La douleur exquise - (French) The relentless heartbreak that comes with wanting someone you cannot have.
The neatly typed, double-spaced page on the market's community bulletin board is simple enough.
FLATMATE WANTED
Professional looking for person to share flat.
Large, sunny bedroom, private bath, all house privileges, off street parking.
£950/mo, one month deposit req.
There is a row of tearable numbers at the bottom, none of which had been taken. It's too good to be true. The neighbourhood she covets, the perfect price point, private bath, parking…
She tears off one of the phone number chits and walks away, then stops and rips the whole sheet off the wall. She wants to stack her odds.
He sounds like a nice fellow over the phone, and despite her trepidations about renting from a strange man, she rings the bell at precisely three o'clock, as promised. He is a bit older and has kind eyes and an unassuming manner. They make awkward introductions and he sets about showing her the entire house, three stories and a little private garden out back. Her eyes are as big as tea saucers as she takes it all in, and any hesitation she has is gone when he shows her the converted attic bedroom that would be hers. She twirls and smiles in the late afternoon sunshine that pours through the windows and she realizes that she's just found his new home.
They discuss terms of the arrangement over afternoon tea as well as give a few details about themselves. He is an accountant at a large firm, she is a paralegal at a small one. He is recently divorced, hence the need for a flatmate, she needs to vacate her current place because her friend and flatmate is getting married. The talk is easy between them, and by the time dinner rolls around, he offers to cook for her, and she's happy to stay a little while longer. It will be her home in a two weeks, after all.
They don't discuss guests, short or long term. They're both adults and can handle being respectful of the other's social lives.
Or so they think.
It is pissing down rain when he helps her carry the last of her boxes into the building, and he grumbles a little at the odds of a rare afternoon storm this time of the year.
For her part, Anna is apologetic, having tried to convince him that he needn't put himself out for her. He ignored her with the same roguish smile that he wore when she agreed to take the room. He would be attractive and charming if she wasn't determined to keep a very firm line between them.
The room is cheerful and perfect for her purposes, and he even helps her paint it the next weekend. She cooks dinner for them both her first night, he the second, and they reach an understanding that they will try to do this at least once a week. It's a good way to maintain a healthy relationship with one's flatmate, they reason.
They get along well together. He asks for her advice in decorating the place, wanting to erase any touches that his ex wife left. A few of her favourite art prints find their way throughout the house. They tackle improvement projects together. She helps with the small garden out back. She learns how he likes his tea and coffee and he learns how to cook her favourite dishes. Their Netflix queues become so entangled that they decide to just make one big list between them. He accompanies her to Gwen's wedding, and she accompanies him to his uncle's funeral. It's what friends do.
Three months after she moves in, John texts her to ask if they would have enough dinner for a guest. Anna is perfectly fine with this development, eager to meet another one of his friends, at least until 'Jamie from work' turns out to be a stunning brunette with a seductive smile and bedroom eyes. Anna is polite and as engaging as possible, but she can see very early on that she's the third wheel at the dinner table. She excuses herself and silently cleans up, despite John's protests and offers to help. She waves him off and tells him to go watch the movie that Jamie has put on the telly in the living room.
She tries not to notice two sets of footsteps on the stairs that night before his bedroom door closes and locks.
"You're quiet this morning," John says over his coffee as Anna goes about packing her lunch.
"Am I?" Anna asks quickly, frowning and not meeting his eyes.
John hums cheerfully and grabs an apple from the basket on the counter. At least they don't have company for breakfast this morning. He crunches into the apple loudly and speaks around a mouthful. "So what did you think of Jamie?" he asks in a mumble.
Anna smiles politely as she places the turkey sandwich into her bag. Lunch would have been the lemon chicken pesto from last night, but John threw a wrench in those plans. "She seems quite lovely," she replies, perhaps a little too fast, too rehearsed.
"We're going out again tonight," John says, happily oblivious. He is walking around barefoot and in a t-shirt and old jeans, having decided to go in late today, on account of a lack of sleep. "So you won't have to worry about us for dinner."
"I didn't know I was to be worried again."
To his credit, he looks properly chastised. "That's not what I…"
Anna pats his arm and gives him a patronizing smile. "Don't worry, John," she says, the words a little bitter on her tongue. "I'll be late at work tonight anyway. I probably won't be home until after ten."
Before he can say anything, she grabs her bags and dashes out the door.
It is nine-thirty when she arrives home to a dark house, which she is glad of. That means that they hadn't come back and she can avoid all of the awkwardness that would ensue. She turns on every light downstairs as she reads her mail, then goes to sit down in the living room to watch the evening news.
Then she hears it. Above her head is a very distinct and rhythmic squeaking sound.
"Oh, for God's sake," Anna hisses, blushing furiously. She quickly gets up and turns the lights out, grabbing her keys and walking out the door. It's her own fault, really, for coming home earlier than she'd said.
She sits in her car for the next twenty minutes until she sees the light above the front door turn on, then averts her eyes when John kisses Jamie goodbye on the stoop. He doesn't see her parked car just out of his line of vision, and Anna makes sure she's hidden from view when Jamie goes to her own car.
Anna waits a few minutes, swallows the lump in her throat, and goes inside, prepared to see John and muster up the courage to ask how his evening was.
He's already gone to bed. And she's thankful for that.
John continues to see Jamie for the next few weeks, and Anna continues to stay out as late as possible every evening. She works late at the office. She volunteers to watch George for Mary and Matthew. She finds herself binge-watching DVD box sets with Gwen and her new husband.
The weekly dinners and trips to the store together are forgotten. Her friend and flatmate has become only the latter.
He comes home one night close to midnight as she's getting ready for bed and tentatively raps on her bedroom door. "Do you have a few minutes?" he asks softly through the barrier.
Anna opens the door and lets him in and can instantly see that something is wrong. His face is dark and his shoulders bowed. He offers without her asking. "Jamie and I are done," he explains with a shrug. "She's taken a position in Manchester."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she lies easily. She brightens for his benefit. "Maybe you can do a long distance relationship," Anna says, perhaps too cheerfully. Her heart has lept at the news, and she's afraid of why.
He only frowns and shakes his head in defeat. "It wasn't a relationship, after all," he says quietly after a moment of reflection. "Not that sort at least. She, uhh, she asked me to write her a recommendation letter for what I thought was a position within our own office. Now I know why she asked me out for drinks that first night."
Anna would be shocked if she wasn't expecting it. "Oh," is all she says.
"Yeah."
The silence is thick and heavy between them, until John cracks a smile. "So dinner's on me tomorrow night," he says. "I'll make your favourite. Don't work too late."
Anna beams despite herself. "I won't."
She shouldn't be happy for his heartache, but she is.
She is not a nun during all of this, she has to admit. She runs into an old flame from uni on at the market a few Saturdays later and ends up going back to his place. They spend the afternoon in bed and she is happy for the company and the release of tension. But that's all it is, and they're both aware of it. She kisses him goodbye over the threshold of his apartment and drives home, arriving after dark carrying her bag of groceries into the kitchen.
John is waiting up for her, his worried expression turning to relief. "I was about to call the constabulary," he quips. His fingers toy with the stem of a wine glass.
She blushes hotly and covers her eyes with one hand to hide. "I'm sorry," she says. "I ran into an old friend...an ex, really. We ended up back at his place for a while."
"Oh."
That one word carries so much emotion and weight. He suddenly looks older and more tired than his forty-one years.
"Well, I'm glad you had a good day," he adds quietly, standing up from the kitchen table where he had waited for her all evening, his phone and car keys sitting out and ready. He helps her put away the groceries, neither of them saying a word.
They are out of sync.
"I'll head on up," Anna says, feeling the tension in the air suddenly. "It was a long day."
"I imagine," John says brusquely. "Goodnight, Anna."
She shouldn't feel ashamed. She is not his. He is not hers. But she burns with guilt nonetheless.
She stops staying out late, for the most part. She doesn't want him to worry. There is a slight edge to their conversations, but they're returning to normal slowly. Then two weeks later, she arrives home at dinnertime to find a tall redhead raiding their refrigerator.
"Anna Smith, this is Hilda…" John trails off, his eyes widening in panic.
"Kirtchner," the woman offers, with John repeating it in a whisper to remind himself. She looks Anna up and down. "Flatmate?"
"Yes," Anna says with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.
The woman is dismissive and John gives Anna an apologetic look. Anna rolls her eyes and goes about making herself a single serving meal. John and Hilda retreat to the living room and Anna misses her favourite show that evening.
The next night, Hilda is there again, and Anna decides to go to the cinema. Alone.
John doesn't seem to notice.
Anna begins taking dinner to work as well her lunch. On nights when she doesn't stay at the office late, she goes shopping. She goes to the gym. She takes yoga classes. Mary and Gwen and Ethel become her alibis and her crutches.
They notice.
Hilda quickly gives way to Lucy, who doesn't stick around long either, and is replaced by Myra. Myra is the only one who ever stays overnight. Anna makes sure not to come into the house until after ten on the nights when she knows Myra will be there, hoping that they've finished whatever they're doing. Despite her avoidance, sometimes she hears them in John's bedroom late at night.
She hasn't spent any time with John in almost a month, other than in passing. She leaves for work at six in the morning, before he's awake, and gets home at midnight, after he's gone to bed. She takes naps in her office when she needs to. She showers at the gym and begins picking up breakfast on the way into the office.
He has someone who he smiles at over dinner now, who curls up on the couch with him the evening, who shares his bed, and knows him in the Biblical sense. Anna imagines these things are happening, at least. She wouldn't know. She's never home to see for herself.
She likes Myra. She really does. She also envies her.
She realizes this with an electric shock and an arrow to her throat.
She's been living with John for almost a year now, and he's shared his bed with other women for about half of that time. She has no right to judge him. She herself has seen her ex three times in that span, and they certainly did more than just talk. She even had him over there once, just after he laments his failure with Hilda. He saw her sneaking him into her room late at night, but said nothing.
It is during their fourth rendezvous that Anna whispers John instead of Owen in the heat of passion.
She is too mortified to ever see Owen again.
Anna runs into Phyllis at Tesco one Sunday morning. Joe isn't with her, which she's glad of. She likes Phyllis's husband well enough, but he's an old friend of John's from uni, and she doesn't want to be reminded of him at the moment. Still, she falls into easy conversation with the other woman, and they end up heading to a cafe down the road for lunch.
"Joe tells me he almost never sees John anymore," Phyllis says over her cuppa.
Anna presses her lips together and looks out onto the street, wishing she could just blink outside and be gone. "Neither do I," she admits. "I've been working a lot." It's both a lie and a truth, and it burns. Her hours haven't changed, only her routine. She goes on, in a rush. "John has a sort of new girlfriend that he brings home a lot, so I try to stay out of their way."
Phyllis regards her with a frown. "You live there too," she says. "You shouldn't feel forced from your home."
"Well I do," Anna almost snaps. Her tone creases Phyllis's face even deeper. "I don't want to be there when he's with her."
She must have said it in either the right or wrong way, because Phyllis suddenly sits back in her seat, her eyes wide. "Oh, Anna," she whispers.
"What?"
Phyllis sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, a mannerism she must have picked up from Joe. They're so in sync, the two of them, and Anna used to find it charming. "Are you jealous?" she asks. "Of John and his girlfriend?"
"No!" Anna says quickly, her stomach lurching. "I most certainly am not."
"You're avoiding going home at night so you don't have to see them together."
Anger rises in her, and her bowl of soup and small salad are completely forgotten now as the waitress brings it to the table. "I'm not avoiding going home, I'm giving them space." This is the lie she tells herself every night, now given voice. "He's been going from girl to girl since his divorce. He dates one for a little while and then breaks up with her, saying they're all wrong for him."
"Maybe he's not looking for anything serious."
"That's the thing," Anna goes on before she can stop herself. Her face burns hotly. "He says he is. He's heartbroken every time one of them leaves. He mopes about for a few days and we end up watching terrible romantic comedies late at night until he feels better. We go back to having dinner together at night and he goes on about not knowing what he saw in the last one. He wants to know why he can't find a nice girl when all he has to do…"
She stops herself finally, eyes glassing with tears. She inhales sharply and lets it out in a long breath.
"...is look at what's in front of him," Phyllis finishes for her.
Anna is embarrassed. She plucks at her napkin and stares out the window as a single tear rolls down her face.
"John is a good man," Phyllis says quietly over her cup of tea. "Vera left him so scarred that I don't think he actually knows what love is. Did you know that Joe introduced them?"
"No, I didn't."
Phyllis snorts and rolls her eyes. "He says he regrets that he ever said her name to John. Vera was the first girl to pay him any mind at uni. She was manipulative and twisted him right badly. He spent twenty years with her, only for her to walk out on him with no warning. I can't blame him for wanting to see what's out there for a bit."
"Yeah, well he doesn't have to bring every woman he meets home, does he?" Anna snaps coldly.
Phyllis blinks slowly and presses her lips together in a thin line. "Maybe he needs to get it out of his system. Sow his oats, as they say."
Anna exhales to steady herself. "Maybe I should find somewhere else to live," she ponders.
Phyllis's expression is one of sympathy and understanding. She reaches across the table and places her hand on Anna's. "Whatever you think is best," she patronizes. "Just think it through. What if this one doesn't work out for him either? What will you do then?"
"I don't know."
It's hard to love someone who doesn't love you back, Anna thinks bitterly. She can't live like that.
A week later, she decides to leave the office at her normal time and head home. The typed letter is sitting on the seat beside her. She pulls into her space and just sits there, staring at the closed front door. His bedroom light is on. It is winter and cold and she bundles herself tighter in her coat.
And she begins to cry.
She cries to the point of exhaustion, and ends up closing her eyes for just a few minutes. Just a few. To stop the burn, she tells herself. She's so tired.
It is dark when she opens her eyes again, awakened by an insistent rapping on her window. John is leaning against the car, begging her to open the door. She takes a moment to collect her bearings, then steps out of the car with her mask and gloves on, prepared for anything.
Anything except John putting his arms around her and pulling her in close to him. For a brief moment, she relishes in his warmth.
Only for a moment. She stiffens and pulls away quickly to go into the house. She places the letter on the kitchen table as she heads for the staircase, his footsteps following behind her.
"Anna?" he calls out after she hears the sound of rustling paper.
She ignores him.
"What's this about?" he asks, coming to the bottom of the steps and holding up the letter.
"It is what it is, Mister Bates," she says cooly. "It's the required thirty day notice of my moving out."
"But why?" he practically whines, his face crumpled as the paper he's clutching in his hand.
Anna spins on the stairs, halfway to her room and relative safety. "I don't want to live here anymore," she says bluntly. "You've been a good landlord, but I think I need to pursue other living arrangements."
He repeats her last words in a whisper, and instead of anger or disappointment, she sees only sadness. "Can we talk?" he asks quietly. "Please?"
It is the half-broken please that does her in. She nods and descends the staircase, following him into the kitchen. He sets out two mugs and grabs two packets of instant hot chocolate from the cupboard. A few minutes later, her hands are warm again, if her insides are still cold.
"Why were you out there sleeping in your car?" he finally says.
Anna snorts because the question is one that she doesn't even know the answer to. "I was listening to the radio and fell asleep," she lies. "I've been working a lot recently."
John shakes his head in confusion. "That's the thing, I know you're not working that much," he argues. "You go to the gym or the movies or the store, anything to avoid coming home at night. Why?"
She is indignant and feels violated. "Have you been keeping tabs on me?" she asks in anger.
"No," he retorts, "but I did have lunch with Joe today, and he says you saw Phyllis last week. He told me how you've been spending your evenings."
She looks away then, anywhere but at him, at the small tear in the wallpaper that she's always joked about replacing. "I've been trying to give you space," she tries to tell him. It comes out so weak.
"This is your home as well," he says, as if that makes everything better. "I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome or out of sorts."
"You have your girlfriends," she says bitterly. "I don't want to intrude on your privacy."
"You've never intruded," he protests. "I brought them here because you're not around much…"
Anna slams her hand on the table a bit harder than she intends, making him jump. "And I'm not around much because you bring them here," she snaps back.
There is silence and an infinite distance between them.
"I need to leave because I can't live here with you anymore," Anna says, much quieter now. "Because it hurts."
It's his turn for his eyes to glass over, and he suddenly looks lost. He scrubs his hand through his hair and she notices he's lost weight. "Please tell me how I've hurt you, so I can make it better," he pleads.
She wants to run upstairs and lock herself away. Better yet, she wants to go ahead and move into the spare room that Gwen is letting her use. She wants to be anywhere but here.
Anna laughs bitterly, shaking her head and blinking away tears. "There's nothing you can do," she whispers.
"At least tell me what I did."
She summons up the strength to look him directly in the eye. "You bring girl after girl here," she starts. "And then when they break up with you, you come crying to me and wondering why you can't meet a nice girl. Then you have the audacity to say that you wish they were nice like me, or that they get you like I do, when I'm right here, John." She takes a shuddering breath and repeats herself in an almost inaudible whisper. "I'm right here."
She leaves it in the air, neither of them blinking, neither of them moving a muscle. There. It's out there. She feels no better for it.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head furiously. "Why...why did you never say anything?" he asks, his voice hoarse and breaking. "Why did you never tell me?"
"Because you seemed happy with them," she replied, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "If I told you how I felt, I was afraid it would make things even worse between us. So I'll pay you this month's rent and I'll move out in the morning, because now it's going to be terrible between us. I can't be here anymore when you bring Myra around."
John flashes a bitter smile, then it's gone in an instant. "Myra and I broke things off almost a month ago," he says, surprising her. He's looking at the far corner of the kitchen, away from her. "But if you'd been here more, you'd have known that."
"Why?" She shouldn't ask, but she does.
His cheek twitches upward, deepening the lines around his eyes. "Because she wasn't what I was looking for in a woman," he says in a long sigh. "You weren't her, but on the other hand, she wasn't you either."
Anna's chest tightens and the lump in her throat bobs up and down. She looks down at her hands and wrings them tightly.
John stands up and comes around to her side of the table, sitting in the chair beside hers. "After Jamie, I thought we had a chance at going at it, you and I. I was close to saying something. But then you came home and said that you'd been with your ex that very day, and I stopped myself." He laces his fingers together and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "I thought that I'd missed my opportunity. I met Hilda at a pub after work a few days later. And after that ended, I thought about it again, but then you brought him here, and I knew I'd never stand a chance. So I moved on."
He takes a deep breath and sits up. He scrubs his face with one hand and closes his eyes. "I spent too much time looking and not acting," he laments. "I pushed the brightest star in my sky away to chase after embers. You were always there, always constant. I'm just ashamed that I drove you away."
He leans forward and catches her eyes. He looks so sincere, so chastised. "So what now?" he asks softly.
She feels herself tremble slightly and hugs herself. There is a warmth at her side that she is suddenly conscious of and she turns into his already opening arms. But they do not kiss. They do not caress and soothe, they only hold each other, her head tucked against his chest.
"I still have to go," she whispers against his shoulder, feeling his body sag in defeat. "I just...I need some time to think about things. I can't promise anything one way or another. But I will let you know one way or another."
"Where will you go?" he asks, and the rumble in his chest is enough to make her want to stay.
"To Gwen's," she replies. "Where I was going to go anyway."
John gives her one last squeeze around her shoulders and releases her. He stands up and smiles down at her with a sadness tinged at the corners with hope. "Take all of the time you need," he says as he clears the mugs from the table. "I'll wait this time, as long as I have to."
It has been three weeks since she packed everything up and crammed it all into Gwen's garage. She has been sleeping in the spare bedroom that must become a nursery in less than a month, so the need to find new accommodations is pressing.
She knocks on the door of the tidy three story home and waits for the owner to answer. He opens it almost immediately and she smiles at him.
"I realized I left something behind," Anna says breathlessly.
John's surprise shifts into confusion as he looks over his shoulder. "What?" he asks, befuddled.
Anna pushes up onto her toes, threads her fingers through his hair and just before their lips meet, she breathes out a single word.
"You."