Chapter 3 #2
‘While that is to some extent true,’ Jake says, not missing a beat, ‘it is also the case that most relationships – romantic or otherwise – go through difficult patches, and it is better to work at them than to be told by the book you’re reading or the film you’re watching that your partner is lacking. ’
I open my mouth to say that that’s ridiculous and how suggestible does he think people are, and then close it again on the off chance that they are that suggestible and I’d be insulting those people.
‘Have you read any of Freya’s books?’ asks Sonja into the pause left by me not replying.
‘No,’ Jake says, ‘but I know a woman who did read a lot of them.’
‘And who is that?’ I ask, not sure that I’ll like his answer.
‘My ex-wife,’ he says, like he’s playing the trump card to end all trump cards.
‘Ooh,’ says Sonja, looking delighted. ‘Was she the one who instigated the divorce and did she cite Freya’s books?’
‘I…’
For the first time, Jake looks a little uncomfortable, and I realise that he was goaded into saying something he now regrets, and that he – obviously – doesn’t want to talk about the circumstances of his own divorce on national television.
And, despite his nasty (and also correct) cynicism about my views on love, I do actually feel a bit sorry for him, so I give him a little helping hand and move the conversation away from the details of his divorce, asking, ‘And yet you still believe in love?’
‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘And that one sentence there demonstrates to me that I don’t think you do. Your use of the word “yet”.’
‘Nonsense.’ I cannot believe I was trying to help him. I also cannot believe that, courtesy of him, I seem to be digging an unforeseen hole for myself. I do not want to alienate or upset my lovely readers.
Suddenly, though, something occurs to me.
Maybe Jake Stone is doing me a favour. It’s very hard work constantly pretending that I think I’m going to find my own true love one day.
As time goes on, I get more and more questions about it and they’re more and more difficult to answer.
And people like honesty, don’t they. And I do believe in love, I really do. Just not for myself.
I sit and blink for a couple of seconds. Then I come to a snap decision.
I’m going to go for it. I didn’t expect to, but I am. I’m going to do it now. Admit the truth.
‘I do, very much, believe in love,’ I say.
‘I mean, as we’ve said, look around us. Figuratively.
We all know many people who are clearly deeply in love, in wonderfully satisfying, passionate relationships.
Adorable couples. I don’t think anyone could sensibly suggest that love is not a thing, or that forever love is not a thing.
It is merely that I, personally, don’t think forever love is for me. ’
‘Oh my goodness,’ breathes Sonja. ‘Freya!’
‘Hunh,’ says Jake, slightly frowning, looking satisfyingly wind-out-of-sails.
‘I love your honesty,’ Sonja says. ‘Is this—’ she lowers her voice, as though we aren’t on national TV but are sharing confidences in one of our kitchens over a glass of wine ‘—the first time you’ve admitted this?’
‘Yes.’ I’m really not sure now whether this was a good idea.
‘So… you’ve been pretending all this time?’ she continues.
‘Well, I…’ I’m trying to think really fast. Would it be bad for me to own up to a teensy pretence that really hasn’t hurt anyone?
I mean, the whole of fiction is pretending, isn’t it?
In that it’s made up. And fiction is great, because books and films make people happy.
I mean, obviously not if they cause people to get divorced, but that clearly isn’t actually true.
Sonja’s been studying me while I’ve been thinking. Now she gives a decisive nod, and I realise that, oh crap, she’s made up her mind about me, and it might be good, but also it might be bad.
I try for an innocent, helpless little smile.
‘So you’ve been pulling the wool over your readers’ eyes by pretending to believe in happy-ever-after love in order to sell more books?’ asks Jake. He’s such a weasel.
I shake my head, speechless. I actually want to kill him. Is he trying to upset people and ruin my career?
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Sonja pronounces. ‘I think Freya has just felt unable to admit to her feelings about her own love life because she cares so much about her readers, and didn’t want them to feel bad for her.’
Oh my goodness, the relief that she seems to have come down on my side. I could kiss her.
‘Exactly,’ I say with great emphasis.
‘I think it’s great that you’ve finally felt able to admit the truth, and that we helped you do that,’ coos Sonja. ‘I think it’s incredibly brave of you. Because these are private feelings.’
Yes, they are private. I should not have come on national TV with someone as famously probing as Sonja.
She’s such a dog with a bone. But you don’t realise initially.
She lulls you into a false sense of security, like at first she’s like a cute, cuddly labradoodle chasing a fake bone, and then she morphs into a terrifying Rottweiler trying to eat you.
‘Private feelings of… lying?’ Jake snarks.
‘No,’ says Sonja while I bristle internally. ‘Private feelings of loneliness, which she didn’t want to burden her readers with. But now I think your readers are ready. We’re here to support you, Freya.’
‘Thank you, Sonja.’ I’m quite confused, if I’m honest. I don’t really know how we got to this point.
I do know that I’m very happily single and need no support whatsoever.
But if Sonja wants to play it that I need support, that’s totally fine with me: it’s a lot better than being criticised by Jake in front of the nation.
‘We’re also here to help you.’ Sonja’s pressing her earpiece, nodding and smiling so much that I’m beginning to feel slightly alarmed. What are her producers saying to her that’s making her look so excited? She turns to Jake. ‘Would you say that Freya is the exact opposite of you, Jake?’
‘I, well, yeah, yep.’ Jake does look as though he’s almost squirming – insofar as a large, handsome, overconfident-looking man can look squirmy. I’m guessing that he’s also alarmed about the direction in which Sonja’s taking the conversation.
‘So to clarify—’ Sonja picks up a pen from the coffee table in front of her and points it in our direction ‘—Freya you write romance for a living, but you don’t believe romance is for you, and Jake you’re a divorced divorce lawyer who does believe in romance, and you believe there’s a happy romantic ending out there for you? ’
We both nod. Me, quite happily, relieved that Sonja doesn’t seem to have anything sinister in mind after all; Jake, not looking so happy (ha, serves him right).
‘Well.’ Sonja presses her ear again and then nods again. ‘Great. Great! It’s been brilliant to meet you both. Thank you so much.’
And suddenly the two of us are being ushered off and back down the corridor, even though it didn’t really feel (to me, anyway) as though we’d properly concluded the interview. But maybe that’s TV for you. Or maybe we got off-topic and took up too much time.
Soraya meets us in the corridor and tells us we were both fantastic, before we’re shown out of the building. I realise as we leave that I didn’t manage to get Sonja’s autograph. I’ll have to email someone and ask.
‘It was great to meet you,’ I tell Jake sarcastically as we part ways.
‘Oh, likewise.’ His sneer is so impressive that I laugh out loud. He’s getting to me a lot less now that we’re done and never going to see each other again. In fact, I’m going to put having met him to good use. He can feature looks-wise as a hero in my next book, and personality-wise as a villain.
‘Bye,’ I say cheerily as I hop into another paid-for-by-the-show cab. It is so nice to have the interview – and my brief acquaintance with Jake – done and dusted.