What happened next

Matt texts and rings constantly the whole of the next day while I stay with a friend.
"Please don't leave me... I've not been this upset since my grandmother died... My whole family keeps ringing me in tears... Isobel needs you in her life."
You did not just say that! Where do you find the nerve?!
He said he hates her, but wanted to get her on his side to make life easier when it came to negotiating over Isobel. He said he did it twice and called it off because he realised it was a mistake, which is why she's angry and made sure I found out. And he said what he said because he didn't want her to know she was hurting us. She'd taste blood and go in for the kill.

Maybe I should ignore him but I want to shout. We spend all day and night arguing. Even if I'm finally getting the truth, it's just so sh*t! What an utter w*nker!

He turns up at the airport having printed his boarding card elsewhere. I sit the other side of the departure lounge, but I have to sit next to him on the plane. His sister relays messages between us and I tell her I'm just sick of all of it. I will be civil to him when I get back home. We will split all joint possessions 50:50, and he can live out a month's notice in the spare room while he finds somewhere else to live and I find a new house mate. But right now, get him to leave me alone.

When I sit down next to him on the plane, I just laugh and take a deep breath.
My edges are all frayed and he looks ill. I tell him I don't want to talk about it any more. It's over and there's no changing my mind but we might as well be civil as we have a lot to organise when we get home.
He agrees and I tuck into my book. He makes small talk and I eventually agree to play Monopoly on his iPhone.
It's a relief after all the brain ache of the last 24 hours just to pretend everything's OK.

I had booked a transfer to the hotel but don't tell him. When I'm convinced he's booked a hostel the other side of town, I divulge the information so we can split the fare.

I spend the day on my own. I have a handful of recommendations from a friend of places to go.
I think most of the bars are off the agenda, but Matt asks to join me and since he promises to behave I think he may as well make himself useful.
I eat. He says he can't stomach anything. There's a vast selection of beer, something I get quite geeky about, and we start to talk.
He says it's time he grew up and stops f*cking everything up. When he gets back he plans to move to London and finish his MBA.
We're like friends talking about someone else's relationship. I quiz him and laugh at his responses. He's amiable and just hopeless.
I don't want to go back to the hotel alone, not least because I can't quite see straight. I tell him there would be no sex and there's still no hope but I need a friend because my boyfriend's a tw*t.
On the way back buying a bottle of absinthe seems like a good idea and ends in a screaming fight and us both passing out at about 7am. When I wake up at 5pm the next day, still clothed but being cuddled, I tell him it's too hard to see him again.

I spend the next few days on my own. I buy a three-day tourist pass and climb every tower in the city. I treat myself to a topical performance of Don Juan at the National Opera House and good-naturedly swap seats in the interval so a couple who bought late tickets can sit together.
I spend the third day at the castle, going in every museum, gallery and enclave and I'm starting to enjoy myself. When...

A text from Lizzie:
Don't be slaggin me off to my man... It's not my fault your boyfriend fancies me more than u... Oh and of course he's crying now, he's not sorry for what he's done, he's sorry he was caught... It's his flaw after all!!

To my memory I had only said thanks for the heads up, they deserve each other.
But while we're at it...
Haha love to get stuck in don't you? Wasn't aware I'd slagged you off. If it had been my intention I'd have had much more to say. You both did me a favour. The real victim of Matt's stupidity is Isobel. That he gave a scutter like you the opportunity to have another kid, especially one born into a f*cked up situation like yours and his, out of revenge or a misguided attempt to trap him, is just disgusting. I just hope she's OK despite you both.

I had expected some defence of her right to be Isobel's mother. But her reply proves to me she truly couldn't give a f*ck.
Trapped him... Think I've proven I can have him whenever I want :-)

A choir assembles in the courtyard and starts singing Oh Happy Day, which makes me smile. So I shove Lizzie a bit further back in my mind and continue my activities.
It's 4pm and I have an observatory to find before I'm due back in town for a big event in the square at 7.30pm. The observatory is somewhere on this hill, which I find as darkness drops is a maze of tiny paths, steps and black ice. I go round in circles for an hour and end up back at the same steep slope that not even in my edgy mood I'll risk taking. I cant see one foot in front of the other, but the opposite way has to be better than that route.
I don't find the observatory, but I eventually find the city centre, close to hysteria but just in time for the event. I join the crowds leading into the square and everyone filter down a walkway next to the shop fronts. Half way down the crowd stops.
For 20 minutes those from behind push forward. Once the spectacle is over those from the front try to effect a turnaround, and also push. In other areas of the square ambulance sirens blaze, which doesn't stop the shovers.
I cling to a pillar as local teenagers push through and indignant men shove the crowd into them in anger.
I love travelling and living in cities, but this one doesn't seem to like me. I shake and cry, close my eyes and cling to my pillar. People can stare at me like I'm crazy if they want.

When eventually the crowd disperses, I find a bar to sit down and order a beer. It's full of young laughing students and the waiter asks me if I'm OK which makes me feel old and stupid.

Matt texts me as he had done every night. "You OK baby?" This time I don't ignore him or tell him not to call me baby. Tonight I need a friend, even if it is him.

We go to another bar and have a quiet friendly night, always reverting to the same questions. And the same answer: stupidity. He didn't realise what he had.

I hold that it makes no difference. How would I ever trust him again? But I recognise the old roguish friend from before we made the daft decision to commit and we get a transfer back to the airport together. The plane's late, then cancelled.
We have travel insurance through his bank account which will pay for a few more days at the hotel, but we get a twin room to keep costs low.
We go for lunch at a fabulous café recommended by the friendly receptionist, who's obviously trying to figure out our story, and spend the day playing pool.

That night, he begs me, says he's never f*cked up so much in his life, says he loves me and wants to marry me.

It may be that I will miss him so much. It may be that he's so convincing I don't want to believe he can lie so impressively. Or I don't want to turn into someone who doesn't believe. It may be that I've never met someone I fundamentally get on with so well, even when I'm supposed to hate them.
He's incredibly selfish and stupid, but I'm not sure that's news to me. Is it better to be with someone who I love more or who loves me more?
And I do believe he loves me. He knows he'll be on trial for a long time, and he now has to face my friends and family. He could have walked away.
I don't have any illusion that it's going to be easy, but I suppose it never really has been. 
I don't subscribe to the doctrine of fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. 
Maybe in future I will. But right now I'd prefer to take one more risk and have the chance that our little family will work out.

The day I wrote my last blog

The day I wrote my last blog post, I sat down at a table for one and ordered a plateful of mussels and a glass of champagne. Maybe people would think I was the wife of some sugar daddy, entertaining herself during his working days by immersing herself in café society and writing poetry.
But if they looked closer, they may have seen the pen ripping through crumpled paper that's the back of a printed-out boarding pass and an altogether less together air.

I had thought about just abandoning the blog. My days as an imposter were as true as I'd feared, and numbered. But then, I got an update from Twitter via text. I had a follower, who had re-tweeted my post. And another one, and then a message of support.
I was upset I could no longer belong to the parental blogging sphere I had started off so bitterly slating, but where I'd actually found solace and a voice.
I decided to scratch the itch and sign off with one last ranting and raving note. The tearing paper, coupled with the champagne bubbles, made me feel slightly better too.

A while ago that I logged into my Facebook account and saw a message from someone I didn't know.
It was entitled “Matt” and the author claimed to be Lizzie's, recently ex, boyfriend.
It included the lines: “They've been f*cking around since September. He's been f*cking her every time he's come to pick up Isobel. At least now I know why she wouldn't let me be there when he came and why he'd started to come up in the week too.”

Matt was away with friends. I text him the message in its entirety. “Absolute nonsense.” was his reply.

The following day, I realised how blessed I am to have such good friends. She made me ring Lizzie and ask for proof. And Lizzie gleefully obliged.
I could tell you how I felt, how the air left my lungs, cold pins pricked in my face and the two sides of my empty stomach beat together.
But I'll show you too, so you can feel it for yourself.

Matt: I don't know. Have denied it.
Lizzie: I'm so mad! Cant believe what he's done! Don't think he'd have done it if it wasn't you but not nice when they cheat with an ex I suppose.
Matt: Yeah suppose. Especially as we have Isobel. Like worst thing.

Matt: Shame we f*ck so good innit really.
Lizzie: Aye
Matt: Oh well if she does dump me...
Lizzie: If she dumps you what?
Matt: Get hotel and do what we got in trouble for properly.
Lizzie: Your remorse is touching...

He didn't try to deny it again.

The waiter in the posh restaurant in the strange city didn't seem fooled. He was kind, if a bit patronising, when he interrupted my furiously scraping pen to ask if Ma'am would like another glass of champagne.

Who is this so callous person?
I'd often wondered if he'd be unfaithful – can leopards really change their spots?
But with Lizzie! Is he mental?
He hates her. She tried to ruin his life. She's tried to ruin Isobel's life with her scheming before the poor thing was even born.
Was any of that even true? Or was all that too a lie? Is this some elaborate conspiracy to take the piss out of the “nice little girl” he said he found so endearing? Was it for my good credit rating so he could talk me into getting the telly that I'd said was too extravagant?
Who is he?
Why talk about marriage and family when he had an arrangement that put him under no pressure to commit? Why make me a part of Isobel's life to the depth he had done?
They're as crazy as each other. And I no longer have any idea who the hell he is.

By the time he'd raced home, the flat was practically empty. No over-sized television, Blue-Ray player or X-Box, no full crate of Sunday Times Wine Club Big Reds, no currency for the holiday we were supposed to depart for the following day, and no printer to print off his boarding pass.
I was afraid he might go mental and even moved the kitchen knives.

I know nothing about this person any more. I can't put myself in his shoes and understand the logic behind this. The only possible explanation is that everything has been a lie and he has been the imposter the whole time.



That was not my last blog post. It's not the end of the story and Matt didn't leave at the end of the month, taking Isobel out of my life forever. Fortunately, maybe hopefully, maybe misguidedly, I remain an imposter. I'll let you know how it goes.