by Sarah Tucker
With Paul I now don’t undress. But we hug a lot. I must look up in a dictionary the difference between love and being in love and being in lust. Is there one? Is love when you feel more pain being away from them than the pain you can feel being with them? Is that it? I don’t want to read any more women’s magazines. They are all full of crappy commentary about why men do things and why women do things and why we are from different planets or universes and why we can’t communicate. And how love means different things. And how men can’t be faithful and women are born to be. And I know women who aren’t and men who are. And I think I’ve found one of the rare ones who is, and know I’m playing about with one who hasn’t been. And may not still be. I seem to be having these commentaries with myself a lot these days.
Mornings are best for text messaging.
Message received:
Think of Tom Brown’s School Days.
Message sent:
You were in my dream last night. Vigorous.
Message received:
Am I the man of your dreams?
Message sent:
Other men there 2. They were watching.
Message received:
Sometimes you scare me.
Message sent:
Sometimes you like me to.
Message received:
I’m in the office. Have temporary secretary. Medina’s on hols.
Message sent:
Wot’s she like?
Message received:
Big tits. Nice.
Message sent:
Should I b jealous?
Message received:
Only have eyes for you. And I fancy a shag. Miss you.
Love your mind. Dream on.
2nd August
Fitting for wedding dress today. Catherine is having green. Looks stunning with her dark long straight hair. I’m having cream, but as I’m losing weight (a pound a day on average) I may have to have it taken in a few sizes. The dressmaker is cross. She speaks her mind.
Dressmaker—‘What the fuck have yer done, Sarah? Yer skin and bone now. Put weight on. I usually get the brides who’re pregnant and I have to keep adding more and more, but you’re the reverse. You OK, girl?’
Sarah—‘I’m fine.’
Dressmaker (Tracey) works from her own studio in Colchester. Does the meringue dresses but has made something sleek for me, says at the moment I will indeed resemble a blind-man’s stick if I don’t put more weight on. I asked for no frills, just simple lace on cuffs and cleavage.
Tracey—‘You’ve got no boobs, Sarah. What’s ’appened to your boobs. And no bum either. I’ll ’ave to put a bustle on you. This looks ridiculous. And for goodness’ sake eat some cake while you’re there.’
Sarah—‘I will, I will.’
Tracey—‘Well, you better, or your bridesmaid will look better than you and you don’t want that on yer wedding day—do yer?’
Sarah—‘No. Thank you.’
I feel like shit. But she’s right.
3rd August
I have to talk about the situation to someone. I’ve got to cancel the wedding. This is getting ridiculous. But I can’t get through to Jenny and Anya’s fully booked up. So call Catherine.
Sarah—‘Catherine, are you about tonight?’
Catherine—‘Think so. Why?’
Sarah—‘Need to talk.’
Catherine—‘OK. About John?’
Sarah—‘Yes.’
Catherine—‘Wheelers at six?’
Sarah—‘Done.’
Meet at six. For once I’m on time. I’m never on time. But I am this evening. We find a quiet table in the corner. Order a bottle of Chardonnay and two salads. Niçoise and Greek. And talk.
Sarah—‘I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, Catherine. I loved Paul. He was all that I wanted. I knew from the moment I met him—well, almost from the moment I met him—that he was the one. But now I think back there has always been someone else in my life when I’ve known him. Someone else there to compensate when he had something missing. Like the sex, or the caring, or the support I needed. Somehow he didn’t give everything and I felt I had to change myself into what he wanted at different times.
‘I feel as though I’m holding my breath. And it’s been five years now, and that’s a long time to try to be someone you’re not. Or try to become something you’re not. I thought I’d evolve into what he wanted. The little wifey at home. But I’m not, Catherine. That’s not me. Perhaps I don’t know what is yet. But I can’t help thinking I want to live a little. Travel a lot. Meet a lot more men. Have more relationships before this. I’ve met him at the wrong time, perhaps. Don’t know. Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven’t. But I have a gut feeling that I’m doing the wrong thing. For Christ’s sake, I’m fucking someone else and it’s a month to my wedding day. Surely that’s not right? Not to say not ethical?’
Catherine—‘I’ve known you for a long time. I know Paul. I don’t know John. So it’s not fair of me to comment on John. Gut instinct is you’re doing the right thing by marrying Paul. Yes, there are problems but you’ve known from the start he is the one for you. Don’t throw that away.’
Sarah—‘But aren’t you throwing it away with Freddie?’
Catherine—‘Perhaps. But that’s my choice and this is yours. And I think you should stick with Paul. John, although he makes you happy, sounds like a lust thing. Just a fling. Forbidden fruit. Sarah, you want to have your wedding cake and eat it as well. And you can’t. Men can, but women can’t. It’s double standards in this game. You know it is. And it is a game, whatever people say. Dump John. Make an excuse, any excuse, but dump him. I know it’s exciting, but you’ve got to find out if he’s your emotional crutch and take the jump. Not saying I could do it. Don’t think I could. But you’re a risk-taker, Sarah. Your cliff-edge is way past most people’s and you need to decide which way to go. And do it now. Before it’s too late.’
I tell her about Guy at the wedding. Miss out bit about anal sex.
Catherine—‘Guy is right, but he doesn’t know the good side of Paul, nor all about you. Stick with Paul. He will come round. Perhaps you can get him to see a counsellor. Perhaps. I’ve got to go now.’ (Looking at watch and realising we’ve been talking for over three hours. Most of the time, she’s been listening.) ‘Got to go. We can talk more at your hen party.’
12th August
Catherine has organised my hen party. Belfry. Ten to go. Same as birthday bash. One difference. They can all get drunk. Stag parties surrounding us. We are a group of ten girls amongst a sea of black-tied handsome hunks. Nice. I make a goodie bag for every girl. Containing condoms and chocolate Maltesers and cotton buds and tweezers and edible knickers and Alka Seltzer. Basically everything a girl needs on a hen party night. No one got me a stripper, but that was fine. There were plenty of men who were prepared to take their clothes off. I got drunk, but not honesty drunk. Rang John from my room at two a.m. and told him I loved him and why I loved him and told him I was at my friend’s hen party and he told me I would never get married because I was too independent and I said I might do and that he didn’t know me well enough and he said he did.
And I said nothing. Blew him a kiss. Seduced him in my drunken slur over the phone and clicked off at four a.m. Think I ordered Room Service and opened the door naked to a young waiter with two salade niçoises and no dressing or dough balls and extra tuna. I’m not sure, but think I did. Anyway, there were no complaints in the morning. But there were two empty trays at the end of my bed, so perhaps I did.
Facial at nine a.m. Followed by salt rub and full body massage. Light lunch of lettuce leaves and seared tuna, followed by kai bo, then yoga and Pilates and then home. We had toxified and detoxified. Catherine and Colleen had pulled men. Claire had pulled a muscle dancing too aerobically, and Helen had disappeared with the best man from a stag party. Despite being married with child. Lots of flirty harmless fun.
13th August
Driving bac
k from Belfry with Catherine. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.
Sarah—‘Everyone seems to have enjoyed themselves.’
Catherine—‘Yeah, did you?’
Sarah—‘Yes.’
Catherine—‘I think I told two guys about Liam and how I lusted after him and all the things I want to do with him.’
Sarah—‘Oh? What did they say?’
Catherine—‘They gave me their cards and said that if I ever got bored with him to call them. Both of them.’
Sarah—‘Sounds as though you told them a lot.’
Catherine—‘Can’t remember. Wish I could. Perhaps I should just tape myself. Sure I come out with better chat-up lines when I’m pissed than when sober.’
19th August
Paul’s stag party in Ireland. He invited ten and they played golf and I think there was a stripper and he snogged a girl on the dance floor but I think that was it. I wasn’t really interested. I wasn’t really there at all during August. I was in another place. My mind was in turmoil about making decisions and living lies. But which life was a lie?
Catherine, my best friend, was in a turmoil too. Liam had said that he didn’t want to see her any more. Freddie, her boyfriend, wanted her to move to Richmond with him. She didn’t want to go but she didn’t want to stay. I suggested she move with Freddie and take a risk. He has been there for her for over seven years, so why not try? She said she wanted Liam, so stayed, and Freddie went to Richmond and met someone else. He didn’t tell Catherine. But Catherine knew. Used packets of condoms in the bedroom. Perfume bottles in the bathroom, shepherd’s pie dishes in the kitchen. Freddie told her it was the cleaner. She knew better. But didn’t care then. She was in lust and in love with Liam. Who didn’t want her. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to lose Paul.
So…
20th August
Have invited Catherine and Karen round for Witches of Essex session, watching Witches of Eastwick on DVD. Bagsy me be Michelle Pfeiffer. Catherine—Cher. Karen—Sarandon. We got cherries, just like in the movie. Big bowl. Cost about forty quid but worth it. And sat. Paul still away with his mates.
Karen—‘Are you excited about the big day?’
Sarah—‘Yes. Bit dazed, actually.’
Karen—‘Thought you would be excited. I suppose it’s been a long lead-up.’
Sarah—‘Yeah. Suppose so. But it will all be over in two weeks.’
Catherine—‘Everything’s organised, then?’
Sarah—‘Yes.’
Catherine—‘Have you dealt with everything?’ (Looking at me knowingly.)
Sarah—(lying)—‘Yes.’ (Looking at her knowingly.)
Catherine—‘Good. All for the best. Group hug.’
We sat and watched Jack Nicholson expound his wisdom on why divorced, deserted or widowed women are the sexiest, most powerful women on earth because they don’t have men in their lives. And how men wake up with their wives and girlfriends and wonder where the spirited women they married have gone and they don’t realise that they’re the wankers who’ve killed them. We all nodded in agreement. Then giggled, because, hey, I was getting married in two weeks’ time.
We then watch Dangerous Liaisons, with Michelle again. She’s being told that men can only feel the love they receive and women can only feel the love they give, so any relationship based solely on love is doomed to failure. And we cry when Michelle dies of a broken heart and probably the myriad leeches all over her body.
Paul returns to a group of girlies who look at him as though he’s stabbed their mothers.
22nd August
I ignore all John’s text messages. I ignore his phone calls. I say I’m busy on a course. I can’t see him before the wedding. I will just have to let it ride. He won’t find out about the wedding. I will just come back from holiday and say I want to finish the relationship and everything will be fine. Come back with a tan, completely loved up with Paul, and everything will be fine and John’s pheromones won’t work on me any more. That’s the way it will be. So I ignore the messages.
Message received, eight a.m.:
Where are you? I miss you. I love you. Where are you?
J xx
Message received, nine a.m.:
Don’t you love me any more? J xx
I give in.
Message sent, nine-ten a.m.:
Am very busy this week and next. Then on holiday for two weeks. Have got lots to do at work. Sorry S xx
Message received:
Can’t we meet up just briefly. Am in your part of the woods this week. Just for a drink. J xx
Drink? Last time I will see him and he will not look at me with utter contempt in his eyes? OK. Will meet. Six p.m. at Hylands Park on Sunday.
23rd August
Want to cancel meeting on Sunday. But don’t do anything about it.
Have to collect cake, make arrangements for flowers and chef and catering and make sure still fit into wedding dress. Dressmaker furious as am now size six. John texts.
Message received:
I miss you and love you J xx
So does Paul.
Message received:
I love you and miss you. Can’t wait to be your husband.
P xx
I’m losing more weight.
24th August
Want to cancel wedding. But don’t do anything about it.
Have final fitting for dress. Dressmaker says I will have to wear padding if I lose any more as she is not going to put it in again. See Catherine in her dress. She looks fab. Wedding present list arrived. Most things have gone. Except five people want to give us fish kettles, so we bargain for two and get some Villeroy & Boch wine glasses which break too easily but Paul likes. Organise hair colour and cut and arrange for massage day before wedding so am relaxed. Are you kidding me, Sarah!
Go to priory to make sure the hall is as we like it. The band know where they have to be and we know their set. Mostly Dire Straits and rock ’n’ roll. Similar to GBH wedding. Think of Guy and wonder where he is now and if he still remembers our meeting. Probably not. Try to eat something but everything going straight through me. Go to aerobics. Two hours in a row to get rid of worry. Can’t. Go to Anya to have reflexology. Even the pain doesn’t take the pain away. Anya says I’m strangely quiet but that’s to be expected. Last-minute nerves and that. And she still says I should postpone it. Gives me a hug and doesn’t charge me.
‘It’s my wedding present to you. Be good.’
25th August
Want to cancel John. Paul been really sweet and sent two dozen wonderful red roses to house. With wonderful card. Saying how lucky he is and he’s so sorry he’s treated me the way he has and it will all be different when we are married. And how I will make him the happiest man in the world. And I don’t believe he believes that. And I don’t believe I can. But I still want to cancel John, because John isn’t the way out either. And I haven’t been sleeping well, or eating, and I will need padding for the dress.
At five p.m. my friend Katrina calls and tells me she is getting divorced. That her man of eight years has been seeing another woman, ten years her junior. And they have a three-year-old little boy. And she’s devastated and doesn’t know what to do, but can’t—just can’t—come to the wedding, and of course I understand.
Katrina—‘Sarah, I don’t know what to do.’
She sounded completely wired. Two octaves higher and talking without drawing breath and seemingly not needing to. I’m worried.
Katrina—‘I didn’t expect this. OK, we hadn’t been getting on terribly well, but every marriage has its off times. You know, the passion goes and you try to make it work. But, hey, Gerry—’ (three-year-old) ‘—takes up a lot of time, and I wanted to get my figure back and worked out in the gym and Henry—’ (bastard fuck-face of a husband) ‘—didn’t think I was spending enough time with him.
‘And I love him, Sarah, and I want him back, and he’s suggested that he needs space and that Ge
rry and I should move out of the house and he’ll buy us a little house nearby so he can still see Gerry and I can get a job locally just so that I can prove I can do stuff on my own. And I don’t know what to do. And he hasn’t been coming home, and sometimes he calls and sometimes he doesn’t, and I was at a total loss, and then last night he came home and was drunk and I asked him if everything was OK and he said no, and that he thought divorce was the only way out, and I asked him if there was someone else and he said there was, and I’m devastated because he said he would always be there for me and trust me and love me, and we have Gerry, and, Sarah, I don’t know what to do. And I love him. And I want him back. And…’
I need to calm her and focus her.
Sarah—‘And you need to see a solicitor and find out what your rights are. And Henry is a banker and he’s always been money-focused. Paul even told me this. So he knows exactly what he’s doing and don’t you dare leave the house and you stay in the house, Katrina. Don’t you leave that house. If he wants space he can find it in a little flat in London and share it with this bitch from hell, but he may not have told her the whole truth, in which case she isn’t. And I understand you can’t come to the wedding, but you need to see someone. You need support and it’s difficult for me at the moment. But I can come over. Are you going to be in for the next few days?’
Katrina—‘Yes.’
Sarah—‘You mustn’t leave the house and you must stay with Gerry. I can come there.’
Katrina—‘You’ve got the wedding to prepare for.’
Sarah—‘You need me. You need someone. You don’t have close family. You’re an only child, like me, and, like mine, your mother’s a complete cow. She’s never supplied you with emotional support in your life. When the shit hits the fan like this she might, though—have you spoken to her?’
