Things We No Longer Say

"I can't be bothered with this."

Neil walked away, forcing his wife to follow. Her annoyance grew as he strode ahead.

He had unlocked the car and was sitting in it by the time she arrived. She paused to allow traffic to pass and then got in. The tension between them crackled as he pulled the car out into traffic. Neither was speaking; the atmosphere built and built until it had a Jupiter-like density.

The perfect end to the perfect night, he thought bitterly.

Several hours earlier, he had been walking the dog when it had bitten him. The tooth went right to the bone. He wasn't sure if it was a real bite or an accident. He had been trying to hold the dog as it attempted to attack a bus. What was the bloody dog's problem with buses?

The outcome was a badly bitten finger. The V-shaped cut had bled for ages; it probably needed a stitch and a tetanus injection, but the risk of lockjaw was preferable to spending numerous hours in A&E.

His finger ached, but he said nothing about it to his wife.

He felt guilty for having punched the dog ever since it happened. But it was the shock and the pain that had triggered his overreaction.

He paused, wondering why the dog was more important to him than how his wife felt. He looked across at her, knowing that trying to speak now would only lead to more issues.

The drive home was all motorway, allowing Neil's mind to ruminate about the inequalities in their relationship. All the usual complaints came to the fore. They were now coming to the end of their second year without sex. He wondered why he put up with it. Her stubbornness had killed their sex life. It always had to be in bed with the lights off, once a month if he'd been lucky, and he frequently wasn't.

A lot of his friends had bailed when sex went off the menu. He had been shocked by how prevalent divorce was amongst his age group.

Thirty years they had been together. Had they run their course?

He worried about them. All the articles he read said eighty per cent of divorces were instigated by the woman. Even knowing this, he couldn't help but feel his life was unfair.

Did other men feel like this? Then he thought, how did he feel? Lonely, abandoned, old, deserted, numb. He was no longer sure.

Neil cast a sideways glance at his wife; she stared straight ahead, building, he was sure, a full head of steam.

He knew he should be reasonable, but he didn't want to be reasonable. What he wanted was to be annoyed, he wanted to rant and shout and tell her how hacked he was with life... but instead the insistent silence grew. He thought about his life, wondering when he had become such a loser.

He indicated as they arrived at their junction. The cars ahead slowed; roadworks, that's all he needed. His anger began to diminish. Unwanted reasonableness began to appear.

Together, they had done all right, but they seemed to be drifting apart. The void was growing wider. He slowed the car as they joined the end of the waiting traffic. The truck in front was showing a large illuminated X.

What would he do if he got divorced? Would the kids still talk to him? He could end up with a pretty penny. He could drop out, disappear off to foreign parts and spend it on twenty-year-old call girls. But what was the point? He really didn't want that.

What he wanted was to feel loved, to be needed. At this stage, he would put up with feeling liked, rather than controlled. Controlled by her anger, her black moods, always treading on eggshells. Yesterday, she asked him why he constantly needed adulation.

The engine ticked as they waited. He looked at her again. She didn't acknowledge him. He knew he would once again end up apologising and be the one to eat humble pie, but why didn't she... Control. It all came down to control. It would scare the shit out of her if he took back control. Not that she would relinquish control easily. She sorted the banks, paid the bills, earned the lion's share of the money.

They were more like best friends than husband and wife. Best friends who shared a bed. But how much did they really share? He was in bed by 10.00 pm, then she would disturb him as she dragged her sorry ass to bed sometimes after midnight, and then he was up at 4.00 am for work. Three to four hours, tops! Fuck, was that all...

He imagined her response if he brought it up. "Stay in bed longer," or "Go to bed later." It was always him who had to change. But even if he did, she'd still choose the TV over him.

He had read about wives staying up late watching TV to avoid their husbands. He wouldn't be surprised if this was how she felt. Did he really make her that unhappy? Did she cry herself to sleep as he did?

Years ago, he remembered, he asked her for one night a week when they went to bed together. It had been a hope that they might develop more intimacy; he wasn't even talking about sex, just togetherness.

She had agreed, but when it came down to it, there was always a reason why she couldn't drag herself away from the TV. It had, like all his suggestions, died a quick and sudden death. All that remained were the rows, and even they grew less as they grew older, as they interacted less, as the distance increased. He had his computer, she had her TV.

He watched as the traffic control vehicle switched off its large X and began to pull away slowly.

He sighed, the traffic started to move. They would be home in five minutes. He didn't have the heart to push it any further tonight. What was the use? Nothing changed.

+ + + + +

The city was busy. The kids were out on this, the first warm night of spring. Erica watched young girls with bare midriffs who should know better. She didn't understand girls these days. People should hide muffin tops. She hid hers, but when she was that age, she had been skinny enough to pull it off, not that she ever did. She was always respectable. The only racy thing she had done was wear a mini skirt.

She arrived at the crossing just as the beeper started and walked into the oncoming horde. The two groups intermingled, like warring factions.

Her phone rang.

It was her Neil.

"Hi, sweetie."

"You nearby?"

"Just at the first crossing, I should be with you in two minutes."

"OK, see you then."

She hurried along. Life drawing must have finished early. Three Asian girls were laughing and joking as they walked the footpath, blocking her way. There was no way around them.

"Excuse me," she said loudly. One of the girls said something as they made room for her to pass. Insult or an apology, she wasn't sure. Regardless, she moved on quickly.

He was standing there by the wool shop holding a great pile of drawings.

She sighed. More crap.

It wasn't long ago that she had convinced him to throw the last lot of drawing out.

"Hi, Sweetie, what have you got there?"

"My drawings, I told you last week, I need to clear my planner out."

"In your mind, you did. You didn't mention anything to me." Her tone was more aggressive than she intended. She could see it didn't go down well. Why did he have to take everything so personally?

"I told you last week," he said, his voice waspish, just the wrong side of loud.

She sighed. He wasn't going to let it go.

"No, you're always saying that...," she replied. It annoyed her so much when he questioned her memory, as though only his lordship had the true memories of an event.

"Yes, I did..."

They continued to bicker down the street. She could hear herself snapping at him as they were forced to wait for the crossing. The road was empty, but still they waited for the signal. She turned to say something when Neil spoke.

"I can't be bothered with this," he said.

He crossed the road, walking on ahead. Leaving her standing there. The crossing turned green, and she followed.

How dare he...

She was sick and tired of his bullshit.

For thirty years, she had put up with all his nonsense. There were times she wondered whether it was worth it. Things had seemed to go from bad to worse now that the kids had all left home. Nothing she did made him happy anymore. He moaned about her temper, about her working late.

He didn't realise the kinds of days she had. Her manager was so inept, and now she had been dragged in to train some consultants, all of them being paid more than she was. Just another in a long line of slights that her company forced on her. She hurried along the path, hearing him unlock the car.

She reached the car, the traffic was busy, and she paused standing next to her door, waiting for the safest moment before getting in. She hadn't got her seat belt on before he moved off. Her husband could be such a dick at times.

They drove home, neither speaking, neither willing to make even the slightest conciliatory gesture. She just wanted to get home and vegetate in front of the TV. Just to have some peace for a while. With luck, he would go to bed early and give her a break.

The traffic ahead started to stop. Brake lights showing red in the dark. They kept moving towards the now stationary cars. She watched as the distance got smaller. She looked at Neil, wondering when he was going to brake. Should she say anything? Unconsciously, she braked with her right foot. For one second, she thought they were going to end up in the back of that car. She kept quiet, knowing how much her comments on his driving annoyed him. He would only nag her about her refusing to drive.

They sat there, waiting. Then the large X was switched off, and the traffic started to move. With luck, she would be back in time to catch Taskmaster.