The Bedside Lamp

The Bedside Lamp

IS AN ARGUMENT over a bedside lamp grounds for divorce?

Until today, Bryan Sandford would have said no. But as he sat nursing a tall coffee in the roof café of the department store, he wasn't so sure. He found himself wandering through his memory of the day, pondering over what happened.

He and his wife Becky had dropped off their little girl at the home of her best friend, and then gone on to the shops. They were in the first year of living in their new house and much of the furniture and accessories were donated by family and friends. Bryan was content to live with that until the stuff fell apart, but Becky wanted everything to be theirs. Today's mission was to find two bedside lamps for their bedroom and one for the spare room to replace the old lamps given to them by Bryan's mother.

Their first stop was a huge household goods store which had an entire section devoted to lamps and lighting. Bryan was hoping that there would be something here to satisfy even Becky's particular vision of how the bedroom should look. Alas, after forty-five minutes, Becky announced that what she was looking for wasn't there. They drove to a second store and repeated the whole routine, then a third, and then a fourth, the big multi-storey department store in the centre of town. By this time, Bryan was fantasizing about going back to work on Monday.

The problem was that Becky--despite her continual frown at the 'lack of choice'--was as happy as a pig in shit. She loved going round the shops and comparing colours and fabrics and all the rest of it, making pictures in her head of how their dream home would look. She kept grabbing his hand saying 'Isn't this nice?' and Bryan knew that she meant it. 'Shopping With My Husband' was one of her relationship "things" and he genuinely didn't want to rain on her parade. But ye gods... this was boring. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part for Bryan was having to conceal how much he was bored.

The household section of the department store was in the basement, so they went down the escalator and wandered around the aisles. The selection of lamps was paltry compared to the megastore they had gone to initially and Bryan was convinced Becky would shake her head and want to leave. Instead, she stopped and said:

'What do you think, Bryan? See anything you like?'

Bryan scanned the display, pretending to be interested. His gaze fell on a cobra-like tube with a lamp at the end. It was bendable in all directions and he could see himself adjusting it when he wanted to read in bed.

'That one,' he said, pointing.

'Oh, Bryan! It's so ugly!'

'Well, which one do you like?'

'I think this wooden one here is a possibility,' said Becky. 'But I have to say, the lampshade on that one over there is also nice.'

'In other words, it's a choice between your one and your one?'

Becky stared at Bryan.

'Where did that come from?' she said.

'Becky, what is the point of asking my opinion when you clearly have no intention of taking it into account?'

'I do take it into account!'

'No, you don't! Everything I pick is either "ugly" or "doesn't match".'

'Well, it's not my fault that you have bad taste!'

'If I have such bad taste, why do you insist I come on these shopping trips?'

'Because this is for our home, and you should participate!'

Bryan gave a caustic laugh. He was done being polite. A couple of other customers glanced over and Becky's face reddened. When she spoke, her voice was an angry hiss.

'Bryan, what the fuck is your problem?'

'There is no way in hell the new house is "our" home!' he said. 'It's your home! I'm only allowed to live there because I pay for it!'

'That's a horrible thing to say!'

'But accurate! Take our bedroom, for example. You chose the bed, the bedding, the wardrobe, the curtains...'

'No! We chose them!'

'You shot down every preference I had! All I did was rubberstamp what you wanted!'

'That's not true!'

'Then prove it! Let me have the bedside lamp that I want! Go on, I dare you! Let me have one thing in the bedroom that's mine!'

Becky stood with her back against the shelves, staring at her husband. She felt trapped, cornered. If she said yes, that awful snake lamp would be the only thing she saw when she entered the bedroom. All the time and energy she had poured into making that room look stylish and lovely would have been wasted. She would end up hating it, and all because of that fucking lamp. But if she said no, she was proving his point for him. Bryan would say that she wanted total control over the interior design and that she only cared about getting what she wanted. And it wasn't true, it wasn't true... she was making a nice home for all of them! For the family! The only reason they ended up choosing what she wanted was because she knew better than her husband what the family needed.

Becky adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and shook her head.

'You just don't get it, do you?' she said.

'So explain it to me.'

'There's no point.'

'Oh, come on!' said Bryan. 'I'm smart enough to understand a clear explanation! If you have some deep need to make the house a hundred percent Becky, I'm willing to sacrifice what I want.'

'Oh, fuck you! Fuck you!'

This time Becky ignored the people turning their heads. In fact, she wanted Bryan to feel embarrassed. Straightening her back and looking him in the eye, Becky held out her hand.

'Give me the key,' she said.

'Do you mean the car key?'

'Of course I mean the car key!'

'Are we going home?'

'No, I'm going home! You can go to hell!'

'Charming.'

'Hey, you're the one who said it wasn't "our" home!' she snarled. 'So why do you even care?'

Bryan stood amid the display of lamps and lampshades with the horrible feeling that he had been outmanoeuvred. He looked at the furious Becky, her mouth tight, her hand palm up, and saw no way to win. If he gave her the car key, he was a weakling; if he refused, he was a bully. And the longer he waited to decide, the worse it would look.

Bryan took the car key from his pocket and held it out on his open palm. Becky snatched it away and was off, walking fast through the aisles, heading for the escalator that would take her upstairs and out. Watching her go, Bryan was surprised to realise that his strongest feeling was relief. The shopping nightmare was over. However unpleasant the fight, he preferred it to the boredom.

Becky was gone.

Bryan looked around at all the other men with their wives, being dragged around the household section of the department store. Poor bastards, he thought. He remembered that the place had a roof café and he looked around for a lift to the top floor.

***

Becky sat in the car, crying in rage and anguish. It was so unfair! So unfair! Ever since she was a girl, Becky had thought about life as a married woman and making a nice home together with her husband had always been a major part of that. This afternoon had been so perfect... and then Bryan had gone and spoiled it. That bastard!

After a good fifteen minutes' crying, Becky began to feel calm enough to function. She called up the friend who was taking care of Tara and gave her the whole story. Her friend was totally sympathetic and insisted Becky come over for tea and cake.

'David and I will cheer you up!' she said.

Dee and David Turner were the parents of Sally, Tara's best friend at junior school. The two girls could spend hours with each other, which was much to the advantage of the grown-ups involved. Dee and Becky also had a lot in common, which helped, but David and Bryan did not. It would be unfair to say they disliked each other--both men were happy about their daughters' friendship and it's hard to truly dislike a fellow parent who genuinely welcomes your kid into their home. But still... there was something going on under the surface. When David greeted Becky at the door with an expression of deep sympathy on his face, she could sense a kind of glee in him that Bryan had fucked up.

David led her through to the back where the sturdy white patio table had been set up with a giant parasol. The sun was out and the two girls were playing children's croquet in the garden. Tara waved to her mother and then went back to the game, aiming to knock a bright orange ball through a hoop in the grass. Meanwhile, Dee sat watching, dressed comfortably in a summer dress and cardigan, but she got to her feet as soon as Becky appeared.

'Oh, Becky...' she said sadly.

The two women hugged as though Becky had suffered a death in the family. David excused himself and went inside. After the long hug, Dee invited her friend to take the seat next to hers and the two women sat and watched their children. Dee let out a deep sigh.

'Men!' she said.

'Yup,' agreed Becky. 'Who needs 'em?'

'Well, they have their uses.'

The remark was well-timed. David came out of the house carrying a huge tray with a tea set and three saucers with slices of jam sponge on them. He had put on his own cardigan which emphasized the Middle-aged Dad look despite his only turning forty that year. Becky noticed that, as he served the tea and cake, the slice that was broken he gave to himself.

'There we go...' he said as he laid everything out.

'You see?' said Dee to Becky.

'You see what?' said David.

'I was just saying to Becky that men do have their uses.'

'Oh, occasionally,' said David. 'Every now and then, when the wind is blowing in the right direction.'

He chuckled as he sat at the end of the table, turning his chair so that he too could watch the two girls on the lawn. Dee sipped her tea and said:

'So, Becky... where's Bryan now?'

'God knows,' said Becky. 'It's been radio silence since I left him. My guess is that he's switched off his phone and is taking the day off.'

'I'm sure that's not true!' said Dee. 'I'll bet when you get home, the house will be spotless and there'll be a big bunch of flowers waiting for you!'

'Are you kidding?' said Becky. 'The last time Bryan and I fought like this, d'you know what he did? He went to the movies!'

'You're joking!'

'I'm not! And when I confronted him with it, d'you know what he said? "Well, Becky, you were mad at me anyway, so I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb"!'

David coughed on his tea. He put down the cup and banged his fist on his chest.

'Sorry,' he said.

'It's not funny!' said Dee.

'I know, darling. But you do have to admit... that is so Bryan!'

'Tell me about it,' muttered Becky.

'Look, David,' said Dee. 'I get that Bryan is a "character". But that doesn't excuse what he did to Becky today!'

'I'm not saying it--'

'I don't think you men appreciate how important these things are for us! Marriage is a team effort, you know!'

'Darling, I--'

'It's about doing things together! Right, Becky?'

'I'm with you there,' said Becky. 'Unfortunately, Bryan has got his own ideas about that.'

'Yes, clearly!' said Dee.

'Shocking,' muttered David, sipping his tea. 'A man with his own ideas.'

Dee gave her husband a hard stare. She was about to say something when there was a wail from the lawn. The grown-ups turned their heads just in time to see Sally raise her croquet mallet in triumph while Tara threw hers to the ground. She ran over to Becky, tears running down her face.

'I lost again!' she cried.

Tara buried her face against her mother's tummy and sobbed. Sally came walking up to the table, her mallet slung casually over one shoulder. Her chubby, pretty face was redolent with winner's smugness.

'Can I have a drink?' she said.

***

It was getting dark when Bryan came out of the cinema. After switching on his phone and seeing a voice message from his wife, he stood by the steps as he listened to it, half intending to go back in if it was too crazy. But the voice was surprisingly calm.

'Hi, it's Becky,' it said. 'Listen, you're still an arsehole, but this is your home, fuckface, whatever you say. And it would be nice if Tara could see her father before she goes to bed.'

Bryan sighed, sent a text saying, 'On my way' and began to walk home. By the time he opened the front door and hung up his jacket, Becky was upstairs giving Tara a bath.

Bryan felt the tension the moment he stepped into the room, but the two grown-ups snapped into the roles of Mummy and Daddy and bathtime with Tara was actually okay. After the bath, Becky took Tara into her bedroom while Bryan emptied the bath and cleaned the rim. When he came into the small bedroom, Tara was in her My Little Pony pyjamas. Becky turned to him.

'Have you eaten?' she said.

'No,' said Bryan.

'Well, there's some pasta in the pot on the cooker. Tara, why don't you say goodnight to your father?'

Bryan felt his throat tighten in annoyance, but he played along, kissing his daughter goodnight and going downstairs to the kitchen-dining room. As he sat eating a bowlful of pea and mushroom pasta, he reflected on Becky's way of micromanaging her family. She had clearly figured out that if Bryan ate now while she put Tara to bed, she would save the fifteen minutes she would have wasted if they put Tara to bed together and then she had to wait for Bryan to eat before they had their talk. Mind you, this was the same woman who thought nothing of spending three hours shopping for a bedside lamp, so to Bryan this made no fucking sense at all.

Bryan was finishing up when Becky came downstairs. He had put the bowl into the dishwasher and was now putting the leftover pasta into a Tupperware box so that it could go into the fridge. Becky stood by the table and watched him.

'Bryan, can I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'Why are you doing that?'

Bryan paused, pot in one hand, large spoon in the other, and looked at her.

'I thought you wanted leftovers to be put into Tupperware boxes?' he said. 'Isn't that why you bought them?'

'I see,' said Becky. 'So you're doing it because that's what I want? You're not doing it because putting leftovers into airtight containers is, in fact, the best way of storing food?'

Bryan finished emptying the pot, then put it gently down on the kitchen counter. His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.

'Becky...' he said. 'How often are we going to have the same fight?'

'What do you mean, "the same fight"?'

'Look, whether it's bedside lamps or Tupperware boxes, it all boils down to the same thing: you want us to do things your way; I want us to do things my way. Right?'

'Wrong! Putting food into airtight boxes is not "my" way! It's the right way!'

'So your way is the right way?'

'Well... in this instance, yes!'

'And you want me to pretend to agree with you?'

If Becky had had a man's strength, she would have sent a chair flying across the table at him. As it was, the only throwable thing within reach was a nearby tea-towel and flinging that would just look pathetic. She found herself gripping the back of a chair in rage.

'My god, Bryan!' she cried. 'You really know how to piss me off, don't you?'

'You and me both.'

'No! It's not even close! I'm hurt and angry and my stomach is twisted into knots, while you...' She waved a hand. '...you're all calm and collected, standing there like a man with a plan! You like these fights! You like picking me apart! You like digging up the shit and then rubbing my face in it!'

'Becky...'

'I just want you to love me!' she cried. 'That's all I want! Don't you get it, you idiot? I don't care about being right! I just want you to love me!'

And Becky burst into tears and ran from the room.

***

One of Bryan's greatest assets in his career was his ability to solve problems. Whatever the situation, his approach was to dig down to find the cause, because once you identify that, the solution almost always suggests itself. This methodical approach had proved highly successful and he was proud of his track record.

Yet this was the very thing that riled him about Becky's attitude. Bryan had no problem letting Becky have her way. He could sacrifice his preference for hers pretty much every time and not lose a wink of sleep over it, but her insistence that her way was right and his way was wrong... now that he couldn't abide. That was where he drew the line. And during his walk home from the cinema, he had gone through his memory of events with a fine-toothed comb, lined up his arguments and was ready to confront Becky with his observations on what had happened that afternoon.

But as he stood in the kitchen, spoon in hand, staring at the empty space where his wife had been standing just a moment before, Bryan realised that he had got it wrong after all. Becky's cry for love had the ring of truth. Which meant somehow, in some way, she didn't feel loved by him. And it shocked Bryan, because if there was one thing he knew, one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that he loved Becky with all his heart. Even at her worst--and Becky's worst could be mind-fuckingly bad--that love still burned in his chest. He couldn't get rid of it even if he wanted to... and there were times when he wanted to. There were times when he looked at his wife and privately thought that his heart was a terrible judge of character.

But not tonight.

Bryan filled the empty pot with water and left it to soak in the sink. He put the lid on the Tupperware box, put it in the fridge and then went to find his wife. He found her curled up in their bed, fully clothed under the covers, sobbing quietly with her face in a pillow.

Bryan glanced at the bedside lamps they were currently using--wooden monstrosities gifted by his mother with flower patterns on the lampshades. Then he climbed into bed behind Becky, half expecting to be kicked and punched. There was no resistance. Becky let him embrace her from behind, her bottom nestling in the curve of his hips. Her hands grabbed his wrists, clinging to him like a child in a thunderstorm. Bryan lay quiet, trying to let go of the blah-blah-blah in his head and simply sense his woman's body. She was shivering and tense, her shoulders rigid, her legs limp like a corpse's. It was those legs which told Bryan how upset she was with him.

Becky's legs and feet could be very expressive. She was as likely to point at things with her toe as a finger--especially when she was undressed--and Bryan could tell when she was enjoying a book just by the way her free foot was moving. But it was in bed that those legs really came to the fore. They would seek Bryan out the moment he got under the covers, the feet stretching and coiling, desiring maximum skin contact. And when he came inside her during missionary sex, those legs would hold him fast, expressing her desire far better than her spoken words. Indeed, it was the reason Bryan never needed to hear Becky say, 'I love you' because those legs and her cunt said it way more convincingly.

And now those legs were heavy and lifeless, as though filled with sand. Bryan knew better than to try and force his own leg between them. Instead, he shifted his body so that he could whisper in her ear.

'I've hurt you,' he said. 'I've hurt you so much. And I am very, very sorry.'

Bryan felt her hands tighten fiercely around his wrists. Her sobs were stilled. She was listening with what felt like her entire body. Bryan swallowed and went on.

'But listen to me,' he went on. 'No matter how frustrated I get or how angry I feel, I never stop loving you. Never, ever. I love you even when I don't want to love you, even when you're being a total pain. I can't help it. But if you can't feel that love, then I'm doing something wrong. I'm screwing up in some way. I mean, what's the point of having a heart full of love if the woman can't feel it, right?'