Chapter Nineteen
Joe
I couldn’t believe Freya had overheard my conversation with Dad, and now she knew I had been seeing a therapist. I had never seen her that angry before. It was clear I had really hurt her and whatever progress we had made over the past few months was all down the fucking drain. Every inch we had gained, every piece of momentum was all lost because of one careless fucking conversation. I felt sick to my stomach.
‘What happened?’ said Dad, looking shell-shocked.
‘She, umm, didn’t know I was seeing a therapist.’
‘Oh, and after she had wanted to see a marriage counsellor. Got it.’
‘Yeah, look, Dad, I need to go and see her, but, thanks for this.’
‘It’s okay. Now go. Sort this out before it’s too late, yeah?’
I took one last look at Dad, and then I left. I had been shocked by Dad’s admission about seeing a therapist and, fuck, I wished I hadn’t said anything, but how was I to know that Freya was hiding in the en suite overhearing every single word? My head was spinning, and as I walked quickly out of Freya’s bedroom, I almost bumped into Dolly walking out of her room.
‘What’s going on, Dad?’ said Dolly, and behind her I saw Maya in the background.
‘Umm, it’s nothing, love. Just stay up here, okay?’
‘It’s obviously not nothing, is it?’ said Dolly, a sullen teenage angst in her voice.
‘Your mother and I just had a disagreement, that’s all. It’s going to be fine.’
‘Mum promised it wouldn’t be weird.’
‘It’s not going to be weird. Please just stay in your room, and once it’s all sorted out, I’ll explain everything, okay?’ I said. Dolly obviously didn’t believe me because she just huffed, mumbled something under her breath about lying fucking parents, and then walked back into her room, slamming the door behind her. I hated her being so upset, but at that moment I just needed to find Freya and explain myself. I knew that this was critical because obviously what I had done would be difficult to forgive, but I had my reasons. I hadn’t told Freya about the panic attacks. I hadn’t explained how worried I was about my future, my career, our marriage, and how all of it had just been too much. I should have talked to her then, explained myself fully, asked for her help, but I hadn’t. Instead I had lied and now she knew all about it and it was all so much worse.
I hurried down the stairs and through the kitchen, popping my head around the living room door to see if she was in there. I walked outside and the garden was full of everyone having a good time. Stuart was still manning the barbecue, Taylor Swift was supplying the music, and when I scanned the garden it took me a moment but eventually I saw Freya in conversation with Lucy. I also noticed the sky had become quite a bit darker since I’d been inside, and it looked like rain wasn’t far away. That was the last thing we needed. I took a deep breath and walked towards Freya.
‘Do you have any more burgers, mate?’ said Stuart as I walked past. ‘They’re almost gone.’
‘Umm, yes, I think there’s one more pack in the fridge,’ I replied, but I could barely speak; all I could do was keep my eyes on Freya.
‘There he is,’ said Freya’s mum, who was drinking a cocktail next to Marmalade. ‘Can you please talk to Martin about the sausages because he’s driving me up the wall. I think he cares more about the bloody things than me!’
‘In a minute, I just need—’
‘I mean, bravo on the bangers!’ said Marmalade. ‘I was just wondering if you knew the meat content percentage off the top of your head—’
I waved my hand in Marmalade’s general direction. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I had to talk with Freya. I finally reached her and Lucy, and they both turned to me with expressions of disgust on their faces.
‘Go away, Joe,’ said Freya coldly.
‘Please, Freya, let me explain,’ I said hopefully.
‘Joe, I don’t think now is the time,’ said Lucy, taking a step towards me.
‘Freya, I just want to tell you the truth.’
‘The truth?’ spat Freya, suddenly so much louder, and it was clear that everyone in the garden had heard her. Conversations were halted, and all we could hear was the music, and the low spitting noise of meat sizzling on the barbecue. A dark cloud moved ominously overhead. ‘Please Joe, explain why you have been lying to me for the past six months, I’d love to fucking hear it!’
An audible gasp went up from the garden. What the fuck has Joe done?
I turned, looked around and, as I had suspected, everyone was looking at us, and then Dolly and Maya came walking into the garden, followed rather sheepishly by my father. Everyone in the garden was waiting for my retort, and yet I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to do or what I could possibly say to defuse the situation. I was a bomb-disposal officer without the proper training. Eventually, after a minute of agonising silence, Freya broke the horrible stand-off.
‘Just as I thought, Joe, when it comes down to it, when the shit hits the fan, you still have the emotional maturity of a toddler.’ She strode past me and back into the house.
I stood in excruciating awkwardness and I didn’t know what to do. The party was clearly over and so was my marriage. Freya was right: when it came down to it, when the chips were down, I wilted. I couldn’t cope when the pressure was turned up and, once again, when faced with a moment of truth I had failed to rise to the occasion.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to face everyone. ‘Umm, just keep eating, drinking, and we’ll be back soon. I hope.’
I started to walk back through the garden, past family and friends, Dolly – who gave me the deadliest of death stares – and Maya, everyone looking at me, and that’s when the heavens opened and it started to rain, and not just a casual light summer drizzle, but an actual, proper, will-get-you-drenched-in-about-thirty-seconds downpour. Luckily, while I and everyone else seemed to be caught up in my argument with Freya, Stuart did what he did best and took charge.
‘Right, everyone, grab what you can and get inside!’ He turned the barbecue off, closing the top and grabbing whatever food he could as everyone ran for cover. The garden went from a lovely summer party, to the worst-case version of a wet Glastonbury Festival in about ten seconds. Freya’s mum was trying to grab a plate of sausage rolls, while Marmalade attempted to immediately run inside, tripped on a chair and ended up face down in a flower bed. Dad and Juliette picked up the big tray of sandwiches I had lovingly prepared and took them inside. Barney was trying to help get some food inside, but was dropping more than he was saving, and Lucy was attempting to help Freya’s mum with plates of food, but after a moment realised how wet she was getting, and just grabbed Freya’s mum and they both made it inside, closely followed by a very wet and slightly muddied Marmalade. Dolly and Maya both grabbed a plate of food each, and I tried to get whatever I could, and finally we all made it inside, dripping wet, but all I really cared about was seeing Freya. I turned to Stuart.
‘Can you sort everything out, mate? I need to find Freya.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and immediately started rallying the sodden troops, while I walked up the stairs to Freya’s bedroom because I imagined she would be in there – the scene of the crime. I took a deep breath, opened the door to her bedroom, and there she was, sitting on her bed, her face as dark as the clouds outside. I could hear the rain battering against the bedroom window. So much for summer.
‘Just fuck off, Joe!’ she exclaimed as soon as she saw me.
‘Freya, please let me explain.’
‘No, Joe,’ she said, the anger on her face suddenly replaced with sadness and tears. ‘You lied to me. You made me feel like a fucking idiot. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, that maybe you and I… it doesn’t matter, we’re done, Joe. We’re—’
‘I had panic attacks,’ I said suddenly, walking across and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Freya looked at me, her face red and her eyes glistening. I took a second to compose myself before I continued. ‘It’s why I started seeing a therapist. The panic attacks started about eight or nine months ago when things were really bad between us, and I wasn’t writing, and I felt this huge weight on me. That’s when it happened. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like the whole world was closing in on me, and I needed help. I know, I should have told you, come to you, but I didn’t and instead found a therapist. Her name is Karen and I go whenever I need to, and it’s really helped me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry you had to find out like that, but that’s the truth.’
I stopped speaking and turned to Freya. I had no idea what she was going to say. She was so angry with me and rightfully so, but all I could do was hope that maybe she might find a way to forgive me and perhaps understand. Finally, after a minute of silence, while we sat and listened to the rain outside, Freya spoke.
‘But why wouldn’t you go to couples’ counselling with me? If you were already in therapy and knew it worked for you, why wouldn’t you do the same for us?’ She had tears in her eyes, her voice was drenched in despair, and I hated myself for doing that to her.
‘Because I didn’t think I could do it. It was hard enough talking to a therapist about my own shit, Freya. I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to admit to another therapist what a shit husband I had been to you, too. How I had failed you, failed us, and it all felt so overwhelming. I know it’s fucking weak and you deserve better. I’m sorry.’
A pause, and the silence in the room was overwhelming.
‘Then why didn’t you tell me that? I would have understood a lot better if you had just explained and instead you let me think you didn’t give a shit about saving our marriage.’
‘I know. I’m such a fucking idiot, Freya, and I’m sorry. I really fucked up.’
‘You did,’ said Freya bluntly, before she added with a slightly softer tone, ‘but I’m sorry about the panic attacks. It must have been scary.’
‘It was,’ I replied, and then we sat in silence, not saying a word to each other.
I don’t know how long we sat there, but it felt like hours. Eventually, we both stood up, and slowly made our way downstairs without saying another word to each other. There had been some sort of agreement between us, and I wasn’t even sure what the agreement was, but it had in some part been resolved or at least put aside for a moment. It was still pouring with rain outside, and when we walked into the kitchen, most of the tidying up had been done. Some of the food had been lost to the weather, but most had been saved and packed away in the fridge, or wrapped in cling film on the table. I couldn’t thank our friends enough for helping, especially after everything that had happened. After a few minutes, when it was clear the party was definitely over, people started leaving.
‘Sorry, son,’ said Dad by the front door. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine, Dad, it wasn’t your fault.’
‘But I feel responsible.’
‘You weren’t the one who lied to their wife about seeing a therapist, and thank you for what you said. It might have got lost in all the drama, but I appreciated it.’
‘You’re welcome, and I’m sorry about you and Freya. If you need to talk, you know where to find me. Right, ready?’ he said, turning to Juliette. ‘It’s a long drive back to Colchester, and with the rain, the traffic on the M25 will be an absolute nightmare.’
‘ Oui , ready,’ said Juliette, and I said how nice it was to meet her, and I apologised for all the drama, and the rain. ‘The only thing worse than the English food, is the weather,’ said Juliette, which I thought was stunningly accurate.
‘You’ve got a good one there, Dad.’
‘Definitely a keeper,’ he replied with a smile, before they left and then one by one Freya and I said goodbye to everyone else. Freya’s mum and Marmalade were some of the last to leave, and despite everything Marmalade insisted I give him the name of the sausages, which I duly did, much to Freya’s mum’s annoyance. I heard her muttering something to him about appropriate behaviour on the way out of the front door, before they dashed for their car.
Stuart and Barney both said a rather sheepish goodbye, and I said we should get a drink in the week, which was met with polite nods. Lucy wasn’t so polite and gave me the cold shoulder, which was fair enough. Eventually everyone was gone except me, Freya, Dolly and Maya. We were in the kitchen, tidying up the last of the mess, when Dolly stopped, turned to us, and said, ‘Mum, Dad, there’s something I have to talk to you about.’
I was putting plates in the dishwasher, and Freya was emptying the bin. We both stopped what we were doing.
‘I know, love,’ said Freya. ‘I’m sorry. I promised today would be fine and it wasn’t fine.’
‘It isn’t that, Mum.’
‘It’s me, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I really messed up, Dolls, and I’m so sorry—’
‘Dad, it isn’t about you guys at all,’ said Dolly, a frustration caught in her voice.
‘Oh, right,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ said Freya uncertainly.
Dolly was standing next to Maya, and then slowly Dolly reached down and held Maya’s hand.
‘I’m gay,’ said Dolly. ‘And Maya is my girlfriend.’
I honestly didn’t know what to say. It had already been such an emotionally charged day and now this on top of everything else, and it felt like someone had reached into my chest and was squeezing my heart until it felt like it was going to burst. Something had to give, and that something was me, and quite unexpectedly, standing there in the middle of the kitchen, I started to cry.