Tony Parsons - Man And Wife

It had been bought during the boom years of Fish on Friday, lucrative personal appearances and beer endorsements

– a waterfront loft overlooking Tower Bridge, the Thames and the colonised docks, all lit up like a tourist postcard of London at night. Kazumi went to the wall-high windows and stared out at the inky-black river, the illuminated bridge, the glittering city.

Then she faced me.

’Kazumi -’

’No more talk.’

Lit only by the moonlight and the lights of the waterfront, we struggled to undress while kissing each other at the same time. We were half dressed and grappling on the sofa like teenagers in heat when Eamon came home.

Kazumi heard the key in the door before I did, and she was off the sofa and into the bathroom before Eamon and his companion were even in the living room.

I recognised the woman – a TV producer who had once worked as a runner on The Marty Mann Show. Eamon waved from the doorway, and then they disappeared into his bedroom. I heard laughter and music from behind the closed door. It shouldn’t have mattered, but the spell had been broken. Kazumi came back from the bathroom fully dressed and ready to go.

’Ah, not yet,’ I said. ’Please, Kazumi. Come here. Nobody’s going to disturb us again. Look at the view.’

She shook her head. ’It’s not my view.’

I didn’t try to argue with her. I wearily did up the buttons of my shirt. We quietly let ourselves out of the flat.

’It can’t go on like this,’ she said as I flagged down a taxi. ’I mean it, Harry. It can’t go on.’

And it didn’t.

Because after dropping Kazumi off I went home, where my wife told me that she was leaving me.

I had been left before, of course.

But this time was different.

When Gina left me, she went in a fury – not caring what she took and what she left behind, just wanting to be out of our home, just wanting to be away from me and our life.

I remembered a half-shut suitcase spilling Pat’s socks, betrayed tears smudging her mascara and a throbbing pain just above my heart, where she had thrown my mobile phone at me.

Despite all of that, when Gina left there still felt like the faint chance that she would one day change her mind, that she would come back home, and that the rage would eventually pass.

It wasn’t like that with Cyd.

Cyd’s leaving was calm and methodical.

No tears, no raised voices, nothing done in haste. A grown-up, rational leaving, that somehow felt even worse. She wasn’t leaving tonight. She wasn’t leaving tomorrow. But she was leaving soon.

In our little guest room my wife had suitcases and overnight bags open on the single bed, and covering what looked like every spare square inch of the parquet floor. Some of the cases were almost empty. Others were already filling up with books, toys, CDs and winter clothes belonging to both her and Peggy. By the time the season changed, Cyd planned to be somewhere else.

With Gina I had felt that I still had a chance.

With Cyd there was no doubt at all.

She was never coming back.

’Going somewhere?’

She turned to face me. ’Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.’ She turned back to the suitcase she was packing, stacking a pile of Peggy’s thick woollen sweaters, shaking her head. ’Sorry.’

’What is this?’ I said, coming slowly into the room.

’What does it look like?’

’Looks like you’re moving out.’

She nodded. ’Like I said – sorry.’

’Why?’

She turned and faced me, and I saw the hurt and anger under the calm. ’Because you’ve left me already. I can feel it. I don’t know why you stay, Harry. And you know the sad thing? Neither do you. You can’t work out what you are doing with me. You can’t remember.’

I shook my head, although I knew every word was true. Somewhere along the line I had forgotten why we were together, and that’s why it had been so easy to fall for someone else.

’I can’t mess around, Harry. I told you that from the start. It’s not just me. I’ve got a daughter. I have to think about her. And I know that, with things the way they are between us, sooner or later you’re going to meet some little fuck buddy.’

’A fucky buddy?’

’Fuck buddy. Someone you can have uncomplicated sex with

– you’ll meet her sooner or later. Maybe you already have, I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know. Come on, Harry we don’t even sleep in the same bed any more. There’s a fuck buddy out there with your name on.’

Blended families and fuck buddies. It was a whole new world out there. My father wouldn’t have recognised it. I didn’t recognise it myself.

’Cyd, the last thing I’m looking for is a fuck buddy.’

She studied me for a bit. And perhaps she could see that this was true too.

’Then you’ll find somebody you love, and that will be even messier. Not messier for you. But for me and my daughter. Remember her? And that’s who I have to worry about now. You’ll meet some young woman, and you’ll do what you always do, Harry – tell her that she is the greatest girl in the history of the world.’

’Is that what I do?’

My wife nodded. ’And you will believe every word of it, Harry. And so will she. Or maybe it’s happened already. Has it, Harry? Have you met the greatest girl in the history of the world? Or just the latest in a long line of them?’

I looked from Cyd to her open cases and back again. She had packed her photo albums. The ones of Peggy growing up. The one of our wedding day. The ones that recorded our holidays over the years. She had stored them all away.

’Please don’t leave.’ I didn’t want it to end this way. Not any way. Something inside me recoiled from making the final, necessary break.

’Why not? This isn’t working, Harry. Not for you. And not for me.’

’Please

I made a move towards her, but she held up her hand like a traffic cop.

’You’re not a bad guy, Harry. You’ve got a good heart. I really believe that. But we could waste our lives being kind to each other. Twenty years could go by, and we still wouldn’t know why we were together. I know you want what your parents had, Harry. I know you want a marriage like that. Well, guess what? You’re not the only one.’

’It’s been a tough time. With my mum, with our kids, with work.’

’The tough times should bring us closer together. I wasn’t expecting nothing but fun-packed adventure. This is a marriage, not Club Med. Sticking together through the bad times, growing stronger and closer through them – that’s what it’s all about. But not our marriage, Harry. And not us.’

I knew I had no right to feel as bad as I felt. But I couldn’t help it. Seeing Cyd packing her bags seemed like the greatest failure of my life. And what pulled at the wound was that I knew she was right. She deserved more than she was getting in this marriage.

'I'm leaving because you can’t, Harry. Because you’re not cruel enough to go. But don’t do me any favours, okay? Don’t stay because you pity me. Don’t stay because you feel guilty. Don’t stay just because you’re not strong enough to go.’

’I stay because I care about you.’

She smiled gently, placing her hand on my face. ’If you really care about me, you’ll help me get out of this thing.’

’But where will you go?’

’Back home. To Houston. To my mother and my sisters. There’s nothing for me here any more.’

’When?’

’After Jim’s wedding. Peggy is looking forward to being his bridesmaid. I’m not going to take that away from her.’

I picked up a leather photo album from the suitcase on the bed, opening it at a picture that felt like it was taken a lifetime ago. Pat’s fifth birthday party, in the back garden of my parents’ house. Pat fresh-faced and gorgeous. Peggy, that crucial bit older, grave and serious as she examined the strawberry jelly in front of her. And my mum and dad, healthy and grinning for the camera and relieved that the day was going well. And Cyd – smiling, waving a fish-paste sandwich at me as I took the picture. A tall, slim, beautiful woman, a single mother who had just realised that she was not only going to get through this ordeal – meeting her boyfriend’s parents for the first time – but she was actually going to enjoy it. How young we all seemed.