Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [38]
I abhor physical violence of any type and begged Tony to intervene that autumn day but he wisely said no. The security guys came running over just as the fight concluded. And here’s the interesting thing. The little guy was lying there on the ground: completely defeated, completely vulnerable, completely pathetic. And what did the other guy do? Did he take pity and help him to his feet? No - he laid the boot in. He kicked him several times in the stomach, really hard. I still shudder to think of the damage he could have done.
And that, I think, is also a metaphor. I think we’d all like to believe that being presented with someone vulnerable and defeated, we would be roused to compassion. That we would help them up and dust them off and make them a cup of tea and tell them everything was going to be alright. And sometimes we would do that. But other times pathetic people can come across as a bit repellent. We don’t want to be associated with them, in case whatever they have is catching. And sometimes we even have the urge to kick them again while they’re down.
For a time that became the story of my marriage.
***
Not that any of this was apparent at first - on the contrary I was a spitting viper to begin with.
There was a short delay as the offending words sunk in, my comprehension dulled by the shock of it.
I stiffened in his arms. Why was I even in his arms? Why did he think that would be a good idea? Did he think it would soften the blow or something? There may be no right way to confess to an affair but this was clearly the wrong way. Sometimes I was startled at how little he understood women.
If I’d had my wits about me I would have kneed him in his unprotected testicles. Instead I shoved him away violently, my palms hitting his chest with force: ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Just as I said…I was involved briefly with another woman.’
‘What does “involved” mean? You mean you were screwing her.’
‘It was a bit more complicated than that.’
Nice one Tony. He had to let me know that it was more than just sex.
‘Are you telling me this because you want to leave me? Was this the farewell fuck or something? Thought you’d graciously bestow it on me because I wouldn’t be getting one anywhere else for a long time…’
‘No, I’ve ended the other relationship. I’m still committed to our marriage.’
He sure had a funny way of showing it.
‘Then why are you telling me this?’
This didn’t compute with anything I understood. Weren’t men usually cornered into confessions of infidelity? Didn’t they usually admit to their crime only when the evidence was so damning it was futile to deny it?
‘I thought it was best if I was honest with you.’
‘Did you? Am I expected to be grateful for that? That you’ve deigned to tell me. If the relationship is over - as you claim - I would rather have not known. You could have spared me this. It’s because you want to hurt me…You want to completely destroy me.’
‘Why would I want to destroy you?’ he asked in a maddeningly calm tone.
‘Because you blame me for William’s death.’
‘Now you’re talking like a mad woman.’
‘You’ve made me that way.’
‘And you’re going to wake up Isabel if you keep yelling like that.’
Somewhere along the line I’d scrambled out of the bed; a breeze from an open window reminded me I was naked. It’s hard to muster much dignity when you’re so exposed, especially when you’re overweight and exposed. The extra kilos that hadn’t seemed so important a few minutes ago were now everything. It was clear I was so fat and repulsive that my husband had sought out other women for sex.
I wrenched my pyjamas back on. He threw on some shorts, not even allowing me the moral advantage of clothing.
‘Have there been others?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘only the one,’ in