It is a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon. I am busy preparing a late roast dinner. The Sunday papers are spread out on the kitchen table, wine glasses are filled, gossip is being exchanged. The noise level gets more intense as the Teenage Daughter makes her opinions known. I pour myself another glass and turn to take in the scene. I feel I have achieved something today and want to imprint it in my memory.
There are two men at my table. One I have known for 32 years and loved for many of those years. The other I have known and loved for a mere 6 months. One will very shortly be my Ex-husband. The other will marry me (fingers crossed) the paper work is finalised.
The Teenage Daughter poses a follow up question to a conversation she had a few days previously, her father looks perplexed (quite a usual expression for him and to be fair can anyone follow the train of thoughts in this girls head?) Then she realises her mistake - oh it wasn’t you Daddy was it? She turns to New Man, it must have been you. In her head the 2 male figures in her life have already begun to merge. I presume into one joint Favour Bank. She has worked this out to her advantage much swifter than her mother.
They laugh; I breathe a sigh of relief that neither man has taken offence at the confusion. I need reassurance that I have done the right thing. That three years on from the trauma and pain of separation we have all evolved to find a positive way of relating.
We were so young when we meet, just 15 and 16 years old. Younger than our daughters are now. The Teenage Daughter was 15 when her father and I finally separated. The marriage survived until I was 44. 29 years was a good run. The choice to bring it to an end was entirely mine. I asked him to leave. Therefore In many people’s eyes I had no right to be sad or fall apart. But the depth of my grief left me almost unable to function. We both suffered as the joint fabric of our daily existence was torn to shreds and we had no idea how to function as adults on our own. Looking back I can see how many pains blended together at that time; my father had recently died, the eldest Daughter was going off to University. I had gone back into therapy after a break of 20 years. I didn’t take the decision to end my marriage lightly. My sanity was at stake.
He had long been a Boomerang Boy coming back to me when loved failed elsewhere. Actually this wasn’t the first time he had returned to my home since we had parted; when times were tough, money short for rent, friends not as loyal as one would hope for or just life getting him down in general, he would return to prove I was still available in emergencies. And it worked in both directions. My brother’s death in the middle of all this transported me into a very deep hole. Ex was there to pick up the pieces, moving me into my new flat on the very morning of the news. Then driving out to suburbia to be with us. Holding me together as the shock took over.
I don’t think I had fully understood the different ways that we had dealt with our marriage ending. Ex went through a really tough time. I had done much of the emotional preparation to us parting before making my choice. In many ways it was landed to him as a fait accompli. He was walking around in shock and wanted to lash out. He wanted to retaliate by damaging my relationship with our daughters. Telling them tales of our past life that were quite inappropriate and not his to share. And I wasn’t immune form behaving badly. I certainly drank too much wine. Spent too much money on i-tunes. Wasn’t always the perfect mummy I like to see myself as. I made some real errors of judgement that mean I am still paying school fees for the Teenage Daughter as her friends prepare to leave
for a year before she does. London
However back to the current kitchen sink drama. The last time I had let the Ex back was the Teenage Daughter’s birthday last year. He needed some where to stay. I was taking the girls to
so I said fine, it’s better to have
the flat occupied whilst we are away. And the windows needed cleaning. What I
didn’t expect was that he would stoop so low that the subsequent back lash when
I returned would lead to me to promise myself never again to trust him. Or even
speak to him. Ever again. At that moment I hated him. I couldn’t even begin to
understand how he had come to the conclusion that this was a fair way to behave.
This man had seen my insides, literally his head almost in my stomach when I
had 2 C-Sections with epidurals. How
could he betray me? I would never believe a word he uttered again. New York
He would never darken my doorway with his bloody French sticks again. We had joked that our marriage ended because of my loathing of crumbs. He has a really irritating habit of breaking the bread and wandering around with it, dispensing crumbs in his wake. I developed a strong aversion to French sticks and have banned them from my home. Just the mention of a mere baguette can bring out the hairs on the back of my neck.
But he is back at my table, only this time it is different. He is not just going through the normal doubts and anxieties of middle age but is scared. He is a waiting ‘Test Results’. This is real fear and not something I can let anyone go through alone. So we wait together. And of course this time I also have a New Man.
When Ex had phoned to ask to stay for a while or he would find himself homeless there was no other response but yes. I didn’t need to think about it. I would never abandon a friend in need. He new about the New Man and I made it clear that nothing was going to change with Ex in the spare room. New Man would stay over. I would spend nights away at his. We would all have to be grown ups, no tantrums or tears. This was going to take a lot of adult tact and humour if we were to make it work. And it was only short term emergency accommodation. Until we knew the results. In which case if they are negative he can move swiftly on!!!
So now I had to speak to the New Man. Those who have known me for years may well have sighed at my situation and raised an eyebrow, but would not have been at all surprised. I am not like other people. That is why they love me. I keep them amused with my different ways of approaching life. But this man had only seen the witty side of my eccentricities to date. He found my oddities charming. My outlook refreshing. I had changed his life. But how much difference was he truly prepared to accept.
That evening as he walked through he door I handed him a large glass of red and launched straight in. He didn’t say anything. He looked sad and deflated. No, no it wasn’t like that I said. Trying to make it clear that this wasn’t a soft way off telling him that I was going to get back with the Ex. Nothing would be any different. I loved him. Ex would have to fit in with our new arrangements. We (I) wasn’t going to change . It was all going to go along as usual. New Man is the real deal. He is sexy, kind, intelligent, curious. And he loves me. So even in his confused state he acknowledged that under the circumstances there was little else I could do. And proceeded to get drunk than I had ever seen him.
So Ex moves back in. Just to be clear everyone I have discussed this with thinks I am mad. Many male friends accuse me of being ridiculously naive, Ex clearly wants space back in my bedroom. Girlfriends worry about the affect this will have on my daughters who have been through hell already. I reassure them. I spoke to my girls as soon as their father had called , if they had said they didn’t want me to have him as a lodger I would have gone back to him and said sorry cant do. They have a strong sense of right and wrong. They have hated us both at times but are happier that he has somewhere safe to lay low.
We give it a few days then New Man arrives to take me out for dinner and they meet. It is awkward. For all of us. It is a whole new game. The next morning is even trickier. Encounters in dressing gowns in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. It can’t have been easy for either of them.
Cut to this next meeting, a family lunch. They are talking. They have lots in common. Not least loving me. It is logical to me that the two men who are most important to me would like each other. We all like the same films, books, music. Shared cultural values. Pretty soon they all decamp to the dining table and I am happy to hear them discussing Get Carter and the new Sweeny film (neither that interesting to me). I relax; this is going to be ok.
I have a past with my Ex that I will not deny. We grew up together. Everything we have been through in the last 32 years of knowing each other has made us the way we are now. I like me right now. That hasn’t always been the case. I love
He has enriched my life in ways I have
only been able to imagine up to now. This is an adult relationship based on
both of us being grown up enough to accept each others histories. I love the tales
of his past existence. We weren’t
looking for this. Neither of us was waiting for love. It come into our lives unexpectedly.
But it is wonderful. I don’t think it would have worked had I not been through
all the other shit. I wouldn’t have reached this point without the trials and
tests of a marriage that was making me unhappy. However the good years of my
marriage also taught me how to love. I am grateful for all of it. But I
wouldn’t go back. New Man.
Later we flop onto the sofas to watch TV. The others know I will be asleep within minutes. I am not a fan and the TV warming up is my signal to drift off. The Teenage Daughter is draped over her father. My head drifts to New Mans shoulder; He shakes me to stop me snoring. Then they send me to bed and tidy up. My final thought for the day is how lucky I am. I am in love with a wonderful man. My Ex is safe in the spare room. My daughters have 2 men to adore them.
Dinner is a success. Just an ordinary Sunday roast. I am living in a Woody Allen film for once rather than a Mike Leigh play. It is really rather nice.