Her sharp hard slap to his jaw shocked him.
‘How dare you, Mark! I made vows on our wedding day and so did you. How dare you say such a thing to me?’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Francesca, get down off your high horse,’ he said wearily, rubbing his jaw. ‘That was over twenty years ago. We were kids. What did we know about life? People shouldn’t be allowed to marry until they’re in their thirties. What had we ever done or experienced? We went with each other from school. Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be with someone else? Didn’t you ever feel that life was passing you by and that you’d experienced very little of it? Well, I’m sorry but I did. I do. And I can’t help the way that I feel.’ He glowered at her, exuding anger and resentment. ‘I know this is going to hurt you but at least I’m being honest. I’m sorry that I got married so young and there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s the truth of it.’
‘Why did you marry me then? You told me that you loved me.
You
asked me to marry you.’ She was completely bewildered. Where was all this stuff coming from? Why did he make it seem like he was blaming her? Was this all her fault? It couldn’t be. Hadn’t he ever loved her? ‘I thought you loved me. You told me often enough, Mark. I don’t understand this at all.’ She shook her head in disbelief, stunned at what she’d just heard.
‘I did love you, I do still, in a different way. I married you because you expected it of me. Our parents expected it—’
‘Are you telling me you felt
trapped
into marrying me?’ She was incredulous.
‘Kind of,’ he muttered. ‘That was the way it was then. Our mothers were always at us to “give them a day out”. All our friends were getting married, it just seemed the next step to take.’ He shoved his hands
into
his pockets and stared out of the kitchen window. ‘And of course we couldn’t have decent sex because we were too scared. Too conditioned to think it was a bad thing to do before marriage.’ He turned to face her accusingly. ‘I was only a young fella and I was as horny as hell all the time and you kept saying no.’
‘I was scared, for fuck’s sake. I was petrified of getting pregnant. It’s really mean to blame that on me,’ Francesca flared indignantly.
‘It was the way we were brought up, and there’s loads of unhappy marriages out there because of the way our generation, and generations before us, were reared and the pressures we were put under to conform. I hope our sons live with women before they marry them,’ he said defiantly, his face puce with resentment.
‘Oh, how convenient to blame our upbringing,’ she flared. ‘That’s a real cop-out. All of this is such a load of crap—’
‘Look, Francesca, if you don’t want to hear what I have to say, fine. I’m trying to explain how I feel.’
Francesca stared at him. ‘But you seemed happy; we had fun. I never felt that you didn’t want to be married to me.’
‘I was happy a lot of the time, especially at the beginning, and we did have fun, but I always felt I didn’t have time to sow my wild oats and live a bit.’
‘So you’re doing it now,’ she said bitterly.
‘Probably,’ he acknowledged flatly.
‘Don’t I mean anything to you?’ she asked, her face crumpling as tears sprang to her eyes.
‘Oh Francesca, try and understand it’s not about
you
or how I feel about you. It’s about the way I’m feeling at the moment. Lost, resentful, angry that I’m getting older … I dunno.’ He shrugged.
‘It never has been about me, Mark.’ She wiped away the tears, angry with herself for showing weakness. ‘Just listen to yourself. Me. Me. Me. And I don’t feature at all. As long as I kept the house going and looked after you and the kids and your father, that was all you cared about. You never bothered to ask if I was happy or fulfilled. Did you care that I might be lost, or resentful, or angry?’
‘I looked after you well. You lacked for nothing,’ he snapped irritably.
‘You looked after me materially, and yourself too. But emotionally it’s always been about
you
.
You
do what
you
want at the end of the day, Mark, you always have. Well, you’ve broken up our marriage to be with that woman so don’t let me stand in your way. But I won’t divorce you and I won’t move out of this house and I want maintenance. I worked hard at our marriage. I’m not going to lose out just because you’ve lost the run of yourself and are having a fucking mid-life crisis.’
‘Now wait a minute, Francesca’ – he took her by the arm as she brushed past him to walk out – ‘there’s a lot to discuss here.’
‘Let go of me, Mark. I’ve told you what I’m doing. I’m staying here and I’m not divorcing you and I want maintenance. That’s all the discussion that you’ll get from me. Oh and by the way, would you kindly ask your father to stop ringing here from now on, or else I’ll get the number changed. I won’t be looking after him any more, and you can get Nikki to
do
your Christmas shopping because I won’t be doing that either.’ She marched out of the kitchen, head held high, picked up her keys from the hall stand and walked out of the house.
Mark followed, somewhat at a loss. ‘We need to talk, Francesca!’
Francesca ignored him, opened the garage door and reversed her car out of the garage. Then she confronted him once more. ‘Take whatever stuff you need and put the alarm on when you leave and from now on phone me before you come over. If it suits me to be here, fine, if not, tough. I’ll be talking to a solicitor.’ She got back into the car and opened the window.
‘For God’s sake! Francesca, be reasonable—’
‘Be reasonable!’ Her voice hit the high notes. ‘Get real, Mark. You’re not the only human on the planet. It’s not
all
about you!’
‘Look, we have to talk. There’re financial implications here that we have to take into consideration. And what about the boys?’
‘Don’t give me that. The boys were the last thing on your mind when you started “feeling young” again,’ she jeered.
‘Don’t be a bitch, Francesca. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘Fuck off, Mark,’ she swore at him and drove out of the drive like a bat out of hell.
Mark stood still, shell shocked, as it suddenly began to dawn on him that his life was never going to be the same again. He’d never thought that Francesca would find out about Nikki. He’d preferred not to think of the consequences. Well, the consequences were whacking him in the chops right
this
minute and all that he could foresee as long as Francesca was in this frame of mind was a long road full of hassle ahead of him.
He groaned and went back into the house to gather some papers and files that he needed. He stood in the hall looking around. The house felt different. Unwelcoming. It had to be his imagination, he told himself irritably. Houses were inanimate objects. Nevertheless, the atmosphere
was
different. Or maybe it was him. With a sudden certainty that brought a vague feeling of dread, Mark knew that this house would never be his home again.
FRANCESCA DROVE TOWARDS
Clontarf in a state of such anger and confusion that when she looked back on the journey she couldn’t remember ending up in the car park opposite Casa Pasta. It was a miracle that she hadn’t killed anyone, she thought shakily as she sat staring at the angry green sea surging relentlessly, mirroring her own turbulent emotions.
People walked up and down along the popular seafront walkway engrossed in their thoughts. Were any of them going through anything like she was enduring right now? The pain and hurt and sheer fury and resentment she felt towards Mark were unspeakable.
Why? Why? Why? Over and over the question tormented her. Why had he ever married her if he hadn’t been sure.
She’d
been sure. She’d loved Mark from the very moment she’d met him at Mick’s, a teen disco they’d frequented every Friday night when they were growing up.
He’d always been a bit reserved, less outgoing
than
the other boys, much less pushy and in-your-face. She’d liked that. He’d asked her to dance one night and that was that. He was the one for her and she’d never looked at anyone else. She hadn’t wanted to either.
Had she made him feel pressurized into marrying her or was that just an excuse? Her memory of her engagement was a blur. Planning the wedding and making sure everything went all right on the day had been the main considerations. Mark was right about one thing, she acknowledged, she hadn’t given any real thought to marriage or what it entailed. She hadn’t really looked beyond the wedding day. Marriage was what came next on the agenda after leaving school and getting a job. Then it was getting a house and a mortgage. She never remembered sitting down and thinking that she was committing herself to one man for the rest of her life. Or wondering if their marriage would last. She’d taken it very much for granted that it would. Why get married otherwise?
It was only after they’d married and lived together that she’d really got to know Mark. His neat and tidy ways. His need for time alone. His drive to succeed at work, compulsive at times. She’d driven him mad with her carefree untidiness and her desire to be with him all the time.
Francesca grimaced. Over the years she’d become tidy, she thought wryly. It was easier than listening to him giving out about the state of the house. When the kids were born and growing up, their toys and accoutrements were always tidied away before he came home. As he progressed in his career and they
entertained
more and more, she conformed to his idea of how she should look and how their house should be decorated, because it was easier than living with his subtle disapproval.
She stopped wearing jeans and tracksuits, adopting well-cut tailored trousers instead. She stopped shopping in chain stores and bought clothes that she knew he’d like in small exclusive boutiques. She’d become the perfect corporate wife, she thought bitterly, and lost her own identity in the process.
Francesca was shocked as this unwanted nugget of self-knowledge dawned on her. Had she really done that? she asked herself in dismay. Become the person he wanted her to be rather than be the person that she was? What kind of woman would she be if she hadn’t married Mark and had two children? What kind of a career would she have pursued? Would she have travelled? How different would her life have been? And why was she sitting here feeling that she had sacrificed everything only to have that sacrifice flung back in her face?
Why did she feel like such a fucking martyr?
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ she muttered. ‘This is ridiculous. He’s the one having the affair. You’ve done nothing wrong.’
Yes, you have. You put him and his needs first. You made him your first priority; now he’s left you and you’ve nothing to fall back on. You’ve nothing of your own
. Her inner voice was so strong she actually thought she’d heard someone speak aloud.
This was crazy. She wasn’t going to sit in the car chastising herself when everything was Mark’s fault, she decided furiously as she got out and locked the
doors.
The wind blew fresh and cold in her face, heavy with sea salt and the smell of seaweed. She walked along trying to calm the turmoil raging within her.
It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault
. The mantra played in her head, but deep down Francesca knew that she was going to have to face up to realities that she’d far prefer to keep buried deep. Was it partly some failure on her part that had caused Mark to go looking outside their marriage for something he obviously felt that he wasn’t getting in it? Had she taken far too much for granted and not put in enough effort pandering to him and his needs?
But what about
her
needs? He hadn’t pandered to her in any way out of the ordinary, she thought resentfully. He had taken her for granted too. But wasn’t that part and parcel of what it was all about? A couple couldn’t spend their whole time navel-gazing their relationship, she thought irritably.
She walked as far as the Alfie Byrne road and back, reluctant to go home until she felt sure that Mark was gone. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t eaten properly in thirty-six hours. Maybe she should ignore it. She’d lose a stone in no time. Look at Vanessa Feltz. When her husband had left her, she’d lost five stone in an effort to get him back. It hadn’t worked.
Francesca scowled. She wouldn’t give Mark the satisfaction of losing weight to try and get him back. What a sop to his ego that would be. He’d love it! She wasn’t that needy or pathetic, she thought defiantly. And besides, she didn’t
want
him back. The damage was done. He could go and fuck off with himself.
There was a chipper across the road. A nice hot portion of fattening chips and a batter burger would do very well indeed, Francesca decided purposefully and felt a little frisson of pride.
You’re not at all pathetic
, she assured herself as she pushed open the door of the chipper and joined the lunchtime queue. She ordered a portion of garlic mushrooms for good measure. Vanessa Feltz, eat your heart out, she thought derisively. Slimming to get a man back indeed! What nonsense. Slimming to feel better in yourself, yes, she could cope with that, she thought as she watched the assistant behind the counter select a big batter burger and drop it into the hot fat. Why would she want to slim to get Mark back after what he’d done? It was like saying that he’d started an affair because she was heavier than she should be. Even she couldn’t accuse Mark of being that shallow and she wasn’t even going to take that notion on board, because if she did she’d go crazy altogether. If she had to take some of the blame because of the failure of her marriage, she was damned if she was going to blame it on being a stone overweight.
To her surprise, she actually enjoyed the rare take-away treat. Mark wasn’t into junk food, he far preferred posh restaurant fare, or fresh salads and fish when she made lunch at home. And since he’d started taking care of his figure again he’d gone all finicky about what he ate. Somehow she couldn’t see the svelte Nikki eating chips from a chipper, Francesca thought ruefully.
She sat in the car, eating her chips and licking her fingers, as she looked out towards Dublin port. A thought struck her. She could do this any time she
wanted
to now. She could do exactly as she liked, she no longer had to work her life around Mark’s. It was a scary yet exhilarating thought.