The Logical Option

Well, look at the mess you’ve made of things, all because you made the wrong choices. And you call yourself the logical one. Well, let’s see you dig yourself out of this one. Let’s rewind, shall we? Let’s go back to the beginning, and I’ll explain why the choices you made were the wrong ones.

Okay. It started, how many years ago? Yes, that’s right, four years ago. Your friend, Patti, was going out with Andrew, who was a bit of a lad, a bit of a dish. They were going out for dinner and his brother, a soldier, was coming along. Would you go as well to make up a foursome. Your decision was to say yes. After all, you hadn’t had a date in a while, and if Andrew was a dish, his brother might be too. That was your reasoning at the time. That was your logic. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that if you’d said No, Patti would have asked Sophie instead, Sophie who you hated for no reason other than her degree was better than yours, she was more successful than you and oh yes, she was prettier and generally more popular than you. The logical thing would have been to say no, let Sophie date this man. There’s plenty of men out there who would love your mediocrity, men like you. But you told yourself that the logical thing to do would be to say yes. You’d be helping a friend out.

So you went out with Patti and Andrew, met his brother, Nick, and yes, he was as fit as Andrew. He was his twin after all, his identical twin. The only way you could tell them apart was by the scar on Nick’s cheek. His war wound, he liked to call it. They were both loud, both laughing. Patti joined in, while you, mouse that you are, just sat back like you always do watching the others having fun. At the end of the evening, Nick was polite, and when Patti suggested you all go for a drink the following night, you said yes. Why? Because it was the logical thing to do, you thought, because it would be impolite to say no. When in fact you wanted an excuse to not be a Billy-no-mates on a Saturday night. No, let’s get this right. You didn’t want to be seen to be a Billy-no-mates on a Saturday night. Usually you couldn’t care less if you had nowhere to go, were quite happy in your own company. But you didn’t want others to see you like that, you wanted to fit in. So the logical thing to do was to say yes. 

Couldn’t you see even then that Nick wasn’t right for you? Him an outgoing, confident, good-looking man, you a more reserved, thoughtful person. You told yourself that he was exciting, that you would have a good time. But you don’t do excitement, and your idea of a good time is a well-crafted novel or a gripping drama. Nick, on the other hand, was only on leave for a few weeks, so was happy to have a temporary squeeze in you. It’ll fizzle out after that, you told yourself. So no harm done.

You went out the following evening, had a few too many drinks. Why? It doesn’t take much with you, you’re not used to too much alcohol. So why continue drinking when you don’t really want to? Because it’s expected, so is therefore the logical choice. No, the logical choice would have been to say no thanks when you’d had enough. You ended up in bed with Nick, you never thought to say no. It was the logical progression. He wasn’t the first, he wasn’t the worst. But it was not considered enough for you to say hallelujah either. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, and you went for a walk the following day, which is something you did enjoy together. He talked about his life, his childhood, his army life. He never asked about yours. And he arranged to see you that evening. It wasn’t a question, it was a done deal, I’ll pick you up, he said. And you didn’t think to say no. Over the next couple of weeks, it became obvious that he was the controlling type, but you kept telling yourself that it was only till he went back off leave, that once he was back in the field, he’d be bound to forget you. So the polite thing, the logical thing to do was to say nothing. Don’t upset anyone, don’t ruffle feathers. It’s only for a few more weeks, you told yourself. 

But when he went back, he kept in touch. While someone like Patti or Sophie might have seemed more his type, he was happy with you, the submissive type. You told yourself that he loved you, that was the reason you kept in touch with him. That was logical. But in truth, you know that he liked to have someone that he could control. And you were the easy option. As he was away so often, it had to be someone he could trust not to wander. The Pattis and the Sophies of this world would not have been so compliant, so naïve.

Eventually you did decide you should break up, but you had to choose the right time. Anyone else who wanted to rid themselves of a controlling partner who was in a similar situation, no close family, would have moved jobs, moved towns, changed their phone number after sending the guy one last text that they were dumped. There’d be no way he’d track you then.  But you didn’t. You had to do it in a ‘nice’ way, whatever that meant. You had to plan, logically. You’d tell him to his face, so it’d have to be when he was on leave. But not next time he was on leave either. That was when Andrew and Patti were getting married. Nick was best man. Over Christmas, he’d be away, but he’d be home at the beginning of February. You’d do it then. That would be the right time, the logical time.

At the wedding, the ceremony was fine, but at the reception you drank too much. Again. You hadn’t seen Nick alone since his last leave. Whenever he came home, he was always keen to renew the intimate part of your relationship. No subtleness or courtship, he had needs that needed satisfying. Now. Even so, you were surprised when he grabbed you on the way back from the ladies and pushed you into a cupboard for a quickie. You never said no. Just let him take what he wanted to keep him sweet, to keep him happy. It’s just how he was, and maybe later, at bedtime, you could go straight to sleep. It had been a tiring day. Except as he backed away into the light, you realised something was wrong. There was no scar. This wasn’t Nick. It was Andrew. Andrew who had just married your friend Patti. He just patted your cheek and said “Not a word now, okay?” before straightening his jacket and making his way back to the party.

At that point you were too shocked to do anything, to make any coherent decision. Should you shout rape? Should you tell someone? But who? Patti? Nick? Neither would believe you. You realised something else as well. Nick had always been so careful to use protection when you had sex, but something told you Andrew hadn’t been. So you returned to the ladies, cleaned yourself up, and went back to the party to have a few more drinks. The logical decision you made was to say nothing, but to get the morning after pill the following day on the quiet. And of course Nick still needed satisfying that night. More than once.

The following day you did manage to sneak to a pharmacy. You resolved that if Nick caught you, you’d say that you thought one of the condoms had split, and you were just being careful. So you thought disaster was averted. Except that because of the amount you’d drunk, your stomach wasn’t accepting anything much, morning after pills included. You took them, then was sick half an hour later. Nick laughed and said, “That’s my girl”.

Two weeks later you were hopeful. Three weeks later you were worried. Four weeks later and you knew, you just knew that you were pregnant. You waited though another month before you admitted it to yourself, before you considered what was the right, the logical choice. So, what were your options? You could have gone it alone, but you were never strong enough for that. You could have had it adopted; ditto. You could have a termination. Nick was away, and he’d never know. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Even though you were willing to get rid of it when it was only a handful of cells, you couldn’t do that now that there was a tiny, tiny heart. So you decided to tell Nick. Let him make any decision. That was the logical choice.

He was mad of course, who’s was it? But you looked him straight in the eye and said if he doubted you, you’d arrange for a DNA test to be done. After all the baby would have his DNA, wouldn’t it? You said you couldn’t be sure, but you thought one of the condoms might have split after the wedding. After that, he got quite excited by the idea of becoming a father. The wedding was quick, and not too fancy and you moved into married quarters, a small non-descript house, no character. But you looked on the bright, on the logical side. You had a home, your husband wasn’t around a lot, and you had an extended family in the other wives. Count yourself lucky, you told yourself.

Little James arrived on time while Nick was away. When he finally met his son, he didn’t question his parentage. “He’s the image of me”, he said. Of his uncle too, you thought, while dreading that Nick would be needful now while you were still sore from the birth. He was, but he was gentler than normal, more respectful. You accepted your lot, what else could you do? You tolerated him while he was at home, but longed for him to go away again. He loved being at home with his son, and when he was, it gave you some downtime, as long as you didn’t go far. You were allowed coffee with one of the other wives.

Andrew visits sometimes. After less than a year, Patti found out he was playing away and they split up. He comes and looks at James, looks at you. You don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know that you think the baby is anything but Nicks. You smile, put on a brave face and talk about how much James means to daddy. You dread Andrew saying something, trying something though. You’re not quite sure what you’d do now.

Which brings us to now. Nick is dues home next week and you and little James are alone in the house. Something has woken you. Some noise downstairs. Is that glass breaking? You lie awake and listen. You hear someone moving around downstairs, you know someone is in the house. Who could it be? It doesn’t occur to you that a civilian would need to get past security. You just think that someone is in the house, your house, and that you and your son are in danger. You take the baseball bat you keep by your bed for just such an occasion, an old habit from when you were single. You ignore the phone by your bed, from which you could call security. You do not switch on a light, call out, something that would interrupt any intruder, make them flee. If the intruder heard you make a phone call, if he knew you were awake, the attack would come sooner. That’s what you tell yourself, that’s what your logic says. Keep quiet. Attack whoever it is before they attack you. You take the baseball bat and creep downstairs. You can hear the movements clearer now. Someone is in the kitchen, opening the fridge. You can see the man from behind, hoody pulled up, and before you can change your mind, you swing your bat and it connects with his head. He falls forward, hitting his head on the corner of the table. He twitches for a while, his legs cycling. Then he is still. And you realise what you have done. You turn him over to see Andrew. No, not Andrew, there’s the scar. This is Nick. To surprise you on the fourth anniversary of your meeting, he has managed to get home a week early. In the dark, he knocked a glass over, which is what woke you. You have just killed your husband. What does your logic tell you to do now?

If only you’d said no to that dinner date.