Goodbyes

For the past few weeks - having decided that there was really no other option than for us to separate - we’ve been bouncing an argument backwards and forwards regarding who should be the one to leave. At one stage I was prepared to go. I spent a few sleepless nights just staring at the ceiling, pondering my life, trying to visualise what it would be like to be here on my own again. And as much as I wanted the security of the house, I wasn’t sure I could handle the remnants of a broken marriage imprinted on every wall, every surface of the place. Perhaps a fresh start somewhere else would be good for me – even if (for financial reasons) it could only ever be in a little bedsit somewhere. I questioned what ‘home’ actually meant and convinced myself that I would be happier walking away from the bricks and mortar here to start again. Home can be absolutely anywhere…if you’re happy. And it would be cosy, right? - having a bed and a kitchen and a shower all in one room. Perhaps I’d feel the same way I did as a teenager – when I moved into my first ever bedsit on my own. I remember drawing the curtains, lighting a candle, laying on my bed and playing John Martin’s Solid Air on my portable tape recorder. I felt so content…listening to the music and staring at my psychedelic, spliff- smoking hippy woman on the poster opposite me. Yeah…I could feel like that again. Couldn’t I?

I told Rob my decision…that I would leave. I started looking at ads in the local paper and on line. Everything seemed to be too expensive, or in the wrong area. Then I saw an ad on Gumtree. A guy with a two bedroomed house was offering cheap rent for help with the house. I emailed him, asking him what kind of help he needed. He replied that he wanted help with the ironing and cleaning, perhaps a little cooking, and a massage to soothe his aching muscles after his long days at work. Honestly, some people.

Rob has a friend who owns a few properties and he called him up, asking if anything was available. I listened to Rob’s side of the conversation, eagerly awaiting the news. It turned out the guy had a place which would be vacant in just a few days - a single room, with a single bed, a small kitchen area in the corner and a shared shower in the hallway. It was on the second floor of a house. When he relayed the conversation to me, I sat there and listened, and when he finished talking I promptly burst into tears.

A few more weeks passed by and then Rob had a call. His friend had another place coming up – this time it was a one bedroomed, self contained flat. It sounded nice…and it was in the same area Rob had lived the last time he left…the same area he lived in before we even met. And then, as I was about to agree to have a look at it, Rob told me that he would take the flat and I could have the house.

It’s almost 5pm and Rob has just left.

The sun is beginning to set.
Everything seems a little odd, a little scary.
The cats are looking tense.
Shelves are looking empty.
The bathroom looks unlived in.
Dan’s old room – the room Rob took over – is an empty shell.
It’s far too quiet.

Once again, I’m wondering what the hell is around the corner.

Once again, I’m wondering why two people who love each other can’t make it work.

This is our fourth separation.

It has to be our final one.

Tomorrow I’ll embark on the next phase of my crazy, crazy life. But until then, I think I’ll just sit here for a while and listen - for the very last time - to the sound of that fucking ticking clock he bought and fixed up with the Westminster chime, which dongs and dongs and dongs right through the bloody night.

He told me I’ll miss it when it’s gone.

I think he may be right.