Not Your Ordinary Housewife: How the man I loved led me into a world I had never imagined (14 page)

Soon afterwards, however, Paul’s moods became intolerable and I suspected he resented staying with me. His behaviour was deteriorating: I couldn’t rouse him from sleep, and he was permanently uncommunicative. I knew I couldn’t continue putting up with his mood swings and slovenliness. I was fighting a losing battle against overflowing ashtrays, empty beer bottles and unwashed dishes. The house was no longer just mess—we were living in squalor and filth as his smoking and drinking escalated. Often, I’d catch him out lying—over trifling matters, but it always upset me. Most disturbing, however, was the resurfacing of his diatribes against Dory and his renewed plotting of her death. Plotting anyone’s demise was unconscionable—let alone my mother’s—and I begged him to stop this craziness.

I began imagining life as a single parent. I craved a peaceful environment for my child and a caring and trusting relationship with my partner, not one filled with anxiety and stress. My affection for Paul was waning; it pained me, but he was driving me away as he descended into depression.

His constant badgering was leading me to feel brainwashed; I was starting to doubt my own instincts. I wasn’t seeing any friends and so I couldn’t discuss things with them; Paul was my only adult company.

Hard as it was, I would have to admit that our marriage looked like a failure. Finally, I felt I needed to bring all this to a head one evening after dinner.

‘We have to talk . . .’ I hesitated, unsure of what I would say next. ‘Things aren’t working . . .’

‘What are you saying?’ he said, with menace in his voice. Paul reached for his cigarettes as I followed him out onto the patio.

‘You know exactly what I’m saying: I can’t go on like this, listening to your constant carping on about how evil Dory is.
Your
craziness is driving
me
crazy.’

‘You think I’m crazy? I assure you I’m totally sane.’

‘Whatever . . . I want to separate—at least until you can get some help to become a decent person again.’ I knew I couldn’t continue to abide the obsessive and sickening hatred he felt for my mother. ‘You can still see Shoshanna whenever you want . . .’

‘But I can’t survive without you two, I love you,’ he said, with tears in his eyes. ‘You’re all I’ve got.’ I knew it was true.

‘You think all you have to do is tell me you love me and I weaken. This time, I’ve decided: get yourself together then, maybe, you can come back.’

I didn’t want Paul to leave—I still loved him—but I thought separating was the only thing that would persuade him to change: all my pleading had failed. I reasoned that, if he saw how serious I was, he would at least try.

‘I’m not asking for much, just stop criticising Dory . . . and show me a little consideration occasionally.’

‘Okay, I’ll move out . . . I’ll find a share household somewhere.’ Paul was crying and it took all my willpower not to immediately rescind my demand. He could be so unpredictable, I hadn’t expected him to capitulate so readily. I had hoped he’d change rather than leave. Part of me was deeply hurt: I wanted him to realise how difficult surviving on his own would be. What I had really wanted was an undertaking from him that he’d reform. But he seemed optimistic and I needed a break from his torment.

Luckily, he found some share accommodation quite quickly. We phoned each other daily. I was delighted to hear he was doing regular work as a film extra, but unfortunately he always seemed stoned.

Our relationship had gone into remission, although he made regular visits to the house. He’d only moved a foam mattress and a few clothes, so it felt as if we were still living together. I called Dory to tell her, hastening to explain that the separation was only temporary. Her reaction was thinly veiled joy—I suspected she didn’t want to appear excited, in case we got back together.

Soon after Paul’s move, Saskia phoned to say that she and Vlad were planning to visit Melbourne, accompanied by Paul’s half-brother, Rudi. She intimated that Keuntje had given a grim report card of her son’s circumstances and she wanted to see for herself first-hand. Paul’s contact with his mother in recent years had been minimal—a handful of phone calls and two letters in the two and a half years since we’d left Holland—but he was clearly excited at the prospect of seeing her again and was hoping they might fund his attendance at art college.

Despite my reservations about her, I was happy for her to bond with her grandchild. Paul temporarily moved back with me, to facilitate Saskia seeing Shoshanna. He picked them up from the airport and took them to their suite at the Rialto. When he first brought them to visit me—Saskia dressed in her French designer clothes and Patek Philippe watch, and Vlad looking like an advertisement for the larger man’s
GQ
—both seemed uncomfortable in our relaxed surroundings. They were obviously unimpressed with our bohemian lifestyle; Saskia clearly found our house and the surrounding bush distasteful and disapproved of my op-shop-chic décor. I felt judged and humiliated, even though I was clearly doing my best.

A few days later I returned from a visit to Dory’s to find everyone in the lounge room. Instantly I knew something was awry.

‘We’ve got some great news,’ Paul said, excitedly. ‘I’m moving back to Europe and we want you to come.’

‘What? I can’t believe this.’ Paul’s revelation had me in shock. ‘Australia is my home—I love it here—I don’t want to live anywhere else.’

‘Well, I’ve decided. I’m going. Mom’s bought me a one-way ticket, leaving in two days, and we’ve reserved tickets for you and Shoshanna.’

‘But I haven’t agreed to go.’

Apparently, Saskia and Vlad were willing to help us, but only if we were living over there. My dreams of his attendance at art school, with their assistance, had evaporated. Paul’s expression was determined and I knew it would be futile to attempt to change his mind.

I was livid that I hadn’t been consulted. ‘Why didn’t you discuss it with me first instead of presenting me with a
fait accompli
?’ I was being bullied, my sense of powerlessness compounding my anger. ‘I thought our separation was temporary. What kind of a marriage is this where an international move isn’t discussed between spouses?’

But Paul wasn’t listening to me. ‘Mom and Vlad are going to enrol me in a Swiss hotel school, and you can live in Amsterdam and visit me on weekends. It’s a fantastic offer,’ he said.

‘Hotel school? You’ve never mentioned a career in hotel management before—you’ve only ever talked about wanting to do art.’ I was really confused. ‘It seems totally insane. And Switzerland?’

Paul was animated as he explained how his parents would pay for his tuition fees and our accommodation. ‘Shoshanna will love it there and Mom will help you look after her,’ he said. ‘You don’t want that hateful witch, Dory, getting her hands on our daughter.’

‘Even if I wanted to go, I can’t imagine how I could pack up the house with an active toddler. What about our two cars? And where would I put all our stuff? I have no-one to help me.’ I told him I needed to be near Dory; she’d bought the house for us to live in. ‘We can’t just leave; I can’t just pack up my life here.’

Paul often spoke of his mother’s broken promises and her pathological neglect of him, yet now he was proposing we trust her in an undertaking of massive proportions, when things between us were at an all-time low. I didn’t want to be at her mercy.

For the next two days, Paul hounded me. His parents came for a meeting with Dory, who said that, if I left, she’d be forced to sell the house. My heart ached for my mother; I couldn’t desert her. Still, I felt trapped in what felt like a tug of war: my marriage or my mother.

Finally, I told Paul to get himself settled and I would re-assess matters then. Maybe I’d go for a few months. He continued to pressure me mercilessly, reassuring me this decision was best for all concerned and that I could trust Saskia.

‘Promise me you’ll book your ticket,’ he said, telling me that Vlad would lose his money if I didn’t confirm a date. As he saw it, all that was left to do was to dob Francine into the authorities. ‘They’ll deport her, so she’ll be no more threat to your inheritance.’

I told him emphatically that there was no way I’d stoop that low. If he wanted he could call them, but I found it disgusting; I wasn’t a dobber—it wasn’t my style. ‘Anyway, Dory’s money is no concern of yours,’ I reminded him.

So with a heavy heart, I drove Paul and his family to the airport two days after his announcement. I felt empty and angry: how dare he put me in the position of having to move continents again, and on such short notice. He was talking as if I’d undertaken to go, but I doubted I could leave.

I called in to see Dory on my way home.

‘Good riddance—you’re better off without him,’ she proclaimed, barely masking her joy. She described Saskia as an unbelievably selfish woman, saying that, if she really wanted to help, she should pay for Paul’s tuition in Melbourne. I agreed.

‘Can’t you see how bad he is for you?’ she asked. ‘You become like a different person. He manipulates you constantly. Just forget about him.’

I supposed I would have to try to; I knew I didn’t want to live in Holland again.

Slowly I set about getting my life back on track. I’d been earning reasonable, but irregular, money modelling for the various camera clubs, and knew I could survive financially. Dory, who of course had no idea of my activities, had also generously offered to help me. But the problem was that I was missing Paul. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was craving—certainly not the pressure he put me under or his mess—but he had a gentle, intelligent side. And his wit—it had been ages since I’d laughed. Wasn’t all that what I’d fallen in love with?

He phoned me after a few weeks. Apparently, things hadn’t quite panned out as planned. On their return to Holland, his parents discovered their car wash was going through a rough patch and they didn’t have the money for hotel school in Switzerland after all.

‘What a surprise,’ I said sarcastically, as my fears were confirmed. Nevertheless, his parents were funding his apartment in Amsterdam and his enrolment in a programming course.

‘Computers?’ I queried. ‘But you don’t have a mathematical brain.’

‘I’ve done aptitude tests and apparently I do,’ said Paul arrogantly. ‘Plus I’m getting a modelling folio together . . . And I’m seeing a shrink.’

I was thrilled. Finally, Paul had heeded my advice about getting professional help.

Saskia had also bought him a whole new wardrobe; I was pleased, remembering how Paul had a propensity to look unkempt.

‘Oh, and you’ll never guess who I saw at my optometrist in Amstelveen . . . Xaviera Hollander . . . you know,
The Happy
Hooker.
’

‘Wow. Of course I know of her.’ I’d read her book when I was seventeen—everyone had been reading it. ‘She’s iconic.’

‘Yeah, she’s a national treasure,’ he said.

He then began pressuring me to book my ticket, saying how much he was missing Shoshanna and me. But I insisted that things were still too uncertain for me to relocate to Amsterdam. He badgered me, arguing that I
had
to come: Saskia had leased a three-bedroom furnished apartment and bought baby items.

Then he flew into a rage, rebuking me for allegedly breaking my promise. ‘You selfish witch—I knew I couldn’t trust you!’ he screamed, accusing me of doing ‘this’ deliberately, just to hurt him; I assured him I was just being rational. He asked if I’d dobbed in Francine yet, but I told him again that I wasn’t going to.

‘You’ll see—she’ll inherit Dory’s money, and it will be your fucking fault,’ he railed.

I’d had enough. I told Paul to stop verbally abusing me and hung up.

As the months passed, I carried around a sadness; I felt bereft. I saw virtually no-one except Dory, visiting her twice a week with Shoshanna.

‘Don’t you think I know that Paul wants me dead?’ she asked. ‘I’m not stupid. Any fool can see he’s only after money. Nikki-le, you’re such an intelligent girl—can’t you see what a terrible person he is?’

‘It’s not that simple. I know he’s not perfect, but he has many good traits.’ I reminded her of his tragic life and how I couldn’t just desert him: he could be so tender and loving. ‘You should see Paul and Shoshanna together—they adore each other. It would break his heart to lose her . . . Besides, I just feel sorry for him.’