Those two weeks were agony. Not only could I not talk to Robbie, I couldn’t even meet up with Paula to quiz her about what was going on. I did try texting her a couple of times. Generic things that wouldn’t make him suspect anything and go into a panic if he caught sight of them, even though he’d wonder why I was texting her at all – ‘Having a good time?’ and ‘How’s it going?’ She replied ‘Blissful’ to the first and ‘Wonderful’ to the second, which just fuelled my paranoia without actually telling me anything.
So I just had to wait it out. Hope that Robbie would miss me. So maybe him and Paula were getting on better, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t compare to what we had, he and I.
I’ll be honest, the weight gain I’d been prescribed wasn’t a stretch at this point. I can see why they call it comfort eating. Josh kept on telling me how well I was doing. I could see him being a feeder in another life. He seemed to really get a kick out of watching me stuff myself and, whenever I’d get on the scales and report back on another kilo gained, he would beam like a proud parent watching their slightly stupid child get a certificate for ‘best attendance’ or ‘plays well with others’. I’m not going to deny he was getting on my nerves.
And I did try calling Robbie, even though he’d asked me not to – from my hairdresser’s mobile, from a pay phone (have you got any idea how hard it is to find a pay phone these days, especially one that’s still connected and not being used as a coffee shop or some kind of free community library?), even once from my gym, under the pretext that I’d lost my own phone and it was an emergency. He didn’t answer any of them. He must have decided not to pick up any unknown calls just in case they turned out to be me.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I didn’t wait for him to call me once it was over, I phoned him the first day I could, when I knew Paula would be back at work. I managed to persuade him to meet me – he wouldn’t come to the house, so I knew then that the outcome wasn’t going to be good. We met in Richmond Park, in a part I’d come to think of as ours, where it’s always quiet and you can sit there for hours and barely see another living soul. It was drizzling so we had the place to ourselves. As soon as he arrived he told me that he’d been thinking about almost nothing else for the past two weeks and that he was sure what he was doing was for the best. We’d run our course. No building up to it. No hesitation.
I begged, pleaded, cried. It wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell you that much. And, like I said before, Robbie hates crying. So that didn’t help. He hates drama of any sort, which is ironic, if you think about it. I felt helpless, I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think was that he’d decided to try and make it work with Paula. Why, I have no idea. He’s barely had a good word to say about her since I met him.
Actually, that’s not fair. He doesn’t badmouth her. But he’s never exactly talked about her as if she’s the love of his life either, even before we got together. ‘Indifferent’ is the word I’d use.
Like me with Josh. It’s not as if you hate them. Or even dislike them. You just wish you weren’t married to them because there are other people you’d rather be with.
At one point I – and I’m not proud of this – even said ‘Is it because I’ve put on weight?’ Robbie’s always loved my body. I’ve always known that, in his praise of its lithe, slim contours was a buried criticism of the way Paula had let herself go.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Even I’m not that shallow.’
But something had clearly changed. It wasn’t Paula, he told me. Even though they were getting on better, this wasn’t about them. Their marriage was still dead in the water. It was about him.
Nothing I said would persuade him. It was over. He asked me to respect his decision, not to make things hard at work. At home. I had to agree – what else could I do? Of course, he had no idea that I was friends with his wife. That I would hear the whole story of the past fortnight from another perspective. That I’d find out he was lying to me.
And that’s when I decided I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let him just slide back into his marriage as if I didn’t exist. As if nothing had happened.
And then, when I saw Paula all smug and glowy because she’d won, even though she hadn’t even had any idea she was taking part, it hit me. If I couldn’t have him, then neither could she.
Her face when I told her about him and Samantha – inspired, don’t you think? Given the storyline he has coming up, where he’s going to have to spend hours on set with her every day. What wife wouldn’t be threatened?
She totally bought it. She trusts me. We’re ‘friends’.
And even though she’s taking her time I know that it’s all over for him and her now. I can make sure of that. She’ll tell him to pack his bags and go eventually. Once Georgia leaves home. God, what is it with those two and their precious daughter? You’d think she would barely be able to feed and dress herself, they wrap her up in so much cotton wool. It’s all I’ve heard for the past two years – that’s how long Robbie and I have been seeing each other. Two years – how nothing must upset little Georgia until she’s safely off at uni and making a new life for herself, blah, blah, blah. As if being a hundred miles away is going to protect her from being devastated once it happens.
And, when she does, where will he go? I know Robbie. He’s not one to leave one home without having another all set up to go to. He’s one of those people who could never live alone. And, in the meantime, I’ll break it to Josh that it’s over (I am a little worried that he might end up sacking me or something, but I’m hoping that if he thinks it’s all about me having some kind of mid-life crisis and not about me wanting to move on to someone else, he won’t be that vindictive. He’s not the type anyway. As I said, he’s a thoroughly nice man. Yawn. Haha) and I’ll set myself up in a cosy little flat somewhere nice (note to self: Robbie loves Maida Vale) and wait.
It’s the perfect plan.