Is Love That Blind?
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Getting my own back on Mia
I’d been planning my revenge on Mia all day.
I waited until she put on her coat last thing Friday.
The entire posse were standing around ready for after-work drinks in a new wine bar were they are not barred.
I wondered over:
“How was it for you darling?”
She frowned in puzzlement and then realised what I was on about.
I’ve never seen anyone go quite so puce. The posse thought it was hilarious.
Probably for the first time in her life she was lost for words.
“That good eh?” and I walked away.
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2.11.03 00:31
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Sonnet 137
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferred.
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3.11.03 23:42
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To the dark heart
My intention when I started this blog was to chronicle the disintegration of a marriage.
That’s how it started but I was quickly blown off course by an unexpected development.
I must admit I assumed that few if any people read these things, but all of a sudden I discovered I had ‘readers’ and they were making comments. We’re not talking JK Rowling levels of popularity here, but a few.
And even more remarkably I felt a sense of responsibility to these readers. I believed having put them through the harrowing details of the break up, I owed them a bit of light relief.
So began the tales of Ella and the posse, and great fun it was to write too.
But before I run out of steam here, I’d like to finish what I started.
In particular, I’d like to try to make sense of one particular episode that was so ugly and violent it has disturbed me ever since.
What follows is a journey to the dark heart of this blog.
It won’t present me in a good light, and I think once you’ve read it you will understand my desire to remain anonymous.
Readers of a nervous disposition should look away now.
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9.11.03 00:00
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The rat gets bigger and smellier
I last left the story at the point when I discovered my wife’s affair. But the marriage didn’t end there, although it would probably have been better if it had.
We tried again. We went to counselling sessions. We tried to ‘make time for each other’. We went on ‘dates’ without the children – to the theatre and the cinema. I fitted a lock on the bedroom door.
But all the while I was never as trusting – or naïve – as I was the first time around. And when Sara spent the evening at her friend Lauren’s house I began to smell a rat.
She had taped a football game earlier in the week, and I couldn’t find it. So I called her on her mobile, but it was switched off.
I rang the landline to Lauren’s house:
“Hi, oh Sara’s not here at the moment. She has just popped down to the off licence for a bottle of wine. I’ll get her to ring you when she gets back shall I?”
The rat got bigger and smellier. Sara was passionate about not drinking and driving. It didn’t add up.
Ten minutes later Sara rang:
“Hi, anything wrong.”
“No, I just can’t find the footie tape.”
“It’s in the machine.”
“Ah – I hadn’t thought of looking there. Are you boozing?
“No!”
“It’s just that Lauren said you were buying wine.”
“Oh yes – only half a glass. Don’t wait up – I’ll be late.”
By now the rat was as big as a horse and was stinking the house out.
I checked the children were sleeping soundly and then drove over to Lauren’s house. No sign of Sara’s car.
Now I don’t know why – call it cuckold’s intuition – but I then drove to Peter’s house. Sure enough Sara’s car was in the drive.
I probably should have kicked the door down and dragged her out. But I didn’t. I sat there in stunned silence.
The sting of betrayal was all the keener second time around.
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9.11.03 18:30
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Not with a bang, but a whimper
She finally returned home after 1am.
“Still up? I thought you would have gone to bed.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Have a good time?”
“Yes - Lauren was on good form.”
“What did you get up to?”
“Oh you know – girly talk.”
“Sara, why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not!”
“You are. I know you weren’t with Lauren. I know where you were.”
She blushed and couldn’t meet my eye.
She slumped in a chair and stared at her hands folded before her on the kitchen table.
“I’m not putting up with this any longer Sara. You have to sort yourself out.”
“Yes,” she mumbled, “It’s not fair on you to drag it out any longer.”
“You’re going to have to decide once and for all between me and him.”
It is fair to say I didn’t expect what happened next.
“I’ve already decided,” she shot me a defiant look, “I love Peter and I want to be with him.”
I probably should have ranted and raved, or begged her to stay with me, or just generally fought a bit harder to keep her.
But I was stunned. Open-mouthed with astonishment. I know it sounds conceited, but I just couldn’t imagine anyone choosing Peter above me.
I phoned a mate, rousing him from his bed, and asked to borrow his spare room.
I kept expecting her to stop me and tell me not to be so silly.
I packed a few things into a sports bag. She sat there like stone, staring at her hands.
Surely she wasn’t going to let me go?
I kissed the sleeping children goodbye.
“Right then – I’m off.”
I hovered by the door like an idiot, giving her one last chance. She didn’t say a word. It dawned on me that the reason she made no attempt to stop me was because she actually wanted me to go.
And like a fool I was doing exactly what she wanted.
I stepped out into the night and closed the door softly behind me.
So it ended, not with a bang but with a whimper.
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10.11.03 23:03
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Changing the man-shaped brick in the Duplo set of her life
When I returned a couple of days later to pick up some more clothes, Peter had already moved in.
He was sitting in the kitchen wearing my dressing gown and drinking tea out of a mug that said ‘World’s greatest dad.”
I would have slapped him if the children hadn’t been there.
Now I know my experience is hardly representative. The majority of relationship breakdowns occur because of the man’s faithlessness, not the woman’s.
And it hasn’t led me to hate women – far from it.
But I know the impact of a break-up on a man and a woman can be of an entirely different order of magnitude.
A little illustration. My children used to love a toy called Duplo. It’s a sort of junior Lego with larger, chunkier bricks for little fingers to handle.
They used to pay with a sort of Duplo house with a bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, mummy and daddy, two children, a baby in a pram, a dog, a cat and a rabbit.
It seems to me that Sara simply eased out the man-shaped brick in the Duplo set of her life, tossed him aside and slotted in a new one to replace him.
Everything else stayed the same. She had the same children at the same school, the same house, the same neighbours and the same friends. The only thing that was different was the head on the pillow next to hers.
In contrast my Duplo set was kicked to bits. Overnight, I lost my wife, my children, my home and my friends.
Friends I had known for years suddenly started avoiding me, as though I had some fearful disease.
I bumped into one couple I really liked in the supermarket a couple of weeks after I moved out. They had an enormous family shop in an over loaded trolley.
I had the bachelor’s hand basket– bread, beans and beer.
I laughed about it and tried to chat, but it was clear they were embarrassed and uncomfortable. They couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
Four years ago they spent a memorable Christmas Day at our house.
Today we don’t even exchange Christmas cards.
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11.11.03 19:45
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A personality transplant
One incredible thing about Sara’s new relationship is how much it changed her personality.
When we were together she was considered cool, aloof even. I even overheard people describing her as toffee-nosed.
Our sex life was pretty hot, but outside the bedroom intimacy was discouraged. We never held hands or kissed in public.
She couldn’t be more different with Peter. She is all over him – continually kissing, hugging and stroking.
The reason? Quite simple, she is in love. She is passionately in love for the first time in her life, and it has changed her.
It has taken me a long time to admit it, but she is a kinder, warmer, more attractive person than before. Love has made her happy. And all the people, including the children, who approach the circle of their love are warmed and cheered by its radiance.
It took me a long time to come to terms with this. I couldn’t understand how she could possibly love Peter. Arrogant, I know. But she does. Love is indeed blind.
And watching this love unfold has at least taught me a degree of acceptance and humility.
I could never have said this even six months ago. The fact that I can now just proves how far along the road to recovery I have walked.
If I had a tenner for every time someone told me to “let go and move on” I’d be a rich man.
But now at least I think I know what they mean.
However there is one thing I am not prepared to accept – babytalk.
Apologies to any readers who indulge in this harmless pastime, but I simply can’t abide it.
In fact it makes me want to run amok with a semi-automatic weapon.
I don’t socialise with Sara and Peter, so only catch snatches of it, but it is more than enough. I’m told they can keep this sort of thing up for hours:
Sara: “No kissy-wissy for Mr Fuzzy Wuzzy, because Mr Fuzzy Wuzzy is all bristly-whistly as he didn’t have a shavey-wavey this morning.”
Peter: “Mr Fuzzy Wuzzy is all bristly-whistly because he was too busy making coffee-woffey for his lovely wifey-ifey and didn’t manage to shavey-wavey.”
Anyone know where I can hold of an AK 47?
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12.11.03 20:03
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