Mauvais lettres

Clearing out my emails this evening, I ran across a slew of things I'll never delete, to and from Mary-Ann. I skipped over the filth; she (and I think I, though you'd have to ask her), was voluptuously good at that. What I noticed was the way my speech had a tendency to mirror hers.

The idea that one has an authentic voice is, in my socially and geographically nomadic experience, mistaken. Yet when I re-read my emails, and saw myself putting on just a little too much literary effort into my sentences, I want to shake my self of eighteen months ago into a more direct form of communication. I instigated a written correspondence with Mary-Ann a few months ago and I sent my second letter to her last week. A letter is more careful and social than an email.

Trina and I cleared another hurtful pile of rocks today. She has been staying at my house from Monday to this afternoon, but Kirsty is in London with Boyf, so yesterday, Trina and I went round to Kirsty's so that I could get the girls their tea before Trina and I went out for ours. I felt inwardly apologetic about dragging Trina along to my former girlfriend's house to be sociable with my daughters, but it was an easily garrulous hour or so with them and their best friend before they went off to their theatre rehearsal.

Trina and I went down the pub and sank a bottle of wine and a few pints respectively. I took her back to mine, tucked her up on the sofa with an internet connection and free rein of my library, then went back to Kirsty's to do more or less the same with my girls. I wrote Jenny a note for her teacher about why she hadn't done her Science homework, due to her rehearsal, although "No child should ever be required to do homework" was what I'd have liked to have written.

This morning, I saw them off to school, then set off back to mine.

I crept up the stairs. Trina's characteristic bellowing tremored through the door. I smiled, went downstairs and started making myself some coffee. An hour or so later I heard her step on the stairs. "Is that [pet names, endearments] coming down the stairs?" I said.

She looked at me crossly. "You're here! Why didn't you come up?"

"I did, I just thought you might like some more sleep." I was crestfallen.

"You didn't, you must have just come in. I've got better things to do than this. We've only got half an hour before you're off again," she said, referring to my work at the elections.

She angrily gathered her things and without giving me any further chance to talk, stomped off to her car and drove away. I turned on the computer.

[With the content of several ellipses deleted].

You veer wildly from telling me how lovely I am, to going off in a huff because you take umbrage at something I've done, or neglected to do. I only ever do things out of consideration for you and what I hoped would be in your best interest, to give you a good night's sleep. I can't be doing with this blowing hot and cold all the time.

I'm sorry that I didn't come up to check on you but I was only thinking of you and trying to be considerate. I misjudged what you wanted me to do and for that I'm sorry.

I am also fucking sick to the back teeth of apologising all the time for mistakes that I make, that are only ever done with you and your comfort or happiness in mind. "Sorry sorry sorry"--it's all I fucking say.

I don't appear to be good enough for you. Why don't you find someone who can read your mind better, who understands the details of what you want better, because I can't be doing with all this being all loved-up one minute, and then left here alone, looking forward to making you breakfast and chatting and hugging you, with you driving off, the next minute.

As for me having "to go off again", what do you expect me to do? Ring up the Council and say "Sorry, I can't come today, because I know you're providng me with some well-paid work which will pay for my family holiday, but I've got to stay here and hope I don't piss my girlfriend off"? That work is essential to me, you know that, so why are you so annoyed with me doing it? I know the timing's not perfect but I can't tell them when I want to do it.

P.S. You've left your coat here.

Yours, a very pissed off and I think, unjustly wronged, looby, who was only trying his misguided best.

She'd only got as far as her narrowboat a few miles away, and came back. She met me from my break from the elections work. We hugged each other gratefully, even as I knew that I don't--I can't--love Trina, just as I never loved Kirsty, or anyone else. I have never had the experience of what others talk about as "love". We only had a brief time together: we tucked into pizza slices whilst sat on a bench.

She said she was sorry for seeing everything in terms of her being rejected, despite all the evidence I provide to the contrary. Tired at this point by analysis, we rummaged around for comments about the pizza to lighten things up.