A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH?

Some people become happy drunks, and some people morose drunks. I usually become a “fast asleep in the corner” drunk. The night Vicky left I couldn’t seem to get drunk at all, the shock I guess just kept me wide awake just drunk enough to go through the conversation a hundred times without being able to figure out what I had said wrong. I felt I had said something wrong and not done something wrong.
My one sentence in the whole conversation had been, “how did you find out?” As if that mattered, as if I was planning to do something similar in the near future and wanted tips on how to cover my tracks a bit better. It was a crap thing to say but I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. To tell the truth I don’t think I’ve been thinking straight for some weeks now. When she was walking out to the car all I could think was, she’s not got many cloths with her so she’ll have to come back soon.
When I woke up I felt like I’d died but , like David Niven in that film A Matter of Life and Death, been missed by the angel of death in the fog. I looked at the clock and realised I should already have taken the kids to school, only Vicky had the kids with her. I was also supposed to be working today. I tried to think of an excuse to tell them on the phone: My car’s steering wheel fell off and now it only turns left – “I’ve been trying to come to see you honestly but I just end up going round in circles,” or perhaps I’d use the old I got held up by Jehovah Witnesses, or my dog died in a freak landslide perhaps a landslide of freaks. In the end I phoned them and told them the truth; I got pissed because my wife walked out on me after discovering I’ve been screwing my lesbian next door neighbour. “Good job she doesn’t know about the other one,” I joke “or I’d really be in the shit.” There was silence for a while then he simply says, “good one,” in admiring tones. See, honesty is the best policy – if only I could apply it to the rest of my life I’d be ok.
In the evening I went to the pub with Hairy, Fats, B and Little John. They try hard to cheer me up by listing things, the best five albumns of all time, the best five bands they have ever seen live, and which distillery makes the best Malt. Half the conversation is quoting lines from Monty Python and the Godfather. It’s not very deep but by the end of the evening I knew they had done their best and was grateful.
When I got home the light was flashing on the answer machine, I tried to play the message but pressed the wrong button and deleted it instead. I wish my life had rewind and erase buttons. The rest of the night I spent tossing and turning wondering who had phoned. Perhaps it was Vicky to forgive me and ask to come home, maybe Penni or even Liz . The thing is I don't know who I want it to be.
I get drunk again so I can sleep without having to dream. It doesn’t work, I dream the dream of that David Niven film , I’m on trial for my life and have to prove I’m a worthwhile person. I wake up with the jury still out. I guess it’s the best result I could hope for.

THE DINNER PARTY

Those trendy food magazines like A la Carte™ always say that dinner parties are all about people not food. It’s all about who you invite. Good company and good conversation makes the evening not the quality of your Terrine de Canard. This is of course bollocks. Try serving KFC at your next dinner party and see what happens, especially if the party is to impress your new boss Ian. Well Vicky’s new boss Ian. OK I confess I didn’t try, tempted though I was, Instead I spent two days making little biscuit shells to house home made lemon sorbet (well Ron’s “home made” lemon sorbet.)
The reason it took so long was that my mind was on other things. I confess it was on Vicky, Penni and Liz. The meeting with Liz had gone well, that is to say she doesn’t think I’m a completely useless idiot. One of the things about emigrating is that is that you leave your family behind. Somehow, and I know this sounds crazy, I had known Liz such a long time ago that we were now like a brother/sister relationship. A sister I don’t stay in touch with admittedly but long lost sibling type thing anyway.
I explained everything to her and she was cool with it. Well I didn’t tell her I thought of her as an honorary sister obviously, just about Penni. She asked me if it felt strange or awkward having an affair. I told her that the only time when it felt awkward was that horrible bit with the condom. I’ve never understood putting condoms on. When you are little you are taught etiquette about how to drink soup from a bowl and opening doors for ladies but I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning condoms. Apparently that’s not what she meant but I guess it told her all she needed to know, and some more too.
After, on the way home I tried to think it through but failed. All I kept thinking was what a complete shit I was. What do two of the most beautiful women you could ever meet see in me, I’m a middle aged nobody. In my defence I must say that I’ve only ever slept with five women, and one of them I was so drunk I’m not sure if anything actually happened. That’s four confirmed and one missing in action in twenty years. If it wasn’t for the fact that two of them were yesterday I’d hardly make the Jerry Springer – Confessions of a Randy Shit Special.
So now I have these two relationships and I know I’m not mature enough to handle one. And it’s so tiring, not the sex, I’ve never been good enough at that to break any physical endurance records, but the stress. When I’m with Vicky I can’t mention Penni. Even though we both know Penni because she lives next door and services our car. At the same time I can’t avoid talking about her, which would be suspicious. When I’m with Penni it’s best not to talk about Venus (her part-time lesbian other half) or Vicky. We play this game that we are both plotting in secret and that nobody can ever know, except for B and Hairy who we do know know. So it is as if we could be found out at any moment. It is like having sex in a field hoping that nobody is going to be out walking their dog. Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
I’m glad I got back in touch with Liz. The strangest thing was I told her everything, and it didn’t matter. It felt good to be able to confide in her, and after I had explained what a bastard I was she said it was fine and we made a joke about it. And that’s worse because she’s the only one of the three I can actually come close to talking to about all this emotional stuff and in a way that’s more intimate in a way than sex anyway.
The dinner party guest list was Ian and partner Jackie, another work colleague of Vicky’s Mark, as well as old friends Peter and Fran. Odd numbers never work at these evenings so I suggested we invite a partner for Mark. The next thing I know is that Vicky has gone next-door and invited Penni, and Penni, being Penni has said yes.
Why would she say yes? Now I hope you can understand why I have found preparing eight dinners was such a difficult task and why my remaining hair is turning white.
Still the party is something of a hit, we chat, we eat, and we play intellectual word games. All apart from Penni who is clearly out of her depth and Vicky is secretly smiling, smiling at her. And then the bombshell goes off. As everyone is saying good night and making a move Vicky asks Penni to stay for a coffee and I knew she knows.
And all the time this is going on in slow motion in front of me a voice inside my head is saying “you’ll have to phone Liz and tell her all about this.”
I wonder if A la Carte™ has a problem page.