The Last Year Of Being Married

And then there’s the extras. The videos they send up for. The receipts list if they ordered room service or videos, but not what videos they were. Wonder if they were pornographic. Or funny. Or romantic. Wonder if he’s made her watch Highlander I, II and III, like he made me watch them when I first met him. Hope so. Serve her right.

Then there’s usually a cinema receipt or two a week. I can tell if he’s seen a film with her already. He always makes a comment.

Paul—‘One of my friends said they enjoyed this.’

Or:

Paul—‘One of my friends said they didn’t think much of this. Found it boring.’

Or, worse:

Paul—‘I know someone who would really enjoy this film.’

When have any of his friends ever been one of his friends?

When did Paul start to have nameless friends?

It’s Friday already. Six p.m. Time has no meaning at the moment. Probably why I’m on time or early these days.

Babysitter has arrived. Tina is busy running around after Ben. Getting him bathed, bedtime story then lights out. Kiss for Mummy. Then night-night. Thankfully Ben seems not to notice Daddy hasn’t been about much these days. Occasionally he asks where Daddy is, but he spends most days in the nursery, and I keep him busy with games and fun in the evenings.

I’ve briefed the staff at the nursery about what I’ve come to call the situation at home. Sat down with the principal nursery nurse for half an hour, managing not to cry. She reassured me divorce and separation are becoming the norm, not the exception. There are four other children in Ben’s class where the parents are experiencing what she called similar problems. I didn’t go into too much detail. I doubt if these other couples have quite the same story to tell.

I try not to cry in front of Ben. When I do he tells me to, ‘Brush those tears away, Mummy. Brush those tears away.’

And I do. And I tell him I love him. And that Daddy loves him and that Mummy and Daddy love each other. And that calms him and me both.

Babysitter Tina also knows about the situation at home. She’s been looking after Ben since he was a baby. She’s extremely sensible and efficient, and Ben loves her and is terrified of her. Paul is terrified of her, too, which is good. Her advice is a little drastic. She tells me I should kill Paul in his sleep. I tell her this would ruin my social life and that I look lousy in stripes.

Doorbell rings. Too early. Can’t be Pierce.

It is.

Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Didn’t expect you this early.’

Pierce—‘Hi, just came from the gym. The showers weren’t working properly there. Can I use your shower?’

Sarah—‘Er, yes, of course.’

Bit confused. Not the usual way to start an evening. I’ve never had someone come to take me out to dinner and ask to shower at the house. And he goes to the same gym as me. The showers were working perfectly all right when I went there yesterday. Perhaps he’s had sex at the gym or at lunch or something. And wants to get the smell of the other woman off his body. Whatever, it’s a bit weird.

I’ve got to shower, too, so I take a shower in the en suite bathroom off the main bedroom. He takes a shower in the main bathroom. So I suppose we’re sort of taking a shower together.

Half an hour later, both finished. He’s wearing something Armani and black and looks—well, gorgeous. I’m wearing something feminine and tight, but not short. Having lost so much weight, I now want to wear things that add weight rather than take it off. This outfit does.

Pierce—‘You look lovely. Paul is silly. You’re a babe, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘Thank you, Pierce. Nice to feel I’m a woman again.’

Pierce drives a BMW 5 series convertible. Dark blue. Black and tan leather interior. He mixes his own CDs. While we drive to the restaurant we listen to Norah Jones, Prodigy and Vaughan Williams. Pierce has eclectic tastes.

Sarah—‘Do you see much of Jane these days?’

Pierce—‘We talk on the phone. She’s met someone. I haven’t. But I’m happy for her. I still love her, but couldn’t live with her. Nor her me. I know our divorce was for the best, and I’m sure you will feel the same about Paul.’

Sarah—‘At the moment I don’t. I’ve known Paul for twelve years. I’ve been through a lot with him and I still believe I love him and want to try to make it work. I think he’s tried to make the relationship work in the past, mainly through trying to change me rather than himself. But we’ve both avoided the issues in our own way. Now we’ve got to confront them. For Ben’s sake if not our own.’

We turn into the restaurant car park. The car purrs to a halt.

Pierce—‘You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah—(holding my hand)—very beautiful. And you deserve a lot. And Paul wasn’t able to give it to you. I know you’re feeling vulnerable at the moment, and you’ve got to be careful at this time. You’re feeling vulnerable, and you may just hook up with any man to get rid of those pent-up sexual frustrations that have been building up inside you over the years. The longing you must feel… It must be terrible. Just make sure you only confide in those you trust. Someone you trust and respect and who is here for you.’

I look at Pierce. And think, Yes, I am distraught and vulnerable. And haven’t been made love to for ages. And I do feel unloved and unwanted and unconfident and bruised. But I’m not stupid. And I’m not desperate. And I think that was a chat-up line.

‘I can get rid of those sexual frustrations the same way I’ve always got rid of them. I work out. A lot.’

Pierce—‘Yes, you’re in good shape. I can see you’re very toned. You know I’ve always found you attractive.’

Sarah—‘You find a lot of women attractive, Pierce.’

I think, Is this a good idea? Dinner with Pierce? It’s just dinner, after all. Nothing wrong with that. I need a friend now, not a lover. Not just yet anyway and not him. Too close. He works with Paul and I know Jane. Too soon. Still want to try and make it work with Paul. And he’s possibly kinky. Kinky not good for me at the moment.

The Waterhole is full of the upper crust of Chelmsford society—the senior back office boys. The settlement clerks of the City. The wannabes of the Square Mile. Then there are the made-good second-hand car dealers, jewellery dealers, drug dealers. Loud watch hanging from one wrist. Louder wife hanging from the other.

Pierce ignores the flirtatious glances of these women as we walk to the table. He turns more heads than I do—which I expect. We order. He looks good.

We order something with salad to start. Then fish. Tuna, grilled, with soy-something. I’m not hungry, but I think I can eat tuna. Nothing tastes of anything these days. It’s just good to be out of the house.

Pierce—‘You realise you’ll be perceived as a predator now? You won’t hear from many of your so-called friends because they’ll suspect you will pinch their husbands.’

Sarah—‘You think so?’

Pierce—‘Yes. I know so. I know some of the brokers Paul works with have the hots for you. They’ve told me as much.’

Sarah—‘Er, right. Don’t like any of them. Quite liked Wills, but Paul doesn’t work with him anymore. I wouldn’t go for any of them, even if they made a pass at me.’

Pierce—‘I think you’re just stressed. You need to relax. I remember when I was going through the divorce with Jane I was very stressed, and just needed to chill and relax. You need a good, long, slow, sensual massage.’

Sarah—‘I probably do. And I’ll have to book one sometime. When I have time. My main concern is Ben and that he is okay and that he still knows his daddy loves him—despite the fact his daddy reeks of beer and stale aftershave these days.’

Pierce—‘Others in the office have noticed Paul’s started to take longer lunches and not come back, and he looks—well, like shit in the mornings.’

Sarah—‘Nothing to do with me. Wish it were, but it’s not.’

Pierce—‘You can’t change his mind. I’ve had a word, Sarah, and he just says that you had affairs and he can’t deal with it, and it’s sad but it’s over. One thing my relationship with Jane taught me is that you can’t change the way people feel.’

Sarah—‘I know. You said before.’

Pierce—‘Do you know how I feel about you?’

Sarah—‘Am I going to find out?’

Pierce—‘I like you Sarah. You’re a very sexy woman.’

Sarah—‘I don’t feel particularly sexy or sexual at the moment, but thank you, Pierce. But I think you and I have enough on our plates at the moment without making life even more complicated. For a start, you work with Paul. Despite the fact he’s bonking another woman, he won’t like it that someone in his office is bonking his wife. Even if she may be his soon-to-be-ex wife.

‘And then there’s Jane. Although she’s now your ex-wife, it would also complicate matters.

‘Then there’s Ben. He is my priority, and I don’t have time for a relationship—sexual or otherwise. I need friends now. Level-headed, genuine friends. And simplicity in my life. And, lastly, I think you have enough sex kittens. I get some of your text messages occasionally, meant for other women, and think you have your hands full already.’

Pierce smiles.

Pierce—‘Nice brush-off. Eloquently done. Okay. But you are a babe and don’t forget that—whatever happens over the next twelve months.’

Sarah—‘I won’t.’

Rest of conversation revolves around sex kittens. How he once had three in a bed and it wasn’t as good as he thought it was going to be, because they tied him up and stole his money and left him naked and penniless in the Charleston Hotel, just round the corner from the office. And how the maid had to call the police. And his boss. And then we talk books, and where you can buy the best range of self-help guides and works on erotic bondage and self-flagellation.

After the tuna, which I didn’t touch but was getting really rather good at playing with, Pierce takes me home.

Tina’s watching A Room with a View.

Tina—‘This film is lovely.’

Sarah—‘I know. It’s my favourite.’

Tina—‘Very romantic.’

Sarah—‘I know. I’m not watching it at the moment.’

Tina—‘Oops. Sorry.’

Sarah—‘No worries.’

I pay Tina, say goodbye to her at the door, and go upstairs to check on Ben. He’s asleep. Curled in a foetal position sucking his thumb. Giggling quietly. Hopefully dreaming about Buzz or Woody or perhaps even his daddy.

Coffee in hand, I return to the sitting room and to Pierce, who is now sitting on my sofa. Shirt off. Firm, muscular and tanned torso on display. No signs of flagellation.

Pierce—‘Hope you don’t mind. Bit hot.’

Sarah—‘I’ll turn the heating up, then.’

Pierce—‘I do a mean massage.’

I think, Do I let Pierce massage me? What’s the harm? I’m in control. Hey, go for it, girl. Perhaps I’ll release some tension without getting hurt.

Sarah says—‘Okay. Give me a massage, then.’

Pierce looks surprised.

Pierce—‘Okay.’

Sarah—‘I’m keeping my clothes on.’

Pierce—‘That’s fine. And probably wise, in the circumstances.’

Sarah—‘And no being tied up.’

Pierce—‘No being tied up.’

I lie down in the middle of the sitting room floor. Make sure door is closed. Ben is upstairs asleep. I don’t want him to open the sitting room door to see Mummy on the floor with a tall, dark handsome stranger straddling her between his rather well-toned and probably—though I can’t see them—bronzed thighs. Stroking her back. Can imagine his conversation with Paul next time he sees his daddy.

Ben—Hello, Daddy. Mummy was with this man on the floor downstairs and he was tickling her back. And he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Yeah, right. So, door firmly closed. I lie on the carpet in the centre of the room. Lights are dimmed. I feel Pierce leaning over me and starting to massage my shoulders. Then running his fingers over my shoulderblades. Then down the middle of my spine, right to the base of my back, and then swirling motions with his palms all the way up to the top of my shoulders. He starts on the legs, then the arms, and finally runs his fingers through my hair, pulling gently. It’s very good. Genuinely very relaxing. And ever so slightly sexual, and somehow, with clothes on, even more sexy.

After what I think is about fifteen minutes, he stops.

Sarah—‘Ah. Thank you, Pierce.’

Pierce—‘Now I’m feeling stressed.’

Sarah—‘Can I massage you?’

Pierce—‘That may stress me out even more.’

Sarah—‘I will be gentle with you. Keep your trousers on. You’ve got your shirt off already. So leave it at that.’

Pierce—‘Okay. But can I take my shoes and socks off?’

Sarah—‘Fine.’

Pierce takes off shoes and socks. He lies on the floor exactly where I’ve just been lying.

Pierce—‘I can smell you.’

Sarah—‘Can you?’

Pierce—‘I can smell your perfume.’

Sarah—‘Oh, yes. Right.’

Pierce—‘What is it?’

Sarah—‘Sure antiperspirant. Won’t let you down.’

Pierce—‘Ah. Right.’

I straddle him and start massaging in a similar way to theway he massaged me, but with longer, harder, firmer strokes—across the back—up and down—side to side. I’d learnt how to massage on a gulet holiday in Turkey, where one of the girls in the crew was a sexual masseuse. I watched her like a hawk to learn the art. It’s served me well ever since. It was always wonderful pre-coitus.

The muscles in his back are more relaxed than those in his legs, and I need to be firm and push deeply, which Pierce seems to like. He lets out the occasional sigh, but we don’t speak. There is no music in the background, so I’m able to hear him breathing quite clearly. I move down his legs slowly and start to massage his feet. And then, for some reason, start to blow between his toes.

I think I’m teasing him. Or am I teasing myself? Toying with the idea of having sex with him? Shall I? Shan’t I? Shall I? Shan’t I? Imagining the what ifs. What would the harm be if I did suddenly start to kiss or lick or stroke? I haven’t had sex for years. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how to do it. How to feel again. Feel sexual again. Give and receive pleasure. Feel lust. That lust I last felt with Stephen. With John. And a long time ago—a very long time ago—with Paul. Feel that energy. That release. Feel like a woman. Behave like a woman. Use that bloody box splits position and really give Pierce something to talk about in the office the next day. And make everyone jealous. Even Paul.

Perhaps I should move my hands more provocatively. I know he wouldn’t resist. I know he would take the opportunity. But this is not the right man. I realise this now. On the verge, I realise this. At this moment. This is not the right man. Not the right time. Not the right place. Too soon. Someone not suitable. And Ben is in bed upstairs. Three strikes, and he doesn’t know it but he’s out.

Pierce—‘Ohh. That’s different. That’s nice, Sarah. Blowing between the toes. That’s really feels good.’

Sarah—‘Sort of refreshes the parts other strokes can’t reach. It should give you quite a good sensation.’

Pierce—‘It does. This is almost better than sex.’

Sarah—‘I don’t think so, somehow. But it’s safer. Better to blow than suck or whip or beat. That’s what I say.’

Pierce laughs.

Pierce—‘Mmm, well…’

I move from the feet to the hands and massage his palms and each finger. Sucking the fingers will be a bit too suggestive. So I stop there.

As I finish I lift my legs over his body and he coils round, smiling broadly.

Pierce—‘Thank you, Sarah. That was lovely. Unexpected and lovely.’

Then:

Pierce—‘I understand how you feel. But I know how I feel, too. And, well, I find you very sexy—that’s all I can say. You will be fine. You’re a babe, and you’ll find another man who will love you. And will treat you the way you want and deserve to be treated.’

Sarah—‘Yes, I know. But at this moment in time I just want Paul back. Funny, that. Wish I could be cold-blooded about it. But I can’t. And while I still have this love for him I want to try to make it work. Because I realise once the love has disappeared—that’s it. That’s it with me. I don’t look back. I’m not that sort of person.’

Pierce—‘I feel sorry for you both, Sarah. But he’s so stubborn.’

Sarah—‘I know. Want a cup of tea?’

Pierce—‘That would be good.’

I feel more relaxed with Pierce, somehow. As though the tension has been released. I don’t feel threatened by his presence in the house any more.

Pierce—‘Do you like poetry?’

Sarah—‘I love poetry. I had a thing about Keats at school. Read all his odes. Nightingale was wonderful. Depressing as hell, but wonderful. Think I’ve got a book of his poems upstairs. Do you want me to read you one?’

Pierce—‘That would be wonderful.’

I run upstairs and get the little black book John gave me as a present the first time we went away for a whole romantic weekend. I always keep it by my bedside. Wellthumbed, the pages fall open at Ode to a Nightingale naturally, and I read it as I walk down the stairs.

A drowsy numbness pains my sense, As though of hemlock I had drunk.

Wonderfully depressing. Keats was indeed the Dido of his time.

I recite the poem to Pierce. He listens quietly and patiently, sipping coffee, which should have been tea because I forgot what I’d suggested and made coffee anyway.

And then he recites poem after poem by Wordsworth. The most beautiful poetry, beautifully spoken. Probably word-perfect. Eloquent. He doesn’t lift his gaze from mine and his deep voice resonates over every vowel, every syllable, with just the right inflection. It’s magical. And then he stops.

Pierce—‘I have to go now.’

Sarah—‘Okay, then. That was wonderful. You are very talented, Pierce. Where did you learn that?’

Pierce—‘Oh, at school. The dregs of an expensive education. And I love poetry, too, which helps.’

Sarah—‘And I expect it helps to pull the sex kittens.’

Pierce—‘They’re not interested in poetry, Sarah. They’re interested in this.’

He grabs his crotch and jiggles his balls about as though they are worry beads.

Sarah—‘I wonder? I think if you recited more poetry you’d attract a different sort of pussycat.’

Pierce—‘Perhaps. Jane was the closest I’ve met to my match. She’s sexy and brilliant, and I love her energy and attitude.’

Sarah—‘But you couldn’t live with her.’

Pierce—‘No. Couldn’t live with her.’

Sarah—‘Do you know why?’

Pierce—‘Perhaps we’re too much alike. Perhaps. We went to counselling, but it didn’t help much.’

Sarah—‘Have you had much counselling?’

Pierce—‘Yes. It helps me. But it depends how open your mind is to it. And what you want to learn about yourself. You’ve got to make yourself very vulnerable.’

Sarah—‘What sort of things did you and Jane do?’

Pierce—‘Oh, we had to write a list of things we liked about each other. I think I got mine wrong about Jane.’

Sarah—‘How can you get it wrong?’

Pierce—‘Well, I put all stuff about how she made me look good, and what she did for me that was good, rather than anything about her in her own right. And the counsellor said that said a lot about me.’

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