Ex-boyfriend, let's call him Mark, wrote a novel whilst he was at art school. He never let me read it because I was a big reader and could actually cast a critical eye over a novel. He sent it to a few publishers who rejected it. It was about a shy, nerdy art school boy's shy nerdy adventures at art school. His main character was called Elliott Verlaine. That's all I knew about it. The name alone made me cringe. Over a text convo I delicately said, 'the name Elliott Verlaine is so obviously fake I can't take it seriously. How can I believe the rest of your story when the protagonist is so obviously made up?'
I was nervous saying that to him as any kind of criticism usually sent him into deep defensive mode that meant punishment for me. Surprisingly, he replied ' That's so right. I could hug you right now!' His reply didn't ring true but I guess I had to accept it as truth. I meant it as constructive criticism, I wouldn't be nasty about someone's work to make them feel bad on purpose, or to shore up my own flagging self esteem. I just think Elliott Verlaine is a stupid self romanticising name.
He still didn't let me read anything he had written.
In passing once he mentioned a blog he had where he wrote in character sometimes. I knew a few names he used online and searched them. I found a few blogs written by him. One entry was written about the death of the musician Elliott Smith. I can't remember the exact wording but it went something like, 'Another good one gone, another one of us.' Meaning another artist. He saw himself in the same category as Elliott Smith. In the comments was a reply to a girlfriend, real or imaginary I do not know, where he said, 'You've been so supportive these past few days.' I heard it in his charmingly self centred voice. Elliott Smith was his personal loss that the needed succour and this girl to prop him up through. This poor girl has been helping him through his grief for a musician. Let me tell you something about Mark, he is an endless, bottomless black hole of need. Nothing you do will ever be enough and he will always find something to be angry with you about, a betrayal you somehow perpetrated. He means it to and will carry the grudge around like Atlas carrying the world.
I should also point out Mark has never been a working artist. Nor tried to. Being an artist is his identity but since leaving art school he has drifted from one minimum wage job to another. When I met him he was working part time as a classroom assistant in art classes for adults with special needs at the college his mother taught adult literacy at. Before that he had worked in a comic book shop, a dark room assistant. He always had money though, enough to buy paint, comics, books, dvds, go on day trips. He had a hatred of the poor which was pretty ironic considering what must have been his own income. His mother was a workaholic accountant as well as maths tutor and there's no doubt she must have been funding his lifestyle. He would never have told me though, he was very secretive.
Being an artist to him was a hobby. He spent four years at art school for a hobby. He was very talented, but he spent time drawing sad pictures of himself looking lonely in his sketchbooks, or doing paintings of girlfriends. Or drawings of him on his knees clutching the girls needily.
When I saw the surprisingly dispassionate entries in his SG blog about his wife having died from ovarian cancer I was extremely shocked. But honestly, there was a troublesome part of me that didn't quite believe it. His mother definitely died of cancer. I did what any slightly unhinged person would do and I started looking for evidence. Mark's facebooks is locked down. I don't know any of Fran's friends. She worked as the manager of the branch of a well known coffee shop chain in a large city. Or at least she did when they met.
I looked for online obituaries. I found an obituary for his mother. I can't find any for Fran. I can't find any wedding announcements either. I went to government website for the statutory register of births. deaths and marriages. I found my grandparents birth, death and marriage certificates. I found my parents marriage and divorce certificates. I found his parents marriage and divorce certificates. I cannot find a marriage certificate for Fran and Mark. I cannot find a death certificate for Fran.
Why is this?
Why would someone post online that their wife has died of cancer, and they nursed her through chemo, and include sad drawings of her?
I know I must be coming across as cynical and nasty, and maybe I am. I have moved on from Mark, but certain things have niggled like a stone in my shoe for a long time. Mostly how nice everybody thinks he is. He sweet and innocent and gentle he is. How supportive of women he is. He's only 5'5'', he couldn't hurt a fly! But he isn't. He really isn't.
