One Stupid Call and I End up Alone
1/1
I’ve sat here everyday for the past seven years, from half past one in the afternoon until the sun goes down. I drink and sleep, and then before I leave I always watch the beautiful golden sun be engulfed by the malicious earth that lies below. The time I stay differs, depending on the time of year, but generally I get a good couple of hours kip before returning home to my dreary bungalow on Caulfield Drive. I enjoy sitting in this spot, contemplating existence and generally just relaxing. There is nothing here, except for this lonely table and chair. Green bushes surround my haven, covered with exotically coloured flowers during the summertime, and crisp, white snow during the cold winter months. There is also an oak tree, old but grand, which houses the naive baby birds during spring, and the hedgehogs during their hibernation period, when the elements get too much to bear. I can see the back of a billboard, and as each month passes by it announces the arrival of new gizmos and contraptions an old fool like me would never understand. There are so many things I don’t understand.
Sometimes, when I’m sat here, I’ll think about home. My home, the one on Caulfield Drive. The décor is bearable, but not really to my taste. I haven’t ever got round to decorating since I moved in all those years ago, and so those pastel walls still cry out for a fresh coat of paint, and the mismatching curtains still hang limply on their rails, tired and covered in grime. Just four simple rooms, that’s all I have. In the kitchen the appliances ran out of steam years ago, and the bed in my room creaks as I toss and turn in my troubled sleep. In the lounge, the black and white television blares out the news, every hour a smiling presenter letting me know what I’m missing out on, their permanent grin almost distressing. The tiles in the bathroom are covered in a greenish substance, the edge of the bathtub grimy and dark. That is why I spend so much time in the gardens down my road; it’s not as if I’m expecting anyone. I can’t remember the last time my doorbell rung, and in fact I’m not even sure if it works anymore. It doesn’t really matter, for I live a life of solitude. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my choice.
I have no family. At 63, that’s a sad thing to say, but it’s true. I had no children; my wife was never really the motherly sort. In fact, I can remember her resentment that Christmas when we stayed with her brother, Robert. He’d just had his first baby, a beautiful girl, Lydia. She’d only been around a month or so when December 25th rolled around, so we went round to celebrate Jesus’ birth and Lydia’s too. It was a great laugh, as we played cards, unwrapped Christmas presents and ate more food than we ever thought possible. Pretty standard. Unfortunately, Lydia also consumed more than she could handle. The sick stains never washed out of my dear Trisha’s new dress. Trisha. Even her name brings a tear to my eye. I can remember her in that new dress as well, which I had chosen specially to bring out her beautiful, deep blue eyes. Boy, she looked stunning! But after the puke incident, she vowed never to have children. That was in 1976. We were just 30, young, carefree and happy. How things changed.
When we married, I was just 18. For our honeymoon we travelled to Paris, the city of love. It was all very romantic, and we were most definitely in love. Several years later, I visited again, not with Trisha, but with a group of workmates for a business trip. We stayed in a very flash hotel, with 5 stars, room service, the works. I’d told Trisha that I probably wouldn’t be able to call, but to my surprise there was a free phone call service available as part of my deal, so I decided to surprise her with a call. So, after I’d been to the bar, I sat on the sapphire blue satin sheets and pressed in that all familiar number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Then it went to voice mail. I assumed she had gone out to get some shopping, or maybe to take our dog Goldie for a walk. She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. So I poured myself a glass of sparking white wine, and thought about what I would say. I would ask her about work, then her salsa class that day. I’d see how Goldie was, as she’d been booked for a vet’s appointment that day too. It was amazing how after just one day I had so much to say, but that is what happens when you are in love. After all those years I was still hopelessly in love. Every time I saw her, I fell head over heels again.
After finishing my drink, I tried again. This time, there were three rings, and then a click.
“Hello? Who is this?” said a voice.
It was deep and gravely, quite obviously a man’s voice. Maybe I’d dialed a wrong number, or a different code or something. I was never very good with electronics. I looked at the phone, but to my surprise the number was there, all present and correct. Tilting my head to one side, I looked at the phone, completely baffled. I heard a voice; it took a few seconds to register that it was coming from the receiver in my hand. Once again, I held it to my ear:
“Hello? What do you want? Is this some kind of joke?” the voice asked, getting agitated. I wasn’t sure what to do, as I was still completely confused.
“Marvin, who is it? Give the phone here, I’ll sort it,” I heard a familiar voice say on the other end of the phone. It was Trisha.
“Hello?” she said. I smiled, like I did every time I heard her voice. It was as if, for that split second, everything was okay. My heart was glad, but my head knew something was wrong.
“Trisha? It’s me. Who’s that?” I said worriedly.
Then there was silence. I could hear her breathing, and stutters, but no actual words seemed to come out. I started to panic. Was Trisha in trouble? Hurt? No, she couldn’t be. I remembered her calling the man by name earlier. So who was this Marvin? I thought carefully about all our family friends, but no one with the name Marvin sprang to mind. This was insane, I thought, we must know someone called Marvin. I stood up, pacing the room frantically, racking my brain for the answer. But all my thoughts were jumbled and I couldn’t think straight. I could hear faint whispers coming from the receiver in my hand, but none of them were loud or clear enough to make out.
But then it hit me. I bit my lip, and dropped the phone onto the deep purple carpet, which lay beneath my feet. My heart started pumping faster and faster, my vision blurred and everything started getting darker. My throat felt as if it was closing in, it was as if I could hardly breath. I found my self sat down, as my legs grew to weak to support my body. The whole room started spinning round and round and round, and I felt like I was on a rollercoaster, and I couldn’t get off! I was in a complete state, beside myself with anger and rage at the man, Marvin, who had just broken my world apart. I felt like crying, but I didn’t have the energy too. My head was throbbing. Then everything went black.
When I woke up, just a few seconds later, I saw the phone on the floor and picked it up, shaking. I felt as if I was about to burst into tears, but I didn’t, and to this day I don’t know how I managed it. I cleared my throat, and with all the dignity I could muster I spoke:
“Trisha?” I murmured.
“My darling, my darling, I’m so sorry. I really really am. I will make it up to you I promise. It was just a silly mistake, a silly silly mistake. Please, Bruce, listen to me. Are you there? Marvin means nothing, I promise. Please, please…” she begged, hysterically.
But I knew it was all lies. Suddenly everything went into place. All those days I worked late so we could go on holiday, he was there. That time she “lost the keys”, he was sneaking out the back so I wouldn’t see. Everything I had known throughout our entire marriage was a lie. I was in despair. Why did I have to call? If I’d just left it, I could have pretended it wasn’t happening, kept us happy forever. It was too late now. My wife, who I loved with all my heart, was cheating on me with another man. It all made sense…
I’d been lying to myself for a while now. I’d suspected something, someone, but I always dismissed it, and assuring myself she would never do it. I played dumb. Even if it was true, as long as I didn’t have proof I would be okay, we would be okay. But now nothing would ever be the same. Every time I hugged her, kissed her, I would wonder. Did she really love me? Or was she thinking of Marvin? I could never trust her again, for she had betrayed me. My sweetheart. My one and only. Only now, I knew I had to leave her. I would have to be alone again.
“I’m sorry Trisha, it’s over. When I get back, I’m taking the rest of my things and going. I do love you, but this isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.”
I put down the phone, then I sat on the bed and cried.
Sometimes, when I’m sat here, I’ll think about home. My home, the one on Caulfield Drive. The décor is bearable, but not really to my taste. I haven’t ever got round to decorating since I moved in all those years ago, and so those pastel walls still cry out for a fresh coat of paint, and the mismatching curtains still hang limply on their rails, tired and covered in grime. Just four simple rooms, that’s all I have. In the kitchen the appliances ran out of steam years ago, and the bed in my room creaks as I toss and turn in my troubled sleep. In the lounge, the black and white television blares out the news, every hour a smiling presenter letting me know what I’m missing out on, their permanent grin almost distressing. The tiles in the bathroom are covered in a greenish substance, the edge of the bathtub grimy and dark. That is why I spend so much time in the gardens down my road; it’s not as if I’m expecting anyone. I can’t remember the last time my doorbell rung, and in fact I’m not even sure if it works anymore. It doesn’t really matter, for I live a life of solitude. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my choice.
I have no family. At 63, that’s a sad thing to say, but it’s true. I had no children; my wife was never really the motherly sort. In fact, I can remember her resentment that Christmas when we stayed with her brother, Robert. He’d just had his first baby, a beautiful girl, Lydia. She’d only been around a month or so when December 25th rolled around, so we went round to celebrate Jesus’ birth and Lydia’s too. It was a great laugh, as we played cards, unwrapped Christmas presents and ate more food than we ever thought possible. Pretty standard. Unfortunately, Lydia also consumed more than she could handle. The sick stains never washed out of my dear Trisha’s new dress. Trisha. Even her name brings a tear to my eye. I can remember her in that new dress as well, which I had chosen specially to bring out her beautiful, deep blue eyes. Boy, she looked stunning! But after the puke incident, she vowed never to have children. That was in 1976. We were just 30, young, carefree and happy. How things changed.
When we married, I was just 18. For our honeymoon we travelled to Paris, the city of love. It was all very romantic, and we were most definitely in love. Several years later, I visited again, not with Trisha, but with a group of workmates for a business trip. We stayed in a very flash hotel, with 5 stars, room service, the works. I’d told Trisha that I probably wouldn’t be able to call, but to my surprise there was a free phone call service available as part of my deal, so I decided to surprise her with a call. So, after I’d been to the bar, I sat on the sapphire blue satin sheets and pressed in that all familiar number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Then it went to voice mail. I assumed she had gone out to get some shopping, or maybe to take our dog Goldie for a walk. She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. So I poured myself a glass of sparking white wine, and thought about what I would say. I would ask her about work, then her salsa class that day. I’d see how Goldie was, as she’d been booked for a vet’s appointment that day too. It was amazing how after just one day I had so much to say, but that is what happens when you are in love. After all those years I was still hopelessly in love. Every time I saw her, I fell head over heels again.
After finishing my drink, I tried again. This time, there were three rings, and then a click.
“Hello? Who is this?” said a voice.
It was deep and gravely, quite obviously a man’s voice. Maybe I’d dialed a wrong number, or a different code or something. I was never very good with electronics. I looked at the phone, but to my surprise the number was there, all present and correct. Tilting my head to one side, I looked at the phone, completely baffled. I heard a voice; it took a few seconds to register that it was coming from the receiver in my hand. Once again, I held it to my ear:
“Hello? What do you want? Is this some kind of joke?” the voice asked, getting agitated. I wasn’t sure what to do, as I was still completely confused.
“Marvin, who is it? Give the phone here, I’ll sort it,” I heard a familiar voice say on the other end of the phone. It was Trisha.
“Hello?” she said. I smiled, like I did every time I heard her voice. It was as if, for that split second, everything was okay. My heart was glad, but my head knew something was wrong.
“Trisha? It’s me. Who’s that?” I said worriedly.
Then there was silence. I could hear her breathing, and stutters, but no actual words seemed to come out. I started to panic. Was Trisha in trouble? Hurt? No, she couldn’t be. I remembered her calling the man by name earlier. So who was this Marvin? I thought carefully about all our family friends, but no one with the name Marvin sprang to mind. This was insane, I thought, we must know someone called Marvin. I stood up, pacing the room frantically, racking my brain for the answer. But all my thoughts were jumbled and I couldn’t think straight. I could hear faint whispers coming from the receiver in my hand, but none of them were loud or clear enough to make out.
But then it hit me. I bit my lip, and dropped the phone onto the deep purple carpet, which lay beneath my feet. My heart started pumping faster and faster, my vision blurred and everything started getting darker. My throat felt as if it was closing in, it was as if I could hardly breath. I found my self sat down, as my legs grew to weak to support my body. The whole room started spinning round and round and round, and I felt like I was on a rollercoaster, and I couldn’t get off! I was in a complete state, beside myself with anger and rage at the man, Marvin, who had just broken my world apart. I felt like crying, but I didn’t have the energy too. My head was throbbing. Then everything went black.
When I woke up, just a few seconds later, I saw the phone on the floor and picked it up, shaking. I felt as if I was about to burst into tears, but I didn’t, and to this day I don’t know how I managed it. I cleared my throat, and with all the dignity I could muster I spoke:
“Trisha?” I murmured.
“My darling, my darling, I’m so sorry. I really really am. I will make it up to you I promise. It was just a silly mistake, a silly silly mistake. Please, Bruce, listen to me. Are you there? Marvin means nothing, I promise. Please, please…” she begged, hysterically.
But I knew it was all lies. Suddenly everything went into place. All those days I worked late so we could go on holiday, he was there. That time she “lost the keys”, he was sneaking out the back so I wouldn’t see. Everything I had known throughout our entire marriage was a lie. I was in despair. Why did I have to call? If I’d just left it, I could have pretended it wasn’t happening, kept us happy forever. It was too late now. My wife, who I loved with all my heart, was cheating on me with another man. It all made sense…
I’d been lying to myself for a while now. I’d suspected something, someone, but I always dismissed it, and assuring myself she would never do it. I played dumb. Even if it was true, as long as I didn’t have proof I would be okay, we would be okay. But now nothing would ever be the same. Every time I hugged her, kissed her, I would wonder. Did she really love me? Or was she thinking of Marvin? I could never trust her again, for she had betrayed me. My sweetheart. My one and only. Only now, I knew I had to leave her. I would have to be alone again.
“I’m sorry Trisha, it’s over. When I get back, I’m taking the rest of my things and going. I do love you, but this isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.”
I put down the phone, then I sat on the bed and cried.