Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

At 05:00 am, John awoke with a start. He hadn’t slept this long since he’d been at university. To be fair, he’d had no sleep on Saturday night, and Sunday had been an interminably long and taxing day. He reminded himself that he had also spent Friday night with the boys at the club. It had been a tiring weekend with too much alcohol.

He struggled to get up off the couch. His back ached and he had a stiff neck from lying in the same position for almost the whole of Sunday night and all of Monday. He also had a pounding headache and his tongue stuck to his palate. It was a matter of urgency; he had to have water and he had to find painkillers.

John went to the kitchen as fast as his body would allow, turned on the tap and stuck his mouth directly under the stream of water until his thirst was quenched. And now: painkillers. As he moved towards the first-aid cupboard, he stepped on a piece of broken fruit bowl. “Fuck!” he shouted out, pulling a ceramic chip from his bare foot. After popping three aspirins, he decided to take a shower; he felt rancid.

He stood shivering under a stream of ice-cold water, hoping the cold would energise him. It was also a way to punish himself for his recklessness.

He didn’t often feel guilty about his sexual exploits. Maybe because he had, until Saturday, compartmentalised them so that there was never an overlap. He was a happily married man and father of two grown-up children, a successful wine farmer and a respected businessman in the community. He was also a man who enjoyed sexual encounters with different women and regular illicit sex. If he had to be honest, sex with Jen was like smoking weed after mainlining heroin. He knew that being married was a very effective smokescreen for his addiction. It was only when the one started affecting the other that he had to face the truth about himself, and the guilt that seemed to follow.

It was Tuesday mid-morning when Jen arrived back home. Turning into La Vigne Sacrée , she found herself appreciating the beauty of her surroundings in a new way, despite the knot in her stomach. Summer was always a glorious time, and the tree-lined driveway of dappled shade made the approach to the farmhouse a spectacular one.

The option of leaving her home and beautiful Stellenbosch and moving into an apartment in the city had seemed exciting at first, but Jen had decided to go back and face John head on. There were so many reasons she couldn’t just move out◦– her children, for one. Although they weren’t children any more, she felt that if she did leave their father, she would owe them an explanation first.

Fear was another one. “To be completely honest,” Jen had confided to Claudia as they sipped vodka tonics at the lodge’s main pool, “I’m afraid. I can’t muster up the courage or the energy I’d need to move out.” She had been married to John for twenty-odd years. She was comfortable, and she enjoyed her lifestyle. It wasn’t just the money; Jen was afraid of being alone. What would it be like to be a divorcée at this stage of her life? Would she be able to keep up her friendships if she were single? Couples’ dinners and functions would be awkward. She wondered if she would be the one invited, or whether John would crack the nod. She was, after all, friends with the girls through her husband. No, she could guarantee that except for Frankie, she would be the one excluded.

“And the thought of dating again,” she continued. “Sex with a stranger!” she laughed. “As if any men are interested in women my age, anyway.”

What Frankie had said to her about marriage seemed to make sense when faced with the decision to leave. She did love John. He wasn’t the first man to cheat on his wife, and he wouldn’t be the last.

“I need to confront the issues with him and work on fixing what’s been broken,” she’d told Claudia when she gave her a goodbye hug.

Claudia had left her with three numbers: hers, her boyfriend Leonard’s and Sharon’s, a relationship specialist. She had, in fact, made an appointment for Jen to see both Leonard and Sharon the next day. “Just go see them, even if you haven’t made any decisions.” She warned her that Sharon was no “run-of-the-mill” psychologist. “Be warned, your appointment will be long and emotional. She spends at least half a day in consultation with first-time clients.”

Jen parked her car and pulled down her visor to check her appearance, pleased with what she saw. She had taken in some sun, which gave her a bronzed and healthy look, and she had to concede that her facial treatments had made a difference. She’d have more faith in the benefits of beauty treatments from now on.

As she opened the farmhouse door, their two ridgebacks came bounding towards her. She gave them each a pat then she called out to John. To her relief, there was no reply. Jen dropped the beautifully wrapped purchases from the spa’s boutique on the entrance table. John was going to go crazy when he saw his final bill.

Passing the kitchen on her way to their bedroom, she had to backtrack. It was in a state of chaos. Pete’s fruit bowl was smashed into pieces on the floor, the contents strewn all over the kitchen tiles. There were two dirty dishes on the counter and the frying pan lay unwashed in the sink. Where’s Gladys? she wondered.

“You can see how badly I cope without you, Jen.”

She swung around, startled to see John leaning against the kitchen doorway, unshaven, his shirt unbuttoned. It was clear to Jen that he had been drinking and he looked as unkempt as the house.

“Where’s Gladys?” Jen asked.

“I gave her yesterday and today off.” Jen’s eyes widened as they usually did when she was angry. “I didn’t feel like moping around with her mopping up after me.”

“Well, this is a fabulous welcome home!”

Chaos in her home always put her in a bad mood. She used to scream at the kids when they had left the house in a mess after entertaining their friends. It drove her crazy. At least Gladys had come in after the party, or the house would be in complete disarray.

“I didn’t know you would be coming home today. I didn’t know how long it would take you to come back to me.” John ran his hand through his mop of hair. “This is where you belong, Jen. There’s too much at stake, you leaving. I love you, Jen.” She studied his face. He seemed genuine. “Jesus, Jen, I don’t know what I’d do if you left me. We’re meant to be together.”

“I know,” is all she said as she started picking up the pieces of the fruit bowl.

“Let me help you.” An unusual offer. “I lost my temper and I smashed the bowl. I’m sorry.”

“It was Pete’s first attempt at pottery. He was in primary school. I loved that bowl.”

“I know you did. I’m so sorry.”

They were bent over, picking up the pieces together. As they reached for the same piece, their hands touched. John leaned over to kiss her, and she kissed him back.

“You’re looking great, Jen. I often don’t tell you how beautiful you are.”

These were words of affirmation she had longed to hear, and without thinking, she grabbed his hand and led him to their unmade bed. They made love with an urgency and passion that hadn’t been there for a long time. But after sex, while they lay next to each other on the rumpled covers, Jen couldn’t help but feel deflated. She was a pushover. Why couldn’t I have resisted him for at least a day? She had yearned for physical contact, and his kindness and vulnerability had made him irresistible to her; but more than ever, she needed to know that she was desirable to him. How was she ever going to get what she wanted from this marriage if she couldn’t stick to her guns?