Honesty

“We’ve got plenty of time! Isn’t that what you always say? And yet, here we are again, scrambling around, attempting to get out the door to get there just before the hors d’oeuvres are served! Why does it always have to be like this, Simon?”

Emma couldn’t stop herself. Her invective had been stored like water behind a cracking dam for so long, waiting for the chink to widen to allow it to come surging through. She knew that it would only take one more misdemeanour on the part of Simon to propel her into a rant. And here it was. He was such a bumbling fool, she often wondered what on Earth she was doing with him. It hadn’t always been this way, of course but she was struggling to remember when he had ever been anything different. She wanted to quell her frustration and remain calm, but this dinner today was so important to her career and she cared about it fiercely. Today, she was hoping that she would finally receive recognition, both monetarily and within the company, which would reflect her effort. She would have gone on her own but everyone invited was part of a couple and she wanted to belong. She didn’t want to be there on her own, an appendage tacked to groups of four, the odd one out. It was imperative that Simon come and that was that.

She surprised herself with how passionately she wanted everything to go well today. She had never been career minded until she had met Simon who had, she had to admit, opened her eyes to her potential. She had previously been happy to earn enough to keep a home and have some holiday time during the year but now, she felt like she could be someone successful and it was very attractive to her. She wanted to be respected and applauded - it was the singular most important thing to her. She loved the way her status had increased at work and revelled in the fact that she was asked her opinion, deferred to in meetings, contacted by email. She really wished that Simon could realise that: how much she had sacrificed to get to this point, its value to her. She gritted her teeth as she was once again reminded of him not being ready, with never a thought for her. Maybe she should re-evaluate their relationship after today. But she dismissed this straightaway. She didn’t have time to engage in any emotional upset at the moment and the messiness that separation would involve. That thought and any resulting action would have to wait until a more secure time in her working life.

Simon meanwhile was leaning over his shoe tying his lace, impervious, or at least acting like it, to her exasperation, although the bead of sweat that threatened to roll down his temple, and his fumbling fingers suggested that he was as tense as her. He was aggrieved that once more he was being blamed for being late when he had got out of bed earlier than Emma, made them both breakfast and it was she who had only just come down the stairs. The fact that he had had to search for his shoes, which were normally under the bench by the front door but had recently been moved by Emma to an undisclosed location, well, he didn’t feel like he was at fault. He hadn’t wanted to say anything about his shoes for fear of unleashing a caustic barrage but when she had seen him in the hallway still in his socks with his shoes in his hands, it hadn’t mattered that he had found them himself.

Emma had been so involved in her angry tirade that she had her back turned away from him as she stood, grabbing the keys from the counter with one hand and waving the other in the air.

“Can you imagine how it would be if we had children? We’d never get anywhere to do anything! It would be a nightmare.” Emma growled, placed the keys in her bag and pushed her hair back from her face with the frustration of it all. She thought, Why couldn’t he just be different? It would make life so much easier for both of them in the long run. She wouldn’t always have to reprimand him or feel so let down all the time by his disorganisation and lack of consideration for the things that mattered to her.

Simon had finished tying his laces and stood up. He was a placid man, not prone to bouts of temper or episodes of outspokenness. He was very much a bottler, in that he kept his feelings suppressed and away from display; it was not the British way to express emotion unless playing sport and as he was not particularly athletic nor a social mixer, he did not have this as an outlet. He was tired and angry; tired because he had had a long week at work and was now being made to go to one of Emma’s work functions where he would be required to mix and try and impress Emma’s colleagues with a view to helping her career. This was pretty much an impossible task as they were all a bunch of self-absorbed prats who showed no interest in anything other than talking about their superficial lives. He wasn’t very good at it because he didn’t care and he couldn’t see why Emma did neither. He knew that she had become increasingly career focused in the years they had been together and he had been prepared to tolerate the long work hours and interrupting phone calls but expecting him to be something he was not was tiring. He had tried initially at these events but he could detect the scorn of the others and often he had turned to get a drink from the table or food from the buffet table, merely leaning away from the conversation only to find when he turned back, he had been left. He had hidden his embarrassment with a shrug of his shoulders and a gulp or bite of whatever he had reached for and nonchalantly removed his phone from his pocket, but he had felt it in his gut, this sense of being less to them. And this was seeping, actually, no, it was rushing into his relationship with Emma.

He had sensed the contempt from her for months now, starting when she was first earmarked as someone to take over from Ted, Head of Finance when he retired in June. The girl he had first met would have been content with enough money for them to be comfortable; a career had never occurred to her. In fact, he was partly to blame for her transformation, encouraging her to make something of herself, bolstering her when she had felt overlooked and suggesting further education to her.

He had liked the days when they had both finished work at the same time, arrived home within minutes of each other and chatted amicably about their day. They had been pleased to see each other, passionate and tactile and laughing, sharing jokes. He couldn’t remember the last time that they had laughed together, or talked with any sort of depth, for that matter. They barely ate together! They didn’t even sit down with each other in the evening anymore to watch TV. Emma invariably had work or study to do and she never seemed to want to watch the same programmes that they previously used to enjoy together. The most time that they were ever with each other now was when they slept. The bedroom was pretty much that – a room with a bed, inert. It was used for rest only, the fire of attraction having extinguished itself under piles of paper and the petty squabblings of the unhappy.

When they had first got together, they had had plans to travel and maybe work abroad. Simon had been the more driven of the two although he had lacked ambition. He wanted a job that he could do well while he was there but could leave on the doorstep once he got home. His parents had both been teachers and although he had had fabulous summers with them when the holidays had begun, the term times had been a mix of hastily put together meals; getting lifts from people to activities, relying on his bike if not; and him and his brother sat infront of the TV of an evening whilst his parents hunched over the dining room table, marking books or preparing for the next day. He didn’t want that for himself, that lack of home and work life balance where the term time was a barren place and the summers were a gush of attention and excitement, short-lived and fleeting. When he was a boy, he had yearned for those summers for the rest of the year, and he didn’t want that for his children either.

He was angry, because he was getting fed up of being pushed around. He could feel something rising in him, which he wasn’t certain was a good thing but like a bottle of fizzy drink which has inadvertently been shaken, the pressure created had to go somewhere and her constant criticism of him was loosening his lid.

She was always so concerned about her career and making the right impression. Always chastising him for things that he wore and things that he said. He knew that he was pretty average in a lot of things: at work, he was a middle manager, surely the workplace definition of average; he earned an average salary according to business magazines; he could cook of a fashion and was able to create a creditable Spaghetti Bolognese; he imagined that he was okay as a lover – nothing over- or underwhelming. He was a middle-of-the-road sort of bloke and comfortable with this. At one time, this had been enough for Emma. But not anymore.

Looking at her now with her back to him, he felt a surge of dislike; not hatred as such but indifference, he acknowledged with a start. He could feel the disdain towards him emanating from her in the same way that it did from the people at these work dos. The lid was loosening further with each realisation that he didn’t want her or like her and definitely didn’t want to pander to her faux friends to further her career! Add to that, the fact that she could stand there and talk about having children as if it was a possibility made him realise that he had to act now or be trapped in a “partnership” with someone that he no longer liked. He had a suddenly clear vision of his future as a husband possibly dressed in an apron to protect his suit, definitely being expected to do the lion’s share of the work, wiping young Tommy’s face clear of some mushed up carrot and tomato baby sludge as Emma picked up her briefcase where his shoes used to live and headed out of the door with a “I have a late meeting. Don’t expect me for dinner.”

“Well then, we’d better not have any then, should we?” Simon found himself saying, knowing for sure in that moment that he very much did not want to have children with Emma. Having started along this road, he found himself adding, and feeling quite liberated as he did, “Fat chance of it anyway, really, isn’t there? I mean, it’s not like we’re constantly engaging in ways to make it happen, is it? I can’t remember the last time we had sex, can you?”

Emma was still facing away from Simon when he started talking but had begun to turn around and was thinking about the quickest way to get to Sebastian’s house for the barbecue when her ears suddenly tuned in to what he was saying. Was he really challenging her about sex just as they were about to leave?

Looking at him, she could see that he had his shoes tied. Good, they could go. Excellent.

“Could we talk about this later, Simon? We really need to be going now that you’ve got your shoes on. I really don’t think this is the time, do you?” She went to walk past him, confident that her assured tone had dismissed any more discussion when Simon placed his hand firmly but decisively on her arm and she had to stop or risk being hurt.

Simon wasn’t surprised by Emma’s reaction; he was more surprised at his confronting her but he really had had enough.

“There is never a good time, is there, Emma?” She was close to him now as he held her arm and he looked closely at her face. She had hardened, he noticed. He was also struck by the fact that he had not been this close to her in months, as he saw the lines around her eyes and the resolute tightness of her mouth. Who was this woman? He didn’t recognise her at all.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let go of me, Simon and let’s go! I don’t know what you’re playing at or why you are doing this to me, today of all days.”

Simon let out a laugh. Emma was starting to wonder if he had been drinking as his behaviour was weird to put it mildly. Simon was never confrontational. It was one of the things that she liked about him, the fact that he never put up that much resistance.

“No, of course! You’re right, Emma. What was I thinking?” Simon barked a short laugh, a “Ha!” before continuing, “How dare I be so selfish as to think about us! How dare I challenge you and start a discussion! What was I thinking?” He repeated, laughing and shaking his head. “How could I have forgotten that it’s not about us, but always about you?” And with this last remark, he released her and walked behind the counter and put the kettle on with his back to her.

Emma was absolutely astounded. She was fluctuating between feelings of anger and puzzlement. This was a Simon that she had never seen. Sarcastic. Hurtful. Indifferent. She didn’t have time for this. Looking at her watch, she realised that if they left now, they would be only fifteen minutes late, a salvageable time and she was already manufacturing roadworks or a detour in her head to explain their delay.

“Simon,” she said, firmly. “I’m not sure what has got into you this morning but I am asking you nicely if you could please come with me now to this barbecue. It’s only a couple of hours out of your life and it would help me enormously.” She tapped her foot on the tiles. “I promise you that when we come back we can have a really big talk and figure things out, okay? Please?”

Simon stood infront of the kettle. It was clear now what he must do. He’d have this cup of tea and then he’d get some things together and go to his mum’s. He wasn’t particularly pleased about leaving as he did very much like the house but he didn’t think that he could spend another minute with Emma.

“I’m not going,” he said, very calmly. “You’ll have to go on your own.”

Emma stood very still, her mind thumping and her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to go on her own. She wanted Simon there with her. This was important. She needed him there.

“But I can’t,” she said. “I need you to come.”

Simon could hear the doubt in her voice and for a second, he was unsure.

“Simon. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Simon was a kind-hearted man, and listening to the note of pleading in her voice, he placed his hands on the counter and leaned into it, weighing up how to react. He thought, I need to see how she looks. Looking over his shoulder as the kettle started to steam, he saw her looking directly at him and her vulnerability was apparent in her expression. He wanted to feel like he was needed, that he wasn’t just an accessory required to fit in. He had felt for so long that he was a burden in their relationship to her, something to be tolerated for want of something or somebody better and he knew that he was right in this guess. If she could just say something that would make him feel like he was valued, that she actually wanted him there for him, not because he fulfilled a role but because she loved his company, because she felt bare without him, because not having him there felt like a part was missing – and he would have swayed, relented and helped. For a moment, she looked winsome and then she decided to speak.

“You see, there’ll only be couples there and I don’t want to stand out. If I go on my own, it will be awkward for me. It would help me if you were there.”

Honesty should be the bedrock of any solid relationship but sometimes, it can be the thing that tears it apart.

The kettle clicked off and with it, so did Simon’s desire to change his mind. Lifting the kettle up, he poured the steaming water into his mug and calmly said, “No.”

“Right. Well, thanks a lot, Simon.” Emma reached for her phone. “Thanks a bloody lot. I hope you’re happy.” Emma shouted at him and fought back tears, more of annoyance than sadness, at having been thwarted and seeing her career stalled by something out of her control. Phone held to her ear, she spat, “I’ll cancel then and just so you know, we are finished! Over! You understand?”

Simon, placing the kettle on its base, simply said,

“Fine. We were never going to make it.”