Is This Love?, page 8
In the morning, I turned my phone back on, and listened to my messages. There were five from J, saying they’d expose me as a lunatic to my friends, as unhinged, someone who didn’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. There were threats, as usual: to call my mum telling her I was missing, to call the police. I felt sick. Then there was a message from my mum, asking if I was OK. I couldn’t believe J had actually called her, and got her so worried. What a selfish prick. It was obvious I just wanted some space by myself, and that I would come back when J had calmed down.
I called my mum and told her I was absolutely fine, and that I’d been a bit drunk at a friend’s house and decided to stay there for the night. J had just got confused about what the plans were. I really hadn’t wanted to drag her into any of this. I didn’t want her to know I was having such a hard time, although I could tell she didn’t believe what I was saying to her.
I headed home feeling cross and upset and frightened. I didn’t know what J would do when I got there: the last message was incoherent and furious, and I’d deleted it as soon as it had started playing. I didn’t want it on my phone. I got to our front door, and tried my key in the lock. It didn’t move. I was confused, and tried for a while to make it work, before I realised that the door was double-locked from the inside. Then I heard J call down from the stairs at the top of the landing, telling me that I couldn’t get in, and I should go away for the rest of the weekend. Oh my god, I thought. I couldn’t get into my own home. What if J changed the locks? Or decided to move my belongings out? I felt incredibly vulnerable, and I had to fight back tears. I was completely defeated.
I spent ages banging on the door, pleading with J to let me in. At first J argued back, all the usual stuff: find yourself some other sucker to sleep with if you don’t want to come home to me, that kind of thing. Then, nothing. I didn’t want the neighbours to see what was happening – it was humiliating – so I didn’t shout too loudly. But after a long period of silence from inside, I knew I’d have to get some help. I thought about the Nigerian family next door, and how they’d look at me if I explained J had locked me out. They’d never completely warmed to us after we’d rolled in one morning from a big night out, just as they were heading out to church. I remember feeling really embarrassed, but J said it was all part of living in a multicultural area and it was good that they were exposed to different lifestyles. It would loosen them up a bit. They were kind people but I knew they’d be at least a bit judgemental and I was desperate not to show anyone else the mess I was in. So I decided to call the police. It was really my only option.
It didn’t take very long for the squad car to arrive. Two officers got out and walked up the path. I was sitting on the doorstep. They were very kind, and listened as I explained again what had happened. They said that they were going to come up into the flat with me, and make sure I was safe. If anything happened, they could arrest J, so I wasn’t to worry. One of the officers took my keys off me and tried the door, which opened straight away. I started to cry.
We walked up the stairs and into the living area, where J was standing, holding a cup and trying to look innocent. I could see the outline of a faint smile, hidden beneath pretend concern. One of the police officers explained that I’d called them because I couldn’t get access to the flat, but that they’d been able to open the door when they’d arrived. J said that was because the latch had been put on last night as a security measure, and then taken off again when I’d arrived home and started shouting. I probably hadn’t heard that, because I was making so much of a racket.
I could feel the mood in the room shift, J sharing a smile with the two officers. I saw a kind of narrowing of their eyes, heard the faint sound of irritation creep into their voices. I could feel myself not being believed.
J apologised to them, saying it was awful that we’d wasted their time. One of the officers took me back downstairs, and asked me if I felt safe to stay. I was shaking, quite violently, but I said yes. I could see that he wanted to get away by now. It wasn’t the heroic rescue scene that they’d no doubt pictured as they blue-lighted their way over.
Another madwoman, they’d laugh later on. That’s what J said they’d say, anyway, after they’d left. You realise you made yourself look absolutely mental?
Sunday 29 May
I was hoping things were getting better. But we went to a friend’s birthday party this weekend, and I could see they were worse than ever. Others saw it too.
J was in a really bad mood when we set off. We were driving to the coast, where our friends were having a big party: over a hundred people, a rented venue, bands, DJs and lots of J’s friends. I wasn’t really looking forward to it, as I knew a lot of them would end up getting really wasted and J would probably be dragged into it. I hate it when J is out of it. I’ve said so, many times.
J had to make a speech, which I could tell was going to be a problem. We’d had a really busy week in the run-up to the party, and J was especially stressed by work, and hadn’t done any prep for the party. I was feeling anxious before we’d even set off that all of it would come back on me.
At first it was lovely to be there. It was hot and sunny, and we all met at the beach and sat outside the pub on the sands. I was really glad that two of my closer friends had turned up, and I told them I’d been worried I’d be on my own if they hadn’t come. They were really sweet: they said they’d make sure I had a good time.
J said it was time to head to our Airbnb, which we were sharing with Nancy and Mel. I didn’t really feel like it. I was enjoying being outside and I wanted to have another drink. As usual, I was made to feel really guilty about not jumping immediately when J said go. I overheard some nasty comment being muttered and thought I’d better get up to avoid things getting louder, and embarrassing. Nothing too awful could happen anyway, once we got back to the Airbnb place. There would be other people around for the whole afternoon.
J was silent on the way there. I asked how the day had gone so far, and was snapped at, so decided not to talk any more. I was looking forward to J getting out of the way to start on the speech, leaving me to just chill out for a bit with my book. But as soon as we got inside, the criticism started: why did I have to drink so much, why was I so loud, why couldn’t I just help J out by coming when asked, didn’t I know how stressful this all was? Our friends were in the garden, and I really didn’t want them to hear us having yet another argument. They’d been around too many times when J had started in on me like this.
I said there was nothing to be that stressed about, it was just a speech at a birthday party – no big deal. That’s when J really flipped out, telling me that it wasn’t about the stupid party, it was everything else: things piling up at work, jobs around the flat I never helped with. Another tirade of accusations and self-pity, with me to blame for everything.
Nancy came in from outside just then. J stomped upstairs. Nancy could tell I was upset, and asked what was happening, so I told her we’d had another fight. I said I was really tired of the constant criticism. I was struggling to keep myself together by this point. It was really good to hear Nancy say that J was being out of order, and I deserved to be treated so much better. We headed out to the garden together and Nancy poured me a glass of wine which helped me relax a bit. I decided to put myself first and have a good time.
I didn’t see J for the rest of the afternoon. I sat in the garden with Nancy for an hour or so, and then more friends came round to the house and we decided to head out to get some food. I called up the stairs to ask J to join us but got no reply. I felt relieved, to be honest, more than anything else.
The party was fancy dress, so when we got back from dinner I headed up to our room to get my costume together, and check on what was happening. J wasn’t there. We were supposed to get ready together, but instead I was on my own listening to Nancy and Mel in the next room laughing as they helped each other get dressed.
I called J’s phone but got no reply. So fuck it, I thought. Just go on your own, and have a good time. I put on my outfit, checked my phone, decided to leave it at the rental and headed out to the party.
When I got to the venue, J was there with a face like thunder. I felt immediately that familiar sense of dread, but went over to try to be appeasing, to calm things down. How’s it gone? I asked. J was horribly sarcastic: I’ve been here most of the afternoon helping to set up but yeah, thanks for asking and thanks for your help with the speech. You’re a real support, you know? I said I wasn’t going to be spoken to like that; if J had wanted help then simply asking for it would have been enough. I’d had no messages and no way of knowing what was expected of me. I wasn’t a mind-reader.
J strutted off, and I watched from across the room as our friends piled in and J suddenly lit up, the life and soul of the party. My heart sank. J hadn’t wanted me at all. The cry for help wasn’t about one partner needing support from the other: J wanted flattery and adoration, it didn’t matter who it came from. It could have been anybody. I am so sick of it having to be me.
The party got going, and I stayed at the edge of the room, chatting with a few people, feeling pretty outside of things. After a while I could see J trying to catch my eye, smiling, holding a pair of dark glasses in one hand, a glass in the other. I wondered how many had already been drunk. I could see the alcohol taking hold, softening the lines of J’s face, usually so tense. I think it was noticing this that made me drop my guard. I felt protective; I wanted J to relax. I was glad to receive a smile, to feel some warmth being sent my way. I wanted us to feel like we used to. I was desperate for that.
When we first got together, I used to love going out with J. I loved being part of the couple we were, and I loved seeing how happy everyone was for us. J has lots of friends who demand a lot of time and energy, and a gang of ex-girlfriends who still hang around, but in the early days I got all the attention. I never felt jealous of anyone, I never felt lonely. I knew I was the centre of J’s world, I was told that over and over. We used to rent this little place in Dorset that we pretended was our second home, and we’d spend weekends there drinking red wine and having sex on the rug in front of the fire. Or once, in the garden outside, not caring who saw. It was our little bubble, a hideaway, and it felt like the best place on earth. Just the two of us. I think J’s always liked me best when we’re alone.
I wish things were still like that. I wish J wanted me on my own, not just as a prop in a room full of people at a party. The evening was long, and stressful. People got slowly wasted, speeches were made – including J’s, which went fine. J got choked up halfway through it, and then felt embarrassed afterwards, wouldn’t stop asking me if it had been OK. I said it was fine. People liked to see other people’s weaknesses.
The party started to wind up around 1 a.m., and the venue had to be cleared by 2 a.m. I could tell J wasn’t ready to go to bed, and I dreaded having to join the after-party crowd. I was so over late-night chats with wide-eyed, rigid-jawed friends of J’s. What was the point of getting so out of it you couldn’t talk properly? The same stupid in-jokes and rambling stories, bodies strewn about, the sun coming up. We’d had this conversation lots of times. Stop being so judgemental, J always said. They like to have a good time, and so do I. It’s fun.
It wasn’t fun, it was boring. But J didn’t want to miss out – of course. I was made to feel bad for suggesting we just go to bed, that I was tired and we’d had a good night. I wasn’t going to back down, and I wanted J to come with me. I didn’t want to be on my own. I’d spent all day acting like a single person, a gooseberry with our coupled-up friends. I wanted J to put us first. It didn’t feel too much to ask that J simply come home with me.
But no. J wanted to spend time with friends from way back, was entitled to a blowout, had been looking forward for weeks to catching up with everyone. There was no real discussion, just an ultimatum: come with me, or go home. What was the point in competing? I wouldn’t win. So I walked away, and told J not to bother coming back to the rental at all. I didn’t want to be woken up at a stupid time, I didn’t want the empty apologies, and I didn’t want to see in another day feeling shit about myself.
It feels like parenting. And it makes more of a joke of J’s idea that we should start a family. I don’t want to look after another child when I already have to do so much to look after J. You can’t be a parent if you can’t even look after yourself.
In the morning, I woke up in a half-empty bed. J hadn’t come back. I cried, lying back against the pillow, feeling the tears run down past my temples and into my hair. J had chosen a late night out over me. It was pretty clear where I stood on the list of priorities. I called J’s mobile, not expecting an answer, but J picked up: I’m at Helen’s, I slept on the floor, you told me not to come back so I didn’t…
I’d created the perfect excuse for bad behaviour, in other words.
I need to get out of this relationship. I am being made to feel smaller and smaller, like I just don’t matter at all. I spent the whole weekend either worrying about J being near me, or disappearing. This isn’t a good way to live, I know that. I feel really low. I don’t know how much longer I can keep hiding parts of myself, pushing down my feelings, ignoring J’s abuse.
I took vows when we got married, but I can’t be held to them when the person I married doesn’t care about them at all. I keep asking myself why J has changed, but if I’m really honest with myself, the control and the moods that are so obvious now were always there in the background. I didn’t notice them for so long because J has always been so good at the demonstrative stuff: putting me on a pedestal but not really seeing me. I was swept up by the romance, and the sweet talk. J always said we looked good together, but looking good isn’t enough. I haven’t felt good for such a long time. I’ve just been holding everything together. I don’t think I can do it for much longer. And I don’t think I ought to: I deserve better.
Monday 8 July
I think I’ve got to the final straw. We went away last week with Nancy and Mel and my sister and Tom, and it was awful. I just don’t think I can do this any more. Usually J is horrible to me in private, but all smiles in public. Last week the mask slipped. Everyone saw the meanness and the control and the belittling of me. I was so embarrassed.
We all spent the week in a rented house in Suffolk. From the start J wasn’t happy about it, saying it was too expensive, we could have gone somewhere interesting, why did we want to spend precious holiday time in the land of middle-class social climbers with no imagination. J said I spend too much time imagining myself as something I’m not. The criticism of my background is always there, the nasty asides about the working-class chip on my shoulder. My family is rock solid; I know they’d always be there for me. It makes J feel insecure when I say these things. J’s family are uptight and middle class; there are walls of silence around so many of their issues. It’s not like that in my family. We talk about everything, and we say what we think. I know J finds that threatening.
We’d argued on the way up. J had started on at me about how little I contribute: I leave things that need fixing, I don’t have any idea how much anything costs, J has to sort everything out… it’s always the same. It doesn’t seem to matter that my job takes all my energy. People need me, and I work so hard for them. I don’t have the headspace for stupid little jobs around the house. I tuned it out, focusing instead on the long grey stretch of the motorway, eventually giving way to smaller roads, too many roundabouts and, finally, a view of the sea. The house looked cool, and by the time we got there my sister and Tom were already settled in, which was such a relief. I could relax a little bit; J would behave better in company.
Nancy and Mel turned up about an hour later, and the first evening and the next day were fine. I could see J was still tense, which always makes me feel anxious, but there was plenty of drinking, we made nice food and we had a good walk around the coast. I made sure that we ended up in a nice old pub. I knew that would make J happy.
Everyone was a bit pissed by the time we got back to the house that evening. They all went to bed early except me and J, and my sister, who cracked open a bottle of Tanqueray. She was really making me laugh, telling a story about running into one of her kids’ friend’s parents at a karaoke bar just as she really went for it with a Tina Turner number. J stood up with an eye roll at the end of the anecdote. I was furious; it was so rude. I hoped my sister hadn’t noticed, but I saw her face fall. She followed J into the kitchen where the bottle of gin stood on the counter, and J was refilling an enormous glass with it. I saw that look, she said, loud enough that I could hear her from the living room. Am I boring you? I heard J just laugh at her, and then reappear, sitting back down on the sofa as if nothing had happened. My sister wasn’t going to let that go – I knew she wouldn’t. She came back into the room and shouted: J was so arrogant, was no good for me, was making me miserable and didn’t even care, or even know? I told her to stop, but I could see she was really upset. I didn’t blame her.
But I didn’t want her to say things to J that I’d told her in confidence. I didn’t know what J would do. I’d had a long chat with my sister two weeks before the trip, and she’d said it sounded like J was abusive. I’d never really used that word before, not even in my own head. It felt terrifying, but also like a breakthrough of sorts. It had been such a relief to have someone understand what was happening to me. I’d told her about all the little criticisms, the night I’d stayed at the hotel, the police… I’d felt so ashamed, but I wanted her to know what things were really like. She was shocked, I saw that. And she was angry, too. It was inevitable, I suppose, that she’d show that anger to J at some point.
