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Picks nose and eats bogies
Toxic farting during nights
Snores very loudly
Mean with money
Mean with me
Large car syndrome, small willy
Likes me to stick my finger up his bottom
Arrogant and boorish qualities becoming more apparent
Controlling with sexual favours—i.e. gives none—to me anyway
Has lousy taste in furnishings—soft or otherwise (house looks like gentlemen’s club)
Criticises the way I drive (unsurprising, perhaps, as crashed his Lotus two years ago)
Criticises the way I talk
Criticises the fact I don’t earn enough money
Criticises the way I don’t spend enough time with him (perhaps not include this one, as not relevant anymore)
Doesn’t praise me when I do something well
Doesn’t support me in my work
Has boring friends
Always leads when dancing and has lousy timing
Don’t like his family
Fussy with food
Hypocritical
Untidy and lazy in the house
Good tendencies:
Good when on holiday—fun to be with and funny
Good dad to Ben—gives lots of cuddles—except recently when very drunk. Ben would never go without
Have never loved anyone as much as I loved him.
No, doesn’t count. These are my feelings for him.
Not his qualities
Used to be considerate lover—doesn’t count. Notanymore. Delete this one. Only now counts, not past
Would never have money worries as controls all finances
Lovely eyes Lovely hands
Good dancer when not being held by him
Good cook if cooking without dairy or wheat
Tries hard in the garden
Sarah—‘I kept wanting to write things down that were in the past. His kindness. His sense of fun and romance. His spontaneity. But they aren’t relevant any more. Haven’t been for a long time. I always felt safe with him. I knew I could always trust him. But I couldn’t write those things down. Not now. Because they aren’t true now. Good stuff in the past doesn’t rectify what is happening now, and the arsehole tendencies outweigh the good almost two to one.’
Kim—‘Does he really eat his bogies? How disgusting. Finger up the bum thing, I understand. Jamie likes that, too.’
Sarah—‘Why the fuck did this man marry me, Kim?’
Kim—‘Well, the romantic view is that he loved you. Cynical view is that he thought he could change you and you were a good catch and he knew it.’
Sarah—‘To be fair, I thought I could change him, too. Our sexual relationship was never great even before we got married. I told you about the abortion I had when we’d been going out for nine months? Well, he never really recovered from that.’
Kim—‘So perhaps it wasn’t such a clever thing to do to tell him about the abortion you had with John, was it?’
Sarah—‘Okay. I know. But it was clean slate time, and it was also a possible opt-out for me.’
Kim—‘Why do you still want to be with him?’
Sarah—‘I don’t know. As I said, perhaps it’s a combination of guilt, the fact that I’m fundamentally loyal, and that there is still love there. Or perhaps it’s fear of the unknown.’
Kim—‘Not because of Ben, then?’
Sarah—‘Ben will be happiest if his parents have a happy marriage. If it’s not happy, he will sense it. So I don’t want to stay together for his sake. Paul will always see Ben—not as much as he thinks he will, but I will never stop him from seeing his son. Unless he starts to behave towards Ben the same way he does towards me. That’s different. But this issue is to do with Paul and me.’
Kim—‘You really think you still love him, don’t you?’
Sarah—‘I think it’s love. I fell in love with his soul when we first met, and the feeling’s still there. Would be so much easier to say it’s not, but it is.’
Kim—‘You’ve forgotten that he’s selfish and opinionated and boorish.’
Sarah—‘And, of course, there’s my jealousy. The other woman syndrome. Want to wring her neck.’
Kim—‘Sounds as though he’s punishing you. Tit for tat. Bet she’s nothing like you. From what you’ve said, sounds as though he’s done this more out of anger and lust than anything. And relationships that start that way aren’t built on firm foundations.’
Sarah—‘Perhaps. But that’s not my problem. Wonder if she’s good at gardening and cooking and stuff?’
Kim—‘Who gives a fuck? Do you want to be good at those things?’
Sarah—‘Well, no.’
Kim—‘Then why worry? Let her prune his roses and mend his slippers.’
Sarah—‘Mmm, suppose so.’
Kim—‘What have you planned this week?’
Sarah—‘Well, this past week Ben’s had chicken pox, so I’ve been looking after him. Paul has been home occasionally. Of course acting strangely. It’s sort of like sleeping with the enemy.’
Kim—‘Hasn’t started to line things up in the cupboards, has he?’
Sarah—‘No, not that bad yet. But, you know—watching me when he’s here. Bit like the way Jack Nicholson got with Shelley Duvall post-axe scene in The Shining.’
Kim—‘You’ve got to get him to move out, then, Sarah. You can’t move out—nor can Ben. He’s got to move out.’
Sarah—‘He won’t.’
Kim—‘Then its going to end up like War of the Roses. Must admit when I first watched that film I thought it was overdoing it. But the more I learn about this divorce thing, the more I’m amazed most divorcing couples don’t kill each other.’
Sarah—‘Thanks for the cheery thought, Kim.’
Kim—‘I’m sorry, Sarah. But I can’t help thinking that Paul—love him though you think you do at the moment—has done you a huge favour. So has this other woman. Fuck, she’s got a man who’s a baby—a rich baby, but a baby nonetheless. With emotional baggage.
You don’t need that. You’ve got your life to lead and—fuck it, girl—you’re thirty-seven and look ten years younger. Even if this girl is years younger than you she’ll have to go some way to look as good as you. You’ve come a long way, despite little support from your husband, family or his family, and you’ve given him a wonderful son. Where did that blip occur? You obviously had sex once.’
Sarah—‘During a week in Mauritius.’
Kim—‘How the fuck did he expect to have children if he didn’t sleep with you, for Christ’s sake?’
Sarah—‘I know, I know. But he claimed I made him impotent. The abortions. Telling him about John on our honeymoon. Then finding out about Stephen and the shower. He struggled to deal with it and he couldn’t.’
Kim—‘All this is supposition, Sarah.’
Sarah—‘It has to be. The guy won’t talk to me. He tells me not to talk to him. Not to e-mail him at work. Not to text him. He hides his mobile phone, which makes me think he’s sending and receiving intimate love messages from this girl, and it’s driving me nuts.’
Kim—‘That’s jealousy. That’s pride speaking, not love.’
Sarah—‘I know, and I have to deal with it.’
Kim—‘You don’t want him, Sarah. You just wish it hadn’t happened this way.’
Sarah—‘Maybe. But at the moment I’m reeling, Kim, and I don’t know where I stand legally about leaving the house. Should I stay or go?’
Kim—‘Then find out. Go and see bloody good solicitors and listen to what they say. They strip the emotion and look at the facts, which is what the court will do. And they can be as ruthless as Paul—at this moment you can’t. I could be wrong, but I think from the sound of it Paul is on a mission, and he wants out. He’s a banker, a trader, and they’re compulsive about getting closure quickly. Just surprises me he hasn’t got the papers for a divorce signed up already.’
Sarah—‘Perhaps he wants to wear me down emotionally first. I don’t know, perhaps you’re right. Only I don’t know any good solicitors. I know—I’ll contact Jane. She’s been through all of this recently with her ex—Pierce. He works with Paul. It’s a bit incestuous, but Jane knows her business, knows Paul, and thinks straight. Perhaps I can use her solicitor.’
Kim—‘Sounds good to me. Well, my love, I’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they haven’t asked what we want to eat and I’m fucking starving. Where’s this Duncan, then? Where’s my chips?’
SEPTEMBER
Leaning on the wrong shoulder
Café Nero. Liverpool Street Station. Three p.m. Watching all the bankers go by with their secretaries, or maybe their work colleagues. Wonder if one of them will be Paul. And her.
Waiting for Jane, thirty-six, buzzy, brilliant, beautiful, and ex-wife of Pierce. Always has a mobile in her hand. Pierce told Paul she even took calls while he was going down on her. Chief accountant at Malvern & Duff, merchant bank. Not a conventional banker’s wife, either. Hence divorce a year before. She lost two stone, if I remember rightly. Pierce had to take a month’s leave with a suspected nervous breakdown. She’s met someone else. Getting married next year. Pierce was always meeting someone else, but probably won’t ever again—get married, that is.
Paul and I got Pierce’s side of the story. Never knew hers. But, knowing Pierce, hers is probably a more honest version. Perhaps will find out now. She’s agreed to meet me between meetings. I’ve got fifteen minutes. I’ve briefed her already about Paul. About the affair. About the history. And about the divorce.
I’m early again. Sit and order a black coffee, waiting until Jane arrives.
She’s on time, smiling, striding towards me, turning heads in her tight white cotton Paul Smith blouse, just—above-the-knee skirt and kitten heels. Legs up to armpits. Mobile in one hand. Purse in the other.
She hugs me, and looks me up and down a few times.
Jane—‘Hello, Sarah. See you’re feeling it, then? Can’t eat anything?’
Sarah—‘No. Bit like you were.’
Jane—‘It will pass. You’ll look back on this in two years’time and think, Hey, wish I could lose weight like that when I want to. You will put it back on; don’t worry. But I think you should look healthier and be healthier for Ben. You’ve got to look after him, and to do that well you’ve got to look after yourself well. And, more importantly, be seen to be looking after yourself well.’
Sarah—‘What do you mean—be seen to be looking after myself?’
Jane—‘If it goes to court, you will need to show you’re responsible enough to look after Ben. Fit mentally, financially and physically. Looking like someone who’s just come out of a concentration camp is not a good look. The mother usually gets custody, but I know Paul, and he sees everything as a possession. It’s not just his house and his money, but it’s also his son. So he may fight for custody at some stage.’
Sarah—‘Well, Ben is his son. But Ben is my son too.’
Jane—‘Quite. But he doesn’t see it like that, Sarah. And it’s not his house or his money. It’s your money and your house as well. Remember that. Because the court will remind him of that. The fact he suggested you leave the house makes me think he’s done his research, but you need to see a solicitor to give you all the details, Sarah. Try my solicitor. She’s good.’
Sarah—‘I don’t want to divorce him, Jane. I love him.’
Jane—‘Do you think you can salvage the marriage?’
Sarah—‘Don’t know. I’ve been strong for Ben.’
Jane—‘Well, you have to make your own decision about that, Sarah. And you’re going to hear this from a lot of people, but let me be the first to tell you. You’ve got to move on. For your sake. For Ben’s sake. And for your own sanity.
‘The only role of importance Paul has in your life now is to be a good father to Ben. He’s not been a good husband. Well, he has in some ways. Not in others. And you’re not faultless. But that’s past. You must deal with the present and future. You can do something about those two.
‘Bottom line—he’s admitted he wants out. And, again, I know Paul. He’s stubborn, and once on track he won’t sway from his course. He must provide for you as carer of Ben, and for Ben’s future. That simple. And by suggesting you leave the house it seems to me he wants to short-change you. You know what you’re dealing with. It’s understandable, but ruthless. I need a coffee. I’ll get you a chocolate brownie.’
Jane goes to order coffee and calories while I sit, stunned by the thought Paul might try to take Ben away from me. It makes me feel physically sick.
Jane returns with coffee and no cake.
Jane—‘Ran out of cakes. You would probably throw it up anyway.’
Sarah—‘Do you think he will take Ben away from me?’
Jane—‘He will think about it. But he won’t succeed unless he can prove you’re emotionally unstable and therefore unfit to care for Ben yourself. Of course, he could try to make you emotionally unstable. Or lower your confidence to such a level you feel you can’t look after Ben. Wouldn’t put that past him, Sarah.’
I think I’m going to throw up. Jane continues.
‘I’ll be frank. I like Paul. I like both of you. But it made me very angry when you told me he suggested you move out of the house with Ben. That’s underhanded. That’s mean. That’s a shitty thing to do. I don’t like that. Expect a call from Felicity Shindley-Hinde. She’s my solicitor. Dreadful name, wonderful lady. She did good for me, and may have a recommendation for you. She’s an ace divorce lawyer and you’ll need one. Because Paul’s attitude to money is the same as Pierce’s. He will ruthlessly protect every last penny of his salary. Paul considers the money in the bank to be his money.
‘Felicity managed to squeeze £300,000 out of a marriage that lasted less than a year. Something unheard of in the industry. Pierce was happy as he had over three million in the bank, so a mere £300k was peanuts to him. But he didn’t think of it that way at the time. And, from what I hear, crashed a few cars and a few parties for a few months. I didn’t get my hands on the offshore funds, non-listed American stocks and miscellaneous works of art he bought for cash. I knew about them, of course, because I managed his books while we were married. But I didn’t care. I wanted to keep on good terms with Pierce post-divorce.
‘You see, Sarah, Pierce has a lovely, gentle side to him, and if I’d gone for everything—well, he would have hated me till the day he died. Anyway, I have enough. Money doesn’t make you happy. Too much and it ultimately makes you greedy for more.’
Jane drinks her coffee in one. And stands to leave.
Jane—‘I’ll get Pierce to call you. He’s always had a soft spot for you and he may be able to reach Paul on an emotional level. He might be able to reason with Paul. It might not be too late.’
Sarah—‘Thank you. Everything will be all right, won’t it?’
Jane—‘Yes, everything will be all right. But not immediately. You will go through denial, regret, anger, sadness, joy—the lot. It takes time. Sometimes years, sometimes decades. Some people—both men and women—never get over it.’
Jane’s mobile rings.
Jane—‘Sorry, Sarah—got to take this one. It’s important. Buying a house.’
To phone…
Jane—Hi, there. Yes. Yes. No. Tell them no. Don’t care what they say. Tell them no. Tell them that’s the offer or we walk away. Tell them for every week they refuse the offer we will drop by £5k. We’ll do that for four weeks and then walk away. Tell them to fuck off, then.’
Click.
Sarah—‘You don’t want the house, then?’
Jane—‘’Course I do. But don’t want them to know that. All a game, Sarah, all a game. Bit like divorce, really. If you can’t convince the opposition of your motives, confuse them. Got to go now, Sarah. Text Pierce. That’s the best way to reach him these days. And expect a call from Felicity. She’s good.’
Interesting character, Pierce. Equity salesman in the city. Earning, according to Paul, ‘a fucking fortune’. I met him through Paul. When he was still married to Jane. Paul invited them both for Sunday lunch. They came one Sunday in August. We ate outside. One of those rare hot summer days.
Paul cooked trout on the barbecue. I’d done the stuffed peppers dish from Delia Smith’s book that looks wonderful and is impossible to mess up. Paul had retrieved his guitar from the guest bedroom and had started to play his edgy rendition of ‘Stairway to Heaven.’
Pierce said he played a bit, and then proceeded to play Led Zeppelin. John Williams. Elton John. Brilliantly. Then he started to sing. Beautifully. He was amazingly multitalented. There was nothing that Pierce could not do with ease. With grace. Style. Flair. Tall, dark, handsome, brooding, he looked at me when I first met him at our front door as though he wanted to devour me. Paul reassured me he looked at all women that way. Disconcerting for Jane, I thought at the time.
But if anyone could handle Pierce it was Jane. She was amazing in her own right. She was incredibly talented, well-travelled, English degree at Oxford, and spoke five languages fluently—but unfortunately not even she could understand Pierce sometimes. Jane had boundless energy and enthusiasm for life, and she was still only thirty-four when I met her.
Only problem was, Jane was wife number three. And Pierce was then just thirty-six. Paul said Pierce had a dark side. Which I’d never seen. Pierce had seen counsellors, psychotherapists, spiritual healers, and none had worked. He talked in consultant-speak when he talked about relationships. He knew all the theory, but somehow couldn’t put it into practice.
He also had a reputation in the Square Mile for being rather sexually kinky and masochistic. Exploring the little shops in Soho for that must-have latest dildo or nipple clamp. Hey, whatever turns him on, I thought. He’s not harming anyone—except himself, of course. I ignored all this. It was all irrelevant. Jane said he would be a good contact, so I made contact. And anyway, he could keep me informed on how Paul was in the office, or if he had turned up in the office at all.
I sent a text message.
Message sent: Hi Pierce. It’s Sarah, Paul’s wife. Jane suggested Ishould call you. Can you talk?
Message received:
Yep.
Message sent:
Can you call me?
Phone rings.
‘Hi, Sarah, it’s Pierce.’
Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Thanks for calling. Jane suggested I contact you. Has Jane told you?’
Pierce—‘Yes. Not all of it, just the gist. I couldn’t believe it. Paul having an affair. Thought he would be the last person to ever have an affair. He dotes on you and Ben.’
Sarah—‘Well, I’ve had an affair, and we haven’t been happily married for some time. But I love him and don’t want to end the marriage. But he seems determined, and now—well, now he’s suggested Ben and I move out of the house.’
Pierce—‘Sarah, Paul is my friend, but I’m your friend, too. My advice is not to do that. Go and see a solicitor.’
Sarah—‘Yes, Jane has already said I should do that. And I will. But I want to save the marriage.’
Pierce—‘Moving out won’t save the marriage. I think this has gone too far. Can I ask, why did you have the affair?’
Sarah—‘It’s been a sexless marriage. And we didn’t have sex for most of the time we were going out.’
Pierce—‘It’s a personal question, but why?’
Sarah—‘Because I had an abortion early in our relationship, and Paul couldn’t cope with that. Then he couldn’t cope with an affair I had before we got married, and then—well, he couldn’t cope with an affair I had while we were married, and then he just couldn’t cope.’
Pierce—‘Sounds as though you both couldn’t cope.
But if you didn’t have sex, how come you had Ben?’
Sarah—‘A one-off. A wonderful one-off on holiday.’
Pierce—‘How did he find out about the affair? Did you tell him?’
Sarah—‘Told him on our honeymoon.’
Pierce—‘Not the best way to start a marriage.’
Sarah—‘I know. I know. I know. And then I had an-other affair with a journalist, two years ago, when I was away travelling.’
Pierce—‘And you told him about that, too?’
Sarah—‘No, he found that one out. Reading my e-mail.’
Pierce—‘So that broke him?’
Sarah—‘Yes, I suppose it did.’
Pierce—‘Very sad, then, isn’t it? For Ben?’
Sarah—‘Yes. But I’ve said sorry, and Paul said at the time he forgave me, and that was years back and now this. Now a new woman and he wants out.’
Pierce—‘Well, I understand why he wants out. But I also understand why you had the affairs. No one can live in a completely sexless relationship. Not as far as I’m concerned. I couldn’t. But you need to protect yourself, Sarah. And Ben. Get a solicitor and listen to what she says. Paul’s a nice guy, but he shouldn’t have suggested you leave the house. Especially not with Ben. He’s got to be fair. I gave Jane £300,000 as part of the settlement, and we were married for only a year. Plus, we don’t have children. You have Ben, and he needs to be looked after, and then there is your future. You won’t be able to work as much when he’s at school. Won’t be able to travel as much. So you’ll have to change or give up your career. There’s lots to think about.’
Sarah—‘I know. I know. I wake up in cold sweats a lot these days. And my feelings for Paul change by the minute. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. It’s freaky. But Jane tells me this is natural, and will get better as time goes on.’
Pierce—‘Yes, it will. Jane told me she used to play one particular song at full blast in her car when we were breaking up. You know the one about hating someone so much? It worked for her. You’ll get your own theme tune.’
Sarah—‘Yeah, I have loads of songs. But the ones I’m playing at the moment are mostly by David Gray and Dido.’
Pierce—‘Real wrist-slitters, then. Try to listen to something more upbeat.’
Sarah—‘Such as?’
Pierce—‘ “I Will Survive”—Gloria Gaynor. “Stronger”—Sugababes. “My Way”—Frank Sinatra. “I’m Not in Love”—10CC. That sort of thing. Nothing about heartache. Or one-night stands.’
Sarah—‘Thanks.’
Pierce—‘Have you given yourself a break recently?’
Sarah—‘No—been looking after Ben. He’s not been well. And there’s plenty of work, which is good. Because it’s something else to focus on.’
Pierce—‘Jane says you’re thin and need fattening up.’
Sarah—‘So I’m told.’
Pierce—‘Fancy dinner? Have you been taken to dinner lately?’
Sarah—‘Paul took Ben and me to Pizza Express two weeks ago.’
Pierce—‘And you haven’t been out since then?’
Sarah—‘No. I’ve been looking after Ben. I think right now he needs to see one of his parents, if not both. And I need friends right now.’
Pierce—‘I could do this Friday night. Can you get a babysitter?’
Sarah—‘Yes. Tina can do it.’
Pierce—‘The Waterhole Restaurant, round your way. Is that okay?’
Sarah—‘Fine. Upstairs is posh; downstairs bistro.’
Pierce—‘Think you deserve posh. Book upstairs. Say about seven?’
Sarah—‘Fine—and thank you, Pierce. I’m not a bad person. I’ve just made bad decisions.’
Pierce—‘We all have. It’s part of life. But you can’t change the way someone feels, and Paul feels very angry at the moment. You’ve just got to let him chill. He may see reason eventually. But it will take some time.’
Sarah—‘I can’t change the way I feel either, Pierce. And I still love him.’
Pierce—‘Perhaps. Perhaps you only want what you haven’t got. You sound as though you need a hug.’
Sarah—‘I do.’
Pierce—‘See you Friday, then.’
Sarah—‘Okay. Bye.’
Click.
Paul isn’t coming home before midnight each weekday. And he never returns home on a Friday, usually arriving about three in the afternoon on Saturday to take Ben to the park for an hour or two. I don’t know if he’s with the girl or with the boys. I’m finding more receipts in his pockets. He is completely useless at hiding his trail. But perhaps he wants me to find them. Anyway, I am finding them. Lots of restaurant receipts. An eclectic mix. Thai, Indian, French, a few Italian, lots of sushi bars and Tuffnells once a week. Must be their favourite. I’m trying to work out if she’s a vegetarian. Think so. She likes chardonnay. Feel a bit like Miss Marple. Don’t think she’s a drinker. Well, not when she’s with him any-way. No champagne on the list ever, so perhaps she’s not that special. Or perhaps he pays with cash. The heartbreaking receipts are the hotels. When I see a receipt saying how many guests to a room.