by Rita Edah
When I came to the end of the entry, I was like Oh my gosh, is this a sign? If so, what does it mean for me? Oh help!!
Summer 2004
Theo
She doesn’t look at me the way she used to – as a matter of fact, she hardly looks at me at all. And when she does, there is something I can’t quite place – I used to be able to read her like a book. My Beauty – I wish she would relax with me again.
I decided to raise my concerns the other Sunday after a leisurely lie-in (she goes to church more these days, but only when I’m on duty). Putting on my sombre monotone, I said, “I think there’s something not quite right.”
“What is it?” She looked like a little frightened kitten in her black and white flannel bathrobe.
“Us.” Pause. “There is something not quite right about us.”
She shuffles on the bed and still says nothing.
“What do you think?”
“I think,” her tone was measured, “you are beginning to wake up to smell the coffee.”
“And you say that because…?”
“Because when I’ve tried to speak with you about it in the past, you’ve always swept it under the carpet. You tell me to be strong. To be like this or that or the other person. So what do you expect?”
To be frank, I was quite surprised to see her get stirred up like that. This is usually the kind of conversation that would ordinarily melt her little yellow vanilla-flavoured heart. I hadn’t prepared for this, so naturally I went into my ‘attack is the best form of defence’ mode.
“So you are saying it’s my fault?”
“Well, a lot of it is.”
“And the part that isn’t?”
“It’s the part where I’ve allowed you to run roughshod over me.”
“Beauty! You are out of your mind!”
She rolled over and got off the bed. Took a few deliberate steps to my side of it and sat down beside me, looking me fully in the eyes. I will never forget the defiance I saw. I will never forget the tone of her voice when she said, “You are out of order for yelling at me. That is abuse, and I will no longer stand for it.”
I grabbed her arm as she made to walk away. “You dare accuse me of abusing you? I’ve never laid a hand on you.”
“And that makes it all right? Let go of me.”
I didn’t. Not at first. I needed to know what was happening to my wife. “What has got into you?” I tried to keep my voice firm and controlled. I’m not quite sure that it worked, which simply increased my levels of anxiety. Now she’s accusing me of abuse… unbelievable!
“Theo, you are hurting me. And you have right now perjured your own testimony, for you are squeezing the very life out of my arm.”
I released my grip almost involuntarily. “I’m sorry, Beauty, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You always say that, but is it really true? Think about it.”
Within a few minutes, she was showered and dressed. And said she was going shopping.
She didn’t return till close to midnight. Her words haunted me all through those hours she was away. And I deeply regretted having held her that tightly – I’d forgotten my own strength and I knew that my fingerprints would remain tattooed on her delicate skin for a very long time.
We didn’t speak for days. Which was very unlike Beauty – she couldn’t stand to receive or even to give the silent treatment. Now though, she spoke to me only when it was essential. She turned her back on me when she was in bed. And all my jokes that used to get me out of sticky situations fell on stony ground. I had to devise a plan to break the ice and have my beautiful wife back in my bosom where she belonged.
Flowers. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? To make it extra special, I arranged to have them delivered to the house during the day. It would be a surprise as it wasn’t her birthday, or Valentine’s or any special day. I asked the florist at Stratford station to make me a bouquet that would have as dramatic an impact as the falling of the Berlin Wall. The price wasn’t a hindrance. And florist Sue let her imagination run riot with a combination of apple blossoms, daffodils, some sparkle-treated twigs with curly tips, some lilies and one single red rose. She took her time to educate me on the significance of each item, but all I wanted was for Beauty to see that I was sorry.
On the card, I wrote by hand: ‘A thing of Beauty is a joy forever. You are my everlasting joy and I love you forever and a day. Love always, Theo.’
I asked Sue to be sure to deliver it at 12.30. They’d have had their lunch and Sunita would be having her midday nap while Beauty read or pottered round the house or did whatever it was she did with her time. She wasn’t one for daytime TV except for what she’d scheduled for Sunita.
I expected my phone to ring any time between half twelve and one. However, when it went off at 12.40 and it was Sue at the other end, it took me a moment to recover from the shock and take in what she was saying.
“What do you mean she’s not home? Maybe she’s having a nap. Keep your thumb on the doorbell if you have to.”
“I did, Theo, but there’s been no response, and I’ve got to get back to the stall.”
“She’s got to be home – is there a VW Golf in the driveway?”
“No, there’s no car at all.”
“Is there one in the neighbour’s drive? The number 21 neighbour is usually home.”
“Yes, there is.”
“Okay, leave it with Mrs Khan, and a note for Beauty to pick it up when she comes in.”
It wasn’t until I called her mobile phone and it kept going to voicemail that I began to panic. An hour or so later, I asked to take the rest of the day off due to a personal emergency.
The home looked normal when I got in, so she couldn’t have run away. I’m her next of kin so I’d have heard by now if there’d been any accidents. Or incidents. For the next 60 minutes or so, I crawled round the usual places Beauty visited. I didn’t want to call any family or friend. I needed to know first and deal with the situation. It’s too soon to report them as missing persons, but in the end I decided to go back to the office so I could monitor communications in case any report/information came in from or about her.
When I saw her face flashing on my mobile phone, I was surprised at the number of knots that began to loosen around my temples and my neck. She sounded so normal on the phone. She’d seen my missed calls, she said; why hadn’t I left a message? she queried.
“Where were you?” was all I could manage without exploding.
“I took Sunita for a spin.”
“I see. You home now?”
“Yes we are. So, what’s up, why did you call?”
“I missed you, and just wanted to hear your voice.”
The rest of the day was grey. I stayed away until I knew Sunita would have been picked up. I needed to find out where Beauty was. I always knew her whereabouts – well, almost always. This is the second time she’s made me panic by disappearing without communicating with me, and making it impossible for me to reach her on the phone. And this will be the last, I will be sure of it.
The flowers were sitting regally in the middle of the dining table. I could smell dinner, and could sense Beauty was in a glorious mood. Well, I wasn’t.
I returned her ‘welcome home’ kiss with stoic silence. I turned off the music, turned on the TV, flopped on my special chair and threw my legs on the coffee table.
“For someone who seemed desperate to hear my voice earlier, you seem a bit withdrawn. Did something happen at work?”
After an appropriate pause, I replied, “Work was fine. Until you went missing.”
“Me? I didn’t go missing,” she chuckled. “Who reported me missing?”
“The florist.”
“But she left me a note – thanks for the flowers by the way, they are beautiful. What’s the occasion?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s been spoilt now.”
“How?”
“By your mysterious disappearance.”
“Please don’t blow this into something else. Can I not go out with Sunita on the fly? Do I have to clear everything with you first?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” I throw my feet on to the floor and get on them in one swift move. I lean towards her. “I need to know where you are to be sure you are all right.”
Stepping away slightly, she goes, “Well, you didn’t know where I was, but I am all right. So please relax.”
“How can I relax when my wife is making a fool of me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve been thinking about it all day. You’ve been acting strangely lately, and then you go off like that – I’m pretty certain you are seeing somebody.”
“I don’t believe you are accusing me of cheating on you!” She was shaking her head and turning away from me.
“Aren’t you? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not.”
She looked at me squarely and said, “I will not dignify that question with an answer.” Then she made to turn towards the kitchen, but I’d swiftly stepped in her path, careful not to restrain her with my hands.
“Excuse me please, I have things to do.”
“You go nowhere, you do nothing until you tell me where you were this afternoon.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then it’s true. You are a filthy little cheat, an ashawo. Prove me wrong.”
She was silent, for what seemed for ever. When she spoke, her words were laced with such anger and resentment that I felt ashamed, an emotion I don’t often indulge in. This feeling soon passed as I heard more of what she was saying.
“. I went to a support group for women in abusive relationships… whatever doubts I had about whether you were indeed being abusive, you have kindly clarified. Now if you will excuse me.”
Involuntarily, I made way for her. I immediately regretted this – I am losing her, this was unacceptable. I don’t know why I did it but I flung the flower vase with its contents against the wall. And I don’t know how it happened but my knuckles were bleeding and swollen. I saw I was sweating profusely and cursing generously. I knew I was out of line, but I was too stressed out to do anything about it.
Eventually I calmed myself down and decided to try again, a softer approach this time. When I got to the bedroom door, the little toe-rag had locked it.
I’m sorry to report that I threatened to kick it in. She dared me to do it and promised to report me to the police if I did. That was when it clicked. What was I doing? I was supposed to be protecting her, reassuring her. The idea of the flowers was to surprise her with an elaborate apology. How did I let it all get so out of hand?
“I’m very sorry, Beauty, I don’t know what came over me. I was so afraid that I’d lost you, that you didn’t love me anymore.”
Silence. Intense and deafening.
“Oh Beauty. Oh my Beauty. I’m extremely sorry. I love you too much. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I can’t live without you. If I hurt you, I will only be hurting myself. And you can’t live without me either, can you? Let’s stop rowing. Let’s rekindle our flame and enjoy our lives together. I promise never again to hurt you with my actions, or with my words. I am very sorry.”
Eventually, having run out of words, I crumpled to the floor of the bedroom door and simply sobbed.
Two or three hours later, I was back in bed, with a blotched-faced Beauty, folded foetus-like within my arms. I go off to sleep with a calm assurance that everything will be all right after all.
CHAPTER 12
Early 2006
Beauty
I know how my heart thumps with every tread of his steps. Sometimes I sense him before I see him, the shiver scurrying down my spine before I hear him. Still, I’m startled at the sound of my name carried by his voice.
I love Theo. That’s my problem. I stopped attending the AADV + VA support group as it made him so very sad. I thought I’d be okay. And I have been, we have been… but for the dreams.
Many times I’ve wondered how life would be for me without Theo. I seem to find the answer in the dream where it’s chucking it down with rain and, at the same time, brownish leaves are being swirled all around me where I sat as I was – fat, old and alone on a bench. Sometimes it’s a bench in a park. Sometimes it’s a bench at a bus stop. At other times it’s been at a train station, and just once so far, it’s been the churchyard at St Katherine’s where my three little babies lie.
The other night, I woke up sweating all over and with a sensation of swelling in my throat. In the dream, Theo and I had gone to church to renew our vows. I wasn’t too keen on it at first. I thought that having been married for x number of years we could just renew our vows to each other by living them daily. But Theo was adamant that as a sign that the war between us was well and truly over, it would be a good idea to mark our ‘new life’ together under the canopy of God’s blessings and in the presence of family and friends who, I must say, were all sold on the idea.
“That’s great,” was Daisy’s verdict, “whatever doubts you may have had about his love for you can now be laid to rest.”
And Mel was, “Wao! You get to marry the same guy twice! Surely, that must make it last forever.”
It was such a vivid one, this dream. I remember saying to her, “Why don’t I feel excited about it then? What if, in fact, I can’t bear for it to last forever?”
“Come on, B, this is the well-known pre-wedding nerves.”
“Mel, you are not listening to me. We are not engaged. We are already married. If this is what forever will be, then…” I choked up.
“Okay, Beauty, I can hear you. What if you saw it as a promise of a better tomorrow?”
“That could work,” I nodded, while willing back my tears.
“And you get an opportunity to dress up again in your pretty princess wedding dress.”
“Oh no! That won’t fit. Not even if I lived on air for the next six weeks!”
Anyway, as is usually the way with dreams, some of the finer details were non-existent when I awoke. Like where exactly did it take place? Who was the officiating minister? And most importantly, what exactly did we promise each other?
I thought it funny though that my dress was an almost exact replica of my real wedding dress, but two sizes larger, and calf-length without a train, unlike the real one. And of course Sunita was my little flower girl who walked before me down the aisle towards Theo who was resplendent in his formal officer dress – very different from the tux he’d hired for the real wedding.
At the end of the ceremony when all the photoshoots had been done, drinks and cakes drunk and eaten and everyone else was gone, Theo and I thought to make the most of the glorious weather and take a walk in the park before going home. As soon as we got there, it began to rain, lightly at first then soon heavily enough for puddles to form and splash on my lovely ivory lightly sequinned dress. I started to cry and turned to Theo saying, “My dress is all messed up,” but he wasn’t there. I began to call out to him frantically, in the rain, searching for him in Victoria Park, and woke up with his name on my lips and a lump in my throat.
This certainly competes with last night’s for the ‘weirdest dreams of the month’ Oscar awards.
I was sitting at the foot of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square, as if stuck to it by bird poop. Neither rain nor wind nor leaves could move me. It was the fattest I’ve ever seen myself even in my dreams. I heard a baby cry, then I turned around to follow the sound. Next thing I knew, I was in St James’s Park with Theo, sitting beside him on a bench, holding this baby. I tried to have a conversation with Theo, but he never responded. Eventually, he turned in our direction and said to the baby, “Hello little one! How did you get here? Are you lost? Let’s go find your parents.” Then he made to pick up the baby and I woke up screaming, “No! No! No!” my bed soaked with my sweat…
This might be a good time to go see a therapist.
Sunita is still my only ward. I’ve loved having her as a part of
my life. It doesn’t feel like a job at all. However, my time with her is now very short. As she’s now three and a half, she’s started going part-time to preschool. Daisy still drops her off to me at 8am and picks her up at six. I do the school runs and miss her dreadfully those two and a half hours when she’s away. What will I do when she starts full time in September?
Theo seems to be getting warmer towards the adoption idea – at least we talk about it now, unlike before. I understand it being difficult for him – he is a very responsible person and cannot understand why people will shirk their responsibilities and get away with it. By adopting, he feels we would be helping some irresponsible adult get away with shirking.
“But what about the child?” I asked. “Should they have to suffer continually?”
“No, the child shouldn’t, but by making it easy for them, more mothers will continue to walk away.”
“What about the fathers?”
“It’s more of a mother thing.”
“Yes, but if some of the mothers were more supported, probably they would feel more able to keep the baby.”
“Yeah, true. However, a mother shouldn’t be able to give up her baby so easily.”
“Who said it was easy?”
“How do you know it’s not? Have you given up one?”
“How do you know it’s easy? Have you given up one?” I return his question to him.
And that was the easiest conversation we’ve had on the topic. I am open to adopting a child of any race, colour or creed. The younger, the better. Theo wouldn’t want anyone under five years old (too demanding); doesn’t want a boy (only his biological son should bear his name); and the child has to be black (not even mixed race) – and that simply doesn’t make sense to me as our biological children would have been mixed race.
Being so tired, as was often the case with me these days, I decided that this was a conversation to leave for another day. Meanwhile, the nightly visions will not go away…
Early 2006
Ashleigh (aged 16)
I still can’t believe Nathan.
It all started during my 16th birthday last August. I had plans for my day, you know? I wanted a cosy dinner with family and close friends. I had one of two places in mind. Eventually I decided on The Harvester’s because of the huge variety of its menu, the fact that it wasn’t too far to get to, and the semi-formal nature of its happy-golucky set up. To be sure we could all be accommodated, I made a reservation. I’d told everyone to clear their diaries and be ready with their credit cards so all I needed to do was inform them of the precise place and the precise time.