What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) Read Free Page A

behaviour.  It would be fair to say the
intervening years have not been plain sailing.  I had to drop out of
university, supposedly just for a few years until the children were older, but
in truth it just became too hard to go back once the kids arrived.  Greg had
carried on with his studies, because as he said at the time: ‘it was an
investment in our future, and it was only a matter of time before his work was ‘recognised’’;
and I stayed home in our bedsit, scraped by on benefits and looked after our
babies and Greg. 
    The first couple of years were really hard, not that I think
we were anything special, just that babies are hard work anyway.  Make that two
babies with colic, teething, insufficient sleep and no money, and it didn’t
make for a happy mix, but I consoled myself with the fact we were okay as a
couple.  We were healthy, Greg’s studies were going well, he told me, and I
adored my babies.  While we might not have had any money, we still had each
other – we were coping, and Greg had stuck by me when he could have walked
away.  Greg’s sex drive had not diminished at all, kicking in a mere four weeks
after the birth of the boys, but this time I was on the pill.  We didn’t need
any more stress in the system, I figured, until we had sorted ourselves out (it
never happened).  We had finally succumbed to intense societal pressure and got
married after five years together, mainly due to the comments from Greg’s
parents about ‘how it looked’, which had eventually been too much stress for
Greg to handle.  Our boys, Adam and Ethan, had been our pageboys, and while it
had been a low-key event at the local registry office, I still thought it was a
nice party at the time, despite tripping on my grand entrance and Greg rolling
his eyes at me.  Everyone told me I looked tired and to take care of myself as
well as everyone else, but it was hard when there was so little time to do
anything but cope. 
    When the boys finally started full-time school, I managed to
get myself my job.  At that time Greg had just been finishing his Masters in
Art History, so that clearly needed to be his main focus, while I started first
in an administrator position at the local doctors’ surgery during school hours,
before moving on to reception work.  Over the course of the years, my effort
and loyalty were noticed.  Consequently I was rewarded by the practice investing
in me: allowing me to do some courses and helping me to move up the ranks,
finally taking on some of the business management responsibilities.  The
increase in money had really helped at home and allowed us to move out of the
bedsit and into a very small three-bedroom semi with a very large mortgage
(those were the heydays when they leant money to people who couldn’t possibly
afford to repay it), in what the estate agent had described as an ‘up and
coming’ part of town. In other words, it was a bit of a dive area, but it was a
step up from where we had been. At least the kids had a bit of a garden to play
in while Greg had a small studio in the garden for his painting.  It was
actually a large shed with lots of windows, but he was happy, so we all were. 
    That tended to be the pattern in our married life – if
Greg was happy, we were all allowed to be, but if he wasn’t, then God help us.
    At the same point my career had begun to develop
unexpectedly, Greg began to find that life after university was turning into a major
disappointment.  It seemed there was a surfeit of arts students fighting for
positions and recognition, and Greg’s lack of willingness to compromise meant
he refused to apply for anything which would get his foot in the door if he
deemed it unworthy of his skills, regardless of our need for income.  He continued
to channel his energies into his paintings; convinced people would eventually see
his brilliance and rightly reward him with commissions, only to find himself
thwarted time and time again.  With every