Olivia, Im sorry to bother you at this hour, but I need to tell you something. My wife died in a crash last night can you let me in? Simon staggers in, reeking of whisky, his words slurred.
Im hit like a splash of cold water. Even though weve been at each others throats for a month, I let him into my flat. All our arguments look like nonsense now, the petty squabbles meaningless.
Simon, what happened? Speak, dont shut up, I say, already feeling responsible for his loss. After all, we were lovers.
Without a word, Simon drags me to the bed. I dont fight; I just want to calm him, to hold him, to help him forget for a moment. I keep silent about how selfish, reckless, and selfcentred hes been. Its not the time.
The night rushes past in a blur of sleeplessness. In the morning I rouse Simon with great effort. He cant remember a thing.
Olivia, why am I here? We were fighting, he asks, genuinely baffled.
I dont remind him why he knocked on my door, assuming his drunken ramblings are just nonsense. Then his phone rings, flashing the name Beryl. That was the nickname he used for his wife.
Simon drops the call and looks at me, guilt flashing across his face, as if something is finally coming back.
Youre an idiot, I snap. You buried your wife yesterday and youve forgotten it? How can you joke about this? Get out, you wretch! I shove him out the door.
I never see him again.
Since I turned twenty Ive lived alone; my parents died one after another. I never rushed into marriage, even though suitors swarmed me like bees on honey. Some were stingy, some generous, some already married.
With Simon I lasted longer than anyone else, simply because I fell deeply in love. I knew he had a family, but I also saw him as a natural actor, able to spin lies and fantasies as if they were nothing. He showered me with extravagant roses, lavish gifts, wild nights, yet always kept Beryl in his thoughts. I never minded if he had other mistresses his appetite for love seemed endless. He was a smoothtalking Lothario, and that was all he was.
While my friends settled down, had children, I kept seeing Simon, aware that there was no future with him. He would never leave his family, so we fought more often over everything and nothing.
Finally, his last stunt puts an end to our slippery, fragile relationship. I am free again, searching for an unknown happiness.
Ian then drifts into my life. He lives in a tiny village but works in the city. We meet on the commuter train Im heading to my aunts, hes going home from work. He sits next to me, we chat, exchange numbers. He seems decent, and most importantly he isnt married. We start seeing each other.
If I compare Ian to Simon, its night and day. Ian is frugal, blunt, a little rough around the edges. I accept his flaws; Im not getting any younger. He invites me to his village:
Mum wants to meet you.
Whats there to meet when Im already pregnant? I should be preparing for the wedding, smoothing my veil
We arrive at Ians cottage. The table groans under a spread of hearty country food. I cant look at anything; my stomach turns. I start feeling sick. Ians mother, eyeing me disapprovingly, tells Ian:
Son, put the guest on the verandah, let her rest, then get back to the table.
Ians mother barely notices me any longer.
The next day Ian silently sees me off at the train station and returns to his mother, who clearly dislikes me. I rush the wedding plans, but they never come to fruition.
Before I reach home, Im rushed to hospital. I suffer a miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my distraught state, says gently:
Dont worry, love. If the baby was going to be unwell, its better this way than to suffer a lifetime with a sick child.
Honestly, I think, Fine, Ian wasnt meant for me. Hell be fine with his mother. I end the breakup calmly, without regret.
One of my former schoolmates, Ethan, also passed through my life. He chased after me from the schoolyard, and I kept him as a backup option, flirting enough to keep his interest. He proposed, but I stayed silent.
Eventually Ethan marries a woman with a child, and they have a son together. Ten years later he turns up, apologising profusely:
Olivia, I rushed into marriage and now I want a divorce.
He keeps complaining about his wifes temperament, incompatibility, lifes disharmony. I nod, listen to his sighs, give him warmth. One day he bursts in, beaming:
Olivia, Ive just had a second baby! Congratulations!
Congratulations! Say hi to your wife! Leave, Ethan, forever! I choke back tears. That night I weep into my pillow, the tears bitter as ever.
In school my best friend was Charlotte. Everything seemed to go right for her a good husband, a daughter, a comfortable life. I envied her. Her husband, Mark, never attracted me; his style wasnt my taste. I often visited Charlottes house; she ignored Mark completely. We laughed and talked about everything and nothing.
One afternoon Charlotte drops a bombshell:
Olivia, Im in love! Ive lost my mind. Hes married, has two kids.
I tell her:
Forget it, Charlotte. Why ruin your family and his? What are you missing, love? Youre already happy. Dont go after a married man.
She sobs, I cant live without Dorian, Ill give up everything for him!
I try to reason, but shes already drifting away. We part, and she never calls again.
Months later, Mark shows up at my door unexpectedly:
Hi, Olivia. How are you? Still single?
I reply, Whats the rush? Marriage can wait. What brings you here?
He says Charlotte left me, Mark sighs sadly.
I feel sorry for the abandoned husband, so we talk all night, and eventually we spend the night together. He stays with me for six months; for me it feels like happiness. How could Charlotte reject such a perfect man? Why trade a loving Mark for a womaniser? I cant understand.
Mark never proposes, and he leaves as abruptly as he arrived when a new colleague appears at work a woman seven years older with a teenage daughter. He marries her, and theyve been together for twenty years.
Charlotte eventually marries Dorian, and they say their love is genuine. I dont believe in the painless theft of happiness; both families have suffered because of that otherworldly romance.
I havent seen my former friend for over twenty years.
People ask how Im doing. Ive spent my life mending broken, wounded, wilted wings, feeling sorry for everyone. The men eventually fly back to their wives, and time keeps slipping away.
As my grandmother used to say:
Every girl has her season; it will fade.
My season has arrived. The carousel of my life has halted. No princes wait at my window any longer. I adopt a pedigree cat for company, a confidante, because Im still single, childless, and my plans never materialised.
