The Sulk

By Sean Rian

Stephen Byrne, an architect, undergoes a reluctant, painful metarmorphosis, triggered by events within his marriage and business partnership, discarding a successsful career and materialism in a quest for fulfillment and creativity.

The double edged nature of ultimatums, the often moral shoddiness and compromising nature of success, the brevity and frustrating nebulous expectations of life are brought into focus and scrutinized.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491893104

Sean Rian

Born of Irish parents, Sean Rian has lived in London most of his life. Now retired and divorced, after intensive involvement throughout the years in construction, property and travel, his main preoccupations are serious reading and extensive travel.

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2014 by Sean Rian. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/05/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9309-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9310-4 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

So this is aloneness, he mused. More the painful in company, with the woman that I love and knew so well, after hundreds of hours of shared thoughts, whose words and words no longer fathom. Do minds ever meet?

Only a few monosyllables challenged the ticking of the mileage meter, each enduring a separate hurt silence. What am I doing? She asked herself. My own father warned me that when criticisms start they take on a life of their own, become insatiable.

The taxi driver, an experienced man who knew when polite silence was best, was grateful the back of the cab had not been turned into a fight arena and hoped that the baby sitter would be a less gloomy fare.

It wasn’t, Stephen thanked God, a public mauling, so frequently bestowed by American wife. Nonetheless the cold silent rejection was numbing. As unexpected as a drive-by shooting… . Not unexpected… . Reoccurring… . Almost weekly… . Why?

Inside the hallway Stephen helped Marie with her summer coat and escorted her down the steps to the taxi. His generous allowance for the rest of the ride got him a thank you and a good luck smile from the driver.

Harriet in the meantime had slipped into the baby’s bedroom, walked over to the cot and looked down at the sleeping child. Edging closer she bent over and carefully reached under the cover and lightly laid a hand over the boy’s heart, a favoured habit of hers with Stephen over the years. The child in repose, made no response. She heard the front door closed and sensed Stephen crossing over into the sitting room.

Walking over to a side table, he poured himself a large whisky. Bafflement and icy rage tugged at his inners.

Time elapsed before Harriet came in from the hall, but when she did, she found him standing awaiting her.

‘How is Mark?’

‘He’s fine,’ she answered, ‘sleeping well, no problems,’ she told him, slipping off her cashmere stole and draping it over the sofa.

‘Good… . so what’s wrong with you, I had yes, no or nothing from you since we left Martins. I cannot think of anything I did to get the big freeze’.

‘Maggy upset me.’

‘A nice healthy reaction to the vicious gossip which you and others find so amusing.’

‘She’s not always like that.’

‘Not always, but too often, it’s like sharing the sofa with a scorpion… What got to you?’

‘She was in Edinburgh last month. The same week as you.’

‘Now listen Harriet, I am not mixed up with her capers. We talked briefly. I didn’t even have a drink with her’.

‘She saw you with another woman, a friend of hers, and God almighty she insinuated a lot.’

‘That bloody woman does not have a friend in the world! I was with colleagues and we got talking to others. You’ve been with me often enough to know how it is. You would have been there but for Mark’s teething.’

‘All right then, with an actress! You know how they are."

‘I don’t know if she was an actress. She was introduce as Michelle and wore a wedding ring. That’s all I know.’

‘But you know Margaret. She tried her luck with you, and I know t and I know she didn’t get anywhere. But darling, she’s gunning for you and she won’t let it drop if there’s anything in it. So if you did bed somebody for a night, for God’s sake tell me!’

Harriet burst into tears but didn’t shake off the arm that encircled her.

‘Come on darling, don’t let an absolute cow spoil your evening. She is an actress who is not busy enough, with a mean line of gossip… . What was she doing there tonight?’

‘Sarah wanted an extra woman, decorative and extrovert to make up the space.’

‘Ah yes, for Malcolm, a man totally at ease with his own company. Why do hostesses otherwise persist? Margaret does liven up the table, thinks it’s fun to be a troublemaker. Bitchery is mother’s milk to her.’

‘Sarah wanted the conversation to be light.’

‘I know, same as across the water. Nothing of importance can be discussed at the dinner table… we did grumble about that, remember.’

‘Sarah’s rules, not mine.’

‘When there’s no substance in a conversation it can degenerate into gossip, spitefulness and mischief. Perhaps from sheer boredom, that’s when Margaret shines.’

‘I know Steve… I don’t know… But if you did… Tell me… Because if it comes from her… It will be unbearable.’

‘There is nothing to tell. I lightly flirted the way I do in mixed company. No more, no less. Come on, dry those tears and let’s have a cuddle.’

‘Oh damn the woman! Why does she always want to disturb and hurt? What makes her do it?’

‘She is raging with unhappiness and envy. Why can’t you women see that. Her and her Oscars are like a bag of weasels. It’s a relief when she’s not around.’

‘But we’re not are we? I love our marriage, don’t you? I’ve not got it wrong have I? You’re not bored are you? Entrapped?’

Within his head, he answered. Over the last year each time I’ve come through the door, I ‘ve been told off for something or other or nothing and put it down to the Pre and then Post-Natal depression. It’s been a bloody trial.’

‘How could I be bored with a Vassar girl?’ he assured her. ‘It’s a contradiction in terms.’

‘No it is not! I know a lot a boring Vassar girls, intelligent yes, but as boring as mothers corncakes!’

‘Well you are not.’

‘Look at me tonight! In a little black dress and pearls, over shadowed by Margaret in red dress and gold, doused with Opium.’

‘Enough to scare away a polecat!’

‘But not men.’

‘Compared to you Margaret looks like a tart.’

‘Who gets chatted up more?’

‘Harriet for God’s sake! You’re giving yourself needless grief! One of your irresistible attractions was your self-confidence, free of the self torments that so many women plague themselves with.’

‘A stuck-up, dull Boston Brahmin!’

‘Educated, self-assured, well mannered. A looker, beautifully groomed. Be as rude to yourself all you want, but you do not have your own fan club and in the light of morning you will see that it is so!’

‘Oh to hell with the mad bitch! Let’s boot her out and go to bed!’

Stephen gave an affectionate squeeze, ‘now that the lady I married.’

The telephone rang. Harriet disengaged, walked over to the coffee table and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello… Oh Becky… . Not tonight… . Steve and I have just got in. We are really tired. Let’s have a long chat tomorrow… . Okay Becky, Okay… . That will be fine.’

Harriet replaced her receiver and turned to face Stephen. ‘Your father has a lot to answer for!’

‘She would not marry and dropped him when he was crazy about her.’

‘It was more difficult then.’

‘It would not have been if he were a millionaire, and she didn’t start her crazy pursuit until the chicks had flown the nest and her husband went off with a woman half her age.’

‘Her pride was hurt and she’s lonely.’

‘She was unrelentingly selfish, relying on her good looks God gave her, which age has begun to take back.’

‘She could have been your mother.’

‘That would have been one crazy mix, from which the world has been spared… . It’s been eight years since she drove my parents to Australia.’

Harriet took him by the arm. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed, I’ve had enough of other people for one day.’

‘Having her dropped into deep, wet concrete has crossed my mind.’

Margaret sits up in bed. Sleep is the last thing on her mind. Alongside, a head is buried in the bed sheet, vainly against the unceasing verbal wrath of an unhappy woman.

‘But you… . Nothing… . Horrible… . Nothingness… . Stifling me… . burying me… . Why are you burying me? . . . . Why me?’

‘You’re here Maggy… . Way back I didn’t ask you to park your arse alongside mine. You came and you stayed and cooed and blew your breath over me this way and that so that I’m scattered all over the park in a thousand directions… . Let me sleep.’

‘It’s not that you and you know it’s not that… . You always had your way… . But you turned away from me… . From everybody… . Into a little cage of your own… . That get’s smaller and smaller… . Nestling your saxophone… . Like a precious egg.’

‘Maggy the cat… . Licking the bars with her rasping tongue, let me sleep.’

Reaching over to take a fistful of the covers wrapped around his head she vainly pulls, pulls, and pulls.

‘Maggy—if—you—get—me—up—I—swear—I—will—kill—you—stone—dead.’

Releasing the cover, she ineffectively pummels the mound and then throws herself back on her pillows.

‘Snort and pop. Play the sax. Swallow whisky. Play the sax. But score you do not. What am I supposed to do? Petition the sax for a screw?

‘Do what you have to do Maggy, let me sleep.’

‘Is it my fault? I am asking you, is it my fault?’

‘Not your fault Maggy… . We should not have worried… . That was my fault… . Let me sleep.’

‘What a fool I was! . . . . When I think… . There are two draws of the straw, and one comes out as a woman and the other a bastard like you! . . . . Don’t go to sleep on me!’

‘Maggy find yourself a lay. I don’t care if he has pointed ears and plays the lute or if he’s a slave that will lick your arse clean. But do, do, do, just sod off and let me alone with my own little egg that doesn’t come with a ten tonne collar. I’m spent. I ‘m free. There is no nightcap for you. Let me sleep.’

‘You’re free! As free as a bin bag of shit.’

‘Let me sleep. Maggy let me sleep.’

‘It’s all one way… . A black hole.’

‘Let me sleep Maggy, let me sleep, with my egg, with my black star, let me dream of starfire and gusts of angel music and drifts of torment and pains and the echo’s of womb and heart that I have lost. Let me sleep Maggy, Let me sleep.’

The street light shone through the gap in the curtains on a woman shocked head and dismayed by the loathing response to her anger and exasperation, opening wounds beyond healing.

Hell in the graveyard hours.

Chapter 2

Stephen, his ear to the telephone, looked across to Alex who was perched on the edge of the desk, and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘No, he wasn’t pulling a Brahmin act, he is Muslim, not Hindu. Both of them have become a laughing stock, known on site as, The Whiteman’s burden. . . . Yes funny… . Apparently it’s been a farce for months. Talking through third parties even when face to face, Mr. Gallagher will you request the architect to provide addendum drawing 28 H by tomorrow evening… Mr. Gallagher will you inform the structural engineer that I am awaiting information requested on 20th of July to enable me to complete and issue the drawing. ‘And today they would have come to blows had I and two others not physically intervened. The contract is screeching to a halt because those two will not communicate… . Our man’s fault… . Fine. Play it that way if you want. Regardless of whom is to blame, the situation is dire, so I am going up there for two or three working days… Yes, lodge there… . No, I’ll determine the contractors requirements and do what I have to do and then contact Leonard… I might well invite myself to your drawing office. Not to play silly fools. My demands will not exceed the effort I have to make myself… . I know it’s a nightmare if this were a rational world the contract would have stopped when they introduced air-conditioning and an extra storey. Let us not get to grips with it and sort it out before it becomes a mess beyond remedy… Okay, that arrangement sounds good… . Until then… Goodnight Barry.’

Stephen gently returned the phone to its cradle. Alex, a man in his fifties, his ginger hair thinning, smiled down at him. ‘Harriet will have something to say about that.’

‘And so much else