Authors: Barbara Copperthwaite
Sun 3
I’m really bored. Daryl had said
he might be able to come home and see me, but I’ve heard no word. It probably
means he won’t be coming over, but I’ve still made no plans, just in case – I
so rarely get to see my husband these days, so I don’t want to mess up any
chance I have by arranging to see someone else.
Not now I’ve decided that I need to make more
effort.
That
we
need to make more effort if we’re to
keep the marriage together.
I wonder if he even realises
how close we are to the
edge?
I wonder if, if he did
realise, he would want to pull us back from it or simply give us a nudge so
that we plummet into
freefall?
But I have decided freefall
is not for me. It’s an exhilarating theory, hurtling through life with nothing
but the sound of the air rushing past to distract me, nothing to stop me or get
in my way.
Freedom.
But the reality of freefall is
that the ground is waiting below you, hard, unforgiving, and it’s going to
bloody hurt when you hit it. That’s what life outside of marriage would be: a
great theory but in practise it would be hard and horrible and I’d suddenly realise
how much better off I was in it. Nope, I’m clinging on to my marriage,
teetering back from the brink.
It all sounds very dramatic
but practically speaking it just consists of me hanging around, waiting to
spend time with Daryl. But, after lurking round the house all day like some
kind of lost soul haunting the fridge (my favourite place to hover when bored.
No matter how many times I peer inside it or the surrounding cupboards, I
always hope there’ll suddenly be something tasty and wonderful in there that
I’ve somehow missed all the other times I’ve peered in. Shockingly there never
is) I decided to call Amy yesterday afternoon.
It was actually good fun.
Went shopping then to the pictures to see that rom com with
whatsherface
in it – can’t remember her name but she’s always in that type of thing. Then we
ended up coming back here and eating pizza, listening to music and watching
classic Moulin Rouge, and drinking vodka until 5am… See, not having kids does
have some advantages!
So now I’m that lost soul
again, lurking round the house, waiting. I don’t mind so much, not really,
because I’m so tired from all that drinking. I haven’t had an all-nighter like
that in ages!
Too long really.
There’s not enough fun
in my life.
Tomorrow I’m going to get up
extra early before work and do my exercise
dvd
. And hope Daryl will call.
Wonder if there are any nice
treats hiding in the fridge… No, stuff it; I’m off to the corner shop.
Ric
, the owner, is always only too happy to sell me
emergency chocolate. Just going there makes me happy; he’s always got such a
big smile on his face, and calls all the women ‘lady’ and all the men ‘sir’.
‘Thank you, lady, have a wonderful day,’ he always smiles at me, it’s so sweet.
Mon 4
At 2am the phone rang. I
must have sounded very unattractive, all gravelly-voice and confused from being
shocked from sleep, trying to stop my heart from pounding through my chest.
Still, Daryl had sounded happy to hear my voice.
‘Hello gorgeous,’ he exclaimed,
and I’d known at once two things. One: he was in a really good mood; the kind
of mood that’s contagious. Honestly, when he’s like that being near him is like
being near the sun. And two: he wasn’t going to be coming over.
My head slumped back into
the pillow, too disappointed and
tired
to be bothered
with the faff of attempting to sit up.
‘Sorry Gorgeous, I’ve been
delayed, there’s no way I’ll make it home,’ he said. Didn’t even have the
decency to sound upset, Mr bloody Chipper.
Still, I swallowed down my
annoyance. If I’d let it show it only would have led to an argument and him
huffing something like: ‘See, this is why I never normally bother phoning you.
Cos when I make the effort you have a go!’ And then he’d slam the phone down
and switch it off, which he knows drives me mental.
So, instead I blinked my
eyes several times so I’d sound more awake than I felt, and made myself smile
because, well, I know it might be daft but I always think you can hear a smile.
Seriously, I think it makes a difference to the way people sound.
And then I made myself say,
‘It doesn’t matter, babe. It would have been lovely to see you, but I know you
tried your best.’ For good measure, I added, ‘And I really appreciate you
calling me to tell me.’
I added that because I’d
read an article about training puppies and about how they need praise when they
do well. And the bad stuff? You ignore it rather than shout, because shouting
is giving them attention; apparently, for them any attention is better than
nothing. That had struck a chord with me, and made total sense.
Maybe because I crave attention, any kind of attention, from Daryl.
I’d rather be shouted at than ignored.
Sometimes
I feel like I’m disappearing, like I’m becoming invisible in this relationship.
Barely talking, barely existing,
barely
being listened
to.
But it will change. Things
will get better.
Anyway, why I’d remembered
this article in the middle of the night when Daryl called is beyond me, but I
figured a bit of praise for the fact he’d actually listened to me and bothered
calling for once to let me know what was going on would go a long way. Maybe
he’d realise it really was good to call home and keep me informed, instead of
simply avoiding giving me information in case I got angry with him if he gave
me bad news.
Of course the real irony –
and this didn’t escape me even as I turned my too hot pillow over to its cooler
side and tried to get back to sleep again – was that he always says he doesn’t
tell me because I’ll get annoyed with him. He always makes out like I have a
bad temper. Yet whenever I run our arguments back in my mind it’s always him
who is angry. Maybe I’m going mad, but sometimes I wonder if I’m being
manipulated a bit.
No, that’s just silly, middle-of-the-night
thoughts. Funny how you always get silly thoughts in the middle of the night –
good job people sleep then!
Really did appreciate the
call though. Maybe he’s finally listening to me and realising that what I ask
from him really isn’t much; just a little courtesy, a little respect, a little
love and consideration.
Weds 6
It was the engine that gave
the game away. I was sitting on the bed, gazing into the mirror and putting the
last touches to my eye shadow as I got ready for work.
Then I heard it: that deep thrumming that
could almost be felt in the ground, rising up through the soles of my feet and
coming to rest in my solar plexus; the
psssht
of the
hydraulic brakes; the tiny squeal that was almost too high to be heard by
humans.
For a second I met my own
shocked look in the mirror as I realised what it meant, rejected it, then
decided it really was the only option – and my cheeks went all pink at the
prospect. Chucking down my make-up brush, I raced to the bedroom window and
looked down.
Yes! Daryl was here! He
grinned at me from the cab, waved, then clambered down.
‘Surprise!’ he called.
I laughed, catching his
excited mood immediately. He was really buzzed up, eyes bright, body almost
trembling with nervous energy as he jumped down and strode to the front door
with such purpose that my breath caught.
Lots of men in films and
books are described as striding, but Daryl really does. At 6ft 3in, he has the
kind of long legs that can do that, and broad shoulders too; he towers over me
by more than a foot. He’s incredibly powerfully built, and somehow his bald
head seems to emphasise it, showing off the muscles of his jaw and neck.
Phwoar
!
I raced down the stairs in
time to run into his arms, no hesitation; not when he was so happy.
His massive arms wrapped round me and swung
me round,
then
he gave me a huge, passionate kiss that
made my stomach flip.
‘Hey Gorgeous,’ he boomed.
So strong, so…extreme and over-the-top.
But this is my Daryl,
the man I love and it makes me feel alive when he’s like this, as though some
of that energy somehow transfers to me, and all thoughts of being peed off with
my marriage disappear.
‘Thought
I’d surprise you.
I finished my run sooner than I thought,’ he
said. His grin grew even wider at some memory, probably of some crazy driving
or something he’d had to do to achieve this early finish. ‘Yeah, it was a lot
more successful than I thought it would be,’ he nodded, attention snapping
suddenly back to me. ‘So who better to celebrate with than my babe?’
It’s funny really, how he
never calls me by my name. I am Gorgeous, Babe, even Stroppy Mare sometimes,
but never, ever does he say my name. When we first got together I thought it
was wonderful to have a pet name, as though somehow it bound us closer because
it was a secret between the two of us. Sometimes now though, it just makes me
feel even more that I am disappearing, the real me unseen and nameless.
But I refused to think such
sad things today, not while Daryl was in a glorious mood, the sun was shining,
and I was in his arms.
Full of joy, I buried my head
in the funny little hollow in his chest where his muscles don’t quite meet, the
bit he hates because he thinks it makes him look puny, but which I love because
it feels like it’s made just for me, and squeezed him tight. Breathed in that
wonderful Daryl smell, a unique mix of diesel, engine oil and Lynx Africa that
always clung to him.
Yes, my man was really home,
had come to surprise me and spend the whole day with me. My smile grew against
his jumper. Then it faltered. Hesitantly, I looked up. ‘Oh no, I can’t spend
the day with you,’ I half groaned, half whispered. ‘I’ve got to go to work.’
‘That doesn’t matter, take
the day off,’ he breezed.
Actually breezed, like it was
obvious.
‘Come on, how often do we get a whole day together?’
I suppose I should have been
insulted really that he just assumed I would drop everything for him without so
much as a moment’s notice, but…come on, who
was I
kidding.
A day’s work or a day with my fella?
When
he’s in this mood and we won’t be sitting awkwardly in front of the telly?
It wasn’t exactly a hard choice.
Before I’d had a chance to
worry or change my mind, I was on the phone, faking a sore throat. My
distraction must have only added to the bad acting, making me sound more
convincing, because Daryl wasn’t even waiting for me to finish the conversation
before nibbling at my neck from behind and ripping open my blouse, hands
cupping my breasts almost aggressively. Where the hell had this come from?
Well, I wasn’t going to stop
to question it – and honestly, when he’s in the mood there’s no stopping him
anyway! With a squeaky ‘Got to go, feel a bit…hot and wobbly!’ to my boss, Keith,
I put the phone down and surrendered myself to my man.
We don’t have sex much
any more
, not since he developed the ‘little problem’ that
I’m not allowed to mention. Apparently all men go through it at some stage, I
just never thought he’d be one of them, and I know it sounds selfish but it
makes me feels like it’s my fault, like I’m no longer attractive enough for
him… But to be swept off my feet like that was, wow. It was lovely.
You see, we can be romantic
sometimes! For all my boredom and frustration, I do love Daryl and want to be
with him. In fact, that’s what causes the problems. If I didn’t feel that way
it’d be easy to just walk away and leave him.
Afterwards I felt so
relaxed. Closer to him than I have in months, like something invisible had
reconnected. Twisting in his arms, I turned to him, looking into those bright,
cold-blue eyes as I idly ran my fingers through the dark curls of hair
scattered over his chest. In that instant, for once feeling brave and in
control and calm – and positive – I told Daryl that I wasn’t happy and that
things had to change. Said he had two choices.
‘
Either
you can talk to a counsellor and get over this mental block about kids and
well, your temper sometimes, or you could tackle it yourself. It’s up to you,’
I said gently, straightening a hair and watching it spring back into shape,
unchanged, unchangeable. Running a finger over his collar bones and up his neck,
trying to keep him soothed and calm like I might an injured dog that may growl
and lash out unexpectedly at any second. ‘Things have to change between the two
of us. We’re in trouble. And I want children, you know I do. It’s time, I’m
ready, and I don’t want to put it off any longer. But you’re not ready…’
Daryl didn’t seem to know
what to say. But he didn’t fly off the handle and that is a good start. Didn’t
start saying how I was the one with the problem so I should look at fixing
myself before having a go at him – that’s the kind of thing he generally throws
at me. Anything rather than discuss the actual problems we’re having.