Sunday, 28 June 2009

What happened next...

So anyways, off I go - and he turns up late (surprise surprise). I'd
been sterling myself, ready to kindly but firmly explain that he and I
just couldn't be together any more - I couldn't cope with being made
to feel like a bystander to the life he wanted, just waiting for him
to come home every day. Not allowed to ask where he'd been or who
with because he said it wasn't any of my business.

I certainly got a surprise - the first thing he told me the second he
plonked his rear down in my nicely-manicured-but-well-used car was
that he was going to be honest. Up front. Straight out. I tried not to
look like I was listening, but think I left half my fingernails in the
seat, hoping the little glimmer might just become a beaming ray of
discovery. But no.

He went on to tell me (bear in mind I hadn't even spoken at this
point) that he and his 'secretary' (as she will be known for blog
purposes) had had a conversation the previous week, and that the
question had been raised as to whether they would 'get together' - of
course, he told me, this would be difficult as she was already in a
relationship with a fellow staff member and friend (at this point, I
think I should add the fact that they already had an illicit affair
last year, which had been forgiven if not forgotten). And, of course,
there was the issue of 'me' to deal with. At that point I just
switched off. Shut down. Suddenly found my nails very interesting. And
lit a cigarette - one of the many things I'd not been allowed to do

He then very earnestly told me that I simply had to listen, because
that wasn't the 'best part', and the next bit was better. Said that at
her very next shift he'd told her he had no intention of getting
together with her until what was happening with 'us' was sorted out. I
tuned out... Again. The next bit was all about how he wanted his own
life, own independence, to go where he wanted when he pleased without
having to answer to anyone. To go out and behave like the twenty-
something he is. And that his most important priority was his house
and his life. Yawn. Another cigarette.

But of course, if I wanted to see him, say, once a week that might be
ok with him as long as he wasn't busy.

I waited patiently for him to finally stop talking, then quietly and
politely asked him if he'd finished. Yes, he said. So I asked him to
get his sorry, useless behind out of my car and keep on drivin'. But
oh, no. In saying this, I was apparently not listening to a word he'd
said and completely missed his point - that he had done me a favour
and been thinking of me the whole time - I duly reminded him of the
occasions where he clearly had not. At the office being several of
them, no doubt. And again asked him to 'vacate the vehicle'. Well, he
kept talking, and I stopped listening. In the end I saw no other
option but to start the car (for the fourth time, as he hadn't taken
the hint on the other three occasions) - and this time to be very un-
ladylike, and with a professionalism of a true rally driver (hurrah!)
spun the car in a backwards doughnut of smoke and rubber, coming to a
halt two inches from his nicy shiny truck. He vacated (out of the
vehicle, I mean, not in the car!).

I drove away.

Stopped the car in a side street.

And breathed a sigh of relief.

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