‘Bye, then.’
‘Bye.’
It would have been almost furtive if I hadn’t kept reminding myself that this guy worked for Rogerson Railways. His name was John Wayne. And the whole idea was totally ridiculous. But that was the fun of it. The sheer surrealism of doing something that everyone I knew would utterly disapprove of. After all, everyone liked Paul. Everyone. Then why didn’t I? I think he’d grown dull. Controlling and dull. He wanted a square and I’m a circle and you can’t change a circle into a square and he was trying really hard. So I wanted a bit of freedom. No marriage vows on the horizon, so, hey, why not. Even if it was with a guy called John Wayne who was a renowned womaniser with a fetish for chocolate cake, cats and English beer.
6th November
Call from Amanda. Could she take me to supper as a thank you for helping her out? OK. When? How about Friday? Er, couldn’t make Friday. How about Thursday, then? Fine. Fine. Bye.
10th November
Thursday. Supper with Amanda. Meeting at Victoria Station. I am five minutes late.
‘John says you’re always late,’ she says as I tap her on the shoulder and say hi.
‘Yes, I am. But at least I’m consistent.’
‘John suggested this restaurant in Victoria. Have you been there?’
‘No.’
I was bemused by her continual references to John this and John that. I wondered if she was going to suggest things to eat that John recommended. Fuck John. Well, not tonight anyway.
The restaurant was romantic and intimate and not really suitable for two girls together, but, hey, John had recommended it. Perhaps he got some perverse kick out of his girlfriend, soon to be ex, having dinner with his perhaps soon to be next lover. Anyway, we sat down and ordered. And.
‘John says the sole here is good.’
‘I’ll have the chicken, then.’ I smiled.
Thank God. So did she.
‘Me too.’
Amanda talked about herself. How much she loved John. How she had met him. She omitted the chocolate cake bit and I hadn’t drunk anything so didn’t ask about it. Alas, there was no chocolate cake on the dessert menu, so I couldn’t even ask if she fancied any. She talked about John a lot, and told me that he highly respected me. Really? I thought. Respected me. That’s nice. She told me she’s moving out because she needs her own space and that John has bought her a TV and that he is very generous. I said that was nice. I said that I was pleased he respected me, because I’d thought he only made time for me because he liked my legs. She smiled.
‘No, he likes you for your mind, Sarah.’
She paid. I offered, but she paid. As we left the restaurant I felt rather sorry for her. I don’t know if she really loved John but I wanted to tell her that he wasn’t worth her time, her love or her sympathy. That any man who could treat her so badly didn’t deserve such a sweet, gracious girl. That he was much more deserving of someone who could be as emotionally ruthless as say … me. Anyway, she kissed me on both cheeks and said it had been really fun and turned round towards Victoria Station.
I never saw her again after that. John told me months later that she had thrown a few plates when he told her that we were seeing each other, and that she had cut her wrists and threatened on numerous occasions to kill herself. And that she had started to write a letter to me but had never finished it. Somehow wish she had.
11th November
The Friday.
Message received:
Hi there. Love you. P
xxxxx
Respond:
Love you too.xxxxx
Message received:
What are you doing today?
Respond:
On a training course. In Sussex.
Message received:
Have fun. Love you. xx
Respond:
Will do.
What am I doing? Betraying the sweet guy I’ve known for five years with someone I know to be both devil and deep blue sea entwined. Perhaps it’s the danger and immorality of it all that attracts me. I’ve never done anything very wrong in my life. But surely this is morally wrong? Well, no, I’m not married, am I? And Paul hasn’t proposed, has he? And we’re not having sex, are we? And we haven’t for years, have we? So why not? Amazing how you can logic things out so quickly when you want to. Even when you’re wrong.
I think that’s what men do with their logic. Men automatically think they are right all the time. It’s their mothers. They bring them up to think they can do no wrong. Firstborn are the worst. I can understand why Herod wanted to get rid of them. It was nothing to do with Christianity. It was probably the fact he got so pissed off with men who were first sons being boorish and phenomenally arrogant all the time. I blame the mothers. Anyway, when Paul does something wrong he makes me think it’s my fault. Somehow my behaviour leads to him behaving the way he does. So it’s nothing to do with him. It’s natural. It’s nature. It’s excusable. No, not even that. It’s right, and validated, and therefore I must be in the wrong.
Problem is, this screwed-up logic is catching, so now I validate actions which really are morally wrong. Like the phone call. Like the meeting with John. It’s wrong. But, hey, I haven’t had sex with Paul for years. He isn’t treating me well. We haven’t been getting on recently. But I love him. But he doesn’t understand. So be discreet. And flirt with someone else who makes you feel sexy and wanted and womanly. But that’s not wrong. That’s just being natural. It’s nature. It’s right.
Woke up at eight a.m., knowing I was doing the right thing. Full of the joys of spring despite it being November. Speak to Karen about how I feel. Karen listens. Says nothing. Says it’s natural and it’s nature and I’m right and Paul should treat me better. I tell her what I want her to hear so she validates my feelings and ideas. But I’m using male logic here. So I’m right and I know it.
Karen—‘You’re right. Go for it.’
Sarah—‘I’m being logical and doing what’s natural—right?’
Karen—‘Go for it. Whether you’re right or not. Go for it. A man in your shoes would have left years ago. No sex? No sex is ridiculous. You’ve tried to talk but he won’t talk. You love him, you say, and he loves you, he says. But actions speak louder than words, and his words are empty. There’s something wrong with him, Sarah. Deal with it. Face it. You are. Just not straight. John is a crutch. He may not be Mr Right either, but at least he’s Mr Right Now and he’ll sleep with you.’
John’s asked
