the last year of being single

Sarah Tucker’s intensely honest and wickedly funny prequel to The Last Year of Being Married.

For better or for worse?

Everyone tells Sarah Giles how lucky she is to be with Paul O’Brian – a handsome city hot-shot who’s steady, financially secure and knows how to throw the perfect dinner party. But what no one else knows is that her seemingly blissful relationship has been celibate for nearly five years.

Sarah isn’t looking to be rescued – least of all by a man called John wayne! But what began as an innocent office flirtation is fast turning into erotic obsession. Sarah’s plunging deeper into a double life. But which life is the lie?

Torn between two men, the clock is ticking as Sarah writes a scandalously honest diary of one life-changing year, and faces the challenge of creating her own happy ending…

Available now from all good booksellers .

Read on for an exclusive extract!

Sarah Tucker is an award-winning travel journalist, broadcaster and author. A presenter for the BBC Holiday programme and travel writer for The Guardian newspaper and The Times, she is the author of Have Toddler, Will Travel and Have Baby, Will Travel. She has also presented award-winning documentaries for the Discovery Channel.

Sarah lives in Richmond, Surrey and France with her son. Find out more about Sarah at www.mirabooks.co.uk/ sarahtucker

Also available by Sarah Tucker

THE LAST YEAR OF BEING SINGLE

Sarah Tucker

The Last Year of Being Married

www.mirabooks.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you…

To my editor, Sam, who refused the first draft of this book. It wouldn’t have been this funny or sexy first time ’round.

To Sarah Shurety, who has always led me in the right direction. You are a breath of fresh air, Sarah.

To friends, some of whom happen to be family: Jo, Amanda, Claire, Helen, Chris, kim, Linda, Gina, Caroline, Fulva, Helen, Nim, Coline, karin, Paul (not the one in the book) and Hazel. Thank you for your love and support. This book is about friendship more than anything else – and I couldn’t ask or wish for better friends than you.

And to Doreen, you star.

To Thomas, who is sunshine. And my dad, who is looking down on usnow and smiling. Daddy, I will never ever give in.

SUMMER INTO AUTUMN

AUGUST

Sleeping with the enemy

My husband is an alien. My husband of seven years is an alien. He still looks like Paul, but it’s not Paul. This person doesn’t walk like Paul, talk like Paul, drink, eat, or even smell like Paul. He’s like that character taken over by the hideous fire-breathing insect in Men In Black. He’s an alien in a human suit. Only Paul is marginally better looking. And I’m worried. As in lost-a-dress-size-in-a-week worried. So I’m meeting Kim Bradshaw, thirty-eight, no-bullshit best friend and Financial Times columnist, in Circle, hip-happening funky restaurant in the heart of London’s medialand. I know I’m worried because I’m on time for our meeting, and I am never on time for anything. Ever.

Kim—‘God, Sarah, you’re on time. I was hoping to catch up with work. I usually get about half an hour before you turn up. I’ve just interviewed some twat about an Internet scandal and Dick has given me a ridiculous deadline for tomorrow’s paper. I’ve only just got here myself.’

Kim is a girl who calls a spade a fucking shovel. Dick, her editor, loves her because, he tells her, he’s surrounded by stupid sycophants and she’s brighter than him and tells him the truth. Even when it hurts.

I like her for the same reason. That and the fact I’ve known her for over ten years and we know each other inside out. We’ve agreed we’ll end up as the Golden Girls. Or at least the Witches of Eastwick. As long as I’m Michelle Pfeiffer and she’s Cher.

Sarah—‘I know I’m on time. Sorry.’

Kim—‘Don’t say sorry. You’re on time. That’s great. Shit, girl, you look thin.’

A size eight Ghost dress is hanging off me. I look like a coat-hanger these days. I reassure myself that if I ever get a break on TV I will look fabulous.

Sarah—‘I haven’t eaten for, I think, a week. Maybe longer.’

Kim—‘Sit down. Have something to eat. Try not to throw up. You look thinner than the models in here.’

Sarah—‘I’m fine. I’ll have the tuna. I always have the tuna in here.’

Waiter arrives and smiles warmly. Duncan Simpkins, tall, slim, dark and gay. Knows me. I used to work round the corner and this is a regular of mine. Light floods in even on miserable winter afternoons. The place is blessed with huge picture windows to watch the people-watchers. Large round white tables, pristine tablecloths, no centrepiece flowers to move, not too close together so the media buyers can’t eavesdrop on a competitor’s pitch for business. Simple yet eclectic menu, good champagne, unobtrusive service. Duncan sits us at a corner table out of ear-and eyeshot of everyone else.

Duncan—‘Tuna, Sarah?’

Sarah—‘Yes, please. And just some sparkling water. No ice. And a jug of lime cordial on the side. Side salad. Something different for a change.’

Duncan—‘And for your guest?’

Kim likes her food. As in, she would have two of everything if she could. And in Circle she realises everything is the size of a starter even when it’s not.

Kim—‘Which choice has most food? Do I get more if I have the tuna or the cod?’

Duncan—‘Well, the portions are about the same, madam. Would you perhaps like to order side dishes? The homemade chips are good.’

Kim—‘That sounds good. Will they go with the cod?’

Duncan—‘Yes, madam. Cod ’n chips. I think it has a certain ring to it.’

Duncan goes, and Kim gets up and gives me a hug.

Kim—‘You look as though you need this.’

Sarah—‘I do. I’m okay. I’m okay.’

Kim—‘You sounded completely wired on the phone. Were you pacing, or something? You were up about four decibels on your normal pitch. Thought you would be chilled after the week’s holiday in France, but sounds as though it didn’t go to plan.’

Sarah—‘No, it didn’t. Paul’s behaving very strangely.’

Kim—‘He always behaves strangely, Sarah. What’s he doing that’s different from his norm?’

Sarah—‘You know he never goes to the gym? Well, he’s decided to go now. Twice a week. He has a personal trainer. The boys—well, they’re not boys, they’re forty-year-old men, most of them—anyway, the boys in the office are doing it, and now Paul’s doing it. He tells me his body is a temple. A fucking temple. He showers for an hour each morning. Then there’s the underpants…’

Kim—‘What about the underpants?’

Sarah—‘He has to buy new ones every week. Designer. Next, M&S, Gap won’t do. Must be Gucci or Prada. Anything with a huge initial on the crotch area.’

Kim—‘I didn’t know Prada did underpants.’

Sarah—‘Nor did I, but maybe they do. They’ve got a big P on them, anyway.’

Kim—‘Appropriate, really.’

Sarah—‘And now he wants separate holidays and thinks it’s a good idea if we give each other space. I’m a travel journalist, for fuck’s sake, Kim. How much more space can I give him? I spend three months each year travelling and get us free holidays together when I can. It’s unnerving me.’

Kim—‘Sarah, this has all the signs of a mid-life crisis. How old is he now?’

Sarah—‘Thirty-five. Bit early for a mid-life crisis. But perhaps men are having them younger these days. Plus stress at work. It’s been tough, and he’s been a bit depressed about his weight.’

Kim—‘What else is he doing and saying?’

Sarah—‘He’s coming back late. Often drunk. Been drinking with the boys.’

Kim—‘Sounds as though his body is being treated more like a pub than a temple.’

Sarah—‘And there’s more. He keeps buying really strong-smelling aftershave. Smells like a brothel in the morning. Always humming to himself, too. And he’s bought one of those—you know—soap on a rope things. But with a hole in the middle of it.’

Kim—‘Wants a clean willy, then.’

Sarah—‘I asked him about it and he said he’d read this article about penis hygiene. I think it was penal hygiene but he took it the wrong way.’

Kim laughs.

Kim—‘Bollocks. He just wants to wank and wash and save time.’

I laugh now.

Kim—‘What else has he said?’

Sarah—‘Serious bit, this. He wants Ben and me to move out of the house. Wants to buy us a little house nearby—not too close, not up the road or anything. He says he doesn’t want to accidentally bump into us. Just be in a neighbouring village. And he suggests I get a job as a PA somewhere local. So I’m able to prove I can look after myself. He feels I haven’t put enough into the marriage and doesn’t respect me anymore. Well, he says I haven’t put anything into the marriage and doesn’t respect me at all, actually. That’s the bit that is worrying me.’

Kim—‘He wants you to do fucking what? You’re a travel journalist, Sarah. Why would you want to be a PA? You’ve worked so hard to get this far. Is the man nuts? Okay, he wants space. Let him move out. Let him get a bachelor pad in London.’

Sarah—‘That’s what I told him. And he said the house was his house. And that it’s all his money. And he got very angry and threw a mini-size plastic Badoit bottle on the floor. And that made me laugh and he got angrier. But he looked such a prat, Kim. And, anyway, he doesn’t see why he should move out.’

Kim—‘Don’t you dare, Sarah. You stay put. What planet is he on?’

Sarah—‘As I said. He’s an alien.’

Duncan returns with tuna, water, salad and lime. And no ice. Kim and I change the subject while Duncan hovers.

Sarah—‘Ben’s well.’

Kim—‘That’s good. How old is he now?’

Sarah—‘Three. Four in December. He’s getting to that edible age. You know—I want to bite his bottom all the time. And I can still go in the bath with him and play submarines and it’s not considered indecent or unnatural.’

Kim—‘That’s wonderful. Give him a big kiss from me.’

Sarah—‘I will.’

Duncan stops hovering and leaves. Subject reverts back to alien.

Sarah—‘Paul is a sensible guy, you know. Dependable. Like a rock. Always there for me. Always putting up with me.’

Kim—‘What do you mean, putting up with you? You’re a wonderful, fabulous sexy woman, Sarah Giles. Okay, you look emaciated at the moment, but have a few chips and you’ll be fine. And don’t you forget it, because the man you’ve married obviously has. As for being a rock. Well, rocks may make you stable but they can also hold you down. And I think that’s what he’s done. Bit by bit, day by day, he’s held you down. And chipped away—quite successfully too, it appears—at your confidence.’

Sarah—‘Oh, he’s not that bad. We’ve done some fun things together. You know, holidays and stuff. But what do I bring to the relationship, to be honest?’

Kim—‘What do you bring? You bring you! Or are we talking dowry here? He married you because he loved you. Because you’re fun and full of life and fire and energy. He knew you couldn’t cook. He knew you weren’t domesticated. But so what? He can afford a cook and a cleaner if he wants one. Christ, he can afford one for every day of the week if he wants to. He makes it sound as though he considers you a liability.’

Sarah—‘He does. He says I’m a negative on his balance sheet.’

Kim—‘He says you’re a fucking what?’

Sarah—‘That I’m a liability. That I spend all his money.’

Kim—‘Sarah. This man is full of shit. You know Debbie—my next-door neighbour, helium-voiced Debbie? She’s married to a city oik who earns—I think—half what Paul does. She has manicures, facials, pedicures, and lunches and does Knightsbridge most weeks. She doesn’t do a thing for her man, Mike. Think she probably even charges him for a blow-job. They’ve got a cleaner, gardener, spiritual healer, live-in nanny—and Mike dotes on her. You, on the other hand, look after yourself, buy your own clothes, get your own holidays. You’ve given Paul a wonderful son. What else does he want you to bring to the marriage?’

Sarah—‘Money.’

Kim—‘I should imagine he earns well over a hundred grand a year, Sarah. Plus bonuses. What’s he want with more money? This is all an excuse for something. He’s deflecting you from something. Do you think he’s met someone else?’

Sarah—‘That’s crossed my mind. Makes me feel sick. Best not to think about it. I’m a jealous woman—greeneyed monster and all that. Always have been. Remember the thirtieth birthday party I told you about when that girl was dancing with him? I was at the other side of the room and saw her flirting with him. One minute I was dancing in the corner and the next I zoomed in like a heat-seeking missile and sent her flying into the steaming wontons. And she was just dancing with him. If I thought he’d met or was sleeping with someone else it would kill me. Especially as he’s not sleeping with me. And hasn’t been for years.’

Kim—‘How long has it been now?’

Sarah—‘For most of our marriage, Kim—Ben was a wonderful blip—plus four of the five years we were going out before then.’

Kim—‘What excuse does he give?’

Sarah—‘Same old story. Same reason. Doesn’t respect me. Doesn’t feel I bring anything to the marriage. Doesn’t trust me. He brought up all the past things I’d done when he smashed that Badoit bottle. It’s as if he’s kept a mental list. But he says he still loves me and all that.’

Kim—‘Sounds as though he resents you, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘I think so, too. But I’m no innocent, Kim. I haven’t exactly been squeaky clean, have I? After all, I had an affair. And Paul discovered the affair by reading one of my e-mails. You know? That e-mail from Stephen from Australia.’

Kim—‘Er, yes, that was a bit of a bummer. Explicit, wasn’t it?’

Sarah—‘Er, rather. If you have an affair with the editor-at-large of a lad mag—and he was…well, rather large—he tends to be rather eloquent with words. Especially when writing about sex. And—well, he did enjoy it. And hey, for fuck’s sake, so did I. I hadn’t had sex for years. I used to go to the gym and work out like crazy. The Kai Bo teacher said he didn’t know where I got my energy. I got so flexible and fit I could do the box splits, and there wasn’t even a face to sit on. But Stephen’s e-mail… Well, it was quite poetic—about how the water trickled down my back when I bent over, and how he loved my nipples, and how he wished we could have stayed in the shower longer but the hot water ran out and then so did we, and ended up having sex on the bathroom floor. And on the dining room table, and in the garden under the apple tree. He wrote a sonnet. Think he published it in a later edition of the magazine he was so proud of it. Not nice to read. Well, I enjoyed reading it, which is why I saved it. But not nice for Paul, obviously.’

Kim—‘Well, he shouldn’t have been reading your e-mail, then, should he? Serves him bloody well right.’

Sarah—‘He was trying to sort out my virus and was checking to see who had given it to me.’

Kim—‘Yeah, really. Well, he found out, didn’t he?’

Sarah—‘Yes, yes, but you know what I mean. Well, he was furious—and rightly so.’

Kim—‘What do you mean, rightly so? He wasn’t fucking fucking you, Sarah. He hasn’t been sleeping with you for years. That’s emotional cruelty or punishment or something. Anyway, it’s not natural, and I think he should go and see a counsellor or someone about it.’

Sarah—‘Think he went to see his priest.’

Kim—‘His priest? That’s gonna screw him up even more.’

Sarah—‘I know, Kim. I’ve got to the stage when I think Hey, my husband won’t sleep with me, won’t give me a sound reason why he won’t sleep with me, and won’t go to see anyone about why he won’t sleep with me, but he doesn’t want me to mention it to anyone.’

Kim—‘Of course he doesn’t want you to mention it to anyone. They’d think he was bonkers. You’re a babe, Sarah. And with friends like his, they’d probably try and sleep with you themselves.’

Sarah—‘Yes, one of his brokers did say over dinner once that if we lived in London he would have probably slept with me by now.’

Kim—‘Was he drunk?’

Sarah—‘Think so.’

Kim—‘Was Paul there at the time?’

Sarah—‘The broker was taking us out for supper. At the Ivy. He was with his wife. She talked Botox all night.’

Kim—‘Sounds like a lovely evening.’

Sarah—‘It was interesting. Never saw them again after that. Think Paul still does business with him, but I don’t ask. Anyway, I’m going slowly nuts. And along comes this guy who obviously does want to sleep with me. And—well, the rest is history.’

Kim—‘If your husband doesn’t fuck you, someone else will. If it was the other way round he would have slept with someone else. Mark my words, Sarah. He would have had an affair. Lots of them.’

Sarah—‘Yes, I know it’s different for men.’

Kim—‘Too bloody right it is. They can do it. But you can’t. Well you did. But you had a reason.’

Sarah—‘Paul could argue that so does he.’

Kim—‘Ah, but that’s different. The no-sex thing is his choice, Sarah. Not yours. And it’s up to him to go and see someone about it. You can’t go for him.’

Silence again. We’re both thinking. Then…

Kim—‘I know one guy who had an affair with this other woman. But when he got divorced from his wife, and the other woman said she wanted to marry him, the bugger turned round and told her he couldn’t marry someone like her because she’d gone off with a married man and he couldn’t marry someone that immoral.’

Sarah—‘Double standards.’

Kim—‘Quite. But it happens. Anyway, have you told anyone other than me about the no-sex thing?’

Sarah—‘Few people. Told Stephen in Australia. That’s why he slept with me.’

Kim—‘Not a good idea to tell men about that. Specially those that are a bit lecherous. Beware men who see you as vulnerable. They think it’s sexy. Plus you’re easy prey.’

Sarah—‘Well, I wanted to. Can’t seriously say he seduced me, or I was taken against my will. Think I actually seduced him. And it was the other side of the world.’

Kim—‘Yeah, and it came back to haunt you. Bloody e-mails. You never know who’s reading them.’

Duncan returns to ask if we are enjoying our meals.

Duncan—‘Is it enough for you, madam?’

Kim—‘Yes, thank you.’

Duncan—‘Good. Anything else I can do, just let me know.’

Kim—‘Thanks. Dessert menu after this would be good.’

Duncan smiles and leaves.

Sarah—‘I think one of the problems we have is that he comes from a very traditional background. His mother did everything for him. He’s the eldest of four boys, and his father was out working all the time, so his mum got the brunt of it. And she’s a bit—well, odd emotionally. So he’s used to having everything done for him. And getting his own way.’

Kim—‘Yes, he is rather boorish. But he has to be aggressive for work. It’s a dog-eat-dog environment.’

Sarah—‘Absolutely, and he doesn’t like most of those he works with, and trusts even fewer, so that’s bound toruboff. Asformylifestyle—onthefaceof it, everything is fine. Big house in the suburbs, house just bought in France, fabulous child, two cars. But you know, Kim, it’s not me. I feel as though I should be happy, but it’s not me. I don’t live in a house I particularly like. Actually, I hate it. I don’t live in a town I like. Actually, I hate that, too. And I don’t particularly like his parents. His father is okay, but his mother is—well, cold. Shit, I sound ungrateful.’

Kim—‘No, you’re just being true to yourself.’

Sarah—‘I sometimes wish Dad were still here. He gave me really good advice. It’s nearly four years since he died. Don’t know if he ever knew I was pregnant with Ben. Tried to tell him in hospital, but don’t think he could understand me. He would have loved his little grandson so much.’

I’m fighting back tears. I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not about that. Not in public. I’ve got too much else to worry about. Kim senses it and leans over the fish ’n chips to hug me. I think—Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Think of something that will stop you from crying. Someone that makes you anaemic emotionally. I know, Tony Blair. Visualise Tony Blair sitting on the toilet. Great, that’s done the trick. Tears stop immediately.

Kim tucks into her cod and chips. I don’t have an appetite. I think my stomach has shrunk, so after two mouthfuls I’m full. Then…

Kim—‘Sarah, I think he’s got someone else. I’ve been thinking. It’s obvious. He wants space suddenly. Clean underpants. Coming back late and drunk. No sex. Bringing up things from the past. Why bring them up now? The things he says—they all say the same things. I’ve heard this all before, with other friends. It’s fucking spooky, really. As though men have all read the same books. You’d think they’d be smarter, but they’re not.’

I redden. And start to feel very hot. Because deep down I know she’s right, but don’t want to believe it. I don’t think even visualising Tony Blair on the toilet will work this time.

Sarah—‘Perhaps.’

Kim—‘Sarah, women run from a relationship they’re unhappy with, but men tend to run to another woman. Men don’t leave—emotionally or literally—until they’ve found someone else to look after them. Someone to lean on. It’s in their nature. They’re weak; they need the support. Paul is like any other. Just out of interest, how much time do you spend with Ben and how much with Paul?’

Sarah—‘More with Ben, of course.’

Kim—‘Well, then. Paul’s even further down the pecking order.’

Sarah—‘That’s obvious. Ben is three. Paul is thirty-five. Slight difference.’

Kim—‘The more I get to know men, the more I think they’re just like toddlers. They want to be looked after. Paul just has more grown-up toys. And probably likes dollies.’

Sarah—‘He knew what he was getting when he married me.’

Kim—‘Perhaps he thought he could change you.’

Sarah—‘You can’t change people.’

Kim—‘Paul is so arrogant he thinks he can do anything.’

Sarah—‘People can mellow.’

Kim—‘No. Their traits usually get stronger as they grow older.’

Sarah—‘Think so?’

Kim—‘Yep. If they’re mean, they get meaner. Generous, they become more generous. Seen it in all my parents’ friends. They just go round in circles. Don’t learn.’

Sarah—‘Do you think I should start cooking for him?’

Kim—‘God, you’re that worried, Sarah? No, if I were you, I’d just stay the same. Play cool and focus on Ben. And get some food inside you, girl. Sounds as though he’s got someone, but wait until he’s drunk or some-thing. He may tell you then. They usually do.’

And, looking at my untouched tuna…

Kim—‘Are you going to eat that?’

With that, she swaps plates and scoffs the lot.

Duncan returns.

Duncan—‘Have you finished, ladies?’

Sarah—‘Yes, that was wonderful, Duncan.’

We start talking puff while Duncan clears the plates.

Kim—‘So, what are you doing this afternoon?’

Sarah—‘I’ve got to make a deadline, too. I’ve been asked to write a feature for a women’s magazine, and it’s the first break I’ve had with them so I don’t want to screw up. “Where to go for a romantic weekend break.” I’ve got to collect Ben from nursery, and then play with his new bike and stuff for a few hours.’

Duncan goes.

Sarah—‘Then welcome Paul home. If he comes home. I’m very worried, Kim. You know, I think you’re right. I think he may have met someone else.’

Realising I’m about to sob hard, and probably rather loudly, in the middle of a restaurant full of people-watchers, Kim lightens up.

Kim—‘I was joking, Sarah. Fuck Paul. Who the fuck would fuck him?’

Sarah—‘I know, I know. But you know what I’m like.’

Duncan returns with the dessert menu. Smiling at me, then turning to Kim.

Duncan—‘The apple pie dish has most volume, just in case you’re interested.’

Kim—‘Thank you. Apple pie, then. And Sarah will have the same.’

Duncan—‘We do ice cream on the side.’

Kim—‘Dollop on top will do nicely. Thank you.’

Duncan goes. Think he’s starting to warm to Kim. We start talking again.

Kim—‘Why have you stayed with this guy for so long, Sarah? Under these conditions? A girl like you? You don’t have to put up with this crap. He’s been bullying you so long now and you just take it. Do you enjoy that sort of thing?’

Sarah—‘I’ve got used to it. I’ve become conditioned to it. It’s easy.’

Kim—‘It doesn’t sound easy to me. It sounds bloody horrendous. You can’t respect this man, Sarah.’

Kim leans over and holds my hand.

Kim—‘Sarah, this is no life. You deserve better. You always have. You’re not a trophy wife. You’re more than that. And you’re cheating yourself by staying with this man. You know it and I think he knows it. He’s doing you a favour, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘I shouldn’t have married him, should I? I shouldn’t have married him.’

Kim sighs and looks up at Duncan, who’s just arrived with two double-sized portions of apple pie.

Duncan—‘There we are, ladies.’

I think he knows Kim’s going to eat both, because I don’t get a spoon.

Kim—‘Well, no, I don’t think you should have married him. And I definitely don’t think you should have told him on the third day of your honeymoon that you were having an affair while you were engaged to him, and had an abortion by this other guy. Think that was a bad move.’

Sarah—‘Er, yes. That probably was a bad move.’

Kim—‘No probably about it, Sarah. Bad move. No man can take that. Why the hell did you tell him then? Why not before you got married? Why ever?’

Sarah—‘I wanted to wipe the slate clean. I wanted him to know that if he ever tried to withhold sex from me again I would betray him. I also wanted to tell him just in case John turned up on our doorstep when we got back from honeymoon and said, “Oh, hello, you must be Paul. Well, I’m John, and I’ve been fucking your fiancée. Just thought you should know.” You know—that sort of thing.’

Kim—‘So you wanted to save his pride? And sacrificed yourself and your chance of happiness to do that?’

Sarah—‘Yes. I didn’t want John to have the satisfaction of humiliating Paul.’

Kim—‘So you did it instead?’

Sarah—‘Yes. But at least it was one on one.’

Kim—‘At Raffles? In Singapore?’

Sarah—‘Yes, over a candlelit dinner.’

Kim—‘On the third night of your honeymoon?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

Kim—‘You told him about John?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

Kim—‘And the abortion?’

Sarah—‘Yes. But I also gave him the opt-out clause. I told him if he wanted to annul the marriage then and there he could do so.’

Kim—‘You wanted out then, Sarah. That’s why you told him. You wanted out then. You just couldn’t do it yourself. Problem was, neither could he. Not then, anyway.’

Sarah—‘I realise I’ve betrayed him, Kim.’

Kim—‘Yes, but what’s more important is that by staying with him, Sarah, by marrying him, having his child, you’ve betrayed yourself.’

We sit in silence again. I think about what Kim’s just said. I love her clarity of thought. My thoughts are clouded by my feelings. When I’m with her I realise how much my anger, my fear, my pride have clouded my reason for such a long time. How I’ve become immune to the hurt, as though the emotional bruises are now an integral part of me. They have been there for such a long time. My feelings of self-contempt and wanting to do the right thing are so strong. I’ve always thought staying with Paul is the right thing to do—when I know, have always known, it’s not. But now there’s Ben. Little Ben. And it’s not his fault that this has happened. And I’ve got to protect him. And think of him. And think of myself.

Sarah—‘You’re right, Kim. Of course you’re right. But you’re not on the inside. I am. And I can’t see this the way you can. Without the emotion.’

Kim—‘Without what emotion? You can’t think straight because you’re angry and upset and perhaps a bit guilty, but also probably because you’re not eating enough and can’t think straight. You don’t love this man, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘I think I do.’

Kim—‘Well, I think you think you do, if you get me. But I don’t think you do. I think you’re proud and jealous and want to do the right thing, even if it’s not the right thing for you. And Paul has never been the right thing for you. Paul treats you like a child. He’s become your daddy and he just wants to control you. And now he resents you for it. He’s a controlling bugger, Sarah. Get out of this marriage now. He’s done you a favour. And if there is a she, which there may be, I think she’s done you a favour, too.’

Sarah—‘I’ve got to try to save the marriage, Kim. Even if it’s just for Ben’s sake.’

Kim—‘You should only try for your sake, so at least you can look back and say you did try and won’t always wonder if perhaps, maybe, it could have worked. Ultimately, you must make your own decisions and your own mistakes. That’s the way everyone learns in life. Not through other people’s mistakes. But take it from me, as a friend who knows and loves you for all your faults, you married a man who doesn’t know and love you for all your faults, Sarah. And he isn’t your friend anymore.’

We don’t talk through dessert. I sit and think. Kim lets me while she eats both apple pies and then complains of indigestion.

Duncan walks over to our table with the bill. Kim grabs it.

Kim—‘I think I should pay for this one. I’ve eaten most of it.’

Sarah—‘Thank you, Kim. I’m very lucky to have you as a friend.’

Kim—‘Bollocks. We’re lucky to have each other as friends. You’ve helped me through shit in the past. Perhaps this is my time to pay back. I’ve seen this coming for a long time. It’s what you need.’

Sarah—‘I haven’t asked a thing about you. How is Jamie?’

Kim—‘Oh, Jamie is fine. He’s working on a merger. He’s floating the company and it’s taking up all his energy and time, and I wish he could spend more time with me. But he can’t. You know. The usual.’

Sarah—‘He’s lucky to have you. You’re wonderful and special.’

Kim—‘I know. I tell him that all the time—usually just before I go down on him. He always agrees. Usually because I threaten to bite if he doesn’t.’

Sarah—‘I haven’t gone down on Paul for years. Forgotten what it looks like. Well, erect anyway.’

Kim—‘Probably small. He has a big house, big car, oversized ego and bank account. Say no more.’

Sarah—‘It always was small. But having a child doesn’t help. I’m not as, well, tight as I used to be. I’ve been doing those exercises. The ones with the pencil. But I don’t want to get lead poisoning.’

Kim laughs.

Kim—‘His penis is about the size of a pencil, is it? Oh, well. You’re missing nothing, then.’

We get up. Duncan comes over to say goodbye and gives me a hug, whispering.

Duncan—‘You look thin, Sarah. Hope everything is okay. Your friend is a pig.’

And smiles.

Duncan—‘Thank you. Lovely to see you.’

Kim—‘I don’t think your waiter friend likes me.’

Sarah—‘He likes your appreciation of his food. And your curly pink tail.’

Kim—‘Hug, then.’

We stand outside Circle and hug for five seconds. I start to sob again, very quietly, so my body shakes and aches. I have this feeling of dread, of something being just round the corner, that makes me feel faint and ill. And I can’t fast-forward this bit of my life. I’ve got to live through it and learn from it and grow. And standing there, with my friend, I feel terrified. And alone.

Kim—‘I’m here for you, Sarah. Your friends are here for you. And the one good thing about this whole mess is that you’ll find out who your friends are. And that’s worth a lot. Some people go through life and never find out. And another thing. If you don’t listen to anything else I’ve said today, listen to this. Don’t leave the house, and if you find out he has got someone else call me. Any time. Day or night. E-mail, if you like. Text. Anything. Paul sounds like he’s being a mean bugger. He’s arrogant, so will be self-righteous in anything he does—even when it is suggesting his wife and child leave the house. He’ll validate his behaviour somehow, so you’ll look bad and he won’t. Because that’s the way his mind works. He’s always been a good liar. He’s manipulative, mean, insensitive and self-obsessed. You just wait. You’ll see him for what he is soon enough. He’ll make himself out to be the injured party. Don’t let the bastard get you down any more than he already has.’

Sarah—‘I love you, Kim. Why can’t men be more like women?’

Kim—‘Because they have willies, darling. Because they have willies. And that’s where they keep their ego and their brains. Give Ben a big kiss from me. And call me. Now, I’ve got to get this twat’s article done.’

Journey back to Chelmsford takes an hour, but somehow it seems shorter this time. My mind is not on the journey, but buzzing with everything Kim’s said to me. Her insight into the situation, which I can’t see because I’m living it.

I collect Ben from nursery. His little face when he sees me and calls out ‘Mummy’ moves me to tears. He sings the Teletubbies theme tune in the back seat. I’ve got to try to make it work for his sake. I’ve got to try. But I’m tired emotionally. I’m tired of living in a house I hate, in a relationship I hate, with a man I think I’m growing to hate. And I think I hate myself. Kim’s right. I’ve got to deal with this head-on. But Paul and I have never been able to talk about the big issues—and it’s even worse now. So what can I do?

Back at the house, I let Ben play in the garden with his new bike, then give him tea—salmon in white wine and garlic. It’s really for his daddy, but somehow I don’t think Paul will turn up tonight. Ben is eating more than I do at the moment. I bathe him and read him a bedtime story. The one about the witch—Room on the Broom. He likes that one.

Ben—‘I lub you, Mummy.’

Sarah—‘I lub you too, Ben.’

Ben—‘Are you okay, Mummy?’

Sarah—‘Yes, I’m okay, Ben.’

Perhaps he senses something is wrong. They say children can sense things clearly at this age. They’re like animals; they know when something is wrong. No hiding anything from them. I feel very protective towards this little boy.

I work on the She feature, but don’t feel in the mood to write about romantic breaks, somehow. I switch off the computer. Perhaps Paul will make it home tonight. Perhaps not. So I wait in the sitting room and watch reality TV, which has absolutely nothing to do with anything real at all. Sets are fake. Situations are fake. People are fake.

The front door opens. The alien returns. It’s nearly eleven.

I get up and walk over to greet him. He looks morose and drunk.

Sarah—‘Hi, would you like something to eat?’

Paul—‘No, thanks. Had something on the train. Think I’ll just go to bed.’

Sarah—‘Okay. You do that. Say night-night to Ben.’

Paul—‘Will do.’

I hear Ben’s bedroom door open and a faint, ‘How’s my best boy, then?’ And a kiss. And a quiet ‘I lub you, Daddy.’ And, ‘Can I have a dog?’

Then I hear him go into our bedroom and close the door. I stay downstairs for ten more minutes. Watching blankly as a couple tear each other apart emotionally on Temptation Island.

I check on Ben, who is snoring happily in his mini-bed which has just been converted from his mini-cot. Our son is now a fully-fledged little boy, with Buzz Lightyear duvet and pillows. His room is the nicest in the house. Bright yellow walls, now almost covered with his drawings and paintings, and scribblings of his name and what he did for the holiday and what he likes to eat and what his favourite television programme is. Carpet deep blue, hiding all the baby sick and mess that comes as part of the package with children, especially boys. Because I’m told little girls are so much tidier and more mature.

But I’m so very pleased I had Ben—that I had a little boy. I remember clearly how I felt when I was in the labour ward and this little red and puffy bundle squished out and looked around as if to say, ‘Where am I now, then?’ And Paul was there to see his son come into the world, and he beamed with pride and love that day. And I remember the midwife took Ben away and quickly cleaned him. I said I wanted Ben straight on the breast, and he immediately hooked onto my left nipple and never liked the right as much. And he travelled with me wherever I went, and awoke every two hours for the first three months, and I didn’t mind one bit. I knew then he had a lovely nature. A gentle and kind nature. My sunshine.

Just a pity my dad never saw him. I was five months pregnant at his funeral. Hope he’s looking down now and smiling on us both. He would have loved this little bundle of joy. Ben’s a cuddler, and the best thing in the world is when he wraps his little arms around me and looks me in the eyes and says, ‘You’re very beautiful, Mummy.’ Because for that brief moment I feel I am.

Paul is fast asleep. Snoring loudly. Farting silently. Must open windows. Last time I didn’t, and almost threw up when I woke up. Don’t want to be gassed in my sleep.

Paul still an alien in the morning. Perhaps he thinks I’m one, too.

Paul—‘God, it’s bloody freezing in here. Why are all the windows open?’

Sarah—‘Thought we could do with some fresh air.’

Paul—‘I’m going to be late tonight. Work to do. Don’t wait up.’

Sarah—‘Okay. Is everything okay?’

Paul—‘Yes. Have you thought about what I said? About moving out?’

Sarah—‘No. Don’t think it’s a good idea. I work from here, and this is Ben’s home. It’s easier for you to move into London and get yourself a flat if you need the space.’

Paul—‘Told you how I feel about that.’

Sarah—‘Told you how I feel about that.’

Paul—‘We’ll talk tonight.’

Sarah—‘We won’t, because you won’t be back till late.’

Paul—‘The night after that, then. But we need to talk. I need space.’

Sarah—‘I know you do.’

Paul—‘I don’t like it when I’m around you.’

Sarah—‘I know. At the moment I don’t like it when you are around me either.’

Paul—‘Look, why don’t I give you an allowance of, say, thirty thousand a year, and you can look after Ben and yourself. I’ll even find you a house.’

Sarah—‘This is madness, Paul. What the fuck is going on?’

Paul—‘I told you, Sarah. I just need space. Don’t hassle me. Got to go now. Going to be late.’

Paul—alien, former lover, former friend—leaves bedroom. Prada underpants, smelling of something spicy. Soap on a rope worn out.

Confused, I get up and see if Ben is awake, so he can wave goodbye to Daddy. Ben is toddling towards me, big smile. ‘Hello, Mummy, hello, Mummy. Can I watch Teletubbies?’

Sarah—‘Say goodbye to Daddy, Ben.’

I pick him up and hand him to Paul. Paul’s face warms and softens and he smiles at this little boy and cuddles him, and I think, Hey, these moments are worth fighting for.

Twelve-thirty. Half an hour early. Circle again with Kim one week later. Half a stone lighter. Looking like someone out of a concentration camp. Distraught. Corner table.

Sarah—‘He’s got someone else.’

Kim’s face screams I told you so. Her lips don’t move. I continue.

‘He came home the other night, drunk as usual, and suggested we sleep in separate rooms. Don’t mind about that one little bit. He’s become really farty—so at least the bedroom smelt okay in the morning. Anyway, he was more morose than usual. Kept asking me when I was moving out. Got so bad over the past week I actually agreed to it at one point. And that seemed to please him. He actually hugged me and looked into my eyes and said that we could still be friends. His friend. What happened to being his wife! I asked if he was okay, said I was his wife, not just his friend, and didn’t feel he was being particularly friendly to me at the moment. In fact, I told him I thought he was a prat. And that he was neglecting Ben as well. Who’s had chicken pox all this week. And he hasn’t come home until after midnight each night. Then he said because I had failed to move out, to give him space when he had asked so nicely, he thought the only way forward now was a divorce. A divorce.

‘I was stunned. I asked if he’d met someone. His exact words were—I can remember them so clearly—“There is someone else.” As though this someone else was in the room with us at that moment. Like a ghost. I froze. Then collapsed. Then screamed. Completely lost it. Couldn’t really take in what he said to me after that. Crying. Ran into the other bedroom to get away from him. Didn’t want to be in the same room as him. I’d wanted to talk to him for such a long time about so many things, but at that moment, Kim, I didn’t want to talk to him or see him or know him. He followed me. And tried to hug me. But now I think about it, it was more like restraining me.

‘I thought, Fuck you. I think I said fuck you, actually. Well, screamed fuck you. But that’s understandable in the situation. I asked him if he loved her. He laughed and said of course not. I asked where they’d met. He said in a bar. I wanted to know so much—but didn’t want to know anything, if you know what I mean. Because it made it worse.

‘Paul then said that he thought it best if we slept in the same bed that night after all. He said he was worried about me. I didn’t want to, Kim. I really didn’t want to. But I did sleep in the bed. I couldn’t sleep. He was so drunk he went straight to sleep. Farting and snoring. Thought about lighting a match and blowing him up in his own gas.

‘I couldn’t sleep. At about 1 a.m. I got up. Got in the car half-dressed and headed for Samantha’s house. Rang on her bell. She looked confused, but woke up fully when I told her what had happened. She looked shocked. Couldn’t believe it. Not Paul. Not lovely, cuddly, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth, devoted Paul. Told her devoted Paul had found a new model and wanted a divorce. She said it was probably the woman’s doing. That she’d probably given him an ultimatum.

‘I stayed for about an hour. Then drove back. I’d sobbed a lot. Hard. And it was good to be hugged by a friend. When I got back the prat was still fast asleep, and next morning he said he hadn’t realised I’d gone. I had to drop Ben off to nursery, and asked Paul if he could call in sick today at work. He said he was too upset to go in, but wanted to be by himself. He said he was confused. I remember sitting on the bottom stair with him by my side, telling me he was confused. Then watching him from the bedroom as he walked down the street towards the centre of town. Listening to his Sony Walkman.

‘He didn’t come home that night. He’d told me he was due to see her that night. That they always met on Friday nights. But I asked him not to meet her this Friday night as it would be different this time. I would know where he was, what he was doing. And that would be particularly cruel.’

Kim—‘He stayed out, didn’t he?’

Sarah—‘Yes. He stayed out. All night. And I was destroyed, Kim. And it’s been nearly a week now. And I can’t talk and I couldn’t talk. You’re the first person other than Samantha that I’ve told. Because I think, hopefully, it’s a blip. But this has been going on for nearly a week, and I’m being strong for Ben but I’m weeping inside.’

Kim leans over and hugs me. I don’t know how long she hugs me. But Duncan usually welcomes us with the menus in the first five minutes, especially as he now knows the extent of Kim’s appetite, but I think the man has a sixth sense. Either that or he’s shocked by my size.

Kim—‘So you haven’t told anyone else about this?’

Sarah—‘Samantha has been there for me, but she’s just got engaged and I don’t want to burden her too much with this nightmare. The girl’s full of hope and love at the moment. She has no time for reality.’

Sarah—‘What about your mum and his parents?’

Sarah—‘My mum’s on holiday in Australia, visiting friends. His parents don’t want to get involved. They live two minutes away and haven’t been round once. They’re scared of losing contact with their grandson, of course, so they’ve got to be nice. But they’re siding with their son—which is, of course, natural.’

Kim—‘Yes. Shortsighted, small-minded, but natural.’

Sarah—‘Do you think Paul still loves me?’

Kim—‘I don’t think he fell out of love with you suddenly. But I don’t think he’s in love with you now. No. But it isn’t a sudden thing. It’s a gradual process. But he didn’t have the courage to just leave you. He had to have someone to move on to. He probably thinks you’ll crumble and he’ll get out of this losing very little.’

Sarah—‘I am crumbling.’

Kim—‘You are now. But you just wait. You’ll be fine, Sarah. Has he been to a solicitor?’

Sarah—‘He says no, but I think he has.’

Kim—‘What makes you think that?’

Sarah—‘I opened his post.’

Kim—‘Good girl. Have you been through his pockets, too?’

Sarah—‘Of course. I found receipts. That restaurant Tuffnells—you know, the romantic one round the corner from here where you can’t see what you’re eating? He took her there. And he’s taken her to Cambridge. Think he took her there when I was away on that trip to Brazil.’

Kim—‘Keep the receipts somewhere safe. How long does he say he’s known this girl?’

Sarah—‘He says it’s only recent, but I think it started in June.’

Kim—‘Methinks so, too. Rule of thumb is always double what they say. If they say three, it will be six. They think it will hurt less. Hurt them less. He’ll feel less guilty about hurting you, that is. Anyway, think of the positives, Sarah. You can have guilt-free sex with who you like now. Form a new relationship or not, as you choose. Have your own home. And you’ll probably see more of Paul’s money than when you were married to him.’

Sarah—‘I still am married to him, Kim.’

Kim—‘He wants a divorce. He’s told you there’s someone else, as he so coyly puts it. He’s a fool for telling you, of course, but at least you know the situation now. You know why he asked you to move out. You know his motivation—that he’s a devious little bugger. And now it’s a case of What Sarah does next. It’s your call now.’

Sarah—‘So much has been going through my head. Do I stay with him? Do I agree to the divorce? I’ve written a list of his good and bad points. I wanted to weigh up the pros and cons of trying to make it work or letting go. It’s here somewhere…’

I delve into my handbag, which is a mess of old receipts—some of which are Paul’s—train tickets, credit cards and used handkerchiefs.

Sarah—‘Here it is.’

Kim reads.

Arsehole tendencies:

Picks nose and eats bogies

Toxic farting during nights

Snores very loudly

Mean with money

Mean with me

Large car syndrome, small willy

Likes me to stick my finger up his bottom

Arrogant and boorish qualities becoming more apparent

Controlling with sexual favours—i.e. gives none—to me anyway

Has lousy taste in furnishings—soft or otherwise (house looks like gentlemen’s club)

Criticises the way I drive (unsurprising, perhaps, as crashed his Lotus two years ago)

Criticises the way I talk

Criticises the fact I don’t earn enough money

Criticises the way I don’t spend enough time with him (perhaps not include this one, as not relevant anymore)

Doesn’t praise me when I do something well

Doesn’t support me in my work

Has boring friends

Always leads when dancing and has lousy timing

Don’t like his family

Fussy with food

Hypocritical

Untidy and lazy in the house

Good tendencies:

Good when on holiday—fun to be with and funny

Good dad to Ben—gives lots of cuddles—except recently when very drunk. Ben would never go without

Have never loved anyone as much as I loved him.

No, doesn’t count. These are my feelings for him.

Not his qualities

Used to be considerate lover—doesn’t count. Notanymore. Delete this one. Only now counts, not past

Would never have money worries as controls all finances

Lovely eyes Lovely hands

Good dancer when not being held by him

Good cook if cooking without dairy or wheat

Tries hard in the garden

Sarah—‘I kept wanting to write things down that were in the past. His kindness. His sense of fun and romance. His spontaneity. But they aren’t relevant any more. Haven’t been for a long time. I always felt safe with him. I knew I could always trust him. But I couldn’t write those things down. Not now. Because they aren’t true now. Good stuff in the past doesn’t rectify what is happening now, and the arsehole tendencies outweigh the good almost two to one.’

Kim—‘Does he really eat his bogies? How disgusting. Finger up the bum thing, I understand. Jamie likes that, too.’

Sarah—‘Why the fuck did this man marry me, Kim?’

Kim—‘Well, the romantic view is that he loved you. Cynical view is that he thought he could change you and you were a good catch and he knew it.’

Sarah—‘To be fair, I thought I could change him, too. Our sexual relationship was never great even before we got married. I told you about the abortion I had when we’d been going out for nine months? Well, he never really recovered from that.’

Kim—‘So perhaps it wasn’t such a clever thing to do to tell him about the abortion you had with John, was it?’

Sarah—‘Okay. I know. But it was clean slate time, and it was also a possible opt-out for me.’

Kim—‘Why do you still want to be with him?’

Sarah—‘I don’t know. As I said, perhaps it’s a combination of guilt, the fact that I’m fundamentally loyal, and that there is still love there. Or perhaps it’s fear of the unknown.’

Kim—‘Not because of Ben, then?’

Sarah—‘Ben will be happiest if his parents have a happy marriage. If it’s not happy, he will sense it. So I don’t want to stay together for his sake. Paul will always see Ben—not as much as he thinks he will, but I will never stop him from seeing his son. Unless he starts to behave towards Ben the same way he does towards me. That’s different. But this issue is to do with Paul and me.’

Kim—‘You really think you still love him, don’t you?’

Sarah—‘I think it’s love. I fell in love with his soul when we first met, and the feeling’s still there. Would be so much easier to say it’s not, but it is.’

Kim—‘You’ve forgotten that he’s selfish and opinionated and boorish.’

Sarah—‘And, of course, there’s my jealousy. The other woman syndrome. Want to wring her neck.’

Kim—‘Sounds as though he’s punishing you. Tit for tat. Bet she’s nothing like you. From what you’ve said, sounds as though he’s done this more out of anger and lust than anything. And relationships that start that way aren’t built on firm foundations.’

Sarah—‘Perhaps. But that’s not my problem. Wonder if she’s good at gardening and cooking and stuff?’

Kim—‘Who gives a fuck? Do you want to be good at those things?’

Sarah—‘Well, no.’

Kim—‘Then why worry? Let her prune his roses and mend his slippers.’

Sarah—‘Mmm, suppose so.’

Kim—‘What have you planned this week?’

Sarah—‘Well, this past week Ben’s had chicken pox, so I’ve been looking after him. Paul has been home occasionally. Of course acting strangely. It’s sort of like sleeping with the enemy.’

Kim—‘Hasn’t started to line things up in the cupboards, has he?’

Sarah—‘No, not that bad yet. But, you know—watching me when he’s here. Bit like the way Jack Nicholson got with Shelley Duvall post-axe scene in The Shining.’

Kim—‘You’ve got to get him to move out, then, Sarah. You can’t move out—nor can Ben. He’s got to move out.’

Sarah—‘He won’t.’

Kim—‘Then its going to end up like War of the Roses. Must admit when I first watched that film I thought it was overdoing it. But the more I learn about this divorce thing, the more I’m amazed most divorcing couples don’t kill each other.’

Sarah—‘Thanks for the cheery thought, Kim.’

Kim—‘I’m sorry, Sarah. But I can’t help thinking that Paul—love him though you think you do at the moment—has done you a huge favour. So has this other woman. Fuck, she’s got a man who’s a baby—a rich baby, but a baby nonetheless. With emotional baggage.

You don’t need that. You’ve got your life to lead and—fuck it, girl—you’re thirty-seven and look ten years younger. Even if this girl is years younger than you she’ll have to go some way to look as good as you. You’ve come a long way, despite little support from your husband, family or his family, and you’ve given him a wonderful son. Where did that blip occur? You obviously had sex once.’

Sarah—‘During a week in Mauritius.’

Kim—‘How the fuck did he expect to have children if he didn’t sleep with you, for Christ’s sake?’

Sarah—‘I know, I know. But he claimed I made him impotent. The abortions. Telling him about John on our honeymoon. Then finding out about Stephen and the shower. He struggled to deal with it and he couldn’t.’

Kim—‘All this is supposition, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘It has to be. The guy won’t talk to me. He tells me not to talk to him. Not to e-mail him at work. Not to text him. He hides his mobile phone, which makes me think he’s sending and receiving intimate love messages from this girl, and it’s driving me nuts.’

Kim—‘That’s jealousy. That’s pride speaking, not love.’

Sarah—‘I know, and I have to deal with it.’

Kim—‘You don’t want him, Sarah. You just wish it hadn’t happened this way.’

Sarah—‘Maybe. But at the moment I’m reeling, Kim, and I don’t know where I stand legally about leaving the house. Should I stay or go?’

Kim—‘Then find out. Go and see bloody good solicitors and listen to what they say. They strip the emotion and look at the facts, which is what the court will do. And they can be as ruthless as Paul—at this moment you can’t. I could be wrong, but I think from the sound of it Paul is on a mission, and he wants out. He’s a banker, a trader, and they’re compulsive about getting closure quickly. Just surprises me he hasn’t got the papers for a divorce signed up already.’

Sarah—‘Perhaps he wants to wear me down emotionally first. I don’t know, perhaps you’re right. Only I don’t know any good solicitors. I know—I’ll contact Jane. She’s been through all of this recently with her ex—Pierce. He works with Paul. It’s a bit incestuous, but Jane knows her business, knows Paul, and thinks straight. Perhaps I can use her solicitor.’

Kim—‘Sounds good to me. Well, my love, I’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they haven’t asked what we want to eat and I’m fucking starving. Where’s this Duncan, then? Where’s my chips?’

SEPTEMBER

Leaning on the wrong shoulder

Café Nero. Liverpool Street Station. Three p.m. Watching all the bankers go by with their secretaries, or maybe their work colleagues. Wonder if one of them will be Paul. And her.

Waiting for Jane, thirty-six, buzzy, brilliant, beautiful, and ex-wife of Pierce. Always has a mobile in her hand. Pierce told Paul she even took calls while he was going down on her. Chief accountant at Malvern & Duff, merchant bank. Not a conventional banker’s wife, either. Hence divorce a year before. She lost two stone, if I remember rightly. Pierce had to take a month’s leave with a suspected nervous breakdown. She’s met someone else. Getting married next year. Pierce was always meeting someone else, but probably won’t ever again—get married, that is.

Paul and I got Pierce’s side of the story. Never knew hers. But, knowing Pierce, hers is probably a more honest version. Perhaps will find out now. She’s agreed to meet me between meetings. I’ve got fifteen minutes. I’ve briefed her already about Paul. About the affair. About the history. And about the divorce.

I’m early again. Sit and order a black coffee, waiting until Jane arrives.

She’s on time, smiling, striding towards me, turning heads in her tight white cotton Paul Smith blouse, just—above-the-knee skirt and kitten heels. Legs up to armpits. Mobile in one hand. Purse in the other.

She hugs me, and looks me up and down a few times.

Jane—‘Hello, Sarah. See you’re feeling it, then? Can’t eat anything?’

Sarah—‘No. Bit like you were.’

Jane—‘It will pass. You’ll look back on this in two years’time and think, Hey, wish I could lose weight like that when I want to. You will put it back on; don’t worry. But I think you should look healthier and be healthier for Ben. You’ve got to look after him, and to do that well you’ve got to look after yourself well. And, more importantly, be seen to be looking after yourself well.’

Sarah—‘What do you mean—be seen to be looking after myself?’

Jane—‘If it goes to court, you will need to show you’re responsible enough to look after Ben. Fit mentally, financially and physically. Looking like someone who’s just come out of a concentration camp is not a good look. The mother usually gets custody, but I know Paul, and he sees everything as a possession. It’s not just his house and his money, but it’s also his son. So he may fight for custody at some stage.’

Sarah—‘Well, Ben is his son. But Ben is my son too.’

Jane—‘Quite. But he doesn’t see it like that, Sarah. And it’s not his house or his money. It’s your money and your house as well. Remember that. Because the court will remind him of that. The fact he suggested you leave the house makes me think he’s done his research, but you need to see a solicitor to give you all the details, Sarah. Try my solicitor. She’s good.’

Sarah—‘I don’t want to divorce him, Jane. I love him.’

Jane—‘Do you think you can salvage the marriage?’

Sarah—‘Don’t know. I’ve been strong for Ben.’

Jane—‘Well, you have to make your own decision about that, Sarah. And you’re going to hear this from a lot of people, but let me be the first to tell you. You’ve got to move on. For your sake. For Ben’s sake. And for your own sanity.

‘The only role of importance Paul has in your life now is to be a good father to Ben. He’s not been a good husband. Well, he has in some ways. Not in others. And you’re not faultless. But that’s past. You must deal with the present and future. You can do something about those two.

‘Bottom line—he’s admitted he wants out. And, again, I know Paul. He’s stubborn, and once on track he won’t sway from his course. He must provide for you as carer of Ben, and for Ben’s future. That simple. And by suggesting you leave the house it seems to me he wants to short-change you. You know what you’re dealing with. It’s understandable, but ruthless. I need a coffee. I’ll get you a chocolate brownie.’

Jane goes to order coffee and calories while I sit, stunned by the thought Paul might try to take Ben away from me. It makes me feel physically sick.

Jane returns with coffee and no cake.

Jane—‘Ran out of cakes. You would probably throw it up anyway.’

Sarah—‘Do you think he will take Ben away from me?’

Jane—‘He will think about it. But he won’t succeed unless he can prove you’re emotionally unstable and therefore unfit to care for Ben yourself. Of course, he could try to make you emotionally unstable. Or lower your confidence to such a level you feel you can’t look after Ben. Wouldn’t put that past him, Sarah.’

I think I’m going to throw up. Jane continues.

‘I’ll be frank. I like Paul. I like both of you. But it made me very angry when you told me he suggested you move out of the house with Ben. That’s underhanded. That’s mean. That’s a shitty thing to do. I don’t like that. Expect a call from Felicity Shindley-Hinde. She’s my solicitor. Dreadful name, wonderful lady. She did good for me, and may have a recommendation for you. She’s an ace divorce lawyer and you’ll need one. Because Paul’s attitude to money is the same as Pierce’s. He will ruthlessly protect every last penny of his salary. Paul considers the money in the bank to be his money.

‘Felicity managed to squeeze £300,000 out of a marriage that lasted less than a year. Something unheard of in the industry. Pierce was happy as he had over three million in the bank, so a mere £300k was peanuts to him. But he didn’t think of it that way at the time. And, from what I hear, crashed a few cars and a few parties for a few months. I didn’t get my hands on the offshore funds, non-listed American stocks and miscellaneous works of art he bought for cash. I knew about them, of course, because I managed his books while we were married. But I didn’t care. I wanted to keep on good terms with Pierce post-divorce.

‘You see, Sarah, Pierce has a lovely, gentle side to him, and if I’d gone for everything—well, he would have hated me till the day he died. Anyway, I have enough. Money doesn’t make you happy. Too much and it ultimately makes you greedy for more.’

Jane drinks her coffee in one. And stands to leave.

Jane—‘I’ll get Pierce to call you. He’s always had a soft spot for you and he may be able to reach Paul on an emotional level. He might be able to reason with Paul. It might not be too late.’

Sarah—‘Thank you. Everything will be all right, won’t it?’

Jane—‘Yes, everything will be all right. But not immediately. You will go through denial, regret, anger, sadness, joy—the lot. It takes time. Sometimes years, sometimes decades. Some people—both men and women—never get over it.’

Jane’s mobile rings.

Jane—‘Sorry, Sarah—got to take this one. It’s important. Buying a house.’

To phone…

Jane—Hi, there. Yes. Yes. No. Tell them no. Don’t care what they say. Tell them no. Tell them that’s the offer or we walk away. Tell them for every week they refuse the offer we will drop by £5k. We’ll do that for four weeks and then walk away. Tell them to fuck off, then.’

Click.

Sarah—‘You don’t want the house, then?’

Jane—‘’Course I do. But don’t want them to know that. All a game, Sarah, all a game. Bit like divorce, really. If you can’t convince the opposition of your motives, confuse them. Got to go now, Sarah. Text Pierce. That’s the best way to reach him these days. And expect a call from Felicity. She’s good.’

Interesting character, Pierce. Equity salesman in the city. Earning, according to Paul, ‘a fucking fortune’. I met him through Paul. When he was still married to Jane. Paul invited them both for Sunday lunch. They came one Sunday in August. We ate outside. One of those rare hot summer days.

Paul cooked trout on the barbecue. I’d done the stuffed peppers dish from Delia Smith’s book that looks wonderful and is impossible to mess up. Paul had retrieved his guitar from the guest bedroom and had started to play his edgy rendition of ‘Stairway to Heaven.’

Pierce said he played a bit, and then proceeded to play Led Zeppelin. John Williams. Elton John. Brilliantly. Then he started to sing. Beautifully. He was amazingly multitalented. There was nothing that Pierce could not do with ease. With grace. Style. Flair. Tall, dark, handsome, brooding, he looked at me when I first met him at our front door as though he wanted to devour me. Paul reassured me he looked at all women that way. Disconcerting for Jane, I thought at the time.

But if anyone could handle Pierce it was Jane. She was amazing in her own right. She was incredibly talented, well-travelled, English degree at Oxford, and spoke five languages fluently—but unfortunately not even she could understand Pierce sometimes. Jane had boundless energy and enthusiasm for life, and she was still only thirty-four when I met her.

Only problem was, Jane was wife number three. And Pierce was then just thirty-six. Paul said Pierce had a dark side. Which I’d never seen. Pierce had seen counsellors, psychotherapists, spiritual healers, and none had worked. He talked in consultant-speak when he talked about relationships. He knew all the theory, but somehow couldn’t put it into practice.

He also had a reputation in the Square Mile for being rather sexually kinky and masochistic. Exploring the little shops in Soho for that must-have latest dildo or nipple clamp. Hey, whatever turns him on, I thought. He’s not harming anyone—except himself, of course. I ignored all this. It was all irrelevant. Jane said he would be a good contact, so I made contact. And anyway, he could keep me informed on how Paul was in the office, or if he had turned up in the office at all.

I sent a text message.

Message sent: Hi Pierce. It’s Sarah, Paul’s wife. Jane suggested Ishould call you. Can you talk?

Message received:

Yep.

Message sent:

Can you call me?

Phone rings.

‘Hi, Sarah, it’s Pierce.’

Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Thanks for calling. Jane suggested I contact you. Has Jane told you?’

Pierce—‘Yes. Not all of it, just the gist. I couldn’t believe it. Paul having an affair. Thought he would be the last person to ever have an affair. He dotes on you and Ben.’

Sarah—‘Well, I’ve had an affair, and we haven’t been happily married for some time. But I love him and don’t want to end the marriage. But he seems determined, and now—well, now he’s suggested Ben and I move out of the house.’

Pierce—‘Sarah, Paul is my friend, but I’m your friend, too. My advice is not to do that. Go and see a solicitor.’

Sarah—‘Yes, Jane has already said I should do that. And I will. But I want to save the marriage.’

Pierce—‘Moving out won’t save the marriage. I think this has gone too far. Can I ask, why did you have the affair?’

Sarah—‘It’s been a sexless marriage. And we didn’t have sex for most of the time we were going out.’

Pierce—‘It’s a personal question, but why?’

Sarah—‘Because I had an abortion early in our relationship, and Paul couldn’t cope with that. Then he couldn’t cope with an affair I had before we got married, and then—well, he couldn’t cope with an affair I had while we were married, and then he just couldn’t cope.’

Pierce—‘Sounds as though you both couldn’t cope.

But if you didn’t have sex, how come you had Ben?’

Sarah—‘A one-off. A wonderful one-off on holiday.’

Pierce—‘How did he find out about the affair? Did you tell him?’

Sarah—‘Told him on our honeymoon.’

Pierce—‘Not the best way to start a marriage.’

Sarah—‘I know. I know. I know. And then I had an-other affair with a journalist, two years ago, when I was away travelling.’

Pierce—‘And you told him about that, too?’

Sarah—‘No, he found that one out. Reading my e-mail.’

Pierce—‘So that broke him?’

Sarah—‘Yes, I suppose it did.’

Pierce—‘Very sad, then, isn’t it? For Ben?’

Sarah—‘Yes. But I’ve said sorry, and Paul said at the time he forgave me, and that was years back and now this. Now a new woman and he wants out.’

Pierce—‘Well, I understand why he wants out. But I also understand why you had the affairs. No one can live in a completely sexless relationship. Not as far as I’m concerned. I couldn’t. But you need to protect yourself, Sarah. And Ben. Get a solicitor and listen to what she says. Paul’s a nice guy, but he shouldn’t have suggested you leave the house. Especially not with Ben. He’s got to be fair. I gave Jane £300,000 as part of the settlement, and we were married for only a year. Plus, we don’t have children. You have Ben, and he needs to be looked after, and then there is your future. You won’t be able to work as much when he’s at school. Won’t be able to travel as much. So you’ll have to change or give up your career. There’s lots to think about.’

Sarah—‘I know. I know. I wake up in cold sweats a lot these days. And my feelings for Paul change by the minute. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. It’s freaky. But Jane tells me this is natural, and will get better as time goes on.’

Pierce—‘Yes, it will. Jane told me she used to play one particular song at full blast in her car when we were breaking up. You know the one about hating someone so much? It worked for her. You’ll get your own theme tune.’

Sarah—‘Yeah, I have loads of songs. But the ones I’m playing at the moment are mostly by David Gray and Dido.’

Pierce—‘Real wrist-slitters, then. Try to listen to something more upbeat.’

Sarah—‘Such as?’

Pierce—‘ “I Will Survive”—Gloria Gaynor. “Stronger”—Sugababes. “My Way”—Frank Sinatra. “I’m Not in Love”—10CC. That sort of thing. Nothing about heartache. Or one-night stands.’

Sarah—‘Thanks.’

Pierce—‘Have you given yourself a break recently?’

Sarah—‘No—been looking after Ben. He’s not been well. And there’s plenty of work, which is good. Because it’s something else to focus on.’

Pierce—‘Jane says you’re thin and need fattening up.’

Sarah—‘So I’m told.’

Pierce—‘Fancy dinner? Have you been taken to dinner lately?’

Sarah—‘Paul took Ben and me to Pizza Express two weeks ago.’

Pierce—‘And you haven’t been out since then?’

Sarah—‘No. I’ve been looking after Ben. I think right now he needs to see one of his parents, if not both. And I need friends right now.’

Pierce—‘I could do this Friday night. Can you get a babysitter?’

Sarah—‘Yes. Tina can do it.’

Pierce—‘The Waterhole Restaurant, round your way. Is that okay?’

Sarah—‘Fine. Upstairs is posh; downstairs bistro.’

Pierce—‘Think you deserve posh. Book upstairs. Say about seven?’

Sarah—‘Fine—and thank you, Pierce. I’m not a bad person. I’ve just made bad decisions.’

Pierce—‘We all have. It’s part of life. But you can’t change the way someone feels, and Paul feels very angry at the moment. You’ve just got to let him chill. He may see reason eventually. But it will take some time.’

Sarah—‘I can’t change the way I feel either, Pierce. And I still love him.’

Pierce—‘Perhaps. Perhaps you only want what you haven’t got. You sound as though you need a hug.’

Sarah—‘I do.’

Pierce—‘See you Friday, then.’

Sarah—‘Okay. Bye.’

Click.

Paul isn’t coming home before midnight each weekday. And he never returns home on a Friday, usually arriving about three in the afternoon on Saturday to take Ben to the park for an hour or two. I don’t know if he’s with the girl or with the boys. I’m finding more receipts in his pockets. He is completely useless at hiding his trail. But perhaps he wants me to find them. Anyway, I am finding them. Lots of restaurant receipts. An eclectic mix. Thai, Indian, French, a few Italian, lots of sushi bars and Tuffnells once a week. Must be their favourite. I’m trying to work out if she’s a vegetarian. Think so. She likes chardonnay. Feel a bit like Miss Marple. Don’t think she’s a drinker. Well, not when she’s with him any-way. No champagne on the list ever, so perhaps she’s not that special. Or perhaps he pays with cash. The heartbreaking receipts are the hotels. When I see a receipt saying how many guests to a room.

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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