Tag: telling

42. Life’s not that simple.

It’s been a strange day today.

A playlist of break up songs on the radio (intended to take the piss out of the current political shit storm) most of which didn’t really make a dent until Odyssey came on with the lyrics ‘So if you’re looking for a way out, I won’t stand here in your way.’

I uncovered a family height chart under the wallpaper of a house I’m renovating. From ‘mum’ and Betty G’ (who were tiny) past the kids, and ‘Sid’ and even ‘milkman’! And then it got to ‘Mike’, who was very tall.

Back at home the land line rang. It’s been quiet for so long I’ve almost forgotten we, whoops I, had one. I rush to answer it, because somehow I know I need to. The familiar sound of a dear friend on the end of the line makes me sit on the stairs. Because it’s someone he should have told. Hadn’t been brave enough to. They were the friends we stayed with in America, the last time we were really seen as a couple. Because soon after, so soon it still feels weird, we changed everything.

And I had to do the telling, again.

It doesn’t get easier. I think I’m doing well, and I am in reality. But there are times when I feel fragile all over again. When, especially, I break someone else’s heart with the news. And I have to try and explain, make sense of the situation. That’s when it’s hard. Because I don’t have an explanation. Not really. I suppose there isn’t one. Life’s not that simple. And there’s no point in me just blaming him to make it sound more straightforward, or vice versa. I have moments when I’d like to, but truly, it would only make me feel worse.

Tonight we met up with a bunch of our friends. We were saying goodbye to one of our local pubs. closing down after years of cheap beer, average food and entertaining evenings. It’s good to have the distraction of a crowd. Chatty mates catching up with tales of the daughter, work, street gossip and dog antics. I told him about the names under the wallpaper and it was lovely to hear him laugh about the milkman. But in the next breath he was tense about something I didn’t even understand. And I knew it was hard. It is hard. And I still can only say goodbye when I leave. No hug, when I hug everyone else. That is still the hardest.

 

 

17. So why is it only me that’s telling anyone?

South London parks are full of bright green, squawking parakeets. There are many theories as to how they got there. Stories range from Jimmy Hendrix letting some out of a house in Tooting, to an escaping flock from a travelling magic show. The most delightful is that they escaped from Shepperton Studios during the filming of The African Queen. Today, on a wintery but sunny day I strolled around the park with the nattering dazzling birds doing the occasional fly-past. The noise as the birds chatter to each other, whether two or three or a large noisy flock is funny and somehow, strangely reassuring.

I walked in the company of two wonderful, kind women who started off as neighbours – and still are – and have become good good friends. And we talked.

It’s really hard to start the sentence that finishes with “he and I are separating’. It feels trite to say ‘I’ve got some news’. ‘I have something to tell you’ feels overly dramatic – even though this is a big big drama. I am finding this announcements really tricky – and no one is expecting it.

They’re all being lovely. Supportive and practical, with offers of a cuppa when needed, or a space on the sofa and some crap telly if uncomplicated company is required. These friends are the family we choose, and their value is immense.

So why is it only me that’s telling anyone?

He spent an evening last week in the company of one of our local friends, a few doors away. A couple of drinks, and a few hours talking. But he didn’t say the biggest thing of all. I did ask why not, but the answer wasn’t really there. I don’t know if he’s scared, embarrassed, too upset. I’m all of those. It’s not like the opportunities aren’t there. Those one to one moments can be easy to create. If I can do it..

I know it doesn’t get any easier in the telling. I still have the hardest conversation ahead of me, which I have so far avoided, and that isn’t helping. But there are reasons – not the least that I have to do it by phone. But letting people know has to be done, the word has to get out. And people, as I often find about most things, are nearly always lovely.