Price of a Lie

JULY 2006

By late-afternoon, the local Oxford coffee house had quieted down, the perpetual bustling from customers looking for their caffeine fix having faded past its afternoon peak; muffled conversations had formed a low hum that never quite rose above the gentle clatter of mugs and the hissing hiss of machines pouring steaming milk. A rich, comforting aroma of roasted beans and sweet bakery goods filled the air, creating a welcoming environment pulling people inside and kept them staying. The place was Conor’s go-to spot. However, at present it felt different.

Conor chose the back-end table right next to a window, giving him a clear view of the entrance. It was an obvious spot, though he wasn’t sure if that choice was deliberate or just out of habit. Every so often his gaze drifted toward the entrance, questioning when she would soon arrive. Outside, people passed in loose, hurried streams of faces. A well-dressed businessman walked by with his head bent toward a Motorola Razr, speaking into it without looking upward, a quartet of teenage girls followed, laughing as they crossed the street, then a young couple passed hand in hand, the woman visibly pregnant, her free hand resting tender on her stomach.

That last one lingered in his mind. It stung in a manner he could not ignore, a quiet reminder of something he felt he didn’t deserve to have, knowing his kid’s existence was due to his lies.

The warm, steaming coffee before him remained untouched, its surface undisturbed as Conor

was lost in thought, dreading the imminent meeting with the now ex-wife he misled for years.

Conor was an Irishman, born and raised in Dublin, moved to Oxford in the late ‘90’s to attend the famed university the city was world-famous for, the place where he first met his ex-spouse.

He was a handsome man, early-thirties, standing around six feet tall. He wore his dark blond hair short, cut into an undercut, with a small nose ring and tattoos trailing up his neck area, suggesting a man who subtly harboured the scent of weed but without overkilling on the drugs. On his ring finger, an indentation remained where his wedding band had once rested, now it was a small but painful absence that, to him, carried the weight of something much larger. Not just what he had lost, but what it now allowed him to become, to allow a new and authentic life.

Just as he finally brought the coffee to his lips, he spotted a too-familiar figure approaching the entrance. She stepped inside; a set of legal papers clutched in her hand. He swallowed, tension tightening in his throat, and straightened slightly in his seat, bracing himself for what was about to come realizing that this might be the final time he sees her, that is where things to go south.

Arriving, she took a seat opposite him, her face speaking volumes despite her silence. Conor couldn't tell what she was thinking, but guessed it wasn't good, considering the circumstances.

"Hi," she said, her expression stoic, hopefully wishing to ensure a cordial conversation between them.

The murmuring of conversions amongst the other customers continued in the background.

“Hi,” Conor replied, his face and tone of voice mirroring hers, dancing around the reason for their meeting.

A short, uncomfortable silence fell between them as she rubbed her neck with her shoulder.

Joella, a fellow irish person, was an attractive woman, early-thirties so the same age as him. Standing at around five foot six, with a defined jawline, a skinny build, and a flat chested bust. Yet something about her overall attitude and demeanour felt different in contrast from before. Her brunette hair, elegantly styled and a contrast to the green-dyed hues she had always seen her wear, framed a natural beauty that shone through despite the dark circles beneath her eyes. She was dressed in a smart, tailored black suit, with a white t-shirt beneath the blazer, an outfit quite at odds with the peculiar, alternative, hipster look he was accustomed to seeing her favour. There was a tiredness about her that hadn’t been there before, faint but persistent, like something worn down rather than completely broken. Even the way she gripped the papers, firm and deliberate, suggested someone who spent a long-time bottling things within until now.

“It’s a beautiful day outside,” Conor said, looking to interrupt the silence and begin with something pleasant.

“It’s nice out,” Joella said, glancing toward the window next to her. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, including the pigeons, their bobbing heads.”

Conor followed her gaze, catching the glimpse of two couples outside on the street, and felt the sadness in her words.

“Do you want a coffee? "I can get you one, if you like," Conor asked, not wanting to be the sole one drinking coffee and look uncourteous.

Joella cleared her throat. “Umm, I’ll go get one in a minute, thanks,” Joella replied in a short, seemingly curt manner.

“So, how is your work going?” Conor asked, sipping down a portion of his coffee whist doing so.

Joella nodded, her fingers lightly tapping the table. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Pays the bills and all.” Her voice was calm, but there was a tinge of boredom about it.

“What about that children’s book you always said you wanted to write - the one you were working on before we separated?”

Joella hesitated. “I, um, had to put it on the back burner… for now.” She lingered for a moment, then looked down at the table.

Joella went to order a coffee, leaving him alone with his thoughts. As the minutes passed, he replayed every possible version of the conversation in his mind, each version turning worse than the last, assuming this was going to be the last time they would converse with each other. She returned with her coffee, a strong cappuccino, its surface area a decorated swirl of latte art.

“I heard that, um…” Joella began, not quite meeting his eyes. “You’re seeing someone new.”

Conor stiffened a bit.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I am.” He hesitated, then added, “I thought you already knew.”

“I see,” Joella replied. Her gaze faced downward towards her black coffee before returning to him. “It was Mark, am I correct?”

Conor gave a nod in response.

An awkward silence followed.

“What’s he like?” she asked, quieter now. “I just hope he makes you happier, not having to… pretend with him, unlike with me.”

Conor sat there in silence, unable to offer any real retort back. He knew full well that she was not wrong, their relationship had been built upon a foundational deceit, one which was his fault.

Joella placed the legal document in front of him, opening it to a page requiring a signature line.

She stayed silent as she did so, save for a drained sigh seemingly there just to fill the dead air.

“Please sign this, the divorce lawyer needs a signature here, it has to be sent back tomorrow.” Conor complied with her request.

Conor held a black biro pen she provided him and signed his signature on the thin dotted line.

“Thank you. Now this can finally be over,” Joella said, setting the legal documents aside and looked at him.

The establishment featured “Chasing Cars” By Snow Patrol playing as background ambience.

“Look, Joella… I’m just here to get this done,” Conor said, meeting her gaze. “So, we can both move on.”

A quick pause settled between them.

“I am sorry,” he added, quieter now. “For all this. I shouldn’t have… I regret keeping it from you. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

Joella’s jaw seemed to harden as she heard that.

“I’m sorry too,” Joella scolded. “Sorry I didn’t see it sooner. Sorry I thought you wanted me, I am sorry that was hard for you.”

Her gaze fixed on him, a calm but intense death stare.

“I don’t care that you’re gay and prefer men,” Joella said. “I care that you never once stopped to think what that meant for me.”

“Your young daughter deserves better,” she continued. “A father who meant it. Someone who wanted the life you were building.”

Another pause, heavier this time.

“But I suppose... I suppose that was never really the point, was it? You never truly loved me.” Joella was on the verge of tears.

Anticipating Conor's response, she took a small taste of her strong black cappuccino coffee.

“Now I am living as a single ma, I -”

“I didn’t tell you because… I was afraid about my family, of what they’d say. Especially my mam. You know what she is like. I mean, It was hard growing up as a young gay kid in Ireland back then, you should know that.”

He exhaled. “But I suppose that’s not a good enough reason, is it? I just didn’t want to face it.

“But all that time you still chose me, you still led me on to believe it was real. You wanted us to tie the knot.”

“I thought I could make it work.” Conor said. “I thought, if I just committed hard enough, I thought maybe - “

“Well, it is obvious it did not.” Joella interrupted him, her face etched with sadness as she

seemed to maintain her fragile composure.

Conor remained silent, his guilt clear.

Joella finished her cappuccino coffee, leaving a quarter or so remaining in the medium-size, white ceramic mug. She then stood, gathered her belongings, preparing to leave, all in silence.

Conor remained quiet in contemplation.

“I just want you to know… I did care about you. That part was real,” Conor said, his voice earnest.

“I lost out on several years of my life,” Joella retorted, eyes flicking away from him. “That part hurt the most.”

She hesitated before setting off with her belongings, heading towards the establishment exit.

Joella glanced back one last time. “Do take care of yourself now.” She turned and walked out the coffee house.

Conor watched as she stepped out onto the streets of Oxford, reflecting on the things she said to him during their conversation. At the same time, he felt a sense of freedom as he could live a more authentic existence, no longer bound to the falsehoods he had once believed to be true.

THE END