But Will You Love Me Tomorrow?
I’ve just returned from my annual pilgrimage to the West End – London’s equivalent to Broadway –, my Mecca. One of the three shows I watched (an entirely inadequate verb for what happens in a theatre) was Beautiful: The Carole King Story. And what a story. What a woman. A woman with a single-minded dream who worked like stink, against overwhelming odds, to turn that dream into a reality. A woman whose obstacles are real-world, relationship-based problems.
Men cheat. They do. King’s father cheated on her mother. King’s first husband Gerry cheated on her, repeatedly. Both men forced the women to tear families apart for the sake of their own sanity. Proof of each woman’s inner strength and confidence to survive on her own. My husband cheated on me too, though leaving was definitely his decision. Trust is now something I have to work hard at in a relationship.
On a late-night train ride after the Beautiful show, my sister and I observed a heavily inebriated man attempting to flirt with a reluctant stranger for the entirety of our 20 minute journey. She was polite, but dismissive. He was ignorant and persistent. Just before we got off the train, my sister pointed out his wedding ring.
I tried to be non-judgemental. Everyone’s fighting their own battles and all that. Perhaps he has been cheated on – women are of course equally capable of betrayal – and perhaps he’s recently separated, as yet unable to bring himself to remove the ring, hence the drowning of sorrows in alcohol and the reaching out to strangers on the train.
I know, I know, I didn’t buy it either. I was appalled and enraged. I wanted to follow him home and speak to his wife. I wondered if she’d be surprised.
The strength of women in the face of adversity never fails to astound me. My own strength came as a shock to me too. In the early days of the split I genuinely believed that I was ruined forever. But, as I disintegrated, I rediscovered the essence of who I was – even though I hadn’t realised it had been buried.
The October following the demise of my marriage I overheard my sister and my uncle having a conversation about me through the happenstance of an open window above them. My uncle asked my sister how I was doing. I considered my own response – I think I’d have said I was OK, surviving, getting through. But my sister said, “She’s good. She’s getting her sparkle back. She’d lost it over the years with him, but I’m starting to see it again.” My sparkle.
Even six years after hearing that, I’m smiling while writing it down. That was all it took. Apparently I had a sparkle. For King, it was her mother’s reminder that she was perfectly capable of writing successful songs before Gerry. And it wasn’t then long before she was clutching four Grammys.
I’ve known, and lost, at least one beautiful woman who couldn’t find herself again following infidelity, and the tragedy of the world’s loss in this respect will always haunt me. But it makes me even more grateful for that open window, for my resilience, for my future and all its potential. This story is just one section of my Tapestry – and I’m proud of what I’m currently weaving.
One thing’s for sure: I’m gonna “get up every morning with a smile on [my] face.” Because, as King affirms, I am Beautiful. In fact, I sparkle.