Divorce

Helen is over from Norway, but a chatty afternoon in the pub turns sour. Helen blithely says that she is going round to Kitty's to have a couple of drinks with her and Wendy. On the phone to Kitty she says that I am coming along, then there's a bit of "oh, oh, right, yeah."

Because Wendy's daughter will be there, I am subject to the injunction by Wendy's ex, prohibiting my attendance at any gathering where The Little Dictator will also be present. "No, I can't come Helen, I'm not allowed."

I am angry and upset in equal measure, and I text Wendy. From memory: "I know it's difficult for you and you have to negotiate [the Ex], but I'd be very grateful if you could resolve this thing where my social life with my closest friends is still controlled by him. You did promise to sort this out months ago."

She replied, saying that The Little Dictator was ill so they can't go anyway. I went up to Kitty's for an hour or so, but the cloud of the injunction hovered over us. Kitty urged on me a greater understanding of how Wendy is under pressure enough, having to keep on the right side of a man she'd have nothing to do with were it not for the The Little Dictator, how he's got a powerful weapon of control over her -- the withdrawal of his time looking after The Little Dictator, which even now is granted with great reluctance if it's for Wendy's social life. She has to lie to him if she is seeing me.

The following morning, still incensed, I text Wendy to say that I consider ourselves estranged. I inform Kitty and Helen that I have done so, which provokes unanimous condemnation. In the week afterwards, I think of nothing but Wendy. I am unable to make up my mind whether I am relieved to have severed relations with her, ashamed of my petulance and self-centredness, whilst having occasional moments of feeling liberated at last from the way I allow her to have a hold over me in the pursuit of an impossible Wertheresque romance.

After a week, I dropped this postcard round, relenting with a written sincerity I did not fully feel, resenting that I am not allowed to knock at her door and hand it over in person, lest I breach my injunction.

A further week passed, and she replied by text thanking me for my postcard and saying that she didn't know what to say. After a day or two I said that I am truly sorry, and I hoped we could resume intercourse. "I'm sure that would be possible, you fucking boundah X". There's been only desultory contact between us since.