by Mary Hayward
On the Wednesday I was still in bed with a migraine, although feeling a bit better when there was a knock on the door. I wasn’t going to let whoever it was see me—well, not like this, so I ignored it. I didn’t expect him to phone, so I picked up. It was Mike. He would be here in ten minutes. I had never got ready so fast in all my life, before or since.
He held a bottle of brandy. I thought what a nice thing to do, and for the first time I invited him in. I sat on the sofa with him, side by side. I don’t remember how long we talked, but it was an effortless conversation. So easy, so free, I found myself laughing, something I hadn’t done for such a long time. It was unsettling; he spoke my thoughts before even I was aware of them.
He was so clear about how to deal with things; it was as if he could see through the fog of decision making, slicing through the layers of confusion like a bacon slicer. He asked me what I wanted to do in life, as if I had all the choices in the world. The fact that I was a single parent didn’t seem to make any difference to his expectation.
The thing that impressed me the most was that he opened my door to hope, yet asked nothing of me.
In that moment, it could have only been a few minutes, I was caught up on a sea of optimism. It was as if I had been lost all those years in the eternal grieving for Joyce. It was as if I had been given a Sat Nav for the first time, showing how to navigate the sea of life.
I had recovered a little from my migraine, and I needed to get out. I suggested he might take me to The Massey pub, 7 o’clock, the next day, Thursday night. I had butterflies in my stomach, like a teenager on her first date. This would be our first official date, and for some reason I trusted him. I suppose that I had seen him for so many weeks at the college, and of course, I knew where he worked. It wasn’t as if we were strangers to each other.
He picked me up on time. I noticed he was always there on time, not before, but exactly on time. We arrived at the Massey, a roaring fire crackling in the middle of the room between the two bars. He ordered some drinks. I had a dry martini, he had half a bitter. Like my Dad, he liked bitter, but I noticed he only had a half pint.
He started talking about himself and his life. About the love that he had when he was eighteen years old.
“So do you want to tell me about her?” I asked.
He looked down into his beer.
“Well,” he said, “her name was Maureen. We met at the Catamaran Yacht Club. I took her sailing, and we were inseparable. We were so passionate and tactile. We saw each other every weekend for six months, until she joined the Women’s Army Corps, and was posted to Caterick in Yorkshire.”
“She joined the Women’s Army?”
“Yes,” he said. “She had always wanted to join up, and I felt it wasn’t my place to stop her. I thought we would still be okay, but life didn’t work out that way.”
“Why, what happened?”
He glanced up from his beer and took a deep breath.
“I don’t really know, but she met a previous boyfriend. He was an officer.” He lowered his eyes and shifted uncomfortably. I sensed it upset him, yet I could see that she had made a deep impression on his memory of love lost. He seemed to be mourning the loss of that love after all these years. He was now forty-one. I didn’t want to pry, but as he described his passion, I hid my secret from him.
He was describing me. I was just as tactile and passionate, but at the same time I was afraid. I couldn’t let myself be drawn in. Not now, after I had been through so much. I couldn’t risk it. Already I was allowing myself to get too close. I thought about Rod, the big house, all the trappings, the future, I couldn’t throw it all away – not now. I just couldn’t.
Suddenly, I felt a draft. I shuddered. It appeared that despite my resistance, the helpless tentacles of young love were reeling me in. But I couldn’t allow it. Mike didn’t have money, and besides he was an inch shorter than me.
Soon the regular customers were crowding us out and I couldn’t hear myself talk, and so we drifted over the road to the Bull’s Head. He ordered some more drinks. He had another half of bitter, and we sat in a quiet corner, admiring the low ceilings and exposed beams; looking every bit its four hundred years of age.
I wasn’t shy about asking questions. I wanted to push him away and try to protect myself.
“Why haven’t you got divorced?” I landed the first blow.
“Getting married because your girlfriend is pregnant isn’t a good idea.” He looked me straight in the eye.
“Why’s that?” I asked. “You were married for eighteen years?”
“It leaves you with someone you stay with out of loyalty. It’s not the right reason.”
“So?”
“I stayed because I thought she would change. I hoped she would grow to love me.”
“Ahmm, I’ve heard that one before.” I raised my glass to my lips.
“No, don’t get me wrong. She has always been a good wife and mother to the children. It’s just that...”
He reached for his drink, and turning, looked up at me with his green eyes.
“She isn’t affectionate.” He cupped his hands around his glass.
“I’ve heard that one before as well, Mike.” I raised my eyebrows.
“Well,” he said, picking up his drink, “it’s true. We were too young.”
“Why didn’t you leave her?”
“Well, the right person hasn’t come along, and besides...” He let out a sigh.
“How have you stood it all these years?”
“Well, as you can imagine, it’s been difficult. You have the children to bring up, you busy yourself, and besides I am very loyal. She’s done nothing wrong.” He looked back at me, his eyes so sad.
He could be telling the truth, but I wondered if he just wanted an affair.
He took me home and we kissed goodnight for the first time.
It was two days before we met again. We went to the Bull’s Head.
Billy would never buy a house—it was too much commitment for him. I needed to find out what Mike’s attitude was.
“I intend to buy my own house,” I said. “What are you going to do when you’re divorced?”
“Buy one with you,” he said.
I choked on my martini. He turned to the barman and called out.
“Can I have a glass of water please?” He patted me on the back and walked to the bar.
“And a packet of crisps please—plain,” I shouted.
What surprised me was the conversation was identical, not the words, but the wavelength; the same sense of direction and purpose; the clarity of vision; he was in my mind, reading it before I was.
Intelligent; here was a man ahead of me, and another box was ticked. The last box—common goal—was nailed firmly to the mast. He wanted everything I wanted. To buy a home together, develop my career, to build a family with Lindsay. Christmas’s and holidays in the sun. But one impediment remained. He was still an inch shorter than me!
He dropped me home at about 10 p.m. that evening. I didn’t sleep. My mind was in turmoil, not in sadness but in decision-making. Rod had it all. What was I thinking? I couldn’t give it up just for what? Mike was nice, intelligent, but he wasn’t wealthy. How would our life be with him? Yet despite all that, still his approach threw me. Other men pestered me to move in, tried to kiss me, yet Mike was different. He didn’t force me; he brought me along with him, as if we were standing side-by-side. I didn’t so much feel as if he was in charge, yet I did what he wanted. I was so confused, and I began to wonder if I was being subtly hypnotised in some way.
Rod was going away for the Christmas, apparently they all went to a hotel and it was all arranged. He had invited me to join them. I rang him and for some reason I didn’t fully understand, I told him that I couldn’t come. He took it badly, but accepted that we would meet in the New Year. I sank down in the chair. When I was with Mike I wanted everything he wanted and I felt held in a partnership. When I was with Rod I felt I wanted the lifestyle
that came with him. With Rod I would have no money worries for the rest of my life, Mike couldn’t give me that. I started to question my own thoughts. Did it really matter about his height? It was far more important that he was intelligent, kind, with the innate ability to guide me through life, and make good decisions. That he had in spades!
Over the Christmas holiday, Mike and I met a few times. The more we met the more certain I became. He had ticked most of the boxes on my checklist, and I had ticked all his boxes. He wanted only one thing above everything else, affection. But he had no money; we would have to work all our lives, and bring up Lindsay as best we could. Would that be enough? I worried about Lindsay; after all, he was still married and living with his wife. I was hopeful that Mike would make a good father. He had two grown-up children of his own, but would Lindsay take to him?
I began to wonder—would he really want me with the prospect of rearing another man’s child?
40
Marriage No. 3
A FEW DAYS LATER I was sitting on the sofa, to Mike’s right. He was talking.
“You and I know,” he said, “we have something between us. Don’t you?”
“Ahmm,” I nodded, but didn’t want to comment. His eyes twinkled.
He reached forward and pulled me round to face him. His arm brushed across my breast.
All at once, I felt embarrassment, the thrill of excitement and shock.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I shot him a stern glance.
“What?”
“Brush my breast.” I looked shocked, but it was nothing more than I expected.
“Mary, you know there is a magic between us.” He held my hand.
“Ahmm.” I wasn’t helping him out.
“We have a common agenda, we get on fine, and well, you and I both know we have to check to see if the chemistry is there.”
“Hmm…” I knew where he was leading.
I was forty years old, he was forty-two, and I was thinking we were no longer young lovers.
I didn’t have time to mess about, and more’s the point, I didn’t want to pussyfoot like young lovers did. He was right. I needed to know if our relationship was going to work or it wasn’t.
“So,” he said, “you know it’s crunch time. It’s time to find out if we are going forward, or whether we call it a day.”
“You mean that we can’t make a decision until we sleep together?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, held the back of my head and nudged my face. He kissed me tenderly on the lips.
There was something there I couldn’t explain; it was more than magnetic and I was drawn to him, as helpless as a moth to a flame. Our lips touched and I felt the warmth of his breath.
Suddenly everything about Mike consumed my waking thought.
“I have to go.” He withdrew from our embrace, slowly and carefully. He continued to hold my hand, so tenderly, with such grace. It felt so natural, as if my hand were being held for the first time.
I didn’t understand why I was experiencing such feelings for the first time, as if I’d never been in love before. Everything he said was an echo of my mind. It was as if we were lost twins, bonded in cognitive symmetry.
He got up from the sofa. I walked with him to the door and he held me in a farewell embrace.
“I want you to sleep on what I have said.” He embraced me and kissed me on the lips. He reached forward and opened the door.
“When will I see you?” I asked.
He turned. “I’ll give you a ring.” He waved, and I watched as he drove out of sight.
The following Wednesday I was out in the garden when the phone rang. It was Mike. He’d finished teaching at lunchtime.
“Are you free?” he asked.
“Give me half an hour.” I was free—it was the turn of my neighbour, Heather, to fetch Lindsay from school.
“I have some good news,” he said excitedly. “I’ll see you at twelve thirty.”
“Okay.”
I was still tidying the house when he knocked on the door. I let him in and made two cups of coffee. The weather was unusually crisp and bright—such a lovely day.
“Let’s go out,” he said. “Walk over Whitewebs, or something.”
“Okay.”
He brought with him a bottle of wine and put it in the fridge.
“This we can have later when we get back,“ he said.
“Oh, okay, do you want coffee?”
“No, let’s just go out now. I want to talk to you.”
He took my red coat and gloves from the peg, handed them to me and bundled me out of the house.
I can’t remember how long we walked, or how long we sat in the little cafe talking about everything, and nothing. It seemed time passed so quickly that I felt a little robbed. I wanted to stay on the little bridge over the gurgling brook, as we dropped pooh sticks in the water, watching them bob up and down as they emerged on the other side. I didn’t want it to end. Outside, I was cautious and calm, but inside I was a mess of emotional dialogue. He had plans, and we were excited about them. We walked back to the car, arm in arm.
As we arrived through the front door, the phone was ringing.
“Hello,” I said as I picked up the phone.
“Hello Mary, it’s Heather.”
“What’s wrong?” I glanced over to Mike.
“Nothing, it’s just that Lindsay wanted to stay for tea. Would you mind if she stayed till 6 o’clock?”
“No, that’s fine, do you want me to pick her up?”
“No, it’s all right, I’ll drop her off.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Mike had poured some wine, and as I turned from the phone call, I slipped into his arms. I never got to taste the wine before we drifted up the stairs, and into the bedroom. His warm hands reassured me, and as he held me close, we sank down onto the bed. I turned away from him, sliding across the covers to the other side. As I began to undress, I sneaked a glance at his bare bottom; it was round, full and sensual, his torso athletic, sexy and suddenly everything about Mike I found was erotic. I timidly ducked under the duvet and our naked bodies touched. I started to shake as if every part of me was full of passion, screaming inside for more, such was the intensity of my desire.
His tenderness caressed me with such wicked pleasure that he took my breath away. I was transported into a new world, with a yearning so powerful that it filled me up, overflowed, and left me glowing in tears of joy. I felt complete for the first time ever that I could remember: totally loved. Nothing prepared me for this, it was an utter surprise, unexpected but welcomed – oh so welcomed as if nothing in the world mattered anymore. I could have stayed entwined all afternoon, drenched in the flames of my own pleasure sensing the wonderful perfume of love on everything I touched. If I had any doubts about the chemistry, they were dispelled without hesitation. Hoping it would never end, I lay still for a moment, cocooned madly in my own satisfaction; the erotic memories lingering wistfully in my mind. It was one of those life-changing moments, when you are not entirely sure if it was real. The sort you recognise as special, unique, a bonding closeness, encapsulated in a connection that comes but once in a lifetime, yet inside you know it was real, although in a sensual dream that lingered on my lips.
The bedside alarm snatched me back to reality and my dream had to end. Lindsay would soon intrude upon my adult life, and I would become a mother again.
He was still one inch shorter than me, but now it didn’t matter! He reached me in other places where height made no difference.
It was the start of a relationship that burned with a passion so bright that nothing could quench it. I wondered if I was going crazy, or if this was how true love was supposed to be.
We started to see each other on a regular basis. Every Wednesday afternoon, Mike was free. It sounded strange when he had a full time job, but because he worked one evening a week, he was entitled to an afternoon in compensation. The next time we met, he said something rather profoun
d.
“If the pain of being apart is greater than the pleasure of being together, then we should live together.”
It confused me at first, until I realised the wisdom of what Mike was saying. He was asking how I felt about him, and was that feeling enough to live together? I didn’t tell him anything; perhaps I should have, but I wasn’t ready and I didn’t reply.
Rod phoned the very next day. He wanted to know when we were going to meet. He asked if he needed to be worried as he hadn’t heard from me for a few days. I told him no, I needed more time on my own to think about things. He accepted that at face value, but the truth was I couldn’t promise anything, I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t want to make a mistake, Billy had left his mark on me and I wasn’t going for a repeat.
A week passed before I got an unexpected phone call. It was Mike. He seemed upset. He was playing the piano, and talking on the phone at the same time.
“The pain of being apart is too great,” he said. “Can I bring... I just... I’ll bring some clothes?”
He played the melody as his voice crackled with emotion
“Are you just coming for the weekend, or do you mean move in permanently?” I said.
“I’d like to move in with you, properly, but I’ll bring my clothes a few at a time.”
“Well yes, okay.” I was taken aback. I wondered if I could trust him, yet at the same time, I realised he must also be placing his trust in me. I felt we were both vulnerable.
A few hours later I opened the door, and he stood there with a small overnight bag. I invited him in, and we embraced.
Rather than being excited about the prospect of living together, he appeared subdued, as if mourning the loss of his marriage. He sat on the sofa, and we talked.
“My wife and I have discussed this moment for so long,” he said. “I told her I couldn’t carry on living this way, with no affection. She knew she wasn’t capable of giving me the love I needed, and we agreed that if I met someone who could give me love, I would leave.” He kept rubbing his hands together and looking down at his shoes.
