Edinburgh, part two
IRE M OVED MY wedding hat, the shoes, the lovely dress, and put on sweats. I got a text from David: ‘I have no idea where you are.’
I ignored it. About half an hour later, the door slammed, and he slumped on the sofa. I didn’t even look at him. In fact, I put my hand to my face to shield me from the sight of his horrible form. He disappeared. I watched The X Factor, and water just kept running from my eyes. Why could he not just be nice for one evening? Why did he have to spoil it? I got ready for bed. He was already asleep in the spare room. I barricaded my door and tried to go to sleep, but I was too angry.
I sent him this: ‘David. You know what I’ve gone through in the past year through no fault of my own. I am also looking after a sick pony: Dream needs 24-hour care, and yet you haven’t even bothered to once ask how she is. And you think two sheep is a big deal. You care more what Ed, who frankly is a patronising t***, thinks. I read your email to him, “Oh, Ed, I agree 100 per cent!” You ruined the one nice weekend I’ve had in about three years. My niece means a lot to me. I paid a grand for the flat and had to borrow my outfit. I spent all Thursday getting ready having spent three days in Liverpool to earn enough to pay my vet bill. Ed patronised me by trying to tell me that Herdwicks, and I quote, “are not accustomed to being enclosed; they are normally kept in flocks hefted to a stretch of moorland, setting their own boundaries”. How many sheep does he own? He must have looked that up on Google. God, you two should get some real problems. Not one word saying, “Well done, Liz, for ensuring Gove put banning live export in his conference speech.” You have shown your true colours. I will get a train back tomorrow having spent months organising this weekend, finding a nice place for us.’
He replied by text: ‘I’ve spent the last five weeks helping, and look where that has got me, ****’
Well, that did it. I got up and stormed into his room. ‘Please leave,’ I said. ‘No,’ he said. I shouted at him, called him a cadaverous t*** and slammed the door.
The next day, Sunday, I woke at about 11.30am. I hoped to God he had gone. But no. He was at the dining table, watching Formula One. I started to pack. I would have to leave the hamper of food, as I wouldn’t be able to carry it on the train. ‘I can’t leave, I have no money,’ he said. I told him to drop me at the station, and I would get him £200 from a cashpoint, on top of the £400 I’d sent him on Thursday. He had left all the receipts for looking after the sheep scrunched on the table, plus the penalty charge for not bothering to move his car. I gathered the receipts and left the penalty charge where it lay.
He dropped me at the station without a word, and I staggered with my case, suit carrier, laptop and hat box to buy a train ticket: £76. I considered siphoning back the fuel I’d put in his car. I hadn’t eaten since Friday night.
I got home late on Sunday. I sat at my computer, and added up what he – the Scrooge who had the cheek to ask to take a photo of my grandmother’s ring, worth many thousands of pounds, before I gave it to my niece, as if to make out he would one day buy something similar, to make up for the fact he spent £21.99 when he proposed – had spent on the sheep.
I then added up the curry and Sunday lunch at the Saddle Room I’d bought him as a thank-you for rescuing the sheep when he came up for my birthday. I added on half the cost of the Edinburgh flat: £450.
And then I added up how much I spent over three years feeding Prudence, his cat that he snatched back without having the grace to tell me. I deducted his sum from mine and sent him the total he still owes me: £2,281.63.
Put that in your anorexic roll-up and smoke it.
WHY COULD HE NOT JUST BE NICE FOR ONE EVENING? WHY DID HE HAVE TO SPOIL IT?’’