The Function to Breathe

Thirty Four

2012

It was another few months before I found out about Gavin's affair. 

I was finally feeling better, although I was still on medication, and I was back at work full time and leading what I thought was a normal life with Gavin. We went out with friends, we spent time together, our sexual relationship – which had been completely forgotten about while I'd been ill – resumed.

Gavin still had no idea about the events that triggered my illness in the first place but even so our relationship was as good as it had been before I got ill; or so I thought.

I wasn't stupid enough not to realise that things had changed between us as a result of my illness but I never for one moment expected to find out that he was having an affair, and had been for well over a year.

The similarities between the evening Gavin broke the news of his affair and the evening Ricky asked me to marry him were remarkable, the main difference being that Gavin had actually told me he was cooking us a special meal.

I had spent the morning phoning suppliers for quotes for materials Gavin needed for his current project, tucked away nicely in our office which was actually a large summer house type thing at the bottom of the garden. I'd just stopped for lunch and had wandered back up to the house when my phone pinged with a text message notification.

Don't get anything for dinner tonight love, I'll cook. Gav xx

That's nice, I thought, putting the Bolognese sauce I'd taken out of the freezer earlier into the fridge so we could have it the following day. Gavin hardly ever cooked, but every now and then he'd see a new recipe he'd want to try and he'd take over the kitchen for the evening, methodically chopping and weighing and stirring. I was slightly surprised that he'd decided to cook on a weeknight – even though it was Friday – he normally liked to cook at weekends so he could spend as long as he liked over whatever he'd chosen to create.

I heated up the remains of the soup I'd made earlier in the week and ate it sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen and then wandered back down to the office for the afternoon feeling slightly curious about what Gavin had planned.

When Gavin got in about six o'clock he dumped a couple of shopping bags on the kitchen floor and shooed me out of the way, telling me dinner would be about an hour and to go and have a bath or something.

I wondered what he was cooking; it obviously wasn't as elaborate as some of his other meals if it was only going to be an hour – he'd often spend all afternoon on a recipe. Dutifully though I did as I was told and went upstairs to run myself a bath. Although only early Autumn, it had been wet and chilly all day and the heating in the office had refused to work so I was feeling pretty cold.

I was soaking happily in the bath with my book when Gavin brought me a glass of red wine, one of my favourites – a brand called Quirky Bird, which is what he'd taken to calling me since I'd got better. He'd first bought it as a joke, but it was actually a really nice wine and I'd continued buying it. I actually didn't mind being thought of as quirky, it was certainly better than being thought of as mad.

When I finally emerged from the bath I put my pyjamas on and headed downstairs, my nose leading me to the kitchen where scents of dinner were wafting invitingly. Gavin shooed me away again, this time into the dining room where he'd set the table for two with my best white tablecloth, crystal glasses and candles. It looked lovely.

Dinner was lovely as well; peppered steak with parsley potatoes, followed by mini banoffee pies and ice cream. Once we were both finished Gavin took the plates away and came back into the dining room a couple of minutes later with coffees for both of us.