Static

It was like switching off an old radio. One of those ones with the volume dial that dims it's static into silence and finishes with a satisfying 'click'.

The noise that had been immense was suddenly gone. The spring light took on a golden glow and summer made an early appearance. How beautiful it all was in those days that tasted like the rosewater lattes I'd buy on the way home from work.

Our 'family' holiday. What a jumble of awful events that had been. Lee pitching himself against my 6 year old who acted out one too many times for his liking. Lee drinking himself into oblivion every night to be the scowling presence at the beach the next day. Lee.
He thought he'd got away with it; all that sourness. In turns he could be the sandcastle building, trench digging, milkshake racing, fun lover. The one who had money for all the rides and all the gum-ball machines. Even when I said enough.
Interspersing his over eager attempts were the empty silences. At one point, on a coach tour around a volcano, with him sat staring out of a window a seat away from us both, I turned to him;
'Lee, come on now, lets sort this out'.
And he was so grateful, 'Thank you for reaching out to me, I just didn't know how. I'm so glad I've got a girlfriend who wants to do that...'
But it was like trying to save a drowning man. One who, once dragged out, jumped right back in the sea.

Another time he was berating me for not being stern enough with my tired son. 'I get that you were pissed off with his behaviour Lee, but why are you angry with me about it?' I asked.
He slunk off somewhere without answering, to find a beer, and I'd picked my son up and held him in a crowded market square as the music blared. He was having a great time.
Lee and I resolved things that evening, only for him to stop talking to me all the next day.

I have photos of us all. My face is impassive in most. I remember them being taken and the feeling of not knowing why or what this silence was made of, but that it was as sharp and treacherous as the volcanic rocks at our feet.

The first day of our holiday had been warm, but then it got colder. March wasn't the right time, it seemed, to come to Lanzarote, and we divided our days between coach tours and the hire car, exploring the island. Black sand and vivid green life. Fire and water. Terrible wine from the vineyards. Gift shops and sandcastles. This is what I remember.





When we came home Lee was momentarily appeased. We'd been away, the pressure was off till the next time.
But it wasn't long before he'd wanted to start the whole process again. I remember telling him, one night after we'd just come home, that I was happy to go away again somewhere, maybe even as soon as Easter, but that I'd never go away without my son again. As long as he was young enough or willing enough to come on family holidays with me then that's what we'd do.
This didn't go down well. An argument ensued that ended with his muttering and sullen silences. But I didn't care as much any more. Even though it circled, still, above my head I knew that I wouldn't change my mind.


...days later: 'I was just surprised was all baby, when you said never. I felt like you were just ruling it out.'
'that's right. I'll never leave him out of a holiday again.' I said. Going away for a weekend was one thing. But I wouldn't be going on a week long trip without him. My resources would be spent on my family.


He was determined to unsettle me somehow I think now. He tried a different tack and when, after much prodding and hints dropped I still hadn't uploaded all the photos of our holiday onto Facebook he started to pout.
He couldn't figure it out, why haven't you put them up yet? He asked. I'd had the good camera - the one with a memory card that wasn't attached to a phone. I was the keeper of all the evidence of our 'good time'.
He was full of it, everything we had seen and done, how great a time we'd had, regaling people with tales of the tragically hilarious evening entertainment; one night; a man dressed up as a very drunk Amy Winehouse, miming to 'Rehab'.
I sent him all the images on messenger, my days suddenly full of supply teaching, having decided that the creative route to making money wasn't going to cut it forever.


The long term idea had been moving in together. While running my own business worked in terms of tax credits and childcare, it would never have paid my half of the rent. Tax credits would be gone once we were cohabiting, so back to teaching I went, quite liking the change in my fortunes, though not entirely my son's reaction to breakfast and afterschool clubs.
I began supply right before we went away, signing up to a couple of agencies that then proceeded to call me for work almost every day. One of them I signed up to because of a job I'd seen advertised. They never tell you where the school is in case you go directly to that school and lose them their finders fee, but having applied I didn't hear anything at all.




Right before they offered me a long term, part time position, just before the Easter holidays, tired out with working and the constant drip, drip of his dissatisfaction, I told Lee I needed a break.
As he stood in my hall, upset with me for not publicising my enjoyment of out time away I realised with absolute clarity that I would never, NEVER, make this man happy. Not ever.
There would always be something he wasn't happy with, there would always be a new target to strive for, some ineffable goal with moveable posts. He wanted me to fail.


It wasn't a new argument this, 'when will you put it on Facebook' argument. He was annoyed that there weren't many photos of us together on the regular.' Look', I pointed out, 'Look around this house.' There were photos of us everywhere. 'How many photos of me and you do you have in your house?' The answer was none.
It seemed that the image he was projecting was more important than the reality. What everyone else saw and thought and 'liked' or commented on seemed to be his reality.


And so I told him, after his latest, 'I find it strange that you wouldn't want to celebrate the time we've had, almost like you're embarrassed of me' schpiel, that I needed some time to think about things. Three days. I needed Three days.


Click


All that had roared in my ears. All the pressure. All the static of a million different interpretations of what his weighted silences might mean. They grew quieter and quieter still, receeding into the dwindling distance until, click, and silence.


I'd three trial days at the school that week. I had ensured I had childcare, got myself to work and got on with my job in the silence that surrounded me.
My classes were noisy, chaotic and hard to crack. All of it was easier than negotiating with him.


Saturday morning came, and with it a push for a resolution from Lee. I wanted him to wait until my son was in bed. Later I said.

Within thirty minutes he was in my house. 'I'm not giving up on you baby. It's too much to lose. Its too important to me. You both are'

How did it happen? That he was suddenly in my arms and everything was ok again? But I didn't want that. I did not want that at all.

He left, thinking all was fine. He'd be back later he said.

But I messaged him, 'Lee, I'm not sure this is what I wanted , I'd asked you to wait. Im not certain anymore.'

And then later, I was trying to explain that I wasn't happy, that I didn't think I could go on and suddenly he was as vicious and frightening as a snake. His eyes, his mouth, full of hatred, seething and verbally tearing strips off me.

'I know what you are!' he shouted 'You are a controlling and manipulative, evil bitch. For three days you've left me hanging while I wondered and waited. Today you have lifted me up and shattered me down, twice.
'I've been writing about this bullshit you've been pulling all day and I can see you now. FUCK OFF JUST FUCK OFF, You are JUST like SUE! you fucking bitch'

And he drove off in his car with me in a panic running along side pleading with him not to go.
He immediately blocked me on all the social media sites he could, he got all of his friends, all of his family to block and delete me within minutes.

And he would not answer his phone. I was sick. Sick. Because I could see it too. I had left him alone for three days. I had made it up with him that morning only to change my mind. What sort of person was I? It was ME who was the evil, manipulative one... and for him to compare me to his abusive ex, the one who he'd told me was one of the worst cases of domestic violence seen by his counsellor at the time.
In a panic I rang my friend, I rang my sister, I rang and rang him.

'Shiv, just sit tight. I'm coming to get you in the morning'

He texted me to fuck off and leave him alone. I apologised, the words tumbling out of my trembling fingers. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.... Please talk to me Lee.

And he did. And he said sorry for saying I was like his ex. He hadn't meant it. and then he was round at my house again and we were drinking and I was sobbing and then we were in bed. And then it was morning, Easter sunday.
He made a treasure hunt for my son of all his Easter eggs as I lay, nursing a headache in bed.

'I feel a bit silly now, for getting my family to block you' he said.

He left in a text, having come round at midnight with a couple of bottles of wine inside him and one in his bag.

And then my friend arrived. 'We've made it up', I told her. 'I don't need to come'.

 'I don't care' she said 'You're still coming with me.'

I was ashamed of myself. For having a hangover. For breaking up with Lee. For letting him back in.
It should be over. It should STILL be over. I shouldn't have called him or pleaded with him. I should have gone to bed.

But it's a funny thing, when you are somewhere that people really see you. They really see you, not the one that keeps on fucking up, but the real one inside. They both knew that it was over and that it needed to stay that way.

And then it was over. I called him and told him. 'I can't see you any more Lee. It's really over this time.'

And for three months it really was.