In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go? ― Gautama Buddha
Where I grew up, in Scunny, us lads went out on Friday nights and met up with birds. We’d get our ends away, you know. That’s just what we did. A whole group of us. It’s a northern thing. Out in the clubs, on the pop, chatting up women and messing around. On Saturdays, we’d play footie, then go out in the evening with the girls who'd later be our wives. Us lads would swap notes on what we’d done the night before and who with. We never went back to the same bird twice. The girls would all be talking together, probably talking about what idiots we were.
When we were all married and had kids, our kids grew up like cousins. A whole bunch of them, playing together at each other's houses, footie in the streets. All that. A proper community. We were like family. It was all ‘Uncle John’ and ‘Auntie Karen’ and ‘Uncle Pete’ and ‘Auntie Sue’. Of course, we still carried on just the same, us lads, even when we were married and had kids. Shagging around, you know. But they weren’t affairs. It was just a bit of fun. It was what we did, that’s all.
I never had what I’d call an affair until Nicky. I’d met her in Leeds. She worked at this place where I did some freelance shifts. I told my best mate about her after the first time. I liked her. It was different. I kept going back. I’d never done that before. She was the first. I couldn’t stay away.
I was bored at home by then. Sue was tied up with the kids, and the passion had never been like it was with Nicky. We didn’t really have sex anymore. And I was sick of Scunny. My in-laws. They drove me crazy. I’d had it up to here with them. I couldn’t listen to their shit any longer.
Sue and I had started to argue about things. So I was spending more and more time away. I just wanted to be with Nicky. But I was terrified of Sue finding out.
I had no plans to leave Scunny - or leave Sue - and that was, really, because of John. My best mate. He was what kept me there. I'd never leave while he was around.
When I’d told him about Nicky, he’d said, ‘Watch it, mate.’ He could tell it was different – a sort of addiction.
Still, I kept on seeing Nicky. Stringing her along, I suppose.
It wasn't that difficult, in a way, because my work meant I was travelling all over the place. I'd moved on from the local news job and was covering football so I was going all over the country and across to Europe. It was great.
I'd always loved cameras. My Dad was a snapper on the paper and I used to mess around with his kit all the time. 'What does this do? What's this lens for? Can I have a go with it?' I was mad for it and as soon as I’d finished school, that was it. I was taking pictures and selling them to agencies. Then I got the job on the paper. And when local TV expanded in the early '90s, I thought, fuck it, I can do that. It looks like fun. So I bought myself an SVHS camera and got a contract with Yorkshire Television. That was the start. I loved that camera and I loved filming. I worked really hard. Got a name for myself. Then I got better cameras, the BetaSP and the DigiBeta and then the HD. That's a lovely piece of kit. Great pictures with that.
By this time, when I met Nicky, I was earning good money and travelling the world and I was experiencing all these amazing new places and I fucking loved it. I wanted to share all that: good food, lovely hotels, the good life. And Sue just wasn’t interested in any of that. She liked being at home with the kids and her mates.
So I took Nicky. We got a thrill out of everything. We liked the same things. Appreciated quality and new experiences and all that.
Things seemed pretty good, really, even though, I wasn't happy at home, what with the arguments and not feeling that Sue and I had much in common anymore. I was having a great time with work and with Nicky.
But then what happened was that John died. He had a heart attack, out of the blue. He was a fit bloke, still played football every week. But he had this heart attack and that was it - he was gone.
And it changed everything.
I’d stayed because of him. And the group. But without him, we drifted apart and suddenly there wasn’t anything keeping me tied to the place.
That wasn’t all of it, though. See, his death showed me that life’s really fucking short. I thought, ‘Shit, this ain’t no dress rehearsal. You’ve only got one shot at it. You’ve got to make the best of it. If you’re not enjoying it, what’s the point?’
So I packed my suitcase and moved into my Mum’s house in Minskip – it’s a little village up near Boroughbridge? Really good for work as it’s right on the A1.
It felt strange moving back in with my Mum, as a grown man and everything. But that was it. I just walked out of Scunny.
I always gave Sue half my pay packet and that. Left her the house. People said, ‘You don’t need to give her that much.’ But I did: she had the kids to look out for.
Nicky and I split up a few times over the next year or so.
Basically, I split us up because once I moved out she started making noises about getting more serious and I was thinking, but I’ve done all that – the marriage and kids - and I’m not sure I want to do it again. She was feeling the old clock ticking, you know, thinking about kids.
But I kept going back to her. I couldn’t help myself. We got on like a house on fire.
Anyway, I’d split us up this one time, about six months or so after I’d left Scunny, and I went off on a work trip. It was seven weeks in Japan. I thought I’d get her out my system and move on. Just have fun. That wasn’t how it worked out, though. I really missed her. So, I called her when I got back and got it going again. But she said, and I respect her for this, she sort of gave me an ultimatum. She said she wanted kids and if I wasn’t willing, then I had to let her go so she could live her life.
I knew I wanted to be with her. So I said, ‘OK.’
That was thirteen years ago and we’ve got the three boys now.
I’m 52 and the youngest is three and it is hard at times and I worry about being an old Dad. Nicky’s great with them. She gave up her job to be a full-time Mum and she has to be, with the work I do. I’m always working. I have to. I’m 52 with a three-year-old kid and so I have to keep on earning. It’s tough for her. I’ll get back late and I want to spend time with the kids before they go to bed and I want to spend time with Nicky, just nattering for an hour. She’ll have a glass of wine and I’ll get myself a G&T.
That means that I end up not doing all my bloody paperwork and there’s this stack of letters on my desk at home right now. I should have done it last night, but I wanted to see Nicky – and I owe her that, for all the time I'm away. And, then, this morning, before I came out to meet you for this job, I took the boys down to play football. It’s only a 300-yard jog down the road to the rec. When I left, the youngest lad, he was crying, saying he wanted to play with me, but I had to go.
Got to do those letters tonight – probably a load of bills I need to pay. But I must do it tonight as I’m in Manchester tomorrow, then down in London on Monday and flying out to Madrid on Tuesday, back to London on Thursday morning, up to Manchester again and then Leicester next Saturday. It’s so busy, but I have to keep on earning. I’m still putting money into the house. And then I want Nicky to do up her Dad’s place. It’s on the coast. Lovely place. Open the doors and it’s twenty yards across the grass to the beach. The plan is that we can rent it out and that will bring in some money, as a pension for us. And she’s got a good eye, Nicky. She wants to do it. So. I’ll be giving her five grand here, five grand there. She won’t do it on the cheap. It’ll all be quality. But that’s the way to go.
Thing is, my older kids. I’m working so hard and they are over in Scunny and by the time I get home, I want to see Nicky and the boys and I’ve got all that stuff to do. And I’m knackered. The idea of driving over there, an hour and a half each way.
We speak on the phone every day, my older boy and I. My daughter, we’re really close, but I don’t speak to her that much. They were twelve and nine when I left. Same ages as the bigger two of my boys now, near enough.
I do feel bad about that. I think they’re alright. I think they understand it now. They know their Mum and I weren’t happy.
Connor is doing really well. He’s got his own tattoo parlour in Scunny. It’s really successful. He’s very talented. It’s what he always wanted. Lou’s got her job and her boyfriend. She seems to be getting on well.
I know I don’t see them that much, but I’ve always provided for them. They’ve wanted for nothing. And Sue’s a great Mum. She does my accounts now. We get on well these days. I said to her, ‘If I’d known we’d get on so well now we’re divorced, I’d have divorced you years earlier.’
We had a laugh at that. It’s true. We do get on well.
Things work out. And I’m really happy with Nicky. That hasn’t changed. We can still natter for hours and, these days, I’m happy to go out for an evening with just Nicky. I don’t need anything else. She’s great.
You only get one shot at it, mate.
Comments