Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?. Claudia Carroll

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      Unsurprisingly, I do NOT let her stay and watch. Come eight o’clock, there’s still no sign of Dan, quelle surprise and it turns out Jules is meeting up with one of her pals from college, who lives in Lismore village not too far away. So I wave her off, full of promises to report back the full, unexpurgated transcript of my Big Chat with Dan later on.

      It was my full intention to wait up for him, so he couldn’t head straight for bed without saying two words to me, like he normally would. But by half eleven, I’m stretched out on the sofa in front of the fire with the TV still on, out for the count and utterly drained after all the hoofing up and down to Dublin earlier today.

      The dogs are the first to wake me; Dan often takes them out with him on farm calls and they always go bananas whenever they get back home. So the minute I hear barking and paws scratching to get through the living room door, I’m groggily hauling myself up, all set for the almighty show-down.

      ‘Dan?’ I call out, sleepily stumbling to my feet, ‘I’m in here.’

      Our three Labradors are first into the room, jumping and slobbering all over me as I pet each one in turn. Then I look up…and there he is, filling the door with his huge, broad-shouldered, hulking frame, still wearing the giant, oversized wax jacket he wears out on farm calls and looking more exhausted than I’ve seen him in months. Honest to God, the dark circles lining his face are now exactly the same shade of black as his eyes.

      ‘Hey, you’re still up?’ he says, in a voice flat with tiredness. ‘I thought you’d have been in bed hours ago.’

      ‘Emm…yeah, I…. well…I wanted to talk to you,’ I say, with a highly inconvenient knot suddenly appearing in my stomach. ‘How did you get on today?’

      ‘Oh same old, same old,’ he says, coming in towards the fire for warmth, as ever, the room suddenly seeming smaller just because he’s in it. He’s left his Wellingtons in the hall but even in stockinged feet, he still towers over me by about a foot and a half. He brings the cold outside air into the room with him and smells of the outdoors: horsey and leathery. Unsurprising, given that he’s been on an equine farm for the past sixteen hours. Must be raining outside too because his thick, black hair looks damp as he runs his hands through it, trying to dry himself out a bit.

      ‘I was up at Fogarty’s most of the evening – Paul insisted I call over a second time, after I’d done the rest of my calls. But all is well, I think. I did another endoscopy on the filly and there’s nothing sinister. He’s just panicking because she won’t be fit for the flat season, that’s all.’

      I smile up at him and change the subject.

      ‘Hungry?’ Good tactic; a full stomach will possibly make him more amenable to what I have to say.

      ‘No thanks,’ he yawns, ‘I’m just so, so tired. But James has taken the phones now, so at least I can crash out for a bit. I’ll just feed the dogs then get to bed. Early start tomorrow, you know yourself.’

      It flashes through my mind how polite and passionless our conversation is. More like two flatmates who hardly ever see each other than husband and wife.

      ‘I’ll look after the dogs, don’t worry, but before you do go to bed, Dan, there’s something we really need to talk about.’

      ‘Could we leave it till later? I doubt I can take too much in right now.’

      He’s half way out the door and I know this is the only chance I’m going to get, so I go for it.

      ‘Dan, remember I told you I was up in Dublin today for an audition?’

      ‘An audition? Really? You never said.’

      I let that go on the grounds that the guy is practically sleepwalking with sheer knackered-ness and has probably even forgotten talking to me this morning. Chances are I’m just a big, blurry shape to him now.

      ‘Yes, I was and I don’t know how it went but, well, you know how it is. I just have to wait by the phone now. Oh…and say a lot of novenas,’ I tack on lightly, smiling nervously.

      ‘Well…best of luck. I hope it all works out for you.’

      Another massive yawn from him as he winds up the conversation and makes to go upstairs.

      ‘Dan, that’s not the whole story.’

      ‘No, no, I’m sure it’s not…but can’t you tell me about it tomorrow?’

      For a second my heart goes out to him; the guy is physically swaying on his feet with exhaustion right now.

      ‘Dan, I’m sorry, but no, this won’t wait any longer.’

      OK, now I have his attention.

      ‘Well, what is it? Some big movie role or something?’

      He’s starting to sound a bit narky now, like I’m delaying him from precious sleep time.

      ‘It’s a play, a new play that’s on in the National in Dublin. One of the actresses is pregnant and has to drop out, so I’d be taking over from her. If I landed the part, that is.’

      ‘Hey, that’s terrific…well, let me know as soon as there’s news.’

      ‘And…you see…there’s something else too. Something important.’

      OK, now I’m learning a big life lesson. Namely that when on the brink of a potentially volatile conversation with one’s other half, never EVER leave the TV on in the background. Because it has the power to throw the oddest curve balls into the mix. Right now, there’s some late-night American soap opera on TV where a wife is having a showdown with her husband and is telling him she’s leaving him.

      ‘I am sick of this marriage and I’m sick of being taken for granted!’ the wife is yelling at the top of her voice.

      ‘So what’s that then?’ Dan asks politely enough, but with ‘then can I please go to bed?’ practically etched across his forehead.

      ‘I’ve had enough of the way you ignore me!’ screams the TV, as I fumble around for the right words. Shit, and I wouldn’t mind, only I’d rehearsed this in my head about a dozen times this evening.

      ‘Well, you see, if I were to get cast…’ I start, gingerly picking my words.

      ‘Do you understand? You are so emotionally unavailable to me and I’ve taken all I can of this. There’s only so much neglect a person can put up with!’ fed-up TV wife is still yelling in the background. I rummage around the sofa for the remote control to switch the shagging thing off, but of course can’t find it.

      ‘…the show wouldn’t actually be running at the National,’ I say, gathering a bit of momentum now.

      ‘And, after years of putting up with the way you treat me, I’ve had enough of you and your white silences and it’s time you heard a few home truths,’ TV wife continues to screech, as I root under the armchair cushions where Jules had been sitting earlier, still searching for the remote. No joy, so I just lunge for the telly to switch it off manually. But not before TV wife gets in the final clincher: ‘Because I’ve sacrificed my own life and career for you and get absolutely nothing in СКАЧАТЬ