My husband used to remark that I wasnt feminine enough. At first, hed mention it in passingsuggesting that if I wore more make-up, if I chose dresses instead of trousers, if I acted a touch more delicately. But thats never been my nature. Ive always been practical, straightforward, not especially vain. I work hard, solve problems, do what needs to be done. Thats the woman he marriedthere was never any deception.
As the years went by, those comments became more frequent. He began comparing me to women on the telly, to wives of friends, to his colleagues partners. Hed say I looked more like a mate than a wife. I listened, sometimes wed argue, but then wed carry on. I never thought it was anything seriousjust natural differences in a marriage.
But on the day I buried my father, all those differences stopped feeling trivial. I was numb with shock. I hardly slept or ate, my mind occupied with nothing but how Id manage through the funeral. I put on the first black clothes I could find, left my face bare, barely bothered with my hairthere simply wasnt any strength in me for more.
Before we left the house, my husband looked at me and asked, Are you really going out like that? Wont you tidy yourself up a little?
At first, I didnt even understand. I told him I didnt care how I lookedI had just lost my father. He replied, Yes, but… people will talk. You look unkempt.
I felt something strange press against my chest, as though something inside me had broken.
At the service, he stood with the others, offering condolences and wearing a serious face. But with me, he kept his distance. He didnt embrace me, or ask if I was coping. At one quiet moment, when we passed a mirror in the parlour, he whispered that I should pull myself togetherthat my father wouldnt have wanted to see me like this.
Later that day, once we were home, I finally asked whether that was truly the only thing hed noticedwhether he couldnt see how shattered I was. He told me not to exaggerate, that he was simply sharing his opinion; that a woman ought not let herself go, even at times like these.
Since then, I cant see him quite the same way.
Yet I cant leave him.
Something inside me says I couldnt survive without him.
