EPISODE FIFTY-TWO
Ted almost had second thoughts as he walked
along Warwick Park, looking for Donald’s house. But the heart pounding fear and tingling
nervousness he felt seemed so dangerously attractive. Besides, he had telephoned Donald, who was
expecting him. There was no turning back
now.
Glancing nervously around, he rang the doorbell. His friend must have been waiting impatiently
for his arrival, because the door was thrown open almost immediately. He gave Ted a welcoming grin.
‘At last, dear boy! I thought this day
would never come. Well, don’t just stand
there. Come in.’
As Ted stepped inside, Donald stifled a giggle.
‘What are you laughing at?
Donald laughed aloud. ‘You silly
boy. You’re wearing your uniform. I appreciate the gesture, Ted. But I was only joking.’
*
Barry spent the whole of Monday brooding, needing answers to questions he had
not asked Pauline, either because he was too drunk or too distraught. He made up his mind he would go and see her
in the early evening. He knew she went
line dancing every Monday night and he could catch her just before she
left. He decided not to telephone in
advance, in case she put him off coming.
Because it was warm and sunny, her front door was wide open and she saw him
arriving and came out to meet him. She
gave him a weak smile, wondering what he wanted.
‘I’ve come round to talk about yesterday,’ he said. ‘Everything was a haze and a nightmare. Now I’ve had time to think, there are things
I need to get clear in my mind. I don’t
think I can move on unless I have answers.’
She invited him into the kitchen and he sat on one of the breakfast bar stools
while she made him coffee.
‘Saturday night,’ he began. ‘Sunday morning, the alcohol had really hit
me. But I can vaguely remember when I
asked you about the early days in our relationship, that you may have said
something like you supposed it was lust on your part. So when did you fall out of lust with me?’
She looked flustered as she fidgeted with the coffee mug. ‘Well, not really lust. I liked you.
I still do. But I don’t feel I
want to spend the rest of my life with you.
It had to stop sometime. It
couldn’t have gone on any longer. Not
from my point of view.’
‘But after we’d started our affair, you seemed to want to be with me for quite
some time. Six months after we started
going out together, you made the train journey to see me in Scarborough
for a long weekend, that time I had my play put on in the studio theatre
there. And that first Christmas you
spent it with me. But not last Christmas. So when, in between those times, did it go
wrong?’
She shook her head with frustration. ‘I
don’t know. All I know is I’m not in
love with you. It’s just...I don’t need
or want sex. I can live without it. It’s bottom of the list on my priorities.’
He thought about this for some time before he spoke, and watched her pour water
onto the coffee.
‘When I was married,’ he said, ‘for about three or four years before we split
up, on the odd occasions my wife and I had sex, we used to have to use a
lubricant. It was the only way we could
manage it. But you always felt like I
aroused you.’
Pauline laughed. ‘I always used to put a
lubricant on, every time I came round to you, or before you came round here.’
He looked surprised. ‘But why did you always
do that in advance.’
‘Because I knew you always wanted sex.
And I’m sixty years old. Women of
our age tend to dry up. But I don’t want to do that anymore.’
She handed him a coffee. As he took it,
she noticed his hands were shaking.
‘But I’ve fallen in love with you,’ he said feebly. ‘And you know that time after the barbecue,
when you told me you weren’t in love with me.
I made certain I never said I love you again.’
‘I know you did. I realised that.’
‘I didn’t want to force you into a corner. And I stuck to my side of the bargain. When
you agreed to sleep with me for the first time,
you said you’d only agree if we kept our own space. Perhaps I should have played things
differently.’
‘No, I think I always will want my own space.’
He pounced on this. ‘Think! You mean you
might not want that with this new chap.’
She sighed. ‘Look there’s nothing going
on. I only told you about him because
you went on about it, convinced that was the reason for this. But nothing may come of it.’
‘And is this bloke a golfer? Was he at
the dinner and dance the other night?’
‘No, Jack comes from Hastings. And I play
near there once a year. I’m playing golf
down there on Thursday.’
His hand trembled as he raised the mug and blew on his coffee. ‘I’ve got the shakes.’
She smile sympathetically. ‘I’m
sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you for the
world. I’d still like to be your friend. We can be friends, can’t we?’
He smiled sadly. ‘You got my phone
message.’
‘Yes.’
After that, it was small talk, while she showed him the latest water colour she
had painted in her art class. As he
left, she gave him a smile and a small wave from the porch.
‘When it’s sunny, let’s do that picnic,’ he said. ‘Ring me.’
She nodded and shut the door. As he
walked away from her bungalow, he had doubts about their remaining
friends. If there entered a new man in
her life, he couldn’t see her wanting to spend any time with an ex-lover.
As he walked back to his flat, thoughts about what had been said tormented and
tortured him. And there were still
things he had wanted to ask but had forgotten.
He would have liked to know why she hadn’t told him this a week ago. Why she had waited until after the do at the
golf club. Then the cynical thought
struck him Perhaps she wanted someone to partner her for the evening, and not sit
at the table next to an empty chair.
Perhaps it was a case of out with the old, in with the new. All done and
dusted. Neatly. Like a theatre show
ending on a Saturday night. He was
history.
When he arrived back at his flat, he decided to call Kathy. She was a feisty attractive woman, and he had
fallen in love with her. But she was
married. They occasionally had dinner
together and enjoyed each other’s company; and she always made him laugh with outrageous,
sometimes inappropriate, comments.
When she came on the line, he told her how depressed he was about his split
with Pauline, without going into too much detail.
Then Kathy said: “You ought to stop
going with us shrivelled old menopausal women; we need to find you some young
totty.’
He giggled. ‘Forty-seven, Kathy. To me you’re a babe. If only you’d dump that husband of yours. You
know I love you.’
She laughed. ‘And I love you,
Barry. But you know why, don’t you? It’s because you’re still a teenager.’
IN EPISODE FIFTY-THREE
Mary is a bit miffed when Dave asks her to contribute to the household
bills.