Activity 10.1 –The Wife -
Life’s to short, is that really true… Maybe those who say
such things haven’t lived properly and therefore yearn for more years than they
have left. I, personally think our span is enough, I’m forty-five, no age at
all but i’ve disappeared without trace, sunk underneath the daily mud we wade
through. The days don’t float or zip like Zoeys, sixteen and all knowing,
thinks she can do what she wants, and near enough does, another two whole years
of having to survive her, god sake. And Tom, burst from the seams of his
bedroom, angry at us, at the world, because we couldn’t afford his University
fee’s. He just packed and took off, a girl called Eve, somewhere in the
borders. So easy, he just packed one bag, and slam, gone… good luck I said,
sorry for failing you, I got a small kiss for that.
Me, every night for the past three years I’ve sat up in the
dark, mulling over this shit life with him, that cold lump of him, snoring and
farting beside me for the past twenty-five years, I can’t do this anymore. Wonder,
Tom did it, one bag and whoosh. Is it that easy just get out of bed, dress
quietly leave and knock on my sisters door saying ‘Help, I’m dead.’ She’ll have
that look on her face, what about Tony, fuck him I’ll say, what about the children,
fuck’em both, I’ll say, then fall asleep crying in the spare room.
There, packed, that was easy. The doors just as easy, the
first bus in twenty minutes again, its easy…lights on she’ll be seeing Bob off
to work, packing his lunch, like always… knock, that’s easy. She doesn’t seem
surprised, i smile weakly at her… ‘Help,’ I say ‘ I’m dead.’
The Husband -
I almost said ‘what the hell are you doing’ But kept shut.
It’s over, we’ve been over for years… I can’t wait till she just slips away,
probably to her sisters. She is beautiful, those lines on her face actually
make her more elegant, it brings out the depth in her brown eyes… I want to
kiss her, trace along her lifelines and hold her the way I did when we were
alive… but the fleeting second has passed. I’ll find someone else, same type
but different.
She’s gone. Look out the window, see her direction. Sisters,
thought so.
We loved each other once, till about three years ago, she
started withdrawing, went cold on me. She started dressing in the bathroom, keeping
her body from me, the accidental flash of breast but nothing more. No affection,
no communication, nothing, she just sat up nights staring in the darkness. God
the contempt she’s treated me with when i tried, with those luxury weekend spa-hotels.
What did I get back, a condescending smirk, the type women produce when they
feel men are nothing more than five years old with a picture for the fridge
door. God damn it, what else was I supposed to do… there was fuck all wrong
with those weekend breaks, other couples were there, actually enjoying
themselves. The wives weren’t looking down with pity on their husbands. That
couple from Frome, relaxed, laughing and giggling, hell, they’ve been married
for the same amount of time as us… £1000 quid those weekends cost me, she
didn’t give a monkey’s. I sat there with a cold fish of a wife who had no
interest whatsoever. I knew then we were dead to each other, I want someone
new, someone who doesn’t look at me like I don’t come up to scratch…
The
solicitor-
I’ve been handling divorces for fifteen years now, and I can
spot a couple in the throes of despair a mile off. Smell them like a rat smells
rotted peelings in the trash, sniff sniff and I’m there, card ready after I do
the ‘bump.
Six
months ago in Morrison’s I spotted the Adam’s, three of them, was four, now
three. Snooped around a bit and found the son had high-tailed it to the
Borders. Ignored the daughter, whiny, annoying so blocked her out. Mum and Dad,
I search the eyes, and the eyes were cold, dead, battered over the head, fish
dead, dead skimmed and de-boned for the eating. Dead I tell ye, dead, time for
the ‘bump.’
Say’s
hello, I’m Tony, two streets along, No 42 St. Mary’s close, ah yeh I says back
nodding, thought I seen you both around from No.14 Tooting St. Nice area, I
says they nod like blanks in a gun, mine all mine, I’ll handle this divorce, I gave
it six months and guess the wife’ll leave, they always do. Men cheat, wife’s leave.
Me, a
Solicitor, handle all sorts, I says, divorces, oh I know it’s always a shame,
but they don’t need to be painful. Nah, i says, pride myself in being gentle, smoothing
things over, I’m the UN of understanding. But I do other stuff as well, usual
solicitor stuff, here’s my card, if ever you need me, you know wills and
stuff.
