One of my favourite albums of all time was 50 in February, re-released last month. I remember the LP cover – bought by one of my elder sisters – as if it were yesterday: a human heart comprised of psychedelic faces on a white background. I only learned recently, though, in one of the many pieces about the record’s birthday, what the title meant. The composer, Arthur Lee, was breaking up with his girlfriend. ‘You told me you’d love me forever!’ she wailed. ‘Well, forever changes, baby!’ he said.
Forever changes indeed. David was always telling me (and leaving little notes: ‘Let’s have a great Christmas and an even better life!’) that he would never leave me. That he would love me forever. It has now come to the point where when I’m in London I’m wary I might bump into him (though I doubt he’d ever be window-shopping in Dover Street). He blames me entirely for our relationship’s demise, viz what happened when Nic emailed him to say we had a result with the two lambs, destined for halal slaughter in France. I had got in contact, via a Facebook group (it’s useful for some things), with an English expat who has a smallholding just 5km from where the lambs were temporarily lodging. Unlike all the French women I’d been liaising with, who soon get on their high horses and become hysterical, she was nice and helpful, and said she’d fetch them and give them a home for life.
The reason Nic was the one to let David know is because I’m no longer in contact with him. Now, of course, anyone normal would have been thrilled. Not David.
‘Of course I’m happy, but that wasn’t the point, was it? It’s amazing how easy principals [sic] fall. It cost me nearly two grand and a girlfriend. Just put it down to another knot in life’s tapestry.’
She replied (I’ve turned into Julio Iglesias, who has a person who squeezes his pineapples – I now have someone who argues for me): ‘The point was to save them from a horrible death. Liz has paid the farmer for their care. Anything else is personal between you and her. I wanted you to know as you put so much time into their rescue.’
He wouldn’t let it go. I imagine it was because the one thing he could hold over me – blackmail me with for contact – had slipped through his fingers. ‘Do you believe that patronising, self-serving aggrandisement, riddled with inaccuracies? Now wash your hands.’ Ay?
‘I was simply updating you. I can only assume you are drunk or drugged. If you have a problem, talk to Liz. We are not children in a playground.’
Him: ‘It’s bulls***. They were rescued to be brought back to the UK. It is only because of Liz’s intransigence and her ability to upset people, who, in this case, only helped greatly, that they cannot come back.’
She didn’t respond. The sheep don’t care that they are still in France; they have avoided a 500-mile journey. The reason they were saved was to highlight the horror of live export, and the law is promised to be changed. So, job done.
But in another way, he’s right. It was the arguing over the sheep that finished us off. I was grateful, but the way he put his friends first, always slobbering over them, helping them build barns, always offering to cook at parties and sleep in the worst room, even in a hammock outside, always contributing money to buy someone a birthday present and telling me to buy them cases of wine and visitor’s books (who are they, Harry and Meghan?) that diminished him. When we first met in 1983, his (younger) circle held him in awe. He was dashing and exciting. Ooh, another revelation! I think he only went out with me to show off to his friends, to go, ‘Look, I’m not a has-been.’
I write this with just four weeks to go until I’m discharged from bankruptcy. I’ve had the date etched on my wall: it’s been keeping me going. An end in sight, when I no longer have a single debt to my name. I can start again. And then, on Saturday morning, a big letter arrived. I’ve been without quite so much fear of envelopes: my philosophy has been, what else can happen? Well, something. It said that I have to hand over another whopping sum, and pay back more each month for the next two years.
In the case of my financial woes, forever never changes.
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