A few years back, my mate Oliver decided to tie the knot. I should mention, he held out for quite some timeOliver was already thirty-three, which, in his books, was a fine age to remain untethered. Hed always put himself first and openly scoffed at the institution of marriage. Visits to his parents’ house, popping down to Tesco for a weeks worth of groceries, Sunday roasts with the in-lawsall of that was completely out of the question. When friends or family made the odd joke, Oliver would respond with his signature:
In my own flat, with a decent jobwhat do I need a family for? I manage perfectly well on my own. Plus, Ive got a loyal matemy dog, Max. We live together quite cheerfully, want for nothing. And women? Here today, gone tomorrow.
But, as fate (or poetic justice) would have it, it was only a matter of time before all that independence ran aground. And so it happened: he met his matcha woman, of course. She was rather cunning, in hindsight. Maddeningly distant at first, which only made Oliver more determined. Her name was Emily. They met at a cafe in the heart of London. She was twenty-nine, divorced, no kids.
Soon after, they ran into each other again. Emily spent a couple of nights at Olivers, and before he knew it, her cardigans and scarves were taking up half his wardrobe space. Next thing, she was more or less living there. One evening, perched around the kitchen table with mugs of builders tea in hand, Emily rather offhandedly remarked:
Oliver, you know, youve hinted at marriage a few times now. And you know, I think I might just say yes.
Try as he might, Oliver couldnt for the life of him remember ever making such hintsbut he couldnt really deny it, could he? He tried to backtrack, but Emily was already nattering on about colour schemes and potential summer wedding dates.
The writing was on the wall. Eventually, hed have to get married. Besides, Emily seemed a decent enough option. Another bachelor down.
The first year of married life was actually rather smashing, all things considered. Thats not to say there werent the odd kerfuffle between husband and wife. Emily took issue with Olivers tendency to roll in after midnight or to enjoy one pint too many with his mates. Emily, for her part, still kept in touch now and then with her ex-husband, regaling him with updates on her current troubles. Oliver, naturally, was less than thrilled with that arrangement.
Emilys defence? That people ought to be nicer to one another. One night, after celebrating the boss’s birthday down the pub (and, yes, rolling home somewhat worse for wear), Oliver flopped into the spare roomand overheard Emily having a heart-to-heart with the dog.
Youre such a sly old thing, Max. Eat, sleep, repeatthats your life. Wouldnt know motivation if it bit you. Although, to be fair, youre cleverer than your owner. You listen, even if you dont say anything. He listens to no one. How does a girl live like this, eh?
He wanted to get up and offer his two pence, but things took a turn.
Back late again, arent we? Even you cant stand that boozy stench, can you? Hes getting worse. I cant bear to look at him sometimes. What on earth possessed me to marry him? Seemed normal enough at first glanceturns out hes hopeless. My ex was so much better than this. At least he didnt drink, and he brought in a tidy sum. Why on earth did I leave him? Well, aside from the odd bit of cheatingbut, hey, who hasnt slipped up once or twice? Still, his giftsno one apologised quite like him. Keeps trying to win me back, you know. What say you, Max? Should I give him another shot? Just give me a hint if you think its a good idea.
Right on cue, Oliver marched into the room, called Max over, stared Emily down, and announced:
If you think I sat around dreaming of a family, youre kidding yourself. I never needed a wife, let alone one like you. Youre the one who muscled your way into my flat. Frankly, I cant stand the sight of you. Youve got an hour to pack your bitsyour ex is probably waiting for you. Or maybe youll surprise us all and go with someone else. Oh, and by the wayget the divorce papers sorted tomorrow.
Emily, rather than storming out with any kind of dignity, burst into tears and started apologising profusely, then called Oliver heartless. But hed made up his mind. Out she went. Outside, she hailed a cab, hopped in, and vanished into the evening, destination unknown.
