I Spy

I'm not quite sure how or when it happened, it just sort of happened.
There's another man in my life who I adore. I'm not so sure if it's
an affair, as we haven't so much as kissed. I've recently started
lying to my husband about my whereabouts. On Thursday evenings he
thinks I'm at night school studying for my ILEX legal exam; when in
fact I'm at a Bible study group with him. I've become a brilliant
liar, worthy of an Oscar. Of course I'm in complete control, I know
what I'm doing. Deep down I know it's escapism from my humdrum
existence; and a way of injecting a bit of excitement into my life.
This man is my soul mate, we share such a strong connection. I've
noticed the way he glances at me during Bible study class, sending me
signals with his certain body language. I'm certainly not a Cindy
Crawford lookalike, but for a woman in her late thirties I still
consider myself fairly attractive. I like to take pride in my
appearance, it makes me feel alive inside when men pass me
compliments. My husband walks around in a reverie most of the time;
I wonder if he remembers that I exist. However, this other man is
different; when he stares at me with his piercing green eyes, I know
he's reaching into the depths of my soul. He has a smile that could
light up Blackpool illuminations. He chose his career path in his
early twenties. I'm well aware that I will always have to share his
love with another. Our hearts are intertwined, we've managed to keep
our secret from the world for nearly seven months. I must be patient,
our love will come to fruition one day. I must stay in control. Of
all the men in the world, why did I have to become involved with a
Catholic priest?

Father Lucas came into my life just over seven months ago. I take my time
to get to know someone when I first meet them, and he was no
exception. He joined our small parish in Leeds following the sudden
death of Fr. Tony. Of course he had big shoes to fill and he knew
it. Fr. Tony is sorely missed, he was so popular amongst the
parishioners. He was more than just a priest, he was someone you
could trust with your deepest darkest secrets. His death was a
huge shock to us all. He baptised my twin daughters, and carried out
my mother's funeral. I miss him so much, he was like part of the
family. Shortly after his death, we were introduced to Fr. Lucas; a
confident man in his mid-thirties, with a soft Oldham accent. He was quick to win favour with the parishioners; informing anyone who cared to listen that he achieved afirst class honours degree in Mathematics from Oxford University.I'm no religious expert, but I always assumed boasting was a sin. He didn't appreciate my sense of humour when I once retorted that I had attended the University of life. We didn't exactly get off to a good start.

Unlike Fr. Lucas I never had the opportunity to further my education. I
left school at sixteen with nine GCSE's, all “A” grades.
Coming from a one parent family meant any chance of further study
was inconceivable. I had such a thirst for knowledge. My teachers
were quite disappointed I was unable to stay on to do my A levels,
especially my English teacher Mrs O'Driscoll. I vividly recall the
day when I told her the sad news. “Oh Anna, I am so sorry to hear
that. It's such a shame as you have a lot of academic ability. I had
such high hopes for you.” She was a fantastic teacher, more of a
friend, I confided in her quite a lot. It hurt me to see her eyes
fill with tears, knowing we would be saying goodbye forever. Not
long after my exams I secured a job as a paralegal in a large law
firm in Leeds. Twenty years later I'm still at the same place,
working in the effervescent personal injury department. Due to my
lack of qualifications, I undertake the same duties as a solicitor,
but for half the salary, which really pisses me off. It's a
challenging job, and I do enjoy being surrounded by intelligent
people. I'm pushing my twin daughters with their education. I want
them to reach their full potential, and grab opportunities that I
never had.

I got married quite young, never really having the chance to discover
who I really am, or what my purpose in life is.I got pregnant not long after; not a smart move I must admit. My husband is a good and a kind man, but over the years he has evolved into a boring middle-aged man. He never wants to do anything, or go anywhere. Watching TV is his social life. He has no hobbies or ambition, he's just existing; our marriage is stale and lifeless. I can't even remember the last time he showed me any real affection. I do love my husband, I'm just not in love with him. Somewhere along the way, we lost our connection, and I don't know how to get it back. I don't think in our thirteen years of marriage I've ever seen him read a book and open his mind to other things. He's become quite closed minded and ignorant. It's such a shame, as we both shared the same passion for life when we first met. I was attracted by his enthusiasm and passion, he was sitting in the driving seat. Over time the tables have turned, and I know deep down I have outgrown him. We've only stayed together for the sake of the kids. If it wasn't for them I would have walked out years ago. I came from a one parent family, and was adamant my kids wouldn't become another government statistic. I'm convinced he's the cause of these blinding headaches I've been experiencing lately.

When Fr. Lucas came into my life he was such a pleasant distraction, a
breath of fresh air. Our friendship gradually grew over time. I'm
captivated by the diverse subjects we discuss, he's such a
fascinating man. We have such a strong connection, it's almost like
a magnetic force is pushing us together. On Thursday evenings I'm
usually the first to arrive at Bible study class, and the last to
leave. I could sit and talk to him for hours, he's so intelligent.
I pushed my daughters into the church choir four months ago. I
unashamedly used them as an excuse to get to know him better,
consequently having to spend more time at church. When the rest of
the family are in bed, I like to open a bottle of wine, and sit and
study his facebook page. Although we are not connected friends, I'm
still able to look at his photos and develop an understanding of the
man who has stolen my heart. When I stare at his photos, it's almost
like he's sending me some sort of telepathic message, meant
exclusively for me. Of course I am aware I can't sit and stare at
his profile all evening. I must stay in control.

The following month, I was accompanied to church by my family to
celebrate Easter Sunday. It was the first time my husband had
attended church since Fr. Tony's funeral. Presiding over the
service was Fr. Lucas, the church was full to capacity. Throughout
the service, I noticed him furtively glancing at me. Having both
men within close proximity of one another made me feel rather
flustered. I could feel another one of those blinding headaches
starting. Standing to my right was my husband, a man I was not in
love with; and ten feet away was the man I wanted, and who I know
wanted me too. Suddenly I came over really hot, sweat was pouring
from the nape of my neck down my back. My head hurt, I couldn't
breathe properly, I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my
chest. “For goodness sake Anna stay in control.” I looked
around, and realised everyone was staring at me with a look of
disdain and contempt. They were all pointing their fingers at me
and shouting obscenities. Their voices grew louder and more
indignant. My chest was tightening, I went dizzy, and slightly lost
my balance. I held onto my husband's arm for reassurance. His lips
were moving, but the sound was very faint. “Anna what's wrong with
you, are you ok?” I looked at Fr. Lucas fleetingly, surely he
would rescue me? I couldn't believe it! Why the hell was he still
standing at the bloody alter? I was dumbfounded. Suddenly the room
started spinning, then everything went black.

I woke up the following day in St. James' hospital.
After numerous tests, they concluded there was nothing physically
wrong with me. My doctor was convinced my blackout was caused by
stress and anxiety. He booked a session for me with a psychiatrist
for the following day. I have no idea why they are making such a big
fuss. I feel absolutely fine, I don't need to talk to a bloody
psychiatrist; I'm in control. Only my immediate family were allowed
to visit me, which was rather frustrating. As much as I wanted to
see my children, not knowing when I would see Fr. Lucas again was
torture. Every time a nurse passed my bed, I would ask whether he
had left any messages for me. I knew he would be worried about me,
which just added to my anxiety. I really needed to see him.

Five days have passed and still no word from him, and I'm still stuck in
this hell hole of a hospital. I don't understand why he hasn't tried
to contact me, surely he must be worried? “We believe you have
what's called Erotomania.” She repeated the word to me again,
pronouncing each syllable slowly as if I were a simpleton. “Ero to
ma nia.” My psychiatrist sat opposite me, with a look of solemnity. For a moment, I was distracted by her beauty. I always assumed drabness was a pre-requisite for any clever women, how wrong I was. Brains and beauty, the world certainly is her oyster. I was curious to know if she was married or single. I assumed she was probably quite fussy about who she dated, so quite possibly was still single.

She preceded to explain that I was suffering from some sort of
psychological disorder marked by delusions; “Erotomania” to be
precise. According to her, it's a sort of “love obsession,”
which is very common amongst middle-aged women. My relationship with
Fr. Lucas was all just a “delusional romantic preoccupation.”
As the words came out of her mouth I was nodding, but only half
listening. It's true, I am unhappy with my life and I do feel
unloved, but how dare she suggest I have lost touch with reality, she
was beginning to really irritate me. Fr. Lucas and me are a perfect
spiritual match, we are soul mates. He is the only person who can
give me the life I deserve. “Anna, do you understand what I'm
saying to you? Do you understand that you're ill? I need to start you
on some medication straight away.”

I looked at her, then stood up and walked towards the window. Staring
out onto the car park I saw a handsome young man carrying a huge
bouquet of roses. I wondered which lucky lady was the recipient of
such a delightful young man's affection. I turned to face my
psychiatrist, with a wry smile on my face. “Yes doctor, I
understand you perfectly. Somehow, I just couldn't stay in control.”
I could feel another one of those blinding headaches starting again.