What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (17 page)

The urge to text James is now so strong I don’t know how I’ve
managed to hold out for so long.  I have become completely phone-obsessed,
spending long minutes gazing at it, just willing him to text me.  It’s making
me pretty miserable company; I am being horrible to patients and staff at work
as well as Greg and Ethan.  Greg is on such a high that he barely notices my
moods, but Ethan has virtually moved in with his girlfriend – just to get
away from me, I suspect, as I have been such a cow to live with.  I know I’m
doing it, but I just can’t seem to help myself.  The only thing that is keeping
me going is I keep seeing Mercedes cars everywhere I go and have persuaded my
deluded mind that James is watching me from afar, believing he still cares
about me.  I can’t believe he has given up on me so easily; in my darkest
moments I imagine him with another woman in his arms, and mostly they look like
Sarah from the Peak District trip.  I keep hoping I will bump into him at the
gym – I have been keeping to my usual schedule after work in the hopes he
will do what he said he did last time, but so far he has been noticeably
absent.   Even Annie and Emma noticed my flagging spirits, despite the news
about Greg, when we met at the pub last night.  Emma kept looking at me with a
worried expression, while Annie looked at me more knowingly. I have a feeling
Stuart is aware of some of what was going on between James and me and may have
said something to Annie about us.  I love her for not judging me.  On a rare
good note, things at the gallery are going well, with Annie reporting a
positive buzz around Greg’s work.  He is building up to the evening event that
will be featuring a selection of up and coming artists from the area, so I have
hardly seen him the last couple of days.

As I walk towards the entrance to the gym I automatically
scan the car park, looking for the Mercedes. I can’t see it, and my spirits
flag immediately.  I slump my shoulders and throw my stuff down in the changing
room, swiftly changing out of my work clothes, keen to get on with the workout.

I am in dire need of some shopping time – my clothes are
now hanging off me because of my weight loss, which has only accelerated while
I haven’t seen James.  I can’t summon any sort of appetite at the moment, Greg is
starting to give me a hard time about it at home and Annie and Emma have
independently of each other asked if I’m eating enough.  I step out of the
changing room, totally miss the step and fall forwards, smacking my head on the
pot plant to the side.  Pete happens to be using the equipment close by, sees
me and comes running over to see if I’m okay, but I’m too stunned for a moment
and can’t speak.  He puts his arm around me and tries to help me to my feet,
which proves to be more of a challenge than you might think.  I have eventually
managed to stand, leaning heavily on Pete, and am finally able to take in the
extent of the witnesses to my most recent humiliation, only to look straight
into a pair of very angry-looking bright blue eyes. 

I think I actually gasp, and my legs give way again.  James
moves faster than Pete, sweeping in and lifting me into his arms, casting a
throwaway comment over his shoulder to Pete, who is left just standing there
gaping at us.

“Don’t worry, mate, I’ve got her now,” he says as he makes
his way to the reception desk, where Stuart watches our approach with a bemused
expression on his face.

“I swear to God, Lily, I’ve never restocked the first-aid
kit so many times in the whole time I’ve worked here, as I have since you
joined,” Stuart says.  “I’ve actually booked onto a refresher first aid course
next week just because I’m terrified what you might do next.  I think you’re
going to have a lump the size of an egg on your head from that wallop, I’ll go
and get the ice pack.” 

He disappears into the back office, leaving James and me sitting
on the chairs by reception.  I am gazing at him like I can’t believe he’s
really here.  I’m dying to touch him, and my hand actually moves towards his
face before I realise where I am and what I’m doing.  James is looking at me
with a bemused expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I eventually manage to say. 

“So you should be,” he says, his voice sounding gruff. “I’m
very angry with you.” 

I’m taken aback by his directness and pull away from him,
feeling mortified, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back into his chest, looking
at me intently before continuing: “I don’t know what to be more angry about,
actually; the fact you just managed to fall over and injure yourself again –
I swear to God, Lily, you are not safe to leave on your own; the fact you look
like you haven’t eaten since the last time I saw you or the fact that the first
time I do see you in days, there is another man holding you in his arms.”

I’m confused for a moment until I realise he means Pete,
which makes me smile.  “I promise you, Lily, if you hadn’t collapsed and needed
me to catch you, I was about to punch his lights out for putting his hands on
you,” he growls, and my heart soars to hear it.  Stuart returns with the ice
pack and effectively puts an end to our discussion, but I can’t get rid of the
happy smile that seems to be occupying my face for the first time since I last
saw James.  I can only imagine Stuart thinks I’m concussed.  The pair of them
sit there discussing my catalogue of my mishaps since they met me, while I hold
the ice pack to my head, and for once I don’t care; I’m just basking in the
pleasure of being near him again.

“I don’t think you should work out today, Lily,” Stuart is saying.
 “This lump is huge.  If you get any nausea or feel sleepy at all, you really
need to go to the hospital and get it checked out.”

James swiftly agrees, offering to see me home if I get my
stuff from the changing room.  I jump at the chance to be alone with him
again.  Pete rushes over when he sees me leaving to check I’m okay, and I
giggle when I catch sight of James scowling at Pete as he waits for me by the
door.  I spend a couple of minute explaining I’m fine, just not in the mood to
work out with the thumping headache I have now, and mentioning James has
offered to drive me home.  He takes a quick look at the glowering James at the door
and swiftly excuses himself, wishing me well. 
Poor Pete
, I think,
he’s
continually being scowled at by the men in my life.

When we are finally in the car alone together, James turns
to me.  “Do you mind if we take a little detour before I take you home?  Are
you feeling well enough?”

“I feel fine.  I, I’d like that,” I say.  He drives for
about ten minutes and pulls into a gated driveway in one of the best roads in
the area.  I just know this has to be his house as I take in the enormous lump
of property.  Our different circumstances couldn’t be more obvious, I realise
as I gaze at my surroundings.  He stops the car and immediately pulls me into
his arms, pressing his lips gently to my own.  He’s so gentle, as if he’s
worried he might hurt me.  My hands move into his hair, holding him to me as I
breathe the essence of him in again like an alcoholic let into a pub for the
first time since they got out of rehab.

“Come on,” he says, “let me make you a coffee.” He jumps out
of the car, waiting for me to join him, and then leads me into the house.  I can
hardly look at the surroundings now; I can’t seem to take my eyes off him, and
I think he’s the same with me.  He puts the coffee machine on, and we sit
beside each other, touching whenever possible, drinking each other in with our
eyes as we wait for the coffee to brew.

“I’m sorry,” I say again finally.

“Don’t be.  I understand,” he says gently.  “Tell me what
happened.”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, “the day we had was so
beautiful.  The time I spent with you was such a contrast to my normal life,” I
try to explain. “I just couldn’t see how it could continue when I got home and
tried to get on with normality.  I decided I couldn’t think about leaving Greg
because I knew he couldn’t survive without me.  I thought I could push my own
needs away, that I was being selfish, but I didn’t realise how deep my feelings
are.  I couldn’t just push my thoughts of you away.  Every time he touches me,
I only know it’s not you, and I want it to be you.” I sob slightly, terrified
he’ll reject me.

“Oh, Lily,” he says, pulling me to his chest, “I don’t want
him to touch you either.  It kills me to think of him with you.  We will find a
way through this, I have to believe we can,” he says fiercely.  He kisses me
then, and I am lost to him once more.  My memories of him were not a patch on
the reality.  My body responds instantly, and I only know I want him.  I start
to pull at his clothes, desperate to feel the touch of his skin.  He’s doing
the same, his hand reaching up under my gym top to grasp my breast through my
sports bra.  It’s still not enough for me.  I don’t want to waste time, I just
want to feel him inside me, and I reach for his fly to release him. 

“Are you sure you’re well enough?” he gasps while I bend to
remove my leggings.  I don’t speak, just move to his chair and climb onto his
lap.  I raise myself up until I am high enough to enable him access.  There is
no preamble, and I don’t need it.  I’ve been wet and wanting him since I got in
the car.  In one slow move he pulls me down onto him, and I groan in
satisfaction when I feel him filling me entirely.

“You are mine, Lily, you will only be mine,” he tells me
again and again as he moves within me, and in that moment I believe him.  He
kisses me then, and it feels as if we are joined, as if we are becoming one
person. I think if I could crawl inside his body, I would probably try. 

His thrusts become more urgent as he holds my hips and moves
me above him – I can feel he is staking his claim, and I’m glad, I want
him to.  I don’t want anyone else to touch me.  The realisation thrills me, and
I come whispering the words I have been holding back from him, “I love you”, and
I do.  It seems to push him over the edge too, as he thrusts against me the
last few times before spilling into me.  We sit there for a few moments, me
straddling his lap with him still inside me, trying to catch our breath, until
he pulls back slightly looks at me directly in the eye and says:

“I love you too.”

We reassemble ourselves eventually, and he finally makes the
coffee he promised.  We sit looking at each other in silence for a while, both
maybe realising that somehow we have tipped over into something new now,
something more profound and meaningful than the sexual relationship I thought I
was having at first.  I know I have some tough decisions to make, but the last
few days have shown me I can’t just pretend I haven’t changed at some
fundamental level.  It is impossible to go back to the way I was before, so now
I have to move forward and make decisions about what that direction should be.

“How’s your head?” he asks, looking intently at the bump on
my forehead.  A trip to the bathroom had shown me it was massive and I was
going to be subjected to continual ridicule for the next week or so as a
result.  It actually doesn’t hurt too badly now.

“It’s fine,” I smile.  “Nice place,” I say, finally taking
in my surroundings.  The kitchen breakfast room we are sitting in is nearly as
large as the whole ground floor of our house and fitted with every kind of
appliance you can imagine.

“Thanks,” he says, and I see him grimace.  “We need to talk,”
he says, and he seems uncomfortable.

“I know,” I say, unable to shake the feeling that I don’t
think I’m going to like what he has to say.  I look at my watch and realise I
have already been gone for nearly three hours.  I really need to get home.  I
also want to get my own head straight before we talk.  “I want to talk too, but
I don’t think now’s the right time.  I need to get back, but I want to see you…
if that’s still okay with you?”

“More than okay. In fact, I insist,” he smiles.  “You need
to know, I meant what I said Lily.  This means something important to me.  I’m
not going anywhere; I need you in my life.”  He runs his fingers through his
hair like he’s anxious, and I immediately want to soothe him.  I stand up and
move to him, cupping his face gently in my hands as I kiss him, before pulling
back.

“I know, and I feel the same.  I’ll text you some times, and
we can talk then.  It’ll be okay, we’ll be okay,” I say with certainty. 

He nods, and we kiss again before he takes me back to his
car.  I insist he drive me back to the gym so I can collect my own car; I feel
fine to drive now, and it will just be easier than having to find my way back
to pick it up some other time.  James seems quieter since we spoke at the house.
I understand; we have passed a significant point in our relationship in such a
very short time, and yet somehow I feel like he’s weaved himself into my DNA. 
It’s both scary and exciting, but I know we have some difficult times ahead,
whatever we decide to do.

We don’t kiss when we get to the car park in case someone
sees us, but he holds my hand, and everything I need is right there in his
eyes.

“I’ll text you,” I promise again.  He just nods and squeezes
my hand tighter.

Alone in my car after I leave him, I realise how bad I have
it.  When I am away from him now, it feels as though there is a huge hole in my
life; it’s almost physically cold without him beside me.  On the plus side I’m
actually feeling stronger mentally now.  I feel like I have finally made some
decisions, that I am taking control of my own destiny, whatever the outcome.  I
know with complete certainty I love James, and whatever the outcome of our
relationship, I can only rejoice in the love both physical and emotional he has
shown me it is possible to have.  I also know Greg and my marriage do not give
me those things.  I may have once loved him, but that changed to duty and
responsibility a long time ago, and now that is no longer enough for me. As
selfish as it may seem to many people, now the boys are independent, I want
more from my life.  I know I will need to end my marriage whatever happens with
James and me.  It is not fair to deceive Greg, and for the first time it feels
as though Greg will have the strength to stand on his own feet in life, giving
me permission to go. My sense of responsibility made me feel I needed to look
after Greg too, but now that his career is on the up he will need me less. 

The last thing I know is that it
is time for me to be independent.  I need to be able to do this on my own and not
rely on James for the strength.  It is too soon to put that responsibility on
him or our burgeoning relationship.  The decision about my marriage has to be
about me and Greg alone.  Having made those decisions, I feel empowered and
somehow excited.  I know it can’t happen overnight, I need to give Greg the
chance to spread his wings, but I sense it will be soon.

When I get home Greg is in his shed as ever, so I sit down
to write for the evening.  The most difficult part of the decisions I have made
is I know I don’t want sex with Greg again.  I don’t want to be used in that
way, so intimately.  It is too precious to give that part of me to someone
without the right emotional connection.  I can’t allow my body to be used that
way.  I know it will be hard, and Greg won’t understand, but in the short term
I determine to spend the nights writing.  Greg is so distracted with his work
at the moment we are barely having sex anyway, so it shouldn’t be too big an
issue before I tell him of my decision.  I figure I probably have a couple of
months in which to organise myself and think about how we will part, where I
will go, how I will live.  Greg will hate me, and I know I will probably
deserve his hatred, but I hope we can move beyond it and find friendship again
in the future, mostly for the sake of the boys. 
Perhaps I’m being selfish
wanting the best of both worlds.

*********

The next week passes quickly, and before I really know where
I am, it is the evening of the gallery event.  Greg is nervous, and Ethan and I
are walking on eggshells around him, not wanting to make him worse.  I have spoken
to James every day since we last saw each other, and we text each other several
times a day, but we haven’t managed to sort out a date to meet. I told him I
wanted to get the gallery evening over first, but I can tell he’s getting
impatient with me now.  I dress carefully for the evening in a new black pencil
skirt with an emerald green silk blouse that plunges lower than my usual and
shows off my impressive cleavage.  I still haven’t bought myself any hair
straighteners, but I manage to control my frizzy mop into some more orderly
curls for once.  The overall effect when I don my heels is pleasing, despite
the purple bruise that’s still in evidence on my forehead.  The small amount of
mascara and lip gloss I am wearing distract from it a little at least.  I can finally
admit to myself, as I take in my reflection in the mirror, that I look slim –
I actually never thought I would see the day where I really believed that about
myself.  I look at my watch and realise the taxi is due any minute.  Greg has already
gone to the gallery to help set up and be there for the early guests, while
Ethan and I are coming along a bit later for moral support.  Emma has also
promised to pop in, despite the fact she is getting close now to her due date. 
I make my way carefully down the stairs, endeavouring not to trip and add to my
collection of bruises.  Ethan hears me coming and gets up from the settee where
he’s been watching television while waiting for me.  He looks shocked as he
takes in my appearance.

“Do I look okay?” I ask anxiously, worried his expression
means I look like mutton dressed as lamb.

“You look great, mum.  I’m shocked to say you actually look
hot.” I blush, taken aback by this unexpected compliment.  “I’m not sure I can
cope with my mum being attractive,” he adds.  “I certainly don’t think dad will
be able to.”  His comment sours my mood slightly and makes me worry Greg won’t
like it, but it’s too late to change now.

“Come on,” I insist, dragging him behind me out the door to
where the taxi is waiting.  Because Greg took the car, Ethan and I can at least
have a drink.  “You look nice too, by the way,” I add as we get in and give
directions for where we’re going.

“Feels like I’m going to work,” he grumbles, and I can see
why because he’s dressed in his work trousers and a white shirt.  “Sarah might
pop in tonight,” he mentions offhandedly.

“Your girlfriend Sarah?” I say surprised.  He’s been keeping
her at arm’s length from Greg and me, so she must be serious.

“The very one,” he confirms.

“Well, it’ll be nice to meet her at last.”

“Please don’t embarrass me, mum,” he groans. “I really like
her.”

“Give me some credit; I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply,
trying not to show my amusement at how anxious he is at the prospect of his
girlfriend meeting his mum.  It also makes me feel incredibly old. 

When we pull up outside the gallery we can see a good crowd
has already arrived, and we are relatively late.  I can see Greg chatting to a
group of people, smiling and laughing.  It’s amazing to see the transformation
in him.  I’m glad he’s happy.  Ethan helps me out the car and pays the driver,
and we make our way inside.  I spot Annie instantly, as she’s hard to miss, and
she makes her way over as soon as she is able.  Ethan’s eyes nearly fall out of
his head when he takes her in.  I distract him by asking him to fetch us all
something to drink; it’s easier than having to avoid trying to maintain a
conversation while he stands there gawping at Annie.

“How’s it going?” I ask Annie.

“Really, really well,” she assures me.  “Everyone loves his
work.  I keep telling you it’s really good – have you even looked at it
recently?” she asks.  In truth I haven’t, and I tell her as much.  It’s
different when you live with an artist somehow.

“He’s already sold several pieces,” she tells me, and I’m
shocked.

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” I ask.

“That’s excellent; not all the others have,” she says,
pointing out some of the others who are stood in smaller clusters.  When Ethan
finally rejoins us with three drinks in hand, we make our way over to Greg.  He
is surrounded by people as we approach him.  He looks up and frowns as he
notices us.  I sense he’s reluctant to be disturbed by us, wanting to immerse
himself in his role as artist, not be dragged back to the humdrum husband-and-father
existence.  In the past I might have found it hurtful, but now I understand.  I’m
actually happy for him.  We wait patiently, chatting together and laughing at
some of the more eccentric characters around while he finishes with the current
group.  Eventually he comes over.

“Lily, you’re looking lovely,” he says, taking in my
appearance.  But he accompanies the compliment with a frown before moving in to
give me a chaste peck on the cheek, and I can’t help but get the feeling he
would have been happier if I had turned up dressed in my slacks and a
cardigan.  I take a moment to get a look at his work for the first time, and I
have to say I am gobsmacked.  It really is beautiful.  There is a darkness in
the abstract paintings, enhanced by flashes of colour, like emotions.  They
display so much feeling, so much of his pain in such a raw honesty, that I am
speechless for a few moments, overwhelmed by both the beauty and the feeling of
sadness they evoke in me.  I had no idea.

“Greg, they’re stunning, but when did your work become so
dark?” I eventually manage to say, my voice choked with emotion.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, but his face twists in an
expression that resembles pain, and I don’t know why.  Ethan is oblivious to
the undercurrent between us and is chattering on about the work, genuinely
impressed by his dad’s efforts.  Greg is delighted by his interest and
approval, I can tell, and seems to enjoy pointing out the various aspects and
elements in his composition.   I stand there watching them together, unable to
shake the sadness that is overwhelming me.

“You okay?” Annie asks quietly.

“Yes,” I whisper, swallowing down the lump that has formed
in my throat.  “They are so good.  I had no idea,” I say, ashamed to admit my
lack of awareness at what stunning work the man I live with, and am married to,
has been producing.

“They are good,” she agrees. “If I were a betting person I’d
say his future is bright; there’s been a lot of interest from the press in his
work, and several other galleries from my network want to show him.  He’s going
to be a very busy man for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m glad,” I say honestly, looking over to where Greg is
standing talking to someone, with Ethan watching on.

Annie has to move on and circulate, so I stand alone for a
bit looking at some of the other pieces, none of which are a patch on Greg’s. 
I hear Emma’s little voice at my shoulder saying, “Hey sweetie,” and I turn to
smile at her.  “You’re looking pretty fine, lady,” she says sweeping her gaze
up and down my body.  “I remember when I used to have a waist,” she says
sadly.  I look at her bump (which now seems to almost engulf her) and laugh,
trying to reassure her that she will again soon be able to wear trousers and
skirts without elastic waists.  “His work’s lovely,” she says, nodding in Greg’s
direction.

“It is, isn’t it,” I agree.  “Do you know I had no idea, Em,”
I say sadly.  “We live in the same house but we’re virtual strangers now.  How
does that happen?”

“I don’t know, Lil, but you’ve always done your best for
them.  I don’t think you should beat yourself up,” she says, hugging me as much
as she is able given the large bump between us.  I’m grateful to have a friend
who always takes my side no matter what.  We stand chatting about nothing in
particular until I get a sense someone is watching me.  I turn only to immediately
see James over on the other side of the room.  He’s heading straight for us.  I’m
torn between being delighted he’s here in front of me, having not seen him for
a week, and horror that James and Greg are in the same room.  He looks
strangely determined as he walks towards us, his eyes on me.  I hear Emma
whistle under her breath.  As he gets to where we’re standing he bends to kiss
my cheek, like any acquaintance might within the art world, but I instantly
blush.  Emma doesn’t miss a thing.