Chapter 1 #3
Chanel shooed them out, set the alarm, pulled down the shutters and then they linked arms as they made their way along Ingram Street and round to George Square to one of their favourite restaurants, Martha chattering away about the latest dramas in the life of a cheerleading and basketball mum.
Sheena listened and nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.
Gregor. They’d been together for almost three decades, since they were both still in high school, and in many ways, they’d had a great life.
They’d travelled, they’d done well professionally, and for the most part, they’d been happy.
Comfortable. Content. They’d achieved everything they’d wanted, except perhaps a family, but they hadn’t started trying until she was in her mid-thirties and it just hadn’t happened.
She stopped her mind going down that path.
It was a subject that she had no intention of spiralling on tonight, not when she had the chance of a few hours of guilt-free, anxiety-free, man-free time.
Didn’t her reluctance to think about Gregor, their past, their future, their failings, their regrets, their anything, say it all?
If she were her own client, she’d be working on that, perhaps even suggesting a separation to give her time to figure out how she felt.
Problem was, she already knew. He hadn’t done anything wrong, other than grow into a man she had nothing in common with, and she should probably have ended it years ago, but they didn’t fight, didn’t argue, so it was easy just to roll along.
She knew that if anyone were to ask him, he’d say he was perfectly happy, and that would be his honest answer.
But Sheena wanted more… and it was only now, in her forties, as the menopause thundered towards her and she re-evaluated her life, that she was prepared to make the changes.
Deep down, where all her truths lay, she knew that she wanted a different future.
One that didn’t come with the man she’d fallen out of love with a long time ago.
‘Are you okay? You’re deep in thought there,’ Chanel asked, as they reached the doors of the St Kentigern hotel.
The bar and restaurant on the ground floor of the grand old Victorian building had been their go-to spot since the days when they could only afford one cocktail each, and they made them last all night.
‘I’m fine, but I’ve had enough of listening to myself complaining.
Let’s talk tomorrow. We can do a role reversal and you two can be my marriage therapists while I tell you why I don’t think it’s salvageable this time.
I really don’t. Wow, that’s the first time I’ve said that out loud.
My name is Sheena Carswell, and my marriage is over. ’
Another meaningful glance shot between her friends and Sheena guessed that it was because either they were sick of listening to her too, or they thought she wasn’t being serious.
They might be right on the first point, but the moment she’d said it aloud, she knew they were wrong on the second.
She meant it. She meant every word. All she had to do now was make a plan and find a way to tell Gregor that she wanted to go.
And gulp, just admitting that to herself made the perimenopausal anxiety surge yet again.
‘Look I know you don’t get it because you’re happily married…
’ That was to Martha, who’d been devoted to her husband, Graeme, since she’d met him at university.
‘And you have a roster…’ That went to Chanel, who was happily single and had two or three ‘special friends’ that she could call on for dinner, theatre or sex, whenever the mood took her.
‘But I’m over it. I need a different life. One that’s only for me.’
‘Evening, ladies,’ the doorman said as they passed him and moved into the stunning foyer, before turning left and crossing the marble floor. They were about to go through a second door that would take them to the restaurant, when Martha suddenly grabbed her arm.
‘Listen, we just need to say…’
Sheena stopped, puzzled by the expression of concern. Maybe they did realise she was being serious after all, but she didn’t have time to find out because two things happened at once.
Just as Martha blurted, ‘We’re sorry,’ the door to the restaurant swung open and there was a loud cheer from inside.
And that’s when, in what felt like slow motion, Sheena Carswell spotted dozens of familiar faces, then the banners that said ‘Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary’, and then Gregor, standing just a few feet in front of her, arms outstretched.
‘Happy anniversary, darling.’
Her brain raced. The date. Oh bugger, the date. It was the tenth of April. Which meant that tomorrow was, indeed, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the day she’d promised to love him for eternity.
And now, looking at his beaming, handsome face, she was sure of three things. The first was that it was telling that she’d completely forgotten their anniversary. The second was that she no longer loved him. And the third was that twenty-five years was long enough.
Tomorrow, when the champagne bubbles had subsided, she was going to tell her husband that the party was over.