I went on another date last night with a man who works in Wall Street. He was handsome in a banking sort of a way and very interested in the play I start next week. But I knew, within 30 seconds, that he wasn’t for me. How could I know such a thing so quickly? I should know better than to judge any book by its cover. I am supposed to be a curious individual, an artist absorbing and embracing every single experience. But because I had decided he wasn’t The One I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the evening. This man never said, “Delaware, come to dinner. I am the man of your dreams.” Yet on some level that was my expectation of him, or at least my hope, a hope so hidden that for the most part I don’t even know it’s there.
How is it possible to miss something you have never had? How can I ever really embrace any moment if I am always subconsciously searching for a thing called love? And what is this overwhelming human desire to define oneself by being in a pair?’
‘But you did fall in love!’ I squeaked. ‘You married Richard!’
‘I married Richard.’ She nodded before looking off into middle distance. ‘I knew the minute he walked in the room that he was the one for me. We met at an after-show party for a play I’d been starring in on Broadway. At the time he was still a young director but with big ideas and absolutely no sense of life’s boundaries that constrain the rest of us. He was intoxicating to be around. I had feelings in my body that I was completely at the mercy of, feelings I knew were never going to go away. Thank God he felt the same way. I had a girlfriend who fell so in love with a Swiss man and he resolutely didn’t feel the same way about her. What an awful predicament for a woman to find herself in. Your One True Love doesn’t want to be your One True Love.’
I loved the way predicament sounded in her Texan drawl, each syllable exquisitely over-pronounced: pre-dic-a-ment.
‘So when Richard arrived, when love showed up, how did it affect your life?’
‘Well, Richard and I began working together almost immediately.’ She nodded. ‘To share one’s passion with the man you are also passionate about was a dream come true. He was creatively brilliant and is responsible for some of the greatest performances of my life. He transformed my life on every single level.’
‘So falling in love was a positive experience for you?’ I knew it. Chad was going to throw me head first from the roof.
‘I believe in balance in life, for every high there is an equal low, and so it was with Richard. My career sky-rocketed, thanks in large part to him, but when dream acting jobs came along I didn’t want to take anything that would cause us to be apart for long periods of time. I certainly couldn’t take roles where he’d been turned down as Director or where I would be working with a director he felt was a competitor of his. So my career, and love life, started to become like a game of chess. For each opportunity I had to predict the next five moves. What would this role lead to? Where would I end up living? How would Richard get to see me? Would me taking the role undermine his confidence as a director? Ultimately the more I moulded and shaped my decisions to stabilise my relationship, the more unstable it became. In hindsight if I had just been consistent, consistently choosing the right roles for the right reasons, Richard would have always known what to expect from me. And I think consistency is underrated in relationships. Your partner being able to predict you, be certain of your choices, of who you are, it has a stabilising effect on a relationship. When you become a smaller version of yourself in order to keep your relationship on track, all that happens is that your partner no longer recognises you. You are not the woman he fell in love with, he starts to lose respect for you, and you lose respect for yourself, the small compromised version of the woman you used to be, and then one comes to resent the other. And so it was with Richard. Love was the greatest joy in my life, and my greatest pain. The breakdown of my marriage nearly killed me. The pain of it ending, the separation from him, the shattered hopes and dreams, it was all too much. I am sure you are aware of the four-year break in my acting career following the end of my marriage. My world collapsed. I don’t know why we couldn’t be together as a couple. It is one of the greatest mysteries and the greatest sadness in my life. And I know that we will love each other until the day we die. He is me. I am him. But together we are somehow too much and at the same time too little.’ She took a sip of coffee. Her words resonated with such depth it was as if she were playing a string instrument in my chest. I struggled to find my voice.
‘Delaware, what would you do if you were me and found yourself unexpectedly alone and 30 years old? I mean, if someone had told you on your 30th birthday that you would be alone for the rest of your life, what things would you have chosen to do differently? What advice do you have for me?’
‘If I were you and free from love?’ She gazed out across the lake. I did the same and noticed a somewhat familiar-looking torso on the shore chopping wood. The half-naked man turned around and stared back. ‘Well, I would have made some different creative choices, that is for certain. There are several film roles, films you would have heard of, that I would have taken. And none of my partners ever wanted children, not one of them, which is a strange thing in itself. So I suppose I would have had a child if I had only myself to please and not a man’s feelings and needs to take into consideration.’ She pulled her coat closer around her. The familiar half-naked torso was now running along the edge of the lake towards the footbridge to the restaurant. ‘You know, darl, I don’t like to list negatives, to think about what-ifs. I think if I had just gotten into the habit of making good choices for myself I would not have missed out on anything at all, whether there had been love in my life or not. Because when you start making choices with someone else in mind, second-guessing them and their wants and needs, it’s like a game of Chinese whispers that over the years slowly unravels into a story you don’t even recognise. And you will probably end up losing the one thing you were trying to keep hold of. So be true to yourself. Then everyone else can rely upon that fact.’ She paused for a moment before smiling to herself. ‘And I wouldn’t waste a second of my life worrying about what I look like, that should be forbidden until you are at least in your 70s and even then I think women look goddamn beautiful! I’m sorry, doll, if I’ve disappointed you. I expect women today want me to tell them to have lots of sex, run along the Great Wall of China and throw themselves out of a plane. But my only true regrets in life are when I let myself down, when I abandoned myself; nothing good ever came from those choices. So get good at being good to yourself. That is what love stole from me. That is what I took back after love had gone and that is what I would want you to do now.’
advice | get good at being good to yourself
Delaware was perfect. The interview was perfect. I clicked off my Dictaphone and took a sip from my now freezing cup of coffee. The half-naked torso appeared at the door to the terrace and marched across to our table, sitting himself down in the chair next to mine. His upper body was horribly lean and muscular in an incredibly clichéd ‘I’m so gorgeous and toned’ kind of way. And there were bits of woodchip and dirt stuck to his sweaty naked skin.
‘So?’ He pulled his chair closer to mine. ‘Did Fat Camp receive the training bags? Have they read all the literature? Did they have their appointment at the running clinic? And the bra-fitting shop? Because they need to be well supported before they start running, emotionally, but also in the breast region. It’s important.’ Peter Parker was here, naked, and talking about tits in front of Delaware O’Hunt. Brilliant.
‘Peter, what are you doing here?’
‘Your grandma said she needed help setting up the firework display so I offered. Are you helping?’ I looked down at my incredibly smart dress, unsure what part of my outfit screamed Firework Preparation and Installation Expert. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ Peter said, leaning across me, leaving a trail of woodchips on my dress. ‘How rude of me, Delaware—how are you?’ he asked, kissing her firmly on each cheek with his big sweaty man face. ‘How is the fusion dance coming along? I
still can’t perfect those moves you showed me.’
‘You don’t smile but you do fusion dance?’ I guffawed. That, as far as I was concerned, was ironic.
‘I told you, darl, it’s in those hips. You just have to practise. He’s a wonderful dance partner, Kate. You should get him to take you.’
‘Oh, Kate doesn’t dance,’ Peter said, brushing the woodchips from my dress as he sat himself back down. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said as he picked off the last woodchip, which was located very close to my well-supported although disappointingly small right boob. ‘No, Kate’s practically allergic to dancing. It’s an affliction.’
‘What do you mean I don’t dance? I can dance. I dance! I’m a dancer!!’ Peter frowned at me.
‘OK … You can dance. I mean, you can’t dance but if it makes you feel better I can say that you do.’
‘It’s not about me feeling better, Peter. It’s about operating within the realms of truth.’
‘I think you mean the realms of possibility. It’s possible that you could learn to dance with some instruction and dedicated practice. But the truth is that you currently can’t.’
‘You’ve been away for 15 years! How on earth do you know what I can and can’t do? I could have won the bloody Dance Olympics in that time!’
‘Well, did you? What year? In what dance category? Who designed your dress? Who did you compete against? What was your most complicated dance move?’
Why was he obsessed with the details!?!
‘Well, we have had lovely weather today, haven’t we, darl?’ Delaware cooed. ‘And Kate and I have been busy reminiscing—’ she patted my knee ‘—helping me reconnect with my younger self. Although I’ve been talking nonstop and I know nothing about dear Kate, apart from the fact that you are a dancer,’ she said reassuringly.
‘She’s not a dancer,’ Peter muttered. ‘Fictitious Olympic appearances or otherwise.’
‘So, Kate,’ Delaware continued, ‘tell me a little bit about you.’ For the first time all morning she took off her dark glasses and put them on the table in front of her. ‘What exactly are you trying to do here?’ she said, looking me directly in the eyes. ‘What is this all about?’
I looked from Peter, who was still frowning on account of my truth-bending, to Delaware.
‘I want to know what people gave up when they fell in love, so I can help get those things back. It’s a quest.’
‘I know that, darl. I just don’t understand why.’
‘Oh, well, I, well …’ I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. ‘I, er, I want to—’ Peter turned away and pretended to stare at something fascinating on the shore. I turned back to Delaware but spoke more to my knees. ‘I would like people to acknowledge the preoccupation you mentioned in your diary.’ She nodded along, encouraging me. ‘I want people to live more in the moment, to be more present, for people to truly know what they want for themselves. People sometimes forget the things that make them happy when they fall in love. The relationship becomes the source of those feelings. It becomes the source of everything. So I suppose my goal is for people to reconnect with that lost part of themselves and stay connected to it. But I’ve found that lots of people don’t even know what makes them happy. So if I ask them what they’d be happy doing for the rest of their life in the absence of love it seems to help them answer from a place of naked truth.’ I couldn’t help but glance at Peter’s body when I said the word naked. He was still staring out at the lake. ‘And with that knowledge they’ll never lose themselves again, whatever happens in their life. They’ll be their own energy source, their own sustenance, their own sun, if you will.’ By this point I had pretty much faded out to a whisper.
‘But, Kate, darling girl, there are a million things you could be doing at this point in your life. Why would you want to spend all your time doing this?’
‘Because I plan to live the rest of my life alone, so I have the time. And I think if I could prevent even one person feeling how I felt, going through what I did, am, then it would be worthwhile. So that’s why I spend my time doing this, helping others to help themselves, helping others become their own sun.’
‘Well, that is very noble, isn’t it, Peter?’ she said, turning to Peter Parker. ‘Peter?’
I looked around to find Peter staring blankly at me. I had an odd and unfamiliar feeling in my chest when our eyes met and Peter looked as if he’d been severely winded.
‘I should be helping your grandma,’ he said quietly before getting up and slowly walking off.
He spent the rest of the afternoon standing next to the unlit bonfire in deep conversation with Grandma Josephine. He left just before it was lit.
6Millennium Bridge - steel suspension bridge for pedestrians crossing the River Thames, London
two peas in the proverbial pod of happy coupledom
‘Kate Winters! Or should I say bonjour!’ Jane Brockley-formerly-Robinson answered the door wearing a Cath Kidston apron and strawberry-shaped oven gloves. ‘You lot will have to excuse me,’ she said, ushering me, Federico and Leah through her front door. ‘I’m just taking something out of the oven. I’ve been trying out new recipes for gingerbread men and something is always missing. It’s driving me crazy. Come through, come through,’ she said, marching off. We followed her down the hallway passing a coat stand covered in hundreds of brightly coloured raincoats. It looked like a multicoloured willow tree. Federico and Leah both stifled a giggle.
You see, Jane Brockley-formerly-Robinson, a friend of mine from college, is totally colour obsessed. She always has a waterproof of some description on her person and it is always brightly coloured or highly patterned. I’m actually a fan of colour too. I rarely wear black, or white, and when clashing primary colours were in fashion I was in block-colour heaven. But Jane is the kind of colour wearer that makes you think she wasn’t allowed coloured clothes as a child. Every colour of the rainbow and several the rainbow is not even aware of can be found on the raincoats of Jane Brockley-formerly-Robinson. Then there are the plastic coats; hundreds of waterproof coats covered in smiling cats, Christmas trees or flowers. A vomit-inducing collection of colour was Jane’s signature style. As was introducing herself as ‘Jane Brockley-formerly-Robinson’ as if without this extra piece of information a person who knew Jane premarriage would forget all about her. Jane’s 1998 pink plastic Pac-a-Mac covered in light grey mice building things and driving small mouse cars would be the primary reason no one would forget pre-married Jane; that and the fact that she’s ever so slightly boss-eyed.
‘James is just through there. Why don’t you go through and say hi? I’ll be in in a minute,’ she said, gesturing for us to walk through an archway from the kitchen into the lounge. There we found Jane’s husband, a rotund gentleman called James. His well-fed self was watching rugby on a large leather sofa with a cat they call Nibbles. Nibbles eyeballed me as we walked into the room. James was wearing a non-ironic burgundy cardigan.
‘Katie!’ he said, getting up to greet me. ‘I was saying to Jane just last week that we’ve barely seen you since your return from France, lovely to see you now, and, Leah, terribly sorry to hear about your divorce. You must be crushed, totally crushed. My second cousin Susan just got divorced and it has totally destroyed her life. And of course he’s immediately pushed off with someone else, as is always the way—isn’t that right, Katie? Jane said it was the same for you. Gabriel immediately ran off with someone a lot younger. Yes, younger or slimmer I think is the normal way of doing things. You know, I really rather liked that Gabriel. He was terribly attractive. Did you meet him?’ he asked Federico. ‘Probably almost a challenge for someone like that to actually stay single. Incredible skiing instructor, really incredible—well, these boys start skiing before they can walk. I mean, he could do things on the mountain that I just …’ He started welling up. ‘Well, let’s just say that he skied up a mountain once to save me when I found myself in somewhat of a sticky situation. And I remember seeing him skiing down the mountain
carrying Katie in his arms a few times. Good God, if I could do on skis what that man could do …’ He dabbed the corners of his podgy eyes. ‘Britain needs a strong ski team, we really do. Yes, they were probably lining up the day you left, offering him a shoulder to cry on. Don’t take it personally, Katie darling. We can’t be alone, us men, can’t bloody well be alone.’
an emotional interlude
When the existence of a man called Gabriel is mentioned in my new life, by my highly patterned friend’s sensitive husband, it feels like a door blasting open into a room I’ve spent weeks and months tirelessly boarding up, and it scares the crap out of me, because I’d started to forget the room was even there. So I have to start all over again, closing it all back off, nailing it shut, triple-checking the locks are in place so that I can safely turn my back on my past. And that’s just in my waking life. Different distorted versions of Gabriel live in my dreams most nights. Gabriel lives in my head, my heart, my subconscious mind and on days like these my defences seem futile, useless, ineffective, because just the sound of his name, seven letters put together to form a noise, can blast open all the doors and windows of the derelict house in my heart. And suddenly he exists again, as powerful as before, and I wonder if anyone ever felt as broken inside as I do.
‘Well, do take a seat,’ James said, pointing at the sofa. ‘Make yourselves at home. Wine, anyone?’ He trotted out to the kitchen as we all tried to squish on a sofa meant for two. Nibbles rolled onto his back on the big sofa and stretched out to full length. Then he started a barely audible growl. You see, Nibbles is their pride and joy. He is their baby. If there was an overly expensive local cat primary school they would have enrolled him at birth. But Nibbles is actually a highly duplicitous creature who snuggle-wuggles against his owners as if butter wouldn’t melt only to lash out like a sabre-toothed tiger when their backs are turned. That cat is responsible for at least five of the seven permanent scars on my body and once attacked the neighbour’s German Shepherd, permanently damaging its right eye. Sometimes when I visit it feels like I’m in the cat version of Orwell’s 1984, Nibbles being Big Brother and everyone buying into his bullshit. Everyone that is except me, and that poor one-eyed German Shepherd.
Love Is a Thief Page 7
