Page 92 of Spiralling Skywards
Olivia went backto Australia and did exactly what she said she would do, except the part about terminating the pregnancy. There was no way she’d tell her family or the press that she was pregnant and being forced into having an abortion. Nobody forced Olivia Romanelli to do anything. She was an independently wealthy woman, and raising a child on her own would be no financial burden. Instead, what she did was try to sell a sob story of her as the abandoned wife, me the cheating husband who had fled to the other side of the world to start a new life with his English mistress. My sister had made a lot of headway in shutting down the story, but there was always the there’s-no-smoke-without-fire brigade who were left wondering.
My dad took things better than I’d hoped. He was aware that Liv had been having an affair with Markham and that he’d left her and gone back to his wife and children. He told me he would support me in denying the accusations about the baby being mine and encouraged me to push for a paternity test. When I told him what had happened in my Sydney office with Liv before I left for England, he nearly ripped me a new one over the phone. I was worried then thatthatnews would bring on a heart attack more than the lies about the pregnancy.
All in all, it had been a spectacularly shitty few weeks with regard to my personal life.
On Monday, Sarah ditched me for not being honest with her. On Tuesday I saw Will the biscuit-smashing, tea-drinking, English prick kiss her at her front door. I wanted to march across the road and smash his fucking head in when I saw him put his hands on her. Instead, I composed a text, which was more like a novel ofWar and Peaceproportions and sent it to her later that night for some bedtime reading.
Me:That hurt, Sarah. That fucking hurt. Do you think so little of me that you’ve moved on already? Do have any idea how seeing that made me feel? What seeing Will put his hands on you did to me? I don’t know what I can say or do to make you understand that my intentions came from a good place. I didn’t tell you I was married because, in my head and my heart, I’m not. Olivia and I are separated. We’ve not been together for two years. She’s been served with divorce papers. I wasn’t expecting things to get serious between us so quickly. What I feel for you has knocked me sideways, Sarah. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced before, and I know now that I’ve handled everything wrong. My first and biggest mistake was having sex with my ex-wife. I did it out of spite and revenge. I did it because she bruised my ego by bringing a man back to our marital bed and fucking him in it. I don’t claim to have behaved like an angel during my marriage, far from it, but I respected her enough to go to a hotel with anyone else I slept with.
I didn’t tell you I was married, that was my second mistake. One I have absolutely no excuse for. I didn’t tell you what happened between myself and Olivia before I left Sydney because I didn’t want you to think badly of me. I know that it’s a piss poor excuse but it is the truth and my third mistake.
You’re probably hating me more with every line you read of this, which is exactly why I kept quiet. I sound like a complete arsehole, even to myself. How bad must all this sound to you? Don’t answer that BTW, I’m not ready to hear it even though I deserve to. Our marriage should never have happened. Neither of us ever stood by our vows. I know none of this excuses my behaviour, but I just want you to be aware of the facts. I don’t know how we move forward from here. If you won’t even talk to me, how do I get through to you how sorry I am? I don’t wanna just keep saying I’m sorry. After a while it just starts to sound hollow and meaningless, but I am sorry, for all of it. I miss you, and I hate that you’re lying over there in your bed, and I’m here alone in ours. The pillows smell like you, like me, and like us. I’d really like to say something profoundly romantic right now, but instead I’m going to tell you that I’ve got a hard-on thinking about everything we did in this bed and in the shower last weekend. The way your skin flushes and your entire body reacts to my touch blows me away, but you and me, pretty girl, we’re about so much more than sex. So much more. Like I’ve said over and over, I love you. I hated seeing how upset you were on Monday night. I especially hated knowing I was the cause of your tears. So, because I love you, I’m gonna leave the ball in your court now. I know you’re hurt and you’re angry so I’ll stop bothering you, I’ll stop being a pest and I’ll leave you to decide how we sort this mess out and move past these shitty few days. But before I go, there’s something I need you to know, remember that Saturday night a few weeks back when we ended up in that karaoke bar, drunk off our arses and had to get a taxi home? That song we sang? I know you know all the words, but I decided that night that you need to come up with some dance moves too. When we get married—because we will, mark my words, Sarah, we will sort this shit out, and we will get married—we are gonna sing and dance the shit out of the most unweddingy song ever in front of all of our guests. Get practicing, baby!
I love you, pretty girl, just keep on remembering that.
Liam.
X
I laid awake and waited for her reply, it never came.
***
I snapped the pen I was holding in half, threw it across the room to the bin, and called out, “Shaquille!” All heads turned to watch the pen land perfectly in the meshed stainless steel receptacle and then turned to me. I just shrugged. At least there was one thing in life I was winning at.
“Boom,” I shouted, stood from the desk I’d been working at, ran around the room, and high-fived everyone. By everyone I meant the four other staff who made up the workforce of DC International Recruitment and Relocations, or DCIRR.
Liz, Mel, Luke, and Shain, were all in today. Shain had worked for us for a couple of years now and had come over to the UK to help with the set up and to implement the best practices we were already using in our other office, that way, despite the distance, there would be worldwide uniformity in the way things were run. We wanted our staff to be able to work out of our Sydney office, with as much ease as they worked out of our London office.
“I was thinking,” Liz stated, drawing everyone’s eyes away from me.
“Easy there, Lizzie, that could be dangerous,” Luke told her with a wink. Then he ducked as she threw her pen at him.
“Jordan!” Shain called out. Liz’s aim had nothing on mine, though, and she missed by a mile. Rolling her eyes at the rest of us, she continued, “Can I get a Christmas tree and some decorations? It’s not very Christmassy around here.”
Christmas. It was just a few weeks away. I looked around the space we were sitting in, it was bare.
Our office space consisted of a reception area, three good-sized individual offices, and a large meeting room, which was where we all worked most days. We were still in the set-up stages, it was easier to bounce ideas off each other if we were all in the same room.
“Sure, take the company card and go and get some stuff before you come in here in the morning. Get tasteful shit, though, nothing tacky like tinsel and definitely no singing Santas or reindeer,” I told her.
“Cheers, boss.” She fist pumped the air and walked back to her desk out front. I was such a good boss.
“You going home for Chrissy, Del?” Shain asked me.
“Nah, mate, too much work to do here. You?”
“Nah, won’t be worth it. I’ll just get over the jet lag and have to fly back again.”
“What are the pair of you doing for Christmas dinner then?” Luke asked.
Shain and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“Come to my place if you wanna. Everyone’s coming over either Sunday or on Christmas Eve for drinks. You’re both welcome to stay the whole weekend if you wanna, but you’ll be expected to muck in and help cook dinner on the day.”
“Everyone?” I asked. Luke knew who I really meant.
“Everyone. We usually go to our grandparents, but they’re going on a pensioner cruise this year, leaving us to fend for ourselves.”
