Just the 4 of us: Rupert

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Cloe’s boyfriend was a fashion designer.  I say was because he was her boyfriend.  He still is a fashion designer.

He had a lot going for him: talent, a wonderful sense of visuals, imagination, creativity, enthusiasm and when free from his insecurities and demons, a caring and open-hearted man.  When she met him, he was feted as the next big thing, but finding fashion an unstable world after his regimented time in the army.  He had liked that in the army there was discipline and you had decisions made for you.  He had also rebelled from it too by his choice of career after leaving.  It couldn’t have been more different.

It is hard to write about someone that isn’t yourself.  I don’t feel I have permission.  It isn’t my story.  So I’m not trying to tell his story except in the way it appeared to me, as my part of our foursome.  Why tell it at all?  To understand some of the stresses Eadmund and Cloe were under.  To understand the stresses I was under.  He was complex, interesting and troubled.  He was a force of energy and intensity that it appeared he didn’t quite know how to control nor perhaps always want to control.  As such, he could be challenging to live with.  And we all lived with him in our own way.

In the first instance, he fell hard for Cloe.  I never asked but I got the impression that theirs was a passionate, dramatic relationship.  How amazing for a woman who had always seen herself as unattractive, to suddenly find herself centre-stage in her own drama.  She blossomed under his attention and adoration.

But, of course, there was a flip side.  He could be so absorbed in he,r that he wasn’t aware he was monopolising her time.  When he came round to the family house, he took over her conversation.  Even talking to someone else, his every comment was for her benefit.  Her children wanted to be his friend.  Not only was he important to Mum, but he was also a source of seriously stylish clothes which was a definite plus.  I think he surprised himself with how much he enjoyed their company, but even when chatting to them, he would still look across the room for her approval.

His obsessive nature and ability to take over the environment upset people.  Cloe & Eadmund’s daughter was upset that she didn’t get as much time with her mother anymore – even when her Mum was home.  It was suggested to Cloe, by Eadmund who could see his little girl’s face fall each time Mum’s attention was dragged away, that maybe Rupert’s time in the family home should be limited until the kids were more comfortable with the situation.

Rupert, while he may not have even been confronted about this, noticed when his time with Cloe began to be restricted.  His nature was addictive.  He needed her.  And so he rang her all the time.  When she was at work, he would call her mobile several times a day.  At home, having worked a long day, he carried on calling her.  Her children, home from school, wanting to chat to Mum about their day, found it unsettling that she kept being dragged off to the phone.  Meals didn’t get cooked until 10pm because she was tied up with hours of intense phone calls.  Then he would continue into the night after everyone else had gone to sleep, into the early hours of the morning.  She knew he wasn’t emotionally stable.  He’d been sectioned in the past, over a suicide attempt.  She was afraid of him relapsing and what he might do.  So she couldn’t refuse to answer when he called.  Every night, she promised to call him back again after bedtime.

At the same time, she had been clear with him from the start.  She had three children.  When their youngest was older, she might be more free to live with him or to spend more time with him but her youngest was still only eight.  She was needed at home.  I am sure Rupert didn’t protest at this, but he couldn’t do without her when the theory became reality.

Without her, he began to turn back to drugs and alcohol.  He reconnected with friends that did the same.  An all night party would medicate against missing her I suppose.  I was doing something similar before I hit rock bottom.

Before meeting her he had had a reputation as a dangerous, bad boy of design.  He courted the reputation – playing up to the self destructive artist with a death wish.  It may even have been thrilling for Cloe in the beginning.  But it was one thing for him to be unpredictable with her, another thing entirely for it to intrude into her kids world.  Cloe didn’t approve of drugs and she didn’t want her kids exposed to them at the ages of 14, 12 and 8.

Drugs, alcohol, lack of self control and an intense and addictive personality.  You know where this is heading, right?

She didn’t feel able to bring him into her home, as he became less and less predictable but she arranged weekends away with him to Paris.  They would walk and walk all day around side streets, quirky shops, flea markets, pausing to sit in cafes and then walk again.  It relaxed him.  The physical activity gave him a vent for his nervous energy as the flea markets gave him visual and aesthetic stimulus.  But as he drank more and took more drugs, their romantic getaways became listless as, worn out by a permanent hangover, he had no energy anymore.  He’d give up drinking for a few weeks but then he blew it again after a quarrel, or if she didn’t give him with enough time and attention.

She didn’t enjoy spending time with his party friends.  It wasn’t compatible with her life as a mother and it highlighted their age difference.  Rupert was in his mid thirties whereas Cloe had turned fifty.  He still considered himself a bright young thing, where she considered herself a mature woman.  I can imagine that it made her uneasy.

Years later, I met one of Rupert’s friends in completely different circumstances. My former flatmate Carina, having graduated as a shoe designer and worked for several years in Italy, had decided it was time for a change and moved to Paris.  One of her old contacts from Italy worked there as well and, as I happened to be visiting, we all went out for a meal.  He was frivolous, chatty, camp, self projecting for all he was worth and hugely entertaining.  Out of the blue, he mentioned Rupert.

‘Oh God, did you know his girlfriend, that Cloe?’ he exclaimed, when I asked how he knew him and explained my role in the foursome, ‘She was so snooty and aloof.’  He put on a semi-pretentious voice, ‘Oh I’m his mu-use.  I’m above you all!’

It wasn’t like that, of course.  Cloe was actually quite shy when out of her comfort zone and, in a crowd of coked-up self-proclaimed bright young things, she would really have been out of her comfort zone.  I’d already heard tales from Carina about her friend’s epic party exploits and heard her suggest that he’d been doing it so long, that it was a habit he couldn’t control.  While I was visiting, I was witness to a glimpse of this.  We all met for dinner on the Isle de la Cite.  He and their boss were already in the restaurant and were in high spirits, squawking and giggling together like best friends despite him only having known her for a fortnight at that stage.  Throughout dinner, they became ever more theatrical and expressive.  They seemed to have to leave the table several times where the rest of us didn;t.  In the end, with a flamboyant arm gesture that unfortunately coincided with a full bottle of red wine, Carina’s boss managed to utterly drench me.  Then they decided to go clubbing. Carina, more alert to the signs than I was, decided we both had to get home and made our excuses.   His parting shot was to stick his head in my cleavage as his boyfriend behind him shouted,

‘Stop it Angel!  You’re not straight!’

Then he headed into the Parisian night.

He was great fun but exactly the sort of person Cloe wouldn’t have wanted her kids to meet.

Relationship stress wasn’t the only thing Rupert may have been escaping from.  He struggled with the nuts and bolts of running a business.  Making sales, keeping accounts, placing orders on schedule, working to a deadline; in short, the boring and procedural aspects of the fashion business, were things he couldn’t or wouldn’t do.  Cloe, being highly organised, capable and having also run her own business for years, stepped in to keep the show on the road.  When he needed to move to cheaper accomodation, she rented him an apartment in a rickety old block in Covent Garden, above the cheese shop, that she and Eadmund owned. I rented a flat there too, for a while, which I sublet first to a school friend and then to my sister.  The building was like going back in time – a little corner of Victorian tenement-style dwelling, that looked down on Central London.  It was close to where Cloe worked.  They could see each other easily without the kids and he was even more indebted to her than ever.  She was his muse, she had found him somewhere to live and she’d saved his business.

Trying to establish some orde,r in the business of someone who enjoyed the anarchy of chaos, must have been extremely hard work.  In the run up to each collection, they would work 24/7 sewing clothes with a couple of assistants, re-modelling things, re-designing things right up until the last minute.  He created individual pieces outside of the show times but it was always a last-minute, frenetic rush.  Sometimes, to blow of steam, he went out and got wrecked, then came home and ripped up all the things he’d been working so hard to make.

As time went on, Rupert became angry, aggressive and depressive when he partied.  He began not to be thrillingly dangerous, but actually dangerous.  Cloe was afraid of him, but with his business dependent on her now, even when she had to end the relationship, she couldn’t leave him.  No longer her boyfriend, he didn’t even try to restrain the drugs and alcohol.  If he wasn’t in a fit state to work, she just left him to it until he could be productive again. He fliirted with and slept with star-struck girls, who were impressed that he was in fashion.  He paraded them in front of Cloe.

Rupert began to be violent.  He scared the other inhabitants of the flats above the cheese shop, most of whom worked there.  In drug fuelled rages, he rampaged up and down the central staircase threatening other people.  One of his girfriends was pregnant.  He threw her down the stairs.

Through all this, Cloe still helped him with his business and was his landlord.  He depended on her, he owed her his business, she inspired him and she had rejected him.  He loved and hated her.  Eventually, a company offered to take on his business.  In return for majority share in his own name and label, they would handle cashflow, provide him with back up in marketing, buying and general administration.  In some ways it was selling out but they could turn his business into a profit making one.  They could move on from each other.

It was hard for him to move on.  I think he managed eventually but not before he too, hit rock bottom.

He and the girlfriend had a baby.  This didn’t stop his drugs and alcohol.  It was a shock when I read, in the local paper, that he was in court for domestic violence; attacking his girlfriend while she was breastfeeding and in front of a team of assistants who were trying to restrain him.  A shock, because you hoped it would never have got to this, for all of their sakes and a grim sense that, perhaps, you could have predicted it after all.  I am not in touch with him, of course.  We weren’t all that close even when we were in the foursome.  However, before writing this, I did put his name into Google and crossed my fingers that I might find out good news.  There wasn’t much information but it appears that, on the testimony of his girlfriend who had told the court he was an affectionate, loving father when he was sober but had a Jekyll and Hyde personality around alcohol, the judge gave him a suspended sentence on the condition he went into rehab.  He seems to be designing still today.  He even has a Twitter account which he most definitely doesn’t write himself, but it appears that the business is functioning and that must mean that he is functioning again too.

It’s a relief and I hope it means he’s ok.  He was hard to live with.  He caused us all pain, stress and complications in our dealings with one another as we all tried to relate in an extended family.  It was due to his nature that we were all trying to cope with even more dysfunction than your average open relationship with teenage kids.  But it wasn’t contrived.  He couldn’t be any other way.  Besides, everyone deserves to be happy.  That includes the mother of Rupert’s baby, their son and it also includes him.

Not Quite Sleeping Together

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Not even Isla’s news stopped me.  It might have been a day or two until the next time Eadmund and I found ourselves alone together but I doubt it was even as long as a week.

The kisses became more passionate.  The arms wandered. It was a bit like the teenage fumblings I’d never had, in one way, because for all that we both evidently found the encounters breathtakingly erotic, it remained quite innocently chaste.  All clothes stayed firmly on although shirts and t shirts were untucked from trousers.  Even now, it makes me smile to remember how thrilling it was to just feel the skin of his chest with my fingertips and to feel his hands on the small of my back.  Back home, I was still having sex with my fiancé; full foreplay and penetrative sex with earnest attention that I should have an orgasm and yet it felt disconnected and predictable.  These strangely chaste yet passionate encounters were more fulfilling.

‘Be careful not to confuse the thrill of the secrecy with sexual chemistry,’ Eadmund warned me, ‘I’ve had affairs before,’ and he smiled ironically in acknowledgement of work gossip, ‘Oh so many affairs,’ in a mock world weary tone, ‘and the sneaking around gives an urgency and excitement of its own.  It’s easy to confuse the two.’

He didn’t want to sleep with me, he said.  Behind the hugs to co-workers, never mind what had happened with Isla and was happening now with me, he had spent years looking for emotional reassurance, support and love that his marriage wasn’t able to supply.  The need had driven him and at times it got him in deeper than he realised.  It felt warm and fulfilling until they had sex.  Once that was over, he would realise it was wrong and that he wanted to be somewhere else.

‘I don’t want to feel like that with you,’ he said, ‘Actually I think there’s a good chance I won’t feel like that with you, but that raises a whole other set of questions and you have a fiancé.’

Things were still going on with Isla too.  He told me each time anything happened.

‘I’m not looking for it with her anymore,’ he explained, ‘Don’t get me wrong, in the past I have been.  Not now.  I think for some reason she still wants something from me and for me it’s a bit like a habit I’m trying to break.’

Each time it was a dagger to the heart but each time I got better at not letting it shake my confidence in the relationship we had with each other.  I didn’t like it but we had never agreed that we were having a relationship with each other and as such there was no reason to ask for exclusivity.  Besides, I still had Jack.

I wanted to take it further.  Knowing how much I enjoyed the encounters we did have, I knew that we would be sexually compatible.  My sex life with Jack had always been good enough.  We had very close moments and we’d tried out all sorts of positions, techniques, toys and saucy underwear.  Judged by the standards of Cosmopolitan magazine and girl chat with my friends, I’d always thought we had a great sex life.  Besides, most women didn’t have an orgasm from sex did they?  Pretty much all women liked the foreplay best. And yet… and yet… there was a bit of me that wanted that Mills and Boon, From Here to Eternity style passionate sex where it doesn’t take vibrators and toys to get you off.  I wanted to feel it just from the thrill of our shared sexual energy.  The electric charge I got from the touch of his skin made me think that, with Eadmund, this might happen.

We talked about it.  I reasoned.  I persuaded.  I was as eloquent as I have ever been in arguing my case and trying to make him see my point of view.  I couldn’t win.  I couldn’t make him do what I wanted.  He kept to his original point of view.  Either it would spoil everything because it would make him regret something that was, at the moment, giving him comfort and warmth or it would kick open a whole hornet nest because it could mean we should have a relationship.

Needless to say, this made me only want it more and want him more.  I couldn’t argue him round as I could Jack.  He stuck to his own views.  I knew already from our talks on all manner of things that he listened to my point of view, thought I was insightful and respected my opinions.  It wasn’t a matter of disrespect that kept him from agreeing with me.  He felt he was right.

And of course there was the undeniable charge between us.  I don’t know if I was a slave to my hormones but I was awash with anticipation for something that with each kiss, I felt more and more sure would be amazing.  The idea of not experiencing it was almost more than I could bear.

Into this hotbed, came my best friend from school days, Elena and her husband, also called Jack.  They were having a holiday in London and staying with us.  I had it all planned.  We had a birthday party to go to first and then we would get the tube up to Camden to go clubbing.  The following day we’d go back to Camden and meet up with one of their friends in the World’s End pub.  I outlined my plan to Jack and assumed he would come clubbing in Camden with us.  To me, it was only the hospitable thing to do.

‘I don’t want to go to a goth club,’ he told me grumpily, ‘I’m not coming.’

I couldn’t persuade him.  Rather than making me respect his point of view, it just made me angry.  I felt he was being rude to my best friend and her husband.  I was getting it out of proportion as Elena and her Jack didn’t mind in the slightest, but it rankled.  So the following day I was even more rude because ‘I had to go into the office just for a bit.  I had to go round the Food Market and talk to the stallholders.’

I did usually do this every Saturday.  Eadmund and I would do the rounds and talk to everyone.  How was trade going?  How were the facilities?  Had setting up the stand gone ok?  Any issues?  It was no problem for me to skip a week.  He’d happily do it without me.  But after Jack had been in a mood and been rude to my friends I thought, sod him.  I knew if I went to the Market there would be another moment where Eadmund and I would find ourselves alone and that things would happen.  I didn’t care.

I came back via Covent Garden market where some of the our Market regulars were taking part in a new annual Fair.  I chatted to them and bought chocolate then headed up to Camden.  I found Elena, her Jack, a friend of theirs from University and Jack all in a group several pints down and proceeded to catch up.  Life was getting too complicated and the simplest thing to do at this stage was to blot it out.

‘Jack and I were remembering that holiday the other day,’ Elena said to me recently as we both laughed over what an exceptionally alcoholic Saturday it turned out to be.

‘He said, “In retrospect, we should have guessed that something was wrong.  We were drinking lots because we were on holiday but I think they were drinking to escape.”’

At work, my responsibilities increased.  The wholesale manager left with a month’s notice which was in line with his contract but didn’t leave much time to find a replacement.  The sales drive was taken on by Jacob.  The admin and fulfilment was taken on by me.  I was the most experienced member of staff in wholesale at the time.  Ironically the mail order manager had also left and Isla took on running the department.  Two departments, with new managers and each requiring a bit of an overhaul.  Eadmund ended up spending a lot of time checking in with both of us and we both were working together in a tiny office.  You would think that there would be all sorts of tension: competition between Isla and me (and there was an element of that), unease for him as two women with which he was engaging in varying degrees of sexual activity were in close proximity.  There must have been tension and an edge on occasion but Isla and I were still friends.  We still talked about things.  We were both scared of the impending Christmas and the new challenge facing us both.  We looked out for each other.

I started to miss it if he wasn’t there.   December came round and he was based in Covent Garden.  Supervision of me and Isla became Jacob’s responsibility. Eadmund had to work on the shop.  The days dragged.  I missed him.  I found myself making excuses to head up to Covent Garden when my shift ended so I could snatch a moment with him.

‘You’re a very passionate person,’ Eadmund told me as we broke away from kissing on the rickety staircase that lead from his office to the shop, ’I don’t think you even realise.  Hasn’t anyone told you before?’

No one had. Jack said I was kind.  I was a good girl.  He thought that I hadn’t rebelled as a teenager, that I was conventional and straight forward.  I loved the idea that I was passionate.  I felt like a movie heroine.

Christmas came and went.  Jack and I were apart again. I was at home in Marple and preoccupied by memories of kissing Eadmund.  At the least appropriate moments, the memory of his lips on mine, the taste of his mouth, the electric charge as my fingers touched his skin would intrude into my mind and I could think of nothing else.  For a moment I would be absolutely lost to the outside world.

With the winter months of January and February came the usual Christmas comedown. Against all odds Isla and I had both done well at very little notice.  We were both still engaged in ‘not quite relationships’ with Eadmund.  As usual in the cheese shop, everyone was low on energy.  This included Eadmund.  The shock of Cloe and Rupert had worn off, but dealing with it day to day was still difficult. The person he emotionally connected with most was me, but I was marrying someone else.  We were emphatically not going to have a relationship.

The business was moving its office to a new space just round the corner from the South London shop.  The new office was empty, waiting for us to move in.  It was a new project and I felt uneasy about not being part of it.  We had another of our talks down the pub.  He was quiet, subdued, unhappy and I couldn’t work out why or make it better by talking.  We left the pub and he took me up to the new office space.  As usual we held each other.  We kissed each other.  Normally it would be left at that.  On this occasion, though, he took my hand and lead me to the back room which looked out on the roofs between the trainlines in and out of London Bridge Station.  We lay down on the coat that he spread on the floor.  He tasted of roll up cigarettes and IPA.  We were more measured and slow than usual and for the first time, we actually made love.

The minute I felt him inside me, I felt secure, loved and that, at last, I was home.

‘I don’t want to be anywhere else,’ he whispered to me as we lay together afterwards.

The hornet nest was kicked right open.

Infatuation

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From the very beginning, for me, there had been a glamour about Eadmund: the strange married life, the affair, the way he looked after us but kept apart.  With each Christmas that rolled around I found myself looking forward to him being around more and the ‘thank you for working so hard’ hugs.  I used to hang around in the hopes of catching a quick conversation with him and make excuses to deliver him a message and then hang back to watch as he got on with work.

To his credit, he didn’t find me stalker-ish, creepy and downright weird.  He just waited and wondered if I would start a conversation.  He knew that I was fascinated by him and drawn to him and luckily he also realised I was harmless.

I didn’t admit any of this to anyone of course.  It was a bit teenage and embarrassing to be so in thrall to someone.  To outward appearances, it would also seem an absurd match.

He was 17 years older than me, the owner of his own business, had grown up in China as an expatriate, was married and had three children.

I had only ever been in a relationship with my one boyfriend, was in my first job, had grown up in a little town in the north west of England and although we’d got engaged before Jack applied to the Royal Antarctic Survey, we’d kind of let that slip and acknowledged we weren’t really engaged anymore.

Eadmund had a passionate interest in preserving the artisan cheeses of the UK that had almost become extinct in the 1980s and had studied Food Chemistry so he knew about that alchemical process whereby milk becomes what is practically an infinite variety of cheeses.

I was learning the cheesemonger’s craft but to me the world of cheesemaking was a great mystery that … had something to do with rennet.  I wanted to help further the shop’s mission but would I ever have had the courage to start something like that myself?

What on earth did we have in common?

And yet, the touches of his personality I felt around the company, sense of humour, affection for fellow workers and desire and ability to create a happy environment, follow a path where we tried to do the right thing by each other, were things I felt too. Could it possibly be that we had things in common?  That if he got to know me, we would be friends, perhaps even more?

I realise as I’m typing this quite how Fatal Attraction it sounds.  That’s why it became my secret.  Obviously I couldn’t tell Jack I had an unhealthy fascination for a man who most certainly wasn’t him.  I couldn’t tell my friends and flatmates.  They would think I’d lost my mind.

I couldn’t admit it to my work colleagues either. They were the ones who had told me all the gossip.  From the tone in which they relayed the information, I didn’t feel they approved.

‘He hugs you a lot these days,’ Felicity warned me one day, ‘You should watch yourself around him.’

‘I know his reputation,’ I replied but finding it deliciously thrilling that I might need to watch myself, ‘I’ll be on my guard.’

To them, my line was that I wasn’t interested.  To myself, my line was that I wasn’t interested.  I had a boyfriend.  We’d been together for years.  We now lived together on our own like a proper grown up relationship in a flat we’d bought.  I couldn’t admit to myself that it was all a lie.  Besides, although there were more frequent hugs these days, and it felt like a bit more than a normal working relationship, I could hardly say he’d made a move on me.

When I look back on it now, it was as though I was sleepwalking.  I relinquished control of my actions.  Part of the reason I wouldn’t tell anyone was because I knew they would try and talk me out of it.  I also just knew I had to follow where this was going to lead.  It was as if I had no other choice.

The closest I got to a confidante was Isla.  We became good buddies, sharing many a bottle of red, chatting about work gossip and to be honest chatting quite a lot about him.  It gave me an outlet for all the thoughts and wonderings in my head to find out more about him and understand how his mind worked a little better.  It was also great to have a good friend at work.