A Permanent Affair

He bolted through the doorway seconds behind his frenzied cat. The
two insipid watercolours that hung indifferently on the hall wall shook
with a renewed fervour when he slammed the door behind him.
Donned in a 'forever yours' nightshirt, I sat halfway down on the
stairs and tilted my chin towards the slow swing of the lampshade. No
lurking shadows this time; indeed, no ray of hope. Amidst the eerie
grey of the stair well; elbows perched on knees; fists pinned under
cheekbones, I gawped down at the street door pissed off by his dramatic
exit. Part of me wanted to wail. The other, cheer. I didn't do
either.
Forty or sixty watt bulb, what did I know? What did I care? Surely any
light is better than none. Why did he have to hurl the damn thing? I
sighed and mooched into the kitchen. From the cupboard under the sink,
I grabbed a dustpan, brushing each slither of broken glass from the
tiled floor.
'Why does he always play 'the victim' when my copy deadline looms?'
I'd screamed out. A taunting voice bounced around inside my head.
'To pick a fight, Kate; how else can he get at you - or run to
whatever - wherever?' With outstretched hand, I dragged sagging eyelids
over jaded blue eyes; my feeble attempt to erase this inner torment. I
wandered haplessly onto the balcony.
'Stop it, please.' I spat under breath.
Leaning against the full-length window, I gawped at the waxy moon ray,
shedding its steely glow onto the estuary's still waters.
'Bet, he's in the pub,' my inner voice rang true. 'Wearing a stupid
grin and slumped up at the bar.'
'Shut up,' I cried sarcastically and headed into the kitchen. I
snatched the pill bottle from the worktop and downed two painkillers
with several gulps of bottled spring water. With the back of my hand, I
smeared runaway drops across tight lips.
On the farthest side of the field between the estuary and our flat,
there's a track - lover's lane. Late at night, beams from car
headlights intrude and sweep a glow of civility onto the lounge wall.
Tonight wasn't any different. A joyous end for those parked up. The
grating voice inside my head mocked.
'What do you know about joy?' I mustered a cynical smile and bit hard
on my bottom lip.
I dread the weekends; hardly started and already he's in the pub. From
the balcony, I barely see the rooftops of three-parked cars and envy
those inside.
The cat flap noisily swings open. Her sixth sense tells her the coast
is clear. Though she's his, I feed her.
'Leave - take the bloody cat, why don't you?'
It won't give it up, the voice. Got to keep on niggling.
Soon enough one of us will break. Floss would miss him. He'd miss her.
No I don't do spiteful. She pins back an ear; heard it all before. Her
fluffy white tail clings to the curve of my bare calf. I saunter into
the kitchen. She pounces ahead and sits by her cupboard. I yank the
pull ring from a can and scoop half the contents into her bowl. She
climbs tall and nudges her head under my hand.
The sceptical inner voice harps on.
'Go on then - walk out. What are you waiting for?'
Floss looks sideways from her bowl as I sprinkle a handful of treats
over tuna chunks. I fill the kettle and spoon coffee into a mug then
sink into the sofa, gawping at the speckled muddy night opposite. I've
never drawn the drapes - no need - stifles the view. With utter grace,
Floss leaps up, purrs and nestles in the crook of my curled legs. I
raise a brow and crane my neck over the steaming rim of the mug,
peering into the distance. Then there were two - cars, that is. It's
way past midnight; good luck to them.
My nagging doubts turned yet another pertinent corner.
'Why are you still here?'
I'm thinking. If he so chooses, he can go. I won't stop him, no
point.
'He won't though will he? Not while the dutiful wife is busy washing
and ironing at home. Where's your self respect, eh?'
It's true he might not budge. I play my part, for richer for poorer
scenario. He'll stumble in; crash diagonally across the bed and snore
heavily until the morning. It's his weekend ritual. It's my weekend
nightmare.
Then there was one - car rooftop dusted in frost, luminous from the
moon's reflection of a surreal night sky. I drain coffee dregs and
shudder as the flow ripples cold down my throat. Perhaps they've fallen
asleep wrapped in each other's arms, how sweet. Maybe they're still at
it, how brave. It's parky out there.
'Who knows? Who cares?'
Surprisingly, I do. I've yearned for the richness of a deep love. A
pat of affection wouldn't have gone amiss, either. The glimmer of hope,
I'd read and even wrote about has blatantly ignored all heartfelt
pleas.
'The lady stirs, oh my.'
It's half past one. He's normally home. Dear God. What if, in his
drunken stupor, he's fallen under the wheels of a bus? I'd have heard,
I'm sure.
'Mugged by yobs, or lying on a marble slab somewhere with a John Doe
tag, dangling from his toe.'
Stop it. I'd cried loudly; frantically interrupting my tormenting ego
and in moments had cupped quivering lips.
'Worried? You do surprise me.'
He's the father of my children for pity sake. The man I endured thirty
odd years with.
'The same guy who spends every weekend in a bar - or so he
says.'
Where the hell is he?
'Quit the charade. You know he'll stagger in, slobber 'goodnight' and
stumble a crazy path into the bedroom. In the morning, he'll blink open
his eyes and pretend everything's hunky dory. Until the next bash, that
is.'
My head spun a severe throb. I shivered as the March winds blew; the
temperature plummeted to an all time low.
I poured a large brandy and grimaced as each sip mercilessly singed
down into a turbulent tummy. Snatched from the hook on the back of the
bedroom door, I sunk into his dressing gown, savouring fresh traces of
Paco Raban aftershave.
The lone lofty figure skulked around the barely visible car while his
longhaired lady friend stomped halfway up the lane. Lovers tiff, eh?
Moments later a tow truck rumbled towards them. Frozen plugs, I
shouldn't wonder. Perhaps the car wheels had wedged firmly in iced
furrows, who knows? On the sofa I curled, tucking a plump pillow
between my head and the scrolled arm. Into the inky space that quietly
crushed me, I stared, mulling over the hunch I'd had, and that which
gnawed offensively in the depths of my soul.
I'd hazard a guess that the car parked down the lane was his. Isn't
intuition sometimes - one bitch? Unaware the door was ajar; he fell
into the hall, reeling off lies. Etched in his neck, the mark of his
illicit love - for pity sake. He stood hunched, his shoes and turn-ups
solidified in mud and simply blurted out his long-standing
affair.
He lowered clouded; his grasp was firm on my wrists as I battled to
punch holes into thin air. Not because I'd cared - oh no. He'd
humiliated me.
Barely looked my way. Begged for approval, he did; said he loved her
like no other. Said we were worlds apart. Said if I really loved him,
I'd let him go. So I did.


Alone, I stepped out onto the balcony and embraced the
awakening day. Floss wove a purring figure of eight around my ankles.
My inner voice hurled sarcastic allegations into my once troubled
mind.
'You knew all along, didn't you? Long titian-red scribbles of hair
that had lain intimately inside his crumpled shirt. His perfumed
sweater, 'Allure', wasn't it? The cuffs you repeatedly wiped under your
button nose to determine which of the many Chanel fragrances it was.
The smudge of cinnamon-red lip-gloss aptly pressed on the edge of his
ice blue cotton collar. All the signs were there. Why didn't you
confront him sooner? Silly question really; we both know why, don't we
Kate?'
I shrugged, dismissing the complete truth. I didn't want to go there,
not tonight - too tired. It was easier to deal with my gross
exaggeration of his drinking, his adultery - not my liaisons. It
mattered not, anyway. He had gone and yes, I was finally free.
'Cat got your tongue?'
Maybe, I yawned. None of your business, I quipped. Flitting from room
to room, I grabbed at his personal things and stashed them into a
storage box.
'Out of sight, out of mind, eh?'
Ignoring the rise and challenge of inner guilt, I dashed into the
bedroom and flung open his closet door, spitting out feathers in
justifiable retort. What is your problem? Not happy for me; too much to
ask, I suspect?
On tiptoes, I stretched and pulled down from the top shelf his
luggage. The overnight bag, he'd grabbed and stuffed full before
leaving for the last time. Into the case, I folded the rest of his
clothes. I tore from plastic picture hooks, the two dull prints that
pained my eyes, wounding my very soul and tossed them cruelly onto
'his' pile. Waltzing into the bathroom, I wiped the glass shelf with
one arm, removing all trace of the confessor.
Floss weaved a trail around his things and tentatively edged into the
empty robe. Spread out on the shoe shelf, she eyed me intently, meowing
apparent approval for my impromptu spree.
In the junk cupboard, I rummaged for another box into which I chucked
his books, CD's and documents. I had no wish to ponder through any of
it. By seven when the iced balcony glistened shyly, the ambience in the
flat was wholly mine. It was how I'd imagined. What I'd dreamed for,
what I'd secretly bargained on.


Refreshed from a hot shower and dressed in denim jeans and
sky blue sweater, I meandered into the kitchen and filled the kettle.
At the sink, I gazed idly through the window at the east sailing ferry,
scoring through waves on the crisp-blue estuary; slowly pushing ahead
into the open arms of the seas. On the headland, sleepy shafts of
sunlight washed over the ancient ruins of the thirteenth century castle
that coyly tilted on lush sloping downs. I mused at the gracefulness of
the age-old defenders' sinking defeat. Moaning in selfish delight, I
poured 'off the boil' water over granules in the mug and dashed to my
desk in the lounge.
'Inspired are we?'
Enchanted, I'd say; go toy with the grey matter. Dig deep for the
right words but do me a favour and skip the tiresome lecture. I'd
mumbled as I logged on to my notebook.
'Laptop, one Christmas gift you never expected, eh?'
Another guilt trip, I'm sure. He never could appreciate my desire to
write. Said I neglected him. Said I was unsociable - what? Yelled one
time, he wished he'd never bought the damned thing. Blamed it, he did
for pushing him further away - poppycock. Like he needed an
excuse.
Floss jumped up and onto the printer, where she lay coiled in her
favourite place. He'd scowled at her in the past for getting too cosy;
too close. I guess that made him jealous. First time ever.
Screamed at him, I was sorry that I didn't much like alcohol or the
watering holes he frequented. He shook his head; widened his almond
shaped eyes in unabated shock-horror and crooked his top lip. How sad
is that? He knew I'd rather go for a bowl of pasta and carbonara sauce
washed down with the odd glass of a smooth Barola red - hey, what the
heck. He always won the toss - so I buried my head in my passion.
A permanent affair with words, I'm guilty of - apart from Jack, that
is. He's my editor and without him and his tender touch, I'd have gone
quite mad. Spinach and Roquefort crammed Cannelloni is Jack's weakness.
After that, he's anyone's?
I turn into the light and hug a new dawn. My future beckons me to come
hither and indulge in every dream. No looking back; one-way street -
forward march.
The shrill of the phone pierced my ears. I tapped a few more letters
on to the word document; saved the file and reached across the desk to
yank the handset from its rest.
'Has he left for work, yet?' Jack asked, baiting me with silky low
tones that made my heart skip several beats and my mind wander most
unashamedly back into his king sized bed.



The End