Fandango in the Apse! (7 page)

‘A detrimental effect on what?  For goodness sake Eddie…make sense, will
you?’

‘Well you know… afterwards,’ he said, nodding his head in the direction
of my lap.  Jesus, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

‘You know…’ his eyes pleaded. ‘It might not be the same
, I
might
not feel the same.’

Oh and what a huge difference that would make, I thought.  It wasn’t as
if we had a thriving sex life as it was.  In fact, if I hadn’t been stone cold
sober at the time, I would have assumed the baby had been an immaculate
conception.  I had to give full marks to the sperm for tenacity.  It’d
obviously thought it was then or never and had shot off hell for leather, in
case it never got another chance.

‘You are a selfish bastard, Eddie.’

I turned my head out to the passing scenery and refused to speak to him
again.

I was still fuming when I sat down to the usual bland ham salad and apple
pie, that was the eternal Sunday tea at Jean’s house.  I didn’t normally bother
to voice an opinion during these visits, mainly because it was usually ignored,
but on this occasion I felt sure that Jean would be on my side… after all she
had given birth herself.

‘Eddie doesn’t want to be at the birth,’ I ventured, into a lull in the
conversation.

‘Quite right too,’ Jean sniffed. ‘I would never have dreamed of
subjecting Arthur to that…some things are best kept private you know.   My
mother would have been shocked to the core by what goes on these days.’

I shut my mouth from there on in, and counted the minute hand on the
brass carriage clock sitting on a lace doily on top of the television, until it
was time to leave.

‘Well at least Mummy is on your side,’ I said nastily, once we were back
in the car. 

Having gone through the agony of bringing his son into the world with
only Alison and Mrs Bunn for company, the previous year, I was determined he
would witness the second, when barely three months after Toby’s birth, I was
pregnant again.  I know I just mentioned the state of our non-existent sex life,
but this was a one off quickie after the first full night’s sleep either of us
had had for weeks.  

‘You are
going to be there Eddie and I don’t care what you or your
bloody mother thinks.  You didn’t complain at the conception, so you needn’t flippin’
well complain now.’

‘I’d really rather not, Katie… childbirth by all accounts is a messy
business.’

‘No shit, Sherlock… give the man a medal for observation.’

‘You know how queasy I get, even road kill makes me want to throw up,’
Eddie whined.

‘Oh, would you just listen to yourself?  It’s a birth, Eddie… not a
murder scene.’

On and on the argument went until finally, and definitely under duress,
he caved in.  Actually, as it turned out this was not the victory I had
imagined it to be.  I went into labour in the early hours of the morning and at
seven, I decided it was time to go into hospital.  After dropping Toby off with
Jean and Arthur, we made slow progress through the morning rush hour traffic. 
Eddie made one last ditch attempt at wriggling out of his fatherly duty and
very nearly got a smack in his mouth for his trouble.  However, after a couple
of hours on the ward, I was reconsidering my decision to insist on his
presence.  He was as much use as a fairy’s fart.

Any woman reading this who has given birth will understand what I mean. 
Picture the scene… me in a hospital bed in the last stages of labour.  Husband,
white faced, asking me if it would be possible not to scream so loudly because
I was giving him a headache.  Jesus, I know men are insensitive, but that beat
all as far as I was concerned.  I looked at Eddie with all the contempt he
deserved. 

‘OK, I tell you what, Eddie,’ I said, through teeth gritted against the
pain.  ‘The next time
you
try silently shitting a pineapple, spiky end
first, is the next time you can tell me to be quiet, you got that?’   It didn’t
go down well with anybody in the room, but I was rather proud of my
spontaneity, given the circumstances.

Being the mother of two small babies has a way of wiping your mind clear
of anything, other than dirty nappies, middle of the night feeds and the savage
determination to get at least three consecutive hours of sleep a night.  My
dissatisfaction with my marriage paled into insignificance amongst the Everest
height mountain of washing and ironing.  Having time to clean the house from
top to bottom back then seemed a luxury, not that I ever did clean from top to
bottom.  I’ve only ever done what was necessary, if I found a cobweb I got rid
of it, but I never went looking for them.  I derived great pleasure from not having
my mother’s anal obsession with cleanliness. 

Eddie’s assurance that he was fully prepared to help now we had two
children, lasted about five minutes.  His first dirty nappy had him running for
cover.  OK, it was a bad one.  Sam had obviously decided it would be fun to
store up and then evacuate his bowels in one fell swoop.  The resultant mess
was a shock to Eddie’s system.

‘Are they supposed to do that much?’ he asked, while holding his nose as
I was cleaning poo from halfway up Sam’s back. 

‘Well it’s a natural bodily function, so I would assume so.’  I was
getting really fed up with Eddie’s lily-livered approach to fatherhood.

That set the pattern for Eddie’s interaction with the kids.  So long as I
had them pre-washed, pre-packed and ready to go, he was fine.  The merest hint
of a “jobby” (his word), would cause his migration to his study until the coast
was clear. 

I, on the other hand, embraced motherhood with gusto.  If any of the
drawbacks became anything more than a passing thought, I found I only had to
watch the babies in their cots at night to set my world to rights.  Their soft
pink faces relaxed in sleep could evoke a completely ungovernable strength of
emotion that often had me close to tears.  Toby’s chubby fists tucked under his
chin or Sam’s gentle sucking sounds as he slept never failed to touch me on a
spiritual level.  To me, their sleeping beauty had an ethereal quality.  Not so
during daylight hours though.  Yellow poo, green snot and tantrums, tended to
spoil things a bit.

When Toby was three, it became glaring obvious that my hastily patched
over marriage was in crisis.  I was sure Eddie (the bastard), was having an
affair.  Can you believe it?  OK, I have to accept some of the blame – I
think.  While enjoying the joys of motherhood, it would be fair to say I took
my eyes off the prize.  Do this at your peril people – you need to stroke men’s
egos, bodies and balding heads on a regular basis to keep them both focused and
faithful.  If you fail in this fundamental rule, I’m afraid you, like me, will
have no one to blame but yourselves. 

All right, I admit unreservedly, my wifely allure was definitely on an
unchecked downward trajectory.  In fact, I was barely keeping my head above
apathetic extinction; I had in all areas, barring motherhood, withdrawn from
life. Without me noticing, work and the women therein, had become Eddie’s
panacea for the shortcomings of our life together.

In the end, I locked myself in the dining room and phoned Alison.  She
and Mark had married two years previously after the birth of their son, Luke,
and we remained as close as ever.

            ‘How fucking dare he, Alison?’  I ranted. ‘I mean does it
really matter that I’ve given up trying to squeeze my size twelve arse into my
size ten jeans?’ 

            ‘No of course…’

            ‘And why shouldn’t I wear comfy clothes round the house…well
not just round the house, I do tend to wear them most of the time now, but so
what?

            ‘Exactly Katie, so…’

            ‘I mean for God’s sake Alison, is it a crime punishable by
adultery to prefer flip-flops to four inch heels?  I think not!’

            ‘I agree, but Eddie obviously has other ideas, do you know
who she is?’ said Alison.

            ‘Not a clue, but I will find out.’

            ‘Right, well keep me posted, I’ll have to go Luke is howling
for his bottle, but you know where I am if you need me.’

            ‘Thanks Alison, I’m sorry to drop all this in your lap, but I
had to speak to someone.’

            ‘No probs, hun, what are friends for?’

            I had tried to put Eddie’s possible infidelity to the back of
my mind and very nearly succeeded, until something happened a few weeks after I
had spoken to Alison.  It all came to light after a party.  There’s nothing
like a party to illuminate the gaping holes in a relationship, don’t you think? 
Eddie, after a recurring knee injury had given up playing rugby the previous
year.  In an effort to ward off his thickening waist and rounding chops, and on
the recommendation of a work “colleague”, he had joined the golf club. 

The yearly sycophantic, mutual pat on the back, prize-giving ceremony was
one usually attended by spouses according to Eddie, (although he preferred to called
it presentation night), when he mentioned it two days before the event, after
apparently “forgetting” all about it.

‘If you really would prefer not to go, I suppose I’ll manage.  Anyway, I
don’t suppose you’d have time to go shopping for a dress now, will you?’ he
said hopefully.

Getting a distinct whiff of his reluctance for my company, I perversely
decided I would go.

‘No it’s OK , I’ll come.  I’ll nip into town tomorrow, I’m sure your
mother will have the boys for an hour.  I’ll ask her if she’ll babysit too if
you like, it’ll save you the bother?’

Mistake or not?  I’ll let you decide. 

It all kicked off admirably in the beginning.  A new hair-do, carefully
applied make-up, combined with a new frock went a long way towards my feelings
of rehabilitation into the land of the grown-ups.  I looked good, I felt good. 
In fact, I felt renewed.  This feeling stayed with me right up to the point of
meeting Heidi Marshall.

You know when you meet a person, who with just a raise of an eyebrow or a
hint of a smirk can immediately make you feel gauche or inferior – that was
Heidi Marshall.  Unused as I was to the social whirl, I was doing my best to
hold my own in a conversation with half a dozen demigods of the golfing
fraternity, when I first caught sight of her. 

A honey-blonde (aren’t they always?), with great legs, she had an
assurance of someone used to being admired.  I watched out of the corner of my
eye as she made a beeline for the bar and Eddie – who was supposed to be
getting my fourth brandy incidentally.  Ten minutes later, all out of
conversation and nursing an empty glass, I headed over to them.

‘Ah Katie… there you are.  I was just about to come and look for you,” Eddie
said in an odd voice.  He had the appearance of someone who was up to no good.

‘Well you wouldn’t have had to look far; I was exactly where you left
me.’  I accompanied my words with a smile in order to cover the slightly acidic
tone I’d used and regretted instantly.  I wasn’t going to give willowy
blonde-haired person, the impression I was in any way miffed at Eddie’s
desertion in her favour.

‘Heidi, let me introduce my wife, Katie, Katie this is a colleague from
work Heidi Marshall.’

‘Hi there, Katie, great to meet you at last,’ she said, as she held out a
perfectly manicured hand.  ‘You’re looking very…nice.’ 

It was the slight pause and the way she made “nice” sound as if she was
talking about rather scruffy Yorkshire terrier that did it.  I was immediately
on the back foot.  In a few words this woman, with a precision born of
execution had reduced me to a quivering mass of insecurities.  The cow! 

‘Nice to meet you too,’ I muttered, while squirming under her expertly
made up gaze.  As soon as she teetered off on her four-inch heels, I rounded on
Eddie.

‘Who is that bitch?’

‘Katie, she is not a bitch…’

‘Well you weren’t hearing what I was hearing then.’

‘We set up the new department together; she’s a very clever woman.  In
fact, without her recommendation I wouldn’t have got into the club.’  This was
something that seemed to impress Eddie no end.  ‘She’s an amazing golfer too,
you know.’

‘Oh, fuck off, Eddie!’  I said, as I headed for the loo. 

By tacit agreement, neither of us mentioned Heidi again and provided I could
keep her red satin, excuse for a dress, out of my line of vision I was happy. 
Towards the end of the evening and well down my seventh brandy, Eddie left me
at a corner table with brandies  number eight and nine in a tall glass in front
of me.  He was off networking, my befuddled brain just about grasped through
the silky haze of drunkenness. 

Have you ever noticed no matter how drunk you are something can happen
which immediately sobers you up?  My “something” was catching sight of my
husband skulking out the door, closely followed by a flash of red satin.  My
nerve endings fizzed with indignation.  Completely alert, I got to my feet and
made my way to the door.  The bastard!  The complete and utter bastard was all
I could think as I wandered the corridors of the clubhouse. 

For the first time I cursed the fact that I had never been there before. 
Fifteen minutes later and almost crying in frustration, I wandered back to the
function room.  I was livid, and the longer Eddie was missing, the angrier I
became.  Half an hour later, all wide-eyed and innocent he returned. 

‘Where have you been?’  I hissed through gritted teeth.  Eddie made a
good show of being surprised.

‘I told you – networking.  There are a lot of investment possibilities in
this place if you can get in with the right people.’

‘Networking, my arse.  I saw you slink off with Miss Nasty Knickers, do
you think I’m stupid, Eddie?’  The look on his face, which conveyed that in his
opinion it was a distinct possibility, sent me into the realms of murderous
rage.