New Year's Resolution

Part Nine

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Part Nine

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One Saturday evening, sometime after John had gone back to work, they were sitting watching the BBC's campy version of Robin Hood together. Spare time was often spent lazily in this way, because while they felt uncomfortable about going out to places like a real couple, they also did not find their routines from their old lives particularly relishing. Watching silly but fun children's shows was apparently a comfortable middle ground, in their minds.

John was firmly on the side of Robin and the outlaws because of their noble objective to achieve justice, and Margaret was just as firmly sympathetic to the brooding baddie Sir Guy of Gisborne, mainly because of his tight leather outfit and general gorgeousness. John couldn't comprehend what she saw in Gisborne, but while Margaret would never admit as much out loud, Sir Guy actually reminded her a lot of a bad-boy version of John. He would be horrified if he knew – as soon as he'd found out that Sir Guy was Margaret's favourite character, he had become John's least favourite and to be in anyway compared to the leather-clad master-at-arms would in all probability be regarded as the worst of insults.

Margaret loved these lazy evenings with John, but she had been plagued, especially of late, about thoughts of the divorce. What did their changed situation mean with regards to that? John had not mentioned anything about it, and it had been some time since things had changed, but she was living on tenterhooks, and she needed to know what was going on. Had he quietly initiated the proceedings already? Would a day come when he would tell her that he wanted his house back to himself?

Taking her chance at a lull in the show as the outlaws planned to break into the castle for the billionth time, she turned to him. 'John, I wanted to talk to you; about the divorce –'

At her voice he had turned, and his initially curious expression flickered, and for a moment something like anguish passed across his features. However, it was gone so quickly that Margaret thought she must have imagined it, for the next moment his face was expressionless and his eyes unreadable. 'Of course,' he said impassively, turning back to the TV screen. 'I'll initiate the proceedings.'

Previously they had been sitting on the couch close enough for their shoulders to be touching, but now John had carefully shifted so that there was space between them. His attention was now wholly absorbed by Robin's audacious (and rather predictable) break-in to the castle dungeons.

Margaret could feel the sting of tears forming in her eyes. She had been about to put into words what had been her feeling for some time now – the feeling that this arrangement, their being together, was just so right. This would probably then have led to the conviction that she had now formed in her mind, that there had never been anything more right. That she did not want to leave.

Perhaps he had anticipated what she had been about to say, and that was why he had hurried to head her off. Of course – he must have divined the change in her wishes and had not mentioned anything to spare her feelings; or perhaps he even thought she was only trying to stay with him for his money. In any case it was obvious that he would be glad to be rid of her, and in the face of such rejection she was not brave enough to tell him how she felt.

Excusing herself from the living room, she made her way to her own room before the tears spilled over the brim of her eyelids and became noticeable. Once in her room she proceeded with the task she had set for herself, feverishly packing a suitcase with her belongings, stopping now and then to impatiently swipe away the tears that would keep on coming, despite all her resolutions not to cry. She was determined that if John did not want her around, then she would not stay any longer than necessary. She would not burden him with her presence, especially as she knew that staying for much longer without revealing her heartbreak and making him uncomfortable was manifestly impossible.

Once her belongings were packed, she sat down at the desk to write. If she could not get up the courage to tell John to his face, she was determined that he would know somehow. And so it was that with many false starts and crumpled missives rejected, she churned out a letter. In it she gave the explanation for her necessary departure and poured out her heart to him, telling him what she could not bring herself to tell in person.

Finally, three hours after she had begun, she was finished, and she sealed it in an envelope with his name on it. The next morning after John had left for work, she slipped the letter under the loose floorboard for him to find when he sent off the divorce papers. Then quietly she gathered up her suitcase, relinquished her door key and left with many a backward glance.

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