Chapter Twenty-Four
Joe
‘So, Joe, how is your relationship with Freya at the moment?’ said Karen.
It was a beautiful day outside, and I felt a warmness that spread across the room, enveloping me in its grasp. Sunshine flooded through the window and dust mites danced in the air. I had been sitting in Karen’s office for a good fifteen minutes already, and after a few brief conversations she had asked me that question. My initial thought was that it was far too complicated a question to answer. There were layers to our relationship. What was the word they always used on The Great British Bake Off ? Oh yes, lamination. The layers that were created by repeatedly folding and rolling butter into dough, and that was how I felt about my relationship with Freya. We had spent so many years creating the perfect lamination, folding and rolling the dough that was our relationship, that now it was just hundreds and hundreds of complex super-thin layers that couldn’t easily be pulled apart. Every layer gave it structure, meaning, and trying to somehow deconstruct it felt practically impossible without causing a massive fucking mess.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Relationships, even the good ones, are complicated, Joe. Every relationship has layers, and it’s only when we peel back those layers that we discover what’s beneath. The truth is often hidden, but it’s there if we look hard enough.’
I had been in a strange mood all morning, and perhaps it wasn’t the best day for therapy. I had been feeling more and more anxious about House Shared , and more specifically about telling Freya about it. It consumed my mind, and I knew I just needed to do it, but it terrified me – especially after how she had taken to discovering I was seeing a therapist. I also couldn’t think of a storyline for the daughter in the show, other than her being gay, and that would be a terrific storyline, but I couldn’t use it. It was impossible, right?
‘The truth is, I haven’t told Freya about the sitcom yet. I know I need to do it, but the idea of it scares me to death.’
‘Why does it scare you, Joe?’
‘Because when she found out I was seeing you, she went ballistic. Rightfully so, obviously, but we’re just starting to put our relationship back together after that and I’m afraid telling her about this will put us all the way back to the start again. It’s like snakes and ladders. You almost get to the end, it’s right there, you can almost touch it, and then you hit a fucking snake and you’re all the way back at the bottom again. I can’t go backwards with Freya again.’
I looked across at Karen, and she gave me a thin, sympathetic smile.
‘I understand but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she’s going to find out at some point.’
‘If it gets commissioned then, yes, she would have to know.’
‘So wouldn’t it be better to do it now? Get everything out in the open so you can deal with it, and then move on? Maybe she will be more relaxed about it than you think.’
The truth was I was worried she would tell me to stop writing it because it was all I had in my life at that moment. If I couldn’t write House Shared , I would have nothing, and if I went against her wishes and did it anyway, then our relationship would probably be over. It felt like I was trying to balance on an impossibly narrow beam and either side the drop-off would kill me, but trying to stay steady, keep my balance, was exhausting, and I couldn’t keep doing it forever.
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you think there might be another reason why you might be scared to tell Freya about the sitcom?’ said Karen, and then she did what she often did, and just looked at me because she wanted me to go deeper, really reach inside myself and pluck something profound from within the depths of my psyche. I, of course, had no idea what to say when confronted by such a request. My hidden depths were so well hidden, it would take a crack team of highly skilled experts in a variety of fields to come together like one of those action films for a special operation – a rogue group of retired specialists for one final mission.
‘I don’t know, but if there is, I have no idea what it might be.’
‘You’re writing a sitcom about your marriage you can’t confess to your wife. You’re terrified of moving on, of being a failure, whatever that term means to you. Perhaps this fear is you holding on to the past. Do you think that on some level you don’t want to separate from Freya?’
I didn’t know what to say. Was there something to it? Did I still want to be married to Freya? I looked across the room and at the old wooden sash window. I had always loved the older houses in Brighton, the Victorian and Georgian properties, because of the character they gave the town that seemed to almost underpin everything else. I liked the stability of it, and maybe that was also why I was having a hard time letting Freya go, too. She had always been my stability. She had grounded me and given me the support I needed when things weren’t going well. I wouldn’t have been able to have any sort of career without her, and now if we actually divorced, I was terrified of what it would mean for me. It seemed logical that a part of me was still holding on to our marriage, but I also knew it was over. We’d had the conversations, the arguments, and we’d had the final meeting and concluded that, yes, the verdict was in and it wasn’t good. Surely, despite whatever reservations I had, the consensus was that my marriage was done, and I had to find a way to move forward on my own.
‘I mean, you have a point, obviously, but you can’t just hold on to something that isn’t working because you’re afraid of whatever is next.’
‘True, but this week, I want you to really think about what it is you’re holding on to, and what you’re afraid of because it seems to me, Joe, that at the moment you’re sort of trapped in this place between the past and the future. Perhaps your living situation is perpetuating that, but you need to begin the process of moving on, of beginning the next chapter of your life, and you won’t be able to do that unless you understand what it is you’re letting go of. Make sense?’
I nodded, and after a few more questions and discussions about other topics, we said our usual goodbye, before I left and headed outside.
Dolly was at college, Freya was at work, and so I had no reason to rush home. I probably wasn’t going to get much work done for the rest of the day. I stopped at the Marks and Spencer in town and got something nice for dinner. I fancied pushing the boat out and making Dolly and Freya something a little bit special. I browsed the meat aisle and ended up getting a nice leg of lamb, and I was going to roast that, make a red wine gravy, some mashed potatoes, and I got some broccolini, too. I also bought a nice bottle of red wine we could share, all the while thinking about what Karen had said. I was trapped in a state of limbo, unable to properly move on while I was still living in the past, and while I couldn’t do anything about our living situation until Dolly moved out, I could do my best to control it. I could make it the best version of itself, and maybe that might help me – and perhaps all of us – transition a little easier.
I got home, and after making some brief notes on my morning’s work, I started on dinner. I put on a Spotify playlist of my favourite Nineties songs, and began cooking. When Freya and Dolly got home, we would sit down together and share a nice family meal. My relationship with Freya was complicated, but she was also someone I could rely upon when things were rocky.
The lamb was just coming out of the oven, and I was going to let it rest for thirty minutes under a sheet of tinfoil, when I heard the front door open and then close.
‘In the kitchen!’ I shouted.
I heard footsteps, and then Freya walked into the kitchen, dumping her handbag on the dining table.
‘Something smells nice,’ she said.
‘I thought we could have a nice family dinner. I made a roast leg of lamb with a red wine gravy, mashed—’
‘Dolly texted and she’s going to Maya’s after college.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘But I’m here for dinner.’
‘Great. Good. We can have a nice dinner.’
‘I’m just going to jump in the shower first,’ said Freya. ‘Fifteen minutes?’
‘Sounds good. I’ll plate up,’ I said, and there was a slight moment of nervous tension between us as we realised we were going to sit down for a meal together without Dolly. She was the buffer, and we could point most of the conversation towards her, but without her we would have to talk to each other, and although things between us were so much better than they were directly after the summer party, it was still awkward. I also had the sitcom secret I knew had to come out at some point. Would that be tonight? And if so, how would Freya respond? I heard the shower being turned on upstairs, and I began getting the food ready and plating up.
Ten minutes later, Freya came walking into the kitchen, drying her damp hair with a towel.
‘That feels better and this looks lovely.’
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Sure, why not?’
I poured us both a glass of wine and placed them down on the table, before I joined Freya with my own plate of food.
‘Cheers,’ I said, lifting my glass up. Freya chinked her glass against mine, said cheers, and we tucked into our food. This would be the perfect chance to tell her about the sitcom. We were alone, eating a delicious dinner, and I could explain myself calmly and give her the appropriate time to respond. I just needed to pluck up the courage to do it. Maybe Karen was right and she would take the news better than I expected, and then we could move on. Surely it was best to get everything out in the open and then just see what happened, right?
‘Joe?’ said Freya after a moment.
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t want to cause a fight or anything, and I’m not being petty, but have you cleaned the bathroom this week? It just looks a bit, you know, messy. Sorry, again, not trying to be difficult or anything.’
I couldn’t believe it. There was me, having just cooked her a slap-up dinner, and perhaps about to tell her about the sitcom, and she was picking apart my fucking cleaning skills.
‘Oh, right,’ I replied, not sure what to say. ‘I, umm, actually now that you mention it, I haven’t cleaned it this week. I’ve been busy with work, and—’
‘It’s fine, honestly. No need to explain,’ said Freya, and immediately I felt defensive and like I had to explain. In all the years we had been together, she had never mentioned anything about my cleaning, and there had been times when I was busy when I hadn’t always kept things up, and she hadn’t said a word. Now, apparently, I was being monitored. It was an issue.
‘I will do it tomorrow. I’ve just been busy with work, and I had a meeting with Carl—’
‘Like I said, Joe, no need to explain, and you have the lion’s share of the housework, so—’
‘But you mentioned it, so obviously it’s an issue, Freya,’ I said, popping some mashed potatoes in my mouth.
‘I’m sorry, Joe, honestly,’ replied Freya quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘Okay.’
‘Good.’
‘Right then.’
We continued eating, but the air between us that had started out so smoothly was suddenly rattled with some minor turbulence that didn’t exactly toss us around the cabin and cause some of the overhead baggage to begin moving, but we definitely fastened our seat belts a little tighter.
‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Freya, after a minute of silent eating.
‘Okaaay. Sounds serious.’
‘It’s not serious, it’s just something and I’m telling you because I want to be honest with you, Joe, and I don’t know, let me have some wine first,’ said Freya, taking a long sip of her wine. I was suddenly nervous about what she had to say. What else had I forgotten to do? Separate our washing? Water the indoor plants? Dust? I took a sip of my wine, too. We both put our glasses down at the same time. ‘I went out for a drink with work the other day and Sam—’
‘Sam your boss? Partner Sam?’
‘Yes. He’s divorced, and knew I was getting separated, and wanted to offer his support and friendship.’
I bet he fucking did , I thought. I can’t believe he barely waited for the paint to dry on our marriage, before he started putting his socks in my sock drawer. I bet he’s the sort of person who pairs them together then rolls them up in neat fucking balls like what’s her name again? The Japanese lady who had a show on television about how to organise your life, and tidying up so everything has its place. Oh, yes, Marie fucking Kondo. I imagine Sam Becket’s whole life has the Marie Kondo seal of approval.
‘Right,’ I said, feeling pangs of jealousy begin to stretch throughout my body, creeping up my throat, and entering my mouth, desperate to escape and say something. ‘That was nice of him.’
Freya gave me a look, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to say next. ‘And,’ she added, ‘while we were having a drink, he did mention that maybe, one day in the future, when I was ready, we might go on a date.’
And there it fucking was. Of course, the bastard boss was just waiting for me to get out of the way before he moved in. The feelings of jealousy were now more like full-scale road rage and I wanted to get out of the car and shout expletives at someone for not using their indicator properly, but I couldn’t be that man. I couldn’t show her how I really felt because we were separated, and she had every right to go for drinks with other men, and there was nothing I could do about it. She could spend the rest of her days organising drawers neatly with Sam Becket, and none of it was my business.
‘And what did you say?’ I said, trying to keep the voices in my head quiet.
Keep everything inside and push it all down. Put it all in boxes and store it far away so you don’t have to think about it. Sam Becket might be the fucking GOAT at organising his life and underwear drawers, but he has nothing on me when it comes to compartmentalising feelings.
‘That I wasn’t ready for anything like that, but I… the thing is, Joe, it made me realise that this sort of thing is going to happen to me, and to you, too, and I want to be honest with you. After what happened at the party, I realised that if we’re going to work, if we’re going to separate amicably and still be friends, then we have to be open with each other. Nothing is happening with Sam right now, but it might in the future. That’s all I wanted to say.’
I looked across the table at Freya and I didn’t know what to say. Obviously the thing I should have told her about was the sitcom, but I couldn’t. Something was still holding me back, and instead I smiled, thanked her for being so honest, filled up our wine glasses, and kept everything inside because letting it all out felt like opening the largest can of fucking worms in the world.