The Last Year of Being Single

by Sarah Tucker

  Awoken by another face. And a cup of tea. I felt relief. They say you feel relief and I did. They explained that you might bleed and that if there is consistent bleeding you should contact your GP. With a GA you have to have someone to drive you home. I had no one, so I waited a few hours and drove myself home. I turned on my mobile to receive seven text messages and two missed calls.

  Message received:

  How are you?

  Message received:

  How are you?

  Message received:

  How are you?

  Paul. John. Catherine.

  Message received:

  Have been thinking about you.

  Message received:

  Have been thinking about you.

  Message received:

  Have been thinking about you.

  Paul. John. Catherine.

  Message received:

  Can you go to Canada in two weeks? Alastair.

  Messages sent:

  Am fine. U2

  Am fine. U2

  Am fine. U2

  Yes please.

  I explained to Paul I needed some space to think about what I was doing and that although Canada looked as though it was close to the wedding date, it was a good time to get away. Plus I had the hen party to arrange for August, and then September second we would be married. Time had flown.

  Paul said it was a good idea. He felt that we hadn’t been close and that I was having second thoughts and doubts. He didn’t like the fact I was starting to travel and that from working in a job locally, earning a good regular income, I had now become a travel journalist—earning some money—and he didn’t see much of me. This wouldn’t be conducive to married life. I said if he loved me it wouldn’t matter. Point was, did he love me enough? He knew that I had always wanted to travel and that, in many ways, this was a dream job—not just mine, but anyone’s. After all, I had started off in a bank. A clearing bank, for goodness’ sake. I knew what good looked like and this was it.

  He said he knew that but also knew himself and that I should think about it. He wanted children and just to be content and happy.

  I said I knew this but that I wanted more. He knew I was ambitious and that eventually I would like children but not now. Not now. Images of the clinic and talking to Edith and counting back from ten kept echoing in my mind as I spoke. Anya’s words, like ghosts, haunted me during the day and night. I even began to get snappy with John. It would take hours for him to calm me down and make love to me and relax me, and kiss away the self-imposed stress.

  As I became more stressed, John became more relaxed about us. More open about how he felt. Then, end of May, he said:

  ‘I know I love you.’

  Sarah—‘You think you do, but you don’t.’

  John—‘I love you. I lust after you as well. But I love you, Sarah. I care about you. I have never felt like this about anyone. I even went to see my mother to talk about you. She says it sounds like love. I love you. We don’t have sex, we make love, Sarah. I want you. Not just sexually, but emotionally and spiritually and completely. I don’t want other women now.’

  Sarah—‘You do, it’s just because you’ve seen less of me recently and you feel you’re losing me, but you’re not.’

  John—‘I’m not a child, Sarah. I’m a man who has known many women and has lusted after many women and who hasn’t treated them very well. I admit this. But I want to treat you well, Sarah.’

  Sarah—‘So you want me to marry you?’

  John flinched.

  John—‘Well, that’s not what I said. I said I love you.’

  Sarah—‘What if I said I want to get married? Like next week? Would you do it?’

  John—‘No, of course not. That’s different. Can we take one stage at a time, please?’

  I got aggressive.

  Sarah—‘You say you love me but are unable to commit. It’s a cliché, John. It’s a cliché which I didn’t think you would fall into. It’s like one of those silly romantic novels where the girl is weak and feeble and the man is big and macho and the girl believes everything the man says when he rescues her and she is saved and fulfilled because she is loved and married with kids and a mortgage and a personal pension plan. Well, that’s rubbish. It’s not like that any more. I don’t want to marry you, but it’s a commitment, and it’s more than just saying I love you. That’s easy to say. Harder to prove and harder still to show. Just because you enjoy sex with me doesn’t mean you love me or want me or need me. I know you enjoy my company, which is great. But get real, John. Do you really love me? You don’t know me.’

  I sounded like a man. A selfish, bigoted, self-protecting man.

  John responded. Calmly.

  ‘Sit down, Sarah.’

  I sat down on the leather sofa in the yellow cottage.

  ‘Are you OK? You seem very stressed recently. Very stressed and very tense. It takes me a long time to calm you when I see you and I’m worried. You’ve lost weight. A lot of weight. Your legs are still great—’ (he smiled) ‘—joking, just in case you think me flippant, but you have lost it everywhere else. There is something wrong. Do you want to tell me something? I’m worried and I do love you—not just as a lover but also as a friend. You’ve offered me good advice and been a comfort to me. You’ve made me trust and respect women again. Thank you for that. And I want to give you something. What can I do? How can I help?’

  Aghh. I felt a complete bitch. I had managed to change this amoral man into a loving human being who actually liked women. Women are forever wanting to change men. I didn’t want to change this man and he had changed. Or perhaps he was always this way, just pretending to be bad. Perhaps he had deceived me. Perhaps he thought I had money. Perhaps the fact that I was unattainable, that I hadn’t been at his beck and call, made me more attractive. I couldn’t always see him at weekends. I had to be with Paul some of the time and was genuinely working other times, and that made me more attractive. More elusive. More mysterious. I wanted him to stay bad and selfish and sexual and uncaring and dump me, but it was now nearly June and he had just told me he loved me and I was getting married in—hey—fourteen weeks’ time. And two of those would be in Canada.

  Sarah—‘I need space, John. I’m going away to Canada in two weeks and I want to think about our relationship. This has happened very quickly. And you will have time to think about what you want to do as well. OK?’

  John—‘OK. Can we have sex now?’

  Sarah—‘Yes, please.’

  That was more like the John I knew. Completely focused on one thing. His dick.

  SUMMER

  JUNE

  ACTION LIST

  Be very nice to Paul.

  See less of John.

  Go to gym.

  Go to tarot card reader, Doreen (who tells me to not marry Paul and not see John).

  Go to spiritual healer, Hazel (who tells me to not marry Paul and not see John).

  Chill.

  PAST LIVES

  1st June

  I had always wanted to go to Canada. Had never been. Had no relations there. But had always wanted to go. One of those places which was always prohibitively expensive, and full of things like Mounties and mountains and moose. I liked the images I saw and the Canadian Tourism Commission had a fabulous PR person who I liked liaising with when organising the itinerary for the trip.

  I was to spend the two weeks crossing Canada. It was a sort of journo-challenge. My radio station was pitted against Loaded and the Telegraph. So a diverse spread, one might say.

  I was the only girl of the three journalists going. We were each given five hundred pounds, had to take part in six outdoor sports, use five modes of transport to cross the continent, and sample five varieties of cooking. Then we had to go back and write about it or broadcast it. I’d start off in Vancouver, then to Calgary, then to Banff, then to Winnipeg, then to Quebec, then to Toronto, then to Montreal and finally to Newfoundland, the most easterly point—only five hours’ fl
ight from London Heathrow.

  I was excited, as I would be using the internet to stay in touch with everyone back home, and would be getting ideas from radio listeners as to where to go and what to eat and where to stay. Hopefully not too many rude ones.

  Flight to Vancouver was great. I carried only hand luggage, the heaviest item being my tape recorder and mobile laptop. I couldn’t lose them that way, and with so many connections and timing imperative I didn’t need luggage going missing anywhere. So it stuck with me.

  Stayed at B&B in Vancouver. The place looked nothing like the place on the internet pictures. Home cooking meant bought pre-prepared from the supermarket and cooked at home. Not quite the same. It was about one mile from the centre of town, so I took a bus and went to Chinatown, third largest in North America. Live frogs croaked for me and a guide explained why the Chinese believe eating them is good. Some of the other foodstuffs for sale I had never seen in Sainsbury’s or even Waitrose. I ate Chinese food. One down, four to go. I ate a frog. Not a frog’s leg. A frog.

  It tasted great. ‘I’m not surprised the Chinese love eating frog,’ I said with gay abandon to the microphone.

  Ten minutes later I was vomiting into the restaurant toilet.

  One down, four to go.

  3rd June

  Down to the harbour and a touch of jet skiing. ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ the twenty-something beach bum guide reassured me. A motorbike.

  I’d ridden one of these things in Corfu on an early holiday with Paul. It had been fine. But that was a tricycle compared to this BMW zooped up version. One touch of the accelerator and I thought I would be in orbit. Three times in the water and the guide decided perhaps I should just hold onto him for dear life. I did. Nice guy. Nice chest. Didn’t want complications so didn’t give him my number or my card. I got both of his.

  I didn’t take my mobile with me (it didn’t work overseas), nor did I log on to e-mail at this stage. I wanted space completely and didn’t want to think about what would happen when I got back. I hadn’t made my mind up yet what to do, but this would clear the cobwebs. I hoped.

  5th June

  Next stop Calgary. It was approaching stampede time. I was interested in something called the Ball-Busting Festival, where men who are men ride bulls. I interviewed the guy who beat them all, who was smaller than I thought, but obviously had nerves of steel.

  You don’t need muscles to ride a bull. You just need nerve. Lots of nerve.

  7th June

  Next stop Banff, where the winter sports are at their best, but in the summer months the wildlife wanders through town. The moose especially like to window shop down the high street. The town of Banff is situated in Banff National Park. It’s a wonderful place where you can go skiing and snow-shoeing in the winter and hiking and kayaking in the summer. I went hiking and kayaking. Got bitten to death by insects called no-see-ums—coz you can’t—and saw four moose and a cougar and several eagles. I met a First Nations guide who told me that he was a spiritual healer and that at one stage I had been a Native American and my name was Silver Trees and that I had been very wise. And that I should listen to him because he would tell me what to do. The Native American said I had a big decision to make ahead of me. I had two paths and only I would know which one to take. He told me to listen to Silver Trees who was there as my spiritual guide.

  I kept thinking both Paul and John would think me completely bonkers if I told them this story so decided to keep it to myself. But would write it up and broadcast it on radio. Neither read my stuff nor listened to my reports—so I didn’t fear repercussions. The guy had been uncannily right, though, about my life to date, even saying I had lost two children. He didn’t ask if I had wanted them. He said I would find happiness but not in the way I thought, and I would have many life lessons to learn. I asked him if I should get married. He told me to listen to my instinct. That would tell me. We had moose stew. It was good. Not just saying that for microphone. It was genuinely good and I asked for more. Three down, two to go.

  After the unexpected spiritual encounter in Banff, I moved on to Winnipeg, in the centre of Canada. I expected it to be some backwater but it’s fun and funky and ten thousand Canadian geese can’t be wrong as when they flock south for the winter, they stop off there and the sound on the outskirts of town is amazing. Like a gaggle of women who’ve just been told the hunk of the month is in town. It’s a town right in the heart of the prairies, which means it’s freezing cold in the winter and very hot in the summer and there is a lot of light. The food there is normal, so I didn’t have to eat frog, or moose or bulls’ testicles. I was happy with fresh salmon caught from the river. It tasted of fish. It tasted good. But it wasn’t odd enough to go in the article, so it didn’t count.

  I interviewed a famous sculptor who was originally from Surrey, England, and who had decided to travel the world and had for some reason flown into Winnipeg by accident when he’d meant to get a first stop to Toronto. Had liked it so much and had stayed and was chilling out nicely when I met him; told me Winnipeg was a wonderful place to chill out and find myself. So many people travel to lose themselves, to forget, to escape. But travelling is all about learning and clearing the mind and seeing things as they truly are, he told me. ‘This journey will clear your mind, Sarah. Life is a journey, not a destination.’

  Was everyone in Canada a spiritual philosopher? A band called the Crash Test Dummies were performing in town. They all came from Winnipeg so it was a coming home concert, and they sang a song which consisted predominantly of the lyrics Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm. It was very good. They gave good interview.

  10th June

  After Winnipeg, I headed for Quebec, where everyone speaks a sort of French, but French people don’t understand them. I understand when a former French president once visited the province he couldn’t understand a word anyone was saying. So everyone spoke in English, much to the annoyance of everyone except the Canadian government. I spoke French, and just about understood their French, and found the old and new cities delightful and fun and the food wonderful. I ate French. Nothing weird. Just salmon (fresh caught that day) with olive oil and garlic and maple syrup ice-cream to finish. Just one foodstuff to go, and several modes of transport and sports to cover.

  11th June

  Down to Montreal. The Grand Prix was taking over the town. I couldn’t interview anyone there as everyone wore earplugs and it was senseless to even try. I stayed at a B&B called Marmalade run by a lovely French Canadian called Monique who told me I should eat more and who had a dog called Fifi who wasn’t a French poodle but a lovely golden Labrador. I liked Monique but thought her cruel to call such a wonderful dog such a naff name. I visited Schwartz’s, which sells salt beef to the good and the great. President Clinton has eaten here, as has Celine Dion. I don’t eat meat, but for the sake of the report I ate a slice of salt beef. It was my last food challenge. The Montreal underground was wonderful to travel on. The bars and especially the jazz clubs were wonderful. Montreal is famous for its Jazz Festival as well as its Grand Prix and it also has a comedy festival as well, which takes over the streets. A very pretty city with a lot to it. I liked it and was sad to go.

  12th June

  Last stop was Newfoundland. An island with a history and islanders who consider themselves more apart from Canada than Quebec. They are a tough breed, but they have had to be as winters are harsh and summers are very short. If you like birds it’s a good place to go, and I met local ornithologists who told me about the puffin. How, if ever there was proof that good looks don’t go with good personality, it was that bird. The bird was a bitch. Used to beat up other birds. And it’s about the size of my fist. In Iceland they eat puffin. I always thought the Icelanders were cruel for doing that. Now I had more sympathy with them. The island is also famous for its whales. So I decided to go whale-watching. But with a difference. Here you can swim with them. Staying close to the boat, of course, but bobbing about in a wet suit. I was sure I was wetting myself, bu
t I couldn’t tell. So very, very cold. Then this humpbacked whale lifted its head about five hundred yards from me, looked at me with its great sagacious eye and lopped back into the water. I was speechless, which is unusual for me. Unique experience.

  Last meal on the last day, I sampled some cod’s tongues, which are the bottom lips of the cod, rather than the tongues themselves. They taste like pork scratchings and you can have large ones the size of your palms or small ones the size of Hula Hoops. Not the greatest taste, but I loved Newfoundland. The people were finely etched and had character and colour and life and respected nature and the sea and somehow I felt more at home here than I had in any of the places I had visited en route during my journey.

  I hadn’t spoken or communicated with either man during the two weeks. I had made my mind up to stay with Paul. I would tell John on my return of my decision. I would be open with him. I would tell him that I loved Paul and that I had made my decision.

  15th June

  My birthday with Paul. Takes me to supper. At the Punch Bowl. I don’t take the mobile. I don’t want to be texted by anyone—especially John. Wear something elegant and simple and long. Paul approves. Sole and salmon for me. Lamb for him. Will I try something new? No, not even this time round. Champagne and fine wine. Montrachet in a year it was supposed to be sublime. Can’t remember which one. Paul does. Simon, maître’d, looks suitably impressed. Says how lovely I look. And looks as though he means it. Poignant being here. I now sit and look at Paul talking at me, and remember the first time, and wonder has time made my eyes clearer or made me appreciate him less, love him less, take him for granted, resent him more? Or just a combination of everything. I don’t see as many of my friends these days. Or not with him. Our friends are his friends. My friends stay resolutely my friends. Is this because I’m selfish with them? No. They don’t like Paul. They think he’s controlling and would rather see me by myself. He breaks my thoughts and asks about the dress.