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SAM SCARBOROUGH
WITH LOUIS AWERBUCK
Human & Rousseau
PREFACE
The person I am now, and the one I am becoming, are very different from the person I was when I wrote this book. This was my story for six months – a story that many women have told.
INTRODUCTION
I wrote this book because I thought I was going mad.
It started off as a diary, so that I could track what was happening in my life. By writing it down, I thought I would be able to see what was really happening.
When I decided to publish this book, I was going to use a pseudonym. But when I started telling my story I realised there were so many friends, and other women, who wanted to hear it. They begged me for the book, either for themselves or for their friends. I also realised that a pseudonym may suggest I had something to hide. But I don’t, and I am not afraid to tell my story.
This is not a rant and I have nothing to prove. I have never been one to worry about what others think. I am not a victim either. This story is about a failed relationship from which I managed to escape. Luckily. This is about me – my diary about my relationship.
I like bubbles, fresh greens and dark chocolate. I am usually quite funny, most times a bit rude, sometimes a bit sarcastic. Mostly funny, because I say it like it is. But I am not unkind. I am pretty normal, I think. I know the difference between right and wrong. I push the boundaries – often – but am sensible when I need to be. I am on the cusp of Leo and Cancer. My ‘nicer’ days are Cancer; my normal days are Leo. In short, I am no wallflower.
I don’t do organised crime, religion or book clubs. I am no groupie. I am a single parent. My friends say I am an inspiration; they seem to think I make it look easy. It is, sometimes. At other times, it isn’t. But I love my daughter more than anyone could imagine and would not change that for the world. I am not a single-parenting martyr either. I fell in love, got married, had a baby, fell out of love and out of marriage. It is not what I planned. I wish for my daughter’s sake it was not this way, but it is.
I have made it on my own. I am financially secure. I sometimes take time out to enjoy extended travel, but mostly live within my means. I’m maybe not the most intelligent blonde you have ever met, but I am street smart and have a degree. I can spell, and speak in full sentences – unlike some of the men I have dated …
I don’t do married men or men with girlfriends. That’s just my policy. Life is complicated as it is – who needs that deceit and karma? I married a nice man once, which has to count for something. In fact, I have often had lovely men in my life. I have dated a toy boy, a farmer, an arts journalist and a publishing bigwig. Then, for some reason – maybe a need to visit my shadow – I decided to be more open-minded and landed myself the heavily tattooed (ex) drug dealer. Following hot on his heels, while still on my shadow trip, came the English Patient, a big drinker and occasional drugger who broke my heart.
Needless to say, during and after these shadow-period experiences I found myself having to reassess my life, values and exactly what I was looking for in love and in life. My expectations of love were quite simple: an honest and mature relationship. I wanted to love a man who was respectful, kind, open and committed to loving me back.
Although happy enough on my own and not desperate to settle down again, I did want to find my soul mate. Eventually. Who doesn’t?
I didn’t want just anybody. I wanted a deep, meaningful connection – someone to hold me tight at night, someone to belly laugh with me and to share life’s funny and sad moments. I wanted interesting conversation, intimacy (emotional and sexual), and to feel deeply for someone again. I wanted manners; I wanted chivalry. I am not a woman who needs the door opened for her, but it’s a pleasant surprise when a man is chivalrous. Ha! Even writing that word seems so outdated, so … unreal.
I wanted a family for my daughter, a loving and supportive stepdad and maybe a few siblings. Not exactly the 2.4 kids and white picket fence – we could live on a barge for all I cared.
In short, what I really wanted was a lovely man who treated me well, a partner present in my life, and sex on the side (not necessarily in that order). Nothing new here that thousands of other women don’t want for themselves. But listing these wants made them seem more real, concrete. I had set a new course.
Funny how just when we think we have things figured out, a test follows. Right on cue, enter Psycho Charming (PC, as he is now known in my group of friends). If only that stood for Prince Charming.
I met PC while ‘with’ the English Patient, in quite a funny situation.
We were sitting on the porch at my dad’s safari lodge. I was hung-over. The English Patient and I had been on another excessive night out in our torrid, alcohol-induced love affair. (To backtrack: I had met the English Patient at the safari lodge, too. And before you form any connections, no, I do not use the safari lodge as a dating site, and I certainly won’t be meeting any more men there in the future.) The English Patient had come to South Africa for an operation. Over a glass of wine, I developed an instant crush on him. I felt like a schoolgirl again and, among other things, became his chauffeur for the few weeks of his stay. We partied up a storm, against all of his doctors’ orders. We had a whirlwind love affair, fuelled by his dreams of coming to live in South Africa.
Needless to say, he never did.
My first impression of PC was not great. He was having a dirty weekend with an ex-girlfriend of the English Patient. Quick introductions, quick chat. But I didn’t like the disparaging remarks about the girl he was with or the way he and the English Patient were joking about how he had booked her a ‘cattle class’ plane ticket while his was first class. Anyway, to cut a long story short, a year and a half later I moved to London to live with PC. Not the English Patient. Are you keeping up?
When the English Patient (my Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights) and I ended our on-and-off 18-month love affair, PC and I made contact. It was February and I wanted to do the London Marathon, so we started chatting about the possibility of his getting me an entry. Many Skype chats, text messages and phone calls later, he came to South Africa. The London Marathon had been a joke between us when we met and he had dared me to do it in a nurse’s outfit – a reference joke about looking after the English Patient.
PC had offered me an entry as it was very hard to get one from South Africa. The conversation went like this.
Me: How is fabulous London?
PC: How is amazing Cape Town? I would rather be there than London.
He then said that if I loved London so much I should come and visit. I said, Sure, babe, send me a ticket …
He came to visit me in South Africa that May.
PC’s arrival at Cape Town International Airport was where it all started for me. I fell in love with the way he walked through that terminal door. My heart skipped a beat, excitement rushed through me – those love-at-first-sight sensations – yet I was totally calm and had the sense that I had been with this man before. Everything just felt normal, as if I was picking my man up from the airport after a business trip. He had the most beautiful green eyes, a lovely smile, and a very handsome face. He
