushed now. ‘What the hell is going on, Trevor?’

  ‘No, no, no, you have me mixed up with some other guy, love.’ Trevor laughs unconvincingly and shakes his head, his feet shuffling. Desperately trying to think on his feet.

  ‘But she knows the Pimple?’ The girlfriend makes a good point.

  All three of us stare at Trevor.

  ‘Babe, there’s a lot I don’t want you to know about the Pimple, and trust me it’s for your own good. I’m protecting you. You know he has a major problem with the booze. I don’t know this chick … Ahhh, ya know what, our table is ready … Have a lovely evening … er … eh … um …’ He puts his hand on the small of the other woman’s back and they walk on, her ponytail swinging left to right.

  ‘Corina!’ she calls after him. ‘C.O.R.I.N.A. Remember? It’s your favourite name in the whole world. It’s what you always wanted to call your firstborn if it’s a girl, isn’t it?’

  The girlfriend does a double take.

  Corina sits.

  ‘Knob end!’

  ‘Jesus, is this what you meant by “among other things”? I ask. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Just don’t get it, Ali, I just don’t. He’s a mean liar. What sort of bullshit was he feeding me? Like, what the heck? Is he clinically insane? He’s a mean liar. Why would someone make up such elaborate bullshit? And I feel bad for her, witch though she seems to be!’

  ‘Some people are very odd, Corina. He’s not worth it and she will find out what he’s like soon enough … seems like they deserve each other, to be honest.’

  ‘Are you ready to place your order?’ We are interrupted by a very pretty Chinese waitress, in a tight red-and-black cheongsam. We tell her we are and I order my sweet-and-sour chicken Hong Kong-style with egg-fried rice. Corina has chicken satay skewers for starters, sizzling beef in black bean sauce, noodles and an extra portion of boiled rice, and we order another bottle of red, a rich Merlot.

  ‘How could I have liked him? I think that’s the most frustrating thing. I must be a very bad judge of character.’

  ‘He told you what you wanted to hear. He wanted you to trust him,’ I say.

  ‘Just to get me into bed?’

  ‘Well, it appears that way, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think he actually didn’t recognise me, because if that’s the case I am literally going to go over there and dump my black bean sauce over his head!’

  ‘He didn’t seem to remember you, Corina, no.’ No point in lying. ‘However, I think that says a lot more about him than you.’

  ‘I’m giving up the dating game. I can’t be arsed any more, truthfully. I hate it.’ She fixes her cutlery. ‘Hurry up! I need food! Food is the one thing that never lets me down. Food is my Eros.’ She sighs, twisting her head around to see if she can spot our waitress returning.

  ‘I’ve never been in the dating game … but hey, who knows where my life is headed, maybe we can go at it together!’ I try to cheer her up.

  I hate seeing her so down on herself. That prick Trevor.

  ‘Fun though that sounds, things will work out with Colin. You guys just need to have some serious counselling and time apart to see what you are missing and then get your little family back on track. Give it time. Regardless of all he’s done, I know he isn’t a bad man deep down.’ She reaches in for the plate of prawn crackers our waitress has just delivered and folds one into her mouth.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Really?’ I decipher the word through her full mouth.

  ‘Well, not like it is now, but I would like it if we could fall in love all over again, find a new respect for each other. Mind you, that would be little short of magic.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be a miracle though, I’ve seen it happen before. Liz and Richard?’ she says distractedly, looking over at the blonde who is now sashaying into the ladies’ room.

  ‘What’s wrong, apart from that absolute plonker back there?’

  ‘I don’t want this to sound all poor me, ’cause you know I’m not like that – I am the glass-is-half-full lady – but seriously, I think the way I look, guys just don’t like it for the long term. I’m not arm candy, that’s for sure. They just use me. I mean, come on … Look at the girlfriend compared to me!’

  ‘Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous, and you are gorgeous!’

  ‘I’m not gorgeous, Ali, I know that and you know that …’ Her face is serious.

  ‘I think you are!’ I hold my hand over my heart.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ She winks at me.

  ‘And you go on loads of dates, Corina, loads,’ I point out.

  ‘Yeah, dates. Except that’s usually in the singular: I go on loads of date. This date is never normally repeated. There is no omnibus. It’s killing my self-esteem. I’m serious: I’m out of the game as far as I’m concerned. This race is over.’ She raises her glass to her lips and takes a long drink before reaching in for the prawn crackers. Holding the savoury, white, puffy crisp aloft, she says, ‘I’m just gonna get really, really, really fat and then at least I have a reason why … Sure, look, I’m halfway there already!’ She pats her tummy. ‘In fact, I should go for one of those feeder guys, what d’you say? Perfect! Ha! Why didn’t I think of that before? I’m gonna get myself a feeder. Now I want him to be a good match. I don’t want a feeder who wants me to eat tripe or rare lamb chops, I’d prefer a banoffee pie, Rice-Krispies-bar kinda feeder ya know?’ She laughs again now.

  ‘Do you want children?’ I say in a low voice as I lean across the table. I have never asked her this before.

  ‘Desperately,’ Corina says without missing a beat, wiping the grease from the prawn crackers from her hand with her white linen napkin. I wait. She looks down and then she looks up.

  ‘Ever since I was a little girl, all I’ve ever wanted was a big family. Kids running around everywhere. My clock is ticking, I’m thirty-nine next year, Ali, and single as a lone sniper. Without wanting to sound like a whining wagon, I am starting to panic about my fertility.’

  I’m not having this.


  ‘So what are you waiting for?’ I say.

  ‘What do ya mean?’ She looks questioningly at me as she reaches in for another prawn cracker.

  ‘You want a baby, there are plenty of ways of falling pregnant, you know. You don’t physically need a boyfriend or a husband any more, Corina, this is the twenty-first century.’

  ‘But I’d have to do it all on my own; that’s not the way I saw it, Ali.’ She shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘Eh? Hello? What am I, Scotch mist? You wouldn’t be on your own.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be easy.’ She nibbles around the edge of the prawn cracker but I can see she’s thinking. Deliberating, if you will.

  ‘Nothing about having children is easy, Corina, but to be honest, given my experience of late, sometimes it is less stressful coping on your own with them. Look, it’s your life, but if you’re relying on a Mr Right that doesn’t come along, you’ll be cutting off the thing you say you are most desperate for.’

  ‘But isn’t it all about having someone to share the joys with?’ Nibble. Nibble. Nibble.

  ‘No, not always, it’s very conventional to think like that. It’s romantic but it’s not realistic, marriages fail every second of every day … look at me …’ I remember something. I snap my fingers at her.

  ‘A-ha, I never told you this! So I know this girl, she’s an actress, that one with the pierced downstairs area I was telling you about?’

  Corina remembers and crosses her legs. I go on.

  ‘Well, she did a play in the City Arts last year. She was forty, had been engaged for ten years, ten, imagine! She wanted to wait until they were married to have a baby – it was really important to her for her parents’ sake – so of course they broke up. She told me she looked into all her options to get pregnant. She found a website that offered to match women with potential sperm donors. Put up her profile and photo, found a matching donor that offered AI – that’s artificial insemination – he came to her flat and did his business in her bathroom and handed her the jar of sperm, he left and she did her thing with her AI kit. Long story short, she got pregnant and he wanted to be involved, now they raise their little boy, Luke, together as friends. Isn’t that mad?’

  ‘Sounds like a film with Sandra Bullock and some relatively unknown up-and-coming hot young actor.’ Her eyes open wide and she snorts. ‘Up-and-coming … ha ha ha, get it?’

  ‘I am serious here.’

  Her laugh fades and she surveys my expression.

  Corina would be a fantastic mother, I think.

  ‘You really think these are realistic options for me?’ Hope literally floods across her face. Like Charlie Bucket, when he peels back that silver foil to reveal just the tiniest peek of that wondrous Golden Ticket.

  ‘One hundred per cent I do!’ I feel all emotional.

  ‘Holy crap,’ is all she says as our food arrives, all loudly sizzling and smelling divine. After speaking to my babies I am now ravenous. When our waitress has placed all our dishes down I spoon some sweet-and-sour chicken pieces onto my warm plate and add some egg-fried rice.

  ‘I tell you what … if we are still sitting here this time next year and you are still in the same position, let’s seriously consider getting you pregnant. See how Trevor’s fixed for a deposit? He owes you one.’ I wave my knife behind me.

  We howl with laughter.

  ‘God, I wouldn’t want to inflict a poor baby with his pathologically lying genes!’ She pours her sizzling beef all over her thick noodles and twists her fork to gather. My chicken is sweet and tender and the flavours erupt in my mouth.

  ‘I don’t need a man, do I?’ she says laying her fork to rest on the side of her plate.

  ‘You don’t.’ I pierce a piece of pineapple with my fork.

  ‘You’re so right, why do I care if that idiot wants me or not? I deserve so much better.’

  The penny has dropped.

  ‘That’s the Corina I know and love.’ I smile.

  ‘I deserve so much better.’ She repeats the mantra under her breath and it seems to resonate and she smiles brightly. Raising her wine glass to me, she says, her eyes slightly damp, ‘I’ll always have you, right?’

  ‘Damn right.’ I look her in the eye and it’s my turn to wink at her.

  part 2

  20

  Six months later. Late Thursday evening. My new apartment. Ranelagh.

  I never knew loneliness could literally hurt. Or that regret could physically make you vomit. But they do. Not daily any more, but in the early days when I first left No. 13 to live on my own.

  For the entire month of April I practically vomited every night before I crawled into my cold, lonely bed, curled into a ball of flowing tears. I know that all sounds very dramatic and it is getting easier, but I want to be honest.

  Those first few months, I can’t overstate how horrific they were. I’m coming to terms with where I am now but I still miss it all dreadfully. The family. The home. The unit. I just never thought it would be so harrowing and so traumatic. It comes in waves, the hurt, the guilt, the fear. From not being with my children as they drift off to sleep and missing out again when they wake early morning. No little worker bee team, running around our hive, seven days a week. Ironically, I miss Colin Devlin. Who knew? Not in a marital way at all, but I miss the person, the friend I married. It’s like he left and just never came back. We talk, we communicate, but only about the children. Colin Devlin has completely shut me out of all other aspects of his life. He is more or less a stranger to me now. And that’s just the way it is.

  The hardest part is looking back with a clear head. Everything, events, situations, happenings, they are all muddled up. Almost like I was drunk for a long time before the break-up. Who really started that fight? Who really was to blame? At the end of the day, does it really matter? All I know is that we couldn’t seem to live in harmony together any more, under the same roof.

  Yes, a lot was wrong in our marriage but a lot was right too. Possibly it wasn’t as bad as I made it out in my head, so why had I wanted a way out so badly? I honestly still don’t know. Sometimes I’m still not sure that I did want a way out. It’s mind-bogglingly confusing. But I wasn’t happy. That is the one fact I believe to be true and I need to accept that.

  That was a real issue.

  I sometimes wonder whether I didn’t purposely sabotage it all, just to get Colin to see how unhappy I was. I don’t know. I do know one thing, though: I dearly wish I could rewind the clock to when the small cracks first appeared and sit and talk to Colin. Hold my temper and listen to him. I don’t mean agree unquestioningly, or change my principles by any means, or allow him to overpower me; I just wish I had looked for and found a compromise. I wish I’d communicated better. Although I thought I was trying to make him listen, I never really knew how to speak to him. Not so he’d hear me. I have trouble with that even now. And when he became childish and vindictive, I allowed myself to as well. It had all gone too far. We just let it unravel to the point that it wasn’t possible to roll it all back up. Now that we’re not fighting all the time, when he drops the kids off or I see him at the house, I look at him and I think, Mother of God, he’s gorgeous. So long as we don’t speak to each other, part of me fancies him again.

  It won’t be long before he has a new partner.

  Who knew I’d yearn for the constant running from A to B, the messy kitchen, the messy bedrooms, the messy bathrooms, the constant picking up of books, clothes, toys, underwear, Lego, DVDs. Ha! Sing it, Ms Morissette. Sing it loud.

  There is an emptiness not being a part of it all any more that I can’t explain. A black hole deep inside me, but it’s filling up slowly, tiny grain by tiny grain. We split the children as much as we can. But a home is a home and Colin, Jade and Mark all live there together.

  I am a new person. A different person. I’m still figuring out exactly who I am on my own. Time will tell. This was never in my plan. But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

  * *
*

  So you want to know what happened.

  On that Sunday night of the week I ruined my life, before I went back home, Corina and I went to see an Amy Conroy play in the Project Arts Centre. Afterwards we decided to have another Chinese on the way home and Corina and I ended up again drinking our body weight in red wine. The mass of prawn crackers and Chinese food did nothing to soak it up. All the staff had been sitting at a far table, arms folded, just waiting to get rid of us. And then who should pass us again but Trevor, this time without his girlfriend.

  Corina had stood up, a bit unsteady now, using the table as support and slurred, ‘Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, you think you’re so clever …’ She had wagged a floppy finger at him here as she searched for words. I’d had to hold the linen napkin over my mouth to stop a burst of laughter. I was so giddy, excited because tomorrow I was going home!

  ‘Ahh … I don’t give a shit, so hey … whatever.’ She’d thrown her floppy hand in his direction before her eyes lit up at me.

  ‘Hey! That was a rhyme! Trevor! Clever! Whatever! Do your thang, girl!’ she’d ordered and sat down.

  And I did. I did my Marcel Marceau all the way round our table as Trevor and his very confused male pal looked on in horror. Corina’d had to dash to the loo, her legs literally crossed to avoid an accident.

  ‘He’s a bit of a spoofer, isn’t he?’ I focused on the pal, who nodded.

  ‘Why do you have sex with girls and not call them back?’ I slurred slightly at Trevor.

  ‘Uh … dunno, do I?’ he managed.

  The man’s clearly a genius.

  I went to work into the City Arts Centre, very hung-over I must add, the next day. Similar to the walk of shame, at nine o’clock I had gone straight to Colette’s office and sat in front of her. Colette is a fair person and she didn’t judge me per se, but after talking for almost a full hour about morals and discipline and fair play being the heart of the City Arts Centre, I knew that my position in the City Arts Centre was no more. Colette had lost her respect for me. I could see it in her eyes, and I understood it. Colette didn’t want to fire me or even reprimand me, she just wanted to reiterate her values, and I didn’t feel comfortable knowing I had crossed that line.