D-Day

Dan trembled as he held the calendar in his hand. The day he had been dreading had arrived. Six months ago, when he had pencilled in the message, now seemed like another age. It was there, in his unmistakeable script, and there was nothing he could do to avoid the task in hand - D- Day had arrived. He didn’t relish speaking to his wife, Jean, at all. For six long months it had remained unspoken. She knew it was there, but she had retreated into silence, refusing to acknowledge the event they had both agreed to. “Silence”, she reasoned, “might make it disappear altogether.”

Dan humoured Jean, shrugging his shoulders and pulling his best forlorn look. For five months, it worked. They shimmied along, as couples do, in public, presenting to the world a united front – subconsciously matching clothes in the way that twenty years together has an affect on a couple – her in the crème top; him in the safe Farah trousers she would select for him when they went shopping. For all intents and purposes it was a happy façade – if it wasn’t for the Pinteresque silence that had lodged between them about this immutable event.

“Silence”, spat Dan, “Hasn’t changed a thing, has it?” to Jean, who sat tight mouthed, clinking her tea cup against the saucer in the way that set Dan’s nerves on edge. “Well, haven’t you got anything to say?” Jean set the cup and saucer down and carefully spooned two more lumps into the pale tea. She slowly stirred the sugar, taking care this time to avoid making an undue clinking sound. She set the spoon down and reached out for a scone, which she piled with fresh Devonshire clotted cream and two generous servings of strawberry jam.

“Drinking tea and stuffing your face won’t delay this for much longer, Jean”, sighed Dan, resigned to his wife’s tactics. “I said six months ago, when I wrote it in the calendar, that you would have to make a decision. Please, for Pete’s sake, put that bloody scone down and talk to me, won’t you?”

Jean duly complied, a little taken aback at her husband’s uncharacteristic forcefulness. She looked at Dan and tried a demure smile in the hope that it would diffuse the situation. She blinked rapidly and almost spoke. She swallowed instead, to Dan’s immediate consternation.

“I’m sorry, love, but this just isn’t good enough. I don’t like to have to do it this way – but I don’t see that I have a choice”, said Dan, clearly uncomfortable. “Some things have to be done – for the better, even when it seems like the tough decision, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Jean put her hand to her mouth, the colour draining from her face. She knew the outcome before he said it. The decision she didn’t want to make was being made for her and she felt like she was watching a silent movie play out, in which she took a leading role where the heroine is tied to the train tracks, totally powerless to influence the final reel.

Dan said the words she had tried to deny, which six months of silence had failed to eradicate.

“It’s here – D-Day. Whether you like it or not, we can’t go on like this. I haven’t seen you smile for so long and I have to take some of the blame for that - for not acting sooner. I should have done this ages ago but I did feel sorry for you, Jean – I truly did. But enough is enough. Tonight, you’re going to the dentist!”