Back to Bristol Ch. 17

Over dinner, I learnt that Susan hadn't tried to contact either of them, but what impressed me was Ralph's grim determination to divorce Susan. It made me wonder if there had been other problems in that marriage, or was it that Ralph had tasted freedom and liked it? And he warned us, the estimate was that in the next week Susan would get her copy of the divorce petition. That promised to be fun.

I didn't please Molly on Saturday. I took Jamie and Ben shopping without her, and that didn't go down well. I hadn't been shopping with them for nearly five years. And it was so wonderfully average and normal, and I wanted to do that, on my own and without pressure. And I bought them all sorts of clothes that they assured me were the fashion, and which I thought made them look like every other child on the street. But on Sunday, I went for a long cycle ride again, all by myself. I felt that I had things to think about. And I was aware that I was under pressure, that Molly was just quietly waiting for me to fall, as if she was sitting under a ripening apple. And I didn't like that and I think I came back angrier than when I went.

I remembered what Piers had said, it wouldn't hurt me to tread water, so I tried to suppress my frustration and anger, aware that Molly and Ralph had too much going on in their lives already. But, on Tuesday evening at my place, it started to spill out.

We'd had a nice meal, which I'd brought in with me. It was just a ready prepared meal from the supermarket, but it was good. And we were gently discussing Peter, and she made the mistake of asking if I'd forgiven her yet for that fateful afternoon.

"No. Of course I haven't forgiven you for betraying our marriage. Of betraying and failing our family. Of doing something that was immoral and stupid and just plain wrong!"

From there, my language when downhill, my volume went uphill, and my diatribe just continued. She just took it all, she didn't defend herself, she hardly replied, except to say sorry. She did try calling a break by suggesting that she'd make a couple of mugs of coffee, but that just set me off again.

"Well be careful, make sure you don't spill any hot water."

She left at about nine thirty looking pale and shocked. I was quite sorry to see her go, I still had plenty that I wanted to say. But I had to save it for Thursday, which I did. And I still had some left over for the following Tuesday. And I was still going strong on the Thursday after that.

I knew I was wrong, and I didn't like myself. I wasn't adding anything new to our relationship, if anything I was destroying it. I was quite surprised when she seemed to keep coming back for more. She never complained, she just came back the next time with a bright smile and we would eat, and then she would provoke me with something she said, like 'How was your day?'

What man could resist responding under such heavy provocation? "How do you think my day was? I spent some of it wondering why I'm spending two evenings a week trying to build a relationship with a girl who betrays me, betrays every ounce of trust I ever had in her. Who breaks up our family rather than come to me and beg forgiveness. Who quite deliberately allows our two sons to go fatherless for years....."

Oh, I was good. I was very good. "Please pass the salt." Was enough to set me off for a one hour rant on rubbing salt into the wounds, on how betrayed I felt, on how lonely my years in the wilderness were.

It was nine forty on that second Thursday of my explosions and I was staring at the back of my front door, out of which a pale and shaken Molly had just left, when I thought, 'You really have fucked it up, Chris.'

I poured myself a whisky, and thought, 'being upset once in a while over what she did is one thing, but balling her out for five meetings in a row is something else.' I had another whisky.

It was Carole that brought the subject up the next day, "By the look of your eyes, I see you've taken to the bottle to solve whatever it is."

"In the absence of a better solution, alcohol does very nicely."

She sat down, "So tell me about it."

"I'm not sure I want to, I don't like myself very much at the moment."

"I haven't thought a lot of you for the past couple of weeks either, what with the mood you've been in, and I'd like to know why."

I sighed, "Because...... No, you tell me, why is it that I could meet our biggest competitor walking through that door and I'd greet him with a smile and chat amicably? Even Peter Fucking Davies can walk in here and get a civilised conversation. But if Molly walked in, you'd here the swearing and bile at the other end of the building within thirty seconds."

"So, it's not going too well then? I guess there had to be a rough time. Isn't that progress?"

"I don't think that me losing control is progress. If she walked in now, I promise you, I'd probably find fault with her, and explode without her even saying a word. If she was wearing a short skirt, then it'd be 'I see you like to advertise what a slut you are' and if she was wearing a long skirt, it'd be 'I see your trying not to let on as to your true nature'. I promise you, Carole, I've only got to see her and I'm off. And I know that I don't really mean half of it, and I certainly don't want to hurt her just for the sake of it." I sighed, "I wouldn't mind so much if it made me feel any better, but it doesn't."

"I'm no psychiatrist, but years ago she hurt you deeply, and it's got to come out. And it is apparently, that's a good thing, isn't it? Only when you've cleared the air can you go forward."

"Oh, I grant you, the reason is obvious, it's a big hurt with five year's interest. But there is no where to go forward to. We were there already, with a really good easy going friendship and I seemed to be intent on destroying all of that."

"Well drink won't help you recover it." She looked at me and paused thoughtfully, "How about taking her out to dinner? Nothing special, but being out in public might stop you being quite so destructive. You could still say what you want, but in a more reasonable way."

I thought about that, and it seemed a good idea, and I said so. But whether I'll get a chance remains to be seen.

I took the boys out cycling on Sunday. But I collected them from Molly with hardly any words being spoken between us. I thought she looked more tired than I've ever seen her. I asked the boys, "How's your mother? I thought she was looking a bit strained."

Jamie looked at me, "You should know, Dad. You see her twice a week."

God! I fucking wish my nine year old son wasn't so wise.

When I got them back, it was Ralph who met me, and once the bikes were unloaded, it was he who said, "I think it's time to revise an old habit. A glass of sherry in the shed, perhaps?"

Whilst he poured the sherry, I asked, "How's the divorce and Susan?"

He smiled grimly, "Well, she's bending my ear at every opportunity she gets, to tell me that I'm the worse husband in the world, or how much she wants to come back and work things out. The contradiction of that seems to go unnoticed. But I have a real premonition that divorcing her isn't going to be as easy as it seems."

"Problems?" I asked "I would have thought you have sufficient grounds."

"Not in the actual divorce, but she's making it awkward for me in the settlement. My solicitor thinks that there's no problem in the lump sum bit. Sell this house and she gets fifty percent of the house and our savings. Simple. No, she seems to be setting herself up to argue about her pension."

"You can't do anything about that. She'll have a chunk of your pension, whether you like it or not. I'm sorry, Ralph, but that's the way it is."

"Oh, I know that, and I'm not actually arguing about that. It's just that I want to preserve my pension all for me. I want to buy her an annuity of her own, out of my share of our capital. That way I keep up my high income, and I can afford the holidays and lifestyle I want. Even having bought her an annuity, I'll have enough to buy myself a small place with a bit of a garden, and that's all I want."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Arguing about the comparative values of different annuities will keep actuaries and lawyers happy for years. And at the end of it there won't be enough money left after their fees to actually buy the bloody thing."

"Oh. I don't think I can help you with that one."

"No, you can't. Actually, I think Susan is only using it as an excuse to hang on in there until I come to my senses. She'll have a long wait."

"Good luck."

We paused and sipped our sherries.

It was Ralph that broke the silence, "Did Molly tell you? She's got a Court date for her decree nisi. Her divorce seems to be going like clockwork after that rough start."

"So, when is it?"

"The twelfth of September. Then six weeks later and she's free of him."

"It can't be much more than about ten weeks to the twelfth of September. As you say, it has gone like clockwork."

Ralph looked at me, "But your talking to her hasn't, has it?"

I hung my head, and asked, "What has she said?"

"Well, I don't know how long you two have been not getting along, but I first noticed it on the Tuesday of the week before last. I was getting myself some warm milk just before I went to bed, so I guess it was just gone eleven when she came in. And she looked rather worn. I assumed it was just one rough night, that's to be expected, and said as much. But, last night I had to talk to her. In the last few days I've never seen her look rougher, not since you two first broke up." He looked up at me, in the eyes, and said, "She's at the end, Chris. Whatever is going on, she can't take much more of it."

"And you know what's going on. I'm not proud of it, Ralph. I just don't seem able to stop myself. She says something quite innocent, and I open my mouth and it all pours out."

"It's not all bad. She knows that it's been pent up inside you for a long time now. It's just hard for her to take, especially as she had such great hopes for you both. She was in tears last night, she really does think you're at the end. She's beginning to believe that she hurt you so badly that there is no repairing it."

I sipped my sherry and thought, "Just a minute. Back up a second. Did you say she's not getting in until past eleven o'clock?"

He looked surprised at my question, "She hasn't been in before eleven for a couple of weeks now. Why?"

"Because she leaves me no later than ten, frequently well before that. And at that time of night, it'd only take half an hour at the most between here and my place. What is she doing?"

He paused and thought for a moment, "My guess is she's sitting in some lay-by somewhere, crying her eyes out. Whatever else you do, Chris, you've got to stop it."

"Oh, God! What sort of man am I? I never meant to do that to her. I lose my temper, but not to hurt her that much."

"Well, find another way. I don't know... hold her hand as you do it. Or try not to raise your voice. Or ... Oh I don't know, find your own way. But it can't go on like this."

"Carole at work suggested that I take her out to a restaurant. I couldn't shout and swear there."

"That might do. I suggested to her that she answers you back. Gives as good as she gets. But she just looked at me, and said 'How can I when I deserve every word he says?' Find another way, Chris, or give up, or maybe just call a halt for a while, but you can't go on like this."

I swigged back the last of my sherry, "I agree. Tell her I'm sorry. You know I never meant to hurt her that much?"

"I know that and so does she."

"Tell her I'll see her on Tuesday, and we'll try to talk about where we go from here."

On Monday in the office, Carole asked "How was your weekend?"

"I think I now know, beyond any certainty or doubt, that I'm a cruel, heartless shit. My ex-father-in-law took the trouble to tell me quite how much I'm hurting Molly with my tirades. So, I guess the weekend can go down in history as not one of my best."

"Don't get upset with yourself because you have feelings. No one has that depth of hurt and anger if they don't care. Just learn to dish it out in smaller doses. What have you got planned for tomorrow evening? Are you going to take up my idea of a restaurant?"

I shook my head, "No. I need a meeting, and it has to be in private. I think there could be tears from either of us or both of us. We can't go on like this. I had the start of a really good friendship right here in my hand, and I've blown it. Everything that I ever hoped for out of this damn mess was in sight. And now I can't see any alternative but to just give up. We tried, and I failed."

I left work slightly early on Tuesday evening, I wanted to get home before Molly arrived, and I wanted the meal to be a bit special, just something to at least say I was sorry.

When she arrived she let herself in, but I heard her and met her in the hallway. She looked more nervous and paler than I ever remember seeing her. She was dressed nicely, in a simple blue summer dress, that showed off her cleavage, and she's got good boobs. But her eyes looked as if they hadn't closed for sleep in a month.

I kissed her on the cheek, she had that perfume, my perfume. "Come on in. We need to talk." And I led the way back into the living room.

I turned and looked at her. "I'm sorry. I just don't seem to be able to control my temper and I know I've hurt you. I never meant to do that. I'm sorry."

She half smiled, "You never said anything that I haven't said to myself a thousand times. I've spent the last five years saying those things in my private thoughts. It's just that I never realised how deeply I must of hurt you. I can't bear to hear your pain. I'm sorry." And she burst into tears.

I looked at her for a moment, then I went and poured two gin and tonics, but I squeezed her shoulder as I passed, in a gesture of sympathy.

When I turned round with the drinks, to pass her one, she was sitting on the sofa, drying her eyes on a handkerchief. "Susan used to say: men don't feel these things like women do. I guess somewhere, I must have believed that at least a little bit. I thought, after all this time, there was a chance for us. I guess I should never have hoped, I don't deserve it."

"You don't deserve what I've been doing for the past couple of weeks." I paused, "Drink your drink. It'll make you feel better."

She sipped her G&T, and then looked up, "Are we at the end?"

I paused, choosing my words, "Stay for something to eat. It's veal, your favourite. But Yes, maybe we are. Sorry."