big things 2

The first thing I did was lock the door. It had been easy enough to make sure he gave me his key. I kept it light – said how I would be able to replace my youngest son’s lost one with it. Then I felt a little safer.

I still couldn’t relax. The car stayed in the driveway for what seemed like hours. It was probably only twenty minutes or so. For some reason he wanted his friend to take a photo of him standing outside the house. Weird. Is he going to have it framed? What will he say when he shows it to people? “Here’s what I escaped from”? “My million dollar house”?

Finally I watched, hidden from view, as they drove away. Even then I waited – holding my breath in case they turned around and came back again – something forgotten – an item – a last change of mind to break the barely held amicability – and god that was strained to its fullest extent those last few days.

I still couldn’t believe it was truly over – not for about an hour. I felt safer. The door was locked, but I continued to strain my ears for the sound of tyres on the gravel outside. As I waited, I checked my emails and there was T – four am his time – that man never sleeps – desperately trying to meet a deadline for something he was writing, but sending me “Let it Bleed” which was more or less the perfect thing to listen to during that anxious wait.

It had been the longest morning of my life. The boxes and cases had been packed for hours and disposed of – some to be shipped, some waiting outside. The chaos of bubble wrap and discarded rubbish remained where he left it, strewn around the house.

There were at least two hours to fill until the car arrived. Then a phone call – a reprieve! He would be fetched half an hour early. Something positive to hang on to – thirty minutes less to get through.

We kept it light. He talked about meditation – the retreat he was looking forward to, and I tried to reply appropriately, but in my head I was repeating over and over, please go please go, and then finally we heard the car. One last hug, a kiss on the cheek. Not hypocritical – a mixture of real affection for the nice person I once knew, and relief that the horrible week was reaching its end.

The tension inside me slowly uncoiled. I stopped listening for the sound of the returning car. I walked round the house, taking in the empty rooms one by one. What a mess everywhere. I was exhausted, but restless. I filled bag after bag with rubbish, piling it all in the hallway. Then I began on the stuff he’d left that I didn’t want – the horrible standard lamp, the pointless wooden organisers in the study. I started dragging it out to the skip.

I began to think of all the things I would no longer have to do – no more walking on eggshells, no more wondering what would spark off the next irrational rage. No more feeling trapped. He was often away for long periods, but the temporary breathing spaces I gained were always tempered by the knowledge that they would eventually be over. Each return became more difficult. It’s no way to live – counting down days until the next absence.

That rest of that day was a kind of limbo –a bridge between the horrible tension, and the hard work that would begin the next day. I gave myself a holiday from worrying about all the legal and financial questions – all the stuff put in motion but not yet fixed.

When I was a child, and found myself alone in the house, I used to dance around the dining room table, singing rude words – just because I could. I felt something similar that afternoon. I began to enjoy myself, and the things that went flying into the skip became more wasteful – they could easily have been freecycled. The pillows, the bedding – all perfectly good after a wash – fuck it! The bedside light, the toiletries, the laundry basket. I skimmed its round lid like you would a flat pebble into the sea.

Each time I came back in I was happier. I gave my dog a huge hug and planted a big kiss on her head. She looked a little taken aback and raised an eyebrow, watching me as I pulled another bin bag off the reel and swept all the tins of green tea off the shelf.