‘That sums it up,’ I said. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘What?’
‘You’re so sensible, Dan, and so capable, and I’m not. I do things like that all the time, and I get frustrated with myself and then I get angry with myself and then … I don’t know. It just boils away in my brain, a great big swamp of self-loathing that keeps getting added to and added to. It’s not good for me.’
‘It’s no big deal, love. Just a silly mistake. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Exactly. I don’t want to be hard on myself. I want you to be hard on me.’
My heart pounded, and the palm that had been hot and itchy from the scalding water was now sweating.
‘Like the guys in your book, you mean? You want me to actually … discipline you?’
I nodded vigorously.
‘I want to be held to account. I want to be corrected.’
He laughed, a tad nervously, and looked up at the ceiling.
‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just … uh … unusual. Isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be respectful of women, you know …’
‘It’s not about you being a man and me being a woman. It’s nothing to do with that at all. It’s to do with me wanting to submit and having this need. Oh, I don’t know if I’m putting it very well.’
‘So if I wanted you to spank me, that would be fine?’
‘Well, I’d find it hard, because I don’t like dominating, but in principle, yes.’
‘Right. I don’t, by the way. Want you spank me, I mean. I’m not that way inclined.’
He tried a smile. I tried one back. It was encouraging, at least, that he hadn’t walked out of the door with words of a ‘no dice’ variety.
‘I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to,’ I said. ‘It’s just a thought. Just a thing I’ve been pondering. I wanted to find out a bit more about it so I got a book. I’m not demanding anything of you.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No. God, Dan, I’m happy with you. I love you. I don’t want you to change and I’m not some unsatisfied wife eaten up by sexual frustration. Far from it. But I think, for me, this discipline thing would work so well … it’s just a thought. That’s all.’
‘You have some interesting thoughts, don’t you, Twink?’ he said. ‘Now put those flaming Marigolds on, for Christ’s sake.’
And there the matter ended. (I did put the gloves on.)
25 July
This has been the hardest working week in recent memory. Two of my kids have been in trouble with the law while another took an overdose. I spent all of last night in A&E with her, lobbying furiously to get her a place in an adolescent mental health unit. We got a bed in the end, but I feel like I’ve fought through every one of the seven labours of Hercules.
Then I’ve been at work all day, having to write reports. School holidays have started so the kids are kicking their heels, hanging around the centre demanding to be stimulated and fed and all the rest. I felt guilty about neglecting them to get the reports done, but I have a looming deadline and just had to leave them to play table-tennis and mess around on the DJ decks while I sat in the office with the door wedged open. Luckily Grant, my student assistant, turned up mid-afternoon and was able to keep more of an eye on them.
He offered to run the evening session to give me a break, but I feel like I should be there. There are some volatile relationships, especially among the older boys, and I worry that something will kick off in my absence.
So I nipped off at five, visited Jessie in the mental health unit (she seemed quite calm) and went home to grab a quick bite to eat before going back for the evening session.
‘You’re going back?’ Dan wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear it. ‘You look dead on your feet, love. Can’t someone else do it? Reva?’
‘She’s on holiday.’
I was too tired to even think about what I wanted to eat and just sank down on a dining chair, my head spinning.
‘What about that student bloke? Student Grant?’