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Pe
I’ll probably be writing to you a bit less from now on. The original intention of the letters was, as you know, in order to become a partner with my emotions and to avoid feeling like a cork bobbing about on the sea of fate. Well I no longer feel like a cork because by begi
I was talking to Joa
I just took a moment out to inject my leg. Sam hates this and turns away (as if I enjoy it!). Just wait till he starts having to give me my bum injections, that’ll give him something to think about. Actually, he probably turned away because my legs look so horrible. These injections leave awful bruises (maybe I’m not doing it very well). I look as though I’ve been beaten up by a midget.
Dear Sam
Nigel and Justin have been asking again about the ending. They want to know when they can expect to see it. I’ve told them that I’ll do it soon, but I’m not sure when. Lucy’s and my IVF cycle will last a few weeks and I can’t decide whether to commit myself to saying how my story ends before I know our result or after. After, I think, so I’ve told them that it’ll be a month and a half. They don’t like it because we’ve pla
I’ve now bought four diaries from W.H. Smith identical to the one Lucy uses for her journal. One of them is bound to have a key that fits hers. Tomorrow, when she’s gone off to work, I intend to return to the house and read her story.
Dear Pe
I wasn’t going to write to you tonight but then I thought I would because Sam’s been acting very strangely this evening. From the moment I got back from work it’s all seemed rather odd. He’s been alternately offhand and angry-looking and then suddenly very huggy and affectionate. Normally he doesn’t express much emotion either way but tonight he seems to be aglow with it. Perhaps it’s his hormones. I’ve heard that when women are pregnant their partners sometimes react in sympathy with them, experiencing the same symptoms. Who knows, maybe it’s the same with IVF?
I must say I’m feeling pretty strange myself, in fact. I’ve started having hot flushes, so the injections must be working. Their purpose is to sort of shut down my reproductive system so that the hospital can take over. Amazing, really, and pretty scary. Basically they induce a sort of premature menopause. That’s nice, isn’t it?
Dear Sam
Well, I’m devastated. I just don’t know what I think any more. They do say that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. Well, nor do diary readers.
Lucy very nearly had an affair.
I’m stu
What’s more, I have to seethe in silence. I can’t say anything about it, of course, because the way I found out is absolutely unforgivable. And what would I say, anyway? I don’t really know what I think about it at all. Of course part of me is riven with jealousy. The thought of that fucking shit Carl Phipps sneaking about trying to screw my wife and actually managing to get his hands on her, albeit briefly, makes my blood boil. I’m furious. I’m livid. I want to punch him and give her the biggest piece of my mind in history.
On the other hand, she was pissed, and she didn’t do it, did she? There she was, drunk, with a top star, a star whom she has always fancied, a star who was putting the hardest of hard words on her (That bastard. I’d like to kill him) and she didn’t do it. She pulled back because she loved me. Would I have done the same? Me, who is capable of sneaking about and invading the private diary of the woman I love? I mean if I honestly ask myself, if I was drunk, on Winona Ryder’s bed, and she’d taken her top off and offered to kiss me all over and shag me all night, would I have held back the way Lucy did?
That’s why I feel so confused. Part of me is angry and hurt and jealous and part of me is thrilled. Thrilled that after all these years, and with me being such a grump most of the time (plenty about that in her book), Lucy still loves me the way she does, loves me enough to walk away from a fantasy when the crunch came.
When I read about it I was furious. I literally felt I was burning up with anger, but now I’ve calmed down a bit, in a way I think it makes me love her more. I’m still seething, though, and very angry with her and I still hate Carl Phipps’s fucking guts.
Of course one positive thing is that now I know she nearly betrayed me it makes me feel slightly better about betraying her. Well, I think that’s fair, surely.
Dear Pe
I feel pretty awful, I must say. Now I know how Mum felt a couple of years ago. Looking back, I don’t wonder that she was moody, and I’m not even allowed to slap HRT patches on my bum.
Sam’s not himself either. He seems emotionally confused. He kisses me a lot, but then I catch him glaring at me. I think in a strange sort of way he’s jealous, control of my body now being in the hands of the hospital and him reduced to the role of a near bystander in this dreadfully and intimately intrusive process.