Love & The Goddess (41 page)

“Look who’s talking. You started getting hysterical as soon as I mentioned golf.”

Here goes the shame button, I thought, remembering how he could make me feel less than human. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I knew I was beginning to sound hysterical.

“As for you spending the night, you went off to bed rather than spend time with me. I need the comfort of your touch Kate, not the sight of your back retreating to the spare bedroom. When
we called it a truce I didn’t expect I’d have to endure a cold war.”

I stared at him as he spoke and realised that I could never imagine us making love again. It struck me as very strange because he had been a good lover, presenting me with the Kama Sutra early
on in our marriage, when we couldn’t figure out the half of it. Part of me instead longed for him to take care of me in that gentlemanly way he had always done. I quickly dismissed the
thought, however, as I realised I’d learnt to do a pretty good job of taking care of myself. He had become like a father to me and perhaps that’s where everything had gone wrong. And
when he asked for my softness, it was the softness of a mother he longed for, since he always said his own mother was cold and emotionally unavailable.

“Trevor, this isn’t going to work. Whatever we once had ended a long time ago, before either of us was willing to admit it was over.” As I spoke, he reddened with anger, as if
he was about to explode. But by the time I finished the sentence, his shoulders slumped and he paled, as if the reality of what I’d said had struck him a heavy blow.

“Kate, I’m so sorry. Don’t go …” He came closer to me, pressing his hands together. “I’m begging you … and, you know me, I never beg.”

I felt sorry for him but I knew this was how our relationship always used play out, based as it was on co-dependency. We had developed a pattern of him pushing my buttons and me reacting. A row
would follow and it would finally end in guilt, shame and promises of increased mutual understanding. Ultimately it never changed.

“No, Trevor. It’s over. We’re not capable of spending twenty-four hours in each other’s company without having a disagreement. If we’re to live each day as if it
were our last then it should be lived with grace. You and I do not afford each other that luxury. Goodbye, Trevor.”

As I drove home I felt light and free. On an ego level, perhaps a sneaking feeling of triumph lurked there among all my other emotions, since Trevor had been the one to dump me. On a deeper
level, I knew I was being true to myself and true to Trevor and that felt very genuine. There and then, I visualised sending him a laser beam of light, full of forgiveness and blessings. I needed
to wish him well in order to release us both from the ties that bound us together.

As a child I’d been told divorce was a mortal sin. My grandmother had a massive crush on Dean Martin and used to look forward to the Dean Martin season of movies, screened on consecutive
Sunday nights. When she suddenly heard he had divorced his first wife, she swore she’d never look at or listen to him again. She even went so far as to smash two of his vinyl records.
I’d shuddered at the intensity of her disgust and thought divorce would be the worst evil that could ever befall me. I’d also cried for poor Dean Martin who, on my grandmother’s
say so, was sure to end up in hell for his wicked deeds. Now, I thought, perhaps divorce can sometimes be a spiritual choice, based on compassion and authenticity. And I hoped in my heart of hearts
that eventually Trevor and I would become good friends.

I
was busy looking at an employment agency website one evening, when the phone rang. Seeing it was from my sister, I answered.

“Something terrible has happened, Kate.”

My heart sank to the ground on hearing Liz’s panicked voice on the other end of the phone. “Is it Dad?” I asked, voice shaking

“No, he’s fine. It’s Alan. He’s just told me he’s gay.” Alan was her eldest son and my godson, an absolutely gorgeous young man with the most gentle, loving
nature. I’d often suspected he could be gay but never said anything. Liz had always pushed her children to be high achievers and had drilled it into them that they needed to marry well.
“Can you talk to him and try to convince him he’s not? I mean it’s totally unacceptable for a doctor and he’s in final year medicine. Imagine getting this far and he decides
to turn gay.”

“Liz, this isn’t a terrible thing. And he didn’t just decide to turn gay. He was born that way and he needs you as his mother to accept that. He’s still the same
wonderful young man. What he needs is your unconditional love.”

“What about his career? Nobody’ll want a gay doctor coming near them and he still wants to do surgery.”

“Liz, wake up, we’re living in the twenty-first century. Lots of gay men are more responsible than straight men when it comes to sexual practices. Employers can’t discriminate
on grounds of sexual orientation. Why don’t you come to Billy’s party – well, it’s my party too? You’ll meet James and he’ll set your mind to rest.”

“Oh God, I’m in no mood for a party, Kate.”

“All the more reason you should come! When is the last time you let your hair down? Leave hubby at home baby-sitting the younger two. We’ll make sure you enjoy yourself!”

“I’ll think about it. Is there no way you’ll come up to talk Alan round?”

My doorbell rang. I walked over to peer at the pin-hole camera. It was James. “No, Liz. Alan’s business is none of my business. Now I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I
pressed the button, opening the front door and waited for him to come down the stairs. “C’mon in,” I said, pecking his cheek and helping him remove his coat. He followed me
through to the kitchen where he spotted my laptop on the kitchen table, open at the employment website and with print-outs of restaurants scattered all over the table. “Would you like
tea?”

“No. I came to tell you something.”

“What is it?” I noted his serious expression with alarm.

“I was in Mayo on a visit to Maria and she was asking for you. She mentioned how gorgeous you were; she said you must have men chasing after you.”

“Ah, that was sweet of her. I must call her. Though she couldn’t be more wrong about the men bit,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind but I told her the story about you being soft on an artist who was involved with someone called Myra.”

“James, I don’t mind what you tell Maria. She’s not a gossipy type.”

“Well, it happens she knows Myra.”

“
Really?”

“Yes and the story we heard is totally wrong. She knows Myra’s sister and it turns out Jennie had her story all wrong. Myra’s artist husband died recently, leaving her with a
three-year-old son.” James paused for emphasis. “Geoff was a very good friend of her late husband’s and he’s been very supportive to her since he’s also the
child’s godfather. Repeat …
godfather,
not father. I knew I should have made an effort to speak to him on your behalf.”

I could feel myself redden with mortification at having swallowed idle gossip. Why hadn’t I given Geoff a chance to explain? Yet I had caught him with Myra, when he’d claimed to be
in Dublin. “Well, it’s a bit late now, James – I just want to forget about him.”

“Are you sure, Kate? I mean, you were very keen.”

“I’m sure, James. That opportunity came and went,” I said adamantly. “Now I’m looking at employment websites.”

“Is there anything worthwhile on offer?”

“Lots of relief work for one and two week periods. I figure I’m a free agent so I can live like a nomad spending two weeks in Dublin followed by a week in London or Cork. The pay is
good as they find it hard to get a decent chef to cover the absence of a head chef.”

“When does the first one start?”

“After Billy’s party, on the twentieth of November. You’re coming to that, aren’t you?”

“Definitely, darling. And without Alex, so tell Billy to invite some nice gay guys will you?”

“So you’re definitely not getting back with Alex this time then? And what about your own advice to abstain from relationships after a break-up?”

“I know, darling, it’s the right thing to do and I did before but when I’m lonely I can’t help but wish for Mr Right to come along. That need has to burn itself out, the
way it did with you. You’re so much less needy now, Kate.”

“I’d still like to meet someone but I’m less hung up on meeting a knight in shining white armour. I just wouldn’t mind an occasional date even if it went nowhere.
I’d quite like a platonic relationship, like I have with you.”

“Hmm … you know that’s difficult between a man and a woman except if one is gay. Have you gone back on the dreaded dating sites?”

“Not actively, even though I registered on that site Ella’s on. Didn’t put up a profile. I was only thinking about it last night that it could be fun to line up the odd date to
coincide with working in different locations.” Then, wrinkling my nose, I added, “But I’ve arrived at the stage where I’m not really pushed if I ever have a man in my life
again.”

“Then you’ve arrived at a good place, Kate. Why don’t you put up a whacky profile for the fun of it? I could do with a laugh. I want to see how you do it.”

“Right so … Pull your chair in closer, and we’ll see can we manage to generate a few laughs. Now have a look at these photos and tell me which to use for my profile.” I
opened a folder on my laptop.

“I like that one.” James pointed to an image of me wearing false eyelashes. “You look like Julianne Moore in it. What name are you using?”

“Hekate. What do you think?”

“Appropriate for Halloween. You’re getting in touch with your wild side, Kate. I like it – Goddess of the dark side of the Moon and patroness of witches. Didn’t you tell
me Raúl suggested you had an affiliation with her?”

“Yes and I nearly went ballistic when he first mooted that. I always thought she was an evil old crone, ugly and gnarled. Everything I would wish to be the opposite of.”

“So you see when we try to deny any aspect of ourselves it can take on a power of its own. I know that from trying to repress my homosexuality and how it tormented me. When I came out it
was no big deal. Hekate represents not only acceptance of getting older but also the gifts that come with age.”

“You’re fierce philosophical, James.” I attempted an old crone’s voice: “And pray tell me, what gifts can I expect?”

“Wisdom and increased creativity wouldn’t be bad for starters, would it?”

“Not bad. Now let’s get cracking here with Hekate’s profile. I’ll keep this simple yet quirky …” I wrote:

“
I am a woman of contrasts; one who likes to run through the woods at dawn and twilight, yet also enjoys dressing up for an evening at the theatre. I would like to meet a man to read
Borges, Salinas and Neruda to, watch several film versions of Anna Karenina with, meditate on a mountain top with and explore the Amazon jungle with.

Difficult to meet the right man but if you are reasonably chilled out with a sense of humour and an optimistic nature then drop me a line.”

“Good grief Kate, anyone who understands that will know you’re a passionate woman, but I’d be surprised if they get it. Now fill in the next part.”

“No, I couldn’t be bothered. I’ll tick a few boxes like ‘attractive’ rather than ‘very attractive’, but I’m not serious about this so I’ll
leave the rest blank the way a lot of people do.”

“Right, let’s have a cup of tea and we’ll see if anyone gets back to you.”

As I made tea, we got chatting about preparations for Billy’s party and what we would wear. But James was soon curious to see if any messages had come in for Hekate, and made me look.
There were already several responses,.

I was puzzled. “James, two of them start with ‘
Hey Kate’
. Do they know me from a previous site? One says: ‘
Hey Kate, How’s it going?
’”

“Read it out.”

I recited: “
Hey Kate, Do you know Hekate is the Goddess of witches? Why use this name when you could have chosen Aphrodite or Venus? Is it because it’s so close to Halloween? I
can only presume your name must be Kate! You say you find it difficult to meet the right man. I think you must be hard to please but I like a good challenge and would like to put myself forward.
John.”

“So there’s your answer. They think it’s a take on your name. Yer man John looks all right. Will you write back? You could say ‘Aphrodite or Venus, when it’s all
about your penis.’ It kind of rhymes. When they want you to be Aphrodite it’s definitely part of a sexual fantasy.”

“James, I’m shocked by you. You were the one telling me to forget about men. I’m definitely not writing back anything so provocative. In fact, I’m in no mood to write
back, full stop. Oh God look at this. It’s totally weird. I knew I’d get some weird stuff.”

The message read:

My Dear Hekate

While I do not fit the description of your ‘date’, I’m afraid that there is no way I can NOT send you this message!! You correctly describe yourself as attractive, but the
left hand section on ‘more about me’ is quite irresistible!