Highlander I, II and III, like he made me watch them when I first met him. Hope so. Serve her right.
Then there’s usually a cinema receipt or two a week. I can tell if he’s seen a film with her already. He always makes a comment.
Paul—‘One of my friends said they enjoyed this.’
Or:
Paul—‘One of my friends said they didn’t think much of this. Found it boring.’
Or, worse:
Paul—‘I know someone who would really enjoy this film.’
When have any of his friends ever been one of his friends?
When did Paul start to have nameless friends?
It’s Friday already. Six p.m. Time has no meaning at the moment. Probably why I’m on time or early these days.
Babysitter has arrived. Tina is busy running around after Ben. Getting him bathed, bedtime story then lights out. Kiss for Mummy. Then night-night. Thankfully Ben seems not to notice Daddy hasn’t been about much these days. Occasionally he asks where Daddy is, but he spends most days in the nursery, and I keep him busy with games and fun in the evenings.
I’ve briefed the staff at the nursery about what I’ve come to call the situation at home. Sat down with the principal nursery nurse for half an hour, managing not to cry. She reassured me divorce and separation are becoming the norm, not the exception. There are four other children in Ben’s class where the parents are experiencing what she called similar problems. I didn’t go into too much detail. I doubt if these other couples have quite the same story to tell.
I try not to cry in front of Ben. When I do he tells me to, ‘Brush those tears away, Mummy. Brush those tears away.’
And I do. And I tell him I love him. And that Daddy loves him and that Mummy and Daddy love each other. And that calms him and me both.
Babysitter Tina also knows about the situation at home. She’s been looking after Ben since he was a baby. She’s extremely sensible and efficient, and Ben loves her and is terrified of her. Paul is terrified of her, too, which is good. Her advice is a little drastic. She tells me I should kill Paul in his sleep. I tell her this would ruin my social life and that I look lousy in stripes.
Doorbell rings. Too early. Can’t be Pierce.
It is.
Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Didn’t expect you this early.’
Pierce—‘Hi, just came from the gym. The showers weren’t working properly there. Can I use your shower?’
Sarah—‘Er, yes, of course.’
Bit confused. Not the usual way to start an evening. I’ve never had someone come to take me out to dinner and ask to shower at the house. And he goes to the same gym as me. The showers were working perfectly all right when I went there yesterday. Perhaps he’s had sex at the gym or at lunch or something. And wants to get the smell of the other woman off his body. Whatever, it’s a bit weird.
I’ve got to shower, too, so I take a shower in the en suite bathroom off the main bedroom. He takes a shower in the main bathroom. So I suppose we’re sort of taking a shower together.
Half an hour later, both finished. He’s wearing something Armani and black and looks—well, gorgeous. I’m wearing something feminine and tight, but not short. Having lost so much weight, I now want to wear things that add weight rather than take it off. This outfit does.
Pierce—‘You look lovely. Paul is silly. You’re a babe, Sarah.’
Sarah—‘Thank you, Pierce. Nice to feel I’m a woman again.’
Pierce drives a BMW 5 series convertible. Dark blue. Black and tan leather interior. He mixes his own CDs. While we drive to the restaurant we listen to Norah Jones, Prodigy and Vaughan Williams. Pierce has eclectic tastes.
Sarah—‘Do you see much of Jane these days?’
Pierce—‘We talk on the phone. She’s met someone. I haven’t. But I’m happy for her. I still love her, but couldn’t live with her. Nor her me. I know our divorce was for the best, and I’m sure you will feel the same about Paul.’
Sarah—‘At the moment I don’t. I’ve known Paul for twelve years. I’ve been through a lot with him and I still believe I love him and want to try to make it work. I think he’s tried to make the relationship work in the past, mainly through trying to change me rather than himself. But we’ve both avoided the issues in our own way. Now we’ve got to confront them. For Ben’s sake if not our own.’
We turn into the restaurant car park. The car purrs to a halt.
Pierce—‘You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah—(holding my hand)—very beautiful. And you deserve a lot. And Paul wasn’t able to give it to you. I know you’re feeling vulnerable at the moment, and you’ve got to be careful at this time. You’re feeling vulnerable, and you may just hook up with any man to get rid of those pent-up sexual frustrations that have been building up inside you over the years. The longing you must feel… It must be terrible. Just make sure you only confide in those you trust. Someone you trust and respect and who is here for you.’
I look at Pierce. And think, Yes, I am distraught and vulnerable. And haven’t been made love to for ages. And I do feel unloved and unwanted and unconfident and bruised. But I’m not stupid. And I’m not desperate. And I think that was a chat-up line.
‘I can get rid of those sexual frustrations the same way I’ve always got rid of them. I work out. A lot.’
Pierce—‘Yes, you’re in good shape. I can see you’re very toned. You know I’ve always found you attractive.’
Sarah—‘You find a lot of women attractive, Pierce.’
I think, Is this a good idea? Dinner with Pierce? It’s just dinner, after all. Nothing wrong with that. I need a friend now, not a lover. Not just yet anyway and not him. Too close. He works with Paul and I know Jane. Too soon. Still want to try and make it work with Paul. And he’s possibly kinky. Kinky not good for me at the moment.
The Waterhole is full of the upper crust of Chelmsford society—the senior back office boys. The settlement clerks of the City. The wannabes of the Square Mile. Then there are the made-good second-hand car dealers, jewellery dealers, drug dealers. Loud watch hanging from one wrist. Louder wife hanging from the other.
Pierce ignores the flirtatious glances of these women as we walk to the table. He turns more heads than I do—which I expect. We order. He looks good.
We order something with salad to start. Then fish. Tuna, grilled, with soy-something. I’m not hungry, but I think I can eat tuna. Nothing tastes of anything these days. It’s just good to be out of the house.
Pierce—‘You realise you’ll be perceived as a predator now? You won’t hear from many of your so-called friends because they’ll suspect you will pinch their husbands.’
Sarah—‘You think so?’
Pierce—‘Yes.
