Iain exhaled slowly. His eyes were focussed at some random point in the middle distance and his hands gripped the steering wheel of the stationary car. It was done. It was over. Ended. He tried to analyse his feelings before he set off on the twenty minute journey to his home, and his wife. They didn't make a great deal of sense.
The main feeling was one of relief, then sadness, then optimism, regret and an overwhelming sense of having been a complete idiot - coming back to relief: relief that it was over. Had he loved her? God knows!
I've been alive for well over fifty years and I'm buggered if I know what being in love is.
But that wasn't quite true was it? Iain knew that there was something different about his feelings towards Jill, his wife. Something that hadn't been there in the few months he'd been seeing Eileen. Then again, there was something in his relationship with Eileen that isn't there with Jill. He smiled to himself and shrugged. He'd really miss that. No, REALLY miss that.
His eyes refocused on the dashboard and he started the Audi A4. As he pulled away from the car park in Eileen's block of flats, he thought that it would probably be for the last time. The car park had become so familiar to him. It was where he'd first kissed her.
Christ! It was like being a teenager again - snogging in the car after I'd given her a lift home
. He turned on the radio, wanting to get Eileen, and that image of their first kiss, out of his head. It was over.
The next thing he knew he was sitting on his drive, turning off the car ignition. Iain shook his head as he opened the door, grabbed his laptop from the back seat and headed into the house.
How many times have I driven home from work on autopilot? One day it'll get me!
He let himself in, closely followed by the cat, and called out to Jill that he was home.
He contrasted the silent reception with what it would have been like walking in fifteen or twenty years ago, when he would have been bombarded by his son and daughter, anxious to tell him what they'd done at school. Long gone, with careers of their own, Iain still thought of this as their home -- even if they didn't.
Then in the silence, he heard Jill's voice, and realised she was on the 'phone. He dropped his bag as he walked into the study, and she looked at him and smiled -- mouthing that she was talking to her mum. He waggled his wrist by his mouth, asking in sign language if she wanted a drink. She nodded a yes, her eyes indicating that a G&T would probably be more welcome than the "C for coffee" shape she made with her hand.
He made them both some coffee and dropped Jill's on the desk. As he did so, she raised her eyes to heaven and shook her head. Iain could hear her mother droning on through the earpiece. He just smiled and went to watch the news. He was halfway through the usual Channel 4 doom and gloom by the time she came and sat beside him.
"That sounded even more one sided than your mum's usual conversations."
He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"It wouldn't be so bad if it was something new, but it's just the same old stuff."
Iain squeezed her hand in a gesture of support and asked what was for dinner. Jill just said that as he'd mentioned he'd be a bit late, she'd just get something out of the freezer.
"Ah sod that, let's go out to the Italian." Although going to the local Italian restaurant was nothing unusual for them, Iain had changed his life in the past hour and wanted to mark it.
After a second or so, she nodded and agreed that it was a good idea, so they both finished their coffee and went to change. Iain sat on the bed watching his wife faff around with makeup and lipstick, and talking about her mum's call. Their conversation was easy, certainly easier than the conversation he'd had with Eileen a couple of hours ago. Then again, when you've lived with someone for over twenty years, conversation should be easy. He looked at Jill, and despite every effort, his mind couldn't resist contrasting her with Eileen. The two women were within months of being the same age, Jill was definitely the better looking of the two; he loved his wife's hair. Short, blonde and really well cut and styled. But the better body belonged to Eileen. Though both women's bodies had suffered the ravages of having kids, for whatever reason: genetics, exercise, diet or just good luck -- Eileen's body was more like that of a thirty something, rather than a fifty something. But it didn't matter to Iain, as she concentrated on eye makeup and talked about her mother (
why ARE women so much better at multi-tasking?)
, he loved her to bits.
On impulse he jumped up and put his arms around her, looking over her shoulder at themselves in the mirror. She put down the eye liner, sighed heavily and looked at him in the way she had looked at the kids when they were five and had done something wrong. He kissed her neck.
"Hmm, maybe we should forget the Italian and just go to bed..."
The disapproving look intensified and Jill shook her head:
"Please don't..."
And THAT was the huge difference between the two women.
He hugged her:
"Okay, I just wish you'd tell me why." He smiled again to show that whilst it was an issue, she was off the hook for an answer.
She decided her make up was done, and turned to him. She gave him a hug, accompanied by a sigh and then a short kiss.
"I keep telling you, I don't know. I'm sorry." Another sigh, "Come on, let's go and eat."
They set off on the short walk to the restaurant and Iain instinctively picked up Jill's hand. He thought back to one of the first times he'd gone out with Eileen. As they had set off walking he had grabbed hand. She giggled and said that you could always tell who were the married couples and who was having an affair, because the lovers always held hands, and talked all the time. Iain hadn't replied at the time but reflected that that certainly didn't apply to him and Jill. They had always held hands, and certainly were never short of conversation. Maybe it was just a reflection on Eileen's marriage and its break up.
The restaurant was quiet and Jill and Iain got a table in the corner. Jill loved it, with her back to the wall she could people watch to her heart's content. They ordered and as they sipped their drinks he stroked he hand. Just as he had done for over 20 years.
"You know I looked up your... OUR ... problem on the internet yesterday."
She gave him a concerned look:
"What did you Google? 'Why isn't my wife obsessed by sex like me?'"
He ignored the implication that it was him that was the problem.
"It's actually really common. It affects a lot of women and some men too. And I Googled 'Loss of libido in 50s'"
Before she could make a sarcastic comment he went on, still stroking her hand and smiling at her:
"Surprise surprise, it's a complicated issue -- partly physical, partly psychological -- and cases differ."
"So you think I'm a basket case?" Her eyes smiled at him.
"Of course you're a basket case. Why else would you have put up with me for twenty odd years?"
He opened his mouth to continue, but she interrupted:
"Please don't do this. I don't want to see a counsellor. I don't know why I just don't want to do it anymore." She paused and smiled at him. "I keep telling you to go and find someone else."
"And I keep telling you I don't want anyone else."
But before he could continue with the conversation they had repeated more times than he cared to remember, the waiter brought a foursome and sat them at the next table. Iain smiled and winked:
"Saved by the bell ..."
Iain had left for work and Jill had a pretty full, if not particularly strenuous or exciting last day of half term. Next Monday she'd be back at school -- though she only did four days a week since the cuts, and that suited her. Money wasn't a problem for them, and she liked the long weekends that Friday's off gave her. She was just thinking about getting herself showered and dressed when her mobile chirped an incoming message. Anne's request that she meet for coffee was most welcome -- it would break up the day nicely and would fit in with shopping she had to do. She texted back a time and place, and set about getting ready with a lot more enthusiasm. She really enjoyed Anne's company, and was looking forward a good natter with her best friend.
As Jill arrived at the coffee shop, Anne was in the short queue so she took Jill's order and Jill found two comfortable seats at the back of the shop. They sat and caught up for a few minutes, but almost immediately Jill sensed something was worrying Anne. Jill looked at her friend, who'd probably kept in better shape than Jill had, but she just looked a bit worried. Jill decided to take the bull by the horns:
"So, when are you going to tell me?"
Anne looked puzzled:
"Tell you what?"
"Tell me what the hell is worrying you?"
Anne asked if she was really that transparent, but Jill said nothing and just raised her eyebrows.
"It's Paul."
"Oh my God, he's not having an affair is he? Or is he ill?"
"No, no -- nothing like that. At least I'm pretty sure it's nothing like that. I ... erm ... he just doesn't seem to be interested in me anymore?"
"What? You two are great together. He adores you."
"Oh I know, we enjoy each others company, we laugh and joke but ... he's just not interested in me."
Jill just looked at her friend, letting the silence prompt her.
"We haven't done it for ages. And the last time I practically had to force myself on him. I was so desperate I even looked up the problem on the internet."
Oh God, you as well?
Jill's thought was so loud she wondered if she'd actually said it out loud. But Anne went on:
"It's actually quite common apparently."
You don't say!
"I know this is a really personal question but, how often do you and Iain .... you know ..." Anne let the question tail off.
Now it was Anne that was using the silence to get information.
Jill just started to burble "Umms", "errs" and in the end settled for "I don't really know."
"Okay, well, when was the last time you did it?"
Jill couldn't remember a time when she had felt so uncomfortable, but Anne was her friend, her confidante. She took a deep breath, and in a barely audible voice, said:
"I think it was about three years ago ..."
The third bout of silence in the short conversation was not one where someone was waiting for an answer. It was a stunned silence on one part, and a feeling of shame on Jill's behalf. Jill's thoughts raced:
Why should I feel ashamed? Inadequate? It's not my fault .. my body just doesn't want to do it. Why should I force it?
Then she took another deep breath:
"You're right, it is quite common. And actually, more common in women than men. I think Iain googled the same stuff as you."
"Oh you poor thing ..."
Jill half smiled:
"You don't get it do you? Don't feel sorry for me -- it really doesn't worry me -- and that's the problem."
"So Iain is like me?"
Jill nodded.
