To Love, Honour ... and Obey

Author's Note: This is a follow-up to 'February Sucks in Britain', my version of George Anderson's story. I have included enough details for this story to stand alone without having to read the original. But to those readers who wanted to know what would happen after the end of the last story, I hope you enjoy this.

***

Late one evening, when he was a twenty-year-old student, Bryan Sandford was sitting on a threadbare carpet with four college buddies. The pubs had shut, but Jock had a bottle of cheap whiskey and some puff he was willing to share, so they all stumbled round to his place, climbing the stairwell to his bedsit and drunkenly shushing each other as they giggled and belched. Once ensconced in Jock's tiny abode, they sat around passing the bottle and spliff as the conversation went from complaining about girls to arguing about why the planet was fucked to debating whether Star Trek really was better than Star Wars and back to complaining about girls again.

Bryan was drunk and a little stoned, so he was only vaguely aware when the conversation turned to what everyone was wanting to do with their lives. The usual crap about swimming with dolphins and becoming a millionaire by thirty did the rounds, and Bryan was quite happy to lean back against the wall and drop off to sleep. Then his neighbour gave him a nudge, said 'What about you, Bry?' and Bryan said the first thing that came into his head.

'I want to be a man who knows how to love a woman.'

There was dead silence.

Bryan was suddenly wide awake and sober, his brain sounding a red alert. He saw four pairs of eyes gaze blearily in his direction and knew that merciless mockery was imminent.

'I mean, I want to be a man who gets to fuck lots of women!' he said.

'Hah-haaa!' 'That's more like it!' 'You had us worried!' and a dozen other affirmation greeted this reformulation. Bryan grinned as he was jostled by his neighbour and he grabbed at the whiskey bottle for another swig. The conversation turned to fuckable women and the ocean liner slipped quietly past the iceberg.

But many years later, that moment came back to Bryan.

He was once more sitting on a carpet, although this one was far from threadbare. It was the plush carpet in the living room of his home, and he was watching his eight-year-old daughter and his wife. Bedtime was approaching and Becky knelt behind the girl Tara as she gently brushed her hair, telling her a story about a princess and a pea. She had got to the part where the man was getting women to sleep on a huge pile of mattresses.

'But why did he want a princess?' said Tara. 'What was wrong with the other women?'

'That's a good question,' said Becky.

She turned to her husband.

'What do you think, Bryan? Why does a man want a princess?'

'Probably for the same reason a woman wants a prince.'

Becky reddened.

She went back to brushing Tara's hair and continued with the story. Bryan frowned and focused on breathing through his anger. In February, about a month ago, he and Becky had gone dancing at a fancy club and Becky had met a kind of prince: Marcus DeVere, a footballing legend with movie star looks and a reputation for bedding married women. Becky had damn near been one of them. Or might have been -- Bryan managed to intervene before Becky had had to face that crucial yes-or-no decision.

And she might have said no. Getting closer than you should to a man on the dancefloor and actually leaving a club and getting into his car are not the same thing. Bryan could totally imagine Becky staring at an open car door thinking, 'What the hell am I doing?' She would turn to the handsome Marcus, say 'I'm sorry, I can't do this' and that would be that.

But Bryan could just as easily imagine her saying 'Fuck it' and getting in. Women seemed to regard having sex with a famous, high-status man as some kind of achievement and Becky was a woman. She was as prone as any woman to refer to a handsome man's conquest as 'That lucky cow', even if the man were a serial cheater. There really was one rule for the Alphas and another rule for the rest and Bryan did not like it one bit.

'All right, Tara, say goodnight to your father.'

Bryan came back to the real world with a start. He daughter was coming over, his mother watching. Bryan gave Tara a hug and a kiss, telling her he loved her and wishing her sweet dreams. Becky led the little girl out of the living room, turned at the doorway and looked at her husband.

'I'll be back,' she said.

She left and closed the door. Bryan thought of the Terminator's 'I'll be back' and did not find it incongruous. Becky was pissed off at him for the 'prince' remark, for reminding her of the near transgression, for not letting it go. He could already hear her say, 'But it was a month ago!' as though that in itself should make it just go away.

'Okay...' said an inner voice. 'So what timeframe do you propose? One year? Two years? Ten years? How long before you let it go?'

A feeling in Bryan's chest whispered 'never'. And 'never' felt about right. And yet those words from his youth -- 'I want to be a man who knows how to love a woman' -- still roamed his heart. Was it loving a woman to bear a grudge when, technically, she didn't do anything? Do you refuse to love a woman who has sexual desires for other men? Or was the memory re-emerging as a warning that there was something naïve about a man who wants to love a woman?

Bryan tried to imagine what he would have done if the situation were reversed, if some famous beauty had walked across the dancefloor with her eye on him. He was immediately struck with the unlikelihood of that ever happening. Famous beauties fancied the Marcus DeVeres of the world as much as all the other women, perhaps more so since they were on an equal footing. They certainly didn't lower themselves for 'ordinary' men such as Bryan and he realised that at least part of his anger was a kind of envy that Becky had sexual opportunities simply not open to him.

But even when Bryan pushed the fantasy scenario to its extreme -- a gorgeous woman who refused to take no for an answer -- the worst thing he could imagine doing was taking her number. Bryan realised that he had very strong views about how a man should behave when together with his wife in a social situation. He would have adhered to his personal code of conduct.

'How can you be so sure?' said an inner voice.

Because I'm a man of my word, thought Bryan. Being a man of his word was at the core of his character. While some men rooted their masculinity in their ability to beat other men in combat or competition, or by earning more money than other men or sleeping with more women than other men, Bryan rooted his sense of masculinity in his capacity to keep his word. Put simply, if he ever broke his word, he would no longer be able to see himself as a Man. It was both his greatest strength and his Achilles Heel.

But while Bryan believed in honouring his word, Becky believed in honouring her feelings. She would deny this, of course, but the more Bryan listened to her actions rather than her words -- and since the Night of Marcus DeVere, he had been paying attention -- the picture was becoming clearer and clearer. While Bryan had one moral code which he applied to every role and situation, Becky had a selection of moral codes, each with its own rules and principles. As a mother, her moral code was very similar to Bryan's -- promises made to Tara were always kept, boundaries were clearly defined and adhered to, and Becky always strove for one hundred percent honesty with her daughter.

But as a wife ... different story. Bryan was expected to be 'flexible' with regard to promises made, boundaries changed depending on how she felt, and although Becky never flat-out lied, she was not above 'forgetting' some key piece of information if it served her best interests. And when Bryan brought up a picture of Becky as daughter to her own parents, yet another moral code emerged with subtly different rules and principles to the others. She was like someone with multiple personalities.

What of the personality who came face-to-face with Marcus DeVere that night? She was certainly not Becky the Wife or Becky the Mother. No, in that moment, Bryan's best guess was 'Becky as Cinderella at the Ball'. The scullery maid who feels like an imposter in her beautiful dress, suddenly transformed when Prince Charming -- whom everyone defers to -- singles her out as the fairest in the land.

And what is the moral code of a woman in a moment like that?

Bryan heard footsteps on the stairs and Becky came in. She had changed into sweatpants and a jumper, with her hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked sexy in a girl-next-door kind of way. As expected, she sat cross-legged before Bryan, facing him in combat, and said:

'How long are you going to keep this up?'

Bryan looked her right in the eye and said:

'Until I know, deep in my heart, that you would never, ever cheat on me.'

'In other words, "never".'

'That's how it looks, I know, but you're an intelligent woman, Becky. If you really want to convince me to trust you, I'm sure you'll find a way.'

'And why is it up to me?'

Bryan laughed. He got to his feet.

'You see, this is an area of our marriage where I've always had a problem,' he said. 'You don't trust me, but I'm supposed to trust you.'

'I do trust you!'

'So if I stay out all night and come home the next morning smelling of perfume, you'd trust me?'

'Well ... obviously not.'

'Exactly, so I don't pull that kind of shit. I go out of my way to earn your trust, to keep my word when I give it, to let you know where you stand, to act in a manner that is trust worthy. And I don't just do that with you -- I do that with everyone.'

Becky sat on the carpet, her face red, her mouth tightly pursed. She knew where this was going.

'You, on the other hand,' said Bryan, 'want me to trust you without doing any of the work. And the reason I should trust you, as far as I can tell, is "Because I'm your wife".'

Becky leapt to her feet.

'Fine!' she said. 'So you're perfect and I'm not! Got it!'

'That's not the issue!'

'Oh? So what is the issue?'

'The issue is that you do go out of your way to earn people's trust!' said Bryan. 'I see you do it for Tara and Tara's friends and your friends and your work colleagues! I've even seen you do it for complete strangers!'

Bryan stepped before his wife.

'In fact, the only person you don't make that kind of effort with ... is me! Being trustworthy is important to you ... except with me! Why is that, Becky? Why the fuck is that?'

Becky's face was still red, but there were tears in her eyes. When she spoke, it was clear she was fighting the urge to cry.

'Listen, you bastard, I do make an effort to keep my word to you,' she said. 'It's totally unfair to say that I--'

'You were dancing with a man knowing damn well how I would feel about it! You knew my seeing you dance with a man like Marcus DeVere would blow my trust in our marriage right out of the water!'

'I didn't "know" that.'

Bryan grabbed Becky by her upper arms and forced her to face him.

'Look me in the eye and say that again! Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't know how I would react. If you can do that, Becky ... I'll believe you. I swear it on Tara's life.'

'Don't ... don't say that...'

Becky began sobbing. Her hair was tied back, so she was unable to hide behind it and had to lower her head. Bryan looked at her with contempt.

'You can't do it, can you?' he said. 'You knew what it would do to us, and you did it anyway.'

'It was just a dance...'

'You knew that it was no longer just a dance the moment he started telling you he wanted to make love to you.'

Becky's crying got harder. Bryan still held her at arm's length, his hands on her upper arms. He shook his head, then drew her to him and put his arms around her. Instantly, the dam burst and Becky was howling.

'I'm sorry, Bryan!' she sobbed. 'I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... I never meant to do that ... I never, ever meant to do that...'

'I know,' said Bryan as he held her. 'I know.'

***

Becky lay alone in the big double bed feeling utterly wretched. Bryan had hugged her and comforted her and Becky was beginning to believe that maybe he had forgiven her, maybe things were going back to normal. And then he had devastated her with a single sentence:

'I need some time alone.'

Becky had refused at first, saying that she had just as much right to be in the living room as him. Bryan had said 'Fair enough' and gone out to the hallway to put on his coat. Becky ended up begging him to stay, promising to go upstairs if he promised not to leave her alone in the house. It was awful, humiliating, and yet even as Becky lay in bed hugging a pillow to her stomach, she realised that she respected Bryan for not being a pushover.

It was a puzzle. Becky knew that Bryan loved her, totally and utterly. She was more certain of Bryan's love than Tara's, even when he was furious with her, and she realised that this certainty was part of the reason she had allowed herself to dance with Marcus DeVere. Bryan's love was so deep and unassailable that she could dance with Marcus DeVere -- hell, she could sleep with Marcus DeVere -- and Bryan would still love her. She knew that without a sliver of doubt.

But Bryan loving her and Bryan wanting to be her husband were not the same things.

Before Tara was born, Bryan had spent much of his spare time watching old black-and-white movies. Becky didn't share his passion, but she went with him to a special big screen showing of The Maltese Falcon with Humphrey Bogart. And in the final scene, when Bogart declares to the woman, 'I won't play the sap for you!' Becky understood why this was one of Bryan's favourite movies. Here was a man who would rather hand the woman he loved over to the police and spend the rest of his life alone than have her make a fool of him. Becky found it cold-blooded while Bryan found it heroic, which told both of them something important about each other.

And on the night she met Marcus DeVere, Becky had lost sight of that. Her relationship with Bryan had been so good for so long, that she had forgotten there were boundaries. Worse, she had taken Bryan's love for granted.

No, thought Becky, as she lay on the bed. It was even worse than that.

She realised that on some level she had given herself the credit for his love. She had gotten herself to believe that Bryan's love was not due to him being a man with an extraordinary capacity for love ... it was due to Becky being such an awesome woman that she would have inspired high-quality love in any man. Bryan just happened to be the lucky winner.

'No wonder my friends hate me,' thought Becky.

She regularly saw Dee and Jane, although only because their children were all friends, and she could sense that both women were secretly glad that she and Bryan were having marital problems. Come to think of it, Jane didn't make it much of a secret. But if loving a woman was a skill, then Bryan was way better at it than either Dee or Jane's husbands -- and Becky saw that she hadn't exactly been humble about that.

She sat up in bed, putting the pillow behind her back to sit straight and tall.

Okay, so Becky had her husband's love, but not his trust. What could she do about that? The feminist in her head said, 'A woman shouldn't have to prove herself to a man!' Becky sighed.

'That's a big help,' she muttered.

***

Bryan sat with his feet up on the couch, reading a book titled The Romantic Delusion. He had been reading many such books lately, as well as watching podcasts on subjects such as the nature of desire, intersexual dynamics, and the differences in male and female psychology. It was both fascinating and depressing -- depressing in the sense that if what he was learning was true, virtually everything he had been taught about love, sex and relationships was a lie.

There was a quiet double knock on the door. Bryan marked his place in the book.

'Yes?' he said.

Becky opened the door and looked in. She wore her years-old long white nightie and her hair was loose, making Bryan think of a woman in a Victorian ghost story.

'May I interrupt you for a minute?' she said.

'Of course,' said Bryan.

Becky stepped in, closed the door and came barefoot over to Bryan. He took his feet off the couch so that she could sit next to him, but instead Becky knelt on the carpet at his feet. In her white nightie, she looked like a religious penitent.

'You can sit next to me,' said Bryan.

'No,' said Becky. 'I don't think that would be ... appropriate.'

Bryan looked at her, his expression impassive. She was either mocking his 'assertiveness' or this was a clumsy attempt to show respect. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter.

'All right,' said Bryan. 'How can I help you?'

'I've been doing a lot of thinking,' said Becky. 'And I'd like to run an idea past you.'

'Certainly. What's the idea?'

'I want to suggest that we retake our vows.'

Bryan took in a deep breath. He looked at the far wall, his eyes tracking left and right as his mind went to work. Becky recognised that expression and knew she was in for a long wait. She rested her cheek on his thigh, reaching her arms around his waist, and Bryan idly stroked her hair as he considered her suggestion.

'Okay...' he said finally. 'Here's what comes up.'

Becky lifted her head to look at him, her two hands resting on his leg.

'First, I'm delighted that you came up with this idea,' he said. 'It shows me that you're serious about wanting to make the marriage work.'

'I do want to make the marriage work!' said Becky. 'I absolutely do!'

'Yes, and that comes across loud and clear. I want you to know that.'

Becky's face fell. She knelt back, her hands hanging by her sides.

'I can feel a "but" coming on,' she said.

'I'm afraid so,' said Bryan. 'Becky, there is no point either taking or retaking a vow unless you believe in it.'

'But I do believe in it!'

'I'm sorry, but your behaviour suggests otherwise.'

'Bryan, I was weak! I made a mistake!'

'Really?'

Bryan leaned forwards.

'Becky, be honest with me. When you were considering sex with Marcus DeVere, did the thought of breaking your vows make the idea more exciting or less exciting?'

Becky's face went bright red. She got to her feet and turned her back, her hands clenched into fists. She shook her head angrily and spoke to Bryan while only half looking at him.

'Bryan, I can't help how I felt!'

'I'm not saying you can. I'm not even saying you should.'

'Then what are you saying?'

'I'm saying that you've proposed a solution to our problem, and I appreciate that. But in my opinion, retaking a vow that you nearly broke in the first place is not going to work.'

'Well, what do you suggest then, Smart Guy?'

'If you want to take a vow, it has to be one you believe in.'

'For god's sake, Bryan! Just because a person is tempted to break a vow, that doesn't mean they don't believe in it!'

'I disagree. I think a vow is something you take in order to strengthen your resolve to do something positive, not something you take to stop yourself doing something negative. If you're tempted to break a vow, then it's not really a vow.'

'That's bollocks!' cried Becky. 'Name one vow that you wouldn't be tempted to break!'