everyone is meant to find a mate, so on that one Saturday night at the Love Market, when they walk off into the sunset with a faith in each other that’s built on nothing more than a melody sung in harmony, you can’t help but wish that finding a soul mate was as simple as that in your own village square.
It definitely wasn’t as simple as that for me. I met her there. She was drawn there for reasons not unlike my own. I won’t give her a name. By not giving her a name, I am pretending now that she never really existed. I won’t say I fell in love. That would complicate things more than they already are. If a marriage is wrong, you can end it. But only a noble coward soldiers on. Best to ruin three lives rather than have two people be happy. Because, as I’ve said, I don’t believe that there is one person for us, and we either find them or we don’t.
I didn’t have to sing to her. Fortunately Western mating practices conspired and I didn’t have to work that hard. Being a journalist, you’d think the most natural thing for me to do would be to have taken her photograph. But I had a sophisticated camera I’d bought in Hong Kong and I hadn’t quite figured out how to work it. All the photos I took of her came out in shadow. But that shadow follows me now wherever I go. Maybe one day it won’t.
Six months after I returned to England, this came in the post. He didn’t even write a letter, just put: A piece I wrote on spec for National Geographic, which they rejected.
~ * * * ~
Years later, Mike found it when we were Spring cleaning. We ended up having a huge argument. Probably because I got so defensive about why I’d kept it. I remember tearing it up in front of him, and throwing it in the bin, out of anger, not capitulation, to prove something more to myself really, than to him. Then I went to bed devastated that I’d destroyed something that had been so meaningful to me. I felt like I was relinquishing a part of myself to Mike that he had no right to own, and what’s more, he hadn’t even asked me to; I’d done it to spite someone—probably myself.
A while later he came into the room, holding out a piece of paper. It was Patrick’s crumpled letter. He’d dug it out of the bin and taped it back up.
‘I don’t want you to think you can’t keep something because I’m going to feel threatened by it,’ he said. ‘Because I’m not.’
I should have said throw it away. Instead, taking it from him seemed like an acknowledgement of Mike’s insufficiency and my conflict. He looked at me for a while as though establishing a truce. Then he got into bed. It was clearly just one of many glitches to me that he was used to now. I lifted my head off the pillow and looked at him lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He turned his face toward me, smiled. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was over, for him. Our marriage wasn’t going to end over a letter.
But in a strange way, it did.
Nine
‘Special delivery.’ I am surprised to find Mike standing at my door, with Aimee.
I am half dressed to go out with Jacqui for a drink. Mike was going to pick up Aimee and take her back to his place, as he gets her every second weekend.
‘I don’t understand…’ Aimee slinks past me into the house, leaving Mike and me facing one another on our doorstep. It must be so odd to have to knock at the door of your old home, and not be able to just walk in.
Since Mike left, I can only imagine that our relationship has been as civilised as break-ups get. Mike is fair. I am fair. And we both have Aimee’s best interests at heart. Because of Mike’s night-owl hours at the radio station, and Aimee being in school all day, he doesn’t get to see her as much as he’d like. We made a deal that, in addition to every second weekend, he can see her as much as is convenient for everyone during the week. He just has to give us a little bit of warning so we don’t trample each other’s
It definitely wasn’t as simple as that for me. I met her there. She was drawn there for reasons not unlike my own. I won’t give her a name. By not giving her a name, I am pretending now that she never really existed. I won’t say I fell in love. That would complicate things more than they already are. If a marriage is wrong, you can end it. But only a noble coward soldiers on. Best to ruin three lives rather than have two people be happy. Because, as I’ve said, I don’t believe that there is one person for us, and we either find them or we don’t.
I didn’t have to sing to her. Fortunately Western mating practices conspired and I didn’t have to work that hard. Being a journalist, you’d think the most natural thing for me to do would be to have taken her photograph. But I had a sophisticated camera I’d bought in Hong Kong and I hadn’t quite figured out how to work it. All the photos I took of her came out in shadow. But that shadow follows me now wherever I go. Maybe one day it won’t.
Six months after I returned to England, this came in the post. He didn’t even write a letter, just put: A piece I wrote on spec for National Geographic, which they rejected.
~ * * * ~
Years later, Mike found it when we were Spring cleaning. We ended up having a huge argument. Probably because I got so defensive about why I’d kept it. I remember tearing it up in front of him, and throwing it in the bin, out of anger, not capitulation, to prove something more to myself really, than to him. Then I went to bed devastated that I’d destroyed something that had been so meaningful to me. I felt like I was relinquishing a part of myself to Mike that he had no right to own, and what’s more, he hadn’t even asked me to; I’d done it to spite someone—probably myself.
A while later he came into the room, holding out a piece of paper. It was Patrick’s crumpled letter. He’d dug it out of the bin and taped it back up.
‘I don’t want you to think you can’t keep something because I’m going to feel threatened by it,’ he said. ‘Because I’m not.’
I should have said throw it away. Instead, taking it from him seemed like an acknowledgement of Mike’s insufficiency and my conflict. He looked at me for a while as though establishing a truce. Then he got into bed. It was clearly just one of many glitches to me that he was used to now. I lifted my head off the pillow and looked at him lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He turned his face toward me, smiled. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was over, for him. Our marriage wasn’t going to end over a letter.
But in a strange way, it did.
Nine
‘Special delivery.’ I am surprised to find Mike standing at my door, with Aimee.
I am half dressed to go out with Jacqui for a drink. Mike was going to pick up Aimee and take her back to his place, as he gets her every second weekend.
‘I don’t understand…’ Aimee slinks past me into the house, leaving Mike and me facing one another on our doorstep. It must be so odd to have to knock at the door of your old home, and not be able to just walk in.
Since Mike left, I can only imagine that our relationship has been as civilised as break-ups get. Mike is fair. I am fair. And we both have Aimee’s best interests at heart. Because of Mike’s night-owl hours at the radio station, and Aimee being in school all day, he doesn’t get to see her as much as he’d like. We made a deal that, in addition to every second weekend, he can see her as much as is convenient for everyone during the week. He just has to give us a little bit of warning so we don’t trample each other’s
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