understand. '
'Yes, but I'd rather be a widow!' she spat. 'Bereavement would be preferable to betrayal. ' I know how she feels. 'I'm so
angry, '
she went on tearfully. She'd clearly been drinking. 'I gave him the best years of my life. '
'Betsey, ' said Lana gently. 'How old are you?'
'Forty-one. '
'Then you've still got a
lot
of life left. So why spend it being bitter?' she went on.
Exactly
! 'Do you enjoy your negative thoughts?'
Quite
. 'Do they contribute to your happiness?'
Of course not. 'Do
they move you forward in any way?'
Good point
!
'I just can't deal with this blow to my self-esteem, ' croaked Betsey.
'What positive steps have you taken?' asked Lana McCord.
'Well, I went out with someone, on the rebound, but that didn't work. '
Surprise surprisel 'I've
seen one or two old boyfriends. '
Hopeless! What a twit
! But I loved my husband and I just can't get him out of my mind. What really
gets
me is the thought of him with
her'
, she went on, in a drink-sodden drawl. 'The thought of them having—uh-uh—you know, just makes me feel ill. '
'So why torment yourself with that unpleasant thought?'
Bullseye
!
'Because I can't stop myself from doing it—that's why. I do these awful things, ' she confided with a wet sniff as I drove down Putney High Street.
'What sort of things?' said Lana.
'I ring him then I hang up. '
Sad! 'I
drive past his flat as well. '
'Oh dear, ' said Lana with a sigh. And now, my heart beating like a tom-tom, I drove slowly down Chelverton Road.
'In fact I've driven past it so often I've worn a groove in the tarmac—but I just can't
help
it, ' she wailed.
You are one
very
sad bunny, Betsey, I thought to myself as I turned left into Blenheim Road. Seventeen, twenty-five, thirty-one—mustn't let him spot me: then there it was. Number thirty-seven. Ed's navy company Beemer was parked outside. Blackness filled my chest as I pulled into a space opposite and a little to the right, away from the tangerine glare of the lamp. Then I switched off my lights, turned up my collar, and sunk down into my seat. The downstairs curtains were drawn but a wedge of light shone through a chink at the top. Ed was at home. My husband. He was on the other side of that wall. And now I wondered with a crashing sensation in the pit of my stomach, if
she
was there as well. Perhaps she was standing at the Aga, cooking supper. I imagined sneaking up behind her and bashing her over the head, then chopping her into tiny pieces, mixing her with Kitty-Bics and feeding her to next door's cat. I was interrupted from this pleasant reverie by a light going on in Ed's room.
'Your behaviour is very destructive, ' I heard Lana say. Yes it is, I thought. 'Not only are you not trying to recover from this, you seem determined to pour acid in the wound. '
True.
'I mean, why do you want to torture yourself? Why?'
'Why?' I whispered as Ed's face suddenly loomed up at the window.
'Yes. Tell me. Why?'
'I don't
know'
I wept, as he threw wide his arms and shut the curtains. 'Oh God, oh
God
, I don't know. '
Actually, I do know. You see, what
I
was doing was quite different from what that sad woman on the phone-in was doing.
She was obsessing about her husband—poor thing—whereas I was actively trying to get
over
mine by laying a ghost. Because I thought that if I could just sit outside his house, and feel absolutely
nothing
, then that would help me move on. So I did. Okay, I cried at first, but then I dried my eyes and I sat there for—ooh, not that long, maybe half an hour or so—just watching as though I were a twitcher and the house some exotic bird.
'I can
do
this, ' I told myself. 'Yes, Ed's there, and I'm still married to him, and yes, I
was
besotted with him, but the fact is I'm in control. ' Remembering some tips from the
Breathe Away Your Stress
book I shut my eyes and inhaled through my nose. As I exhaled, counting slowly to ten, I could feel my heart rate slow, and my eyes were still closed when I heard the
'Yes, but I'd rather be a widow!' she spat. 'Bereavement would be preferable to betrayal. ' I know how she feels. 'I'm so
angry, '
she went on tearfully. She'd clearly been drinking. 'I gave him the best years of my life. '
'Betsey, ' said Lana gently. 'How old are you?'
'Forty-one. '
'Then you've still got a
lot
of life left. So why spend it being bitter?' she went on.
Exactly
! 'Do you enjoy your negative thoughts?'
Quite
. 'Do they contribute to your happiness?'
Of course not. 'Do
they move you forward in any way?'
Good point
!
'I just can't deal with this blow to my self-esteem, ' croaked Betsey.
'What positive steps have you taken?' asked Lana McCord.
'Well, I went out with someone, on the rebound, but that didn't work. '
Surprise surprisel 'I've
seen one or two old boyfriends. '
Hopeless! What a twit
! But I loved my husband and I just can't get him out of my mind. What really
gets
me is the thought of him with
her'
, she went on, in a drink-sodden drawl. 'The thought of them having—uh-uh—you know, just makes me feel ill. '
'So why torment yourself with that unpleasant thought?'
Bullseye
!
'Because I can't stop myself from doing it—that's why. I do these awful things, ' she confided with a wet sniff as I drove down Putney High Street.
'What sort of things?' said Lana.
'I ring him then I hang up. '
Sad! 'I
drive past his flat as well. '
'Oh dear, ' said Lana with a sigh. And now, my heart beating like a tom-tom, I drove slowly down Chelverton Road.
'In fact I've driven past it so often I've worn a groove in the tarmac—but I just can't
help
it, ' she wailed.
You are one
very
sad bunny, Betsey, I thought to myself as I turned left into Blenheim Road. Seventeen, twenty-five, thirty-one—mustn't let him spot me: then there it was. Number thirty-seven. Ed's navy company Beemer was parked outside. Blackness filled my chest as I pulled into a space opposite and a little to the right, away from the tangerine glare of the lamp. Then I switched off my lights, turned up my collar, and sunk down into my seat. The downstairs curtains were drawn but a wedge of light shone through a chink at the top. Ed was at home. My husband. He was on the other side of that wall. And now I wondered with a crashing sensation in the pit of my stomach, if
she
was there as well. Perhaps she was standing at the Aga, cooking supper. I imagined sneaking up behind her and bashing her over the head, then chopping her into tiny pieces, mixing her with Kitty-Bics and feeding her to next door's cat. I was interrupted from this pleasant reverie by a light going on in Ed's room.
'Your behaviour is very destructive, ' I heard Lana say. Yes it is, I thought. 'Not only are you not trying to recover from this, you seem determined to pour acid in the wound. '
True.
'I mean, why do you want to torture yourself? Why?'
'Why?' I whispered as Ed's face suddenly loomed up at the window.
'Yes. Tell me. Why?'
'I don't
know'
I wept, as he threw wide his arms and shut the curtains. 'Oh God, oh
God
, I don't know. '
Actually, I do know. You see, what
I
was doing was quite different from what that sad woman on the phone-in was doing.
She was obsessing about her husband—poor thing—whereas I was actively trying to get
over
mine by laying a ghost. Because I thought that if I could just sit outside his house, and feel absolutely
nothing
, then that would help me move on. So I did. Okay, I cried at first, but then I dried my eyes and I sat there for—ooh, not that long, maybe half an hour or so—just watching as though I were a twitcher and the house some exotic bird.
'I can
do
this, ' I told myself. 'Yes, Ed's there, and I'm still married to him, and yes, I
was
besotted with him, but the fact is I'm in control. ' Remembering some tips from the
Breathe Away Your Stress
book I shut my eyes and inhaled through my nose. As I exhaled, counting slowly to ten, I could feel my heart rate slow, and my eyes were still closed when I heard the
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