that’s different from his norm?’
Sarah—‘You know he never goes to the gym? Well, he’s decided to go now. Twice a week. He has a personal trainer. The boys—well, they’re not boys, they’re forty-year-old men, most of them—anyway, the boys in the office are doing it, and now Paul’s doing it. He tells me his body is a temple. A fucking temple. He showers for an hour each morning. Then there’s the underpants…’
Kim—‘What about the underpants?’
Sarah—‘He has to buy new ones every week. Designer. Next, M&S, Gap won’t do. Must be Gucci or Prada. Anything with a huge initial on the crotch area.’
Kim—‘I didn’t know Prada did underpants.’
Sarah—‘Nor did I, but maybe they do. They’ve got a big P on them, anyway.’
Kim—‘Appropriate, really.’
Sarah—‘And now he wants separate holidays and thinks it’s a good idea if we give each other space. I’m a travel journalist, for fuck’s sake, Kim. How much more space can I give him? I spend three months each year travelling and get us free holidays together when I can. It’s unnerving me.’
Kim—‘Sarah, this has all the signs of a mid-life crisis. How old is he now?’
Sarah—‘Thirty-five. Bit early for a mid-life crisis. But perhaps men are having them younger these days. Plus stress at work. It’s been tough, and he’s been a bit depressed about his weight.’
Kim—‘What else is he doing and saying?’
Sarah—‘He’s coming back late. Often drunk. Been drinking with the boys.’
Kim—‘Sounds as though his body is being treated more like a pub than a temple.’
Sarah—‘And there’s more. He keeps buying really strong-smelling aftershave. Smells like a brothel in the morning. Always humming to himself, too. And he’s bought one of those—you know—soap on a rope things. But with a hole in the middle of it.’
Kim—‘Wants a clean willy, then.’
Sarah—‘I asked him about it and he said he’d read this article about penis hygiene. I think it was penal hygiene but he took it the wrong way.’
Kim laughs.
Kim—‘Bollocks. He just wants to wank and wash and save time.’
I laugh now.
Kim—‘What else has he said?’
Sarah—‘Serious bit, this. He wants Ben and me to move out of the house. Wants to buy us a little house nearby—not too close, not up the road or anything. He says he doesn’t want to accidentally bump into us. Just be in a neighbouring village. And he suggests I get a job as a PA somewhere local. So I’m able to prove I can look after myself. He feels I haven’t put enough into the marriage and doesn’t respect me anymore. Well, he says I haven’t put anything into the marriage and doesn’t respect me at all, actually. That’s the bit that is worrying me.’
Kim—‘He wants you to do fucking what? You’re a travel journalist, Sarah. Why would you want to be a PA? You’ve worked so hard to get this far. Is the man nuts? Okay, he wants space. Let him move out. Let him get a bachelor pad in London.’
Sarah—‘That’s what I told him. And he said the house was his house. And that it’s all his money. And he got very angry and threw a mini-size plastic Badoit bottle on the floor. And that made me laugh and he got angrier. But he looked such a prat, Kim. And, anyway, he doesn’t see why he should move out.’
Kim—‘Don’t you dare, Sarah. You stay put. What planet is he on?’
Sarah—‘As I said. He’s an alien.’
Duncan returns with tuna, water, salad and lime. And no ice. Kim and I change the subject while Duncan hovers.
Sarah—‘Ben’s well.’
Kim—‘That’s good. How old is he now?’
Sarah—‘Three. Four in December. He’s getting to that edible age. You know—I want to bite his bottom all the time. And I can still go in the bath with him and play submarines and it’s not considered indecent or unnatural.’
Kim—‘That’s wonderful. Give him a big kiss from me.’
Sarah—‘I will.’
Duncan stops hovering and leaves. Subject reverts back to alien.
Sarah—‘Paul is a sensible guy, you know. Dependable. Like a rock. Always there for me. Always putting up with me.’
Kim—‘What do you mean, putting up with you? You’re a wonderful, fabulous sexy woman, Sarah Giles. Okay, you look emaciated at the moment, but have a few chips and you’ll be fine. And don’t you forget it, because the man you’ve married obviously has. As for being a rock. Well, rocks may make you stable but they can also hold you down. And I think that’s what he’s done. Bit by bit, day by day, he’s held you down. And chipped away—quite successfully too, it appears—at your confidence.’
Sarah—‘Oh, he’s not that bad. We’ve done some fun things together. You know, holidays and stuff. But what do I bring to the relationship, to be honest?’
Kim—‘What do you bring? You bring you! Or are we talking dowry here? He married you because he loved you. Because you’re fun and full of life and fire and energy. He knew you couldn’t cook. He knew you weren’t domesticated. But so what? He can afford a cook and a cleaner if he wants one. Christ, he can afford one for every day of the week if he wants to. He makes it sound as though he considers you a liability.’
Sarah—‘He does. He says I’m a negative on his balance sheet.’
Kim—‘He says you’re a fucking what?’
Sarah—‘That I’m a liability. That I spend all his money.’
Kim—‘Sarah. This man is full of shit. You know Debbie—my next-door neighbour, helium-voiced Debbie? She’s married to a city oik who earns—I think—half what Paul does. She has manicures, facials, pedicures, and lunches and does Knightsbridge most weeks. She doesn’t do a thing for her man, Mike. Think she probably even charges him for a blow-job. They’ve got a cleaner, gardener, spiritual healer, live-in nanny—and Mike dotes on her. You, on the other hand, look after yourself, buy your own clothes, get your own holidays. You’ve given Paul a wonderful son. What else does he want you to bring to the marriage?’
Sarah—‘Money.’
Kim—‘I should imagine he earns well over a hundred grand a year, Sarah. Plus bonuses. What’s he want with more money? This is all an excuse for something. He’s deflecting you from something. Do you think he’s met someone else?’
Sarah—‘That’s crossed my mind. Makes me feel sick. Best not to think about it. I’m a jealous woman—greeneyed monster and all that. Always have been. Remember the thirtieth
