The Last Year of Being Single (21 page)

Sarah—‘What?’

Paul—‘Where are you? Sometimes I feel you’re not with me at all. Your mind is totally somewhere else.’

My mind was not on Paul. It was on how to tell John that I couldn’t see him any more. That it was impossible and that I had met someone else. How do I tell him the truth? Hi, excuse me, well, you know I said I was single, er, well I’m not. Actually, I’m getting married in September and I know I told you a pack of lies. But you will forgive me, won’t you? Coz you’re a bit like that anyway, aren’t you? A bit emotionally immature and you use women for sex, don’t you?

Think he’d understand. Not.

Sarah—‘Oh, nowhere.’

Paul—‘You’re dangerous when you think. Don’t think too much.’

Sarah—(smiling)—‘I’ll try not to.’

Paul—‘Fancy going to the cricket pitch when we finish and seeing if they are playing a game? Just like old times?’

Sarah—‘That would be lovely.’

Coffee.
Petit-fours.
Hand-made. Sweet trolley groaning with creamy chocolatey gooey fab stuff. Bill paid. Thank yous. Kisses on both cheeks. Walking to the pitch. Sun shining. Warm day. Similar to the first time. Sat in the same spot. Game nearly finished. Cuddling. He takes my hand and writes ‘I heart you’ on the back of it with his forefinger, just like he did when we first met. And all the happiness of when we first met floods back to me and overwhelms me and I want to cry and think what a stupid selfish bitch I’ve been and how the hell do I get out of the mess I’ve got myself into?

Do other women get into such messes? I’m sure they don’t. But perhaps I should read more agony columns so I would feel that either I’m not alone or I should get my act
together. Most columns I read involve stuff like my mum wants to shag my boyfriend. Nope. Don’t have that problem. Or I’m pregnant and don’t know who’s the father. Er, no. Won’t have that problem. So is my problem banal or so commonplace it doesn’t make the leader letter?

How can I do this to him? How can I betray him like this with a man like John? But John isn’t all bad. I’d discovered that. He isn’t the total amoral bastard he’s painted as. Well, perhaps he is. But perhaps he’s met his match. He’s caring in his own way, I thought. And passionate. And John is not fucked up by sex or guilt or religion, which Paul seems to be. One or all of the above. But, lying in Paul’s arms under the trees, I started to feel happier with him. Perhaps there was hope and he might change back to the Paul I knew five years ago. Perhaps.

16th June

My birthday with John. I met him at Redhill Station. In the afternoon. He’d taken a half-day. We went to lunch at the Italian restaurant where he’d first taken me. He gave me a little box which contained an antique silver box inside.

John—‘I got it in the Lanes in Brighton.’

Sarah—‘It’s very beautiful.’

The box was very delicate and had a little elf-like creature on the front. It ironically reminded me of how Paul called me Pixie, and rarely did these days. I smiled.

John—‘You like it.’

Sarah—‘I love it.’

I’ve got to tell him now. I’ve got to tell him now.

Sarah—‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

John—‘I love you, Sarah. I didn’t think I could ever say that to anyone and mean it. But I love you. I just feel very close to you. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally.’

Sarah—‘Bullshit.’

John—‘It’s not. You’re bright. You’re brighter than you look and you act. There’s more to Ms Giles than meets the eye. Much more. And what you see is not bad either.’

I smile. So does he.

John—‘I don’t know if I can commit to marriage, and that’s being honest of me, but I know I want to spend a long time with you and can’t imagine not having you in my life.’

Sarah—‘I’m very happy and content when I’m with you.’ (Being honest.)

John—‘I know you are. I can tell.’

Sarah—‘We will be able to see lots of each other—’ (being dishonest) ‘—in the future. I’m not the marrying kind—’(What the flying fuck am I saying? Girl, talk about digging the hole deeper than it already is, if that’s humanly possible. Fill it in a bit. Fill it in a bit.) ‘—but I would like to get married one day. When I meet the right man. And perhaps have children and dogs and stuff.’

John—(looking surprised)—‘That’s not you, Sarah. Don’t kid yourself. You’re not the marrying kind. You’re a free spirit. You’d hate being tied down. Who was that ex-boyfriend of yours? Peter or Paul or something? He sounds completely controlled up. Weak. Wanting to make you into something you’re not. Probably very nice. Think you said he had loads of friends. But probably not yours. You never talk about him much, which I understand, but I think he influenced you a lot. Your perceptions of yourself and what you were supposed to want out of life.

‘And I don’t think your dream was his dream or anyone’s, really. I think your dream is on a different level. You’re a mixture of child and woman. You’ve got a very childish, naïve attitude towards life in many ways, but also a very gentle, kind attitude towards people. You’re much more compassionate than me. Think you’re a natural giver, but you’ve been hurt and don’t give as much of yourself away as you
used to. Which is perhaps to be expected. Especially with a rogue like me.’ (John frequently acknowledged his arsehole tendencies.) ‘You seem to have been used as some sort of trophy by all your boyfriends. But they didn’t really see you, Sarah, did they? They saw what they wanted to see and, just like men, were too lazy to dig deeper. They want someone to look after them and someone to look after and keep life simple. And that’s not what you’re about. You’re different. You’re interesting. There’s more to you. That’s why I’d like to get to know you more. And I think it would take more than one lifetime to get to know you, Sarah.’

How true! I can’t break in with, Er, you know that Paul guy? Well, I’m marrying him in September.

Sarah—‘Paul has his wonderful qualities. He loved me in his own way.’

John—‘He loved you and wanted to change you. Sarah, I’ve realised you can’t be changed and I can’t be changed, but you can bring the best out in people and I don’t think he brought out the best in you. He swamped you. You’ve got a strong fiery spirit. You need space to breathe. I think if you weren’t given it you’d go off and have affairs. Wouldn’t you?’

Sarah—(turning red)—‘Probably. But that’s not the way to deal with it. You’ve got to confront an issue, not go off and have affairs. Because that doesn’t resolve the situation. It’s just hiding from it.’

Ha! Why couldn’t I ever take my own advice? It was only ever as this ‘other’ Sarah I became with John that I could look at Paul’s Sarah and think, This is not the way to handle it. But I was in too deep. Eating the sole (two days on the trot, getting bored with it, but hey), I tried to work out scenarios to disappear from John. Or perhaps I should disappear from Paul. But, no, there was too much good history there to waste. Work on the bad stuff. Work on it. That’s what relationships are about. You have to work on them.

John—‘He didn’t have sex with you, either, that Paul, did he?’

Sarah—‘No, well—you know. I told you about the abortion.’

John—‘That’s serious stuff, Sarah. A man doesn’t not sleep with his girlfriend for years coz of stuff like that.’

Sarah—‘But there were also the financial matters.’

John—‘You say he said you spent too much money, got into debt? Stuff like that?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

John—‘Sorry, Sarah. That’s a cop-out. Man doesn’t not sleep with his girlfriend because of that.’

Sarah—‘This one didn’t. He was sensitive.’

John—‘Fuck that. He was fucked up. Did he ever go and see a counsellor or something? Or his priest?’

Sarah—‘I suggested it, but he said no, he didn’t need it, and that I probably needed it more. Which I think I did.’

John—‘Perhaps. But I don’t think it was healthy for you to be in a relationship with that guy for so long. It would fuck anyone up. Got to remember, no matter how much you love someone, the resentment grows. Not saying sex is everything. It’s not. And we have sex the amount we do because, hey, we don’t see as much of each other as we would like, so it becomes more intense. But this guy used to see you most days, right?’

Sarah—‘Yes, most days.’

John—‘And you lived with him?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

John—‘Well, then, sex plays a part. But you need that physical intimacy. I know you do. I can tell when I’m with you. You don’t
need
men in the way most women need men. You love the physical affection and the intimacy but don’t want any of the other crap that comes with it. Can’t imagine you ever ironing anyone’s shirt or doing the vacuuming.’

I had ironed Paul’s shirt night before, and had done vacuuming week before. But hated doing both. So John was sort of right.

John—‘You’re strong. You’ve learnt from your past mistakes and the future is yours.’

I’m weak. I haven’t and it’s not.

John—‘You’re wonderful.’

I feel like shit.

John—‘And do you know? You’re gentle and most importantly you’re honest. I’ve always felt women are lying manipulative little bitches. But you’re straight. I trust you, and once trust is broken it can never return.’

ACTION LIST

To dump Paul.

To dump John.

To have fun.

To be myself.

To go to the gym.

To eat no dairy or wheat products.

PRESENT LIVES

4th July

Independence Day. I feel trapped.

I haven’t told John. I’ve continued to see him and sleep with him and take the yellow Lotus around the M25, through the dull countryside of Essex, the lifeless landscapes of Kent, into the lush green of Surrey and feel alive and loved and sexy when I’m in John’s arms. Usually naked or in a state of nakedness. And I have continued to feel cold
and unloved by Paul, who is increasingly angst ridden and worried about work and if we are doing the right thing.

I said we should postpone the wedding but he said too much preparation had already gone into it and that this was just last-minute nerves and we had to live in the present and not in the past. And what had happened in the past. With the abortion. We must—he must—forget about. But he hadn’t. Because he brought it up at every chance he could when we talked. And in the end I became numb to the mention of it. With John I was able to ignore Paul’s existence and pain. John made me feel stronger and better about myself, although it was wrong. Paul made me feel weaker and wretched. And I was increasingly confronted by the guilt.

I started to have facials from a local beauty therapist and it was here I noticed a leaflet advertising a lady called Jenny who was a spiritual healer. I didn’t really know what a spiritual healer was, but I decided to visit her to ask about my career. If travel would take off. If I would win the Canadian award. Unimportant things like that.

Jenny was all of five foot, with bright sparkling eyes and a warm round lovely face. She greeted me in her small room at the beauty therapist’s and sat down and looked at me.

Jenny—‘I’m very pleased I’ve met you, Sarah. You’re a very special person.’

Sarah—‘I feel better already.’

Jenny—‘No, I mean it. You are very special. You have a very wise old spirit in you. An old Native American. A man called Silver Trees.’

I froze.

Jenny noticed.

Jenny—‘Have you been told this before?’

Sarah—‘Yes. Last month I was in Canada and was told this.’

Jenny—‘He’s very wise. You should listen to him. You should trust your instinct. You should listen to him and know that he is right. You have a young child in you as well, who is naughty and restless, and sometimes you listen to her.’

This was becoming weird. I laughed to myself quietly as I imagined the young child running rings round the wise old Native American. Sometimes I felt this was happening in my head with my decision making.

Jenny—‘You have a lovely boyfriend or husband. But he is very unhappy. Very restless. He is a lost soul. Tortured. This is not good. He is trying very hard, Sarah. Very hard. Be kind to him. Let him go.’

I felt hot and cold. I didn’t expect this. I wanted to hear about something unimportant—like my career or my travels—but not about my personal life.

Sarah—‘What can you tell me of John?’

Jenny—‘John? He’s using you, Sarah. He’s using you more than you’re using him. You are using him for some reason. Sex? Yes. Physical gratification. But it’s not love. Don’t convince yourself this is love. What you have is real and genuine and true with Paul. Don’t lose it. But you must let him go. Only if you let him go can he ever return. But at the moment he does not have the capacity to forgive you, Sarah. Few men do. Paul does not have this capacity. He never will.’

Sarah—‘But he’s cruel. If you can see, really see, you will know.’ (I meant about the lack of sex, the arrogance, the boorishness.)

Jenny—‘He has issues only he can resolve. You cannot. Be true to yourself and he will be true to himself. And find his own way. You can’t find it for him. Nor can he help you find yours. You have the chemistry. Not the ability to communicate.’

Thirty quid paid for an hour of disquieting honesty. I might have been preened outside, but I felt ugly inside. How did I get in this mess? How can I get myself out of this mess? I had a delicate, sensitive man whom I loved, was getting married to. And a potent intelligent lover who intoxicated me and made me feel real and alive and excited.

Which one? Which one? Jenny had chosen for me. Canada had chosen for me. My conscience had chosen for me. How many more fucking signs did I need?

7th July

In the church. The priest talking to both of us. Are we aware of what we are entering into?

No
, I think.

‘Yes,’ I say.

The church is pretty and there are a few choristers practising and I wish the wedding in reality could be this small and unfussy. Without the dress and the cake and the reception and the parents and everyone. And I ask Paul if we could just elope and have a simple registry office and he laughs and kisses me and says it sounds like a good idea, but of course we couldn’t. Of course we couldn’t.