51 Weeks

by Julia Myerscough

  I open one eye. Oh God, it’s a security guard and she doesn’t look impressed. In fact, she looks distinctly angry. Quick. Think. Options? I choose to faint.

  Later that afternoon, when I overhear Pippa recounting the events of the afternoon in graphic detail to Geoff, including how I completely ruined her street cred, I take refuge in our bedroom. Two hours later, he finds me still there, lying outstretched our bed, trying out my latest stress-busting technique as suggested by Becca, my hairdresser.

  He marches stormily into the room. “Amy, what are you up to?” he barks. “The kitchen floor could do with a mop, and we need to talk.”

  “P… ing… pa… n… P… ingu… Pint. Got you!” I snarl to my mobile.

  “Amy.” He comes over and hovers purposefully by my bedside. I tense.

  “I’ll mop it in a minute, Geoff. How was your week?”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Run the wrong way up the escalator.”

  “Down, you mean. I ran down the up,” I correct him.

  “Oh, whatever,” he replies crossly. “It was dangerous and bloody stupid.”

  “I didn’t think I’d get caught,” I reply cautiously.

  The words I so vehemently uttered way back last October before my year slam back into my head.

  … I must experiment and experience… I will challenge myself and get to know myself better. It’s time to break out of my comfort zone and try out new things – stuff I secretly dream of doing but never believe I can or should. No to convention and conformity.

  “My challenge was to go against the flow, so that’s what I did. It was something I’ve always secretly wanted to do, and it was harmless fun. The store saw the funny side of it and let me off with a caution,” I giggle nervously.

  “Sod that. You could have done something more worthwhile,” berates Geoff. He stares at me, steely-eyed. “You’ve changed. You’re not the Amy I thought I knew. The woman I married would never have done anything so fucking stupid. She’d have been sensible and measured. She would have thought through the impact of her actions on me, I mean us – and that includes the children. Very few of your so-called challenges have been a justifiable use of your time, and Christ knows what you’ve learned of value. However, I’ve been learning a lot about you, and I don’t like it.” He pauses to read a text message.

  “Are you referring to what happened in the pub?”

  “Enough, Amy. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I will wait for this godforsaken year to be over, and then we’ll see how it goes,” replies Geoff coolly, striding from the room. I hear feverish tapping on a mobile and the front door slam.

  Where’s he gone now? What has he learned about me? Has anything been said about Him and me and stuff? What did he mean, I should have thought up something a little more sensible? We’ll see how it goes…? I need to talk to him, to explain…

  I try him on his mobile, but it cuts to voicemail. I don’t leave a message. He’ll know I’ve called, and I’m sure he’ll ring back once he’s calmed down.

  I go to try and locate the mop and bucket. The bucket is tucked away in one corner of the garage, neatly filled with a coil of rope, some garden twine, a packet of baby wipes, two tea towels and a half-filled bottle of baby oil. Ah well, at least Geoff’s been doing something to help out, and I should be grateful, I think, emptying the contents out onto a shelf. But God knows what he’s been doing with this lot.

  9.00 p.m.

  Geoff hasn’t called me back, and he’s still out somewhere. I casually surf the net, randomly clicking on ‘marriage rescue’ sites for guidance. One, in particular, catches my eye.

  Relationship Trouble?

  Significant others going somewhere you don’t want to?

  Battling against them?

  Stop! Change direction. Go against the flow.

  Your partner will notice your efforts and respond more

  agreeably to your heart’s desire. What have you to lose?

  Very true, I think. When I do something for Geoff that he values, like baking scones or going on one of his walks, he is automatically more appreciative and nicer to be around. So, let’s find something special, something significant, that he’d love. Cate said to indulge him too, so that’s what I shall do.

  I feel better already.

  And then we’ll go out for dinner and discuss everything over a bottle of wine like we used to, I smile. Marriage Recovery Plan Phase One: Initiated.

  Sunday morning.

  Geoff is engrossed on the family iPad.

  “You came in very late last night – or was it this morning?” I say lightly, handing him a cup of coffee. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve thought long and hard about what you said yesterday.”

  He does not acknowledge me. I plough on.

  “There’s nothing in the rules to say I can’t do two different activities to achieve a challenge, so I have gone against the flow for the second time this week and booked us a short walking break in Croatia. We can talk and spend quality time together. We leave on Tuesday. I’ve cleared it with your boss and arranged childcare.”

  Geoff looks up. His eyes shine with pleasure.

  Two hours later.

  The history page randomly pops up on the family iPad while I’m reading up about Croatia. My eye is drawn to a list of pornographic websites. Whoa! We have our very own Porngate scandal. Who has been watching porn, and lots of it? There can only be two suspects: Geoff or Pippa. But which is it and why? I interrogate Pippa.

  “It’s not me. Have you spoken to Dad?”

  “Not yet,” I admit. “I’m worried what I might discover.”

  “It’s no big deal, you know,” she says unabashedly. “The boys at school watch porn all the time. I bet the stuff Dad’s been looking at isn’t half as bad as what they see.”

  “Great. That makes me feel better,” I laugh. But inside, I remain ill at ease.

  I accost Geoff.

  He denies it.

  I try to explain.

  “Show me the history,” he replies offhandedly. “I don’t know what you mean”.

  The iPad is out of charge.

  “It’s ok – it’ll wait,” I remark casually.

  Lunchtime.

  I fire up the iPad. The history has been deleted. I charge to Pippa’s bedroom and thrust it under her nose. “No history of porn. Did you delete it? My proof has gone.”

  “Mum, it definitely wasn’t me,” she whispers back savagely. “Hang on. Where’s Dad’s iPad? It’s synched to the family one, so if you check the history on that and the Croatia website is there, you’ll know it’s him.”

  Brilliant!

  I do as she says. Yes. The Croatia website is there, and the rest of the history mirrors the family iPad. Porngate is solved. I go to find Geoff, who is engrossed in the FT.

  “Porn? Deleted history? You?” I say acerbically.

  “It’s not been unknown,” he replies, his eyes fixed downwards.

  “So was it you?” I am confused.

  He stands up and massages his temples. “It has been known. God, I’ve got a headache,” he mutters.

  “Probably due to watching too much porn, darling,” I reply pithily as I watch him pop two headache tablets.

  I am about to give him a piece of my mind when I remember Croatia and my Marriage Recovery Plan Phase One. I take a deep breath and do what I would not normally do. I do not question him any further, nor do I rant and rave. I show no emotion. I go against the flow.

  His mobile pings, and a notification catches my eye:

  Mon-Key on hook.

  Hang noose.

  November

  Week One. Friday, 7.00 p.m.

  REDISCOVER THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE.

  This challenge is nothing to do with hobbies or inter
ests. I think it’s a coded message about guarding against the curse of Empty Nest Syndrome. I’m being asked to dissect my marriage and strengthen my relationship with Geoff, in preparation for a future of fun and frolics together (minus children) until death us do part.

  Niggling thoughts that have been tinkling away in the background for months boom in my head, and my inner critic throws out question after question.

  Where is our marriage heading? Have we neglected our relationship? Have our children enhanced it or are they the only bonding factor? Can we salvage our marriage?

  Sighing heavily, I put my head in my hands and think. Whoever assigned me that last challenge could see something I couldn’t. It was a subtle way of showing me how controlling Geoff really is. And Marriage Recovery Plan Phase One certainly didn’t go as well as I hoped. In Croatia, he never once asked me what I wanted to do, and he refused point blank to talk about anything of significance at all.

  It wasn’t always like this, was it?

  In the beginning, we were bonded together with superglue. I smile to myself. We did everything together. We went out all the time, and I loved being with him. I distinctly remember agreeing that if children came along, they would enhance our relationship but never define it, and we’d never become child-focused.

  I think back to dinner parties where couples talked incessantly about their kids and Geoff sat in silence, a look of total boredom emblazoned across his face. I recall the jokey conversations between us afterwards, when he intimated that should I become one of those women, he’d divorce me. How we laughed.

  I search out photos from the early days – holidays, outings, events. We are a team, smiling for the camera.

  Really? Were you smiling with joy, Amy?

  When babies came along, I remember feeling stupidly tired, frustrated and needing ‘me’ time – but however often I asked, there was plenty of ‘we’ time, but never ‘me’ time.

  What was ‘we’ time? Did you go along with his plans and projects?

  I shut my eyes tight. If I’m honest, I did.

  Why?

  Because that was the only way I felt I could have ‘me’ time. When I was with Geoff, I could shut off for a few minutes because the children were with us. And when he was at work or away, I developed coping mechanisms. He rarely ever did what we wanted to, and when he did, I felt guilty for making him participate when it was obvious he didn’t enjoy it…

  So?

  We ended up doing more without him. Whenever he was around, I opted for the quiet life. I went along with whatever he wanted. I spent my life giving him purpose, motivation, direction, sex and outstanding puddings using wholemeal flour. In return, he rewarded me by being loving, undemanding and generous.

  What does he give you in return now?

  My brow furrows and I chew on my finger. We are four distinct individuals whose lives are intertwined. We live in the same house, but his life is far less connected to ours and essentially, he still does exactly what he wants when he wants, regardless of anyone else’s needs and desires. I have allowed him to mould me into his minion, and now I feel repressed, unloved and unappreciated. I don’t feel how I think a wife should feel.

  My heart swells as I think about my children. I love my life and role as a mum, taxi service, coach, confidante, cook and mediator. I adore my friends and my life. My job is okay too. It’s a rollercoaster ride – exhausting – and at times I despair. But when all is said and done, I wouldn’t want it any other way except that… The words stick in my throat…

  I do love Geoff, but I don’t love our marriage. I have monogamy and permanence and status and freedom, and I don’t have an ‘efficient’ relationship with my children, like I was forced to endure with my mother. I have what I have craved since I was a child. I thought everything was fine, but I now have evidence and clarity of thought that proves it is not fine any more.

  Amy, crows my inner voice. You’ve neglected your marriage intentionally and used your children as an excuse to withdraw from Geoff.

  I am honest with myself. I think that we have both neglected our marriage unintentionally over time. He’s gradually lost touch with us and our lives. I have been all things to our children because he has rarely agreed or wanted to step up to the mark, and I have never challenged him. Nowadays, for the most part, we live parallel lives.

  Is this how you want your marriage to be, Amy?

  “No,” I say firmly. “It is not.”

  And what about Him? Why are you drawn to Him? He is representative of a part of you that is missing in your marriage, isn’t he? If you rediscovered the love of your life, would the fascination with Him disappear in a puff of smoke?

  I stare out of my kitchen window, massaging my sore finger. Right. I’m going to try again, I think. Marriage Recovery Plan Phase Two will be to successfully rediscover the love of my life. Then I will be rid of Him, and our marriage will be back on track. I will do it. It’s just – how?

  Saturday, 10.00 p.m.

  I meet The Girls at the pub. “Ideas on how to rediscover the love of my life, please. I’m working on improving my relationship with Geoff.”

  “Didn’t you rediscover the magic in Croatia?” says Bea with a touch of irony.

  I am economical with the truth. “We had a pleasant few days away, but I didn’t come back feeling any different really, except for glad that we’re back on an… um… even footing. I certainly didn’t think we recaptured what we had back in the day, though, and that’s my focus now.”

  “Revisit those significant places and do those things you did together in your first heady days of lurve,” giggles Claire. “Five years ago, Bob took me back to the church where we married. It brought us so much closer. The memories might spark something.”

  “Good idea, Claire. Relive your first date, your first snog and your first shag, and see if that fixes your marriage, pet.” Bea is stony-faced. “Pot calling the kettle black,” she mutters under her breath.

  Sunday afternoon.

  It’s all planned.

  Geoff’s Outlook calendar has been interrogated, and tomorrow afternoon and evening has been reserved for our date night. I bet he’ll have something to say about that, though, I think. He’ll hate going out late on a week night, of course. Well, tough. I have to do this before Friday, so tomorrow it is. And anyway, if he cancels without good reason or complains me into the ground, then I’ll know where I stand.

  I have looked up the walk we went on and the place where we had our first kiss. I have booked the cinema and our ‘first date’ restaurant. It’s impossible to see the first film we ever watched together on the big screen, but never mind.

  1.00 p.m.

  I am summoned to the study. “What’s this in my Outlook for tomorrow? Please don’t do it again without asking. Tsk, Amy! You know it’s a week night?”

  “Well, yes. However, I thought that we might be spontaneous and spend some quality time together. We used to go to the pub quiz on Tuesday evenings, and Monday is as good a day as any.”

  “For a date night?” He eyes me quizzically.

  “You can read then,” I laugh.

  “Don’t be facetious, Amy. But why?” he continues. “I’d prefer a weekend. I’m supposed to be somewhere tomorrow evening.”

  Ah yes, I think, remembering the notification I saw on his mobile. “Can’t somebody else get the key, Geoff?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I accidentally saw a message on your phone reminding you to collect a key on Monday. It said to hang loose. That’s good advice. You should take it easy, considering you were on antibiotics recently.”

  A wry smile works its way across his face. “That’s an idea,” he says wickedly.

  I pretend to be oblivious to his demeanour. “Great. It’s good for one’s wellbeing to be spontaneous. I learned that from a challenge,” I smile. “And I promise you t
hat by the end of it, you’ll be totally chilled. So ask somebody else to fetch the key, and be here for three.”

  Monday, 2.30 p.m.

  Date dress, make-up and hair ready.

  3.00 p.m.

  No Geoff. No text message. No voice mail. Nothing.

  3.15 p.m.

  I leave Geoff a voicemail.

  3.30 p.m.

  Geoff rushes in, dishevelled. I am underwhelmed.

  3.45 p.m.

  Feeling uneasy, I drive Geoff to the country park. He has not commented on my dress, hair or make-up, and he has made no effort with his appearance. He is wearing the same pair of chinos and shirt he has been in all day. The only difference is that he stinks of aftershave.

  Trudging around the country park in the gloom of a November afternoon, I attempt to make conversation, but I can tell that he’s not in the mood. What can I chat about? Talking about the family is off-limits today. “How was your day?” I ask, taking his hand.

  His mobile rings. “Gotta take that, sorry.” I listen into the conversation as we walk along. “I’m with Amy. No, mate – it’s nothing special.”

  I feel my frustration mounting.

  5.30 p.m.

  Geoff takes my hand for all of five minutes in the cinema. I don’t feel able to snog him. The feeling just isn’t there.

  7.30 p.m.

  At dinner, we reminisce about our first date. We smile into each other’s eyes as the waiter comments that we have ordered the same dish, and we share private jokes as we recall our first meal together, the one when we did exactly the same. This is better. This is the man I fell in love with. At last, we’re really getting on.

  Ten minutes later.

  Geoff takes my hand. “Put your knife and fork down a moment.”

  Ah, here we go. Romance alert! What is he going to say or do? The anticipation is exhilarating.

  “I’ve been meaning to give you this for a while now, but it’s never been the right time, Amy.”