Читать книгу The Real Lady Detective Agency: A True Story - Rebecca Jane - Страница 8

Fast-forward to 2009. My life was a mess. I was still married. I’d stopped looking for clues of James’s infidelity, because sadly I no longer cared. I didn’t want to know. Instead, when James hurt or upset me I turned to John. John listened, he understood, and together we led double lives. I had my life with James, and he had his life, then we had our time together.

For years I pretended that it was a carefree relationship, but the more my marriage deteriorated the more I realised how strong my feelings for John actually were. People may say they detach themselves from affairs, but I don’t believe they do. I knew I had no right to feel like this, since he wasn’t mine. Trying to swallow the hurt and pain of not being able to have him, while staying in a torturous marriage, hurt me even more.

Eventually it became clear that I’d fallen madly in love with John, and didn’t love my husband at all any more. I needed John and couldn’t imagine life without him at the end of the phone. He was the one person I thought I could always count on. Really, I was a mess.

My postnatal depression shifted and I began to love my daughter as I should have from the start, but I felt guilty for the lost time. I had a lot to make up to her.

Next, my career began to suffer with the economic downturn. My speciality was renovating houses worth over £500,000. I was halfway through my latest development – a beautiful Georgian manor house in a village hamlet. The ceilings were high and vaulted and it had real character. I knew every single inch of the development. I spent the whole summer stripping back layers and layers of wallpaper, which is quite an achievement for a girl who wears heels 99 per cent of the time. I researched Georgian colour schemes, and what would have been traditional colours for the different rooms. Red for the lounge. Duck-egg blue for a bedroom. Gold for the dining room, and so on.

My mother was convinced it was haunted. One day she was lighting a candelabra in the dining room to take pictures and the candles kept blowing out. Later that day when she was relaying the story to Dad over dinner, candles blowing out miraculously turned into … ‘Candles blowing out … and then a white lady brushed passed me …’ Bless the mother – so dramatic! (You just have to meet her for half an hour to understand why I turned out so crackers!)

The development house wasn’t my home, but I stayed there when I could. I loved it, with its ghosts and history. When my finance company announced they were going bankrupt, they dealt me a blow I wasn’t expecting. I had twelve weeks to finish the Georgian property, even though it still had no kitchen or bathrooms. Sorting out bedrooms and living rooms had been my priority. That was a big mistake. I had no option but to sell it or they would repossess not only that house, but my home too. James was with me when the news broke and we knew we had a serious task on our hands. His solution to the problem? He ran away and left me to it.

That was it. I was sick of the James saga. During this particular vanishing trip towards the end of 2008, he called with the usual ‘I’m sorry, I won’t do it again’ routine, but this time I’d had enough. Through medication and my love of my daughter and John I’d grown strong. The kind of strong I should have been before my wedding. I told James not to come home. Our marriage was over. It really was that simple.

I filed for divorce and didn’t look back. I wasn’t even upset about it by that stage. People kept expecting me to break down, and I’d hear them whispering about me, worrying that I was bottling it up, but all I felt was huge relief. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells any more. I could be myself and do what I wanted, when I wanted. I looked at my friends who were in relationships and was glad I wasn’t them. I felt nothing but carefree about the loss of my marriage.

However, my affair with John became a problem next. The game was up when rumours began to surface around our circle of friends. We’d been seen together a few too many times, and people began to put two and two together. It was only a matter of time before our secret was out. All my conversations with John now consisted of ‘Should we be together, or should we not?’ He’d say yes, he’d say no. I felt he was basically leading me on.

I tried to draw a line. I told him it was time to leave me alone. I’d got rid of my no-good husband, and now it was time for him to go too. I just wanted a happy, normal life with my daughter but John was having none of it. I kept warning him that if he didn’t leave me alone I would out our secret myself, but he didn’t believe me.

Then one night when Paris was three she shoved a necklace bead up her nose and it got stuck. I took her straight to hospital at 10pm and we stayed up all night while the hospital tried everything possible to remove the bead. I wasn’t allowed to let her sleep in case it slipped down and blocked her airway so it was a traumatic night. Nothing worked, and she was booked to go for surgery. I was frantic to say the least.

Paris was released from hospital the following day, minus the bead! As I pulled up on my parents’ driveway, after having no sleep for nearly thirty-five hours, my phone was ringing. It was John. We had a huge blazing row. If I hadn’t been so sleep-deprived I don’t think I would have done what I did next, but I wasn’t in my right mind.

‘I’ve told you we’re over,’ I said. ‘Just leave me alone.’

It certainly didn’t seem like he believed me, and I needed to do something drastic to make him listen. We’d gone round in a merry circle for what seemed like forever, going backwards and forwards. It would never end. We would have a break, and then everything would resume again. The writing was on the wall. I wanted to be strong and not go back to him. My stubborn side kicked in. I needed to make him hate me, to take the decision out of my hands.

‘This is the last time I’m going to say this. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell everyone about us.’

‘Go ahead then – you do it,’ was his reply.

With that, I hung up and logged onto Facebook. It possibly doesn’t come any more immature, but how else can you tell an almighty secret to a vast number of people in the space of a few minutes?

All the time John and I had been having an affair, I’d protected our secret and gone to serious lengths not to have it exposed. Now I was doing the one thing I knew would make him hate me forever.

I turned off the computer, left my phone by the side of it and went out. I didn’t want the temptation to delete my comments to overcome me. Knowing I had hurt the one man I truly loved in the worst way possible tortured me, but I honestly didn’t see any other way out. It was the only thing left to do. Otherwise, we might have continued for the next seven years. It would never have ended.

I returned home and my phone was full of messages from various people and from John. I was too terrified to look at it. I instantly wished I could take back what I’d done, but the secret was out, and this was the beginning of the end.

He was devastated and utterly furious with me. I was devastated, but it was over. I deleted my comments because the damage had been done. I didn’t need to hurt him any more. The scariest thing was that in making the decision to make the past public knowledge, I knew I was taking a final step from which there would be no turning back. For a long time I’d felt like he’d always be there for me at the end of a phone or email and now that could never happen again. I felt like a small child who’d had her comfort blanket taken away.

Afterwards I began to feel bad about how lightly I had taken the sanctity of John’s marriage. My own marriage was different. When I started the affair, I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it, but I simply didn’t take his marriage into account. I knew I should have – and he should have too. I’ll never have a chance to put that right.

All I could do was look back and reflect on all the hurt and upset, and use the experience to become a better person. I would analyse the past seven years until the cows came home, then I’d mentally dig a massive hole and bury all the crap. That way I could learn from it. That way I could move forwards. All in all, I’d be making myself a better person for Mr Right when he did finally come along. And I truly hoped I’d be able to have a normal relationship one day without all the lies and paranoia James had led me to believe were part and parcel of a normal marriage. But in the meantime it was just me and my princess. And to be honest, that was all I needed.

I managed to finish the house I was developing by the skin of my teeth, thirteen weeks after I’d been given the ultimatum. I was a week over deadline, but somehow got away with it. I made no profit and my career in property development was officially over. I was down to my last house – the one I bought as a barn in the middle of a field in 2006 and turned into a home from nothing. It was secluded, isolated and still needed some work doing. I utterly loved it though. Paris and I moved into it, and lived between there and my parents’ home. It was fantastic to have my parents’ support at that time because, if I’m being honest, the barn was a lonely place where the two of us just had a few dozen sheep for company. I actually ended up spending most of my time at my parents’ house, which meant they could help me out looking after Paris.

Next, I needed to find a new job and there was an idea that had been ticking over in the back of my mind for some time. I wanted to open a private investigation company. I had a strong feeling there was a market for it. Our company would be understanding and affordable. When people picked up the phone, just as I had, it meant they were going through one of the most traumatic periods of their lives. They needed someone who understood and could relate to them rather than someone who was trying to rip them off. People don’t phone investigators for fun. When you reach that point, it’s deadly serious.

As I’d found, it wasn’t possible to hire a private investigator for an hour. Instead a big institution rips you off for at least a day’s fee plus expenses at a time when you are at your most vulnerable. I wanted people to turn to us because we understood how they felt and would do what was needed at minimal cost. And there was no question that I understood what it felt like to be cheated on. I could have written a book on the subject!

The only problem was that after the property crash and my divorce taking every last penny I had, I was left with almost nothing. Even though I still had my barn home, an impending lawsuit with my soon-to-be ex-husband meant it could and most likely would be taken away from me at any second. I was prepared to fight to the bitter end to stay there and retain the beautiful house I’d made, but I knew it wasn’t very likely. I may not have had the million-pound home or the fancy cars any more but I didn’t care. I felt nothing but freedom and happiness. Mum pleaded and begged me to get a proper job, and I know I could have walked into most estate agencies and earned £30,000 a year as a sales agent – enough for Paris and me to live a reasonably comfortable life … But it wasn’t my dream.

Dad understood. He said to Mum: ‘Rebecca won’t listen to anyone. When she decides she’s doing it, she’s doing it. Now hush up and support her.’

I had mountains of passion and determination. I just had to figure out a way to make my new venture work.