A World in Us Read online

  Gilles darling,

  After some soul searching, I am going with the decision that I knew to be true in the first place. Both my head and my heart are telling me to let you go. I don’t want to be involved with Elena in any kind of poly relationship. I would never choose to be in a relationship with her myself and do not want her in my marriage. Whilst you and I are two people with two choices, it is our marriage that she is involved in — and a sisterwife relationship is far bigger than a friendship. If I am involved with you, then I am involved with her — it is as simple as that. I cannot be in her def­in­ition of family.

  I hope that you and I may be able to be friends in the future…but I am not going to put off my future any longer. I do hope that you will be happy in your new triad. But maybe your biology is doing what your head is denying. You have a much more balanced relationship with her than you do with me and maybe your heart says that your longer-term future would be more successful with her. I wish you all happiness and luck. And above all love.

  Lx

  During those two weeks, my wounded heart was bathed by alcohol and human compassion, and my brain stimulated by intellectual company. So desperate was I for touch and warmth that I fell into a pool of enchantment with an angel in disguise. A beautiful man. There was no pain. It was like floating on heroin. Blissfully cocooned in a new land of new love, I released my past with all its pain and joy. I no longer wanted any of it. And I thought about staying. I was content. There were no round robin emails, no coercion to pick sides and no contact from the beyond to disturb my tranquillity.

  But the universe works in mysterious ways. At 2 a.m., ten days later, my past phoned me using a cellular connection. It was Morten:

  “I’m divorcing Elena. Will you come back to me?”

  One of our biggest justifications for exploring polyamory was to avoid the curse of serial monogamy. In a land far, far away, Gilles and I had faced separation and divorce. Poly-amory, such as we defined it, was a perfect way of having our needs met by others and maintaining our beautiful relationship. Building and integrating multiple relationships seemed ideal, especially as many would just be the extension of a friendship. But an unacknowledged fact of relationships was the power they had to mould and change you. Neither of us had recognised the impact of the new relationships on our characters, and we had discounted the fact that our existing relationships would be thrown up, by the rose-tinted fluorescent lights of the new relationship, into a sharp relief, painfully highlighting any inadequacies and failings. And instead of working on them, it was all too easy to bask in the comfort of Turkish delights and numbing sweetmeats of the honeymoon period.

  The mainstream might understand polyamory from a bisexual standpoint. After all, why should you deny yourself love if you are equally attracted to different genders? It doesn’t seem fair. But comparison between two differently gendered persons is much more difficult. It is obvious that they have different roles.

  But in my heterosexual quad, polyamory had proved a comparison and a judgement in too many ways. Two women,in two similar roles. But with two vastly different natures.Elena and I were chalk and cheese. I was passive. She was active. I believed in a work ethic and resented it. She believed in creativity and expression but was jobless. I believed in acceptance, even for unacceptable behaviour. She would not and could not accept anything but high standards. I was struck by the fact that despite all our attempts at avoiding it, both couples had come to this. Divorce.

  “Did you hear me? Are you there? For God’s sake say something!”

  I said all I could think of to stall for time.

  “I’ve been with someone else, someone wonderful, for the last ten days.”

  But it didn’t work.

  “Why should I care?” he said. “We’re polyamorous. Will you come back to me?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It’ll be all right, I promise. I love you. We’ll see each other tomorrow; I just had to hear your voice.”

  Was it possible after sixteen years that Morten would leave his professed soulmate and partner to be with me? We had been together for twenty-four months, and yet we had never been together just the two of us, as primary partners. But the next day at the arrivals gate, he met me. Just him. And just me.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello, how are you?”

  “Um, a little dazed to be honest. Are you OK?”

  I touched his face. It was familiar and yet a stranger’s. My stranger. The man with whom I had just agreed to build a future. He looked down at me with eyes that were weathered and exhausted and said, “I’m a bit of everything — very happy, very sad.”

  “Can you fill me in from the beginning, please?”

  “You mean what happened this week and in my head?

  “Yes…how, why, stuff like that,” I said.

  And as we sat in the arrivals hall at Gatwick airport with steaming cappuccinos, he started.

  “First you and I were still together, then we knew it wasn’t working, but it didn’t really feel like we’d broken up until our coffee. I think that’s when it really struck me. That I was losing you. At the same time, I had strong doubts whether Elena and I would be able to repair our marriage enough to be happy together.

  “I started panicking at first because I didn’t speak to anyone, and it just felt like my head would explode. We were looking to sign the tenancy agreement on our apartment for another year, and all I saw was this crossroads: Elena (for some reason always to the right) and you (to the left). And I started to believe that I was about to follow the wrong path…which was a huge step for me. You know how loyal I am, so breaking up a sixteen-year relationship is not peanuts.”

  I almost smiled at his understated turn of phrase. Breaking up a relationship of any amount of time was not peanuts. And sixteen years wasn’t even coconuts. It was boulder-sized nuts.

  “Finally I started to talk to Elena, which of course was terrible, but at the same time it felt good because the pressure in my head got a bit better. Then I talked to Gilles and more to Elena. Then, yesterday afternoon we went to therapy and then to the pub and then home. All those talks have made me stronger. All along, I have been consistent about the fact that this is what I want and one good test has been seeing Elena cry and say things that are horrible to hear, since I can’t help but feel guilty.

  “I have done my fair share of crying too, but it hasn’t changed my mind. Not a bit. I cried at the therapist, at the pub and at home, and so did she. But I never had any doubt, and then I left the flat when Gilles came over, and I called you.”

  “So this decision is barely embryonic...?” I said. “I believe you, but I am so terribly scared. For the last weeks, I have tried my best to put all of you away from my life. I even started to think I might stay in Cyprus.”

  “I think in my mind the decision is older than I know consciously, but it’s very difficult to say ‘I have made up my mind, I am leaving you.’”

  “Good Lord,” I said. “How is Elena...are she and Gilles still together through all of this?”

  “Elena is a mess, but she is reaching out to her friends, which is good. And Gilles is there for her.”

  “Dad was very fair to Gilles,” I said, “but said to me that it was doubtful that he would change and if I didn’t want that in the future then I shouldn’t have it now. And suddenly I knew that I thought the same way as my father about many things. And that continually doubting myself on those things wasn’t doing me, or him, any good.”

  “He seems to be wise, your dad.”

  “He is wise. Logical. You’re not that different. But Morten...you’re standing in front of me offering me everything I ever wanted and I’m terrified.”

  “I am. And I’m also terrified.”

  I held his hand, and we were both trembling.

  “What scares you?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “That you will take it away,” I answered. “That you’ll go back to her.”

  “I guess I can understand that. But is there anything I can say or do?”

  “No. You shouldn’t have to worry about my fears right now. I think you have enough to deal with. And I have already agreed to go into the unknown with you. I just hope and pray that I’m not being stupid.”

  He said, “I made both Elena and Gilles promise not to say anything to you until I had made up my mind. If I had stayed with Elena, you would never even have heard about my doubts.”

  “I couldn’t understand why everyone went quiet,” I said. “I thought you were all getting on with your lives. I can’t even begin to think of everything. That’s also scary.”

  “But thrilling and happy too, right?” he said anxiously. “It is for me. It’s what kept me going through the horrible things I had to do. Thinking about you and us. We will have blue-eyed children.”

  I started to sniffle. And pretty soon, it had turned into a full-blown storm. He said gently, “You’ve been frustrated with me lately when I didn’t make decisions. That I didn’t just break up with you even though it seemed like the best solution and was what I said I wanted. You should understand now that I couldn’t…I love you, Louisa. Let’s go home.”

  31

  My hands were shaking so much that even if I had had that enviable male ability to direct my stream of urine, it still would have been a hit-and-miss affair. Peeing on a stick was supposedly a simple task and one that I was not doing too well at. I washed my hands, walked out and sat down at my desk.

  The packet said sixty seconds. In order to distract myself, I put it down next to me and scanned through the stat­us updates on Facebook, forgetting that my whole world could change on its response. Until I glanced over and read “Pregnant.” I picked it up and shook it a few times, thinking that like an Etch A Sketch it might rub out. Or that suddenly the word “Not” would attach itself to the beginning.

  “Not” did not.

  After a few heart-plummeting and adrenalin-speeded seconds, I reached for the phone. It picked up after the third ring.

  “Are you busy?”

  “Just going into a meeting, can’t talk now.”

  “Don’t put the phone down! I just needed to tell you that I’m pregnant.”

  Tick, tock, tick, tock. I could hear the smile spreading across his face.

  “Oh darling, that’s wonderful. Amazing. I’ll call you later when I’ve not been able to concentrate on this damn meeting.”

  We’d moved out of the more expensive end of Notting Hill, where I had shamefully abused my credit card — easily blamed on my grief — to the only marginally less expensive Richmond, Surrey.

  And we’d moved into a house exactly like the one in St Albans where I’d first visited Morten and Elena. In an effort to not fall short of her standards, I’d decorated it in the manner to which Morten had become accustomed. White. Minimalist. But with pointless and artfully placed cushions.

  Our new home was about seven minutes’ walk from Gilles and Elena. We knew because we’d timed it. They lived on Richmond Green, in a prestigious address, discounted because the lady below them cooked a lot of soup and the smell of cabbage was rife. Not that they minded so much about money, because both were pretty flush from our recent divorces.

  Gilles was still working on his fitness website and rock-hard body, whilst Elena started a psychology major at Roehampton. Our rare interactions had been tempered with friction and lubricated with alcohol as we attempted to stay friends. I had lost Gilles once; I didn’t want to lose him again. Of course this latest development would throw a spanner in the works. Morten and Elena had been trying for a baby for eight years. And now, within three months, I was pregnant.

  I met Gilles alone to break the news, as did Morten with Elena. Then we met at a pub nearby.

  “Just imagine us all with a child!” she was saying as we sipped orange juice round the table. Her eyes were dancing with fire. “Gilles and I can babysit, we’ll be godparents. And…” she turned to me with tears in her eyes. “I want you to know that I forgive you and that if you die, I will take care of Morten’s child as if it were my own.” Her desire for a child had coloured her life for so long that her happiness, despite her shock at our announcement, was tangible. It wasn’t my child. It was our child.

  But I didn’t want to share with her.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Morten and Gilles shone with pride at her magnanimity, whilst I froze in horror.

  My distrust of Elena ran fathoms deep. And my instinct on hearing her words was to take my unborn baby and run. It seemed that no sooner would I have my longed-for child than Elena would be there. Telling me how to raise it, taking it for walks and play dates…and demanding that it pick sides during our many arguments. If I were still alive, that is. Because clearly — if I was dead — she had already assumed parentage.

  I had experienced once that when Elena wanted something or someone, she got it. Those events had almost taken my sanity. And nicely juiced up on hormones, I feared that she could drive me mad enough to have me committed to an asylum and take my place as mother. I know it sounded mad. But our entire relationship was not particularly sane. I had thought that as friends we might be able to continue, that I might keep Gilles in my life. But protecting my future relationship with my child was more important. And escaping once, it seemed, was just not enough.

  32

  In our first years together, Gilles had introduced me to his favourite English author, Jack London. He had written many classics, among them Martin Eden, the story of a poor working-class man who had transformed himself through becoming literate and reading poetry to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. But in the end, Martin had discovered that his intelligence and gift surpassed most of those around him, and having seen the darkest of human nature through prejudice in those who spurned and subsequently patronised him, he felt that he was unable to connect with the society in which he lived. He was alone. And so he chose to die.

  When I read Martin Eden, I fell even deeper in love with Gilles. This complex piece of art was his favourite piece of prose! Here was a man who knew how harrowing life could be, who empathised with self-destructive behaviour and the quest for knowledge. Here was a man who would be by my side in life’s journey, would be someone to share thoughts and philosophy with. Our love was deep and mystical. And our meeting of minds, incredible.

  Seven years later, I gave Gilles another Jack London classic and an autobiography of Arnold Schwarzenegger as a Christmas present. He had just taken up bodybuilding, which was to become part of his new career. The latter is of course hugely thumbed and a favourite. The former sits on my shelf now; I got it in the divorce because he never read it.

  Gilles grew and changed into a man in his relationship with Elena. And as he grew and changed, so did I. We lost the demons that bound us together and we grew away from each other.

  Supporting your partner to pursue their passion is a fine goal.

  But when your partner’s passion is something in which you have no interest whatsoever it should also ring some alarm bells.

  “What’s that for?” I asked him.

  “It’s a bioelectrical impedance scale for measuring my body fat. I have to go from ten percent body fat to eight percent before the bodybuilding contest. Although its accuracy is somewhat debatable.”

  He could have been talking in Greek. Worse actually, as I could have understood Greek.

  As an actress, singer and model, Elena watched every gram that went in her mouth and kept her body highly maintained with the best organic creams, scrubs and foods. Looking young in her industry was a must. She does look young. And beautiful.

  They share a passion for the pursuit of perfection, self-discipline and fitness.

  I no longer believe that it’s a one-in-a-billion chance to f
all in love with the same couple. In fact, I believe that if one half of a couple is emotionally compatible, there’s a better-than-odds-chance that the other side should be too. The compatibility tests have already been done, and it’s pretty easy to fall in love, if you are in fact looking to fall in love. Because it’s clear enough now that although we still loved each other, Gilles and I really needed different partners.

  As our life journeys took different directions, as we changed, we were incredibly lucky to find new partners within the same couple. And for all that we have lived through, I will treasure the memories. Even the bad ones. They taught me a lot.

  Some things didn’t change though.

  “We’ve broken up again.”

  It was Gilles. On my doorstep. I was seven months pregnant.

  “This time it’s for real. She’s thrown all my stuff out of the window.”

  I sighed and said, “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

  It was like the old days. Gilles saw manipulation from all sides and Elena saw persecution. I tried emotionally to keep out of it, but my Gilles was alone and angry. He came round, turning to me for advice, comfort and the spare-room bed. I did my best to advise him from a neutral standpoint and supported honesty in all communications. Elena was devastated, but it was not my place or within my ability to support her.

  After an emotionally draining month of counselling and support, the anger died down, and sure enough they got back together. It was inevitable.

  And it was this straw that finally broke Gilles’s and my relationship. We are no longer husband and wife, lovers, or friends. We don’t even speak.

  Although we solidified our friendship during that month even whilst I helped him make up his mind whether or not he wanted to be with Elena, when he went back I wasn’t interested in being her friend. I didn’t even want to try. Not one little bit. For the protection of myself and my family unit, I wanted nothing to do with her. I understood how much it must have hurt, and the consequences of my actions. Because it meant that Elena couldn’t stand Gilles being my friend, and eventually because of the problems it caused, he even stopped wanting to be. But as hard a sacrifice as it was to make for both of us, it was the best thing to do. I wasn’t part of his future, and he wasn’t part of mine.