Im thirty-eight and for two years now, Ive been sharing a flat with a man five years my senior. Benjamin was married before, has two children, and a jobless ex-wife who rings him up every evening to ask for money or a favour.
Ive never been married and I dont have any children of my own. You might say I know nothing about children or family life. No, I do understand, and I also know it isnt quite right to live with a woman while acting as if youre still married to another, especially if you keep running back to her whenever she calls.
Benjamins ex-wife, Harriet, seems keen to have him back. Daily, she telephones with some new crisis. As soon as Benjamin clocks off from work, he dashes off to rescue her and the children, not coming home until well after dark. We dont even get to spend Christmas just the two of us, with mince pies and fairy lightsyet again the phone rings, and yet again some emergency erupts.
But why must Benjamin drop everything and go? His whole family, his mates, theyre all living close by. Its quite clear, isnt it: Harriet wants her husband returned. Im fed up with the whole thing. Yet what am I to dowalk away? Talking to him about it only leads nowhere, words tumbling through the air like autumn leaves, drifting off and settling with no change at all.
The dream goes in circlesBenjamin slips through my fingers like dry English sand, the phone ringing with that same exhausted chime, the kettle forever boiling, mince pies uneaten. I remain, lost in a suburb not quite my own, searching for something solid in this mist.
