As if I haven’t got enough problems with Peter and Annette but now my brother as well. I really only wanted him to stay with us so that Peter and I had some breathing space to allow me to think where our relationship had gone so very wrong. What the hell has he got himself into and, more to the point, why am I involved? If he wants to ruin his life let him but not by dragging me into it. And what about Nick? Christ, I bet he regrets the day he ever set eyes on my family. I regret allowing him and Eamon to become so friendly but then I didn’t throw them into the sheets together, did I?
Everything is just such a mess at the moment – my life is in a real shambles. I sometimes wish, rather selfishly, that all of them would disappear. Just for a while. Just enough time to allow me to sit back and put it all into some sort of order.
I’d be lying if I said that I had not known for the past couple of years that things had not been going well for Peter and me but I did genuinely think I could handle it. I do still love him but I’m not “in love” with him. The usual cliché but it’s true. He’s a good father and a good, no, generous provider but he’s not the man he was when I married him. Things were so different then before Annette was born. He was my hero. It’s odd to remember him that way now but he provided the strength I needed. I loved him because he was so unpredictable. At the drop of a hat, he would whisk me away for a wild, romantic weekend or change the car if I said one of the windows was sticking.
He was so different to the other men I dated. His clothes were always very stylish and immaculate and at that time he had a moustache which was always neatly trimmed. He was dashing, I can’t deny it, and he helped me forget the problems I was having with my parents and Eamon.
It was in the grounds of Leeds Castle in Kent that he proposed to me. It was so magical, a real fairy-tale setting. He spared no expense on the occasion and bought a hamper from Fortnum & Mason and pulled up in a Bentley he’d hired for the day. It was wonderful driving through the Kent countryside with a welcome breeze in the air and everyone was staring at us. How could a girl refuse that? I agreed and we made endless, passionate love that night.
But soon after we married all the magic was gone. Peter quickly fell into the role of suburban husband. Loyal at the beginning but ultimately boring. The passionate, impulsive weekends soon stopped and the romantic meals in all those select restaurants went out the window. We were then in our early twenties but we became an apparently happy, middle aged couple. And the most annoying part of it all was that he then agreed with everything I said without putting up any argument. I’m the first to admit that I do sometimes need a little slapping down. I don’t mean literally but occasionally we all need and want to be dominated. If I was in two minds whether or not to have sex, he would say, “Oh, all right then, dear.” I knew it was not what he really wanted or needed.
We were getting into a rut. There was already too much routine and repetition in our lives.
And then I became pregnant.
It was simply an accident. Sure, we had talked about having children but I wasn’t ready yet. There were still too many things I needed to achieve and I had to give up my job.
The pregnancy was not easy for me. The whole of my body seemed to swell out and I was constantly sore and uncomfortable, and then I got those bloody piles. They were horrendous. I was so embarrassed at the clinic when I asked the doctor to take a look. It just seemed so undignified. I really can’t understand what makes women want to have child after child. It’s an experience, there’s no question of that, but an experience that you only need once in your life. And definitely not over the summer months.
And then, after Annette was born, the problems increased. Each day I would stand in front of the mirror, naked, and look at myself. I was appalled. My breasts looked like I’d been trying to lift weights with them and my thighs remained big and round. The worst part was that my stomach had not flattened and I still looked like I was four or five months pregnant.
I really didn’t like myself; in fact, I positively detested me, which did not help our sex life. It really didn’t come as a shock to find out that Peter was having an affair. No, that’s not quite correct. It was not an affair, merely a couple of nights’ passion. One thing that Peter has never been good at is lying and I believed him when he told me. It was just a fling, a few moments of weakness when he succumbed to the offer of sex with no strings. But he didn’t need to tell me; there was no reason to and no way that I would have found out.
But he did tell me and all it’s achieved is to make matters worse. I want our relationship back the way it was a few years ago. That sparkle, that magic. Of course, I know only too well that I must shoulder the blame for things going wrong but I’ve never been good at talking about emotional problems. Had I been, not only would my marriage be in a healthier state than it is but Eamon might not be in the predicament he is at the moment.
I could have helped him when he left home but I didn’t know how to. He was going through a terrible traumatic period and my parents virtually threw him out the door when he told them he was gay. He needed their help and I should have supported him but, as usual, I ignored it because I couldn’t handle it. I’m consumed with guilt now. “If only” is not good enough.
When I get back to London, the problems will have to be confronted. I don’t want to lose Peter and if I don’t do something about it, I fear I will. Perhaps a marriage counsellor will be a good idea. I’ll suggest it.
Right now though, here I am in Paris and my brother’s in prison. I’ll do whatever I can but poor Nick. This is a dreadful situation for him. If there was ever any threat that something terrible would happen to Annette, I don’t think I could handle it. What an unbelievable predicament.
If things could be different or we just changed the way we look at life then it could be wonderful. Why are we so afraid to say what we really feel?
Right now I want to be part of the scene. I want to be part of the Marianne Faithful song and be Lucy Jordan driving through Paris with the wind in my hair or lounging back in a boat along the Seine with my fingers in the water and sipping wine or even slurping a bloody flake. There was no reason for this relationship to go wrong; we had what we wanted and the two of us against the world made a great team.
Did I suddenly become so hard and so confident in my dealings with life that I dismissed the good times and the advantages to be strong and independent? I stopped laughing, I stopped being cynical, and I stopped telling my husband what he meant to me.
The best thing that happened to us was Annette and yet I’ve used her as an excuse, a crutch to stop me from facing the reality of life. For some reason I saw her as mine and as my burden, my penance for not being a good mother, sister, daughter and any other bloody thing I can blame myself for.
But to do something about it is undoubtedly the easiest and most honest thing to do. “Peter, forgive me. I don’t want this and I’m sorry it’s all gone sour. Relationships are not easy and I clearly didn’t read the manual. But let’s learn from this and from this moment on have a new outlook, change our ways, love life and love our daughter. I want you and if I can’t have you the way you were then I’ll still take you the way you are now. How about it?”
He’d agree and it’s the simple solution and the most honest way forward. But something is stopping me from just doing it and if I don’t confront all this then everything will come crashing down.
If Peter will just see me through this, I promise that things will change.