The Bibliophile

I met up with Dee and Lulu yesterday. I think it is the first time we have seen Dee this year but we speak regularly on the phone.

Dee had been strangely quiet on the phone front for over a week, so I knew there was trouble brewing. And it was obvious where the trouble was coming from.

Dee and I met years ago, at a school open day. She is the mother of Pip's school friend, Joe so we soon fell into conversation, both desperate to smooth over our boys' already difficult path to friendship. Within the first few minutes of meeting we both knew our sons' diagnoses, and more importantly, each other's marriage problems.

By that time, I was separated but Dee was still living in the same house as her husband, Mark. That, and Joe, was about the only thing they had in common. Mark had already retired from a public service career, on the grounds of ill health and she was recovering from a course of chemotherapy, to treat a slow growing cancer. When I met her, she was short of breath, couldn't walk far and carried a stick but underneath all these disabilities was a very strong woman, trying to get out. It was that strength of character which kept her going through many miserable years with a particularly difficult and manipulative husband.

Soon after that, Pip became the victim of the school bully, a new boy with a comprehensive set of bullying strategies suitable for all situations. I found myself battling with the headteacher as she wriggled her way out of her own anti-bullying policies. That was the point when Dee came to my rescue, attending meetings, arguing my case and giving me moral support. We started to meet up regularly, inviting other mothers as their needs arose and hence our coven was born.

At the beginning, when it was just the two of us, we were united by the two problems of a child with Asperger's Syndrome and a husband with misdiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome and our conversations reflected this. We were both living with the effects of years of abuse, neglect, confusion and distress and these were clearly problems which normal wives, in normal marriages, don't understand so we unburdened our souls to one another. It was quite early on when we developed our twin theories about Asperger's Syndrome – that something horrific and distressing happens on the honeymoon and that sex is miserable and humiliating. Her contribution to the theory goes like this:

Mark took Dee on a honeymoon to the Isle of Man, the holiday coinciding with the TT races which he was interested in. He had hired a bungalow on the island for a week. What he didn't tell her was that he had invited three other couples along too. Dee and Mark were the first couple to arrive, so had the choice of bedrooms, the choice being between two double rooms, a twin bedded room and a bunk bedded room. He picked the room with the bunk beds. Things deteriorated from then on.

With regard to the sex, his interest is in voyeurism. Hers isn't. It started innocently enough, with him suggesting they have an early night. He was a bit anxious that they get to bed quickly but she thought nothing of it. She still hadn't realised when the phone rang, or when he answered it during sex. However, the penny dropped when he carried on with both the sex and the phone call, taking care to let the caller hear her moaning.

Years later when she had just qualified in therapeutic massage, there was a knock at the door. She answered it, to find a rather mild mannered, middle aged man at the door, his eyes blinking behind thick spectacles. He introduced himself as Brian, who had come down from Birkenhead and was ready for his hot and sexy massage. She slammed the door on him and marched into the kitchen to confront Mark. Of course he had organised the appointment, it had been arranged through the sexual services website he had set up for her and he was charging £50, some of which she would be given. When she recounts this story her voice rises in pitch and volume '£50! Is that all you thought I was worth? You can service Brian yourself for £50!'

From then on, she made no attempt to pretend theirs was a happy marriage.

After a few of our meetings and much laughter, she decided that enough was enough and whilst she wasn't necessarily looking for happiness, she could no longer cope with the misery and humiliation and she asked him for a separation. He decided I was the cause and from then on my name was blackened in their house 'It's that Ailsa Asperger, she's putting all sorts of nonsense into your head.' But it wasn't.

That was the start of her most recent problems, all centred around finances. Kinky sex is one of his many interests, meanness is another. Mark, like my Jay, has a theory that everything is his and if he doesn't get sex off his wife then there is no need to support her. After all, even prostitutes don't expect that. He currently wants his pension and their mortgage endowment, leaving her with the house and a substantial mortgage. His argument is that she already runs a steamy massage business, her cancer isn't a health issue, Joe's Asperger's Syndrome doesn't affect his behaviour and he doesn't require support so why should Dee sponge off the husband she rejected?

She has a more down to earth view of the situation: her cancer will come back in the next three years, she doesn't have a massage business, she is permanently ill with respiratory infections and Joe already receives considerable support, which won't lessen in the future.

Stalemate and it's making her depressed.

Meeting up was just the tonic she needed. She was so desperate to talk that she phoned me up on the way out, making me late. I raced to the venue, an old house with large squishy couches which looked out on the wilderness of a garden. I was the first one there and sank gratefully into a couch with my frothy coffee and cake, waiting for the others to arrive. It was still only mid morning and the cafe, although never empty, was quiet. The door creaked open and Dee came in, closely followed by Lulu. We talked briefly about our boys before finally broaching the subject. Lulu and I listened in silence as she ranted on about the unfairness of it all. Our coffee went cold, the froth dissolved into a scum and the windows misted over but Dee remained inconsolable. We ate sandwiches and sipped steaming hot chocolate but the unhappy atmosphere continued.

We ordered tea, a sure sign that things were getting too serious, the cloud of misery just would not lift. Finally, in desperation, I had a plan. I leaned over to Lulu, looking confidentially over my glasses and half whispering 'Dee and I have a theory that sex with a man with Asperger's is unremittingly bad, you say you've got a husband with Asperger's, come on, dish the dirt.' She looked at me in horror, every inch of the privately educated lady that she is, then I noticed a smile quivering tentatively at the extreme edges of her lips. It hovered for a while, whilst she made up her mind but eventually it formed a shy grin. 'He's so heavy-handed, do you know what I mean?' We nodded over the Earl Grey, knowing exactly what she meant but also anticipating there was more to come. It came out in fits and starts, each one precious to our little group.

I told her how I used to look at the clock and promise myself it would be all over in less than ten minutes. 'No, no, it isn't like that. He drinks too much, he takes ages and ages. I get bored,' the grin covered her face now 'I read a book while he labours on.' Simultaneously, Dee and I rolled back our heads and whooped out loud, our voices filling the room. Strangers lifted their heads from their lattes and stared at us but we were too enthralled to worry. With one final push, it was out and Lulu sat there relieved at her honesty and cleansed by her confession 'he thinks he's got an enormous willy and he's always complimenting himself on it.'

The cloud had dissipated, the misery had passed, here we were with a common bond, three women who had suffered on our own, in silence and misery for all those years. Now we were laughing at our own stupidity and sense of properness. It was all out in the open, we were free.

This morning, bright and early, Dee phoned me up. There was a sense of purpose in her voice. 'I've been thinking' she said. 'While Lulu reads in bed,' then Dee's irrepressible giggle, 'do you think she wears her reading glasses? And how does she turn the page?' The mood was catching 'yes, yes' I spluttered, anxious to join in, 'do you think she's reading a cookery book and making a shopping list at the same time?' 'Where does she keep the pen?' we were unstoppable.