Epilogue
YOUR ANGER JOURNAL
“Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one”
– Benjamin Franklin
Ugh, shut up Benjamin Franklin!!!! You’re such a know-it-all. You weren’t even President. I don’t think?!
Monday:
What happened?
Edward took too long getting back from work because of a train stuck in a tunnel.
How did you feel?
Frustrated and wretched because I miss him all the time and it makes me feel all needy and pathetic.
But then he turned up with flowers, and I don’t care that they’re a cliché, they make everything better.
I’m looking at them now and they’re making me smile.
My attachment style is flower-based these days.
Tuesday:
What happened?
One of the survivors I work with was upset because we couldn’t get the police to take her seriously about her ex.
How did you feel?
So ragey, you wouldn’t believe. Like, throwing tiramisu levels of ragey. But I took whatever steps I could to help her, and then went to a kickboxing class where I clean took a punching bag off its hook with one of my kicks. Proudest moment of my life.
Wednesday:
What happened?
I finally sent in the manuscript for my book – hurrah!
– and Fabian immediately called to say well done.
But then the conversation got a bit heated when he said my old boss, Spencer at Morning Tea, had called again about me coming back to the show.
And then he admitted he was sleeping with Spencer again. Yeugh.
How did you feel?
Frustrated because I’ve told Fabian over and over that I’m not interested in going back to my old job at Morning Tea.
I truly LOVE what I do now. And also annoyed because Fabian deserves sooo much better.
Not to mention that Spencer deserves so much worse.
Why don’t people listen to my advice???? ? I’m a trained professional!!!!!!!
Thursday:
What happened?
Edward just arrived and he—
I gasp. ‘Don’t read over my shoulder!’
‘I wasn’t!’ Edward protests, moving away and across the kitchen.
He’s got a black cherry yoghurt in one hand and a tiny spoon in the other.
The effect is absurdly childish, and for a few seconds, I silently watch this proper adult in his three-piece suit, eating baby food while clutching a baby spoon.
He’s in the navy suit today – which he knows all too well is my favourite. It does something to me. Something inappropriate.
I hug my anger journal to my chest. ‘You’re not my therapist anymore, Ed, you haven’t been in a long time now.’
‘Very glad to be relieved of that job,’ he retorts casually, spooning more pink yoghurt into his mouth. ‘I’m not qualified enough to cope with such a disastrous Grand Designs project. You’re way over budget and we still haven’t even started on the landscaping.’
I grin, narrowing my eyes at him. ‘That’s it, I’m putting you in my anger diary now. My therapist will have a field day with what you just said.’ My eyes travel down his front, where a blob of yoghurt has landed on his tie. ‘I’m also telling Dina all about your terrible eating skills.’
He picks up his tie, regarding the mess. He frowns, then laughs. ‘My mum would be appalled.’ He cocks his head in a way I find irresistible. I fight the urge to leap up and rugby tackle him to the ground, ripping off that tie and licking any errant yoghurt off him, wherever it may have spilled.
‘As if I’m not already in there,’ he says teasingly, nodding at the anger journal.
‘Oh, you are. Big time,’ I confirm, giving him an enigmatic smile.
‘Quite right.’ He nods, then pauses. ‘When is your next session?’
‘Monday,’ I confirm.
He moves closer to join me on the sofa, his energy softening. ‘Are you going to tell Dina about the conversation you had with your mum?’
I make a face. ‘I don’t want to.’ I pause. ‘So yes.’
‘I’m so glad I’m not your therapist anymore’—his voice is grit—‘because I no longer have to be neutral and careful, and I can just call her a total arsehole.’
I smile at the anger in his voice, feeling warm and loved and supported. ‘Agreed. But I’m still glad I reached out. At least I can say I tried one last time, you know? I tried to re-connect, I tried to have it out, I tried. And she didn’t want to know.’
I think again about the brief phone conversation I had with my mum this week.
I’d been surprised she even picked up the phone to me, but having done so, it was immediately clear she regretted it.
She made no effort as I attempted small talk, giving me one-word, closed-off answers and sounding distracted and disinterested.
When I tried to bring up my childhood, she immediately got defensive.
No part of her wanted to hear what I had to say, never mind taking accountability or working things through.
Some people want to stay as the water tower, I guess.
But at least I tried.
‘Anyway.’ I shrug. ‘Now, I can move forward with my life, knowing I did my best and that not having her around is definitely the right thing for me. I haven’t lost anything, because there was never anything to gain.’
‘I like that,’ Edward says thoughtfully. ‘Is that one of Liv’s mottos?’
‘Actually, I heard it on a podcast the other day,’ I reply nonchalantly. I feel Edward’s eyes on me.
‘Podcast?’ he enquires, and I studiously stare down at my anger journal, doodling words around the inane quote at the top.
‘Uh-huh,’ I confirm.
‘Liv,’ he says in a warning tone, and I chance a glance up. He’s put down his yoghurt and is regarding me semi-seriously.
‘What?’ I ask innocently, then sigh. ‘Okay fine, yes! It was Orla’s podcast! You caught me. But it’s not about stalking her and Justin! I couldn’t give a fig about Justin anymore.’
‘I know that.’ He looks amused. ‘I’m not worried about him. I actually think you’re half in love with Orla and I’m trying not to find it threatening.’
‘I’m not!’ I say weakly, knowing I don’t sound all that believable.
‘Or – if I do love her – it’s mostly platonic.
’ I pause. ‘And I definitely love you more, so it’s fine.
I choose you.’ He laughs good naturedly as I continue.
‘Either way, I only listen to her podcast because it’s so good, not because I am obsessed with her anymore!
She had Alison Hammond on her show the other day!
Who could resist the goddess Alison? And Carol Vorderman is coming back on as a guest next week.
’ I sigh. ‘I am just one person, Edward, you cannot expect me not to listen to that. Plus, it is my moral imperative to support other women in hearing about their lived female experience.’
Edward frowns. ‘Is that a real thing? It sounded like it might be made up nonsense.’
‘It sounded quite cool though, didn’t it?’ I brighten.
He comes to sit down beside me, and I eye the small wet stain of wiped off yoghurt on his tie. He pulls me into his body, and I inhale the scent of Gore Vidal shampoo. God he’s sexy. I feel so lucky. And I know he does, too.
‘I love you, Tiramisu Girl,’ he tells me softly, into my hair.
‘I love you, too,’ I say, meaning it with my whole body. ‘But for the record, I’m still Team Char—’
He kisses me before I can finish the thought.