Men. That’s all that needs to be said. Men.
Oh, and weird posh neighbours. That’s all that needs to be said about that as well.
I put the key in my door when Posh stuck out her head. Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that she took HP off my hands last night. And I’m equally appreciative that she made him feel welcome this morning. But why she has to stir the pot I just don’t know.
So before I could even turn the key she was on the landing with two glasses of wine. She tipped one towards me gesturing for me to take a glass, then she turned back into her flat and I followed. She sat in her lounge amongst half full boxes (it’s weird she’s packing up stuff, because she really didn’t have any stuff to begin with, she’s minimalist, and I’m not sure where the contents to the boxes have come from), and said in an almost exasperated voice, ‘He’s in love with you, you know.’
‘Who?’ I asked as I took a gulp of wine.
‘Your strange friend with the hair,’ she said.
Pot calling kettle with the ‘strange’ comment, but I couldn’t dwell on that just now. So I asked her what she was talking about.
Posh said that this morning he overslept and woke up too late to drive to work in time, so he called in sick. She said that while HarryPotter sat in her kitchen drinking a cuppa he spontaneously told her that he’s madly in love with me.
I some how seriously doubt that he did that.
I asked, ‘No really. What happened?’
Posh said that all she was doing was asking HarryPotter how he knew me, and the way he answered indicated something more than his answer – which was ‘I know her from work, and she lived with me for a little while.’ So, Posh pushed him and after much interrogation he admitted to being madly passionately in love with me.
I gulped down my wine and told Posh I had to leave. I don’t know what she was playing at. Even in the best of situations, in a scenario where he was smashed off his tits and chatty, he would never in a million years profess anything. Let alone an emotion. But Posh swore that he said that he’s in love with me, so I left her flat.
Of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about HP. What did he say to her? Did he say anything? Is she just being weird again, or did he actually say something? I couldn’t, I can’t, stop thinking about it.
Then Fife, bloody Fife.
I came home to find divorce papers sitting on the kitchen table. Unsigned divorce papers. I thought that maybe he was waiting for me to get home, to make a special occasion of it. I know it’s bound to be hard for him, he’s been with her for like a million years, but it’s also be such a long time in coming. It’s time. It’s just time.
I picked up the paper and went into the lounge where Fife was on his laptop, ‘Congratulations must be in order. When did these come through?’ And I put the papers down on the sofa next to him.
‘I’m not signing them,’ he said.
I couldn’t believe it. He finally has a chance to not be married and he opts to remain in a state of ‘I do’. What the fuck.
I asked why he wasn’t going to sign them and he made a bunch of excuses about the house not selling yet, and Helen can’t pressure him before everything’s in order, and the kids need to understand, and loads and loads of rubbish.
Exasperated. I didn’t know what to say. I was just exasperated. And because this is the official end of a twenty-something year relationship, I couldn’t nag. In fact, I didn’t know what to say, so I just went into my bed room.
About 20 minutes later Fife came through and asked me what I wanted for tea. I said I didn’t care. I wasn’t hungry. He sat down next to me and said, ‘Everything needs to be in order when I sign those papers – for us. I’m not going into our relationship with any loose ends. You’ve already had to put up with so much, I don’t want you to have to deal with half a divorce.’ Then he gave me this sly little smile that reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t figure out who.
He then kissed my neck, and pulled the collar of my shirt back and he kissed my shoulder. He ran his lips from my shoulder blade to my collar bone, and then up and kissed right under my ear. It sent shivers down my spine, and as he breathed in my ear he ran his arm across my waste and around to my back, he pulled me against him. I lay on my back as he undressed me, and it suddenly dawned on me on who I’d seen that smile before. It was the same smile LittleOne made the other day when he told me about his ‘Daddy loving two people.’
Fife’s asleep and I’ve just finished rummaging through the fridge because I’m absolutely starving. I can’t get HP and Posh’s conversation out of my head. In fact, I’d only admit this on the blog – I’d never admit it out loud – but as Fife undressed me then himself, and pulled my legs apart before pushing into me quite rough like he was trying to prove something, I couldn’t concentrate on sex. I kept wondering about the conversation HarryPotter had with Posh. And on Fife’s face was that sly smile, which made me slightly worried, but I don’t know why, so I just tuned out. What did HP say to Posh?