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Chapter Three
Today was the day. Ithadto be. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer.
We were now in February and I’d been back from France almost a week, yet I still hadn’t done it. I knew I had to end my relationship with Rich, but it just never seemed to be the right time.
If I did it in the morning, then I could ruin his entire day. And what if he got upset, jumped in the car, drove to work and had an accident? I couldn’t live with myself.
I considered having the talk on Tuesday, but he had that pitch to redesign a new library in North London. I knew how much work went into the pitching process, so doing it then, when he really needed to focus, would be just plain evil.
I’d thought about Wednesday night too, but then I’d got back late from a client dinner. Plus, my mum always said never to go to bed on an argument, and surely we’d argue about it somehow. Or perhaps I’d say I wanted to end it and he’d say:‘Brilliant! You took the words right out of my mouth—I’m sooo relieved you feel the same way!’No. I doubted that would happen.
That was the other thing. Thewords. How to say it. I hadn’t had much practice at ending relationships. Well, personal ones anyway.
Whilst I was a high achiever academically and professionally, I hadn’t had a huge amount of experience with men. And less so with ending relationships, hence my apprehension.
Much like how I was all about work now, before Rich, I was all about the studying. Getting straight A’s for my GCSEs, then for my A-levels and going on to secure a first-class French degree at UCL didn’t just happen. I had to put in the hours. Which hadn’t left much time for men.
I had a few boyfriends at college. Nothing that lasted more than a couple of months, though. Then a three-year relationship with Kevin when I was about eighteen, which had ended when I’d got back from living in France and he dumped me.
So it had been a while since I’d had to go through ending a personal relationship. And even then, I think I only ever dumped one guy. Carl Curtis when I was seventeen, who I’d been going out with for all of six weeks, when his insensitive housemate told me on the bus one afternoon whilst I was travelling back from my Saturday job working in Boots that they’d been sleeping together. When I’d confronted him later that evening, screaming ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking Debbie?’ he’d casually replied, ‘Because you didn’t ask.’ Bastard! It hadn’t been difficult to end things with him.
Rich was a different kettle of fish altogether. I’d known him half of my life. We’d been partners for fifteen years. As much as I knew it was the right thing to do, because in truth, our relationship had been broken for years, it was hard not to be sentimental.
He’d been so supportive. And he’d put up with a lot of crap from me. It wasn’t all his fault that our relationship had gone down the toilet. I had to take at least fifty percent of the blame—perhaps more. I was always working, or busy or exhausted, so would often push him away when he tried to make advances. And then I suppose after a while, he got tired of trying. So when I did instigate things again, I got why he might not have been so enthusiastic. He was busy with his work too. Plus he’s very much a creature of habit. Probably happy to do the same thing, eat the same food and follow the same routine for the rest of his life. But that’s not what I wanted.
Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint how and exactly when these things start to go wrong, but it’s like weeds. It might start with just one. But leave it unattended, and that one multiplies. They spread like wildfire and before you know it, they’ve taken over the entire garden.
I knew I needed to end it, but how do you do that sensitively to minimise the level of pain felt by someone you really care about? That’s why, for the past week, I’d been mentally rehearsing how best to phrase it:
We have to end it?
It’s time to end our relationship?
I think we need to move on?
None of them seemed quite right. Then I remembered what I always said to my team: keep it simple. Get your point across and then stay quiet. Don’t ramble on. Be succinct. So I’d settled on two simple words: It’s over.
Then I’d practised my delivery. Like I would for a new business pitch. Trying to perfect the intonation of the words and my facial expressions. I needed to convey sadness, but also sincerity and conviction. Get across the fact that it had to be done and I was sorry about it, but no matter how much he tried to change my mind, I would remain steadfast and stick to my decision.
So here we are. After not finding the right time on Thursday or Friday either, it was now a cold, grey Saturday morning—the weekend. Which surely had to be a much better time to do it anyway. No work to worry about (well, maybe a little, but neither of us were compelled to go into the office today) and at least thirty-six hours to feel like shit before having to drag ourselves back out to the real world again on Monday morning.
Rich had been out late last night with his friends and had slept in, so I’d woken up at 8 a.m., showered, then gone for a walk on Clapham Common to get my thoughts together and psych myself up. Now I was on my way back home, I was hoping Rich would be making himself a fry-up or maybe sitting in front of the TV and we could have this very difficult conversation calmly…
I shut the front door gently behind me and poked my head into the living room. There was no sign of Rich, so I headed to the kitchen. He wasn’t there either. The house was eerily silent.He’s got to be here, though, because his keys are still on the glass table in the hallway. Perhaps he’s upstairs?
I padded up the steps and headed for the bedroom.It’s gone 11 a.m. He can’t still be sleeping?I opened the door.The bed’s been made, so…
I heard the shower in the en suite switch off. Oh, there he was. Perhaps I’d just wait in the kitchen. Maybe I’d make him breakfast. Soften the blow a little. As I turned around, ready to go back downstairs, I heard the en suite door open.
‘Morning, Soph!’ Rich said, flashing me a smile as he finished tying the towel around his waist.
Shit. I need to do it. If I don’t say it right now, I’ll bottle it.
‘Soph, what’s up?’ he said, frowning.
I froze. I needed to say it. Actually, he’d just asked me how I was. So that could be the perfect in. By saying it’s over, I’d be telling himexactlywhat was up.Do it.
Do itnow!
