Straight Talking (6 page)

“OK,” I said, “what’s the matter?”

“Matter?” he said, nose buried deep into his book. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“You’re being very distant. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said breezily. “I’m just tired, not really in the mood for sex.” And he put his hand out and ruffled my hair, then gave me a kiss—a highly platonic kiss—on the top of my head.

You know, don’t you? I suppose I should have known too. The first sign that a man’s going off you is when he finds an excuse not to sleep with you. When someone really fancies you, really likes you, is beginning to fall in love with you, they can’t get enough of your body, of you. When the doubts start setting in, they become tired, they don’t want to have sex, they don’t want to sleep in the same room.

I crawled into bed feeling absolutely miserable, but maybe the kiss meant it was OK. There was certainly affection, if not passion, in that kiss, and maybe he
was
just tired.

And then on Sunday he ignored me again, only speaking to me if he had to, and then it was coolly polite. The four of us went to St. Paul de Vence, and I felt like an outsider as the three of them laughed and joked, and bonded, leaving me feeling more and more alone.

On Sunday night I went to bed, and Guy said he wasn’t coming to bed yet, he wanted to stay up for a while with the others. I crawled into bed and waited, and eventually Guy came upstairs. He sat on my bed and kissed me—a peck on the lips, and I kissed him back—mouth, tongues, full-on—and waited for more. But he didn’t do anything.

I pulled him toward me, on top of me and he pulled back. “No,” he said. “This is happening too fast.”

“What is, what do you mean by ‘this’?” I thought he meant sex in his parents’ house in the South of France, but of course the fucker didn’t, he meant what I dreaded. He meant “us.”

“Look, Tasha. I’m sorry but I’m not in love with you. You’re not the one so I just can’t see the point in carrying on.”

“And you brought me to the South of France, to your parents’ house to tell me this? Two days before we fucking go home?”

“I hadn’t planned to do this. It just doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel what I should be feeling toward you. I don’t want to sleep with you, it feels like I’m forcing it.”

“Oh, and all those times you dragged me into the kitchen a couple of days ago, when you couldn’t keep your hands off me. You were forcing yourself, were you?”

“No, I don’t know,” he sighed, looking down at his hands. “You’re just not the one. This isn’t right.” This I couldn’t believe. I had no way of getting away and all I could think was, I wish I was at home. I wish I was lying in my bed with Stanley and Harvey to cuddle.

“Excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute.” I ran to the bathroom and threw up, a combination of too much drink and too much pain. Not pain because I really loved Guy. Jesus, this was only three months after all, but pain because it was happening again. The pattern I thought I’d broken, the pattern that was the reason I went to see Louise in the first place, and it was still happening.

What can I tell you about that night? That I didn’t sleep? That I spent the night wandering along freezing murky black corridors? That at five o’clock in the morning I ran a hot bath just so I could feel comforted? That at six o’clock in the morning I bumped into Sarah, going to the loo, that I didn’t let her go back to bed, that I talked her ear off, feeling miserable and lonely, that the most overwhelming feeling of that night was that no one would ever love me?

Monday was a nightmare. We were flying home on Monday evening, and I insisted the others go off for the day, insisted I would be OK by myself. Guy didn’t look at me, not once, but Sarah said she’d stay behind. No, I insisted, I needed to be on my own.

I sat in that house, that strange house I didn’t know and felt numb. There weren’t any tears, not at that point anyway, just a feeling of disbelief. I packed my clothes and sat on the sofa staring into space, watching the clock and willing the hours to pass quickly so I could fly home.

Guy and I, despite sitting next to one another on the flight back, didn’t speak. We shared a taxi from the airport, and, still, we didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said as I got out of the taxi.

“Forget about it,” I said, swiftly moving my head away as he tried to give me a good-bye kiss on the cheek.

I was fine that afternoon. Really. It was only later that night when Andy forced me to come to a party with her, when I was sitting there watching other couples that I suddenly found myself laughing. Manic laughter which suddenly became short, sharp sobs, and I had to lock myself in a bathroom for half an hour, trying to compose myself.

So here I am now, telling Louise about the grand finale, wondering why it happened again, why I haven’t learned.

“Why do you think it happened, hmm?” asks Louise. “Why do you think he suddenly got scared?”

Thank God I’ve learned something in therapy, because it doesn’t take me long to tell her, and even when I was with Guy I was aware that I was falling into old patterns, that I was repeating actions of the past, that the outcome would be the same.

“Moving the toothbrush in wasn’t a great idea,” I say, wincing with embarrassment at what was such an obvious mistake. “I think that was when he started to backtrack.”

“And what about sex? Do you feel good about sleeping with him so soon after meeting him? Why do you think you offered him your body when you didn’t really know him, when he hadn’t shown you who he was, what he could offer, hmm?”

“You’re right, I know. I was doing what I always used to do. I think I slept with him because I thought it would make him want me more, and I rushed in again. I didn’t really know him. But I also think I was aware of what I was doing, which I never used to be. I think I’m getting better at recognizing the mistakes. Now it’s just a question of changing them for good.”

Louise nods. It’s a long, slow, and often painful process, but finally I think I might be getting there.

6

After I found those pictures of Tanya, or Tanyagate as I called it at the time, Simon turned into the gorgeous, loving, attentive Simon he’d been when we met.

And the crazy woman inside me, the one that drove to his best friend’s at four o’clock in the morning, seemed to quiet down a little. I knew she hadn’t gone away, but she wasn’t bothering me. At least, not for the time being.

Simon loved me and I loved Simon and the Tanyas of the world could go screw themselves. It was over and it was nothing, and I truly believed I would be as happy for the rest of my life.

There was one morning when the sun shone brightly through his bedroom windows which were still filthy because there were always too many other things to do than clean the windows, and we decided to drive to the country.

“Come on, Fanny, get up, I’m taking you out for lunch.”

“I want to stay in bed, it’s warm. Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to a pub in the country. Move your arse, woman, and get dressed. I want to show the country bumpkins the women they’re missing out on in London.”

I did get up, I had a bath, and while I was sitting at the dressing table, putting on my makeup, making myself look perfect, I suddenly saw Simon watching me in the mirror. There was such an intense look of love in his eyes, I nearly started crying, but I didn’t, I just turned round and said, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking at your right eyebrow,” he said, although I know he wasn’t, he was looking at the whole picture and he loved me. “Did you know that your right eyebrow is perfect, but your left eyebrow is ever so slightly crooked?”

I turned back to the mirror in a panic. “What are you talking about, what do you mean?”

“It means you’re not perfect, doesn’t it? I’d hate it if you were perfect, but that little imperfection makes you vulnerable.”

“Do you think I’m vulnerable?” But I was pleased. It made me feel like a little girl when he called me that, like he was the big strong father figure looking after me.

“I didn’t when I first met you. When you walked into that party I thought what a hard bitch, not my type at all. But when I took a closer look I thought, nah, she’s not hard, she’s a softie, you just have to break her.”

“Break me? Bloody cheek. And have you, d’you think, broken me?”

“I’ve just done a bit of remodeling, just to make you into the perfect wife. Wifey Fanny, my wifey fanny,” and he started nuzzling my neck until I started laughing.

Simon was always talking about marriage, but much as I wanted to believe him, I always felt that it wasn’t necessarily me, he was in love with the idea of being in love. He wanted to get married because then he’d have someone to look after him all the time. It just didn’t really matter who. Although I only really knew that afterward, didn’t I?

We climbed into the car and on the way, while we were waiting at traffic lights on the A40, Simon turned to me, took my hand and opening my fingers planted a kiss on my palm.

“You know, Fanny, I’ve never been happier in my life. I never thought I could be this happy. You’re everything I ever wanted. I love you so much.” He looked me in the eyes. “I can’t believe sometimes how much I love you.”

There was a silence while I digested the words, the seriousness of them and then I turned to him with a wicked grin. “I love you to infinity.”

We had a perfect day, too perfect, something was bound to go wrong. And isn’t it ironic that just when you think it couldn’t get better, just when you start to trust, the bombshell hits and your world explodes in your face.

But how do you know? I didn’t know then. I didn’t know until later that week, when Simon was back to being a moody bastard, and even then I didn’t know.

I was watching television, some early evening interview show, and I was thinking about my own show and who I would get as a fill-in guest, when the phone rang.

“Hi hon, it’s me.” It was Mel.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Fine, really well actually. Daniel’s being really nice at the moment. I’m a bit worried, I don’t know what’s come over him.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Simon’s being amazing too, apart from the last few days but work’s tough. Most of the time he’s treating me like a bloody queen. Maybe it’s something in the air, maybe all the bastards have reformed.”

“As if Simon’s ever a bastard! I saw him today actually.”

“Oh?” I was only vaguely curious, Simon’s out and about in Soho almost every day, nothing new in that.

“Yeah, he was walking through Soho but I was in a rush so I didn’t cross over and say hello. He was with a tall blonde girl.”

Don’t ask me how I knew, but at that moment I knew that wherever Tanya had been for the last month, the last month that had been the best of my life, she was back and she’d burrowed her way back under his skin.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, and I could feel my voice shaking as I said, “Tanya.”

“What, that girl in the picture? Oh my God, I’m sorry, Tash. I didn’t realize, but I don’t know whether it was her, they weren’t holding hands or anything.”

“This girl is beautiful, you would know her, Mel. She looks like a bloody model. Did this girl he was with look like a model?”

There was a long pause, and Mel just said, “I’m sorry, I am so sorry.”

“Maybe I’m wrong, maybe we’re both wrong. Look, he’ll be home soon, I’ll call you back later.” Even as I put the phone down I could hear Mel apologizing again.

I stood up and my legs felt like jelly. A drink, that’s what I needed, so I poured myself a vodka and soda water—because Simon never had mixers, did he?—and I drank it down as if it were water.

Then Simon phoned from work. “Fanny darling, I’m stuck in the office, can we cancel going out for dinner tonight? I don’t know what time I’ll be home.”

I forced my voice to sound normal as I said, “That’s fine. I’m tired anyway. What have you done today, anything exciting?”

“No, boring day, I’ve been too busy to get out.”

“Not even for a sandwich?”

My heart had started thumping again, and I was sure he could hear it in my voice but the bastard didn’t, he said, “No, I had to send one of the secretaries out and she got the order wrong and came back with a tuna mix which I hate. I might have to go and grab something this evening.”

“Simon.” The word came out very slowly, and that was when he knew. “If you didn’t go out how come Mel saw you walking down the street in Soho?”

“Well, I went out to get some cigarettes. What is this, the fifth fucking degree? What the hell’s wrong with me leaving the office?”

“Who were you with?”

“I wasn’t with anyone,” but his voice was rising, and it didn’t matter what words he was actually saying, all I was hearing was guilt. I’m guilty. Shit.

“Well, that’s interesting because apparently you were with Tanya.” I didn’t even bother giving him a chance to deny it was her, and credit where credit’s due, the bastard didn’t bother denying it. He didn’t do anything. There was just a very long silence.

“I’m coming home. We need to talk.”

“Really,” I snapped nastily, “I thought you had too much to do.”

“Give me half an hour.” And he went.

You know when you wake up in the morning and everything’s great, the sun’s shining and life is beautiful, it doesn’t seem real how everything can collapse around your ears by the end of the day. And even while it’s happening it feels like you’re in a film. What would a heroine in a great romantic tragedy do now? She’d pour herself another quadruple vodka and tonic, or soda water. No actually, she’d probably drink it neat. So I did.

I’ve got to be honest here, I’m not entirely sure what happened that night because by the time Simon came home I was having difficulty focusing. Which is probably not a bad thing because the more drunk I got the angrier I became, and for the first time I didn’t give a damn if he saw, I wanted him to feel it.

Simon walked in and hesitated by the front door as he saw me, swaying ominously in the doorway of the kitchen. The bastard hung his head and then came over and put his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you and I’m sorry.”

God, I’m embarrassed to admit this to you, but do you know what I felt? At that precise moment I didn’t feel anger, I felt a little ray of hope, maybe it was all over with Tanya. Maybe we could just carry on as if nothing ever happened.

“What are you sorry about? I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“I love you, Tasha. I really love you and I meant what I said last week, I’ve never loved anyone as much as you, but I don’t know whether I’m
in
love with you. You’re my best friend, the woman I respect more than any other in the world, but I’m confused, I need some space.”

I pulled away savagely. “What the fuck do you mean, what are you talking about? This is about that bitch, isn’t it? What the fuck is going on with you and her?”

He sighed and said what they always say, “This has nothing to do with Tanya. This is about you and me.”

“What do you mean this has nothing to do with Tanya? You fucking idiot. Everything was fine before you met her. You’re having an affair, aren’t you? You’re fucking that thick bimbo.”

“I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “We’re just friends, but she understands me. I’ll admit I was with her today, but we weren’t doing anything, we’ve never done anything, we just went out for lunch. But I talked to her about this, and she agrees I need some space.”

I lost the plot a bit then. “You tell that fucking bitch to mind her own fucking business!” I was shouting but my voice was breaking up. I couldn’t believe this, I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, and I slowly collapsed on a chair, sobbing like a little girl, my body shuddering so hard it was physically painful.

It was like someone had ripped out my soul and torn it in two, and to make it worse Simon knelt on the floor next to me, and started crying too. He put his head in my lap and his arms round my waist and we both stayed like that for a very long time, just crying.

“I want to know the truth, Simon,” I said eventually. “The very least you owe me is the truth. I don’t care anymore, I know it’s over, but I have to know what happened with Tanya.”

“Nothing, I told you,” but the nothing wasn’t as emphatic as last time, and I knew all it would take to get the full story was a little gentle pushing.

“I’m fine now,” I said, wiping my eyes and taking a deep breath. “But I need to know. I know you’ve been having an affair, I just need to hear from you when it started.”

“We haven’t had an affair. But . . .” he stopped and looked at his hands.

“But what? It’s OK, you can tell me,” I said softly, encouragingly.

“I know she’s attracted to me, and even though nothing’s happened because I didn’t want to hurt you, she kissed me. It was just once, ages ago, and nothing’s happened since then.”

“What do you mean she just kissed you?” I was still incredibly calm, acting out my role to get as much ammunition as possible.

“That night when I was working late, I was with her and we had been drinking and I ended up back at her flat.”

The bastard should have stopped then. If he’d looked up from the floor he would have seen the pain in my eyes, he would have seen that he was hurting me more than anyone had ever hurt me in my life, but he didn’t. He had started his confession and he was going to finish. Or not. We’d see.

“We were sitting on the sofa talking and she kissed me.”

There was a silence. “What happened then?” I prompted.

“We did go to bed, but we didn’t do anything. I didn’t sleep with her, I felt terrible. All I could think about was you, which is when I came home.”

“So if you didn’t sleep with her what did you do? Did she give you a blow job, did you go down on the cunt? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”

“Nothing,” he said wearily. “We just cuddled.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? What were you wearing, were you dressed?”

“No, we were both naked.”

“You fucking bastard,” and I swung at him, but I was frightened by my rage, and just at the last minute, just as my hand was about to shatter his face, I held back and merely clipped his cheek.

“You lay in bed naked with this bimbo, cuddling her, and you think that’s OK, you think that doesn’t constitute being unfaithful?” A picture of them together flashed into my head, my beloved Simon with his arms round the blonde.

What I did next wasn’t very dignified, but Jesus, sometimes you can’t help yourself, can you? I ran to the loo and threw up, knowing that he could hear, wanting him to hear what he was doing to me.

When I came back Simon was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. And I still loved him, oh how I loved him.

“Look, I forgive you,” I said, suddenly panicking that I wouldn’t see him again. I wanted to do anything to make things the way they were. “It doesn’t matter, I understand. If you promise never to see her again we can just forget about it, we don’t have to ever talk about it again.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, looking sadly up at me. “I love you but I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“But we’ve had the best month ever, I thought we were so happy, I thought
you
were so happy.”

“She went away,” he said slowly. “To the South of France. She’s just got back and I don’t know how I feel. I need some time on my own to figure out what I want. I just need some space, I need to be on my own.”

Funny how men always say, I need to be on my own, when what they mean is I need to continue fucking the woman I’m already fucking behind your back, except it’s not behind your back anymore because you just found out about it. Actually it’s not very funny, it’s tragic. Can’t they think of anything new to say?

Have you ever been in so much pain that you don’t think you can carry on? I don’t think I would wish the pain I went through that night on my darkest enemy. Well, maybe I would, it would definitely hurt them, no two ways about that.

He left me that night. Left me curled up in a big armchair, squeezed into the very corner, hugging my knees very tight and staring at the wall, with big drippy tears squeezing themselves out of my eyes and rolling down my cheeks until everything around me felt like a puddle of salt water.