Greater Expectations (15 page)

20

D-Day

Saturday 28th February

It had already been a long day when I arrived home and it wasn’t yet noon. On opening the front door my attention was immediately drawn to the missed delivery card from the postman that had landed halfway along the hall. I sighed wearily as I picked it up, instantly berating myself for yet another one
of my drunken shopping sprees.

When will I learn?

It is only when these cards come through the door that I discover what my drunken self has been buying for me. Usually it’s utter rubbish that I will never use, like the complete box set of
“The Dukes of Hazard”
. He really does have a wicked sense of humour, my drunken self. Hopefully this time it is something that I actually want or, better still, could use. Some sort of self-hypnosis program that completely wipes selected memories would be perfect.

Now that would be money well spent.

According to the card, my delivery could now be collected from the sorting office although it was only open until 12.30pm today. There was no point delaying the inevitable so I simply turned around and headed back to the car. The girl behind the counter was not at all what I had been expecting. She was young and pretty with a lovely smile. Not quite the image that is conjured up when thinking of a “Postmistress” which, to me at least, is an older lady who wears tweed and rides a sensible bicycle with a basket on the front.

Where do I get these bloody stereotypes?

Anyway, the lovely young lady handed me a plain white envelope that had no distinguishing logo or decals, yet I immediately recognised the printed handwriting and my blood ran cold.

It was from Gemma.

Fucking great.

The perfect end to this week.

I threw the offending letter into the passenger seat and tormented myself as to its contents for the duration of my short journey back home. Deciding that there really was nothing that I wanted to hear from her, I threw the envelope onto the coffee table and drew myself a hot bath. It seems that my feet are my body’s thermostat and they had been like blocks of ice all day so this was my chance to finally get a heat inside me.

It was well into the afternoon before I managed to muster up enough courage to actually open the envelope. It was remarkable the satisfaction that I had derived from ignoring it. It was as if it were Gemma herself that I was forcing to w
ait until I was ready.

This would be done in
my
time, when it suited
me
.

I sat on the floor in front of the fire and looked inside. On top of the folded pieces of paper was a luminous yellow post-it note. On it, Gemma had simply scribbled
“please sign and return”
. I could see that she had also included a stamped addressed envelope. The cynic in me realised that the stamp and envelope she may have provided but there was no doubt I had actually paid for them. The folded pieces of paper were official court documents. They had the previous days date on them and were already signed by Gemma. A cross marked the place for my signature.

They were divorce papers.

The warm tears were rolling down my face before I even knew I was crying. My shoulders heaved up and down as I sobbed uncontrollably. My nose was suddenly blocked and so my mouth gasped for air. I felt the saliva gelling between my lips and it wavered as I exhaled. My indignity was complete with the bungee snot bubbling and dropping in a concentrated effort from my nose. It only returned to its original point with great efforts of inhalation on my part.

I used the sleeve of my housecoat to wipe my face and hide my shame.

The papers fell onto the floor as I collapsed onto the couch. Curling up into a ball, I made myself as small as possible.
How had it come to this?
Staring into the fire, looking but not seeing. Never in my life have I felt so desolate or alone.

What had I done wrong?

The knowledge that I would have done nothing different was of no consolation to me right now. Where was the strong man, the man’s man?
The real man?
All valid questions for which I had no answers. They say that time heals all but I really have no motivation to go on. Go on to what? To try and trust again. To leave myself vulnerable and open to hurt like this? Again?

Never, I would rather die.

I wanted to die.

Right here and right now, just slip away.

That is
exactly
what I wanted to do. At this time and this place, just curl up and die. What would I be missing? Worse still, who would be missing me? My parents through a familial obligation, through that natural tie that binds. That was about it. Sure, friends and other family might get upset for a day or two but then they would move on with their lives. Without the burden that is
me
. Gemma would move on too. If I died right now though, without lodging these court papers, she would move on with all of my possessions.

No, today was not the day to die. If, for no other reason, than to ensure we are divorced and so guarantee that my parents get every last penny that I own.

Yes, that was reason enough to live. To die would just give her, quite literally, a wealth of satisfaction.

That is completely unacceptable to me.

It is easy to recognise that I am on the cusp of that horrible abyss that is depression but I am struggling to understand why? I mean, it was me who broke up with her. I have too much self worth, too many morals, and far too much principles to simply forget all that has gone on. Worse, I could never allow myself to be in that place ever again, that place where there is the merest threat of someone cheating on me again.

Moreover, I couldn’t let either him or her
win
.

Trust is akin to virginity. Once they are gone, it’s all but impossible to get them back. Indeed, virginity is one of the very few things in life that you can
never
get back. No matter what your mother says, you cannot simply go back to where you left it and find it again. Trust is the same for me. When trust is gone, so is any strength in a relationship, as this is the fundamental basis for the relationship.

Any relationship.

There is a domino effect where, through trust, comes respect. When you can trust
and
respect someone then that, I believe, forms the strongest of relationships as this provides the most fertile basis for love to flourish.

Indeed, to me, this is the only basis upon which love can flourish.

However, it is an important distinction to note that you can also respect someone but not trust them. Such respect usually–but not always–manifests itself through fear. Love can never exist in such circumstances and, without love, what is the point of the relationship?

As all these thoughts swilled around my head, my instincts kicked in and I began to realise what was happening. I had failed to recognise that Gemma knew me as well as I knew her and so this was exactly the reaction that she was expecting. The shock tactic that empowers me to kill our marriage and so it w
as my responsibility to end it.

As such, I am ultimately admitting that the failure of
our marriage was
my
fault.

It was irrelevant that we both knew different. She would save face by telling any and all that would listen, that it was
my
choice. She wanted to fight for it. She would win the game of family politics. Yet there was no way I could not take her back, lie next to her in bed, make love to her knowing what she had done. I was incapable of forgetting or forgiving. I knew that. I also knew that I had no choice here. Her tactic became obvious with her inclusion of the return envelope with
my
home address. This gave
her
the power to lodge the papers with the court at her own convenience and so conclude our divorce when
she
wanted–or maybe not lodge them at all.

She could blame
me
but be happy in the knowledge that the final decision would be
hers
.

It was a power play and her way of determining if I was serious. She had underestimated me once again and this gave me an inordinate sense of satisfaction. I had no intention of empowering her with such a decision. Instead, I would simply sign and send the papers directly to the court. I would, however, replace my home address with that of the court on the envelope she had provided
and use her stamp to send them.

Another small victory for me.

Although I hardly feel victorious and I can only hope she feels worse than me but I doubt it. She would throw her energies into her studies and anything else that keeps her occupied. I was always fourth on her list of priorities anyway whereas she was always number one on mine. Gemma valued her family, money, and career more than me. I had always known that, but had believed my status would change once we were married. Foolishly, I had hoped that I would be elevated into the “Family” category.

It was yet another painful lesson learned.

I quickly signed the papers and sealed them in her envelope. As I did so, I realised that this couldn’t wait to be sent for, as long as it was in my possession, there was always a chance of changing my mind. It was the slimmest of chances but a chance just the same. It was not one that I could allow. It was as I was heading for my bedroom to get changed when the phone rang. Guessing it was the agency with my next day’s start time, I grabbed my Bluetooth and stuck it in my ear and answered.

It was Penny.

“Hello stranger, how’s things?” her tone was much the same as usual, light and airy. She never seemed to have a care in the world. Yet I now knew different.

“Hi, it’s nice to hear from you…” it really was, “…but you have caught me at the worst possible moment. I am really not in a good place.” For some ludicrous reason, I pulled my housecoat tighter around myself. Evidently, I am convinced that my phone has some superpower that allows her to see me when she calls.

“Would you prefer me to call another time?” Her voice was filled with concern and I knew she just wanted to help. “I am more than happy to listen and I have plenty of time to do so. I only ever call you when I have such time.”

It struck me as an odd thing to say.

Just then, my knees buckled under me. As I fell to the floor, I suddenly felt helpless and weak. Confused, I had absolutely no idea what was happening to me. Whatever it was, it undoubtedly mixed with my already raw emotions and, try as I might, there was no stopping my breakdown. Gasping and panting, trying to draw breath between sobs, it was uncontrollable. All of my emotions demanded my attention, all at once. Sorrow, relief, despair, grief, envy, loneliness, desolation, depression, all jumbled together in some sort of mental tombola. This led to sheer frustration and a physical pain that I have never experienced before.

Scared, I found the corner and held my knees under my chin, violently trembling and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Just let it out, let it all go.”
As Penny said this, I swear it felt like her arms were folding around me. Her voice is always so soothing and caring–like velvet. It really seemed like she was here with me. Then she said,
“I understand.”
Something inside me clicked.
How could she possibly fucking understand?
She had
no fucking clue
what was going on nor how I felt. If she thought she understood, now was the time to prove her wrong. Right
fucking
now.

I unloaded.

I told her all about the letter, the papers with Gemma’s strong and confident signature already etched upon them, my smugness at using her envelope to post them directly back to the court. Then I went on to tell her of my own feelings of isolation and failure. I concluded with a snide and deliberately combative comment of “So now you
really
understand.”

Surprisingly, she chose to ignore it.

She allowed a few moments of silence to pass and so ensure that I had finished before she said anything. “How do you feel about it all now, are you certain that divorce is the right decision for
you
?” was all she asked. Yet it seemed that she asked this question in a rather rushed manner, almost overly concerned with what my answer might be. Her usual calm and aloofness was replaced with an anxiety that she had never shown before.

Maybe I was just over sensitive or seeing things that weren’t there.

“Divorce is absolutely the right decision for me. I know that I am experiencing the grieving process for the death of my marriage but this knowledge does not make it any easier.” I was calmer now and had gathered myself up from the floor and had made it to my bedroom. As I slipped on a pair of jeans and shirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in my mirrored wardrobe. The effects of my earlier breakdown were there to be seen on my face. I suddenly felt foolish and ashamed. I want to be strong. I need to be strong.

Anger swelled within me.