CAVANMAN'S DIARY: A love letter to Lady C

Paul Fitzpatrick is broken-hearted this week; this is a story of unrequited love.

 

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I'm writing this entry this morning. She did it to me again. I feel like such a fool.

I never should have trusted her. “Don't bother,” my friends told me when we first started flirting again. “You've been hurt before and it will happen again.”

But, of course, I wouldn't listen. It's different this time, I told myself. She's moved on, she's in a better place. She's learned her lesson.

How did it come to this again? Well, it started, probably, back in February. I was cautious – my heart hadn't mended from the last time, and the time before that. I told myself we'd take it slowly, see what would happen. Take each week as it comes.

So, I was cautious at the start but it all changed in March, on a day trip to Navan. It was awkward at first but then it clicked and I knew – I knew! - that we were going somewhere. I was grinning from ear to ear all week and couldn't wait to see her again.

The next couple of months were bliss. We travelled all over – Enniskillen on a Saturday night was brilliant, one of the best nights in years.

We had a few Sunday afternoons in Cavan, too, just the two of us. The whole world could see how smoothly everything was going.

And, being me, I couldn't keep quiet about it. Oh no. I had to go bragging to everyone. I was messaging old college friends and posting love sick selfies on Twitter, showing the world how happy we were. I can feel my cheeks reddening now, even thinking about it, about how I told everyone who asked that, this time, it was for real.

Then we went to Dublin at the end of April and I should've known there was something up. She was tense, she didn't seem sure of herself but it wasn't the end of the world. We still enjoyed ourselves and knew the experience would stand to us.

She went off to Portugal then for a week with her friends and she came back looking radiant, all tanned and happy and excited. She had a great time, she told everyone, and I was thrilled for her – and for me, if I'm honest. Because when she's happy, I'm happy.

We planned another big day out at the end of May in Cavan and I could not wait. There was a nagging doubt that it could be a disaster – once bitten, twice shy and all that – but I knew in my heart that it wouldn't be, that this would be brilliant.

And it was. And man oh man, was she looking well! What an afternoon we had. Everyone was smiling and the sun was shining. It was one of those happy days; a day when the whole world appeared to be looking on enviously.

It seemed like all our friends were there and we high-fived and danced the night away. It couldn't have gone any better and I went home convinced that I had found The One.

My cousin in Australia texted me that night – I'm not sure how he got wind of it. “What did you make of that?” he asked.

“Unreal!” I replied, instantly. “Best day ever. We'll be hard to stop now.”

By now – and I'm so embarrassed to admit it – I was like an adoring little puppy. I thought she could do no wrong and that'd we'd live happily ever after.

After all the heartache, all the false starts and let-downs, here we were, together and content at last. The summer stretched out before us and, in my mind's eye, I could see it all.

And I was making plans – you better believe I was. We were going to spend the August Bank Holiday in Dublin together, book a room, take in a show. We'd only been up there a few times in the last few years and never really enjoyed ourselves but I knew – we both knew – that this year would be different.

And if that went well, I told myself, we'll go back in September. Why not?

There was no point keeping it a secret any longer. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops! Me and her were an item and we were going to have a great life together.

I even wrote about it and chastised the people who said it would never work, that she was unreliable, had a fear of commitment, would let me down just when I least expected it. Who's laughing now, I sneered, revelling in that loved-up indestructable feeling.

Then, in Clones, a few weeks later, I got an inkling that maybe, just maybe, I could be wrong. It was raining and she doesn't like the rain. She never did – it gets her hair all messed up and she hates that.

And there were big rough Nordie boys there and she doesn't really like them either. I felt helpless, watching on, and it was scary for a while but, at the end, she handled them alright and they fecked off.

I knew – everyone knew – they'd be back but I just hoped they wouldn't cause any hassle the next time.

The doubt lingered but I put it to the back of my mind. I had to believe. Nothing could stop us, I told myself. She's mine and I'm hers and what love joins together, let no man separate...

What could go wrong? As it turned out, everything. We arranged a date for Sunday afternoon and it started nicely but then it all turned sour.

I don't know if it was something I said but suddenly, her body language seemed to say that, no, this wasn't working out. By the end of the day, we were barely talking and the killing thing was, everyone seemed to know that it was on the rocks. It was humilating.

Dump her ass, said my friends. She's not worth it. Deep down, I know they're right but I have to keep with it.

What do I do now? Stick or twist, cut my losses or persevere? I'm not sure I can take any more let-downs.

We've got friends coming from Carlow next weekend and it should be okay. They're easygoing enough and they get along with everybody.

But it's not next weekend I'm worried about. What if this happens again, she gets sullen and disinterested just when things are going well?

I'd rather she didn't return my calls than string me along like this. This romance, it's a messy business. I just don't know...