The Diary

Okay, he asked if he could make it up to me by buying me dinner. It was later than I thought, and I was hungry, and after all that he said, I felt I could trust him, so I agreed. He said the food wasn't that good here and suggested going next door to the hotel and trying for a table in their restaurant.

I was very wary. He put his hands up and said, "No, just dinner, trust me."    

We did manage to get into the restaurant, and although we were quite late in being served, I still stuck mainly to coffee, But I did have one small glass of white wine. We talked a lot, him about his family, his ex-wife and his children. I about my children, my Old Man and the things we'd done together. It was quite nice, and I let my guard down. A small band was playing in the corner, and a couple of people were dancing. Just one dance, he said, and I still don't know how it happened. I woke up at 11:00 o'clock at night in a bed with him again. I threw up all over the floor. I left it there as I dressed; I do remember driving home this time; how the fuck, why the fuck, what the shit to do now? I had really fucked up. I was hopeful the Old Man would forgive me once, but certain he wouldn't forgive me for doing it a second time. I had no idea how, or why I did it. It wasn't even that good from what I remember of it, which wasn't a lot.    

I got home had a large drink and poured out the anguish into my diary and in big letters, 'never again' triple underlined. I pushed so hard that I scored right through the paper. I closed the diary, but it opened itself again on that page. The bloody diary reminded me what a fucking idiot I'd been. I put it away in its hiding place, vowing never to get it out again.    

I went to work on Thursday and handed my notice in. The partner came out and asked me why I was doing it, and I told him I couldn't continue working there with him. Again, he apologised and offered to write me an excellent reference. Probably the thinly veiled threat of violence from a furious woman, willing to go to gaol made him make that offer. It may have also been the reason I got a phone call on Friday for a position in the legal department at the company where the Old Man worked. I took it.

My Old man came home, and I vowed never to tell him. I was reasonably confident he would have forgiven me for the once but not for going back. He was happy but tired. They had sorted out all the problems, and everything was working as it should, including him; he took me to bed. It was wonderful to lay in his arms in that post-coital slumber.

I tried to remain as normal as possible, the sex was great, but there again, it always had been. I pushed it away in the back of my mind. I took the diary out a few times to record family events and every time I got it out it opened up at that dammed page. It was a good reminder.

I got the diary out to put in an entry about Debbie's graduation we attended a couple of weeks ago. She passed with full honours, and a few firms contacted her for their post-grad schemes. She'd taken the one where her dad worked and had started last week. That came as no surprise; many families were working for the company.

It had been a few years since I'd got it out, and it still opened up that page. It reminded me, and I deserved it. Debbie is a bright girl, and she realised that her dad and I had been on our own for so long that moving back into our house might screw things up for us, and she liked the independence she'd become used to whilst at Uni. She found herself a nice little flat in a nearby town but still comes round for Sunday dinner; and to get her Mum to do her washing. One day she bought a young man called Harry home.     

On Monday morning, out came the diary with a proud entry that our girl was growing up and how her dad had taken Harry into the corner for one of 'those' chats. When they came back, he looked at me, smiled and gave a slight nod. That had an underline.    

That's when things started to go wrong. The phone rang; it was an emergency. What sort of emergency can you get in Aircraft Makers' legal offices, you may ask? A leaking water pipe into the archives, which had paper documents going back to the original company and the airfield in 1917, an awful lot of information was still on paper. They needed every hand they could to get the paperwork out and dry it before the ink ran in some of the older paperwork, and it had to be legal staff to do it. I rushed off.    

It was busy. I didn't even get time to phone the Old Man to tell him what was happening. I sent him a text informing him I would be late. Around 6:00 o'clock, we had it under control, and they sent me home. This is where things finished going wrong. The house was quiet and empty, and it felt cold as I walked in shouting to the Old Man, letting him know I was home and telling him what the problem was at work and there on the kitchen table where I left it was my diary open at that page. And the worst thing was that his wedding ring was sitting on the diary.

He wore his wedding ring on a chain around his neck.

I didn't even swear, I just grabbed my phone, and called him, it went straight to answerphone. I didn't leave a message; I phoned Debbie, and after three rings, that went to answerphone. She rejected me.

Oh shit. No, try it again; the same thing happened. I tried to track his device it wasn't on. This was bad, terribly bad. I drove to Debbie's; his car was there.

I knocked on the door, nobody answered, I beat on the door, then after a few minutes it opened. I'd never seen Debbie look like that, that rage. She shouted at me, "Go away, I never want to see you again," and she slammed the front door in my face. I had to wipe the spittle off my face from her anger.  

I went home and went to bed. I didn't sleep, but I did come up with a plan. I had fucked up; I had to make this right. In the morning and packed a bag, I sat down and wrote a long text. "I made a mistake. It's all my fault. I will move out of the house, find a flat and let you know where I am. I suspect you will need an address to send the divorce papers. I won't fight it. I love you so very much. I have no comprehension of how much finding that diary entry has hurt you. I'm sorry I did what you read about. I'm sorry you found out. I never meant to hurt you, that's why I didn't tell you. It was my mistake. I have no excuse. I am so very sorry. Please, can we talk?" I sent it to both my Old Man and Debbie.    

I saw the wedding ring and chain laying on the table, I took them, they were part of him. My old man had worn them for so long through thick and thin. I put them in my purse.

I phoned my parents, then his parents. I told them we'd had an altercation and that I had made a mistake, and not to blame him if we got divorced. They wanted to know more, but I told them I would speak to them face to face; it wasn't fair to do it over the phone, but I reiterated it was my fault.    

I went to a B&B and after a week or so I managed to find a flat close to where I work. I had no food in the flat, so I went to the nearest supermarket, where I literally ran into Debbie. I wasn't looking where I was going, I was lost in my own private world when our trolleys crashed.

I'd never seen such anger on my daughter's face. I was so shocked. Then she started shouting at me. "What the fuck did you think you were doing, he nearly killed himself. He couldn't do it because at the last moment he thought of us. He loved you, trusted you, worshipped you and you fucking threw it all away for a simple fuck. You nearly killed him you bitch. He cried for a week; I've never seen him cry. He felt betrayed and unloved, the last 20 years a fucking waste. It was all Jack I could do to get him to eat and stop drinking too much. He just wanted to blot it out. You're no longer my mother. I never to see you again, you whore." Her face full of rage she stormed out. Everybody in the aisle was stood silently looking at me. I felt the shame. I walked slowly out leaving both trolleys where they were. I deserve every name she called me and every one was a stab to my heart, and I deserved every single one.

I made my little girl's hero cry, and she will never forgive, ever.    

To save time and pain, I got his and my parents together and told them the truth. No embellishments, no excuses. His parents just stood up, went to my parents, hugged them and walked out the door without a backward look. I was going to have to get used to that, I could barely stand the look of hurt on my parent's faces; I knew they loved me, but this damaged their trust in me. I looked at them both and said, "I'm sorry," then I left and went to my lonely flat. I deserved the hate.   

I didn't fight the divorce; it was finalised within six months.   

I didn't try to move on with my life. I just survived day to day. We work on the same site so you can bump into people, I tried to avoid him as much as possible. If I saw him coming, I would take a different route. I didn't want him to see me and cause him anymore pain. I went out a few times, and that was when it happened. The girls from the office dragged me out. They did the usual 'get over it', 'stop being a miserable bitch', and 'you've got to make yourself a new life'. That was when it happened. We walked into a pub and my ex-old man was sitting there with a good looking lady. God, that hurt. I was about to leave and go home when he saw me, he gave me a little smile and a wave. The lady he was with gave me a little smile and a nod; but it looked cold with no feeling. I didn't know what to do; I couldn't just ignore him. Do I go across and say hello? Shit, fuck, damn and blast. I love that man, and he was sitting there with somebody else when he should be sitting there with me, and it was all my fucking fault. I had to stop pussyfooting around, so I decided. I told the girls I was leaving as I had a headache.    

I walked up to him and smiled at both of them, "Hi, I hope you're having a good time; it's nice to see you again. You're looking well. I'm just off home. Maybe we can chat later?" It all came out in a bit of a rush, and with that, I walked away; as I left, I heard him say, "Yes, that's her." I went home and cried my eyes out; he was moving on. I had no urge to move on at all. I just wanted to curl into a ball and die.    

In the morning, my phone did that post-horn sound. That's the ring tune I'd given my Old Man, he is a bluff old traditionalist, and mail should be announced, even texts. I'd dreaded to open it. I picked up my phone and, through my tears, opened it and looked at the blurry text. It wouldn't be nasty; he wasn't like that. But what he said frightened the shit out of me. "Can we meet for lunch on Sunday, Queens Head? 1300 hours table booked in my name, but I can cancel?"    

Through my tears, I sent a one-word answer. "Yes."

Was there a chance, bloody hell, what to wear? Respectful, sexy, dowdy, what did I want to portray? What did I want to say? Dress, demeanour and body language can say so much. And I certainly didn't want to fuck this up. I wore a summer dress I knew he liked, but not sexy. I got to the pub early, and he was already waiting for me. He looked good but somewhat deflated, shit I did that to my man.    

We sat and ate dinner; I believe it was excellent roast pork with everything that belongs with it. I didn't taste a thing. We talked about the children, and I wanted to hear everything I could about them. Neither of them would have anything to do with me. As sad as it made me, I could almost understand it.    

We were on the coffee and mints, and he put his serious face on. Bloody hell, here it comes.     

"I can't do this anymore," he said. "I love you; I will always love you. I can forgive you for the first mistake, but it's tough on me, you going back the second time. That I cannot forgive. But, through all those shitty years, you looked after me, supported me, helped me and loved me. You took care of the kids whilst I was away. You put up with all that shit. I would feel guilty if I didn't give us one more try. I can't forget your number two, but I really should try to forgive." He had his handkerchief out, ready for me. I was crying. He handed it to me; he was prepared as usual. Was he genuinely saying what I thought he was? Did he truly want to give us another go?     

Then, damn him, he got that bloody diary out of his pocket and laid it between us. The dammed thing still opened up at 'that' page. "I found this at the back of a drawer in the spare bedroom. I've read all of it, not just that one page."     

I'm confused. If he wanted to give us another go, why was he with that woman?

"I shouldn't ask this, but who was the lady you were with the other night? I felt awful when she looked at me, like she wanted me to die. I thought you were moving on."    

"Oh, that's simple. She is the company psychiatrist; she normally deals with aircrew but sometimes has time for us ground chaps. We've had long chats, and that one carried over into the pub. She's getting me to look at it from your side."    

"The look she gave me wasn't very professional."    

"Yeah, that's why she's working for a company like ours, not in general practice. She discovered she couldn't stop wearing her heart on her sleeve, and sometimes her emotions get the better of her. But she's quite a good psychiatrist.    

"Sandra made me talk about it; she pointed out that we have never talked about those diary entries. I hurt so much. I felt dismayed, upset, and let down, I just left and went to Debbie's. I didn't talk to you about it. You left the house and walked away; then, when you didn't fight the divorce. I thought you didn't want me. We never sat down and talked, and that's partly my fault."    

I had tears in my eyes as I said, "I couldn't stay when Debbie told me you nearly killed yourself. I couldn't hurt you anymore, and I'd also hurt my babies. I had to leave to prevent any more pain, and the easiest way to do it was to go away."     

We paused for a while; I think we were both gathering our thoughts after letting our feelings out.  

He carried on. "Sandra thinks she knows why you did it, but she won't know for certain unless you have a chat with her. She's seen it in ex-military families before, although ours is probably the worst case. You have that defence mechanism in the service, you're far away from family, but you're with your friends; they're all going through the same sort of shit as you are. There's a bond amongst the wives in the service, just like there is with the men. But it's not here in Civvy Street. And oddly enough, she says the loneliness is greater when I was away as a civvy when there is no danger. A sort of 'as there is no threat why are you not here with me'.   

"She thinks, but she doesn't know till she talks to you that you substituted him for me, and when he put his arms around you and held you, you felt it was me, and in your mind, it may have blocked out the fact that it wasn't me. It's just a theory until she talks to you about it, but it makes sense to me, as you work for the company, she is expecting your call on Monday."   

He reached across the table and took my hand. "If you have me, I'd like you to move back into the house. The spare bedroom is there, ready and waiting for you."    

I couldn't take it; my face went bright red, and tears started streaming down my face as I ran to the toilet, sat in a cubicle and cried. "Did he really want me back?" After a couple of minutes, there was a knock at the cubicle door, "Madam, are you okay? People are worried about you."     

"I'm fine. I've just had a bit of a shock." I said, "please tell my husband I'll be back out in a minute." then I realised I had just called him 'husband', and it felt so right. I knew what precisely I had to do.

I stood up and went to the mirror to repair my makeup as much as possible. He wants me back; is his love that strong? I really couldn't mess this chance up. I might not have the children, but I'd have my Old Man. But I had one change I wanted to make in mind.    

I sat back down opposite him and reached across the table. I took both of his hands in mine, "Wild horses wouldn't drag me from coming back into your life, but I must insist on one thing."    

I saw his face drop; shit, I fucked this up again.    

"I would crawl across broken glass to get back to you, but I will not sleep in the spare bedroom. If we're going to do this, we do it properly, and we'll sleep in your bed, our bed." 

He looked at me and smiled, nodded, shit, went back to the lady's toilet, and wiped my makeup off. 

When I returned, he was still smiling, and I sat down next to him this time. We were sat there now with the diary in front of us, "What do we do with this?" I asked, pointing at it. "I've read all of it, and it's a history of our life together. I think you should keep it, but whether you carry on putting stuff in it or not is up to you, but I think you should keep it."    

"You're right, it's the good and the bad of our life together, and most of it was very good."    

I moved back in the following day. As you may have guessed, it wasn't easy; but when two people accept who they are and their mistakes they can overcome any problems, and we did.    

I did visit Sandra, and she told me what I'd done was the classic substitution, and she'd seen it so many times, but most couples talk through it, and that was where we went wrong.

Sandra pointed out that the partner was a predator, he saw a lonely, vulnerable, pretty woman and he took advantage of my feelings. He is the worst kind of man. It didn't make me feel better.

One thing she did do was point me to a Facebook group which was full of ex-Military Wives. I discovered all my old friends were on there, Carol, Julia, Sherry and a few others. I joined the group, and a couple of months later, we were reunited. It was like we'd never been apart, we carried on chatting just like we did 15 or 20 years ago, and we swapped new stories; we'd all had our problems; most survived, but one or two didn't. I put myself and my Old Man in the 'survive' bracket, just. It went to prove the old saying you're not civilian, your ex-military, wives included.  

After about two years, he asked me to marry him. It was a hope beyond hope for me, I screamed, "YES," and hung onto him for dear life. The following day I made a trip to a local jeweller. I still had his wedding ring and the snapped chain. I got the chain repaired; the jeweller argued it would be cheaper to buy a new one. But that really wouldn't do. Our parents and a few old friends were at the registry office when we were married. He cried as I placed the chain with his wedding ring on it once more around his neck. I believe they were tears of joy.  

He tried hard, I tried hard, and I will be honest, life between us was fantastic, but for the children. No matter how much he tried to persuade them, they would not forgive me. Debbie didn't invite me to her wedding to Harry, but I sneaked into the back of the church after the service had started and left before it finished. My Old Man bought me all the photographs and videos and told me all about them, but there was a pain in his heart when he did it; he tried to balance my need to know, without causing me more pain. I didn't go to the christening of their firstborn; nor their second. I missed Jack's passing out parade. They wouldn't let me on camp to see it, but I saw the video. I also missed Jack's wedding to Cheryl. I couldn't get into the registry office, but I still watched them from afar. The Old Man went to the occasional Christmas and birthday party. He was trying to balance his love for his family and me; every time he walked back in from one of those events, he'd look at me with sadness in his eyes and give a slight shake of the head, and every time he'd asked them to forgive me, but they always said 'No'. I felt sad, dreadfully sad, but it was my cock up.