They met twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays at Browns, they had done so for years. The little cafe was situated at the corner of a busy and picturesque square. From the small upper terrace at the back you could see the park and on a clear day a view of the sea. The girls didn’t come to Browns for the view, nor the muffins – they preferred salads with chicken. They met there because it was the last place people would expect them to go and therefore not recognise them. Not that they were very famous, just enough to be talked about and just enough to get papped out shopping or when eating in more trendy establishments. They talked about people in the know, people to know and people not to know – they loved to gossip.
Today, however, was different. For the second time in a year they had met at Sam’s house. The first time it had been after Sam and her wealthy fiancé had just moved in. Obviously they had spent weeks discussing colour schemes, fabrics, wallpaper, kitchens, bathrooms, sofas, light plans and designer furniture at Browns. Sam had shown them round the house to much ooh-ing and aah-ing of her friends. She knew she had got it just right. “Well, this is it, all that I have. He gave it all to me. Just gave me his credit card and sent me shopping”. Her friends had been delighted.
But today there were no designer cupcakes, nor was there any champagne to celebrated Sam’s good fortunes. Today there were take-away lattes, muffins and big tubs of Häagen Dazs. Gone were the delighted shrieks and clapping of well manicured hands, instead there were sympathetic sighs and nods. And tears, Sam let it flow. “I tried to walk away, ya know, time after time. But it’s just not easy when your soul is torn in two”.
“What do you mean, has he cheated on you before?” One of her friends asked, trying to conceal a flicker of delight in her voice.
Sam nodded, the faces surrounding her fell in sympathy. Sam carried on: “I love my house. Do you know how much time I spent decorating it. And I’d probably have to go and get a job – I mean honestly, me? Work?” They laughed. Sam eyed them, could she trust them, be herself? ” Seriously, I’m not just some WAG. I really do love him and I’ve given him all the love I have in me and now I’ve find it’s all lies. I can’t believe it’s true.”
“We’re so sorry love, but it’s all over the papers. It must be true”, another friend offered.
“Yup, look at him, wrapped in her arms”. Sam waved her hand over the front page, as if to wipe the headlines away like crumbs on a dress. Her friends studied the same pictures in all the tabloids.
“Yah know what? It looks like this picture was taken across the street from here” one of them remarked a little casually.
Sam’s eyes darted over the familiar landmarks “The bastard!” Silence all around, her friends looked up at the ceiling. Surely he wouldn’t have? They looked at one another, but avoided Sam’s gaze. However Sam had noticed and felt disgusted with the troupe surrounding her, she needed to get rid of them. As she stood up she told them they’d better leave. He would be home in half an hour and she needed to freshen herself up before she could face him.
” But what are you going to do?”
Sam sighed melodramatically, keeping up her role in the charade. ”I’ll just have to resign myself to it and leave it up to him. I’m sure it’s just a phase - he’ll grow out of it. All them football players do it, don’t they?”
“He might leave you, break your heart?” But Sam was resolute “He won’t walk out on me, look at this face, look at these tits. He’d be mad to leave me.” They all laughed while Sam ushered them out of the door.
She knew Tom wasn’t going to be home anytime soon, but she had seen the glances, the concealed glee. They probably felt really smug with their faithful husbands and boyfriends. She realized one or two of them would be talking to the papers. An ‘intimate friend’ blah, blah.... Sam felt outraged. She wondered if the girl in the picture knew what was going on. She probably did and she probably couldn’t care less. The bitch. After she had tidied up the mess in the lounge and thrown all the papers in the recycling box her anger has subsided a little and her head felt clearer. She realized she had come to depend on him too much. She would have to regain some of her independence. Stop playing being a footballer’s wife and start being Sam again. She also knew she needed to prepare what she was going to say to Tom. She wanted to show him she was a strong woman, who wouldn’t put up with infidelities any longer. The anger welled up again. She sat down behind the piano, she could prepare for the confrontation later. She needed to calm down first. She played a few notes, a door clicked open softly, the notes turned into a melody. Sam started singing “You talk of love but you don't know how it feels when you realise that you're not the only one”. Tears made it impossible to play on. She got up to get a tissue and there he stood. He still took her breath away, her anger evaporated. She blurted out “Stop if you love me, now’s the time to be sorry. Oh you'd better stop before you tear me all apart, before you go and break my heart”. Well, so much for being calm and collective she thought. With the back of her hand she wiped away her tears. She took a deep breath and waited for his answer.
Stop – Sam Brown
Songwriters: Sam Brown, Gregg Sutton, Bruce Brody
