A Fighting Chance

Hard Choices

Where do I begin? As I write this, we are sitting on a plane to America. Looking over at him as he sleeps, after all this time, it hardly seems possible the world wasn't always like it is now.

We have no secrets Tom and I, well until now. It's been so hard to keep quiet while he struggled with the pressures of the new series. So much on his plate recently and he still managed to make me feel like I am the centre of his world. What I haven't told him is life is about to change for us. Dramatically. It will test us like never before. But not till we get back. Till we have this time. For once, I am the one looking after Tom, as Tom has looked after me.

I want to have this story to hold on to, to read and re-read as a balm for the hard times. And it will get hard. But we've done hard before. Hard brought us together. It hasn't been an easy journey for us from the word go, but looking back, one worth revisiting. If only to prove that what is grief if not love persevering? There has been so much grief Tom but then, so much love too.

The day we met, was one of the saddest days of my life. Not because we met, please don't think that for a minute, but because I buried my Father and made up my mind to divorce my husband, all within the space of 12 hours.

I remember the day was bright and sunny and very, very cold. Although it was still early autumn, there was a snap frost that morning. As I looked out the window, beautiful as the icing sugar coated plants were in the garden, I knew the cemetery was going to be brutal. Not just emotionally, but physically. I shivered as I looked out, knowing in my heart what was to come.

The funeral. That was what caused the final fight in the litany of arguments, gas-lighting, affairs and abuses that I had endured over the previous few years. It wasn't always like that, at first he - David - had been funny and kind and what you could almost call loving. Almost. As things developed and he realised I really did love him, because at the beginning I did, he started to change. I thought he was just worried I would leave him, so I did what I thought was the right thing to prove my love and make him feel secure. I married him. Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking, but at the time it made perfect sense. It actually changed nothing. In fact, things got even worse.

He now no longer stood to lose me at a moment's notice, or so he assumed. The final straw was he threw a toddler-style tantrum about me not getting him the exact colour of black trousers he wanted to wear to the funeral. I simply didn't care what colour he wore, I just wanted him there. He decided after much persuasion that he would go but I had to drive him to the pub afterwards to meet his friends for a drink. There was no way he was wasting good drinking time on my stupid little family. Barely 2 hours after my Father was laid to rest, he was downing pints and I was at home with my mother, mourning.

As I left her to go home, I realised that this was it, I could take no more. The final straw. I decided to leave that night. By the time he came home I would be gone. I had no plan, very little money and nowhere to stay. I had my car and I had what was left of my dignity, that would be enough to start with.

What I had NO idea was, within a few hours, I would also have what would become the love of my life.

Packing my bag, I looked around. There was very little of this house that was me. A couple of photos and an ornament or two but other than that, it would be like I never existed. I rifled my underwear drawer and found the treasure I was looking for. My copy of Coriolanus by William Shakespeare. I hid it for two reasons. Firstly, it was "snobby intellectual stuff" and he hated anything that showed his lack of even the basic grasps of language and secondly, it was signed by the man who would become my Tom. I never told him that did I? That I hid him in my knickers ! Bet that will raise a smile! Anyway, if David had found it, he would have destroyed it - and probably given me a black eye for my cheek. He might even have gone as far as adultery accusations - there was no reasoning with him at that point. I have to admit, there were nights where Tom's beautiful face, his blue eyes, his smile and that wonderful laugh kept me from going into some very dark places.

It was getting late by now and I grabbed my bag, including it's precious cargo, my keys and my handbag and left. That was it. All I had to show for 10 years of my life. Somehow, I hoped the the lack of physical baggage would reflect a lack of mental baggage. Sadly I was wrong.

As I started the engine, I noticed it was 8pm, not that the actual time made any difference. It was more a marker, the end of one life and the start of a new one. By the time David came in I would be long gone. I turned on the radio and as I drove away, a song came on the radio that would imprint itself on my memory as the "runaway" song - "I Gotta a Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas. Little did I know, but my night was about to be a very good night indeed!

I headed south, driving for maybe 4 hours without stopping to get some miles between us. It was gone midnight now and I was getting very, very tired. I knew I should stop, but I was desperate to get as far as away as possible. It wasn't until the lane marker rumbling stirred me from what turned out to be a micro-sleep that I realised I was a danger to myself and everyone on the road. At the next service station I pulled off the main road and into the carpark.

Sitting for a minute, gathering my thoughts, I was aware of a black F-type Jaguar pulling into the space across from me. It caught my eye simply because the carpark was fairly empty so it was odd they parked so close. If I had a car like that I would want as much space as possible. I didn't want to appear to be staring so I looked away before the occupant got out. Deciding I needed coffee before I continued any further, I got out stiffly and stretched my legs. Small cars were great on fuel but oh boy, even for a short person like me, they could be hard going on long trips.

I walked into the main food court of the station and saw there were a couple of 'to-go' machines serving what looked like fairly decent coffee. Normally I was a tea drinker, but tonight, nothing less than rocket fuel would do. I grabbed a paper cup and made my way to the machine. Selecting my fuel of choice, I inserted my cash and waited. And waited. Dammit. The machine just wasn't playing the game. To make matters worse, I had no more coins. I sighed and thumped the machine in the vain hope of bullying it into giving me coffee. Naturally, it didn't and now I was money-less , sleep deprived and no coffee. It was all too much. I gave in. Walking away to a nearby table, I sat down, put my head on my arms and cried. A lot.

Normally, I didn't cry. Ever. Being married to David had taught me to keep my emotions and thoughts to myself if I wanted to avoid a beating. Tonight the flood gates opened. I was so caught up in the release of all the angst and fear and frustration, I didn't see or hear the occupant of the F-type had come up to the machine behind me and was now looking at the sad, dishevelled woman, crying over an un-dispensed drink. I was equally unaware that he had come over to me, until I heard his voice above me.

"Is there anything I can do Miss? You seem awfully upset about something - and I don't really think it's the coffee?"

And that was the moment, as I looked up and saw Tom standing there, I thought I had lost my mind completely.