Steve Sanson was the one good mate Nigel could always go to for advice. He was never fazed by anything Nigel told him. Steve was straight up, down to earth, and had lots of life experience. He’d been married and divorced, and then had a succession of girlfriends. When things were getting really bad with Helen, Nigel naturally confided in Steve about his relationship problems. They met at their usual watering hole, the local Good George, at Nigel’s request.
Steve listened to Nigel’s tale of woe, put down his glass and said, “How’s the sex life?”
“The sex is still good,” Nigel said, “when it happens, but she’s weaponised sex.”
“Weaponised sex!” Steve exclaimed. “That sounds pretty exciting. Like ballistic sex.”
“No, you know what I mean,” Nigel moaned. “She’s manipulating. withholding, to punish me or to get her way. She’s busting my balls.”
“I suppose that started when she found out about your little affair with Brenda.”
It was Steve who had advised Nigel to drop Brenda. “Those sorts of arrangements never last long and never end well,” he’d said. “You won’t keep two women. You’ll lose one or both. So choose one and if you value your marriage, choose Helen.” He was right of course and it was good advice at the time.
“No, it didn’t really start then,” Nigel said. “It’s a funny thing. Helen and I were shagging like monkeys after she found out about Brenda. Jealousy is a great aphrodisiac. It’s just lately, we’re constantly fighting.”
“Well, you know, once you lose a woman’s trust…”
“I thought we were all over that. Things were good for a while, but now it’s just…” Nigel was lost for words.
“What are you fighting about?” Steve asked.
“Anything. Everything. Everything’s an issue. It’s really messing with my head. The other day we were having dinner together. I was going to say, “Pass the salt.” and it came out as, “You’re ruining my life, you bitch.””
“Really?”
“No, I didn’t really say that. But I did think it.”
“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” Steve observed.
“So, what happened with you and Tania?” Nigel asked. “Why did you break up?”
“Irreconcilable differences,” Steve said. “That was the grounds for the divorce. Irreconcilable differences.”
“Maybe that’s our problem too,” Nigel said. “Irreconcilable differences.”
“Well, you two are very different, but I always thought you made a good couple. All couples have their differences and rough patches. Maybe you just need a break from each other,” Steve counselled.
“I can see a break coming all right,” Nigel said. “Maybe a permanent break.”
Helen said she wanted a clean break and a fresh start. She would leave her old life behind. Their separation was a fraught and acrimonious process, but without the complication of children. Helen had never wanted children. On the day she packed her bags and left, Nigel felt as though he were reeling from blows. He was Helen’s old life, left behind. She seemed to take it in her stride, but who knows how she really felt? How can you know what a woman really feels?
Nigel was at a loss and Steve invited him round for dinner with him and Lara, his new girlfriend. Steve commiserated and philosophised, over dinner. “You never know, do you. A woman’s mind is one of the mysteries of the universe.”
Lara was quietly sympathetic to Steve’s friend, who seemed so bereft, but she rolled her eyes at Steve’s comment about the mystery of the female mind.
After dinner and drinks, Nigel went home and sat alone and moped and reflected. He’d done his best to make up for being a naughty boy. But then he’d been too much under Helen’s thumb, as though he really was a naughty little boy. She had emasculated him. That was the word: emasculated. As though she’d cut his balls off. He would grow them back, he resolved. Maybe he was actually better off without her. With his newfound freedom, Nigel went out and did daring things, things he’d only ever thought about doing, things that Helen would have disapproved of.
Nigel grew a straggly beard. He got a tattoo: a black panther prowling down his arm. He bought a chainsaw and cut down the big magnolia tree that had been blocking their view. Now that he could see the sea from the living room window, he calculated the value of the house had increased by about half a million. While he was at it, he pruned some of the other trees, a bit more than he’d intended, when he looked over the section. Got a bit carried away with the power of the saw. But hey, it opened up the section and let more light in. Anyway, they’d grow back eventually.
Nigel bought a motorbike, a good British bike, a Triumph Bonneville, and a leather jacket. He rode around the coast road, leaning into the wind, enjoying the freedom and exhilaration, and the acceleration. The machine took off like a Jedi speeder bike with the twist of the throttle. He rounded a bend and came face to face with Helen’s car, a brand new, white Japanese model, with its sharply sculpted lines, that from the front, looked like an Imperial stormtrooper helmet. It was unmistakable. They passed so close it was a near miss. He caught a glimpse of Helen, grim-faced behind the wheel, but she would not have seen his face behind the tinted visor of his helmet.
Nigel cruised around town and stopped outside the Good George. Then he carried on to a different bar and parked the bike by the entrance. He kept the black, leather gloves on in the bar and eyed the other patrons warily. He was ready for anything. No one dared to bother him, the solitary stranger who sat languidly enjoying a quiet beer.
Nigel went skydiving. Well, he did a parachute jump, and broke his ankle when he landed. So he was laid up at home for a bit, with a crutch and a moon boot on his foot, and slowed down to where he reflected and ruminated some more. He sat with his foot up and drank beer and played records from his vinyl collection: Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors. Music of the sixties and seventies that Helen never liked. He thought again about what Steve had said. That phrase, irreconcilable differences, had taken up residence in his head. Yes, he and Helen were very different, maybe too different. Maybe that had been the problem all along.
Helen was a publicist for a fashion house. She was outgoing and extrovert. She was a people person. She liked going out, partying and dancing. Nigel was an accountant, more introvert and happier working with numbers and data, and chilling out at home, or occasionally in the familiar surroundings of the Good George. Helen liked new things, like her new car. She said it was a nippy little car. It would be, Nigel said, seeing as it was manufactured by Nips.
Nigel liked old things and disliked Japanese cars. Jap crap. He had a black 1970 Mark Four Zodiac, a good, solid British Ford. He liked the power of the V6 motor under the long bonnet. The problem with the slab-sided shape of the car, as pointed out by Helen, was that the side windows were quite high and gave the impression of a rather diminutive driver behind the wheel, particularly as Nigel was of quite short stature. “And what’s with the fake grille?” she said. “And why do you drive that old gas guzzler anyway?”
Nigel and Helen had different notions of style and different tastes in cars, furniture, clothes, music, food, just about everything, when you think about it. Nigel preferred traditional, retro and recycled, to modern. He preferred casual to formal, rock to classical and jazz, steak to sushi, beer to wine and cocktails, dogs to cats. It was a wonder they had got together in the first place. They reckon opposites attract. Maybe so, but they don’t seem to last.
Steve hadn’t heard from Nigel for a while, so he gave him a call to see how he was doing. He sounded pretty glum so Steve picked him up, as he was still encumbered with the moon boot and unable to drive, and took him out to the Good George.
“You gotta quit wallowing, mate,” Steve said. “Get out and mix. Get back in the race. Plenty other fish in the sea. And tidy yourself up. You look like shit. Come out with us Saturday night. Lara and I are going to a wine bar with one of her workmates. She’s a sales manager for Toyota. Her name’s Yumi. And she does look yummy. Pretty, sexy, talented. She’s a classical pianist.”
“You setting me up for a double date?” Nigel said, doubtfully.
“Yeah. It’ll be great.”
Nigel contemplated his beer for a moment and said, “Yeah, okay. What have I got to lose?”