Of course, all my friends were right. No good would come of seeing Vanessa again. But - you know what it's like when you are splitting up with someone, however outrageous their behaviour has been - it's so tempting to go round one more time for the ride.
And so it was with me. Years have passed. She's had a child, a chance to mature. I thought she might have changed...
Anyone interested can spend a couple of days in reading the ridiculous details of our affair in the 52 tagged posts on the subject of Vanessa. But leaving aside the details - and the vast gap in our ages, and the stupendous amount of money she got from me, and the fact we didn't have much of a sexual relationship - and an affair is an affair, and the finale often comes long after the climax and is more a whimper than an explosive argument.
On Thursday, she wanted me to accompany her to some expensive west end shops. She has taken a course as a professional shopper and is making lists and treating the whole thing very seriously. My presense gave her more confidence. My advice helped her. But in each shop, and in Waterstone's afterwards she hovered, as if she were hald expecting I would buy her a present - as I used to...
And I remembered her radiant, ecstatic smile when I bought her things - for a second it used to feel as good as sex. No one has ever smiled like at me like that. The trouble was - her pleasure and gratitude only lasted for a few hours before she had desire fo a new acquisition...
It was madness. I go sucked into her narcissism for all sorts of reasons. On Thursday, there was no way I got sucked in again. In fact I became restless and alienated. Something had finally clicked inside me.
Before, she had insisted we went to Fortnum and Mason for tea, and laughed when I suggested she paid for it - her cake, her Earl Grey, to my tea bag. And I was more upset by paying £16.00 for this overpriced muicro meal with silver plated tea pots, than all the hundreds and thousands of pounds I used to pay out before I stopped on the brink of bankcrupcy. I was upset, but Vanessa didn't notice.
In those days, crazily, I expected her to appreciate what I had "done" for her. Now - please let me go on feeling this way - I couldn't care less. To hell with her. On Thursday it felt good to say that to myself, but I've had indigestion ever since.
Btw, I am so bored visiting those Bond Street shops.
