Fife came around last night after Helen got home, which meant he didn’t make it to mine until nearly nine o’clock. Not really that late, but after only two days of not living in a house that would be more convenient to live in, he’s getting frustrated. Yesterday, I got up and went to work, leaving him to get ready for his run. After which he showered and went home for a while to write. He then got the kids from school and did the usual after school dance – nag about homework, eat your dinner, stay off the games until all the school work is done, get them bathed and off to bed. That sort of thing.
Then Helen came home, and Fife had to leave, which made him feel like he’s getting ousted from his own house. Oh, and on top of this, the estate agent was around yesterday and their house is officially on the market. So change has begun.
By the time he got to my flat last night he was absolutely fuming. He dropped his bag by the front door and then kicked it across the hallway. ‘I can’t keep this up,’ he mumbled.
He came into the lounge and sat on the floor, ‘And I can’t live in a place with no furniture. I’m going to have to start staying in the cottage, but that’s a longer drive home. Maybe only by an extra ten minutes, but it adds up. If she wants to fucking live in Scotland then she can get another place to live. Why I’m the one sacrificing…’ And so on.
I let him rant and rave, until his phone beeped, and it got a lot worse. He looked at the text and then threw the phone across the room, smashing it to pieces and leaving a knick in the plaster of my wall. Then he started ranting and pacing, almost to himself like I wasn’t even in the room.
‘She kept threatening to take them to London, “They should be raised with a bit of culture.” Why the fuck would I give her a divorce if she was just going to take them away? And now she thinks she can treat me like the nanny. She can fucking fuck off. That’s my fucking house too. And I don’t want them raised in Edinburgh either. They’re happy in a village. They’re safe in a village. Did me no harm being raised in a village. I’ve spent the last eleven years raising those boys, and she expects me to just step aside because she’s got a thing for some twat. The house is coming off the market tomorrow, and she can find another place to live. This is bollocks…’
His rant continued for a few more minutes, then he looked up and saw me. It was like he didn’t even know I was in the room. His eyes were read and I could tell he was holding back tears. I took his hand and told him to sit down and tell me what was going on. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, ‘God I wish you had furniture.’
We both giggled a bit, and I went and put on the kettle. Over a cuppa he told me that Helen doesn’t want him in the house any longer (which is fine by him), but she also expects him to drive back and forth every day to do the school run. AND, tomorrow she’s got to be in Edinburgh early and her mum can’t sort out the kids, so Fife’s got to get up at the crack of dawn to drive home to get the kids off to school. Then during the day, he can write while no one is in the house, but he’s expected to leave to go the cottage when she comes home in the evenings. And the weekends, he said, ‘Are completely fucked.’ She and her boyfriend are taking the kids about this weekend, meaning that Fife only gets to see them for a bit after school every day.
I can see why he’s upset, and I asked why she’s still living there? Shouldn’t she be the one to move out?
He said that this was the big fight over the weekend. Her argument is that she’s got a mortgage on a London flat, plus the mortgage on the house, she can’t afford to get yet another place. Whereas, Fife already has a second home he can live in. Plus, Helen’s argued that since she’s put more money into the house mortgage she’s got more of a right to it than him. So if anything, Fife should buy her out. But of course, he can’t afford it.
So I asked why they didn’t just maintain the status quo until the house was sold? He said that was fine when she was in London all week, but they fight so much when they’re around each other, it’s best for the kids if they just stay apart. Plus, he added, ‘I think [Dave]’s coming around in the evenings. I’m not happy about it, but I have no room to complain.’ And he gave me a look which felt like daggers. It was as if he were saying, ‘If you weren’t in the picture, this wouldn’t be happening.’ In fact, it was a really hurtful look, but I CAN’T let it get to me. His divorce is his problem, not mine. But I do feel kind of responsible. Prior to me coming along, Fife and Helen co-existed peacefully. But now that I’m in the picture, and Fife decided to push for a divorce, it’s all hit the fan. How can I not feel a little responsible?
I was sitting on a big throw pillow with my back leaned against the wall, and Fife was lying in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair and asked if things would be easier if he moved in with me. At least he wouldn’t be going between Fife, Dundee and Perthshire. Instead, he’d only need to travel between two places instead of three. He looked up at me and smiled, then said, ‘Perhaps it’s too soon for us to be living together.’
While I agreed that it’s too soon for us to officially live together, this would only be temporary — just until his house sold and he sorted out a place for him and the kids. He thought about it for a second and then said, ‘It’s not such a bad idea. There’s more for the kids to do on the weekends in Dundee than at the cottage.’
I said we could get a fold-out sofa for the kids, which made Fife sit up. ‘I’ll pay your rent while I’m here, I’m not a freeloader. Despite what a certain ex-wife…’
I cut him off. His mood was turning, and a little semi-ex-wife bashing could reverse the tide. ‘I think this will be good. I’ll get to know the boys better, and I can have you here every night…’
Then as soon as I said that second part, I was regretting my offer…slightly. He’ll be here every night. I think I’m happy about that. But it is quite quick, and I only just got rid of one live-in boyfriend. But this is different. It’s completely temporary, and Fife will be pitching for bills. Plus, this thing with Fife and I is real. Like a proper relationship love sort of thing.
‘And you know what we can do every night,’ he said as he pulled me towards him. He kissed my neck and then my cheek. He pulled off my shirt and I slid down onto the floor. As he pulled off my underwear I remembered that we didn’t have any condoms left, and it was too late to pop down to the shop. Fife seemed disappointed, so I said that he we could do it without one. I’m only the third person he’s ever been with, and I ALWAYS use a condom. In fact, this is the very first time in my life I’ve had sex without one. And it’s not like he can get me pregnant.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from having sex without a condom. In fact, I think I was too aware of the whole experience to enjoy it properly. I kept thinking, ‘Does this feel any different? Can I actually feel his skin in me, or am I just imagining things?’
It was almost like being a virgin again but without the awkwardness and discomfort.
However, I could tell a difference in Fife. He went a lot slower and slightly deeper. Plus he kept stopping for a moment, and shifting his position. I guess he was trying to last longer. He also was a bit noisier at the big finish than normal.
Then afterwards. That’s the part I’m confused about. The routine was off. Usually, after, he (or any guy) gets up and goes to the loo to sort himself out. Then my turn. But he didn’t need to and just rolled over. Was I to cuddle him, or could I get up and go to the loo? And what happens to all the ‘stuff’? Do I just absorb it? (Which is pretty disgusting if you think about it.) Or does it come out? Like will I be walking around today, and it all just come splashing out? Well, that wouldn’t make sense. Would it? I don’t want to know.
As I wasn’t sure of the procedure, I just curled up next to him hoping that eventually when we got up and went to bed, I could go to the bathroom. But he fell asleep straight away. Trying to be subtle, I nudged him a bit, but he just groaned and rolled over. So, I gave up with procedure, and eventually did get to the loo, put on my PJs, brushed my teeth, and got a duvet for us to sleep under in the lounge.
Just as I was falling asleep, my phone beeped. I reached over to check it, and it was a text from HarryPotter.
All it said was: Sorry I was so harsh the other day. I do want to be friends again. But in my own time. Please don’t push it.
I texted back: Take your time. Just text me when you’re ready to talk.
I’ve spent all day smiling. I’ve got a great man in my life, and my best friend back. I can’t wait to talk to HarryPotter.