Touching From a Distance by Deborah Curtis Read Free Book Online

Ian’s death.
    Despite my earlier resolutions, Ian and I became inextricably tied and I couldn’t or wouldn’t imagine my life without him. He never forgot that I had tried to end our relationship. As a warning, he told me that I had no choice but to marry him since no one would want what was irretrievably ‘his’.
    We got engaged on 17 April 1974. The engagement ring held half a dozen small sapphires surrounding a minute diamond and cost £17.50 from Ratners. What impressed me most of all was that Ian sold his guitar to pay for it. My parents had offered me either an engagement party for all of our large family, or an eighteenth birthday party for my friends the following December. Ian chose that we should have an engagement party. It didn’t seem to matter to him that owing to sheer numbers we would not be able to invite our friends. He was fond of telling me that his friends didn’t really like me, so it didn’t matter to me either. He also pointed out that an engagement party would mean presents for our future together, but an eighteenth birthday party would mean presents for me personally. His views seemed practical and the way he put it made it sound as if he only wanted the best for our married life. By the time he had finished, I felt selfish for even considering a birthday party. The only friend I invited was a close one from school, Christine Ridgeway. He had outlawed all my other friends.
    My Liverpudlian family came to Macclesfield in its entirety. If anyone knows how to party, they do. No one had any intention of driving home, so there was no need to worry about how much anyone was drinking. They gathered in the kitchen and told raucous jokes, they danced in the dining room, and they chatted in the lounge. Meanwhile, Ian’s family sat perched uncomfortably on the edge of the settee. They didn’t drink alcohol but wanted endless cups of tea, which kept my mother tied to the kitchen.
    As I downed a few drinks I began to get into the swing. While I was having a quick dance with one of my younger uncles, I didn’t notice Ian glowering at me through the doorway. When I joined him in the hall, he took hold of his Bloody Mary and threw it upwardsinto my face, covering it and my dress in thick tomato juice. Christine tried to referee between us. There was no need because my main concern was that no one else should know what he had done. In fact I covered up for him. His family left shortly after I reappeared in a new outfit. My mother guessed what had happened, but I denied it.
    Ian did try to join in with the fun, but he danced alone rather than with me. His stiff, contorted movements and static, staring pout assured him of a large if puzzled audience. As my relations looked at each other bemused, I experienced a strange mixture of embarrassment and glee at his individuality. The next tantrum came when Ian realized that we would not be able to have a room to ourselves for the night. In a three-bedroomed bungalow with dozens of guests looking for somewhere to put their heads, it wasn’t surprising. The next day, despite the not altogether innocent parties at the antique shop, Ian gave me a lecture on the excesses of drink and how various aunts should have conducted themselves. My grandmother went home convinced that Ian was ‘on drugs’. I only wish he had been; at least it would have provided me with an excuse for his behaviour. Even then, my mother voiced her fears about Ian’s split personality, but I was horrified that she could suggest such a thing. My relationship with Ian had almost become an act of defiance.
    We did have a small engagement celebration with Kelvin Briggs and Elayne King when we went to Jilly’s in Manchester for a Bowie/Roxy Music night. Whether it was to save money or for devilment, I don’t know, but we took our own drinks hidden inside our coats and didn’t buy a round all evening. I was sorry that Helen and. Oliver weren’t invited and got the impression Ian thought getting