As I lie in the darkness, my mind attempting to make sense of the confusing events of the evening, I’m perplexed. I turn to look at Chris as he sleeps peacefully next to me. The calmness of his features as innocent as a sleeping baby’s as I listen to the soft rhythm of his breathing, his chest rising and falling in an unconscious peace, and I can hardly comprehend the angry, venomous, jealous creature he’d transformed into, just hours earlier. His verbal attack, shocking, but not completely unjustified. The stillness that surrounds me now as I lie in the darkness does nothing to calm the torrent of emotions I feel inside.
In one day, how could we have gone from such a shared love and happiness in the morning, fantasising about getting engaged, filling me with such joy and expectation, to ending the evening in such a nasty fight, finally re-connecting through the only way we seem to know how - by consuming each other physically? The sex with Chris is undoubtedly fantastic and I’ve never felt such a physical pull with anyone before. I love him with my whole heart, of that I am sure, but I’m beginning to feel that his jealously and rage is linked to his insistent need to possess me physically, as if that is the only way to erase the past.
If any intellectual or emotional connection can only be formed after we connect physically time and time again, how can we hope to come through all of the challenges that life will inevitably through at us. It’s like we’re addicted to each other. I, to the love and devotion he gives me, he to our physical connection, and he can only give me what I need after he receives what he needs. Our two needs hopelessly and unhealthily intertwined.
I know I need him to be able to communicate in other ways as well, not just through his body. I’ve noticed that if I withdraw physically, for any reason, which to be fair isn’t that often, but when I’m genuinely ill or on my period, he can be terribly moody. Only turning back into the loving Chris after we’ve made love once again. I’m trying to decide how much of a red flag his behaviour last night is - how much gravitas I should place on the whole affair. It was without doubt the worst mood I’ve ever seen him in.
I just don’t understand why he was so angry. I’d told him before we flew out here that Tim was out here on business this week. If Chris really didn’t want to meet up then why didn’t he object at the time when I’d suggested it? Before I’d faxed Tim giving him the details of our flights and our hotel in Hong Kong. If anything, I am the one who’s entitled to be angry - when he refused to come out this evening, behaving like a petulant child who wasn’t getting their own way. How juvenile, I’d thought at the time, before ignoring him and going out as I’d originally planned. But if he thought by refusing to come out he would guilt me into staying with him and standing up my friend, then he could think again.
I love Chris deeply, in fact I would go as far to say, he is my first great love, nobody before him has even come close and I can’t imagine my life without him, which is why his attack is so worrying. I knew when I left he was pissed off, but in no way had I anticipated the wall of anger that would greet me on my return. It seems Chris spent the four or so hours while I was out, sitting in the dark and working himself up into a right tizz. If I’d had any inkling into how far his gasket was going to blow, then perhaps I would have handled the whole situation differently. Perhaps I would have chosen to stay with him rather than go out and meet up with Tim. Perhaps? I’m not sure. I know, had I made that choice it wouldn’t have been right. I know I never want to hurt Chris or do anything to make him unhappy, but when we don’t seem to be able to find a way to resolve our differences by talking, we always resort back to what we do best, which is to connect physically.
As it was I had such a lovely time with Tim, that while I was out I didn’t really care. Staying behind and throwing a hissy fit was his choice and I can’t deny it was nice to spend time with Tim, just the two of us, chatting and catching up. He’s such a gentleman, treating me to dinner followed by cocktails and coffee at the famous Peninsula Hotel over in Kowloon. There was a grand piano in the mezzanine of the lounge and I’d impressed him by playing the first sixteen bars of Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ from the Enigma Variations (to be fair it’s the only thing I can play on the piano these days - the tutoring from my early childhood long erased through lack of practise!) There’s definitely nothing between Tim and I, but I do think he has a soft spot for me. Like an older brother looking out for their younger sister. At least that’s what it feels like to me. So to return back to our hotel, with a belly full of fine food, in a mellow mood from the easy conversation and expensive wine that had flowed freely and rather than be met with a warm hug and an inquiring question such as, “How was your evening?” it was so shocking and disturbing for Chris to have flown off the handle as he did. He was physically shaking with rage and I’m sure if I’d been a man, he would have hit me. It was pure jealousy and insecurity coursing through his blood and it worries me. Worries me that despite how much I know he loves me, he also has the capacity to hate me so intensely (even if it was only for a passing moment). We’ve been dating long enough to appreciate that neither of us are perfect and that real life is not one long fairy story. Hell, we were essentially living together from day one of our relationship, so of course we’ve had our fair shares of tiffs over the past six months. Usually over the classic stuff that most couples bicker about; wet towels left on the bedroom floor, driving the car until the fuel tank is all but running on fumes, leaving dirty dishes in the sink, the usual; but 99 percent of the time, being with Chris has been pure bliss. I’ve never been happier, which is why tonight was so jarring. I’ve never seen him so angry and it scared me.
I roll onto my side, listening to the soft rhythmic breathing of the tiger behind me and resign myself that he has me within his grip in more ways than one. I’m desperate for his love, for his connection. I can’t imagine my life without him, if he left or withdrew his affection it would absolutely rip me apart. But as much as I need him, I feel powerless to stop him controlling me. He controls my passion, my emotion, he’s trying to control my choices and who I do and don’t see and now I also believe he has within his power the control over my personal safety.
The next morning, we wake up within minutes of each other and Chris rolls straight on top of me, kissing the end of my nose, smiling warmly before saying simply, “morning,” making no mention of the events of last night. It’s as if it all never happened. As much as I feel the intensity of his reaction last night, order, was disproportionate to the crime and I want to address the injustice I feel, I’m worried that any further discussion could spark off another major row or worse still, Chris will withdraw his love and turn all moody. So I decide that it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. What good would it do to rake it all up again this morning and risk upsetting him and spoiling the rest of our time here?
By the twinkle in his eye I know exactly what he wants, his hard-on pressing into my thigh as he shamelessly grinds his hips into mine, while he looks at me seductively, hoping that I will soften and respond as I’ve done so many times in the past. So rather than reject him and push him away I consciously disconnect my mind from my body, as I’ve done so many times in my past, as I slip easily back into that familiar pattern of numbness, so that I’m able to give him what he needs right now without giving him my heart.
I know that this is a sad watershed moment for our relationship. It’s the first time I’ve not given myself fully to Chris. He’s the only person that, up until now at least, has made me feel safe enough to be able to trust him with my whole heart and I’ve only ever been fully open and honest with him - until now that is. I’ve allowed him into the deepest parts of me. He’s the man who found the way to unlock the parts of me that for years I’d unconsciously kept safely locked away, so that now he’s the one that holds my heart and my deepest passions in his hands. But his behaviour last night scared me and for that reason, right now I can only offer him my body, as I wrap my heart in the numbness that falls over me like a familiar cloak.
***
The next few days pass without incident as we throw ourselves into everything Hong Kong has to offer. Chris never mentions ‘Tim-Gate’ again so the whole episode is swept neatly under the carpet, even if I don’t feel, for my part at least, as if it’s resolved. On one of the days we take the number six bus to rummage around Stanley market buying trinkets and souvenirs.
“More things for the illustrious shelf of tat,” he joked, as we’d decided on what junk to purchase.
We spent one day mucking around at Ocean Park, playing on the sideshows or scaring ourselves silly on the rollercoasters. Chris won the biggest stuffed teddy on one of the sideshows and we nicknamed him Hong Kong Phooey, after the kids’ cartoon character. I have absolutely no idea how we will get him home - he’s huge! It was nice to cross over to the other side of Hong Kong Island, which is less densely populated and lusher, even though land and space are still very much at a premium here on this tightly packed island. We’ve tasted every type of cuisine Hong Kong has to offer. From modern and complex Michelin-starred delicacies to curbing our food cravings for familiar fare with fish and chips from Harry Ramsden’s.
On Wednesday evening we did meet up with Tim as I’d originally planned, and he kindly treated us to a night out at the famous Happy Valley racecourse. I was nervous broaching the subject with Chris, half bracing myself for another full-blown row, but it became such a non-event I’m beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the blow-up from earlier in the week. Once we were there, the boys had a great time, laughing and joking together, that I’m even more confused as to why Chris was so upset earlier in the week.
After the races and saying goodbye to Tim, who headed back to his hotel as he had an early breakfast meeting the next morning, Chris and I head over to Joe Bananas nightclub to dance the night away. We down a few shots to warm us up, before hitting the spirits, I on the vodka and him on the whiskey, so combined with the champagne and wine from earlier in the evening it’s not long before Chris and I are both moderately drunk, dancing seductively in each other’s company. We laugh and joke together as we wrap our arms around each other, our eyes never leaving each other’s face, both of us so happy having enjoyed such a great day and evening.
I nip off to the bathroom briefly and I’m stunned by what greets me on my return. A gaggle of Asian girls have gathered around Chris in the short time I’ve been away. They are all openly flirting with him, pawing at him, touching his chest, his face and one girl actually has her hand on his bum caressing his butt cheek, sliding her fingers up and down the crack in his jeans. I can’t tell if they’re hookers, or just have no shame but as I approach, even through my drunken haze and the blare of the background music, I’m sure I hear one of them whisper in Chris’s ear,
“British passport, you have British passport?”
I reach the group, just as this particular girl is attempting to wrap her arms around him and lean up to kiss him. I can’t see Chris’s face as I’m approaching from behind, so I can’t tell if he’s enjoying this unadulterated female attention or is annoyed by all these girls throwing themselves at him. Either way the scene playing out directly in front of me does nothing to soothe my own insecurities. My underlying fear; the fear that he might leave me at any moment, ever present. How would I cope? I know my world would collapse.
As I stride deliberately towards the group, most of the women who are buzzing around Chris like bees round a honey pot, take an instinctive step back as they spot me approaching, except one, the one who is attempting to reach up and wrap her arms around him. She’s tiny, a good five inches shorter than I, with tiny hips and a slender body. She has a perfect heart shaped face with delicate features, the distinctive oval shaped eyes and her long dark straight hair falls perfectly down her back. The very definition of femininity and I feel like a huge big ungainly oaf in comparison to her. My jealousy rises like bile in my throat as I have to mentally resist the urge to literally scratch her eyes out. Instead I forcibly push her backwards, my hand connecting with her shoulder as I shout directly into her face, “GET … YOUR … HANDS … OFF!”
I’ve caught her by surprise, her only focus having been Chris, so she was oblivious to my approach. She topples backwards awkwardly, knocking into some other club goers who spill their drinks as she collides into them causing them to gesticulate and shout obscenities at both of us. I know she’s got the message, her eyes widening in surprise as a sly smile crosses her lips but instead of apologising and scuttling away with the other girls, she reaches up to stroke Chris’s face. A pure act of defiance. As fast as lightning I instinctively knock her hand away, my aggression now gaining the attention of the doormen who I spot out of the corner of my eye as they begin to head in our direction.
“Why don’t you just take your bony ass and fuck off?” My voice raised as I’m now jabbing my finger in her face. She finally gets the message, raising her palms in admitted defeat as she walks backwards away from me and to the comfort of her waiting girlfriends.
Furious, I turn to Chris just as the doormen approach us, probably to throw us out anyway. Before I have a chance to question Chris, the doormen are almost upon us. So instead I grab Chris’s hand and lead the way through the throng and out of the club, spitting venomously to the approaching bouncers. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving anyway.”
Outside on the street we look for a cab to take us back to our hotel. I’m hopping mad and I really want Chris to give me an explanation or to thank me for arriving just in time. I need him to put his arms around me and tell me that he loves me, to reassure me that he belongs to me and no one else but instead he says and does nothing. Either because he’s too inebriated, or because he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, or because… my mind whirring trying to make sense of what has just happened… because he was enjoying the female attention and enjoyed making me jealous, or because he simply doesn’t care how I feel. I’m desperate for his affection and validation but fearful of creating a scene and instigating another potential bust-up between us, like the huge row we had earlier in the week, I swallow my feelings and say nothing.
On our last day, our flight is not scheduled to leave until just after midnight, so Tim has kindly offered to store our bags for the day in his own hotel room, while we head off to Aberdeen, taking a boat tour across the famous harbour. At 6pm we returned briefly to Tim’s room, to shower and change. Chris has told me he has a special surprise for our last night in Hong Kong, but I have no idea what he has planned, other than he’s told me to get dressed up, so it must be something special.
We head out and Chris leads me to the Lower Terminus in Central before we board the tram that leads up to The Peak. Clasping hands we stare fondly back over the city which falls away below us as the tram climbs up the mountain, the city transforming before our very eyes as we imprint the image of the Hong Kong skyline to memory. As another day ends, an orange hue splits the sky as the sun slips behind the horizon giving way to the neon landscape punctuated by whirring strobe lights that shine upwards into space, like WWII search lights seeking out enemy bombers.
The more altitude we gain the more spectacular the views become, reaching across Victoria Harbour as far as the New Territories. As we rise up above the lights, I reflect back on our time here and how we’d originally observed the contrasts of this city during our first taxi ride from the airport. Our own experience of Hong Kong has also been one of contrasts, as if the city has brought out both the best and the worst in Chris and I.
In one week there have been moments when my heart has swelled to capacity with an overwhelming love for Chris, when I’ve wanted to sink into him and be completely consumed by him. Times when we have collapsed in fits of giggles and laughter as we’ve teased and taunted each other in good humour, like our day spent at Ocean Park. And I’ve also felt the effects of that smallest of cracks in our relationship. A tiny fissure between our two souls that even if the initial acute pain has been rinsed away yet, the wound remains. Like a physical scar in a rock.
The lights continue to shimmer and glow below giving the city a seemingly magical quality, even the chaos and noise of the city from this great height, softens into a soft distant hum. It’s absolutely breath-taking and I can’t believe Chris has been so thoughtful. He hugs me from behind, his chin on my shoulder as we look out from the observation deck at the top of the mountain and my heart swells with love once again.
“Oh Chris, it’s so beautiful. Thank you for bringing us here on our last night. This is how I want to remember our week here.”
“This isn’t the surprise, Vicky. Come,” he commands, reaching for my hand before leading me inside to the restaurant, where reserved specifically for us, is a private table with the best view of the city.
I know from having attempted to book this location many times for my business clients in the past, that it’s virtually impossible and usually booked up months in advance, so Chris must have pulled some major strings to be able to have organised this. Waiting for us is a bottle of champagne on ice and lying on the table is a single red rose with a note attached. I glance up at him and smile as he holds out the back of my chair and I take my seat.
I pick up the rose and read the label, which says simply, ‘I love you’. He leans over to grab my hand, having now taken his own seat on the opposite side of the table. Is this the moment he’s going to apologise for all his behaviour from earlier in the week, or at least offer me an explanation?
“I just wanted to make our last night really special and one for us to remember, Vicky,” he says sincerely. It’s not the explanation I was hoping for, but I feel immensely loved in this moment nonetheless.
“Well you certainly have, Chris. Thank you,” I reply. “I love you so very very much,” feeling the prickle of happy tears wanting to escape from my eyes.
“I love you too,” he says without hesitation as we hold each other’s hands over the table, lost in each other’s gaze and in no rush to open our menus.
The veil around my heart may not have dissipated completely, but at least for tonight, I feel it has become slightly less dense and a little more transparent, allowing Chris’s love, if not to penetrate my heart completely, little by little to touch its surface once again. I decide that I will leave the events of Hong Kong behind us and give him another chance. I will open my heart fully to him again and hope that the tiger within him never rears its ugly head again.
A day later and back in the UK, Mike collects us from the airport again, so we can retrieve our car from his house before driving back home to Wootton Bassett. Once we arrive we only have time to unload our luggage, before heading off again in tandem down to Tilbury docks. Chris’s last car, a special edition black sports Mercedes, is being loaded tomorrow, the final piece of his shipment that’s about to leave for New Zealand. We finally arrive home, for the second time that day at 10pm, absolutely exhausted.
There’s a note on the fridge from Mel saying she hopes we had a good time and that she’s gone to the Gray’s for the weekend and that she won’t be home, instead heading straight into the office in the morning. Chris puts the kettle on as I listen to the answerphone and look through the notepad next to the phone for any other messages Mel may have written down for us during the week.
I hit play, and after a couple of messages from my mum hoping we’ve had a good time, and a couple of other friends, we hear one from Michelle.
“Hi kids,” she always refers to her brother and I as ‘the kids’, “I hope you’ve had a lovely time in Hong Kong and you’ve arrived home safely. Give me a buzz sometime this week. I want you both to come up to mine this weekend, I have something to tell you both. We can go out for dinner on Saturday and you guys stay over.”
Chris, who’s just walked back into the room carrying cups of tea for us both, looks across at me, one eyebrow raised. “I wonder what all that is about?” he asks.
“I have no idea, but it sounds very much like a summons, so it must be something fairly major,” I reply. “I can’t imagine she’s about to announce she’s moving back to New Zealand since she’s only been in her new flat a matter of weeks.”
Michelle has recently moved from Richmond up into the centre of London having purchased a two-bed flat in Russell Square. It’s prime real estate and I can only imagine how much it must have cost but property in London will never lose its value, so I suspect she was at an age when she wanted to put her money into something, plus it has reduced her commuting time down into the City by over an hour each way.
“Maybe David and her are going to get hitched, or maybe they already have?” Chris visibly baulks at the thought.
“Perhaps they’ve just come back from Gretna Green and they are just ‘fessing up now,” I surmise.
“Nah, can’t see it,” he says, “I know they seem very close, but Michelle is so fiercely independent I just can’t see her settling down and becoming someone’s wife. Well, I suppose we’ll find out next weekend, won’t we? We don’t have anything else planned, do we?” he asks.
“Nope. I don’t care what we do, as long as we do it together. I want to soak up every second I have left with you before you have to leave.” I feel emotionally wrung out after the highs and lows of this past week, the long flight back to the UK, followed by an immediate 300-mile round road trip to deliver the Merc to Tilbury and I feel the familiar prickle of tears stinging at the back of my eyes.
“I know,” he says, putting down his cup of tea and wrapping his arms around me, giving me the comfort I crave. I lean my head on his shoulder, my vision blurring as the tears spill over, tumbling down my cheek like a silent waterfall. He continues, “But I promise it will be right, Vicky. I will come back to you, cross my heart and hope to die.” He crosses himself before lifting my chin and planting a soft kiss on my lips. “Come on, sweetheart, we need sleep. Time for bed.”
He takes the cup from my hand, expertly holding both our mugs in one of his. He reaches for my hand with his other as he leads me out of the room and up the stairs. I love it when he’s this masterful, I find it unbelievably sexy and it reminds me of the very first night when he came for me, claiming what he wanted. There are times of course, like the feisty woman I know I am, when I don’t want to be bossed around or told what to do and I will push back and rebel, and then there are other times when I just want him to step up and take control as he’s doing now, and in those moments I’ll yield willing.
I suppose the challenge for him is knowing when I wish to be led and when I don’t. Tonight I’m so travel weary that I’m grateful he’s in control and once in bed we fall asleep quickly locked in each other’s embrace and for once I feel close to him even though he hasn’t expected us to make love first. I suspect because he is also worn out. Even so, it’s nice to be held in a ‘safe cuddle’, one that I know won’t lead any further.
***
“So, what’s the ‘big’ news then, sis?” Chris asks his sister as the three of us sit around the table of a recently opened new French restaurant in Russell Square. Chris is tearing into his bread as I pour the wine. I reach over to fill up Michelle’s glass, but she quickly puts her hand over the top.
“Not for me, thanks. I think I’ll just have water tonight.”
I instantly stop what I’m doing and look up, quizzing her with my eyes. I study Michelle’s features, woman to woman as telepathically she knows I’ve worked out her secret. She smiles warmly at me and nods her head. I leap up out of my chair like an absolute lunatic almost crushing her, as I lunge across to where she’s seated, screaming incoherent yelps of delight.
“Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Chris asks looking completely bemused as Michelle and I hug and cry like babies. “What am I missing?” he asks, catching his head in his hand, his elbow banging on the table in front of him with a loud thump.
“Do you want to tell him, or shall I?” I ask Michelle, my arms still around her.
“You tell him,” she says warmly.
“Your sister is going to have a baby, Chris. You’re going to be an uncle.” I can’t hide the delight and joy from my voice.
Now it’s Chris’s turn to jump up out of his chair and embrace his sister. “Oh, my gawd Mich, how did that happen?”
“What do you mean, how did it happen? Don’t tell me I have to teach you about the birds and the bees, my dear brother. Well, one day when a man and a woman love each other very, very much and they have a special cuddle,” she’s teasing him now.
“Yeah, yeah, very funny, sis.”
“How far on are you? When is the baby due? Do you know what you’re having? Have you thought of any names yet?” My questions coming thick and fast.
“Whoa there. One question at a time, Victoria. I’m not quite three months pregnant, so not out of the danger zone yet. David and I go for our first scan in a couple of weeks, but I’m so excited. I wanted you guys to be some of the first to know.”
“And how does David feel about it? I’m assuming this isn’t just a happy accident,” I use air quotes to emphasise the word accident.
“No, no, not an accident. Well you don’t get to our age and not have worked out that A plus B does actually make a baby. Let’s just say we weren’t actively trying to get pregnant, but we weren’t actively trying not to either. He is pretty chuffed though. Strutting round like a peacock at the moment.”
“Oh, I’m so, so happy for you Michelle. You and David of course. It really is wonderful news. God your mum must be past herself. Oh, a new baby. How fabulous.” I clap my hands together like a deliriously happy child on Christmas morning.
“Calm down, Victoria. There’s a long way to go yet. Baby will not be here until the end of the summer, by which point I’ll have grown into a huge fat heffalump so I’ll be expecting everyone, you guys included, to be waiting on me hand and foot.”
“No problem,” I reply without hesitation. “I’ll be your number one slave when you need me to be. It’ll be my absolute honour, Michelle.”
This baby is not the first grandchild to be born into Chris’s family. His brother, Dean, already has two children but they live in the North Island, so even when Chris was living in Christchurch he didn’t have his young niece and nephew in close proximity, and this will be the first of Chris’s siblings to give birth to a child in the UK.
However, this baby potentially means even more to me. I’ve grown so close to Chris’s sisters in the years we’ve all known each other, it’s easy to forget that I knew both of them long before even meeting Chris, so much so that I consider them my family too. As an only child myself, the only chance I ever have of becoming an aunt and helping raise nieces and nephews would be via my partner’s siblings, so although I’m not officially an aunt - Chris and I are not married - with Michelle’s announcement I instantly feel like one, like this new baby also belongs to me.
As happy as I am for Michelle and David, the thought of having my own child or being pregnant myself is absolutely terrifying. That would just be the worst situation ever. How on earth would Chris and I cope? We’re far too young and irresponsible. We haven’t even found a way to live permanently in the same hemisphere, let alone think about anything as massively responsible as having a kid together, which is why the opportunity to become an honorary aunt to someone in his family is just so perfect. Thankfully my period just arrived this morning - five days late! So after days of secretly holding my breath and crossing my fingers, I put it down to the stress on my body of our recent travels together and our big row while we were away. It would appear my body also now feels that it is all in the past.
A couple of weeks later, back in Wootton Bassett, Chris and I are at our kitchen table sharing breakfast, when Melanie walks in, snapping us out of our morning chit-chat. She pours the now re-boiled kettle over the teabag she’s just put into her cup.
“Morning, love-birds.” She smiles over in our direction. “Sleep well last night?”
Chris and I snigger like naughty schoolkids as we nibble on our toast, sharing our own private but very obvious joke. Mel just rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the teabag in her mug. These days it’s an old joke, the three of us having lived fairly harmoniously under the same roof for the past eight months.
“Got any plans for this weekend, you two?” she asks turning round to lean her back against the kitchen sink as she talks towards us at the kitchen table.
“I think we’re planning to stay close to home, it’s our last weekend before I leave. What about you, sis?” Chris asks, avoiding looking at me, knowing that locking eye contact is guaranteed to start my waterworks again. He knows I’m dealing with his imminent departure by refusing to acknowledge how close it now is.
“I think I’ll pop down to the Gray’s. I fancy a bit of homecooked grub, wrapped up with lots of hugs and mugs of tea, and it’ll mean you guys can have the place to yourselves for your last weekend together.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mel, but don’t leave on our behalf you can still chill out here if you want,” I say across to Melanie. Chris and I have always agreed that just because we became involved, Melanie should never be made to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome in her own home, and although none of us know how things will pan out in the coming weeks and months, I think the three of us have tried hard to make our domestic arrangements work. In fact, it’s been an absolute riot and we’ve had lots of fun.
“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving to avoid you both. I was thinking of going anyway. Margaret is involved in some village fête thing this weekend and I said I would lend a hand. I’ll still be chilling out, just round her kitchen table, rather than here.”
I wonder if she’s really going to help out at Margaret’s village fete, or whether it’s just an excuse to see John, her long-term on-off boyfriend. Neither Chris or I are really sure what’s going on there. She never brings him up in conversation and he never comes to spend time with her outside of his village or his life on his farm. Her relationship with him just seems to trundle along, not really going anywhere. We’re wondering if she’s reached a point where she’s looking for more commitment and he’s just not willing, (or able) to give it. He doesn’t appear to be involved with anyone else, that we know of at least, he just seems to be the kind of guy who is very attached to his bachelor lifestyle but is happy to have female company, as long as it remains at arm's length. From the few stories she shares, he seems to enjoy her company when they are together but doesn’t appear to make any effort when they’re apart. She’s doing all of the chasing, if you can even call it that. More like, if she didn’t contact him and tell him she was coming down, he would make no effort at all and there would be no relationship of any kind to report. I worry that she’ll wake up in five years’ time realising he’s not willing to give her what she wants or needs, and she’ll never get those five years back. Like everyone, she deserves to be happy.
“I’m looking forward to our first commitment-free weekend for ages, Mel,” I say, “it’s been a bit full on lately. I think Saturday will be a designated pyjama day. What do you think, Chris?” I ask, picturing a full day indulgently slobbing out in our PJs, eating junk food, drinking whatever we have in the house, watching films on VHS and making lots and lots of pure sweet love.
“Definitely. I plan to slob out, drink lots of wine, watch lots of telly and avoid packing for as long as I possibly can,” Chris replies with an exaggerated sad face.
“Oh, don’t remind me,” I say forlornly, looking up at the calendar on the kitchen wall and the date that’s been circled with a red marker. Both of us are dreading being parted again. Last time it felt like my heart had been ripped out and I’d lost a limb, but if Chris is to return to me, first he must leave, even if we have no idea when we will be reunited again.