Chapter One
Hindsight was a wonderful thing, Sasha thought. If she looked back and reviewed her relationship with Kirk, she realised that there had been red flags from the very start. Clear, bright red, obvious flags that had waved at her earnestly, but which she had ignored. As though she was a driver on a train and she was about to veer drastically off the rails, yet she ignored every single warning.
The first red flag was the day, three months after they’d got together, when Kirk sat down with her and suggested they should compile a list of rules.
Sasha looked at him blankly. Rules? Whatever did he mean?
They were sitting on her bed, fully clothed; the afternoon drawing to a close. This was that awful window in her week; Sunday afternoon, when the reality of their situation descended on them. The long-distance relationship. With Kirk living in Dublin and Sasha living in Belfast, that two-hour bus journey between them often seemed to leave them worlds apart. Soon Kirk would have to make the arduous journey home to Dublin; having to remove himself from the cosy warmth of her flat in Belfast to brave the cold winter air. He’d have to jump in a taxi and make painful small talk with the driver. Then would come the train station with the monotonous wait on cold, hard seats at the platform. Then onto the train, with his battle to find a secluded window seat away from any crying children, drunk teenagers or overly chatty women. He would sit on the train, the night journey meaning that the only view he’d have through the window would be his own sad reflection peering back at him; cold, tired and fed up. He’d return home so late that it would take him a while to wind down before he’d eventually fall asleep. Then would come Monday morning, all too soon, with no refreshed weekend feeling. Perhaps this was why his mood was so heavy; why his mind reached for reasons to fix and control, make better.
“Rules?” Sasha repeated, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. At her fingertips sat the remote control, ready for her to press play on their favourite TV drama. Next to the remote was her Easter egg, waiting for her to peel off the glistening foil and break a thick chunk of chocolate away in a satisfying snap. Next to her was a mug of hot frothy coffee, ready for her to dunk the chocolate into, while it melted softly and would deliver sensual velvetiness onto her tongue. She just wanted to relax and savour the last bit of Sunday together as much as she could.
“Yes. Rules,” he repeated, before he cocked his head to one side and corrected himself. “Well, not rules exactly – more suggestions.”
Sasha sighed inwardly, realising that this was going to be one of their epic-proportion ‘talk-a-thons’; that she might as well drink her coffee otherwise it would go cold; that she might as well try to get this over and done with as quickly as possible so that they could snuggle down and watch TV.
She sat upright on the bed and tried to look attentive. “Okay, what kind of suggestions?” she conceded.
He looked pleased at her willingness to conform so quickly.
“Okay, I was thinking,” he began, clearly about to launch into a speech he had been preparing earlier. “I was thinking that we could each write a list. For example, you could write a list of things that you’d like me to change about myself; things you’d like me to improve on…” He looked at her eagerly, as though she’d love to do that; love to change him. “And vice versa!” he added quickly, making it look like an after-thought.
Sasha knew what the quick ‘vice versa!’ meant. ‘Vice versa’ meant that he too could write a list of things he would like her to change about her. This was his chance to sit her down and make a list of all the things he wanted her to do differently. Yet he was sugar-coating it with a carefully constructed ‘mutual’ list.
Sasha nodded her head and furrowed her brow as though concentrating deeply; as though wondering how she could add to this ludicrous idea he had just come up with.
She thought, looking back, that this was the point she should have said, ‘Rules? What rules? You’re joking? What couple sits down and writes a list of rules for each other? That’s nuts. And incredibly controlling. This is just your backhand way of trying to tell me what to do. If you can’t accept me as I am, you shouldn’t be with me. There’s the door!’
But she didn’t say all that. Instead she was thinking about her Easter egg; the silver foil of which was glistening in the light. It was calling out to her, saying, ‘eat me!’ Then there was the remote, teetering on the pause position, desperate for her to hit play and proceed with the TV drama. She knew that if she disagreed with the rules, it would lead to an epic discussion; the strength for which she didn’t have.
Instead, if she just signed it, they could get it over and done with, cuddle up on the bed, watch TV, eat yummy chocolate and possibly even fall into a blissful nap.
She also thought about his marriage proposal. Yes, after only three months together, he had proposed, popping the question after a particularly fun-filled and sex-filled weekend in Dublin. She had said yes, of course, and her spirits had soared. At thirty-eight, she had endured seven long years of being single. How that had happened, she did not know. Perhaps because she had always gone for the bad boy type; the guys who wanted only a ‘fuck buddy’. Guys who would use and abuse her, before tossing her aside. The nice guys, the ones that wanted a relationship, had never crossed her path, or if they did, she hadn’t noticed them. So she had bounced from pillar to post, remaining single. How she longed to be in the relationship club, like all her friends on Facebook. Girls who posted photos showing idyllic couple poses in restaurants; on beaches; on walks.
Finally, Sasha thought, here was a man who loved her as much as she loved him. She thought of how he had appeared, mirage-like, an oasis in a very dry desert. She thought of how her pride and self-esteem lifted when she was able to announce to her family that she was in a relationship. R.e.l.a.t.i.o.n.s.h.i.p. The word rolled happily around on her tongue. Finally she was one of them. A relationship person. Loved. Normal. One of the crowd. Acceptable. As if someone had given her a stamp of approval; put a tick against her name. ‘Yep! She’s normal!’
She had visions of her family whispering excitedly to each other. ‘Did you hear? Sasha’s in a relationship! Thank God, it’s about time! I was seriously beginning to think she had a problem. Thank God, I hope it lasts.’
Sasha shivered at the thought of it; her toes curling in embarrassment and shame. But now? Now, though, she could hold her head high. She could feel pride and self-esteem. She was one of the ‘normal’ ones.
“Okay, what’s the list?” she conceded, after he had scribbled his pointers.
“Okay,” Kirk cleared his throat, holding his A4 piece of paper aloft.
“Would it be possible if:
You could not raise your voice.
There was no conflict.
You could go to your doctor about your PMT and try to keep it under control.
You could not be jealous of females that I’m friendly with?”
Sasha widened her eyes as she listened to each pointer; a knife dragging through her heart with every suggestion.
If she was feeling strong enough, argumentative enough, brave enough, she would have said, ‘Never raise my voice? But that’s ridiculous! What’s wrong with raising my voice? You want me to sit like some sort of subservient servant, never lifting my gaze, waiting patiently beside you? I am a woman, with my own thoughts and feelings and needs and wants. What if something angers me? It’s only natural that I should raise my voice! And as for the conflict – well, it’s only natural there would be conflict at times. That’s how people express their disapproval of something. And the PMT. Well, pardon me for having a female body (a body you were attracted to when you first met me by the way) – a body which, by nature, has a monthly cycle of hormones coursing through it. And the jealousy – well, that’s just natural too. Actually it shows how much you mean to me – that I’m scared of losing someone I love – and that jealousy manifests itself as a fear that another person will take away someone I hold so precious. If I wasn’t jealous, it would show I have no fear of losing you.’
However, without wanting to prolong the discussion any longer, she nodded her head as though in approval. I mean, how hard can it be? she thought. After all, if she argued all these points, it would just lead to a long-drawn out row; the energy for which she simply did not have.
“I was thinking…” Kirk continued, as though he was a teacher making suggestions to his pupil. “We could read over these lists every morning, like reading a morning prayer, and it could set us up for the day?”
Sasha’s head whirled with incredulous responses. It seemed so artificial; so dogmatic. But she really wasn’t in the mood to argue.
“Okay,” she nodded again, like one of those nodding dogs on the back seat of a car.
“Okay,” Kirk agreed happily. “So if you could sign at the bottom – kind of like a contract – to say that you are committing to it…”
He proffered a pen in her direction, clearly delighted that he was controlling the bollocks out of the situation.
“Sure,” Sasha agreed, taking the pen and scribbling a lazy signature over the dotted line.
The red flag billowed profusely in the wind, but her train had already careered quickly off the track.