MAKE ME UP

NOW OR NEVER

On Sunday morning, I receive a photo from Lincoln of his sister as she was leaving the venue to start her honeymoon. Her make-up looks as fresh as it did in the morning, and his message says that Connie insisted that he tell me they didn’t need to touch it up once. What really gets my heart racing, is that he signs his message off with a single lower case kiss. Surely, it is the sign-off of a hung-over brother, rather than any affectionate message for me. What can I say in reply? Fifteen edits, redrafts, and re-reads later, I finally settle on the following.

“I’m glad she had a beautiful day. Hope she enjoys her honeymoon. Gem x”

All I can do now, is hope he didn’t put the kiss on the first text by mistake.

Then I look down to the previous message from the night before.

“My weekends are empty without you. Tim XXX”

Trying to distract myself by catching up on yesterday’s jobs, I can’t help but think about the day I decided to leave the Lake District. It was New Year’s Eve, and my mother had insisted on hosting a huge family party, much bigger than our usual group of four: dad, mum, me and Tim. There was an indulgent buffet table for guests, and a separate gluten-free one for me in the kitchen, and by the time the clock was counting down to midnight, we were dancing, blowing streamers and wearing our party hats. The telly was showing a montage of fireworks from around the world, and zooming in on the historical landmarks of London. The chorus of three, two, one filled the room as the sky outside lit up with celebration. Everyone kissed each other, while simultaneously singing Auld Lang Syne. Unusually, my mother hugs me first, rather than Tim, and holds me in place as she rocked me from side to side. I heard a collective gasp, and felt uneasy. My mum grabbed my shoulders, and pushed me around, and there was Tim, down on one knee. There were many emotions at that moment, but the one most keenly felt was utter dread. He had said something, but I hadn’t been able to hear over my inner monologue screaming at me to run away. There he was, asking me to spend my life with him, in front of everyone we knew, and I realised I couldn’t think of anything worse. The even bigger revelation was that I finally acknowledged that Tim wasn’t the person he presented himself as to others. He was controlling and regimented in his rules. Despite all these doubts, my mother pushed me towards him.

“Answer him dear, you can’t leave the man waiting.” She said.

The excited look on everyone’s faces pressured me into meeting their expectations. I heard myself say ‘yes’, and then I only heard congratulations, muffled by Tim’s hands over my ears as he pecked my lips.

“She’s in shock”. Tim shouted out, as a way of excusing my outlandish reaction.

I wasn’t in shock, I was miserable, and I had been for a long time. At that moment of perfect clarity, I felt numb, as if my mind had detached from my body, and was seeing everything clearly for the first time from a bird’s eye perspective. Suddenly, I knew this party had been his idea, because he knew I wouldn’t want to disappoint my family by refusing him, while he was kneeling on my mum’s carpet. I also knew he would have shared the news with my mum. I even wondered if he had taken her ring shopping to make her part of the proposal, valuing her opinion. Like a master chess player, he had somehow managed to turn my own pawns against me, slaughtered all my knights and converted my bishops, and all I could do was stand there watching as they fell in love with the enemy king.

We went back home that night to Tim’s house. I never really called it our house, because I didn’t have any input in it. Everything was chosen by Tim. I’d lived here for thirteen years, and there wasn’t a slight imprint of my personality, or tastes anywhere in the ‘home’ that I lived in. On New Year’s Day, I cooked a roast dinner. It was beef, Tim’s preference. When I put the joint in the oven, I contemplated what I should do, and if this was the life I wanted. By the time I pulled the tray out, I had an idea of what I wanted for myself, but not a plan of how to do it. I served the meal with all the trimmings. The table was set as if it were going to be in a magazine: as standard. I told Tim that dinner was served.

He cut into his rare beef slice, put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly.

“It is a little overdone, but I can eat it,” He smiled, as if that was a compliment, and didn’t look up again until his plate was empty.

In the past, I would have felt guilty that I hadn’t made it the way he liked, but on that day I only felt rage. It dawned on me that there had never been anything wrong with anything I did for him, but he wanted me to feel that I could always do better. My entire twenties and the start of my thirties had been spent thinking I could do better. My purpose was to make sure Tim had the life, family and home that he wanted, and that had been my sole objective. The meal was a prime example. I didn’t even like beef. That was the very moment I decided it was time for me to put myself first. I had to leave, but I knew he wouldn’t let me.

When he was at work the next day, I packed my bag with the very minimum of what I couldn’t do without, and took my make-up caddy. The engagement ring was by the bedside. Sure of my decision, I left the house, feeling free. I emptied my account of all the money I had made working in various salons, and I bought the cheapest car I could find on the car lot. I headed down to London and made appointments to see flats at the service stations that I stopped off at. My parents weren’t happy when I called them to let them know that I didn’t want to be with Tim, and that I was moving away. Annoyingly, they were more concerned about how it would affect him. The next text I sent was to Tim, telling him I didn’t want to marry him, and I didn’t want to be with him anymore. Instantly, he called, but I ignored it, deciding to put it off until I was settled in a cheap hotel for the night. I assumed he would want to have his say, vent his feelings, but then accept that he would have to let me go. However, I couldn’t help but feel afraid that he might come looking for me. At the last stop, I bought a box of red hair dye, in case he tried to search for me. My phone had pinged, and I looked at the group chat that I had with my friends. Tim didn’t like them, so I hadn’t spoken to them in a long time. They were talking about the rumour that I had left Tim and my family. Tim was frantic trying to find me and had knocked at their doors. Their opinion of me wasn’t favourable. I didn’t reply, I realised that I was invisible, exactly how Tim had wanted me to be. I simply left the group chat. I genuinely thought it would be the start of my new life, until I took that call from Tim.