Made In Hull: Stories 1969 - 2005 Part 4 (2/4) By Rich Mills

(1/4), (2/4), (3/4), (4/4), Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

I now became the entertainment for a moment, only slightly better than the adverts that now shot out of the cathode-ray tube to smash against the retinas of any passing eyes. I broke into a sweat and started to fidget on the spot. I went to speak, to do something, anything! "Er... Er, alright everyone," I stammered, feeling the anxiety creeping across my chest trying to squeeze each shallow breath as I tried to remain calm and not show fear. "Rich, this is Cat... Steph... Mike... and Bear!"

Not one of the names she said went in. I was terrible with names at the best of times. My mind was shot through with holes.

At a time like this there wasn't a hope in hell of me remembering any of these people's names after just one roll-call. They all smiled, and nodded, and came across as generally a friendly bunch of people in varying states of crisis. Each, I'm sure, with their own heart-wrenching story to tell, I was sure of that. I felt at ease among these people. Although I didn't know any of them, we all had something in common. That we were rejects from the 'normal' world simply because we struggled to cope with whatever life had been throwing at us recently, making us all faulty goods just out of warranty, unable to be returned to the manufacturer for a refund, but able to be repaired (maybe) at a price.

They made me feel welcome even without having spoken to me.

I had not felt welcome anywhere for a long time, especially at home where I was an increasing embarrassment to my wife. No longer cool, no longer fun, no longer wanted. I'm sure she would have traded me in for a younger better model if she could have, and was probably at this moment sizing up a replacement. She may have been test driving potential replacements for a while now, how was I to know. I'd been so wrapped up in my own paranoia that I'd already imagined her being fucked all over by dozens of different men while I wasn't around. I had once felt like a god, now I felt like I had been castrated.

An ageing ugly piece of shit is how I would describe myself. Or at least that is how I was made to feel by the constant rejection I faced. She never came onto me, and she wasn't frigid, so the only logical conclusion to draw is that she's getting it elsewhere.

Why did my wife hate me and why did she hurt me so much? These were questions that came up time and time again. She insisted she loved me, but her actions said distain, disgust, revulsion and no physical contact please or I may be sick because you give me the creeps, you fucking freak. If contact was attempted she'd recoil in disgust, which made me feel dead good about myself, really boosted my ego that one did. Is a hug too much to ask I would often wonder, bemused by her reaction towards me. Even when we were supposed to be getting on we were never intimate, affectionate, loving and physically close.

It had become an embarrassment that whenever we got off our heads, she would always without fail (although she denied it) cuddle up to any other male except me.

Continued ...next page(3/4),

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