I was dating this man, Richard, hes 54, Im 48. We met on a dating site and it all started pretty sweetly, to be fair. Our first date was in this cosy little café, and by the third one, he surprised me on my birthday with a personalised cake. On it, he’d written: To Emily from someone grateful you were born. I mean, wed known each other less than a month at that point.
Richard struck me as generous in a quiet way. Hed bring flowers for no reason whatsoever, suggest a little drive into the countryside just to shake things up, or turn up at my place and fix the leaky tap without making a fuss. Once, he even paid for a bit of redecorating at my mums flat. He ran his own little workshop fixing gadgets and lived on his own.
Youre my family now, Em, he said about eight months in. My sons grown up, my ex moved miles away. Youre all Ive got, really.
And I believed him. How could I not, when he was the sort who said all those sweet things, showed up with cakes and just got his hands dirty fixing things round the house?
Then everything changed. I ended up in hospital for three weeks. At first, I didnt even feel upset Richard had his workshop, he was always busy. First week, I just understood. By the second, though, this uneasy feeling crept in. Third week, it hit me sharp: he wasnt coming.
I shared a ward with Mrs. Edith Turner, a woman in her seventies. Every Saturday, her husband would show up with a big bunch of flowers. Once, she leaned over and asked, So, Emily, whens your chap coming? Havent seen him yet.
Hes got loads on at work, I replied, a bit embarrassed.
She just pushed her glasses up and gave me a kind, sad sort of look. Everyones got work, love. My Henry still works. But he drags himself all the way across town, changes twice on the bus, bad back and all because its just not possible for him not to. Thats how it is, you see? Not just wants to its that he simply couldnt not be here. If a man finds it possible not to come then its possible for him not to stay, too.
Her words sunk in far deeper than anything Id read in self-help books.
I was discharged on a Wednesday. Richard rang that evening.
Emmie, youre home! Shall I pop round on Saturday for a catch-up?
Saturday. In three days. Like I’d just come out of the cinema or something, not spent three weeks on a hospital ward.
No, Richard. Today, please.
He turned up a couple hours later flowers, fruit, that guilty face of his. We sat in my kitchen, and I went straight for it.
Richard, why didnt you come? Not even once.
Em, I called every day.
You did, yes. But you never came. Three weeks, twenty-one days. I had an op, stitches, a fever, I was in a shared ward waiting for you. Youd call in the evening to ask how I was.
He sighed, I honestly meant to come. Works been mad huge jobs, lost a member of staff, Im doing it all. I just didnt have a spare minute.
Three weeks? You couldnt find a single hour? The hospitals only forty minutes by car and its open till eight in the evening. One hour, out of all those days did you really not have that?
He looked down. Emily, youve no idea what state I was in. I worried so much, honestly. But I couldnt leave the workshop.
Couldnt or didnt want to?
He went all quiet. And in that silence, I suddenly saw what Id missed for a year and a half: for Richard, worrying and being there were two totally separate things. And he thought the first could make up for the second.
Look, Em, he finally said softly, I just I cant handle hospitals. Cant sit beside a hospital bed with all the drips and pale faces. It shakes me up. My mum died in hospital and after that, I couldnt step in one for three years. When you rang and said you were admitted, I wanted to come, but every time I tried, I just froze. So I put it off. And then one day became another and, well here we are.
That one sentence just stopped me cold. Not I didnt want to. Not I didnt care. Not I didnt have time. Just I dont know how to be there when things are hard.
Richard, I said, slowly, for all this time youve stayed nearby when alls been good. Cafés, cakes, drives, DIY. When Im healthy and upbeat, no problem. But when it got tough really tough you werent there. You called, but its not the same. Worrying isnt the same as showing up.
I know, and Im sorry.
Youre not a bad man, Richard. Youre just you. Thats almost worse than guilt, because guilts something you can fix. Who you are, though thats not so easy.
That evening, he left. I made myself a cup of tea and thought about Mrs. Turner and her Henry, swapping buses and wincing with his back, but still turning up each Saturday, flowers in hand. He didnt talk about youre my family he just showed up, week in, week out, because being apart just wasnt an option for him.
But for Richard? He managed twenty-one days of absence. And that word, possible, suddenly explained our entire year and a half together.
A week later, Richard texted a long apology promises to change, declarations of love, everything. I read it all and, for the first time, felt nothing.
Because words without actions are like wallpaper with no walls: very pretty, but not somewhere you can actually live.
I never replied. Not from spite, not to get him back. Just because, at last, I saw things clearly. I need a man who comes. Not just someone who calls. Someone wholl walk into the ward with a bag of satsumas, not just dial my number out of routine. Someone who isnt just concerned, but who literally cant stay away.
The scar, by the way, healed up nicely. Mum even reckons I look sunnier than before the op. Maybe because I didnt just lose something from my stomach.
And you know, I cant help but wonder, and I bet a lot of us have been here
Ladies: have you ever had a bloke who cared only from afar? Called, texted but never turned up at the hard moments? Did you forgive it, or was that the end?
Gents: honestly are you the kind who simply cant not go, or are you the type who sticks to a phone call instead of getting in the car?
I dont know how to be there when things are bad is that just an explanation or is it the kiss of death for a relationship?
