The Last Year Of Being Single. Sarah Tucker
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But not physically loved. Not touched. Which doesn’t matter. Sex isn’t everything. But when you don’t have it at all, it gradually becomes everything. And he hugged me a lot. But it wasn’t like the first nine months. I’d got the chastity belt without even realising it was on.
So by September I was feeling a bit tired of a no sex, no going anywhere relationship—despite the fact I still deeply loved him. I was happy in my little world.
Meeting Paul for lunch today. Our favourite. The Punch Bowl. Posh country restaurant with fine wines. I remember Paul took me here first when we started going out. Arrived at twelve midday. Stayed until six p.m. in the evening. Romantic. Then we walked to the cricket ground and watched them play. Perfect. Fell in love with him.
Five years going out with each other. Perhaps he will propose. Perhaps he will go down on bended knee at the restaurant where we went on our return from that French trip. Perhaps it will be a birthday—his or mine—or perhaps a Christmas or perhaps a holiday overlooking a golden sunset or perhaps at dusk when music is playing in the background. Or perhaps at a concert while the music is live and throbbing. I’ve gradually forgotten to wonder any more. Forgotten to think that maybe this month he will ask me. I didn’t want to ask him. Not even in a Leap Year. Still thought that naff.
Anyway, I knew I would be with him for a very long
time. Perhaps not a lifetime. But still for a long time. But not quite like this.
We arrived at twelve midday. We left at two p.m. Food was good. Fine wines still fine. Conversation still OK. Ish. But less room for gaps somehow.
Sarah—‘How are you, Handsome?’
Paul—‘Very well, Pixie.’
He still called me Pixie. It was an endearing nickname.
I liked it. Felt perhaps when it was in my forties it might not be so appropriate.
‘I will always think of you as my little pixie, Sarah,’ he would say. ‘Even when you’re not little or pixie-like any more.’ Ahhh. Warm gooey feeling inside. Perhaps this was the real thing. Perhaps. Had got fingers burnt before with David, so did I want to do this again?
Paul—‘What would you like to eat? The usual? Melon with Dover sole and new potatoes—right?’
Sarah—‘OK, OK, I know I always have the same thing, but I like it.’
Paul—‘Why don’t you try something new?’
Sarah—‘I have and I don’t like anything else on the menu. We could always go to a different restaurant. And you would think in five years they would have changed the menu a little more than they have. But they tell me it works, so why change it?’
Paul—‘OK.’
Sarah—‘How is work?’
Paul—‘Fine—busy. Love working with Richard. He’s fun and he’s thinking of getting married to Caroline. But she’s a fickle girl; she likes someone else and keeps going back to him.’
Sarah—‘Perhaps it’s not meant to be.’
Paul—‘He’ll win her over, I know.’
Sarah—‘Do you still love me?’
Paul—‘Of course I do. We’ve been through a lot together and I still love you very much. I sometimes sit and think that we could so easily have split at the time of … well, you know … and we didn’t. I love you so much I ache sometimes. I hope you realise that.’
Tears in his eyes.
Sarah—‘I do.’
I didn’t. Tears in my eyes now.
Sarah—‘I love you so much, Paul, but we must try to be kinder to one another. I know that other couples take each other for granted over time and I never want to do that with you. You’re wonderful and I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
Paul—‘I will always be here for you, Sarah. I will never leave you. I will always love you. You lift my heart to the highest point and yet let me down to the deepest despair sometimes. But I know you are always there for me. Loving me. This is the real thing, Sarah.’
Sarah—‘I know it is.’
He leant across the table and with his forefinger wrote on the palm of my hand I LOVE YOU. I reciprocated. It was something of a little tradition. Even when there had been rows we would always touch hands and somehow everything would be all right. Admittedly we did it less, but it was a sort of innocence that we had managed to salvage through the abortion.
We both wanted to fill silence with something these days. Before it was enough to look at each other in stunned silence, in awe of how lucky we were to have met each other. Today we were more in awe of the fact we were still together.
4th September
A Sunday. Am excited as tomorrow will be seeing or speaking to John again. Have to ask question of him about customer focus. This has put me in a good mood about everything. Am very sweet to Paul. Paul reciprocates and is sweet to me. A master of Latin phrases, Mr O’Brian. Oral pleasure a house speciality.
5th September
I’ve phoned. His PA stops me from getting through. Her name is Medina. I keep wanting to call her Medusa. I visualise snarling snakes emerging from her dandruff-ridden crusty head. Turning people to stone who dare to ask her the time of day. She sounds as though she is in dire need of oral pleasure.
‘Who is this, please?’
‘Sarah Giles.’
‘Does Mr Wayne know what it’s about?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you tell me what it’s about?’
‘No. It’s a bit complicated.’
‘I’m afraid Mr Wayne is very busy and can’t speak to anyone.’
‘It won’t take long.’
‘Then you can tell me, can’t you, dear.’
(Don’t you ‘dear’ me, you sexually frustrated and probably bearded and moustached Medina-Medusa person.)
‘OK. I want to know what his views are on the customer focus issue raised in the management document issued by Central Office last year and if he could provide me with a quote as I am now writing a report and it needs to be in by two p.m. this afternoon. OK?’
‘I will see if he is free.’
Big sigh.
Muzak. Barry Manilow singing ‘Could it be Magic’.
‘He will speak to you.’
Click.
Silence.
‘Er, hello?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that John Wayne?’
‘Yes. My time is precious. You need a quote. Do you have pen and paper ready?’
‘Yes. Do you know what I’m going to ask?’
‘Medina has told me.’
‘Then fire away.’
‘I have no views on it. Quote, unquote. Is that OK?’
‘Yes. I mean no. I want a quote from you. You must have an opinion on this. You have an opinion on everything else. Cats, English beer, women’s legs. Why not customer focus, which is your speciality?’
‘On that particular paper I have no comment and no opinion. Is that all Ms Giles?’
‘Well, if you can’t give me a comment on this, then who can?’
‘No one.’
‘Great. Well thanks for, er, nothing.’