This Time It's for Real

THIS TIME IT’S FOR REAL

They were together. Total peace, absolute calm, seconds drifting in a sea of silence.

Now they would never be apart. Never, ever. A door banged shut somewhere else in the hospital, how had all this come about?

Peter Sinclair was drunk, he knew that because Eileen, his companion for the evening, had told him so. She had also told him that he was in dreadful trouble, what on earth had he been thinking, getting into such a romantic embrace with his best friends wife. Actually he hadn’t been thinking of anything, he was just standing in the corridor at John and Wendy’s apartment, the party was in full swing and he needed a break, she just came up and kissed him. Just like that, no warning.

He was always getting into trouble, he and John seemed to spend their lives having parties, getting drunk. These little shindigs were nearly always broken up by Johns wife, Wendy, hauling him off home leaving Peter sat there wondering how he was going to get home. Peter and Wendy did not see eye to eye, he thought that she was a total spoil sport but not on the tennis court though, they were the men's and ladies champions at their local club. She was a great player and a rock steady partner which countered his somewhat eccentric leaping around the court. John was not a tennis player, anyhow he was a good ten or twelve years Peters senior, probably too old now.

This was just like the army from which Peter had recently been demobbed, the ‘married pads’ having lost all sense of fun upon getting married. Peter had spent the whole twenty three years of his life just having fun, John was married, he’d been hooked. No fun allowed now.

Peter did not want to have serious relationships but Wendy was now a regular visitor to his bed sit which was a short walk from John and Wendy’s flat in North London. Maybe it would be a good idea to have a night away together especially as his regular girl friends were definitely giving him a very wide berth. Especially Eileen.

“There is something that I would like to ask you”

They were actually sitting in his bed-sit and he was desperately trying to rack his brain to see if there was a way for both of them to sneak off for a night away, that was if Wendy would even consider such a step or even be able to find an excuse to be away from John for one night.

“would you………..”, he never finished the sentence.

“Yes” said Wendy “of course I will, I will leave John and marry you”.

Fear gripped him like twenty steel traps, there is always a time to be decisive, Peter was always decisive – not on this occasion though. All he was going to suggest was that they had a night away, nothing else.

Peter was the ultimate example of happy go lucky, this was definitely not his scene. First he tentatively talked to his mother and then his father, all hell was let loose.

“A married woman” - “get out”.

This was the 1950’s. His aunt was more sympathetic but brutally honest when introduced to Wendy

“Do not marry Peter, he would make a very poor husband, he is someone who could never settle down”.

Wendy’s parents were much more helpful. They had endured years of coping with Johns problems with alcohol, lack of grandchildren and their daughters general unhappiness with the marriage. But they did not spare the advice – fail to provide a suitable home, failure to supply considerable revenue but above all, failure to supply grand children would result in Peters short life coming to an exceptionally short end.

So following a ‘quicky’ divorce, a short marriage ceremony ended with an even shorter honeymoon, one night in a hotel on the way back from the register office and back to the job that Peter had taken with an engineering firm as he had had to leave the accountants where he worked who, being a national name, did not approve of such goings on. Anyway he disliked the boring job and always needed challenge and excitement. He had had a choice, carry on with the bohemian lifestyle or channel all that enthusiasm for hell raising into a career in order to provide Wendy and her parents with what they perceived as the right way to achieve happiness.

Now fast forward seven years; two children, a good house with a rapidly expanding business from the buy out that he had achieved at the engineering firm where he was the accountant. Not obtained though without working extremely long, hard, sometimes very difficult and stressful hours. Luckily for him, Wendy wasn’t just a brilliant tennis player, she was also a brilliant accountant besides being a most caring mother, wonderful housekeeper and the most engaging of hostesses. He was very lucky.

Was he? Peter had a monkey on his back, possibly described as the weight of the world, anyway a huge complex psychological situation. He once sat in the front seat of a number 76 bus in Stoke Newington with John

“I’m a total shit over all this, why don't you punch me on the nose”.

They still met, occasionally, they were still friends, of sorts, but nothing like the old days.

“No” said John “You’ll find out, this will destroy you, I don’t have to do anything, it would be too easy for you were I to simply punch you on the nose. Believe me, you will find out in time, both of you”.

Peter knew that they would be punished one day, especially himself, it ate out his very soul. He worked harder and harder, he and his partners became national distributors, they employed lady salespersons, one of his partners suggested a lighthearted drink with two such ladies following a sales meeting. That was a most slippery slope, one sales lady was a most beautiful model, she became his secretary. Love and work intermingled, dictation at 3.00 am in her flat followed all the usual bedroom romps, he could turn over, sleep and his letters, immaculately typed, were beside his breakfast the next morning.

One night in bed she asked him if he loved his wife.

“Yes” he said, turning over.

“You fucking idiot” she hurled at him whilst furiously rendering his back a very deep shade of black and blue

“for once in your life you should have lied, you bloody idiot”.

His letters were there in the morning together with an addition, her resignation.

Without his usual secretary he was a little adrift with his filing, especially receipts. He was exceptionally glad that the affair was over, he knew that his deceit would hurt Wendy in a way that only John would have understood, maybe that was what John had been talking about on that 76 bus in Stoke Newington all those years ago. Was it over? Was it hell, he had set in motion a series of events that were to have catastrophic effects, especially with receipts!

He was at their beautiful new house, quite high up at the top of a valley with views over the Welsh hills one way, views over the surrounding English fields and woods the other. Wendy was out with her charity work when a car pulled up, it was the wife of some friends of theirs who lived a short way down the valley.

“Hello” said Peter “good to see you”.

“I’ve been sent over” she replied “I’ve been sent to keep you company”.

“What are you on about, keep me company?”.

“Don't you know about Mick and Wendy, they wanted me out of the way so they sent me over here”.

He was supposed to be bright, quick to see every angle, at least in business deals but obviously blissfully unaware in these situations.

“What are you on about?” Peter queried.

“You left some somewhat revealing receipts in one of your pockets so I guess that Wendy thought that she would have her own back, unfortunately it was with my husband”.

Stunned, he couldn’t believe it, obviously a mistake, not right, wrong. Unfortunately for him it was true. At this time all the wrong traits seemed to appear out of some depth that he never thought could exist. Remorse, anger, regret, fury and then that decisive trait for which he was always praised, action. He was now standing beneath the lighted bedroom window of Mick’s cottage, silence. The hammer that he had grabbed from his garage firmly gripped, his intention not to hurt but to remove, permanently.

The silence was broken by voices, by Wendy’s laughter. His shoulders drooped, his body sagged,

“You bloody fool” he said to himself “that’s exactly what you’ve been doing yourself, she’s happy, she’s enjoying herself, why don’t you piss off home”.

Which he did. It was black, deserted and very, very silent. He had a lot to think about.

Sometimes very small things can grow and grow and grow. Start a snowball at the top of a hill, roll it down, at the bottom it can end up bigger than you. He came in one night, somehow couldn’t open the door, there was a crash and a bang from the back of the house. It was one of his recently appointed Directors making a hasty retreat. He was, however, good at his job, so he wouldn’t fire him.

Wendy and Peter still played their tennis, all tensions vanished when they were on court, still winning matches, still winning competitions and when their arthritis meant that they could no longer grip a tennis racket they emulated their sporting partnership at tennis by turning to table tennis. On the tennis courts they had total understanding, never a disagreement, their minds worked as one, total concentration, total understanding. The same with work, Peter fired one of his mistresses one day, she was rude to Wendy in the office. That was never permitted. Wendy had saved his bacon on so many occasions. One night one of his secretary’s husbands had appeared at their front door, obviously intent on handing out a little retribution by dispatching Peter’s head from his shoulders.

“She’s left me, you bastard, I’m going to kill you.”

“Don't be so stupid “said Wendy, “it was common knowledge that you wouldn’t let her have that new bracelet, you were too mean to her, what about that new dress she wanted?”.

He was a little perplexed, he didn’t expect that attitude or reaction from the wife of the person that he blamed for his misfortune. She sat the husband down, made him a cup of tea and after a while, he left. Peter couldn’t believe it either, this must be the start of a lucky period. That was until the plate of spaghetti hit him on the back of his head followed by something very hard – and pointed – the heel of Wendy’s shoe. It was not as sharp as her tongue though.

But these matters take their toll. The bankers remembered when he had been sent to Kenya to bring back the money from the tea estates that were part of the ever expanding business empire. The workers lived in what could be described as hardly salubrious conditions. He had given all the money back to be used to improve their ‘lines’ as their so called living quarters were designated, more like concrete bunkers he always used to say. His partners remembered all the times when he had roasted them for daring to consider putting themselves before their employees, especially in the matter of personal pay. He was ousted, big time.

The house, the cars, the lifestyle vanished overnight. Luckily the children were now away at university. He got a job selling kitchens, worked hard as always and people started asking him what to do with their various business problems, he was always able to apply a certain amount of practical experience to such matters. They also paid him well. Wendy started giving Yoga lessons to go with all her charitable responsibilities which included advice to those suffering mental and marriage problems. She too was able to supply practical experience.

Time does not stand still; funeral followed funeral, first for parents, then friends. He stood at the back at John’s funeral, caught Eileen’s eye and simply nodded. Wendy had always been the intelligent one, the small inheritance from her parents enabled them to secure a little house overlooking the sea. Somehow he could never let go, the past kept catching up, he certainly wanted to but seemingly had never heard of the word ‘no’. Wendy was still the defender but really made him pay for each past misdemeanor. Once he had been told by a certain lady that

“I will never be a problem, I know that your wife always comes first”.

The trouble was that not only did he not understand women he did not understand that they can change their minds. The next thing was that she did love him. Problem! The only time that he was ever able to multi task was when he had a relationship that involved numerous members of the opposite sex, how on earth do you solve a problem like that? He did so inadvertently one night by replying when asked about Wendy,

“Yes, of course we sleep together”.

Job done, another resignation letter. Wendy also was watching the years go by and was possibly prompted to move on when asked by a distraught client as to the meaning of life, she simply replied

“Just Google it”.

Their great discovery was that no matter how well that you had solved one problem and thinking that everything from then on was going to be happy and lovely, yet another problem would rear it’s ugly head. Both of them understood that stress can be good for you within your own limits but that too much weakens the immune system, Wendy’s cancer was far more severe than Peters but both came to rely on the most compassionate of services provided by Macmillan's and the dedicated NHS staff.

Peter was beside Wendy’s bed, he had just taken over from his son, his daughter was taking over from him for the next shift. One of them had been with her at all times, day and night, over the last four weeks. Over the years there had been numerous dashes, blue lights flashing, clothes hurriedly pulled on, in order to get Wendy to the A&E department. Before that the need for care had been more gradual, less severe. Wendy's radiation treatment had cured, or rather placed in remission, one type of cancer but radiation beams can kill the good cells as well as the bad. Her lungs were now shot to blazes, the pneumonia was incurable.

She never thought that she would make their 60^th wedding anniversary, she did but knew that she would never make her 90^th birthday. Two weeks before her 90th she rose from her bed demanding a party.

“That’s impossible” thought Peter”.

“Rubbish” said both his son and daughter, now with their own grandchildren rearing their own families “it will give her hope, we’ll all just arrange it”.

Her friends came from far and wide, flew in from various global locations, Wendy was radiant, she didn’t have to make a speech, her presence said it all. It was difficult to take in that that was only a couple of months ago.

A hospital is never quiet, Wendy's room was away from the general hubbub but Peters thoughts were on Wendy's short answer to the meaning of life. Was not life just a series of mountains to climb, hills to circumvent, was it…...bollocks, don’t complicate the issue – just be. Nothing else. Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow hasn’t come yet, just this very moment. In reality there is nothing else. Learn to put yourself at the back of the queue, think only of others, be kind, have total acceptance, no attachments whatsoever and do love, love with all your heart but what is the meaning of the word love? You may love chocolate, a favourite film, you can love your parents or brother or sister, you can love yourself, narcissistic love but what is real love? His only thought was for that of Agape or unconditional love, where you matter not a jot, just the other person, their happiness, their happiness, your own needs are totally irrelevant.

He had been told that Wendy could no longer understand or hear, that the end was now very close. He believed otherwise, held her hand, told her of his love for her, that they would always be together, that he would always look after her, that he would never leave her. The response was the slightest squeeze of his hand together with a gift for both of them that was way beyond even Agape love, the knowledge that they would always be together, in fact,…………. that they were now one.