The Last Year of Being Single (20 page)

ACTION LIST

Be very nice to Paul.

See less of John.

Go to gym.

Go to tarot card reader, Doreen (who tells me to not marry Paul and not see John).

Go to spiritual healer, Hazel (who tells me to not marry Paul and not see John).

Chill.

PAST LIVES

1st June

I had always wanted to go to Canada. Had never been. Had no relations there. But had always wanted to go. One of those places which was always prohibitively expensive, and full of things like Mounties and mountains and moose. I liked the images I saw and the Canadian Tourism Com
mission had a fabulous PR person who I liked liaising with when organising the itinerary for the trip.

I was to spend the two weeks crossing Canada. It was a sort of journo-challenge. My radio station was pitted against
Loaded
and the
Telegraph
. So a diverse spread, one might say.

I was the only girl of the three journalists going. We were each given five hundred pounds, had to take part in six outdoor sports, use five modes of transport to cross the continent, and sample five varieties of cooking. Then we had to go back and write about it or broadcast it. I’d start off in Vancouver, then to Calgary, then to Banff, then to Winnipeg, then to Quebec, then to Toronto, then to Montreal and finally to Newfoundland, the most easterly point—only five hours’ flight from London Heathrow.

I was excited, as I would be using the internet to stay in touch with everyone back home, and would be getting ideas from radio listeners as to where to go and what to eat and where to stay. Hopefully not too many rude ones.

Flight to Vancouver was great. I carried only hand luggage, the heaviest item being my tape recorder and mobile laptop. I couldn’t lose them that way, and with so many connections and timing imperative I didn’t need luggage going missing anywhere. So it stuck with me.

Stayed at B&B in Vancouver. The place looked nothing like the place on the internet pictures. Home cooking meant bought pre-prepared from the supermarket and cooked at home. Not quite the same. It was about one mile from the centre of town, so I took a bus and went to Chinatown, third largest in North America. Live frogs croaked for me and a guide explained why the Chinese believe eating them is good. Some of the other foodstuffs for sale I had never seen in Sainsbury’s or even Waitrose. I ate Chi
nese food. One down, four to go. I ate a frog. Not a frog’s leg. A frog.

It tasted great. ‘I’m not surprised the Chinese love eating frog,’ I said with gay abandon to the microphone.

Ten minutes later I was vomiting into the restaurant toilet.

One down, four to go.

3rd June

Down to the harbour and a touch of jet skiing. ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ the twenty-something beach bum guide reassured me. A motorbike.

I’d ridden one of these things in Corfu on an early holiday with Paul. It had been fine. But that was a tricycle compared to this BMW zooped up version. One touch of the accelerator and I thought I would be in orbit. Three times in the water and the guide decided perhaps I should just hold onto him for dear life. I did. Nice guy. Nice chest. Didn’t want complications so didn’t give him my number or my card. I got both of his.

I didn’t take my mobile with me (it didn’t work overseas), nor did I log on to e-mail at this stage. I wanted space completely and didn’t want to think about what would happen when I got back. I hadn’t made my mind up yet what to do, but this would clear the cobwebs. I hoped.

5th June

Next stop Calgary. It was approaching stampede time. I was interested in something called the Ball-Busting Festival, where men who are men ride bulls. I interviewed the guy who beat them all, who was smaller than I thought, but obviously had nerves of steel.

You don’t need muscles to ride a bull. You just need nerve. Lots of nerve.

7th June

Next stop Banff, where the winter sports are at their best, but in the summer months the wildlife wanders through town. The moose especially like to window shop down the high street. The town of Banff is situated in Banff National Park. It’s a wonderful place where you can go skiing and snow-shoeing in the winter and hiking and kayaking in the summer. I went hiking and kayaking. Got bitten to death by insects called no-see-ums—coz you can’t—and saw four moose and a cougar and several eagles. I met a First Nations guide who told me that he was a spiritual healer and that at one stage I had been a Native American and my name was Silver Trees and that I had been very wise. And that I should listen to him because he would tell me what to do. The Native American said I had a big decision to make ahead of me. I had two paths and only I would know which one to take. He told me to listen to Silver Trees who was there as my spiritual guide.

I kept thinking both Paul and John would think me completely bonkers if I told them this story so decided to keep it to myself. But would write it up and broadcast it on radio. Neither read my stuff nor listened to my reports—so I didn’t fear repercussions. The guy had been uncannily right, though, about my life to date, even saying I had lost two children. He didn’t ask if I had wanted them. He said I would find happiness but not in the way I thought, and I would have many life lessons to learn. I asked him if I should get married. He told me to listen to my instinct. That would tell me. We had moose stew. It was good. Not just saying that for microphone. It was genuinely good and I asked for more. Three down, two to go.

After the unexpected spiritual encounter in Banff, I moved on to Winnipeg, in the centre of Canada. I expected it to be some backwater but it’s fun and funky and ten thousand Canadian geese can’t be wrong as when they flock south for the winter, they stop off there and the sound on the outskirts of town is amazing. Like a gaggle of women who’ve just been told the hunk of the month is in town. It’s a town right in the heart of the prairies, which means it’s freezing cold in the winter and very hot in the summer and there is a lot of light. The food there is normal, so I didn’t have to eat frog, or moose or bulls’ testicles. I was happy with fresh salmon caught from the river. It tasted of fish. It tasted good. But it wasn’t odd enough to go in the article, so it didn’t count.

I interviewed a famous sculptor who was originally from Surrey, England, and who had decided to travel the world and had for some reason flown into Winnipeg by accident when he’d meant to get a first stop to Toronto. Had liked it so much and had stayed and was chilling out nicely when I met him; told me Winnipeg was a wonderful place to chill out and find myself. So many people travel to lose themselves, to forget, to escape. But travelling is all about learning and clearing the mind and seeing things as they truly are, he told me. ‘This journey will clear your mind, Sarah. Life is a journey, not a destination.’

Was everyone in Canada a spiritual philosopher? A band called the Crash Test Dummies were performing in town. They all came from Winnipeg so it was a coming home concert, and they sang a song which consisted predominantly of the lyrics Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm. It was very good. They gave good interview.

10th June

After Winnipeg, I headed for Quebec, where everyone speaks a sort of French, but French people don’t understand
them. I understand when a former French president once visited the province he couldn’t understand a word anyone was saying. So everyone spoke in English, much to the annoyance of everyone except the Canadian government. I spoke French, and just about understood their French, and found the old and new cities delightful and fun and the food wonderful. I ate French. Nothing weird. Just salmon (fresh caught that day) with olive oil and garlic and maple syrup ice-cream to finish. Just one foodstuff to go, and several modes of transport and sports to cover.

11th June

Down to Montreal. The Grand Prix was taking over the town. I couldn’t interview anyone there as everyone wore earplugs and it was senseless to even try. I stayed at a B&B called Marmalade run by a lovely French Canadian called Monique who told me I should eat more and who had a dog called Fifi who wasn’t a French poodle but a lovely golden Labrador. I liked Monique but thought her cruel to call such a wonderful dog such a naff name. I visited Schwartz’s, which sells salt beef to the good and the great. President Clinton has eaten here, as has Celine Dion. I don’t eat meat, but for the sake of the report I ate a slice of salt beef. It was my last food challenge. The Montreal underground was wonderful to travel on. The bars and especially the jazz clubs were wonderful. Montreal is famous for its Jazz Festival as well as its Grand Prix and it also has a comedy festival as well, which takes over the streets. A very pretty city with a lot to it. I liked it and was sad to go.

12th June

Last stop was Newfoundland. An island with a history and islanders who consider themselves more apart from
Canada than Quebec. They are a tough breed, but they have had to be as winters are harsh and summers are very short. If you like birds it’s a good place to go, and I met local ornithologists who told me about the puffin. How, if ever there was proof that good looks don’t go with good personality, it was that bird. The bird was a bitch. Used to beat up other birds. And it’s about the size of my fist. In Iceland they eat puffin. I always thought the Icelanders were cruel for doing that. Now I had more sympathy with them. The island is also famous for its whales. So I decided to go whale-watching. But with a difference. Here you can swim with them. Staying close to the boat, of course, but bobbing about in a wet suit. I was sure I was wetting myself, but I couldn’t tell. So very, very cold. Then this humpbacked whale lifted its head about five hundred yards from me, looked at me with its great sagacious eye and lopped back into the water. I was speechless, which is unusual for me. Unique experience.

Last meal on the last day, I sampled some cod’s tongues, which are the bottom lips of the cod, rather than the tongues themselves. They taste like pork scratchings and you can have large ones the size of your palms or small ones the size of Hula Hoops. Not the greatest taste, but I loved Newfoundland. The people were finely etched and had character and colour and life and respected nature and the sea and somehow I felt more at home here than I had in any of the places I had visited
en route
during my journey.

I hadn’t spoken or communicated with either man during the two weeks. I had made my mind up to stay with Paul. I would tell John on my return of my decision. I would be open with him. I would tell him that I loved Paul and that I had made my decision.

15th June

My birthday with Paul. Takes me to supper. At the Punch Bowl. I don’t take the mobile. I don’t want to be texted by anyone—especially John. Wear something elegant and simple and long. Paul approves. Sole and salmon for me. Lamb for him. Will I try something new? No, not even this time round. Champagne and fine wine. Montrachet in a year it was supposed to be sublime. Can’t remember which one. Paul does. Simon,
maître’d,
looks suitably impressed. Says how lovely I look. And looks as though he means it. Poignant being here. I now sit and look at Paul talking at me, and remember the first time, and wonder has time made my eyes clearer or made me appreciate him less, love him less, take him for granted, resent him more? Or just a combination of everything. I don’t see as many of my friends these days. Or not with him. Our friends are his friends. My friends stay resolutely my friends. Is this because I’m selfish with them? No. They don’t like Paul. They think he’s controlling and would rather see me by myself. He breaks my thoughts and asks about the dress.

Paul—‘What is the dress like?’

Sarah—‘Lovely. But I’m losing weight. I don’t want to look like a blind-man’s stick by September.’

Paul—‘You won’t. You will look stunning. Are you happy with the music I’ve chosen?’

Sarah—(can’t remember the music he’s chosen)—‘Yes. “Toccata”, and entrance to the “Arrival of the Queen of Sheba”. Right?’

Paul—(smiling)—‘Yes, something like that.’

Sarah—‘I’m pleased about “Lord of the Dance”. It’s very cheerful. And “All Things Bright…” is always good. People usually sing to that.’

Paul—‘We’ve got some strong singers in the congrega
tion. Freddie and Nick are OK. Matthew is a professional, so we’ll be in good hands.’

Sarah—‘I know.’

Paul—‘I’m pleased we made it, Sarah. To this day. There were times when I think it was almost touch and go, but I’m pleased we’re doing this. I love you. I don’t think there is only one love in one’s life, but I know together we will make a very strong team.’

And with that he handed me a little box. A little gold bracelet. Very simple, with the date and words: ‘All my love always. Your Paul’.

I cried.

Paul—‘Don’t cry. I love you, Sarah. We’re a strong team and it will be us two against the world. You know it will.’

Paul always returned to the theme of ‘strong team’ and ‘two against the world’. For such a long time I hadn’t felt part of a team. I had felt excluded and cut off and belittled and humiliated by the captain, if you like, who’d taken me for granted and ignored me and made me look and feel small. And I didn’t feel as though it was just us against the world. I felt as though I was increasingly battling Paul, for my freedom within the relationship, for wanting space—to find out more about myself but ideally not fall into the arms of someone else. Especially not someone like John.

But at least John wouldn’t fall for me. And Paul would never meet him. Why would he? The passion would fade, as it does in all relationships, John would get bored with his little bit on the side, and Sarah would go down the aisle, live happily ever after with three kids, two dogs and a husband who played golf with the guys, loved to cook and didn’t beat her up. Not physically anyway. Oh, yes, and probably a house in France to boot, and a big house with huge fuck off garden in leafy suburbia somewhere.

Paul—‘Where are you?’