Alex laughed. “Oh, poor you.” He rose and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “I’m sorry you’ve had a rotten time, Jo. It’ll get better. Gotta get back. I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow evening.”
“I’m OK.”
“I’ll buy you dinner. Don’t be so obstinate,” said Alex. “And don’t stick pins in any dolls.”
I arrived home feeling defeated by the day. I was cross with every man I knew: Patrick, Paul, Alex – and Milo, who, in his customary manner of sharing his bad mood around, had been particularly annoying.
I remembered that Anna had reached a crisis point. I wondered how she had coped with her brutal let-down. Why was she hanging on? She was being so hard on herself. I wanted to say to her, “You’ve got so much going for you – a good brain, work that you love, a kind and generous nature. You deserve so much better.” But I had to ask myself the same questions. Had I been blind to reality? I had hoped Patrick’s love for me would sweep me up and hold me in a tender embrace, like the homely figure, described by Anna, on the front of the book of extracts from Julian’s writings. Was there any hope that I would ever know such a love? Why did it come to others, but not to me? I took up the journal.
13 January
We met today. As his eyes held mine I felt a great wave of love sweep over me, but I also felt terribly anxious. Mark was in good spirits. He looked at me with the sweetest expression of tenderness and love. We talked about nothing. I found it impossible to say the things I wanted to say. It had been so long since we’d met, I didn’t want to upset him and frighten him off. Fear of someone else’s fear; how complicated it has all become. Suddenly lunch was over and we were in the street. He is going skiing with his wife and will call me when he returns. He pulled me to him in a quick hug, holding me as one might hold an object, allowing himself no warmth in the contact.
I walked away, bravely while he was still in sight, then unsteadily, into Oxford Street, feeling as though my world had come to an end. Colours blurring, the noisy bustle of shoppers – I was not a part of it, I was walking through it, longing to be in the quiet of my home.
This evening I am beginning to recover. How could I have allowed the opportunity to pass without discussing everything and reaching some conclusion? Now my thoughts are occupied with our next meeting. Then I shall get some answers.
2 February
Mark has telephoned me several times. His company is in deep trouble and he’s very worried. There have been signs of problems for several months, but he believed he could sort things out. Now he’s no longer sure and terribly worried about the future. I can’t help wondering if this has something to do with the stranger who followed us, but Mark won’t discuss it. I feel so very sorry for him. He has worked so hard. It looks as though I shall have to wait for our talk.
14 February
We met for lunch today but all Mark could talk about was his work. He is waiting to hear from an American company that he hopes will go into partnership with him. Once again I walked away from the restaurant in deep despair. I need Mark so much. What does he want from me? I feel I can hardly push things now he’s in such difficulties. It’s agonizing to be kept in limbo, with so much left unsaid and unresolved. He promised that we’ll meet in a few weeks’ time.
3 March
We had lunch today. The Americans have agreed but seem reluctant to put in as much money as Mark wants. He’s very busy, travelling around the country and to and from Chicago. He was stressed and worried, but happy to see me. I seem to cheer him up. It’s six months since we first met. This routine with Mark is becoming unbearable. Perhaps he’s planning to get out of his marriage and doesn’t want to speak out until he knows he can be free. I need to know where I stand. But I’m afraid if I try to say what I want to say the conversation will go wrong. So I’m going to put it all down in a letter. I have to take a big risk to move my life forward. One way or another, the agony will end.
8 April
As we sat together in the restaurant, Mark was his usual chatty, lively self. At last, I plucked up my courage. I said, “I have something I want to say to you. I want to get it right, so I’ve written you a letter. I’d like you to read it now.” Suddenly he looked serious. He took the letter and read it slowly and carefully. I noticed that his face turned slightly pink. Then he put the letter down and said, “I have nothing to say.”
It felt like a body blow. From that point on the conversation disintegrated. I said I was simply asking for an answer, that he must tell me what he wanted and what he intended to do. He said, “You’ll never get the truth out of people by being so direct. You should have warned me that you wanted to talk. I feel emotionally hijacked.” He argued and blustered and changed the subject, drawing me into pointless arguments. I felt hurt, ridiculed and shamed. I asked if he was happy with his wife. He said he was; then said, “The fact that I say I’m happy doesn’t mean I am.” It was too much. I burst into tears, as I had determined not to do. Through my tears, feeling pathetic, I said, “I need you.” I apologized for crying.
He took my hand and said tenderly, “It’s all right to cry. I cry a lot. You know, I’m always here for you. Whenever you need me I’m always at the end of a phone line.” I asked, “Why won’t you trust me?” He said, “I do trust you. That’s never been a problem, from the beginning. Can’t we go on as we are?” I said I wouldn’t continue in this way. I left the restaurant feeling even more bewildered and unhappy. In the street, he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. He’s going to Chicago for two weeks and will ring me when he returns.
I am utterly frustrated and desperate. I feel entangled in a web from which there is no escape. I long to be with him. I feel sure he longs to be with me. I’m caught between the desire to fulfil my needs and the knowledge that I may have to make a decision to abandon this love, abandon him to his fate, sentence myself to a lifetime’s loneliness. The agony is acute.
29 April
I met Mark again today. It’s been three weeks since our last lunch. I was determined to have a serious conversation. To my joy and delight, he was willing to talk. He said, “I desperately want to free myself. I want to be master of my own fate, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I break the rules again.” I asked what rules he meant. Neither he nor his wife has any religious convictions. He said, “The rules we have to keep, or society would fall apart. I’ve been feckless one time too many. I’ve let too many people down.” He won’t confide in me. He said, “I can’t. They’re other people’s secrets. I’m honour-bound. I’m not a chap who can easily do the dirty. I’m afraid of being an island. I’m afraid I’ll end up hating myself.”
Even though he was being so negative, I was overjoyed that he was at last willing to discuss his feelings. My patience was being rewarded. I trod gently, offering my thoughts. He promised to think it all over and make a decision. I feel sure he will make the right choice. We had such a happy time together and were as close as ever. I was back with the old Mark, my darling Mark, whom I love so much.
As we parted, Mark said, “You know, don’t you, that I’ll always love you? I’m truly sorry for hurting you. I do want to do the right thing, please believe that.” He held me close and kissed me tenderly. I could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to leave me. Mark is opening his heart to me once again. I need just a little more patience, and all will be well.
30 April
The relief I feel is enormous. I feel sure now that everything will come right. I felt almost light-hearted this morning as I went out into the park to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. My Mark is coming back to me. Perhaps in a week or so he will come here for lunch again, as he used to do, and we will be as close as we were. He must know by now how much I love him and that I will always stand by him.
4 June
Mark’s business problems have suddenly worsened. The Americans are prevaricating. He says it will be impossible for us to meet for several weeks. I am bitterly disappointed. I had such high hopes after our last meeting
. Now the old Mark seems to have disappeared again and I am again in limbo. I feel I’m losing control of my life. I’ve lost one commission because I failed to attend meetings. I’m living off my capital and that’s a worry. Life no longer has meaning. I have been feeling below par for more than six months. I should see the doctor but can’t face it. I have just enough energy to get through each day.
25 August
Late August already. The weather has been beautiful this summer, but I rarely go out. Everything is too much effort. Weeks have passed since we last met. My loneliness is unbearable. I feel as though all the energy is being sucked out of me. My creativity has dried up. My bank balance is dwindling and being further depleted by expensive treatment because my hair has begun to fall out. I miss him. Today I went to Brighton, to try to break away from this relentless treadmill of unhappiness. I walked along the beach and watched two boys riding their bikes at the edge of the water, careering, carefree, splashing in and out of the waves and laughing. I wondered if I would ever feel that way again.
It was much worse to be alone away from home. Wherever I go, there is no peace, no rest. It’s never having been given a chance that hurts the most, seeing happiness come so close and then being snatched away. I walked the length of the beach, and it came to me that the only way forward is to stop trying to say the right thing, and to say exactly what I feel. That will release me and give me my freedom.
27 August
Yet another sleepless night. I tried to set my thoughts down in a letter I will never send. I’ve written “The pain I am enduring is almost more than I can bear. For nearly a year I have done everything that seemed right, with much thought, prayer and heart-searching. Last night I finally got to bed at a quarter to four and am up again at half past five, writing this. I don’t know, finally, what to do with all this pain.” I feel utterly alone.
29 August
Resolute in my decision to speak honestly to Mark, I rang him today. He sounded delighted to hear from me. I said I wished he would talk to me and deal with the problems between us. He suddenly became furious. “My feelings are off-limits. The issue is closed,” he said. Then he asked me to meet him for lunch. I agreed to see him in three weeks’ time. I replaced the receiver feeling confused, angry and hurt. Should I cancel the lunch, or simply not turn up? I can’t go on this way.
18 September
In desperation, I have spoken to a psychotherapist recommended by a friend. He thinks Mark sounds like a codependent, which is someone who is perpetually occupied in blaming himself for another person’s behaviour. He says Mark is in denial, and it’s a coping mechanism, a means of survival. He said I shouldn’t challenge Mark because he was not functioning at a rational level. He said, “If you love him, your best course is to keep things superficial. Don’t try to go into those emotional areas where he doesn’t want to go, or he will become defensive and hostile and pull away from you.” I shall try to do as he advises – but for how long? I am in despair. Mark needs rescuing but I cannot help him.
5 October
Autumn is here. It is just over a year since we first met. We met today for lunch. Mark talked seriously for a while and then became flippant. I realized I was not enjoying his company. The person I knew seems to have become submerged. Mark says he has aged ten years in the past year. He does look much older. The soft auburn-brown hair has been cut shorter; it is now coarse, with streaks of grey. His skin looks taut and pale. There are etched lines of worry around his eyes and mouth. He still tried to paste on his carefree manner, but mostly he looked tired and sad. He seemed preoccupied and swore at the waiter for spilling the wine, which is not like the old Mark. As he paid the bill, I asked if he would like to come with me to an art exhibition. Suddenly he became agitated and angry.
“I can’t come because I’m not free,” he said.
“Why don’t you do what you want to do?”
He said, “I am. I’m happy with my dog, my horse and my wife.”
Our quiet conversation had suddenly erupted into a row, as he began shouting at me. I became terribly upset. I said “I’m afraid your denial will make you ill. That’s what happens. You could get cancer.” I meant to say that he lived his life in a cardboard box, but heard myself calling him a cardboard man. I regretted it immediately, remembering how hurt he had been by his father’s opinion of him as a failure. He watched me quietly and, to my surprise, tenderly.
He said, “Thank you for saying you hoped I’d get cancer. Thank you for that tirade of virulent abuse.” He rose and walked towards the exit. I followed him out of the restaurant. I said, “I’ve never abused you. I said I was worried that you would get cancer.” It was freezing cold and I was shivering. He said, “It’s not cancer that’s the problem. It’s IVF. We had treatment but it didn’t work.” With a complete change of mood, he said gently, “If things were different, it would be different, but they’re not. I’ll see you on the 28th.” He put his arms around me, kissed me on both cheeks and walked away.
I was aware that I was nearing the end of the journal. I felt both eager to read the rest and fearful that there would be no satisfactory resolution of Anna’s unhappy dilemma. I felt I had been drawn into a rather sad story about obsession. “But what about Julian?” I wanted to say. “You were getting so deeply into her story and I want to know more of what you discovered.” I needed to know if Anna had been helped in any meaningful way by her attempts to assimilate Julian’s teachings into her life. It had become very important that Anna – and Julian – should not disappoint me. I resisted the urge to quickly turn the remaining several pages. It was late and I was tired. I would finish the journal the following evening.
The next evening I took up the journal, sad to realize that so little of it was left but eager to read the last entries.
21 October
For several days after our last meeting I felt shell-shocked. As the date for our next lunch approaches I’m overwhelmed again by all the old feelings of fear and longing. These feelings, and the belief that the difficulties are a challenge I must overcome – like some chivalrous knight scaling a medieval tower to rescue a fair lady – have persuaded me to phone Mark. I hated being the one to make the call but as Mark is not accountable for his actions I felt I had no choice. As I dialled the number I had to control my breathing and try not to shake.
His business problems have increased and he’s desperate to find another investor. He’s on the road night and day. He can’t make our date on the 28th. I said I had been very upset about the way things went last time. Suddenly his mood changed. He said, “I upset you! You were so bloody rude I had the distinct impression you didn’t want to see me again.” He accused me of hurling venom and abuse at him. He said, “You left me feeling a bit of a prat. I didn’t see where you were coming from. I feel very odd about your reaction. I couldn’t see the point in trying to pursue a conversation. There’s so much pressure on me, I can’t take it. If I enter a discussion, then it becomes an issue and progresses in some way. It’s not going to happen.”
My heart sank as he spoke. It seems incredible that he could blame me when I’ve been so patient and supportive. I thought perhaps the best thing was to end it there, end the pain; but he asked me to meet him next month, on November the 9th.
9 November
I met Mark in a small town near London. He was his usual cheerful, chatty self. It seemed extraordinary, after all that has gone before, and somehow unreal – surreal even. My feelings for him were still there, in the same old way, though muted by the fear and discomfort that has become customary before, during and after our meetings. He looked as handsome as ever, but as he turned his head I was reminded of Will, my first boyfriend, and in particular of a picture taken of us at a party. In the picture he looked completely different. It was as though the camera had caught him at an angle that revealed something not usually seen. It bothered me at the time. Later, after we had broken up, I realized that the camera had seen more clearly than I had.
As Mark and I sat together at the lunch table, it felt as though the situation had moved out of the sphere of reality. It was agonizing to be playing what felt like a scene from someone else’s life. How could Mark sit and chat to me about his life as though everything were normal and I was just some casual friend or acquaintance? It was the lack of acknowledgement, the apparent lack of recognition of who and what I had been, was and could be that was somehow shocking and very hard to take. But then, I thought, I suppose this is what you do when you’re in denial. He seemed to have become desensitized to my feelings, and some of the things he said hurt me deeply; but perhaps it was because I had become so sensitized to the situation that everything took on greater significance and was more painful.
He brought up the subject of marriage, informing me that it was always a disappointment after the first few years. I felt insulted. How did he know what marriage with me would be like? He had resolutely refused to give us a chance. He had thrown away something precious, perhaps irreplaceable. How dare he now rubbish it? How dare he categorize me with his wife? It was unfair. I had shown him something different.
I felt that in order to have any connection with Mark I was faced with being diminished, because he would or could accept only a watered-down version of me. Denying and diluting me allowed him to continue pretending that everything in his life was fine. I felt that he would give me only a cardboard cut-out of himself. How could I be myself in his company when he would no longer even touch my hand? All the things that had attracted him to me had to be kept under wraps. He made me feel like the invisible woman, like a butterfly that had been pinned to a board. I felt angry, frustrated and sad. I felt that colluding with him, shrinking to the pale figure in the corner of his picture of reality was the price I had to pay in order to be included. It felt as though I were killing some part of myself, consenting to be killed. I began to feel light-headed and detached from the scene we were playing out, but he didn’t seem to notice.
The Greening Page 12
