Y - The Continuing Saga of Mr and Mrs Montague

"Sometimes you know," said Romeo, reflectively scratching his armpit
while reaching for the bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of
him, "I wonder whether it was such a good thing that she woke up when
she did and everyone came in to stop us topping ourselves."

"Oh come on," said Ben, Romeo's confidante when doubts such as these
arose, occurrences which were drastically increasing in frequency. "You
can't really mean that."

"Why not? You have to admit it's a bit of a romantic notion, us killing
ourselves because we thought the other was dead and couldn't live
without one another."

"Romantic? Bloody stupid more like. There you were, in the prime of
your life, ready to kill yourself for some bint you'd only known for a
week. I mean, did you never consider the idea that there are plenty
more fish in the sea?"

"That's my wife you're calling a bint you know," said Romeo, visibly
affronted.

Ben waved his look away. "You couldn't exactly call her your wife then
- you hardly knew her. For God's sake, you'd only slept with her
once."

"Ah that wonderful, wonderful night," said Romeo, stretching his legs
out to rest on the table and his eyes threatening to glaze over with
the memory.

Ben knew that look and was determined to put a stop to it right away.
He nearly became the daft, love-struck fool he was twenty-five years
ago when that look came over his face.

"Regardless of how flipping wonderful it was, it was still only one
night - have you any idea how many different women you could have had
in all the time you two have been together? I mean what about when you
were in Mantua, are you seriously telling me you never considered
shacking up with someone else while you were there?"

"I didn't like Mantua, it was far too hot," said Romeo, shaking his
head. "Besides, I couldn't have done that to her - sleep with someone
else behind her back. I don't care how much she gets up my arse every
now and then, I could never betray her."

"I'm not saying you should have done, I'm just saying you could have,
that's all."

"There's no point continuing with this train of thought, I know I
couldn't, and never would have, done that to her."

"And here you were saying how you've got no romance left in you," Ben
smirked.

"It's not all gone thank-you very much. I do still try to keep the
romance alive, but it's just not as easy finding the right words these
days."

"All writers get that if their first work is received as well as yours
was. You just have to let yourself go again and dig deep like you did
when you started."

"I understand that, but even the old ideas don't seem to ring true
anymore."

"There's only so many times you can use that 'glove upon your hand'
line - it may have worked like a charm when we were lads, but that
stuff's older than time. Even the best poetic guff has a shelf life,
and it's been a fair few years now. You're not a kid anymore - you've
got kids of your own for God's sake."

"Don't I know it. That's not the point though, it just feels like
something died when we didn't."

"Oh stop being so melodramatic," said Ben, taking a drink from the
bottle in his hand.

"It's true though - it's tragic, but it's true. I can't seem to find
all the great lines I used to when I look at her now. I mean, I still
love her and everything, it just feels like something is
missing."

"Like spark, you mean."

"Spark! Exactly - that's what it is. I know I may be a bit shabbier
than when I was a lad," he said, regretfully fingering a roll of flesh
above his belt line, "but at least I still try on other fronts."

Both men looked up suddenly as the sound of crashing pots and plates
came from the kitchen, followed by some quite colourful cursing from
Juliet.

"See what I mean? She never used to use words like that," Romeo
sighed.

"Well, it's probably a while since you had her parents round for dinner
- she's bound to be a bit nervous."

"Don't remind me about tonight, if it's not bad enough having to put up
with her moods - don't get me started on her father."

"These things and more have to be endured by the wedded man you know -
all of them, not just you. Another beer?" said Ben, reaching for the
box of bottles behind him and pulling two more out.

"Cheers," said Romeo. "I don't think most families have our sort of
history though. Besides her father has become more and more obnoxious
as he's gotten older."

Romeo's face dropped as Juliet suddenly entered the living room, her
face flushed from the heat of the oven and her hair beginning to curl
at the edges due to the perspiration gathered on her forehead. She shot
a quick look at her husband before swiping his feet off the coffee
table.

"Can I do anything to help dearest one?" said Romeo.

"Why don't you just sit on your arse like always?" she returned,
grabbing at the tea tray she had come into the room to find before
turning sharply and storming back into the kitchen.

"She certainly has a way with words, your missus," said Ben.

"She's tetchy because she's expecting again," said Romeo, twisting the
cap off his new bottle.

"What am I going to do Ben? I can't go on like this, it's driving me
crazy. I can't get the vision of the way we used to be when we were
younger, before moving here, and the kids, and everything else that's
happened between then and now."

"Well, Burnley's a lot different from Verona. I mean, you knew she
wasn't exactly overjoyed when you decided to up sticks like
that."

"I couldn't stay there, not after everything that had happened. I just
wanted a fresh start, that's all. I know her friends and all that are
back in Italy, and she doesn't have anyone over here like I have you,
but her parents are rich enough to come and visit whenever they want,
so I don't understand the problem."

"You just need to get writing again, everything will get better once
that happens. How's the new stuff coming along?"

"Not too good. And that's exactly what I'm talking about. All she can
do all day is complain about how we have to scrounge off her parents
and the social and why can't I get a proper job and provide for her
like a proper husband - it's hardly conducive to producing the romantic
poetry I used to."

"Why don't you change your tack a bit then? Gritty urban stuff's all
the rage these days. You could get a job in the meantime, and maybe
spending some time away from the house and around other people will
help you regain what's missing."

"I couldn't get a job - I'm not qualified to do anything."

"You were damn nifty with a rapier when you were younger, that's for
sure."

"Well, aside from attempting to become a professional fencer, where is
that going to get me?"

"Just a suggestion."

"No, she was once my muse, my passion, and everything from her poured
through me and onto the page. It was effortless. I used to be a bit
embarrassed by all the awards my first collection won, all the parties
with literary big-wigs extolling the virtues of my work, as it wasn't
hard for me, the words just used to come. Not anymore. I try to think
back into the past, maybe dredge up some of the old emotions, that
all-consuming flame of passion, but it's no use, I just end up feeling
depressed."

"Romeo," came a cry from the kitchen. "Romeo! Where the bloody hell are
you?"

Ben looked at Romeo, who visibly grimaced, and realised his presence
was no longer such a good idea.

"I'd better be off then," he said. "I'll let myself out. Good luck for
tonight"

"Romeo, come in here, I need you!"

"See you later Ben," Romeo said, walking into the kitchen and hoping he
was able to hide his pained expression when he entered.

"What is it, my dear?"

"I need you to get those pans down for me," said Juliet, her heavy
stomach preventing her from reaching a cupboard above the cooker. Romeo
stretched out his arm and lifted the pans down, placing them on the
unlit hobs for her. He went to kiss her, but she refused him her
cheek.

"You can stop that nonsense as well," she said. "You smell like a
brewery."

"I've only had a few ales," Romeo protested.

"I don't care how many you've had, you'll ruffle my dress," she said
and moved away from him towards the sink where some chopped vegetables
lay.

"Why don't you go and have a shave or something, you could at least
make some sort of effort for when my parents arrive."

Romeo shuffled out of the kitchen and went upstairs to the bedroom. He
sat on the end of the bed and looked out of the window to his left,
watching as the sky was filled with the darkening colours of dusk.
Outside he could hear an owl hooting, and it reminded him of a time,
many years back, the morning after that glorious night when he had
wanted to stay with her and tried to convince himself that it was the
nightingale he could hear, and not the lark.

Now it was an owl that brought his attention to the world outside their
bedroom, and he moved over to the window to try and see whereabouts it
was sitting in the tree by the front of the house. He remembered
climbing that tree when they had moved here originally, when Juliet had
laughed and smiled her perfect smile while he had clambered up to her
as he had done back in Verona all that time ago.

He was suddenly struck by a lightning bolt of emotion and nostalgia
that almost made him take a step backwards. He realised that his
passion had not died out, but had merely become muted, and the sound of
the owl made him look back into himself, as the feeling of being
transported back twenty-five years ago, to his crazy, abandoned,
hedonistic youth when he had loved so strongly once more welled up
inside him.

He knew then that he could recall those emotions, have them inside him
once again, become the star-crossed lover of old and reignite the
desire for his wife that had been reduced to a faint simmering over the
years. He wanted to go back to that glorious first night, look at his
wife with youthful, adoring eyes again, and he knew that all he had to
do now was arouse her love for him, as he had once done back in
Verona.

He marvelled at the sounds the owl made outside, the carefree attitude
with which it called out in the dark to an unseen lover, not with
regret, but optimism. I need to embrace my love, my life, once again,
he thought. Be once more like the beautiful owl, grasp those desires
that once enflamed my youth - return to the basics, to whit: to
woo.