Pelican Landings

 

I gaze across at the naked man lying opposite in the bed. His back turned towards me, the freckles on his shoulders. I can see the outline of his body against the white sheets in the half light. His muscled shoulders, the slim waist and curve of his hips. It's early morning. I reach my hand out to touch him, but pull back my hand. His skin is cool to the touch despite the heat of midsummer.

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I can hear seagulls outside bringing back memories of beach holidays when the children were little. Dragging cooler boxes, parasols and fold-up chairs across the sand. Everyone squabbling over who was carrying what. You said, “Stop it. If one more person complains we are going straight back to the car and going home.” Silence whilst they processed this. Finding the furthest corner of the beach, underneath the sand dunes, where no one would disturb us and you could read your book in peace. A long way from the beach café and toilets. You said, “It doesn’t matter – they can go in the sea like everyone else.”

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Another beach, another time. Turquoise sea, shimmering white sand like crystals, the sun beating down. Children playing in the sand, adoring grandparents looking on, wrestling with deck chairs and parasols.  Brown pelicans hovering above, air currents carrying them up and down. No dogs allowed. I said,  “I love brown pelicans, their eyes are so sad.”  You didn't say anything, but a beautiful necklace appeared: a gold pelican on a chain, with emeralds for eyes. My birthday present. I have still got it, but don't wear it much. It was different then, we were happy, you were happy.

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You said excitedly, “I got the job. We are moving.” I said, “But it's over 200 miles away, we will have to uproot the kids from their schools again, just when they got settled after the last time. What about your parents? Your mum is so frail now.” You said, “I talked to them already, they know. They are making arrangements.”  I said, “What, you told them before you told me?”

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Cold, draughty, Victorian house; bought cheap, in need of extensive work, right on the edge of the conservation area. You said, “We made a killing here, it's all about the location, when it's finished, the price will have doubled.” I said, “I don’t want to live in a caravan again. How will I get the washing dry?” 

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Like most people who live out of town, I was a glorified chauffeur for the children. After school activities, children's parties. I didn't run any more. I didn't have a running buddy. None of the mum's I met were in to running, just yoga and gossiping after in trendy coffee shops with their decaf hazelnut latte, no sugar. Wearing too much makeup and talking about nail and hair extensions. Instead, I started painting again and went for long walks with the dog. It gave me time to ponder, time to plan. You said you didn't like women who wore too much makeup. I never wore any makeup, except when I needed to cover up the bruises.

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I hated corporate events. Making polite chit chat with the other executive’s wives. “What do you do all day?” Me? “I walk the dog and paint.” You said, “Make something up, make yourself sound more interesting. Tell them about the house project.” I said, “I don’t want to live in a project!” The children said, “Mum, can we have another dog?”

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Once you liked my paintings, especially the seascapes with the brown pelicans. But you drew the line when I mentioned Art College. My evening class teacher said I had real talent, he was happy to write a letter of recommendation. You said, “It’s expensive and there are no guarantees. Anyway, who will look after the children?”

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Your parents came to visit. They said, “John is doing so well with the new job. You must all be thrilled, so much more money, nice holidays for the children. I thought, If only you knew. How do you explain that you love your partner, but don’t actually like him as a person?

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My parents didn’t come to visit, they were never invited.

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Lots of things died that day. Not just the baby. You didn’t want more children, it was an accident. You said, “One of each is more than enough. We have done our bit. What about the planet, someone has to be responsible? Half the world is starving.” You convinced me that we were too old, I was too old now, and there were risks. You said, “What if we had to move again with a baby?” I said, “I will do all the work” (like always). You said, “no,” and would not budge.

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It was different for Fiona. Petite, pretty, blonde Fiona. Not very bright but that did not stop her. Unfairly, they called her the office “bike.” Not very accurate as she was more likely the company “bike.” But, you managed to impregnate her and she left to have the baby. You denied it, and it was difficult to prove given her behavior, but years later she told me she was sure it was you.  I saw the pictures, the child looked like just you: blonde hair, blue eyes, and that mischievous grin. She kept the baby; I had to be content with the dog.

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I had drifted off to sleep again, your face behind my closed eyelids, memories from the past flooding back. My life was flashing before me.

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I awoke with a jolt. You were still lying opposite me, quietly breathing. Or were you? I touched your skin again, this time it was stone cold and dry. I moved closer to your back but I couldn't hear you breathing. I prodded you. No response. I dug my nails deep into your skin. No reaction. Was that it then? I would have to wait a bit longer before I could be sure. I had been waiting 18 years, what was another half an hour?