The Last Year of Being Single (23 page)

So does Paul.

I’m losing more weight.

24th August

Want to cancel wedding. But don’t do anything about it.

Have final fitting for dress. Dressmaker says I will have to wear padding if I lose any more as she is not going to put it in
again
. See Catherine in her dress. She looks fab. Wedding present list arrived. Most things have gone. Except five people want to give us fish kettles, so we bargain for two and get some Villeroy & Boch wine glasses which break too easily but Paul likes. Organise hair colour and cut and arrange for massage day before wedding so am relaxed. Are you kidding me, Sarah!

Go to priory to make sure the hall is as we like it. The band know where they have to be and we know their set. Mostly Dire Straits and rock ’n’ roll. Similar to GBH wedding. Think of Guy and wonder where he is now and if he still remembers our meeting. Probably not. Try to eat something but everything going straight through me. Go to aerobics. Two hours in a row to get rid of worry. Can’t. Go to Anya to have reflexology. Even the pain doesn’t take the pain away. Anya says I’m strangely quiet but that’s to be expected. Last-minute nerves and that. And she still says I should postpone it. Gives me a hug and doesn’t charge me.

‘It’s my wedding present to you. Be good.’

25th August

Want to cancel John. Paul been really sweet and sent two dozen wonderful red roses to house. With wonderful card. Saying how lucky he is and he’s so sorry he’s treated me the way he has and it will all be different when we are married. And how I will make him the happiest man in the world. And I don’t believe he believes that. And I don’t be
lieve I can. But I still want to cancel John, because John isn’t the way out either. And I haven’t been sleeping well, or eating, and I will need padding for the dress.

At five p.m. my friend Katrina calls and tells me she is getting divorced. That her man of eight years has been seeing another woman, ten years her junior. And they have a three-year-old little boy. And she’s devastated and doesn’t know what to do, but can’t—just can’t—come to the wedding, and of course I understand.

Katrina—‘Sarah, I don’t know what to do.’

She sounded completely wired. Two octaves higher and talking without drawing breath and seemingly not needing to. I’m worried.

Katrina—‘I didn’t expect this. OK, we hadn’t been getting on terribly well, but every marriage has its off times. You know, the passion goes and you try to make it work. But, hey, Gerry—’ (three-year-old) ‘—takes up a lot of time, and I wanted to get my figure back and worked out in the gym and Henry—’ (bastard fuck-face of a husband) ‘—didn’t think I was spending enough time with him.

‘And I love him, Sarah, and I want him back, and he’s suggested that he needs space and that Gerry and I should move out of the house and he’ll buy us a little house nearby so he can still see Gerry and I can get a job locally just so that I can prove I can do stuff on my own. And I don’t know what to do. And he hasn’t been coming home, and sometimes he calls and sometimes he doesn’t, and I was at a total loss, and then last night he came home and was drunk and I asked him if everything was OK and he said no, and that he thought divorce was the only way out, and I asked him if there was someone else and he said there was, and I’m devastated because he said he would always be there for me and trust me and love me, and we have Gerry, and, Sarah,
I don’t know what to do. And I love him. And I want him back. And…’

I need to calm her and focus her.

Sarah—‘And you need to see a solicitor and find out what your rights are. And Henry is a banker and he’s always been money-focused. Paul even told me this. So he knows exactly what he’s doing and don’t you dare leave the house and you stay in the house, Katrina. Don’t you leave that house. If he wants space he can find it in a little flat in London and share it with this bitch from hell, but he may not have told her the whole truth, in which case she isn’t. And I understand you can’t come to the wedding, but you need to see someone. You need support and it’s difficult for me at the moment. But I can come over. Are you going to be in for the next few days?’

Katrina—‘Yes.’

Sarah—‘You mustn’t leave the house and you must stay with Gerry. I can come there.’

Katrina—‘You’ve got the wedding to prepare for.’

Sarah—‘You need me. You need someone. You don’t have close family. You’re an only child, like me, and, like mine, your mother’s a complete cow. She’s never supplied you with emotional support in your life. When the shit hits the fan like this she might, though—have you spoken to her?’

Katrina—‘Yes. She screamed at me for half an hour and told me it wasn’t her fault and she had a fabulous relationship with my father and that it was nothing to do with her and I felt like shit and didn’t hear much of the rest of what she said.’

Sarah—‘Have you spoken to anyone else?’

Katrina—‘Some of Henry’s friends at work. His boss’s wife, who I know fairly well, and she’s absolutely shocked. When I suspected something I contacted her and she said no way would Henry have an affair, and she asked Henry’s
boss and he said no way would Henry have an affair. And, Sarah, he’s having a fucking affair, and when I get my hands on this bitch I’m going to kill her.’

Sarah—‘Katrina. Did you see this coming? I thought you and Henry had the perfect marriage. One gorgeous little boy. A big house in the country. House in Italy, isn’t it?’

Katrina—(sobbing now)—‘Yes, in Umbria. Very pretty. Rustic. Not much needed doing to it. We bought it because—well, Henry thought it would be nice to retire there, and things were getting a bit stressed with work and stuff and he thought this would help. But it hasn’t, obviously.’

Sarah—‘Has he said he loves this girl?’

Katrina—‘No, he says it’s just an affair and that it’s nothing to do with the divorce, and he doesn’t feel guilty and doesn’t want to be forgiven because there’s nothing tacky about it. And that he’s moved on and I must too. And out. And that these things happen.’

Sarah—(thinking on feet here)—‘Katrina, what you do is you contact a good London solicitor. I don’t know any, but I know there are ones that specialise in this sort of thing. Go to see one. Tell him what you’ve told me. Tell him everything. Warts and all. Tell him what you know about how much money he’s got—which you probably don’t, coz he’s a mean old git—and listen to what he says. Word for word. And if I were you I would take his advice. Do you think it’s worth saving? The marriage?’

Katrina—‘I love him, Sarah. I love him. He’s my life. He was so wonderful when I first met him, and then we eventually got engaged and married, and we’ve had our ups and downs and redundancy, but we’ve pulled through and he’s doing well now. And he started to go to the gym last month and he’s never done that. Sarah, he’s even got a personal trainer, and he looks great and then this happens.’

Men are such a fucking cliché. I didn’t want to insult Katrina by asking, Got new underwear too, then, did he? I wanted to get hold of Henry and bash his head in. But didn’t think that would be constructive to say or do at the moment. Not with a friend as wired as Katrina. She needed to be calmed down and needed some TLC and so did Gerry and she didn’t have anyone to turn to. I called Catherine.

Sarah—‘Catherine?’

Catherine—‘Hi, there. How you? Excited about the big day?’

Sarah—‘No.’(Not realising how blunt I sounded, but realising how honest the answer was.) ‘I’m phoning about Katrina. Henry’s found someone else and wants her and Gerry to move out of the house.’

Catherine—‘He
what
? No, surely not. Not Henry. He’s as sweet as they come. He’s like Paul.’

Sarah—‘Yeah, well. Worm has turned and all that. He wants out. Wants space. Wants her out and wants his house back. Told her to see a solicitor but don’t know any. Your sister got divorced. Who did she use? Coz she did OK, didn’t she?’

Catherine—‘Yeah, think she used Ottley, Studd and Parsons. Becoming like ad companies, these places. Anyway, she used them and did OK. Got just under half. You don’t get over half, but they’ve been married what—for seven, eight years is it now? Went to their wedding, I think. Big fuck-off affair—six tiers to the cake. Bloody thing nearly fell down. Big band. Long honeymoon. Marriage made in heaven and all that. And now this. What’s he gone off with?’

Sarah—‘Dunno. Girlie ten years younger. Traded in for a new model. He told Katrina that it’s not tacky and their marriage was over already.’

Catherine—‘Convenient and fucking worthy of him. Bet he told her to move on. They usually do. That’s what
my sister was told by her ex. “I’ve moved on; now you should.” Men don’t deal with things, they just compartmentalise and say, “Hey, dealt with it.” Wankers.’

Sarah—‘You sound aggressive. What’s happened to Liam? Surely he’s different?’

Catherine—‘He’s gone off with some woman. I think someone else in the yoga class. More money and better flexibility than me, probably. Anyway, don’t talk to me about it at the moment. Still sort of seeing him, but I don’t know any more.’

I think, you
do
know. Just not admitting it. And you’re not ready to deal with it yet.

Sarah—‘He will come round.’

Catherine—‘I can go and see Katrina. Do you have time today?’

Sarah—‘Think so.’

Catherine—‘Let’s go, then. I’ll call her and ask her what time’s convenient.’

Must admit, don’t think this is a particularly good omen so close to wedding day. What with John and abortion and now this, my view of marriage is getting more warped by the second. I’d been to weddings where the groom had said ‘till death us do part’ and it was the groom’s third marriage and I’d been to the previous two. I’d started to get cynical about the institution of marriage. Not just the men who were getting married, who were making mistakes, or didn’t want commitment, or had chosen the wrong girl, or had grown apart from them, or whatever excuse my male friends came up with every time they decided enough was enough and happened to find someone else at the right time and, hey, they’d moved on.

But was I any better? Come on, girl, look at yourself. What are the foundations for your marriage? Isn’t a good start, really, is it? Last fling before tying the knot is not turn
ing out the way I’d planned—not that I’d particularly planned it. I’ve fallen in love with John and it’s inconvenient, and I don’t know if it’s real because it’s not a real situation and I don’t know if my feelings for Paul are real coz how can I do that to him? But perhaps this is just my way—so it’s not him at all, it’s me. And it’s not that he’s controlling, it’s that I allow myself to be controlled. So deal with it. Preferably before the wedding day, darling.

Catherine texts:

Katrina lives in Surrey. Same journey as had done with John on what it seemed like hundreds of times. Over the bridge. That beautiful bridge where now involuntarily I get butterflies at the anticipation of seeing and being with him. Like some druggie who gets high just with the anticipation of having a fix. Knowing the high is just round the corner. John’s my fix. Sexual, emotional and intellectual. But he doesn’t have it all. That’s why I’m going to marry Paul, right? Right, Sarah, right. Just remember that. Keep it in your head. God, I was doing lots of this head-talking these days. Thinking too much, as Paul would say. But perhaps should have done this at the beginning of our relationship and wouldn’t be in the crap I’ve put myself in now. Anyway, forget self and focus on Katrina, who needs help.

Katrina lives in Barntley Road. Middle-upper suburban class. Big houses with big fronts and big gardens and big interior-designed rooms. Most commute into the City and
most wives either work in the City (how they met husband) or stay at home and look after children. Katrina works part-time and looks after Gerry. Who is adorable. And probably a bit confused at this moment.

Catherine’s car not in drive so I’m first. Knock on door. Katrina opens it.

I haven’t seen Katrina for months. What with preparation and John and Paul and dinner parties with mainly Paul’s friends haven’t seen her. Spoken but not seen. She’s thin. As in seven stone and five foot ten thin. Bones. Her usually smiley round face is gaunt. She has supermodel cheekbones and her wrists are thin enough for me to get my hand around—meeting little finger to thumb, with room to spare. I want to cry but I don’t. I’m shocked. Horrified. Angry. Very angry. How could Henry do this to her? I’m so very, very angry.

But I don’t know the whole story. Sarah, you don’t know the whole story. Cool it. Are you angry just because of Katrina or are you taking some of your own baggage, your own guilt into this? Keep it simple. Just be there to support, not to give advice. Just support. That’s what she needs. That and a fucking good lawyer.

Sarah—‘You look great. Thin, but great.’

Katrina—‘Liar. I feel like shit. Come in, Sarah. I need a hug. Big hug.’

Give Katrina a big hug. Not too tight. I don’t want to break her.

We go into her perfect interior-designed kitchen, with Aga which fits in perfectly with the setting. And sit at the table with the centrepiece of flowers from Harvey Nichols. Present to herself, she says. She wants pretty things round her at the moment that make her happy. Gerry is upstairs, asleep already. She says she doesn’t know where Henry is.
He hasn’t phoned, but probably won’t be back. Or may be back but will be drunk and they’re now sleeping in separate bedrooms. So she wouldn’t know anyway.

Sarah—‘Catherine should be over soon. She’s got the name and contact number of a good solicitor. Not saying you need one, Katrina. But just in case. You can see them and they will tell you what is what.’