THE END OF THE AFFAIR Part 3

The following weekend was Valencia. I had the dress, the shoes, the shawl. I was so excited and felt so, so secure in us. He had invited me to his Brother´s wedding?! Too fast, too lacking in caution I now see.

I met his daughter for the first time outside the hotel. She threw her arms around me with an excited, all consuming energy and love. His grandmother gave me an icy hello. Why had she been so frosty with me when in the end I am the injured party? Did she know something I didn´t about him, his ex wife, his taste in women?
Disjointed communication and an odd distance between the family members. The children all took to me straight away. Him and I then escaped and had the most romantic evening I have had in a long time. It culminated in a drunken phone call to my mother saying he loved her daughter and then hours devouring each other in the dark, stripped naked of any other worries or issues; purely physical mixed with loving words and hushed voices.

The next day, the Wedding day. People I didn´t know or care about. I suppose I was an imposter.
He was serious and tired, united to his longterm friend; weariness and lack of sleep. I was elated. I spent most of the day with his daughter in the hairdressers and shopping but missing him. She told the hairdresser I was her mother.

The wedding itself was a mix of observations towards him and the family dynamic, tainted with loneliness and insecurity. He didn´t drink, he didn´t actively respond to me. My acts of affection were met with affection, but I had to go to him.
At the dinner table in the vast, canteenesque banquet hall, he had told me to stop worrying as I had to focus on his actions, not on his words and that he had taken me to the wedding. Was that not enough proof of his feelings? In retrospect, no.

The end to the weekend was dramatically different to the ending I had experienced in Madrid just one week before. I had cried quietly in the bathroom on the evening of the wedding when we had returned to the hotel. He was tired. I felt rejected in some way and my strong and unfailing instincts had told me that something irrevocable had changed in the dynamics of our relationship. He had got impatient with me as he had heard me cry. He tried to comfort me but I saw a total lack of empathy. The next day he was in a bad mood. HE had a 6 hour drive back to Madrid. HE hadn´t slept well. I WAS seemingly the selfish one, and yet I was the one who later on put myself in his shoes, thought it through and generously or stupidly adapted myself to his needs.
 I stuck it out. He took me to the train station. We had a fast food lunch. I showed him my most recently published article. He didn´t read it. I felt trepidation. I felt the sense of an ending. He left with his daughter and said ´Te quiero´.
That was the last time we saw each other. The communication continued as always but I saw signs of waning commitment. I saw signs of a confused, overworked man who couldn´t live up to the image he had created of himself. I saw cruelty and impatience and then regret. I saw huge amounts of frustration. I saw the hideous vice of potential alcoholism rear it´s ugly head. I witnessed the sense of being the victim in a badly thought out game of two halves, where sentiments and love are disrespected and under valued. I saw and experienced a distancing, and then the silence came.

THE END OF THE AFFAIR Part 2

A week and a half later I was with him in Madrid. He paid for my ticket and I went to his house. To the Lion´s den, to the lair of the Alpha male.
He picked me up from the airport. I was so elated but nervous. I wore a long, green dress and felt wonderful. He took a photo of me as I came out of arrivals. We kissed. He was a hugger and I felt so protected pressed up against him.
He drove me home and made me dinner; prawns with tartar sauce to begin with, and then a strange mix of bacon and green vegetables from a tin. He cooked well actually and all weekend I felt very looked after as he mentally processed what to make me and then served up steaks and salads, gazpacho and then as a response to my own hunger request, a fish dish with leeks at 330am. He even made me a special strawberry dessert and asked me tenderly in the mornings if I was ready for my coffee. Details are everything and should never be overlooked.

We went out with his friends that first night, and the next, and the next. To the same bar del barrio. No glamour or variety there but raw authenticity yes. Something that I also love. His friends liked me, he showed them I was his. It was a magical, essential feeling of ownership.

That night in the kitchen he drew me closer and I didn´t resist. I had planned to do just that as the following weekend we were going to Valencia together to his half brother´s wedding. I felt that carnal acts could wait until the romantic setting of a wedding. However, he had told me that we would be sharing the hotel room with his daughter. I could´t quite believe what I had heard. Then and there in the hallway of his flat, I had an instance of reversed morals and decided to allow what we both wanted to happen, to happen. We were compatible, and my fears melted away. Although in the morning I quietly observed his behaviour towards me searching for signs of a wane in interest.

The weekend was magical but not as magical as I had anticipated. The trip to The Prado and to dine in the gardens of The Ritz as we had discussed ( Or I had imagined alone maybe ) only came half way to fruition. Late start, tiredness for his part and for mine, ( but I fought mine off as I was so happy to be there ). A late lunch at home, resting on the sofa, more intimacy there and then, and he took me into town. Demonstrations, roads closed, no parking spaces next to The Prado. We went round in circles. We went to another part of town. We walked around briefly and we went into a coffee shop where he knew the owner. He had helped him with an investment apparently. He walked out without paying for our coffees, presuming that it was on the house. I was a little embarrassed. A giver? A taker? A provider?

I left Madrid sad. Hee went to work on Monday morning and left me incarcerated in his attic flat which was miles from the center of town. I didn´t like the sensation of being the little woman at home waiting for my man to come home. I wanted to explore Madrid, go for my breakfast alone and be free, all the while knowing that I was loved and in love.
He came home and took me for lunch, but basically ignored me for the duration; more calls, business head on. He took me to the airport and we kissed.

I arrived back to Barcelona missing him terribly but also aware of my own vital independence and lust for life that seemed ever so slightly quashed by him. He had written the first message to me whilst I was in the airport. He missed me already. I remember crying on the bus home but also messaging him constantly, so in effect I didn´t feel alone. I was in love but also still me returning to the life I had built for myself alone. He had spoken to me many times about wanting to be with me in the same location, to live with me, maybe in London, maybe in Madrid, maybe in an as of yet undecided city. These were his plans. I felt a mix of terror and excitement. His overwhelming need to rush and not allow us time to simply enjoy each other from a distance, worried me. Could he simply have not really seen me? Was he unaware of what it meant to simply be in love and allow the joy to envelop you instead of worrying about a future that may never happen?

THE END OF AN AFFAIR Part 1

It seemed right but it wasn´t was it. It seemed astounding and as if I had mentally envisioned this man beforehand and summoned him to me. I actually had.
Five solitary years here in Barcelona with broken romances or short term sentimental anxiety, but not what I was really looking for. Need and want are two very different things. I had learnt this and held on fervently to the image of my ideal partner, leaving the young pretty boys and easily accessed seduction behind.
With clarity of mind and a clear vision of what I wanted, at the start of May I met him online. I hadn´t been dating this way for some time but I then got the urge to try one more website for seemingly more discerning and serious singles. It´s terrible and terrifying how our daily lives can potentially function so well, and in my case be filled with almost constant joy and happiness, and yet we must resort to actively searching for love on an online menu of candidates because society or our own fears and lack of social interaction skills have failed us.
His first message arrived on 5th May. I remember dates, I cling onto time. He asked me if I could tell him something about myself. I did. He lived in Madrid but also worked here in Barcelona and in London. He sold himself as International. A Financier, an Investments man. Basque. I had no experience of them as people. It has to be said that previous to meeting him I had realized I needed to be with a Brit. However, fate ( or manipulating it via the internet ) got in the way and delivered me up my Basque.
We exchanged various messages, he asked for my number, we began speaking on the phone. He asked when he could ring me. At 4pm on a Tuesday I said. He rang on the dot. His voice was like a radio announcer. He had already bragged about that one. A detail of himself that he was proud of I saw.
The communication via messaging and phone calls grew quickly. He rang me everyday and a habit formed. I soon became accustomed to seeing his name flash up on his inbound calls. It made me smile every time. I was happy. Although worried that I would not find him attractive in person. We got to know each other via a plethora of photos and once a short video. I yearned to be with him. His height, his glasses, how his face changed when he took them off, his clothes, his laugh. I liked his upbeat energy, and responsable attitude to life. He was his own boss, but perhaps only in the confines of his office; his emotions seem now not to have been governed by himself.
We met on a Tuesday evening. He had asked his representative to find him a good Fish restaurant as I wanted to try oysters. He choose the best there was, a local institution of fine dining and a place that I knew from my 30th Birthday. He gained status in my eyes for having such good taste. Maybe I should have dated his representative in retrospect. He promised me red roses too. I sat down at the table and they arrived in the arms of the rotund waiter in his white jacket. 20 red roses and too heavy to carry. I remember laughing nervously and happily with my face obscured from the curious stares of the fellow diners by an aggressive red mass of petals.
 It was a perfect dinner and although he wasn´t quite what I expected, I found him attractive. He was affectionate and hugged me. He later on asked if he could kiss me. Should I have said no? Is that what you are meant to do?I wanted to experience that kiss to see if I liked it. I did. We had a lovely dinner filled with anticipation and wonder. He had known he wanted to be with me longterm even before meeting me he said. I had been sceptical but secretly delighted to have met Mr Commitment. I was searching for the same staple requirements.
That night we went for another drink and then to a club. He wanted the night to continue endlessly I saw. Impulsiveness, fantasy. When tiredness took over, he waited for me outside the toilet clutching my roses, petals falling thick and fast and leaving a trail of romance behind us as we left.
Outside on the street a gay guy tried to pluck a rose from the bouquet and was met by a frosty, defensive reception. Was the Basque homophobic? I have always been suspicious of a homophobe´s own sexuality..
He took me home in a taxi and left me and my roses there on the corner of my street. I had made it quite clear that I wouldn´t be spending the night with him.

The next morning we went for breakfast close to my house. He arrived late but dressed in an expensive suit and with a different hairstyle. He was in work mode, he had changed persona somewhat. The phone calls started and he lost concentration but kept his hand on my knee and there were kisses in between calls. It was only an hour and then he left in a taxi and I left for work. He kissed me passionately outside the taxi and it made me embarrassed. I walked up the hill and saw his reflection watching me in a billboard. I turned to wave. He later told me that he had shed a tear as I left. What for?