‘I’m sorry, Opal, I wasn’t trying to be callous. I’m only trying to gather the state of affairs before I offer any advice.’ His smile made his eyes glimmer. ‘You don’t have to tell me how hard it is to reimagine one’s life alone, when you’d already pencilled in the final chapter with someone else by your side.’ Opal nodded, and Gareth withdrew suddenly, swiping at his eyes and gruffly clearing his throat.
‘So, you don’t want to leave him – but you hate him?’ It was an accurate summing up. Opal just nodded again and washed down the lump in her throat with another mouthful of peachy fizz.
‘How long have you known? I’m presuming you haven’t told him …’
‘I caught them fucking in one of the guest rooms last Saturday.’
‘Well he had the sense at least not to do the deed in the marital bed …’ Gareth accepted another drink. ‘Thank you very much, Anthony.’
Opal wondered for a second how he knew the waiter’s name, and then decided that the answer was too obvious to put to Gareth, who was both a regular and incredibly promiscuous.
‘Yes, it was very considerate of him.’
Gareth sat quietly for a moment. Opal was growing impatient. When was this marvellously considered advice supposed to materialise?
Finally Gareth set his drink down and placed both elbows on the table emphatically. ‘You know what, I think that maybe Martin has the right idea …’ Opal opened her mouth to protest but Gareth motioned for her to keep quiet. ‘I think maybe whatyouneed is also agood fuck. None of this, let’s go on a nice holiday together and remember how things used to be, missionary, kiss on the forehead, maybe a blow job or two to spice things up kind of crap …’
Opal was stunned into silence. For one thing they were in public; for another, it was mortifying to hear someone so accurately describe your unadventurous, though perfectly satisfactory, sex life. That was the problem, though; Martin evidently didnotfind it perfectly satisfactory.
‘You need the kind of sex that makes you beg to get your hair pulled if only for the momentary relief from the almost unendurable amount of pleasure you’re experiencing. The kindof sex you think about for days, and turns you on to remember. The kind of sex that’s well … just really really sexy. You know what I mean?’
Opal gulped. She didn’t want to admit that in her thirty-six years on this earth, she had never had sex like that. In truth, she’d never really thoughtanyonedid. Gareth took her silence as agreement.
‘The real question is, how exactly can you make that happen for yourself? I mean it’s not like there are any virile young studs wandering around Arylebourne, and I mean it’s hardly like I can take you out on the Soho scene …’ He leant back then, massaging his chin. Seemingly he was genuinely contemplating where he could find her some random man to shag.
Opal had come here for some out-of-the-box thinking, but this was too left field. How could she rewrite her moral and sexual world view at this point in her life? Before last Saturday she’d finally come to terms with the reality of middle life without the experience of motherhood. They had stopped trying after Emma. Opal couldn’t stand the idea of going through it again. Other women she knew, ones she had met through the hospital support group, had tried again and been ‘successful’, but Opal felt that her inability to bear the loss of Emma, to ‘move on’ was in itself proof of her inadequacy to bear the burdens of motherhood. Unlike these other women, she wasn’t cut out for the heartbreak of it all.
And now to face a future without a proper marriage? In favour of a sort of kiss, don’t tell mutually deceitful relationship where she outsourced the intimacy they’d lost to a lustful stranger? She felt overwhelmed.
As Opal dropped her head into her hands, Gareth movedhis chair around the table and closer to her. He put an arm around her shoulders as she began to weep again.
‘It’s all too much, Gareth. I just feel like I’ve totally lost myself. I used to think that I could never become a woman like my mother, that I would build a proper life for myself, and I did everything right! And then I lost Emma and now Martin … It’s all out of my hands and everything is falling apart.’
Gareth patted her sympathetically. His brow was creased. ‘My darling Opal, we have no control over our lives; if only we did, God knows we wouldn’t be here together drinking bellinis at 9 a.m., even if they are delicious.’ He attempted a half chuckle, but could barely convince himself.
‘In truth, much like the lovies like to say about the art of theatre, it is more about the reaction than the action, and the only thing you can worry about now is not the so-called perfect life you have lost, but how you, Opal Fairfax, will face up to the life you have been given.’
Opal sniffed. ‘Why don’t you ever call me by my married name?’
‘Because, despite what you believe, you have always been so much more than your marital status, Opal. You are fierce and full of beauty. Martin was only ever an accessory to that.’
Opal felt her breathing calm.
‘What was the last thing that made you feel truly alive, Opal?’ Gareth spoke softly.
Surprisingly the answer materialised in Opal’s brain almost instantly. ‘Painting.’
Gareth’s eyes lit up. ‘Well now that’s very interesting.’ He scooted his chair back. ‘That’s definitely something we can work with – maybe we put the search for a lover on the back burner for now … ?’
Opal gulped back a mangled laugh. ‘I think so.’
‘OK, well, darling, it sounds to me like you need to bring art back into your life, properly, not these silly little life drawing classes you do once a fortnight …’
‘It’s every week actually, and it was exactly one of those silly little classes that reminded me how much I miss painting … I did a sketch and then brought it home and finished it on the easel.’ Opal felt shy all of a sudden, but Gareth was beaming at her, with something akin to pride.
‘I’d love to see it.’
‘You’re welcome any time, Gareth. I’ve actually hung it up in the grand hall. I think Martin hates it.’
