What's Love got to do with it?

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

What’s Love got to do with it?

By

Tina Turner

January 1984 started badly when little Boo, now thirteen, developed diabetes and died shortly afterwards. My Mum and I were both devastated, but my family still had our dog Carla and I think Mum received some comfort on the days she’d come over to look after Paul and the dog while I did a few days supply cover.

David was by now Deputy Head of the Special School he worked at and managed to find me a little work as a home tutor to one of their pupils who was too ill with a rare blood disease to attend school. It was a pleasant job three afternoons a week, with not far to travel and a friendly, relaxed atmosphere. Colin was a fifteen year-old- with severe health and educational problems and I like to think I may have brought him a little joy and pleasure through the activities and outings we shared.

Paul was now attending two Mother and Toddler groups with me and also a local playgroup a couple of times a week, although he didn’t like being left there, but it’s something all Mums have to do at some stage to prepare their children for starting school. He won two Easter Bonnet competitions at the groups that year too, as well as enjoying several visits to local places of recreation and interest.

Paul modelling his winning Easter Bonnet

We finally sold our bungalow and moved to a new house, on June 29th of 1984 and where we still live today. I was so excited at the prospect of a fresh start nearer the shops and local amenities. The previous owners had built the house themselves and had no intention of leaving anything behind, including the light fittings. After our first night here, surrounded by tea chests and chaos, illuminated by candlelight, we had to get up really early the next day to attend a friend’s wedding. I was exhausted but very keen to get our new home in order as soon as possible.

Iain and Cath’s wedding. I finally got to wear a veil.

We spent a lot of time on the house, having a new kitchen fitted, carpets laid, decorating and revamping a garden and patio area that were little more than a wilderness. But it was a happy time on the whole and everyone, including the pets adjusted well to the move. We also discovered both our neighbours were teachers at my old school Kingsway; a very strange coincidence, but certainly a very welcome one.

In the summer we spent a very hot and enjoyable holiday at Amroth in Wales with Vivien and her family. In the September Paul turned three and I passed my driving test, so was able to take Paul further a field and drive to the schools needing a relief teacher. However, I can’t say as I enjoyed driving much and felt nervous in our car, which was a lot bigger than the one I’d learned to drive in. I couldn’t afford a vehicle of my own and regrettably would give up driving eventually as the roads grew busier and I found it too nerve-wracking.

Paul’s third birthday and first bike at our new home.

On the whole life was comfortable and I was happier getting out and about more. In December, the Mother and Toddler group again arranged a meal out for the Mums, which I felt very apprehensive about after the reception I’d received from David the previous year when I arrived home.

I didn’t particularly enjoy the evening; I was anxious and even more so when the coach home was delayed, then had to drop friends off at various stopping points. I’ve often said my middle name should be ‘guilty,’ as I have a tendency to believe unavoidable mishaps are partly my fault and David’s attitude just reinforced those feelings. When I arrived back I was subjected yet again to the fury of a very jealous and unreasonable man.

It’s odd to think back how he’d be fine with me going bowling with my Mum or out in the daytime with friends, as if infidelity or undesirable behaviour could only happen in the evenings outside the company of family. But jealousy knows no logic and lack of trust slowly and insidiously chisels away at a relationship, particularly when totally unfounded.

Of course, he was sorry the next day and swore it would never happen again because he loved me so much and never set out to hurt me. But even then the words ‘What’s love got to do with it?’ echoed around my head. Isn’t love based on trust and how could things improve without that fundamental basic in a marriage? It would be a while before there were further incidents, but I now see I was partly to blame by either consciously or sub-consciously not putting his promises to the test. A coward’s way of attempting to seek a quiet life, for which I often berate myself, but as I said before, guilty should have been my middle name and hindsight’s a wonderful thing.