Six Months to Get a Life (19 page)

A few of the lads met up for beers in the Raynes Park Tavern last night. There wasn’t an occasion to celebrate as such, but it was a Saturday night and the sun was out so it felt like a good idea to have a drink. Us unmarried folk can do that impromptu stuff you know, at least when the kids are with our ex-other halves.

I had invited Amy along too but I wasn’t optimistic that she would come in view of recent events.

I got to the pub slightly later than planned because, not having much to do all day, I fell asleep in front of the telly (god, I am turning into my parents) and didn’t wake up until the pints had started flowing. So when I walked in to the pub I was slightly surprised to see Ray (the ‘hot’ one) in earnest conversation with my Amy. Notice I am getting possessive all of a sudden. The others were propping up the bar. I sidled up to Ray and asked if he had brought his new woman with him.

‘Evening Graham. Meet Amy, my brother’s wife,’ Ray replied. Shit, that was who Amy’s ex had reminded me of. Ray.

‘Ex-wife,’ corrected Amy hurriedly as she gave me a kiss.

Ex-wife is bad enough. More tangled webs. There are quite a few fish in the sea. Even allowing for the fact that
some are too young, some too old, some gay et cetera, I have to pick my mate’s brother’s ex to fall for. Still, I suppose at least she isn’t my mate’s ex.

Amy pulled a face that said something like ‘well, if my daughter is snogging his son, and if I have to deal with his ex shouting at me, then how much more hassle can it be to have him knowing my ex’s brother?’ Or it might just have been saying ‘for fuck’s sake’. I didn’t really get the chance to talk properly to Amy all night. We still have to work through the various complications of our relationship. The fact that she bothered to turn up at all tonight was a good sign though.

Ray also looked a bit awkward when he realised I was with his brother’s ex. My other drinking mates just thought it was highly amusing. When we told them about Jack and Lucy, we spent a good couple of rounds (time is measured in rounds rather than minutes when you are drinking) working out what family relationship there would be between Ray (Lucy’s uncle) and me (Jack’s dad) if Lucy and Jack tied the knot.

As the evening progressed, I eventually gave into temptation and cornered Ray.

‘Why did they split up then?’ I asked.

‘I think it had something to do with a Spanish au pair,’ replied Ray. ‘Or maybe it was because my brother got jealous every time he saw Amy talking to another bloke and ended up putting the guy in hospital.’

I think he was joking about the jealousy thing but I am not sure.

Bryan turned up later in the evening so the conversation quickly moved from my relationships to what Tracey was like in bed (still noisy but now also a bit too dominant for Bryan’s liking). There was one slightly awkward moment when Bryan called Amy Julia but I think I got away with it as Amy just thought he was pissed.

I got the job! The assistant director of something or other phoned me up today and offered it to me. She was impressed with my application and slightly worryingly, she told me my answers to the interview questions show that I can think outside the box.

The next step before they formally offer me the job is that they take references. The woman from Merton asked me how I came to know Richard Branson. ‘Oh, I met him whilst saving the tigers,’ I told her. I am beginning to wonder whether putting Branson as my referee was such a good idea now.

There is just under a month until my birthday and dare I say it, things are going OK. I am becoming a bit more self-confident, I have a fairly decent social life, I am in a relationship albeit a complicated one, I have a flat and a new job subject to references. My relationship with the kids is good despite Sean’s broken heel.

Today I even started giving some thought to my birthday party. I am mulling over two options. I could splash out and hire a local club for a disco. I am not sure I am ready to subject Amy to my dancing skills though, so at the moment I am favouring just hiring the function room at the Morden
Brook and putting on a buffet. Hopefully the karaoke Elvis will be on in the main bar for some added entertainment.

My sister Hills just phoned to tell me that she and Donna are having a baby. Them both being women, I didn’t know what to say. I dismissed ‘How is that physically possible’ as too intrusive; ‘Aren’t you a bit old for that?’ as a bit rude and ‘Haven’t you had enough already?’ as even more rude. In the end I opted for, ‘How nice. When’s it due?’ February apparently.

It has only just occurred to me that I don’t know which of them is actually having the baby. Still, I shouldn’t concern myself with the details.

Sean hasn’t visited my flat since the accident as it would have taken forever for him to have managed the three flights of stairs. But today both boys came round as Sean is getting more nimble on his crutches. His plaster comes off soon – ironically about two days after the last cricket match of the season.

The boys hadn’t been here for five minutes when I walked in to the front room to find them reading a scrunched up piece of paper.

‘Is that Lucy’s mum, dad?’ Jack asked, holding out the paper. I took it from him. It was the article Amy was writing when she stayed here a couple of weeks ago. She must have printed it off but forgotten to take it with her in her haste to leave when my ex turned up.

Once upon a time I remember loving sex, but then I got married and had a baby. Overnight my husband and I went from sex toys to cuddly toys and from ‘raw sex’ to ‘making love’. We progressed fairly rapidly from ‘making love’ to ‘not tonight dear I’ve got a headache’. In short, I became a bored housewife. Sex
became a birthday treat. We didn’t even do it at Christmas because by bedtime alcohol had taken its toll.

But at least I had a husband who didn’t abuse me; who was a good dad to our daughter when he eventually got home from work; and who provided for us financially. I was in my comfort zone even if my erogenous zone wasn’t seeing much action.

As my regular readers will know, I used to dream about good sex. Let’s be honest, I used to dream about any sex. Would I ever rediscover a love of sex again? I used to wonder whether there could be such thing as sex after marriage. I worried about this in the same way that other people ponder the existence of life after death.

One morning when my golf coach cancelled on me, my husband showed me in glorious technicolour that there is such a thing as sex after marriage. I came home to find him and the au pair in flagrante, in the act, in the buff, on my Italian leather sofa. He was enjoying sex after marriage (our marriage officially stopped when I walked in on them) ergo sex after marriage must exist.

That was a year ago. The au pair has long since gone back to Spain leaving my ex on his own (shame) and I have started rebuilding my life.

Without actually drawing up a project plan and going about it with military precision, I have spent some of the last year rediscovering my love for sex. And as it happens, I have achieved my goal. In my last article for this magazine (I am no longer a bored housewife), I want to share the three steps I took with you as you may find them useful in your situation.

Firstly I have started paying attention to my own body again. Many married women take themselves for granted, let themselves go to seed, put on a few pounds here and there or let their personal grooming habits slip slightly. Let’s face it, our men let themselves go so why shouldn’t we? I know I did when I was married.

I will never turn myself into a 21-year-old au pair with a 
perfect rear end, but over the past year I have at least aspired to become a MILF. I have put myself back in the shop window rather than in some dark and dingy corner in the back of the grannies’ discount cardigans section.

Secondly, practice makes perfect as they say. You won’t rediscover a love for sex without actually having sex. I am not ashamed to confess that I have had a few one-night stands. They were all slightly unsatisfactory. The first was a bit of a fumble, the second was over in seconds and the third was very pleasant but I think he liked me - awkward. These one-night stands have served their purpose. After fifteen years of only getting naked in front of one man, I have now overcome my inhibitions and rebuilt my confidence. As a bonus I have also learnt a few new tricks for future use in the bedroom.

And thirdly, within the last month or so I have found a man who I can enjoy sex with. Finding a new man was part of my master plan. You can’t buy a new man to order but you can put yourself ‘out there’, be open to meeting new people. I met him walking my dog of all things.

One dog walk led to another and one thing led to another.

Our dalliances may not be the all-action shagging we get to see so often in raunchy Hollywood blockbusters but we do at least disturb a few cushions. I am now looking forward to that period where we spend hours getting to know each other’s bodies, how to please each other in a hundred different ways and in every room in the house. Not to mention the garden. The joy of discovering a new body and of someone else discovering yours is something to behold.

The grass may not always be greener, but sometimes it just is.

Amy

Ex bored housewife.

Well, who’d have thought it? I am not sure what to make of that. I suppose if nothing else it makes me feel better about
my indiscretion with Julia. The other thought that occurred to me is did I use a condom?

‘What’s an au pair?’ Sean asked as I finished reading the article.

‘Never mind that,’ Jack muttered from the armchair, ‘I hope you haven’t ‘pleased each other’ in this chair. Gross.’

Once the boys had gone back to their mum’s, I texted Amy. We still haven’t slipped back in to our stride with each other since the incidents with my ex so I didn’t feel relaxed enough to phone her. Our text chat was fairly friendly though.

Me: ‘My boys just found your ‘sex after marriage’ article down the side of my sofa. x’

Amy: ‘Shit, sorry. x’

Me: ‘Did you mean all that stuff about the one night stands? x’

Amy: ‘Sorry again. They meant nothing. x’

Me: ‘Never mind. I am just looking forward to having sex in every room in your double-fronted house. You must have a hundred rooms.’

Someone from Merton Council contacted me this afternoon and told me they were having problems getting hold of one of my referees. I told them that, as far as I know, Richard Branson is out of the country for the foreseeable future and they might struggle getting hold of him. ‘Have you got his mobile number?’ she asked. ‘No, but I know he is with Virgin Mobile if that’s any help,’ I replied. She said she’d try directory enquiries.

It’s official. As of 15
_^th
September I am going to be a fully functioning member of society again. Either Richard Branson came through with my reference or Merton gave up on him and relied on my good character. That is excellent news for financial reasons, but also because now that the World Cup and the cricket have finished, I am having to resort to daytime telly.

I was supposed to be hosting round three of our Raynes Park set dinner party tonight. Katie and Bryan, John and Tracey, Julia and I all put the date in our diaries at the end of the last dinner party. But with Katie now an alcoholic, Bryan sleeping with Tracey, not a clue who if anyone John is sleeping with and me having had a one night stand with Julia and now being with Amy, I decided on reflection to cancel the planned dinner.

Instead I phoned Amy and asked her if she fancied coming over. She politely declined, citing some issue with Lucy. Something about her tone made me wonder whether she was being evasive. She sounded a bit reserved. Other than at the pub with the lads that Saturday night, I haven’t seen Amy for a fortnight. We haven’t been talking as much on the phone either. It just hasn’t been the same since my ex met her twice in a couple of days. Amy did at least agree to
meet me for a pizza in Wimbledon on Friday but I didn’t get the sense that she was looking forward to it.

Until the last week or so, I was beginning to feel more confident about my future. It was to be a future shared with Amy and, at least for part of the time, with my boys. I had felt that I was building a new life, a new normal. But now things are looking decidedly less optimistic. I know what I want. I want Amy. I will make that clear to her on Friday.

I didn’t get the chance to make my feelings clear.

I got to the restaurant over the road from the theatre slightly early and took the liberty of ordering us both a Peroni. I wasn’t sure whether this would end up being a romantic dinner or not. I couldn’t help fearing that Amy might turn it in to an intolerable parting of the ways. Other than to confirm she would be at the restaurant at seven, she hasn’t been answering my texts in the last couple of days.

I had nearly finished my beer by the time Amy turned up. As soon as I saw her push open the door, I knew she had an agenda for tonight, and not an agenda I would like either. She wasn’t her normal smiling, care-free self. She looked tired.

As she sat down I leant forward to give her a kiss. She presented her cheek. That didn’t bode well either. ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘Your wife came to see me yesterday.’

‘My ex?’

‘Your ex.’

‘What did she want?’ I asked, already feeling my hackles raising.

‘She asked how I would feel if my fourteen-year-old daughter was regularly staying over with her boyfriend.’

‘What, she wants Lucy to stay with Jack?’ I asked incredulously.

‘No, the opposite. She doesn’t want you and me sleeping together. It sets a bad example for Jack and Lucy.’

‘Why didn’t she talk to me about this?’ Count to ten Graham, count to ten.

‘I told her that. She said you would get pissed at her.’

‘Too right I would.’ What a bloody cheek. What right did my ex have talking to Amy about our love lives? What right did she have talking to Amy about our children?

‘She has got a point though, hasn’t she?’ Amy observed. My ex might be one hundred per cent right, but I didn’t need to hear Amy agreeing with her right now.

‘Maybe she has, but it didn’t stop you asking me to stay when you knew Lucy was home the other day,’ I pointed out.

‘Lucy is my daughter. I am responsible for her and I can talk to her.’ Amy was frowning. This conversation wasn’t easy for her.

‘I am responsible for Jack. I can talk to him too,’ I argued.

Amy went on to tell me that my ex had also brought up the subject of the impact of his father and brother’s relationships on Sean. Eventually she chucked in my ex’s punchline. ‘Your ex told me she would talk to her solicitor about ending your visitation rights if we continue to set a bad example to Sean.’

And breathe. Who does my ex think she is? Admittedly, mine and Jack’s relationships with Amy and Lucy are far from conventional, but they make us happy. I haven’t always thought of all of the possible consequences of our complicated situation but I haven’t done anything crass or inappropriate. I haven’t suggested that the boys and I all sleep at Amy’s. I haven’t slept with Amy while Jack and Sean have been with me. I haven’t left Jack and Lucy alone together in a bedroom. I haven’t even left Sean alone with Jack and Amy because I wouldn’t want him feeling like a gooseberry. There have been no sordid orgies. My ex needs to chill out.

‘Graham, I just don’t know that I can deal with the hassle of having your ex looking over my shoulder right now,’ Amy concluded. ‘I have just about got my own ex out of my life. The last thing I need is someone else’s throwing their weight around.’

I was a little bit shell-shocked. Not to mention a little bit angry. I sat there nursing my empty beer bottle, not trusting myself to say anything. After what seemed like ages but was probably only a minute or so, the waitress approached to take our order. Amy pushed her chair back and walked out of the restaurant with a tear running down her cheek. Was she walking out of my life too?

That all happened a couple of hours ago. I hung around at the restaurant for a while after Amy had gone in case she changed her mind and came back. She didn’t. Since I got home, I have been gazing in to the bottom of a bottle of lager reflecting upon events. The more I think about it, the more I think my ex is totally out of order. I haven’t been a bad role model or exposed my children to anything inappropriate. For a while tonight I contemplated going straight round to my ex’s and ranting at her. In the end I didn’t bother. She isn’t the important one right now. She can prattle on with her empty threats all she likes but I am not going to dignify them with a response.

What tonight has made me realise is how much I want to be with Amy. When I am not with her I miss her laughter, I miss her scent. I miss her touch. Amy has got to be my priority, not ranting at my ex. Where would ranting at my ex get me anyway? Amy didn’t categorically say she doesn’t want to see me anymore, but she didn’t say she does want to see me either. I am not sure where we stand. Are we still an item?

Starting from tomorrow I am going to do my best to make sure we are.