The short answer to all these questions is: Susan. In the few weeks that we’ve been seeing each other, I have never felt happier. We’ve been talking about going away together for a few months on a kind of extended holiday. We’ve both got enough savings to do it and Susan reckons she’s overdue for a career break. My publishers have given me another eighteen months to finish the biography of Pete – so I’ll be able to put that on hold for a while. Meanwhile, I’ve been making plans to hand over the reins of novotnik.com and all the other publishing activities to someone else.
As for this account, it no longer seemed to matter. When I re-read it, I barely recognised myself; I sound like a kind of 21st century Holden Caulfield, droning on about how everything and everyone really sucks, especially Pete and all his E-Gnosis acolytes. I almost deleted it there and then.
But I could see that this person who I barely recognised had a problem; he had never really got over the failure of his relationship with Kay. Would he, I wondered, ever be able to start afresh on a new relationship? Or was he so hung up on Kay that any such attempt was doomed to failure? What if he ended up losing Susan – all because he had failed to come to terms with the loss of Kay?
This last question terrified me. Things had been going so well with Susan that I hadn’t really wanted to analyse it; I just wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. But what if my relationship with Kay really was unfinished business? What if it was lurking in the shadows, ready to ambush me when I least suspect it?
So that’s why I decided to write about how Kay and I first met. I wrote it quickly, over a couple of days. I was astonished at my speed of download; it all came pouring out, much faster than any previous sections of this account. And to my immense relief, I felt nothing. It didn’t seem to matter any more either.
That evening, Susan stayed the night at my flat. Over a bottle of wine, we talked about our plans for going away, making a list of countries we wanted to visit. I knew she had to be up early the next day, so didn’t think anything of it when I awoke to find her gone. It was only later that I found the bright yellow post-it note stuck to my computer screen. It said: “YOU LYING BASTARD.”
There was no further explanation. There didn’t need to be. Even before I had peeled off the note, the file that Susan had been reading was plain to see. It described our first meeting. Having finished my account of what happened when I first met Kay, I had been looking back over earlier sections to see what, if anything, was worth salvaging – or if I should just delete the whole thing. Carelessly, I had left it open on my computer. Susan must have woken up early and started reading it.
I read the chapter again with increasing horror. It described our meeting in the café. She must think that I have deceived her all along – that our entire relationship is pure manipulation on my part.
Unable to get through to her on the phone, I went round to her flat. I’ve have been back there countless times now, but there’s never been any sign of her.
In desperation, I have emailed her all the files and urged her to read everything, then make up her mind. At the time, it seemed obvious that the best policy was to be completely open with her. I cursed myself for not having told her the truth before.
But over the past couple of days, I have started to wonder if it might have been a mistake to send that email. Re-reading the earlier chapters, it occurs to me that Susan could easily have formed the view that I am still in love with Kay – and that I am not just deceiving her but deceiving myself as well. So it’s entirely possible that my email has only served to make matters worse.
In the meantime, the only way I can think of to retrieve the situation is to finish this account once and for all. Then she will have the full story – and finally, perhaps, she will see that I am telling the truth.
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