The Last Supper


I arrived back from Glastonbury famished around 4.30 pm. I had to post something urgently before 5.00 pm. On the way back from the post office, I passed M on the street whom I had not seen since the day she left my house where she which she had infiltrated still denying she had had sex with my husband.  I was sure she hadn't seen me because she was in deep conversation with a friend.


A few minutes later Martin called with an excuse to come over with post. He bragged that he was giving a dinner party with lamb at 7.30 pm at the flat he had moved into after he had left me and which we both owned. M had seen me after all. I did not want nor expect to be invited. The guests were J his so called 'girlfriend' (she was later to deny this and said he was only her Mentor), Geraldine my wilful disloyal 'friend', her friend Zoe, Josh her son of 17 and a photography protégé of Martin, M my ex Cuban cleaner/housekeeper and her Cuban bitch friend D, the one who taught her how to shoplift.


Minutes later Martin phoned to invite me to join them. I was stunned. It was, he said, M who really wanted me to come (his sex servant). She had pleaded saying she was coming over to 'get' me. I allowed myself to be set up in the role of victim.


When I opened the front door, she physically threw herself at me in the hall, howling (in Spanish) "Forgive me for all the suffering I've caused".  Kissing my face and neck, hugging me and then genuflecting, in true Latin America soap TV style, clinging to my shins. Rigid, I burst into tears with shock - traumatised. She then persuaded me to come over for the dinner that she was in the middle of cooking.


Should I have the courage to go and face the enemy? Well I was very hungry. It was a challenge. What to do? What to do?


Starving, I gave in and nodded. She rushed out. I prepared myself in a trance. Martin called and complained I was holding up the dinner because I took so long to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught. He would come and over to get me personally. Of course I should have said no, got a takeaway, being aloof and independent. But he was controlling me and I allowed it to happen for some masochistic reason. He was still my husband although we were separated by just a few houses in the Crescent.


I arrived late saying that it was very difficult for me to be there. Geraldine mechanically embraced me. The guests were already assembled around the table. I was acknowledged but no one spoke to me. I was the unwanted guest obviously creating tension just by being there.  My ex servant was seated next to me. Her eyes were downcast with shame. She knew that she had betrayed my trust. We had become a ménage a trios without my knowledge. She and I ate in silence. Mundane conversation over dinner was stilted and embarrassing.  I was the embarrassment! I managed to eat some tepid greasy lamb and potatoes.  It was disgusting.  I wanted to leave but was forced to stay for the dessert out of politeness.


Tango, our beautiful British Blue aristocrat came in brushing my leg briefly before dismissing me. The only acknowledgement I got was from Aussie, our cockatiel who whistled to me. I got up to look at him. It was only then that I was desperately holding back the tears.  Aussie was the only being in the room who had acknowledged my presence.  I said goodnight to the enemy. Martin insisted on walking me home. Then, toying with me, he tried to put his arms around my shoulders and actually kissed me softly on the lips in the hall. I was repulsed and turned my face away


Replaying the scene again on the screen of my mind, it was the biblical Last Supper.



Brighton 8.5.2006