Now the lioness is back. And if I stay it won't be long before she bites my head off and spits me out. Jane is almost back to the Jane she was. Beautiful, sexy. Someone who will make some man a very lucky husband. But not me.
I don't love Jane. I never will.
Fancy her? Yes, I know I still do. But as Track Nine on the CD begins to play, it is clear to me that the combination of such superficial sexual attraction and guilt is no reason to continue to prolong such a pointless union. The marriage is wrong. It must have worked for a while when we first got married, but then we lost something. Something important.
Now?
The best thing for Jane is to end the marriage. Not to go to marriage counseling. Not to try to save it.
Just to kill it.
She might not see that now, but she will. And she will be grateful for it. So, tomorrow, if I just walk away, take one step through the doors of an underground train, from one world to another, never to come back, it will be one small step for mankind, but one hell of a step for our marriage. A step in the right direction.
And then there's the financial aspect of it all. If I were to never come back at all, perhaps they would be able to claim that I had committed suicide, and my life insurance policy would pay out. Pay off the mortgage, set the kids up for life.
Why do all things always come down to money?
The thought of money makes me think of Pink Floyd and the 'Money' track on Dark Side of the Moon, another good CD for thinking to. I walk over to the CDs stored in the recess beside the fireplace, flick through the CD cases until I find it, and then swap it over on the CD player.
Moving over to the desk by the window, I slide open one of the drawers and take out some paper and a pen.
As I start to write, I realize that I am reaching a point of no return. For a moment I look around the room, and breathe in deeply, gathering my resolve.
There's no going back now.
Tomorrow morning I am going to leave this house. I am not coming back. Even if, for some reason, the Professor is wrong, and there is no final opportunity to cross back to my real life. Even if I am stuck in this life forever. I am going to walk out of here tomorrow and not return. Anyway, this house has never really been mine. More like a guest house, or a hotel. But never my real home. I've never belonged here.
As 'Another Brick in the Wall' begins to sing out, and with memories of dancing in nightclubs when I was younger surfacing from way-back-when, I put pen to paper.
"Dear Jane,
Call me a coward, because maybe that's what I am, but I couldn't face the marriage counselor tonight. And when you come home this afternoon and find this note, I will have taken a few things and gone away for a while. I need to think, and I need more time. Please don't try to contact me. If you haven't heard from me by the weekend, perhaps it would be good if you start divorce proceedings against me. The house, and everything in it, …it's yours. And let this note, in my handwriting, as per holograph, constitute a legal testament to that.
Don't be angry with me, Jane. Even you know that the spark has gone, and that it's only a matter of time before you leave me. So, perhaps, I'm just saving us both some time.
You know how much we have meant to each other in the past. I loved you. That will always remain. Always. But people grow, and people change. And who I am now, is not the same person you married, and I know now that I can never be the person you want me to be. And you deserve better.
James."
Short but sweet. I don't know what to say about Elspeth or Allison, so I don't. Which confirms just how much of a coward I really am.
My mobile phone rings. I look at my watch. It's five minutes past midnight.
"Hello?"
A moment's pause, then "…James?"
"Sarah?" I reply, almost urgently.
"Yes…it's me...I'm sorry for calling so late…I…James, I got the message from Mary. Thanks."
"Sarah, are you okay? Please, please forgive me. I had no intention of …"
"James, it's ...it's fine.... I understand. And I got your note. The one you left when I didn't answer the door…"
"Sarah, why did you run away? I came to see you the next day first thing in the morning. I wanted to explain everything to you…"
"You scared me. You scared me James. I knew you would probably come the next day, and I had to get away before you got there. I couldn't face you."
"Why? Why were you scared? That's the last thing I would want. I love you!"
"Because of what you said, and what happened between us. If you really knew me James, you would know that I'm an independent person. I don't need a man. I don’t want a man. I've only ever loved one person before, and that was years ago. I get by better without love. I'm just not looking for it. And then one day, WHAM! You appear. From out of the blue. And WHAM again! I fall in love with you…One minute you're not there, and I’m fine, and then a moment later my whole life is different. Upside down. I can't think straight and I start to feel things again. No thanks to you, I've started to come out from under whatever rock I've been hiding myself under for the past five years. I’ve started to see life again, to touch, and let myself be touched. To let someone get close to me. And the strangest thing of all is that I feel like I've known you for years. How can that be?"
"I don't know. Maybe we're just made for each other."
"And then when you speak, you know so much about me. So many things. Too much… And some of the things you know, there's just no way you could know them…no way…" I hear her breathing, fast, excitedly. For a moment I fear that she's going to hang up. Then she speaks again. "In your letter, the one you slipped under the door, you said that you knew how important punctuality was to me, that you knew that I split up with my third boyfriend at university because he stood me up one night. How did you know that? How? James, I never told my mother about that? So who told you? I can't remember telling anyone else about it either? James, how do you know me so well? And how do you know where and how and when to kiss me? How do you know what I like and what I hate? How did you know how to turn me on like that? How?"
"Sarah. I can't explain. I just do."
"Bullshit James. Bullshit! You know. Somehow. And from somewhere. When I think about it, I realize there are only two possibilities: Either you are a weirdo, some mad stalker that I've somehow picked up along the way, or you are someone very, very special, but I need to know which one you are. So tell me how you know all about me!" Another pause. Then, quietly and softly. "Please…"
"It's not that simple, Sarah. You wouldn’t believe me."
"But I might! What makes you think I won't? What?"
"Sarah, I don’t even know if I understand it all myself…"
"Tell me, James. Please."
"And what if I tell you, and then you think I'm mad, and you walk away from me, and I lose you for good?"
"James, I want to believe in you. I want to. But I'm scared, and you have to help me through this. You have to…There's something I want to tell you too. Something that I have to tell you. But something that I can't even mention until I understand what's going on here."
"What do you want to tell me?" I ask, the conversation quickly swinging around to her.
"I can't tell you yet. Not until I know the answer to my questions!"
"Okay. So, where are you now? In Spain?"
"No. I'm in Ironbridge. With Mary."
"Ironbridge? I thought you said you were going back to Spain…"
"No, I didn't. You assumed I was, and I let you. I didn’t go to Spain. When I left Richmond, I came up here. I was here when you called the other day. Listening in the background. Wanting to speak to you, but too scared. Too insecure."
Neither of us speak. The clock ticks at the top of my stairs, and outside in the street, I can hear a fox screaming.
"James, I have to see you again."
I'm about to reply, about to tell her just how much I need to see her too, when I realize that there is no time. Tomorro
w I'm going home. Tomorrow night!
"Sarah. I have to see you too, but if we are going to do this, we have to do it tomorrow afternoon. And unfortunately I can't come to you. Which means that you have to get on a train and come down here. Can you?"
"Yes. I want to. But only if you promise that you will tell me everything. And I mean everything. You need to be completely honest with me. About everything."
A moment, then the inevitable.
"I promise. I will. So when can you be here?"
"If I leave at lunchtime, I can be there at four. Where do you want to meet?"
"What about on the bridge crossing from the South Bank at Waterloo to the Embankment. The side nearest Big Ben?"
"Okay. At four?"
"I'll be there."
Silence. Neither of us want to hang up.
"Sarah?..."
"Yes?"
"I love you... I always have."
Silence.
"Tomorrow at four...and don't get stuck in a lift!"
Click.
For a few moments I sit in silence, an explosive bag of emotions each of which fights the other to become dominant. Excitement about going home and seeing my family again, going home to the life I used to lead, my children, my old friends. Excitement about seeing Sarah tomorrow. Sadness about what I'm just about to do to Jane, and little Elspeth and Allison. Regrets about having to leave my new life behind. And fear. Fear that it will all go wrong. Fear that what I am about to do, may in fact, be a mistake.
And with that thought, I shake myself back to reality, find an envelope into which I fold the letter for Jane, and then prop it up against a glass on the island in the kitchen.
Then I go upstairs and pack.
Chapter Fifty Two
D-Day
.
I awake to an empty, sad, house.
My two suitcases are already waiting for me in the hallway outside my bedroom, and after showering, shaving and dressing, I pick them up and walk quickly down the stairs and out of the door, not stopping to look around or give myself time to change my mind. I leave the car in the garage. My dream car. The car I have always wanted to own. But where I'm going I can't take it with me, so I might as well leave it where it is. Where I first found it.
As I stand at the bus stop, waiting for the next K3 bus, I picture the solitary white envelope addressed to Jane, now propped up in the kitchen and waiting patiently for her to come through the door. A single page of writing that for Jane will cause so much anger, confusion and heartache. As I picture her walking through the front door, the two little girls running in behind her, shouting and laughing, I imagine her looking on through to the kitchen where she sees the letter waiting. I see her walk slowly towards the island, reaching out to pick it up. I blink and swallow hard.
I did not plan it this way. To be the cause of so much hurt, so much destruction. So much pain.
A few minutes later, the K3 swings around the corner, and I pay the two Euros and climb aboard, dragging my cases along with me. In Surbiton I catch the train into Waterloo, and find a left-luggage locker where I abandon my suitcases.
If all goes well, I will never see them again. And if not, I'll be picking them up again this evening, before I find a hotel somewhere.
Leaving the station I walk aimlessly towards the river. What should I do with the rest of the day? Should I bother going into the office? I mean, if today is the end of it all, is there really any point? On the other hand, if the Professor is wrong again, there is a lot to be done. Things I shouldn't ignore…
By ten o'clock, I'm sitting at my desk. And by 10.15 I have almost forgotten the turmoil in the rest of my life. I close the door, and lose myself in my work. And it feels good. Very good.
After lunch, though, I begin to think more practically, and I write several letters. One to Richard. And one to Tracy, my new PA who has tried so hard in the past months. And succeeded. She has been a wonder.
I put the letters inside another bigger envelope and hand them to Alice on the way out.
"Give this to Tracy tomorrow afternoon if I forget to take them back from you by lunchtime…"
She looks at me with a question in her eyes, sensing something.
Looking back at her, I finally give into the temptation that has been plaguing me for the past ten months, and I bend forward and kiss Alice softly but firmly on the lips.
She does not complain.
I smile and walk out the door. Leaving my new exciting and successful career in advertising behind me.
At least, for now…
--------------------
The bridge above the Thames is thronging with tourists, and I weave my way through them looking for Sarah, my heart beating fast, my resolve weakening, the questions beginning to surface again.
She is nowhere to be seen. I look anxiously from face to face, scanning all the women as they stream past, scared that I may miss her, worried that she may miss me. Petrified that she has not come.
I stand in the centre of the bridge, checking my watch, my head playing ping-pong looking from one end of the bridge to the other. It's four thirty, and she is not here.
Turning and leaning against the fence, I look out across the river and wonder when I next see this view, where I will be and who I will be with?
"James?" I hear a voice, slightly breathless, calling my name from behind.
I turn, and Sarah is running towards me. She comes to a stop just in front of me, and we stare at each other silently, looking deep into each other. She moves towards me, then hesitates, and then suddenly she is in my arms. And there are tears. Lots of tears.
--------------------
"I'm sorry, " I say, holding her hand across the table, sitting in a quiet corner tucked away at the back of the wine bar.
"And so am I." She responds. "But please, before we start to talk, James, you have to tell me what this is all about. There's something more going on here that I can't understand. Something strange. And you know what it is…Don't you?"
I look away, avoiding her gaze. This is the moment of truth.
"Come on, James. You promised. You have to tell me how you know so much about me. And honestly. Don't lie. How did you know about all those things?"
"Sarah, there's a lot I know about you. An awful lot. More than you could possibly ever believe." I start down the inevitable path, the path that I know I have to tread if Sarah is ever to trust me, to love me, to accept me in this life. "I know, for example, that you are allergic to wheat, that you hate snails, ever since you stood on one in the garden when you were a little girl and you broke its little shell. You carried it into your house, and showed it to your dad, crying your little heart out. Your father told you that it was dead, and that you had killed it. You locked yourself in your room, and wouldn't come out all day. Not until the ice-cream van came up the street, and you ran out of the room crying but asking for a big ice-cream cone."
I look at her face, and see the amazement in her eyes.
"I know that the first boy you kissed was called Derek. And he gave you his best glass marble for the privilege. You were only seven or eight."
"Eight", she volunteers, laughing.
"And when you went to university, you broke your leg in a skiing accident in your first year. You're also allergic to oranges, hate avocado, love Elton John etc. etc. etc. Sarah, I don’t just know a lot about you, I know everything about you."
"But how?" she pleads, squeezing my hand with both of hers. "Tell me!"
"And if you don’t believe me?"
"Why shouldn’t I? I'm still here aren’t I. I came. I want to be with you James. I really do. But tell me, now… please…" The 'please' almost a whisper that floats on the air, and hangs between us.
"Okay, I will. But you must promise to listen till the end, and stay calm. No matter what you think, just hang on in there. It's all true. So just think to yourself, how else would I know so much about you if it wasn't! Okay?"
She nods.
"
Good. I want to tell you a story Sarah. A true story. About a man that wakes up one day, and has the weirdest day of his entire life. A man who, when he wakes up in the morning, is married to a beautiful wife, and has two wonderful children, two little girls called Keira and Nicole, and who live, together, in a small house in Surbiton…"
And so I begin.
I watch her eyes and study the expressions on her face as I tell the story.
Who Stole My Life? Page 44