Life has taken on my pride
Now even hope is hard to find
I only meant to love you truly
I never meant to hurt you deeply
He sat there at that same old table that had sat there for so many years: full of so many memories that she could and would never be a part of. Happy memories; planning a wedding, a marriage she would eventually smash to pieces before the year was barely out; the days when his son hadn't been the snappy, cruel boy she had made him, when he'd tell his father that he loved him, not that he hated him. There'd been sad memories too, some heart breaking and difficult, but they'd always come through it, he and his wife. That was until the day she'd burst in and turned their entire worlds upside down.
And for what? For him to now sit at that stupid little white table with its awkward chairs and one leg somehow shorter than the rest, smoking a cigarette and twisting that plain gold around his ring finger, deep in thought.
He never had taken it off, Carla thought as she attempted to distract herself by making yet another cup of coffee she knew she'd never drink. Not even after the screaming rows and the court battles, not even when he'd defended her to his apparent estranged wife, not even after she'd taken his son from him and moved him in with the man she slept with days before their wedding. She knew it was stupid – he'd chosen her in every other way. And yet, that ring continued to plague her thoughts, constantly feeding her insecurities so that she could never feel completely reassured.
"Do you want one?" She called out, knowing full well she wouldn't get a response.
Her lover didn't disappoint; not so much as a flicker in response.
"Peter?" She didn't even know why she was bothering. She didn't care about the coffee, she just wanted some kind of response. Anything.
Eventually he glanced up slightly, exhaling deeply, a cloud of smoke filling the gap between them. Symbolic, she thought. "Hm?"
She gestured an empty mug, forcing a smile.
"Oh. No ta, love". Within the second his eyes were back on the ring, one hand almost clutching it, the other limply holding the remains of his third consecutive cigarette.
She'd forced Paul to quit before they were even married, always making her feelings on the filthy habit clear. And yet here he was, chain smoking right in front of her, the stench of stale smoke and tobacco coating every surface, and she felt completely unable to so much as suggest he smoke out of the window.
The naïve, hopeful part of her clung to that 'love' at the end of his response, like some kind of desperate teen counting the number of kisses on the end of a text., ignoring that he'd called the cashier in the supermarket exactly that the previous day.
She stirred the cheap, bitter tasting instant coffee half-heartedly in the mug, knowing nothing she could do would make it drinkable but feeling somehow obliged to drink it anyway. She hadn't wanted to move her beloved coffee machine in with her, partly out of lack of space to put it, and partly out of fear of giving the wrong impression. What impression that was exactly she couldn't quite say.
'That's what I think when I see you in this flat. You're just wrong'.
His cruel words echoed back at her no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. He might've assured her that he hadn't meant any of it, but she'd never quite allowed herself to believe him fully. Truth was, he'd confirmed her worst fears that day, just as she'd begun to push them to the back of her mind.
'Peter this is just the booze talking…'
'No, this is the truth. This is me'.
What if it had been? He'd been drunk that night he'd told her he loved her, and he'd meant what he said then. Unless he hadn't. The way she saw it, she couldn't have it both ways, and whichever way you cut it, it came down to the same thing.
And then there was him trying to get back with Leanne. She'd played the role in front of her, but the truth was she'd been expecting it for months, almost waiting for it. She'd known all along that he was getting worked up about more than Simon, that it wasn't just seeing his son with another man that hurt but his wife too. The woman he was still in love with, the one he'd stupidly walked out on in a moment of lust.
She banged her mug back down on the kitchen surface just too loudly, more to break the agonising silence than anything. When there was still no reaction, Carla merely sighed.
It wasn't as though she could ask him about the ring, no matter how much its dominant presence bothered her. He was, after all, still married. His son still called Leanne his mother; she still owned half of their joint business. Every so often they'd even get her post, and she'd pretend not to notice the flash of sadness on her lover's face.
While they'd been away these past few months it hadn't been as bad. She'd been off his mind, or at least he'd done a better job of pretending she was. There were no constant reminders of the life they'd previously had, no bumping into each other in the street or the in the café, and most importantly no watching his son skip happily along with his ex-wife and the man he'd once hated with every fibre of his being. She wasn't branded a home wrecker everywhere she went. They could walk into a pub without being insulted or abused by the barmaid or starred at by the locals when they thought she couldn't see them. Carla had secretly spent the trip hoping he might chuck the ring into the sea in some kind of dramatic demonstration of how he was moving on with his life, but alas he never did.
It seemed illogical to Carla that he would spend his time planning to take his son back from this woman, talking long into the night about how much he despised her and what she'd put his son through, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to remove the ultimate symbol of their devotion to one another. The only conclusion she could draw was that he was kidding himself. Leanne had knocked him back, so he was convincing himself that it has all been a drunken mistake when really it had been the only time he'd been honest with himself.
But as she added another large dose of milk to the charcoal-like sludge, Carla knew that she was powerless to do anything but wait it out. The bolt of relief that had shot through her that afternoon that he'd phoned her, not Leanne, begging her to meet him, to run away with them, told her everything she needed to know. No matter how insane she'd known the whole plan was, no matter much she wanted to hate him, to have the strength to walk away and never look back, she just couldn't. Instead, she'd fallen right back into his arms, ignoring every ounce of logic, everyone who tried to tell her different. She'd even lied to Michelle, their final conversation all those months ago still haunting her despite the mutual reassurance it was forgiven.
She'd been convinced that they were better off apart. She'd finally had the strength to leave and begun to regain something of herself. Then he'd left that voicemail and she was right back there again, back in his web. Carla didn't know whether she'd ever be able to set herself free now and, if she was honest, she didn't know if she wanted to. It was like she'd told him all those months ago, back when all this had started. She couldn't live without him now. No way.
Oh the silent warning bell
I know it well
I see the shadows, close my eyes
And pour the muscatel.