“Okay.” Libby swallowed. “So, Simon had suggested we go out for dinner last night to this new Italian place. I thought it was a bit strange, because we usually have takeaway on a Friday, and we haven’t been out for a meal for ages. But he’d booked the table, so I got dressed up and out we went.”
“And?”
“We had a nice meal, but I could tell Simon was distracted—he kept checking his phone and he went to the toilet three times. I thought...” She trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud.
“What?”
Libby closed her eyes and she was back there, watching Simon across the candlelit table, the way he was chewing his thumbnail as he did when he was nervous. The bubble of excitement that had risen in her throat as it occurred to her what this meant.
“Lib?”
“I thought he was about to propose,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Oh my god!”
“I know.” Libby felt the emotion coming up again, and she took a breath to push it back down. “But it turns out he wasn’t working out how to propose to me. He was working out how to break up with me.”
“The total bastard,” Rebecca said, with a little too much relish. “What did he say?”
“He said that he still loved me but he’s been unhappy for awhile. That things have got stale and he’s been questioning whether he wants to be in a relationship anymore. He said he thought it was best to be honest and tell me how he felt, rather than—what did he say?—‘suffer in silence any longer.’ ”
“And why did he take you to a romantic restaurant to tell you all of this?”
“He said he thought it was easier. That at home I’d have got upset, but he knew I’d never make a scene in front of other diners.”
“I have to give it to him—that’s some Machiavelli-level planning,” Rebecca said, shaking her head in admiration. “And you really thought he was going to propose?”
“We’d always said we’d get engaged when we turned thirty, and my birthday’s soon, so...”
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Rebecca said. “This is a classic midlife crisis.”
“At thirty?”
“Men do all sorts of weird things around big birthdays. Tom wanted to get a motorbike when he turned forty; I didn’t let him, of course, but this is exactly the same. They freak out about getting older and less virile, and feel they need to do something radical.”
“He seemed pretty serious about it,” Libby said.
I’m so sorry,Simon had mumbled, not meeting her eye across the tiramisu.I can’t help feeling there should be more to a relationship than this... Our life has become so organized and predictable... I miss spontaneity.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Rebecca stood up and walked across to the kettle.
“Simon said he needs some time to figure out what he wants... a break, he said. And I was so thrown by it all thatI agreed to move out for a bit, to give him space. But I’m thinking maybe that was a bad idea.”
“No, I think that’s a good plan. Give Simon one week of living on his own and he’ll see what a mistake he’s making.”
“But what if he doesn’t? What if—”
Libby was interrupted by a loud roaring sound as Rebecca turned on the coffee grinder. There was no such thing as instant coffee in this house; every cup was hand brewed—a process that took ages. Simon used to find it hilarious, watching the palaver Rebecca and Tom went through to make a simple hot drink, and would always try to catch Libby’s eye to make her laugh too. At the memory, Libby felt a stab in her chest. They were a team, she and Simon, always there for each other, especially around their crazy families. How could he want out?
“What were you saying?” Rebecca said, when the grinding had finished.
“I said, what if he really is serious? What if it’s not some midlife crisis and he actually wants to end it?”
“Come on, you two have been together for eight years. He’s not going to throw it all away just like that. He’ll see sense.”
“And if he does, do you think I should go back to him? I mean, what if he does this again in another few years’ time—how can I ever trust him again?”
“Of course you can trust him. This is Simon—the man is hardly Casanova. I swear, this is just some silly little blip, and in a few weeks’ time, you’ll be back in your little home, watching TV together like the pair of boring old farts you are.”
