It was good being away from the flat. Though we simply ignored our problems for two days rather than addressing them, at least we’re talking again. My rage has diminished but now I just feel sad. I don’t even feel like celebrating my birthday tomorrow.
Sunday September 24th
7.30 a.m. ‘I cannot believe I’m thirty-nine. This is the last year of my thirties! I feel like I should do something big to commemorate this. Like skydive. Or get something pierced. Or murder.’
I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there watching Oliver get dressed and listening to the rain battering off the window pane. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.
‘Happy Birthday! Even though you just articulated the need to murder.’
I smirked. ‘A kiss on the head better not be my gift. Give me presents and I’ll let you live. Big, expensive ones.’
‘Tonight,’ he promised, stepping into his work trousers. ‘All will be revealed tonight.’
I reluctantly got out of bed and went through to the kitchen to make Molly’s breakfast. Thirty-fucking-nine. How did this happen?
When I got to the kitchen, sitting on the worktop was an unopened box of pastries, some orange juice, a single pink rose in a small glass vase and a handmade card from Molly propped up against it. She’d made me breakfast!
‘MUM, DON’T GO IN THE KITCHEN!’ she yelled from the bathroom. ‘OK??’
I quickly left the scene and tiptoed into the living room. ‘I’m watching Peppa Pig in the living room,’ I replied. ‘I’m nowhere near the kitchen. Daddy Pig’s shirt turned pink, it’s hilarious. Come and watch with me.’
I could hear her scrambling to flush the toilet and I yelled at her to wash her hands. Mainly because it’s my duty as a mother but also because she’d be touching my damn pastries soon. I heard her and Oliver whispering as they clattered about in the kitchen and then my breakfast was brought to me by Molly on a Disney tray with Oliver following bearing coffee. It was perfect. I had the day off work, the house to myself and birthday giftage to look forward to later. GO ME!
*
12 p.m. I had a really underwhelming birthday wank. It was one of those ones where I only did it out of boredom and because I was lying down anyway, so why not? I wonder if I’ll get birthday sex later. Even old people deserve birthday sex.
*
1.30 p.m. Lucy called me and played ‘Birthday Chick’ down the phone to me, ignoring Frank’s requests for her to turn that ‘noise’ down at once.
‘What you got planned then?’ she asked. I could tell she was dancing along.
‘Just a quiet one with my darling family,’ I replied. ‘This will be my last birthday. I refuse to get any older now.’
‘I couldn’t decide what to get you, so I’ve stuck a Debenhams gift card in your desk and you can get it on Thursday.’
‘Do you think I should get fillers in my smile lines? They don’t seem to be fucking off when I stop smiling.’
‘No. Not until you’re fifty. Then looking as weird as possible should be your only goal.’
*
3 p.m. Picked Molly up from school where she threw her arms around me like I’d just returned from Iraq. I know that by Primary Four she’ll be avoiding any public affection so I’m making the most of this while it lasts. She also made a birthday crown because I am the damn birthday queen!
*
6 p.m. Oliver made a beautiful carbonara for dinner and even bought those little garlic dough ball things I eat too many of when given the chance. Molly gave me some new perfume and Oliver got me a new iPod to replace my broken one (hints dropped and received) and Dead by Daylight on the PS4 because I am a child. Apparently I have another gift that I’ll get when Molly is in bed. It had better be battery operated.
*
9:46 p.m. ‘She just fell asleep, bless her. I had to read her—’
‘THAT’S REALLY INTERESTING – PRESENTS!’
He stopped and smirked. ‘That crown has gone to your head. Molly has created a monster. OK, fine – come with me.’
I jumped up from the couch and followed him through to our bedroom where he made me sit on the bed and close my eyes before he placed something into my hands. It was the sex jar with a piece of paper inside.
Confused, I paused for a moment. ‘Sex isn’t just for birthdays, Oliver. It’s for life.’
‘Just read it.’
I unscrewed the lid and pulled out the note. ‘If this asks me to lick your—’
MARRY ME
I swear my heart dropped four feet into my shoes. I read the note again.
MARRY ME
I looked at Oliver, who had produced a ring while I was busy having a stroke.
‘I love you,’ he said earnestly. ‘I love us. Let’s fucking do this.’
In hindsight, my reaction probably wasn’t what he expected, but in my defence, NONE OF THIS IS WHAT I FUCKING EXPECTED.
‘Why?!’
He hesitated for a second, still clutching the ring. I couldn’t even look at it. It made it too real. ‘Why? Because of those reasons I just said.’
‘But we’re not that couple. We’ve never been into marriage! I mean, we basically are married but without the piece of paper.’
‘Well, yes but—’
‘YOU KISSED SOMEONE ELSE!’
And there it was. My inability to move the fuck on from this.
He nodded and put the ring back in his pocket.
‘I’m trying to fix this. I really am,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought we were making progress. I thought this might help . . .’
‘Is that what this is really about?’ I replied. ‘An attempt to move past what happened? A solution to fix my hurt feelings?’
He sighed. ‘It was me asking you to be my wife. To show you that this is it for me. That I don’t want anyone else and I never will.’
‘Not kissing anyone else is a better alternative.’
‘I give up. I fucking give up.’
We both sat in a crushing silence for what felt like forever. I stood up to leave but he grabbed my hand.
‘Phoebe. Are we in trouble here?’
Hot tears started to pool in my eyes as he waited for my response. ‘Honestly?’ I replied. ‘I don’t know.’
Wednesday September 27th
I called Pam to see if she could fit me in this morning. Thankfully she was free at 11 a.m. She seemed surprised to see me sitting alone when she opened the door.
‘Is Oliver on his way?’
‘Nope,’ I replied, taking a seat, ‘just me today.’
She paused. ‘I thought we discussed that I don’t tend to see clients involved in couple’s work individually . . .’
‘I know, but . . . well, I’m here now and I need to talk. Please.’
She nodded hesitantly and sat across from me while I initially bawled my eyes out. I felt so stressed I could have vomited on her lovely purple couch but it passed.
I explained to her about Oliver’s lie regarding his kissy bastard colleague, about how I’d tried to fuck the frustration out, about how one minute I’d be OK and the next wallowing in self-pity and lastly, about how he’d proposed for all the wrong reasons.
‘What makes you think his reasons for proposing were wrong?’ she asked, handing me yet another tissue.
‘I feel like he was just trying to distract from what happened. I honestly think if he’d never made the mistake in the first place, he wouldn’t feel so guilty he’d have to propose!’
‘Ah, so you think he did it out of guilt or fear, instead of love?’
‘Yes. Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. I just know it was never something we planned. We’d never even spoken about it properly.’
She wrote something in her book before closing it over. ‘It’s interesting how you’ve reacted to this,’ she began. ‘For two people who’ve been together as long as you have – and I don’t just mean physically – you seem to have lost all confidence in him surprisingly quickly. You assume the worst. I wonder if p
erhaps that’s because you feel that’s what you deserve.’
‘I deserve? I don’t understand.’
‘You’ve tried to talk through this but you haven’t really listened – if you had, you’d be more accepting of his mistakes. You’ve tried to work through jealousy by proving that you’re more sexually capable and dominant than this woman you imagine is your competition.’
‘Actually the sex thing was Lucy’s idea—’
‘And you think that his proposal is to appease you, because why on earth would someone want to marry you otherwise?’
Fucking hell, the truth stung like a bitch. She was absolutely right.
‘What I’d suggest is that you decide whether you’re actually able to hear and believe what Oliver tells you. Come from a place of love for this man rather than suspicion. If this isn’t something you’re capable of, you have to let him know. It’ll be better in the long term for both of you.’
I left Pam’s office with a lot to think about. I also decided never to take Lucy’s advice when I’m vulnerable and she’s more interested in eating her lunch.
Thursday September 28th
I told both Lucy and Hazel about Oliver’s proposal. There’s no way I could keep it from them. They’re like sniffer dogs when I have a secret; they can smell it a mile off.
‘Shame! We could have had a double wedding,’ Lucy lamented, only half-kidding. ‘But I understand why you said no. I think Oliver still has a lot of making up to do. And what if he does it again – though hopefully he won’t – but then you’re married and you have to explain to Molly why Auntie Lucy kicked her dad’s penis off? No. It was the right move.’
Hazel, on the other hand, saw things a little differently.
‘OH. EM. GEE. You should have snatched that ring out of the box! Honestly, Phoebe, he’s going to fuck up constantly between now and death, it’s no reason not to marry him. Just hope that he doesn’t take the rejection too personally. Don’t take his name, though – Phoebe Webb – too many Bs.’
Fuck you very much, ladies. That was zero help.
Friday September 29th
Tonight was tough. After Molly went to bed, Oliver and I agreed to sit down and talk. I could see the visible strain on his face as he mentally prepared himself for another possible argument neither of us wanted.
‘I’m finding it very hard to trust you,’ I admitted. ‘You say that it was just a kiss but I know how these things go . . . and I know you. In order for me to truly deal with everything, I have to know everything.’
He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. ‘I didn’t sleep with her. That’s the absolute God’s honest truth.’
‘OK.’
‘But you’re right . . . there was touching.’
I fucking knew it. I took a deep breath. ‘Where?’
‘Boobs mainly. Also her arse.’
‘Did she touch you?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t understand how this—’
‘Oliver . . .’
‘She put her hands down my trousers, alright,’ he replied. ‘She touched my cock, I touched her boobs and her arse OVER her clothes. I swear that was it.’
Finally I believed him, but the thought of them all grabby hands and heavy breathing made my bottom lip wobble.
‘See, you’re upset now,’ he said, gesturing to my imminent sobbing. ‘I didn’t want that.’
‘I am,’ I admitted, desperately trying to hold it together. ‘But you don’t get to pick and choose how I feel about this.’ I dabbed my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper. ‘How can you see her every day at work and not think about what happened? Do you still fancy her?’
He gave a little laugh. ‘Phoebe, I could ask you exactly the same question. How do you see Frank every day and not replay what happened? That cuts me up inside, just as much as me working with Beth does with you.’
‘Oh, it’s Beth now . . .’
‘Really?’
‘Look, the difference is I didn’t cheat on you with Frank and yes, I do occasionally think about what happened between us, but certainly not in a nostalgic way.’ I shuddered. ‘Frank reminds me of my life before this one; a life I wasn’t happy with. If you think I’m secretly yearning to revisit that, you’re wrong. Oliver, I have done nothing to make you distrust me.’
He sighed. ‘I know. I just can’t shake the thought that one day you’ll wake up and realise that you could do better.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘With Frank?’
‘With anyone. Bottom line, Phoebe, I didn’t mess around with Bethany because I was bored with us. I messed around because I was bored with me.’
Now his lip was starting to wobble. I placed my hand on his knee, the same hand I’d considered giving him a dead leg with a few minutes ago.
‘I do want to marry you,’ he said with a sniff. ‘I know my timing was shitty but I do. I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ I replied. ‘But yeah. Shitty timing. I’d rather just focus on us as we are now.’
Our talk lasted well into the wee hours of the morning but I got through it. We got through it.
Saturday September 30th
The day after a huge, heart-wrenching talk where tears and snot still reside on the faces of those involved, one of two things normally happens: 1 – They give each other space. 2 – They are lovey-dovey as fuck. Oliver and I were the latter.
We made love in the morning (see – sickening), we fought to make breakfast for each other, we took Molly to the park and gazed lovingly at her and each other and we snuggled on the couch, frequently touching each other like we were scared the other would disappear if left unchecked. To outsiders it would appear nauseating, but to me, it was glorious. I felt unreservedly wanted.
October
Monday October 2nd
I gave Hazel a call from work to catch up but she was in bed with a sore throat, being looked after by Kevin. Apparently they’re finally taking her tonsils out soon. I don’t even know what the fuck tonsils do, but it’s a shame regardless.
After her bath, Molly told me that a boy in her class, Jason, had told her that if she ever wanted to know anything about Minecraft, she was to ask him because he had it on PS4 and he was an expert. ‘Pfft. Just cos he’s a boy he thinks he knows more than me? Mum, he has no idea who he’s dealing with. I am going to destroy his world.’
I know she meant his Minecraft world but it was still an excellent, Bond-villain-worthy threat.
Wednesday October 4th
Hazel’s had her tonsils out. I popped round to see her at lunchtime with a litre of ice cream and some flowers. She was propped up on the couch looking glum.
‘Aww! How are you feeling?’ I asked. Stupid question really, but it was better than saying ‘Damn! You look like shit’.
‘Swollen,’ she replied. ‘And sore. I wasn’t too bad yesterday but today my throat feels like it’s on fire. The painkillers are awesome, though. I get a good hour of flying high before they start to wear off.’
‘Lucy sends her love,’ I informed her, handing Kevin the ice cream and flowers. ‘And said to let you know that she’s paid the deposit on the DJ.’
Hazel smiled. ‘She’s done well with the whole wedding caper. I think I had three breakdowns while organising my first, AND I threw up into a potted plant an hour before I walked down the aisle. She’ll be a champ.’
‘You’ve been a star, though,’ I added. ‘Honestly, if I had to help her, it would be a disaster . . . Hazel?’
Hazel had fallen asleep. I quietly crept out with a whispered goodbye to Kevin, making a mental note to ask Hazel to save me some of those painkillers. She can be Lucy’s wedding planner and also my dealer. It’s not a huge ask.
Thursday October 5th
‘Sri Lanka. Two whole weeks of sun, beaches and whatever the hell else they do over there. It’s our wedding gift from Kyle’s parents – much fancier than the honeymoon in Tenerife we were budgeting for.’
I casually started Googling ‘visit Sri
Lanka’. ‘Bloody hell, Lucy, it looks gorgeous. Ooh, you can go on a proper safari. I’ve always wanted to do that – not like the muddy, bleak safari park we took Molly to last year. Every animal looked utterly depressed that it had ended up in Scotland – even the native ones.’
She opened the link I’d emailed and beamed. ‘This is going to be amazing. However, I now need to tell Frank that I’m taking two weeks off. He’s going to kill my buzz, isn’t he?’
‘Of course he will,’ I replied. ‘But you can handle him. Or you could just change the work calendar and when he notices, insist he already approved it. Then cry until he gives up.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, that’s much more amusing. Imma do that.’
Tuesday October 10th
I’ve hardly seen Hazel since she had her tonsils out but she texted me today, informing me that she was feeling much better, mainly thanks to my ice cream.
When I arrived at work, Kelly was in a foul mood as she hadn’t been successful in her application to become Queen of Classified Advertising or whatever the job role was.
‘They don’t even tell you why,’ she snarled, slamming her desk drawer shut. ‘Sexism, I’d imagine.’
‘But Dorothy was our boss for years,’ Brian informed her, a grin appearing on his face. Lucy threw him a look that could have killed. A look that said Don’t be THAT fucking guy. She’s upset. Just leave it. He seemed to get the message, leaving at once to make coffee.
‘Between us,’ Lucy began, walking over to Kelly’s desk, ‘ – and you didn’t hear this from me – there’s talk of budget cuts again and you know how Scotland and Manchester always get hit first. I think there’s just no extra money right now; in fact, I’m almost certain.’
This seemed to perk Kelly up a little. ‘Really? Yes, that would make more sense. Thanks, Lucy.’
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: That was nice
Nice job on the well-meaning bullshit. You did a good thing and Jesus will reward you.
Relight my Fire Page 20
