Chapter Nine - Jilly's Story

I stick my tongue out at my reflection. My eyes are all puffy and hot, with the lashes glued together with hardened tears, and I feel like shit. I can’t believe Jon said that yesterday. That he doesn’t love me anymore. Part of me knows he doesn’t mean it but there is a part of me that wonders if that’s the reason why I hardly see him anymore. I miss him.

I don’t really know when it started only that I woke up one morning to find Jon gone and realised that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up next to him.

Sadly I watch as tears form in my eyes and make their way down my face. Thankfully Lib’s staying with Stephie at the moment so she doesn’t have to see me like this.

Is this what my marriage has come to? I feel numb inside, my stomach is in knots. I love my husband more than anything in the world but I think I’ve lost the ability to tell him. Every time I look at him now all I do is shout at him for not being there for me, while inside my heart is screaming out for him to just hold me and tell me everything will be ok between us but it gets lost in translation between my heart and my voice.

I can’t even talk to Pippa about this anymore as a) she’s pregnant and I don’t want to stress her, and b) Richie doesn’t want me to. I know he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to say anything, I could see the way he was looking at her whilst Jon and I were behaving like the mature adults we are and I just wanted Jon to look at me like that, as he used to. To look at me and undress me with his eyes before giving me that little knowing smile of his that told of things to come.

Sighing I finish brushing my hair and wonder about getting it cut. Ever since Libby was born all I’ve done with it is scrape it back into a ponytail. God I can’t even remember when I last had it cut. Critically I look at my face in the full length mirror and grimace. My eyes look tired as well as puffy and since when did my mouth turn down at the corners? My hair is lank and lifeless. I look a mess, I feel a mess. Ugh no wonder my husband isn’t around…scratch that. I don’t look like this all the time, it’s that damn studying I’m doing. I’d started to study in the evening, after Libby was asleep and before Jon used to get home from the Studio. Hmm this was back when Jon used to come home every evening.

I sit on the toilet seat and sigh. I can feel something rushing through me. Anger. Anger that he’s never here, anger that he made this decision without consulting me and anger that our marriage has seemingly gone down the pan. You know most marriages that end in divorce don’t end as a result of a major argument, just lots of little ones that go unchecked. There’s never a moment that you can look back at and say “There it was, that’s when it happened.” You just wake up one morning and everything you held closest to your heart is gone.

I finish in the bathroom and head out onto the balcony to have what will be possibly my fifth or sixth cigarette since I woke up about an hour ago. My head hurts and it’s not just because I spent the night crying so much I glued my own eyelashes together as a result. It hurts because I’ve stopped viewing this in small sections and have started to look at our problems as a whole and I don’t like what I’’m seeing.

I ground out the cigarette as another wave of anger overtakes me. Christ! My emotions are haywire and we’ve not even separated yet!

Bollocks to this!

I stare at my wedding ring.

I’ve had enough of this pussy footing around. Being with Jon for this long has taught me a few things about standing up for yourself and your loved ones and I’m fucked if I’m going to let him destroy us, especially without consulting me first!

I knock on the door of the studio. No response, which is hardly surprising as I can hear the music out here so god knows how loud it must be inside. I’ve never been in the studio before, even though Jon had it built on our land after Libby’s birth so that he would always be close to home. Little bit of irony there, me thinks….

Grasping what little courage I’ve got I push at the door, find it open and walk in.

It’s a weird place. A sort of reception type room at the front with a couple of doors leading off. One has Studio printed onto it and the other has nothing on it. Hedging my bets I choose the Studio door. I push it open quietly, not wanting to disturb the guys but once I’m in there I find that Jon’s the only one there.

He looks up from where he’s sat, hunched over a guitar, as I walk in. He grabs a remote and turns down the music that is blaring from huge wall mounted speakers, and turns back to his guitar.

I stand for a few minutes just looking at my husband. To anyone else he looks unchanged but I can see the slight slump to his shoulders and a stiffening of his back muscles. His jaw is clenched and every muscle in his body is in a state of high tension.

He looks as miserable as I feel, which ought to make me feel better but it just makes me feel sad; that we’ve allowed our marriage to come to this.

I look at him, waiting for my mouth to open and words of platitude to come tumbling out as has been the case lately, but nothing will come. I remember doing a sponsored silence for some charity when I was younger, which Pippa refused to do with me, and after the first two minutes I found it very easy not to speak for the rest of the day. It was as if I had a heavy weight in my jaw that prohibited me from speaking. I can feel that now and know that it doesn’t matter what’s happening between us, right now I’m physically incapable of speaking.

Jon looks up at me with unspoken questions and wariness in his eyes.

I can’t speak! I try to open my mouth even but nothing… I can see Jon looking at me questioningly, his bright blue eyes dulled with unshed tears and pain.

Oh god, I know I have to say something, my stomach is telling me to say something, anything to get the ball rolling, but it just won’t happen! Work mouth! Please!

Before I can change my mind and flee, which is what my mind is telling me to do, I cross the room and wrap my arms around my husbands neck.

Jon is startled and almost drops the guitar. I said almost, he is a musician after all…I can smell anxiety and fear on him and know immediately that he is just as scared as I am that we’ve irreparably broken us.

As I lay my head on his shoulder and feel the warmth of his body seep through into my embrace, I can feel a lone tear work it way down my nose and drip onto him. As it falls the spell is broken.

“Jon, I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”