IF YOU TRULY LOVE ME: Chapter 03 Holly’s Words

MY CELL BOUNCED off the bed from where I’d thrown it and landed with a thud on the floor. I walked around the far side, initially intending to pick it up but as I looked down at its blank screen it became the focus of my rage and I kicked it instead. It skidded under the bed. I left it there. What was the point of retrieving it? David was refusing to talk about anything but divorce.

I threw myself face down on the bed, screaming my frustration into the bedding. How? How could he refuse to see me? Dismiss all my attempts to talk about how to fix things between us? How could he be so ready to flush a quarter of a century down the drain?

The voice of my mother calling up the stairs that dinner was ready interrupted my outburst. I wondered if she’d heard me. Not that hearing my hurt and frustration would garner me any sympathy from her. She was angry and disappointed with me. That much I knew. She hadn’t said much but it was there in every reproachful glance she directed at me. Each look made me cringe and I hated that her disapproval still had so much of an effect on me. I was an adult, for pity’s sake. A mother myself. But it did. I hated that I’d disappointed her.

Perhaps, I should have gone to my father’s. He, at least, might have understood my succumbing to temptation, having done so himself. I sighed. Who was I kidding? He lived in Fremantle, the other side of the country, and I needed to stay close if I was to have any chance of getting David to see and speak with me. Besides, I hadn’t spoken to my father in years. Had hardly spoken to him at all after my mother left him when she discovered his affair.

That realisation knotted my gut. I knew Ben had pretty much cut ties with Dad, too. Same with my cousins. They had nothing to do with him either. The only one who kept in contact, ironically, was my uncle.

Would that be my future? Would my family disown me?

I dreaded the conversations that I knew were in my near future. Thus far my mother only knew the bare bones of what had happened. Even then, she’d walked away, spine rigid, and I knew it was because she needed space or she’d lash out at me. Mum didn’t like losing her self-control and I knew my confession, as glossed over as it was, had pushed her to her limit of her control.

I rolled onto my back and surveyed the room. This was what I was reduced to; staying in the guest room at my mother’s feeling like a scolded child. I had to make David see me, speak to me. I had to make him understand and forgive. The thought of any other outcome was unbearable.

*****

“HOLLY, I CAN’T let you in. David’s here and he doesn’t want to see you.”

Ben’s uncompromising expression and tone as he stood barring the way into his townhouse rocked me. Shocked, I retreated a step. Never, not once, had my brother ever looked at me like that. Where was the big brother who always protected me? Looked out for me?

“But, Ben, you have to. Please. I need to see him. How can I make him understand if he won’t see me?”

“From the way I heard it, Holly, you’ve done plenty in recent months to try to get Davie to ‘understand.’”

Ben curled his fingers signifying quotation marks on the word understand. I cringed, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. David had obviously told my brother a few things.

“Christ, do you have any idea what you’ve put him through?”

“So let me make it better. Let me in so I can start fixing things.”

“No. I insisted Davie stay with me. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to put me in the position of choosing between my best friend and my sister. Even in the middle of his devastation he thought about me. About the family. Did you? Did you give any thought to what your choices meant for everyone else? For me? For Caitlyn? For Mum? Damn it, Holly, she’s gutted. David’s gutted. We all are. Davie is my best friend. I think of him as a brother. I love him like I love you or Ronnie or Warren. You know that. And now you’ve put me in the position of having to choose who I’m going to help. Well, sorry, sis, but I choose Davie. He’s the one who’s been wronged so you can damn-well forget my helping you sweet talk him into more pain and hurt. You can’t “fix” what you did. It’s not fixable.”

With those words he retreated, closing the door in my face. I stood, unable to move. I was shocked. Ben had chosen David. My own brother was abandoning me.

How could I make him see there was no need to choose sides? That if he let me see David, if he could convince David to talk to me, we could salvage our marriage. Yes, I had made a mistake. Yes, it had hurt my husband. But I wanted to repair the damage I’d done. Why wouldn’t anyone let me make it up to David? Why wouldn’t anyone help me?

I rang the bell again. I had to make Ben see. He had to help me.

He opened the door but before I could say a word he snarled at me. “Holly, get lost before I call the police and have you forcibly removed. For once in your life accept that no means no.”

This time he didn’t close the door. He slammed it.

*****

I COULDN’T LOOK at Ronnie. His pity was too much to bear. I wished I could avoid hearing his words as easily as I could avert my gaze from his.

“Jesus, Holly. Why didn’t you come to me when all of this started? Maybe I could have helped you avoid all of this shit.”

I slumped in my chair, defeated. There was no point lying or sugar-coating it. Ronnie knew me too well. He’d see right through me.

“Because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. I knew you’d tell me to get rid of Sophie and go to counselling or something to deal with my feelings, and my, um, urges and I didn’t want to. I wanted her and I wanted to be allowed to have her.”

Ronnie sighed. “So, you wanted your cake and to eat it too.”

I nodded.

“And look where that got you. You do know you’ve lost a gem? Right? David was one in a million. Not perfect, mind. But pretty damn close.”

I burst into tears. “Don’t say that. Don’t say I’ve lost him. He has to forgive me. He just has to. Can’t you help me? Can you please speak to him?”

Ronnie’s silence spoke volumes. I stood and grabbed my handbag. I had to get out of there. Why couldn’t Ronnie lie to me? Would it kill him to utter a white lie to help me? Reassure me? Why did he have to be so god-damn honest all the time? And why wouldn’t he help me?

*****

THREE YEARS LATER

I LET MYSELF into my home and placed my bag and keys on the entry table. I was exhausted. Dragging myself through the workday was getting harder rather than easier. There was no joy in it anymore. No fun.

The house was quiet. Of course, it was quiet. I was alone. I paused for a moment, and, only for that brief moment, let my mind peek behind the mental door I normally kept shut because I couldn’t face the contents of that particular room in my mind.

The room where I fully acknowledged I was alone. Truly alone. Alone in a crowded room. Alone at the office. Alone when I face-timed with Caitlyn. Alone when I visited Ben or Ronnie or Warren or my mother. Alone when I sipped wine with friends. Alone when the dawn coloured the horizon. Alone when I switched off the lights and called it a day. Alone in the darkness. Alone in the light. Alone as I had been since the day I betrayed the man I love.

When David and I broke up it was as if my whole identity shattered. I didn’t know who I was without him. It was like a death. Unrelenting and never-ending.

I closed the door on my forbidden room and began my evening ritual. It had taken time to develop the ritual because I discovered early in David’s and my separation that living alone was a skill as simple and complex as playing a game of chess or writing a novel.

You have to learn the limitations. The rules. The do’s and don’ts. You have to study them as if for a final exam. They have to become second nature to you so you do them automatically, without thought. Things like always having sound, be it music or movies, playing in the background so that the silence doesn’t deafen you.

You have to perform whatever task you’re doing, no matter how big or small, with the utmost concentration, even if it’s only the dishes. You have to approach it with the same care and concentration as building a house of cards because it’s equally delicate and precarious.

You have to fill your time exactly, measuring it as if for a recipe requiring precision; do enough to stave off restlessness but not so much as to overwhelm.

Living alone was a balancing act. One I was still perfecting. I’d learned through failure exactly how easily one wrong thought or move could tip the scales to unbearable.

As I passed through the dining room on my way to my bedroom I glanced at the framed portrait of David and I that still hung above the dining table. Old habits die hard. It was like a knife to the heart to see my former happiness but somehow I couldn’t bear to remove the print. Same as I couldn’t bear to sell the house we’d built together. I jerked my gaze away from the portrait in the same way instinct makes you pull your hand back from an open flame. My heart avoided hurt the way a cripple favours an injured leg. It couldn’t bear any more.

I stood in the doorway to what was now my bedroom. It was once Caitlyn’s room but with her permission I’d moved in. She wasn’t that sympathetic to my reluctance to sleep in the master bedroom. At one point, I thought she’d make me continue sleeping there. I couldn’t, not without David beside me. It was too painful to sleep in our vast bed alone and know his clothing was gone, his toiletries were gone, and, now, even his scent was gone, time having faded it. Nor could I face the guest room, the room I’d betrayed him in. Both doors remained shut. All part of my balancing act.

I sat on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes. As clear as if she were sitting beside me I heard my daughter’s words. Again. They haunted me. Three years hadn’t faded their vehemence.

“How could you, Mum? How could you do that to Dad? To me?”

I cringed at the memory of her anger when I attempted to defend myself.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t do anything to you. To your Dad, yes, but not to you.”

“Yes, you damn-well did! From this time on I will have to choose who to spend my Christmas’s with. I will have to see you separately on holidays or for birthdays and what am I supposed to do when the day comes that I marry? Tell me that? Will I have to choose which parent can attend? What if having you attend would hurt Dad who is innocent in all of this. Great, Mum. Just great. And what happens when I have a family? My children will also have to divide their time between two households on my side of the family! So, don’t tell me this has nothing to do with me or that I’m not affected.

I still love you, Mum—I can’t turn off a lifetime of feeling like flicking a switch—but I have to tell you, I don’t like you right now. I never told you before but you were my role model. I can’t tell you how many decisions were made from me asking myself what you would do if you were in my situation. I can’t do that now, can I? Let’s see, ‘Dating fabulous guy but attracted to obvious bad-boy. What would Mum do? Fuck him. Yeah. Let’s fuck him and to hell with good-guy’s feelings. To hell with my morals. To hell with what’s right. To hell with other people’s feelings. I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want.”

I put my head in my hands, remembering the flood of tears that had come at her words. She hadn’t been moved by them.

“Enough with the tears, Mum. They won’t work. It’s too little too late. I hope she was worth it. Was she? Was it? Dad is devastated. I’m not sure he’ll ever fully recover.”

“But he won’t let me make it up to him—”

“Make it up to him!” she shrieked. “How do you make something like that up to someone, Mum?”

She didn’t give me time to reply. 

“Simple truth is you can’t. And I’ll tell you something else. I no longer look up to you. You’ve lost my respect. And my trust. If you can do something like this to Dad, the man you promised to love and cherish for life, then what’s to stop you throwing me under the bus if it got you what you wanted?”

She’d hung up when I protested. I couldn’t blame her. She was her father’s daughter. She still spoke to me but now it was once a month instead of once or twice a week and always at my instigation. Gone were the confidences. Gone was the laughter, the teasing, the ease between us. Now she answered my questions about her life in London with a bare minimum of words.

Later, much later, I was back in Caitlyn’s room after having eaten a bowl of soup, tinned soup, standing at the sink. I should learn to cook. It had been three years, after all. But, somehow, learning to cook was an admission that David was never coming back and though I knew that, I still couldn’t let myself truly know that truth. That truth would break what was left of me.

I stared into the darkness wishing sleep would come. Anything, even bad dreams, were better than being alone with my thoughts. My regrets.

Everyone, even Sophie, had paid a price for my obsession. It was a hard truth to bear. From a physical perspective, Sophie had paid the biggest price. It could be argued she’d deserved it. She certainly wasn’t innocent in the collapse of my marriage; I could see that with the wisdom of hindsight. If only my vision had been 20-20 back then.

But did she deserve what she got?

Whether the answer was yes or no, I still felt guilt. Guilt and responsibility.

“Holly, you can’t hide out forever.”

“Sophie, leave. Please, just leave. I want to be alone.”

“Let me help you, my sweet peach.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your peach. And you helping me is what got me into this mess.”

“It doesn’t need to be a mess, Holly. It could be a beginning. A beginning for us. We could be so good together.”

I groaned and rolled to my side, wanting to escape the memories, same as I’d wanted to escape her that day.

I shuddered, recalling the scene that followed.

“Come on, baby. Let me make you feel better.”

Sophie led me by the hand and for a moment I was tempted. I wanted to feel good. I wanted some respite from the pain, to forget, if only for a few precious minutes. And she was so beautiful…

But then she led me into the master bedroom. The room I’d shared with David for over twenty years.

I freaked out, screaming at her, “Go away. Get the hell out of my house. This isn’t a beginning. There is no us. There will never be an us. I’m not your peach and never will be. Don’t you get it? I will never be able to look at you and not see the destruction of my marriage. Because of you I’ve lost David. I’ve lost everything. I will never be able to look at you again without feeling pain.”

I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face into the pillow, hoping I could block out the look of horror on Sophie’s face. Horror that morphed into hurt and anger. Such anger.

I put my hands over my ears but it was pointless; her voice was in my head. Would always be in my head.

“You can blame me all you want, peach.”

This time the word ‘peach’ came out as a snarl.

“But we both know the blame lies with you. Yes, I wanted you. Yes, I made a play for you, but you could have said no at any point. You could have stopped me any number of times. But did you? No, you didn’t, so don’t play the victim with me. You might be able to bullshit everybody else with your woe-is-me act, but I was there. Don’t forget that, bitch. I was there.”

She’d walked out that day. Just turned and left. I suppose I should feel grateful she hadn’t caused me problems by lodging a sexual harassment in the workplace lawsuit. Reading between the lines the threat had certainly been there. I was lucky that in the end all it had cost me was a one-way ticket to London, a work visa, six months rent for a flat in trendy Notting Hill, and a job at our London office.

Where Caitlyn worked.

And, boy, had Caitlyn let me know how she felt about that. Furious would be an understatement. If I was a writer I’d have described her reaction as incandescent rage.

She refused to speak to me for weeks. But what could I do? I couldn’t work with Sophie anymore but I couldn’t fire her without cause.

I tried to block out the images of Sophie’s ruined face that the London office sent me. The photos taken after the attack. I tried but couldn’t. They were lasered on my brain, same as everything else with the slightest connection to David and that time was permanently etched into my mind.

Sophie had been so beautiful with such exotic, yet delicate features. Now, even after plastic surgery, she had a scar. Liz, my P.A., nailed it when she said it looked like a sick parody of the smile of the Joker from the Batman movies. It did. Sophie now had a permanent ugly smirk. No amount of makeup or surgery could totally erase it. They told me her whole personality changed too. Gone was the confident, sexy, alluring woman I’d known. In her place was someone who flinched at sudden noises. Who was, by all accounts, all but a recluse.

Had David been responsible? The report said she was attacked after a night out at a gay bar by two women who glassed her, but had David organised it? Or worse, had Caitlyn? Surely not. It had happened twelve months after the move but doubt gnawed at me. Caitlyn had shown not so much as one iota of concern or compassion. What had been her words? Ah, yes. Karma’s a bitch.

The assailants hadn’t just robbed Sophie or beaten her. They’d scarred her. Intentionally. Was it out of revenge? Was I, by extension, responsible? I had, after all, had a fling with her and sent her over to London. She was there because of me.

I rolled to my side angry at myself. Angry for the memories that denied me peace. Angry for the doubts. For the tears trickling down my cheeks, dampening the pillow. When? When would I run out of tears?

*****

TWO YEARS LATER

I STARED AT the invitation. I’d read it three times but couldn’t get the information to gel in my mind. Caitlyn was getting married. In Scotland! How could she be getting married? I didn’t even know she and Drew had gotten engaged. How could I not know? How could she not tell me? How could no one have mentioned it to me? Had my brother known? Had Ronnie or Warren or my mother?

I put the invitation down on the dining table. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t stop them. I felt so alone. No one. No one had seen fit to tell me. Had Caitlyn asked them not to tell me? It had been five years since my fall from grace and I was still paying the price.

In a perverse way, I wished they’d all cut ties with me back then. That would have been easier to deal with. Then I could have treated it as if they’d died. I could have grieved and moved on. Forged a new life.

But they hadn’t. They still spoke to me. The difference being they no longer spoke to me with warmth and familiarity. With love and affection. Now they barely hid their disappointment. Their pity.  

Even Ronnie. My cousin and best friend. Ronnie, who had lived with us when he was a teen because his father had kicked him out for being gay. Ronnie, who, thirty-two years later was still estranged from his father.

It wasn’t fair. His mother, my Aunt Freya, hadn’t stopped her husband from disowning their son and yet Ronnie never harboured any animosity toward her for her failings as a mother. I knew they met regularly for coffee or lunch. I could only guess he excused her because she was rather meek, and his father had always been the dominant one in their relationship. Her ongoing relationship with her eldest son was her biggest, and probably only, rebellion against her husband’s controlling nature.

So why did Ronnie continue to look at me with disappointment and pity? Why couldn’t he forgive me my failings?

I looked again at the invitation. Eight weeks. In eight weeks’, my baby was marrying Drew Jameson MacPherson. In bloody Scotland!

David was going. That much was clear. The invite stated as much. David James Prescott invites Holly Walters…

Upon seeing my maiden name, my eyes stung with unshed tears. It was wrong. So wrong. It should have been David and I issuing invitations to our daughter’s wedding, not just David.

And I shouldn’t have been a mere guest.

I wanted to yell. To scream. To rant and rave at my daughter but I couldn’t. That would only drive her further away.

What had the psychologist said? That’s right. I had to be like a punching clown at a carnival. I had to bounce back after each blow and not ever give up. That was my only chance at winning back the love and affection of my daughter. But it had been five years and with the arrival of the invitation it was clear I was no nearer to achieving that goal than I’d been when we first fell out.

I pulled a bottle of red from the wine rack and poured myself a hefty glass. I drank it in a few gulps and then topped up my glass. My Dutch courage still seemed low so I polished off the second glass and once again refilled it before feeling strong enough to open WhatsApp on my phone. I double checked the time in London. 7:30a.m. Perfect. I knew she didn’t leave for the office until eight-fifteen.

I hit Caitlyn’s number, silently praying she’d answer.

“Hi, Mum.”

I closed my eyes, swallowing my hurt at her lacklustre answer. I missed hearing the smile in her voice when we spoke. I missed knowing she was pleased to hear from me.

“Hey, sweetheart. Congratulations. I just received the invitation. They’re beautiful, by the way. The invitations, I mean.”

I stopped and drew a breath. I was babbling. Five years and our conversations still made me nervous. I tried to draw comfort from the fact she hadn’t hung up on me for a while.

“Thanks. We’ll understand if you can’t make it. It’s a big trip from Australia and eight weeks isn’t that long a time for planning.”

I sat down and swallowed a mouthful of wine. I wished it was whiskey. It might have cauterised the wounds her words inflicted. Anything to assuage the hurt.

“Of course, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Is there anything I can do? Shall I come over a few weeks earlier?” I asked injecting as much love and joy into my voice as I could.

“No. No need. Drew and I have it all handled and Dad’s here.”

I wanted to cry. My baby didn’t need me. Didn’t even really want me to be a part of her special day.

“Oh, okay. Well, as I said. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll look at flights etcetera tonight and let you know my details.”

“Sure. Well, I have to go, Mum. Bye.”

And then she was gone and I was all alone. Again.

*****

THE PLANE TAKING off pushed me back into my seat. I looked out the window at the diminishing landscape. The sight should have brought joy, a sense of anticipation and excitement. I was on my way to my daughter’s wedding. Instead, I felt a weight. I was taking the trip alone. Everyone, my mother included, had made their plans months ago, long before I even knew Caitlyn was getting married.

“Caitlyn asked me not to say anything to you as she wasn’t sure she was going to invite you to the wedding if it was going to upset David. She asked us all so you needn’t question your brother and the rest of the family over it.”

“But, Mum, I’m your daughter and Caity is my daughter. Couldn’t you have given me some kind of hint?”

“No, I could not. I gave Caitlyn my word and I keep my word.”

The rebuke was subtle, but there nonetheless and somehow sounded worse in my mother’s perfect but formal English.

“How long, Mum? How long are you and everybody else in this family going to punish me? I made a mistake. A one weekend lapse of judgment versus twenty-five years of being a good wife and mother. I’m not a mass murderer, for god’s sake.”

My mother stared at me for an uncomfortably long time. Even at forty-seven I still quailed under that gaze.

“How could you, Holly? After what you saw when your father strayed and broke up our family. You experienced the ramifications firsthand and still you went on to betray your husband. A good man. A wonderful husband and father. A man who loved you dearly. Even now, five years later, I don’t understand how you could do it.”

“I told you. I’m bisexual and I went through some kind of crisis and wasn’t thinking straight. It was only one weekend. Maybe everyone should be asking why David couldn’t bring himself to try to understand and forgive me for making one god-damn mistake. That was a tad harsh, don’t you think?”

“Daughter of mine, your physical transgression may have only occurred that one weekend but your betrayal went on for much longer. Adultery takes thought. It occupies wishes and dreams. It takes planning. Lies. And in your case, it took manipulation.”

She quirked an eyebrow at me, daring me to challenge her. Before I could formulate a response, she continued.

“And, yes it is true you did not kill anyone, but you killed a thing. You killed your marriage. And that “murder” has had repercussions for many members of your family. We all love David. I have always thought of him as another son, as you well know. He is your brother’s best friend and a mentor to Warren. Even Ronnie, who has always championed you, has been devastated. Because of your actions we must all give thought to what we say around each of you. We must decide whether to invite you or David to an event. We have all been witness to Caitlyn’s pain. Actions have consequences, Holly. Your actions have had consequences for everyone in this family. Perhaps you should consider apologising to each of us.”

My mother’s lecture infuriated me. She was my mother; she should have been on my side. Blood was meant to be thicker than water.

“If you love David so god-damn much why didn’t you, or any of the others, go in to bat for me and convince David to forgive me? To give me another chance?”

“And do your work for you?”

I had no answer to that so I changed the subject.

“Your beloved David gave up on me, on our marriage, without a moment’s hesitation.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Holly. He fought for you but you were deaf to his pleas. You saw only that he was an obstacle to your desires. The difference between you and David is he did his fighting for your marriage before it collapsed. It was only after it fell apart that you did yours. By then it was too late. It is long past time you took responsibility for your actions. Perhaps when you do your family will also be able to put it all behind us.”

And, so, I was travelling alone and would have my own hotel room instead of staying with Caitlyn as I knew my mother was.

*****

It had been a while since I’d visited the London office; Sophie now being employed there was an effective deterrent. While waiting for Yvette, I allowed my mind to wander to the past. Had we really been running GLBT Publishing for twenty years? It only seemed like yesterday we made the decision to start our own publishing house.

SEATED BY THE window in the café I often brunched or lunched at with Yvette, my business partner, when I was in London, I looked around. Not much had changed. A few new prints and different table centrepieces but, all in all, it was still the café of my memories. There was something comforting about its familiarity.

Yvette and I had both been editors for the same mainstream publishing house and struck up a friendship through the online forum the company provided for debate over the grey areas in editing. Yvette was based in the UK and I worked for the Australian division. We’d actually been friends for a few years before we met face-to-face for the first time at a huge convention held in London. When David had been unable to accompany me, Ronnie had, on the spur of the moment, joined me for the trip and one night over far too many glasses of wine he’d bemoaned to me and Yvette the lack of fiction with gay protagonists.

The moment his tirade hit the ether was a lightbulb moment for both Yvette and me. We exchanged a look—not a word was spoken—but in that look I knew I’d just gone into business with her. All that needed to be done were the formalities… talk with husbands… registering… finance.

Ronnie immediately caught on to our shared moment and raised his glass. “All right! Let’s do this.”

Right there and then we’d started brainstorming for a name. By midnight Ronnie had come up with the winning name: Gays Love Books Too Publishing, or GLBT Publishing.

After that night all the pieces had fallen into place rather quickly. I’d phoned David the next morning, and, not surprisingly, he was all for it. Yvette had done the same with Tim, her husband. Before Ronnie and I flew home the three of us had worked out a rough budget.

It took us around three years to start turning a small profit and closer to five before Yvette and I had totally replaced our old incomes but the sacrifice and effort had been worth it. Of course, we wouldn’t have been able to do it without the support of David and Tim. Now, twenty-odd years later, we’d built a publishing house with a good reputation that continued to experience steady growth, and at last count, employed ten people, not including freelancers.

And Ronnie had his gay fiction.

I was smiling at my memories when Yvette slipped into the seat opposite me.

It was immediately obvious she had something on her mind. I reached across the table to squeeze her hand.

“Hey, hon. How are you?”

“Holly, I’m so sorry. This is so hard so I’m just going to spit it out.”

I tensed and prepared myself for bad news. Had Sophie decided after all this time to take revenge on me for rejecting her? Had something gone terribly pear-shaped with one of our releases? Was Yvette ill?

“Holly, I know how devastated you were—are—by David leaving you. I’ve done my best to support you, but it’s been five years.”

What? I couldn’t comprehend where she was going with what was troubling her? What did David have to do with it?

“We’re friends. I love you, but I can’t continue picking up the slack for you. It’s affecting my marriage and Tim has had enough.”

“What do you mean picking up the slack for me?”

Yvette looked at me with something akin to disbelief.

“Holly, you can’t possibly be blind to the fact that for the last five years, ever since David left, that you haven’t pulled your weight. At best, you’ve been going through the motions.”

“I’ve worked,” I protested, offended.

“I’m sorry, but, no, you haven’t. At least, not with the same enthusiasm and passion. Reader, as well as writer events remain less than what they were prior to your marriage breakdown, things like setting up interviews and reviews for our writers are also down. Your notes on manuscripts have been woeful. Lots of things have been slipping through the cracks. I could go on but I don’t want this to degenerate to a place where we can’t maintain our friendship at the end of it.”

I sat back in my chair, stunned.

“Holly, I would like to buy out your share.”

“But we built this together. We decided to do this together.”

“Yes, we did, but your heart is no longer in it, so I think my buying you out is the best solution.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I will have no choice but to dissolve the partnership, taking as many of our authors with me who want to stay with me and I must warn you, Holly, many are not happy with you. Far too many have come to me with complaints about you. A goodly portion of my time is spent soothing ruffled feathers and pouring oil over troubled waters because of something you’ve done or failed to do.

Holly, I’m sorry. I hate having to do this but if I don’t it’s my livelihood also on the line, not to mention, my marriage. When it all started, I gave you two years to get your head back in the game. That became three years, then four. Well, it’s been five. I can’t keep moving that line in the sand.”

I fought back tears. The business was all I had left, the only reason to get out of bed each day, and whichever way I went, I was going to lose it too.

“Try and look at this as a positive, Holly. How many times when we worked for other people, and even in our early days with GLBT Publishing, did we laugh and joke about attempting to write a novel ourselves? Perhaps, this is the right time for you to do that.”

“Did you have to lay this on me now? With my seeing David for the first time in years? With Caitlyn getting married in a couple of days?”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I wanted to have this conversation face-to-face and this was the only time I could be guaranteed to get you alone. I promise to be fair with the numbers. I just can’t keep carrying the load for you.”

*****

ALONE IN MY hotel room, I replayed the conversation with Yvette yet again. I’d been doing it all afternoon and evening while travelling to Scotland.

What a horrible day. I was no longer wanted in the publishing house I’d help create. I felt low. Defeated. I longed for David. I longed to talk to him. Have him reassure me. The ache was physical. I wanted so badly to lay beside him and rest my cheek over the place where his heart resided. Hearing its sure and steady beat had, at various times over the years, been exciting, at others soothing, but always safe. It was a place I’d always thought of as being mine. Once upon a time, within David’s arms had been the warmest, safest, most loving place in my world. God, how I missed it. I needed him so much. I still held out hope that one day he’d forgive me and my safe place would be mine again.

I sipped on a glass of red, and needing distraction, scrolled through my emails. One thing led to another and I found myself writing to David.

My beloved David,

Even after five years, I miss you. There isn’t an hour I don’t think of you. I have meetings with authors but it’s you I want to talk with. I read their manuscripts but instead of concentrating on them my thoughts are with you. And now my distraction and lack of passion, as Yvette put it, has come back to bite me on the bum. I’m gutted but at the same time it’s hard to muster anything more than resignation at my situation.  It’s not just at work. My whole life is me going through the motions. I wait and hope and wait some more for a miracle.

And tonight, the night before our daughter’s wedding when we should have been together, toasting our baby’s happiness, I’m sitting in a lonely hotel room in an unfamiliar city and the memories drift in like soft summer rain through the open window.

Tonight, the memories have taken an unexpected turn. Tonight, while I anticipate our beautiful daughter walking down the aisle to marry her big, strapping Scotsman, I can’t help but remember the night she was born. Do you remember?

God, I was scared. When everything started going pear-shaped and I could see from the looks on the nurses’ and doctor’s face it was serious, I was terrified. I tried not to show it. I wanted to be brave for you and then I lost consciousness.

When I came to I saw your face. You looked terrible. Haggard and tired. I was so frightened something had happened to Caitlyn. I waited for you to say something. What did you say? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You just stared at me. Not before or since has anyone ever looked at me like that. You looked at me with such love. Love and relief.

And then you kissed me. Such a kiss. You were like a drowning man gasping for air. That kiss told me everything I needed to know. With that kiss you told me everything in my world would be okay, that Caitlyn was okay.

How could I have done something to screw that up? How could I have risked losing you? I don’t know, my love. I honestly don’t know. The only thing I do know is I’m here again, terrified.

The last five years have been a nightmare I can’t seem to wake from. I keep praying for you to kiss me and make everything okay. I’ll never stop hoping and praying you will forgive me and once again look at me with love. Only you can make things right in my world.

Yours and yours only,

Holly

I stared at the screen, my cursor hovering over the send button. The thud of my heart seemed to match that of the cursor blinking away steadily, waiting for me to make a decision. Taking a deep breath, I clicked, and my message was gone, winging its way to David.

*****

I SMOOTHED THE dress over my hips, regarding my reflection in the mirror, trying not to think about the fact that David hadn’t replied to my email. I’d woken hoping to have him knocking on my door. No such luck. I comforted myself with the fact he was probably preoccupied with father of the bride things or catching up with family and friends and not checking his emails.

I’d bought two outfits for the wedding. One for good, mild weather, one for cold and rain. You never knew what you were likely to get in Scotland. It was a beautiful country, there was something wild and untamed about it, but the weather was fickle.

And now my daughter was about to get married to a huge, mountain-climbing Scotsman. Drew certainly was tall, something I’d noticed in photos but they hadn’t accurately conveyed just how tall he was. He must be six-three or four. He was as dark as Caitlyn was fair.

Today would be the first time I’d seen David in two years and that time had only been in passing. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, he lived in London, he and Ben having opened a London office so David could be closer to Caitlyn. Something else for Ben to resent me for. Because of me, his best friend and niece lived on the other side of the world.

I checked my reflection again, nervous. I wanted to look beautiful. I wanted David to see me and realise he still loved me. As far as I knew he hadn’t gotten serious with anyone new, though I was sure he’d had plenty of offers. He remained a good-looking man. I hoped the outfit I selected was alluring enough to attract him yet appropriate for the mother of the bride.

I leaned in closer to the mirror and frowned. Seeing the crease between my brows deepen, I immediately relaxed my facial muscles. The crease was still there, only a tad less prominent. The last five years had aged me, taking a toll on my looks. I looked every one, and then some, of my forty-seven years. I wanted to cry. I wanted to look young and fresh and sexy. Damn Mother Nature and the whole aging process. I regretted my decision to forgo Botox injections but after looking silly for weeks, like a damn duck, after having had collagen injected into my lips I was wary of another botched cosmetic procedure. Even now my lips weren’t quite right. I hoped David wouldn’t notice.

I turned my head this way and that, studying the up-do the stylist, who had not long left, had done for me. I would have preferred to wear it down as David had always loved it when I wore it loose, its natural waves untouched by a straightening iron but this was a wedding, our daughter’s wedding, and an up-do was probably more appropriate. All things considered; the stylist had done a good job. The style was soft and flattering and with my hair up you could see the pearl drop earrings I was wearing – a gift from David on my thirtieth birthday. I hoped he’d remember them.

And remember how we’d celebrated that landmark birthday. I certainly did.

*****

MY HEART SWELLED with pride when Caitlyn walked by me on David’s arm on the way to her husband-to-be who waited with a huge smile on his face and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a tear in his eye. Between seeing her look so happy and beautiful and David so proud and handsome I forgot for a moment that I wasn’t seated in the first row but, then again, the family were taking up three rows, me being in the third, so at least she hadn’t relegated me to the back of the gathering.

I remained hopeful that this wedding would help me heal old wounds and build new bridges. Weddings were good for that sort of thing.

I remembered David’s and my wedding. We’d been so young. So in love. I’d only been eighteen, David, twenty-one. But we’d known what we wanted.

I couldn’t believe Caitlyn had managed to convince her father to wear a kilt in the MacPherson colours. It was a beautiful tartan; white, violet, purple and black. The men had teamed their kilts with white shirts, black vests, and tuxedo jackets. David could have passed for a local with his fair locks and rosy from the cool afternoon breeze cheeks. He looked so distinguished. My heart thudded in my chest. It took all I had to remain in place and not throw myself at him.

Caitlyn’s bouquet, and, indeed, the flowers used to decorate the rotunda matched the MacPherson colours. It all looked like something out of a fairy tale. By the time Drew got to kiss his beautiful bride the sun had almost set. The sky was a dramatic mix of darkening fluffy clouds with golden halos about their edges against a backdrop of violets and reds. The tiny fairy lights strewn among the flowers enhanced the atmosphere of being part of something magical.

I dabbed the corner of my eyes, fearful of ruining my make-up. My little girl was a married woman. They walked by me, husband and wife, and though Caitlyn smiled at me, she didn’t pause to have a few words as she’d done with the rest of my family. I ignored my hurt, determined to rise above the small slights. I had to show her I was better than that.

When, moments later, David walked by me with a woman on his arm, a beautiful woman, I wished I hadn’t seen him. The woman was as different to me as Drew was to Caitlyn. She looked like a gypsy with her lustrous black curls and red lips. She was dressed stylishly but even with her conservative hemline she exuded sensuality.

My mouth went dry, and try as I might, I couldn’t swallow. I gasped, my lungs noisily emptying of air, making me feel weak and light-headed. My heart stopped for a moment before taking off like a racehorse at the start gate. I feared it would explode out of my chest.

A wave of nausea forced me back into my seat, wishing I could drag my eyes away from him. They were together. It was obvious. She looked up at him with adoring eyes, her hand possessively linked with his. I could tolerate her looking at him with adoration but what cut me to the core was seeing him smile down at her with love. Yes. Love. I knew that look. It used to be the way he looked at me.

I didn’t recognize, at first, the feelings that overwhelmed me. All I knew was that I didn’t like them. They made me feel weak and sick.

I didn’t like the vile, bitter taste in my mouth.

I didn’t like the heat that pulsed through my body.

It was not the pleasurable heat of passion, nor even the uncomfortable heat of embarrassment. This heat didn’t warm and awaken; it burned and scorched, leaving devastation in its wake. It was like a forest fire erasing everything in its path.

Jealousy. Ugly jealousy.

No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. I’d waited so long for this chance to win him back.

Neither looked at me. Not even so much as a glance. It was as if I was invisible.

I watched their retreating backs, trying desperately not to cry or scream. I longed to throw decorum to the winds and run after him and throw myself at his feet and beg him to take me back. To give me another chance. Had my body obeyed me, I might have done just that.

Guests filed past me. One or two looked at me with pity. Others averted their gaze, some to save me embarrassment, some to avoid awkwardness.

My mother paused, looking at me with compassion, and squeezed my shoulder, before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Let him go with dignity. Do not shame yourself. Not today. This is Caitlyn’s day.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

I was the last to leave the rotunda.

*****

THAT CAITLYN HAD seated me at a table with the extended family rather than at her table no longer bothered me. At least, by being seated at one of the lesser tables I was able to go under the radar somewhat. At the head table I would have been on display.

I ate and drank on automatic pilot. I was numb.

At least, until David rose to give his speech.

Then I was skewered to my seat. The speech, I felt certain, was written as much for me as for Caitlyn and Drew.

“When I sat down to write a speech for today my thoughts drifted to the cliché for marriage; ‘tying the knot,’” he began, smiling out at the audience.

“I’m no writer, as both my daughter and my business partner can attest to, so I won’t go into detail as to how the word knot led me to the word rope.”

“Because you’re a kinky bastard,” Ben called out to much laughter.

David laughed as well, nodding his head. “Maybe, old friend, but it occurred to me a length of rope has a few good uses other than naughty ones. In fact, it’s an excellent analogy for love, relationships, and marriage.

“A rope is made up of strands, each strong in its own right, but if you were to ask a rope maker he – or she, to be politically correct and I’d best be that or Caitlyn will shoot me later – would tell you a three-cord rope is the strongest rope you can make.

“Why?

“Because, though each strand is distinct, they all touch each other.

“So, Caitlyn and Drew, if I were to liken each of you to being a strand in the rope symbolising your relationship, I would tell you that though each of you is an individual; strong, intelligent, and capable in your own right, together, entwined with the third strand—that being love—your strength is not merely added, its multiplied.

“There are many important things that make up a happy and successful marriage but from what I’ve observed three stand out, three that make up the rope of marriage because from them stem most of the others. Trust. Respect. And loyalty.”

At each of those words; trust, respect, and loyalty, I flinched, certain David intended them for me. I stared steadfastly straight ahead, not wanting to have my suspicions confirmed by every eye in the room being on me.  

“Your trust in each other must be absolute. It’s black and white; there is no grey. You can’t ‘sort of’ trust someone. Knowing that your partner has your back in all things is essential.”

I took a hefty sip of my wine, trying to wash away the guilt David’s words created in me.

“So, too, is respect. Respecting your partner means being aware at all times, and in all ways, the effect your actions and decisions will have on them, and truly believing their rights, beliefs, and opinions are as important as your own.”

I bit my lip to hold back the cry of pain filling my throat. I’d failed to respect David, the same as I’d failed the trust test – I hadn’t been trustworthy and I hadn’t had David’s back.

“And then there is loyalty. Had you asked me to write this speech in my youth, I would almost certainly have substituted the word love for that of loyalty, and, yes, love is important, it’s absolutely vital, but with the wisdom that comes with age, I’ve come to understand how important having your spouse’s loyalty is.”

This time I failed. I whimpered aloud. People at my table turned to look at me. In all of the three elements that David considered vital for a happy, strong marriage, I’d failed.

“Caity, sweetheart, and Drew, my new son, there will be times in your marriage when you won’t agree with each other, but I urge you to save your disagreements for when you’re alone. To the world show a united front. Don’t let anything or anyone see the slightest gap in your rope where they could drive a wedge.”

That’s what I’d done. I’d shown Sophie a vulnerability in the rope of my relationship with David. A vulnerability she’d taken full advantage of and I’d been too weak and obssessed to fix from within. David had tried and I’d sabotaged him. I’d invited the enemy in.

“I’m not normally the type of guy to quote the bible, but I think in this instance, Ecclesiastes 4:12 got it right. ‘Though one may be overpowered, and two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.’

“So, I guess, that’s my advice to you. Love is both the strongest and most fragile of emotions, so make sure to always look after each strand in your relationship and marriage rope because each is essential, and remember that though you are strong apart and can survive most things, together you’re something special. Together you’re something beautiful, and lasting, and true.”

Hope died. It had died that little bit more with each word of David’s speech, like a tree shedding its leaves one by one until I realised there were no leaves left. No hope left. Nothing remained. No love. No hope. No GLBT Publishing. And most of all; no David.

Everyone clapped. Caitlyn leaped out of her seat, throwing her arms around her father, tears unashamedly running down her cheeks. Drew stood, shaking David’s hand while David continued to hug our daughter with his other arm. I looked at the gyspy woman whose name I didn’t even know. She was crying but I saw the pride and happiness in hers. I saw the love.

Tears ran down my cheeks too. Tears of loss. Of loneliness. Tears of grief for a love I destroyed by my own actions. A love, the like of which I would never know again.

I looked around the room. It seemed to me to be a sepia print. Where was the colour? The light? Gone.

Just like my hopes. Just like David’s love.

*****

EPILOGUE

IT WAS DIM, but not dark, as I sat by the window watching the sun lose its battle with the horizon. All was quiet except for the muted sounds of the cicadas, and even their song was finally winding down for the evening.

I could have turned on my television, but chose not to. There was nothing I wanted to watch. Same with the new release sitting on my bedside table. I couldn’t muster even a shred of interest in commencing the first chapter.

Today was an anniversary of sorts. It robbed me of energy and so I just sat and watched the world go by from my bedroom window.

I guess I should have enjoyed the stunning slideshow nature was creating before my eyes. In a vague way, I did see its magical beauty. I certainly recognized what a stunning photograph it would make. The lens would love the way the oranges and reds slowly deepened to violets and purples, casting a soft golden glow over the landscape while deepening the shadows cast by the tall gums, but it was as if I was seeing it through a series of filters. So many filters, that by the time the image reached me, all meaning was lost.

I felt guilt at my detachment from the picturesque display Mother Nature was offering me. I should have enjoyed it more. I should have wanted to tilt my face to the heavens to experience the dying rays of the sun warming my cheeks. Instead, I saw, but did not see.

Sounds from the rooms beyond my bedroom seeped through the walls. It seemed Don had misplaced the remote again. I listened to him speak, I couldn’t hear his actual words, only that the tone of his voice sounded gruff with annoyance. Don forgot a lot things—reading glasses, people’s names, even the remainder of his sentences when he was halfway through them.

Ironically, I envied him his absentmindedness, his forgetfulness. Forgetting was not a problem I suffered from. No, I remembered all too well.

Long ago I’d come to the realisation that painful memories were persistent. The agony of them stayed with you as if shackled to your psyche. They didn’t fade with time like sweet, happy memories which seemed to assume a hazy, rosy glow in your mind, almost as if they’ve been photoshopped with umpteen filters applied. No, painful memories remained sharp and clear. Time doesn’t mute their colours, nor blur their edges. Their colours remained stark and bold; a palette of vibrant primary reds, blues, and yellows. Their edges stay defined and as sharp as a razor blade. Years later those memories still had the ability to cut you as deeply, make you bleed as profusely, as the day they were formed.

I could attest to that. I was living proof of that. The letter lying on my lap was proof. The words were as familiar to me as the nursery rhymes of childhood.

Dear Holly,

It saddens me to read that you haven’t moved on from our divorce. We had twenty-six good years, if you include our courtship, and we brought a wonderful daughter into the world. Both of those statistics we can be proud of.

It has taken me a considerable amount of time to heal from our split. There were times I wondered if I ever would. I cannot deny you wounded me deeply but time truly is the great healer.

I wish you no ill, Holly. There was a time, early in our separation when I did, but, once again, time came to my rescue and dimmed the need for revenge. I’m glad of that. I don’t think I could have faced Caitlyn, or lived with myself, if I’d so gone against my character and acted on the vengeful thoughts.

We can’t undo what’s been done and what you did with Sophie broke something inside me that isn’t fixable. Holly, I’m sorry, but there’s no going back. It’s time to let go. Please move on. For your sake, and for the sake of Caitlyn and the rest of your family. Your continuing to cling to a hope that we can somehow salvage what we had, or start afresh, has caused a strain on everyone.

Please, let go, move on, learn from our mistakes and find love again.

I have yet to reach a point where I can be a friend to you. That’s a work in progress, but I give you my word I am not your enemy.

Sincerely,

David

David. Ever the gentleman. I still missed him.

I was saved from my reverie by the mundane.

“Holly this is Nurse Sally. Sally, this is Holly Walters. Holly is our oldest resident and has been with us for quite a while, haven’t you, dear?”

I didn’t reply. Why bother. It was just another new nurse.

“Come on, Holly. Dinner’s ready. Let’s take you to the dining room.”

THE END

So there you have it! My tale is told. I hope it proved a satisfying read and distracted you, if only for a few moments, during these trying times.

Many thanks to those that pre-read and offered insightful, useful comments like Bill and Dave and, of course, my heartfelt thanks to Vandemonium1 for his proofread and keeping me focused.