Page 19 of Not Moving Out
What’s next?The question that every writer in the world despised. What was next? It symbolised exactly what I hated about being a writer because it almost never mattered what you were working on, whatever success you had in the past, the most important thing was always, what’s next? The past was ancient history, the now was very much old news, and the only thing that really mattered was, what was next? I lived in a world of the future.
‘Honestly, Carl, I’m not sure. With the separation, and Dolly off to university in September.’
‘Young Dolly, off to university already? Fuck me. The last time I saw her, she was just off to secondary school. Does she know where she’s going yet?’
‘She wants to read English at Durham.’
‘Oh, right, wonderful university. My brother, Freddie, went to Durham. She’ll love it.’
‘So with her leaving in September, Freya and I are living together until then. I have moved into the spare room, but it’s a bit tense.’
‘I can only imagine. So, you’re doing one of those modern parenting things everyone is doing these days. You separate but keep living together out of necessity. Magpie parenting or something, isn’t it? I read an article about it in theGuardiana few weeks ago.’
‘Something like that. It’s just for the time being until Dolly has moved out. Although, if I don’t get something commissioned soon and start earning some money, I fear for the future.’
‘You have what, five months until D-Day?’
‘About that.’
We both paused to take mouthfuls of food, and then Carl looked out of the window for a moment, and as I watched him, I noticed something change in his expression. A flicker of something flashed across his face, and his eyes lit up, and then he turned back towards me. Something was coming.
‘Maybe that’s your idea!’ he said.
‘Sorry? What’s my idea?’
‘For a sitcom. Yes, what could be better? It has everything you’d ever want or need for the perfect series. A couple trapped in a loveless marriage, but under the same roof. A daughter desperate to leave, but having to wait until university. It has everything, Joe. Time, pressure, love, parenting, and all under one roof so a piece of piss to shoot.’
‘You’re saying I should write a sitcom about my current situation?’
‘Why not? I’m sure it’s tough, but there must be some comedy in there, too, and everyone loves that these days. Nobody wants a straight sitcom any more, Joe. I’m afraid the era of comedies likeThe Morningsis over. Now it’s all about comedy drama, the humour of life, of reality, and what’s more dramatic or potentially funnier than two people stuck under the same roof, in a marriage that used to work but doesn’t any more? Yes, by Jove, I think it’s a genius idea. I mean, really, well done!’
‘I mean, it’s not my idea.’
‘But it will be. What do you think?’
I took a moment to think about it, and perhaps he was right, but how could I write it as I was going through it? Surely I was too close to it. Too involved to make it funny because, trust me, I hadn’t found much humour in the break-up of my marriage so far. It had just been fucking difficult, heartbreaking, and also I was sure Freya wouldn’t want me writing about the intricate details of our crumbling relationship. In fact, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would absolutely hate it. My career, my work, had definitely been one of the defining factors in the breakdown of our marriage, and so using it as my way of moving on would go down about as well as a warm seafood salad for breakfast.
‘I think the idea has potential, but I don’t know, Carl. I’m literally still going through it. I’m not sure I have the space from it to make it funny. Maybe in a year or two once the dust—’
‘In a year or two, Joe, someone else will have written it. Think about it. So many comedies on television are about people getting together, or being married, but there isn’t one about a couple that have already decided to split but are forced to cohabit. It’s likeThe Office, you know. The joy ofThe Officewas watching people that were forced to spend eight hours a day treading the same carpet. They didn’t love each other, or often evenlikeeach other, but they had to be together. Now you focus that down on to two people and a child. They all want to leave but they can’t. There’s your humour. There’s your show. It could be called, oh, I don’t know—’
‘House Shared?’ I said instinctively, and Carl’s face broadened into a smile.
‘Yes!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘House Shared. It’s perfect!’
Carl and I had lunch for almost two hours where we discussed the finer points ofHouse Shared, until eventually he had another meeting and I had to get back. I stayed in London for another hour or so, doing a bit of shopping, until it was time for the train back to Brighton. I wanted to miss rush hour and so I left before it all got a bit much, although as I boarded the train, I quickly realised it was still going to be packed.
Luckily, I managed to find a seat with a table, squeezed against the window next to a mother with a fussy baby and opposite a young man who, despite wearing headphones, was still playing his music so ridiculously loudly I could hear every word of every song – and no, it wasn’t something I enjoyed. In years gone by, when money was far less of an issue, I would travel first class, so I could work. There was just something about being on a train that I had always found so creative and sometimes the hour between Brighton and London would seem like five minutes if I was in the zone. It was the gentle rattle of the train, the countryside and towns flying by the window, the casual mutterings of nearby conversations and people talking on phones. Stopping at stations, people getting off, struggling with luggage, and then new passengers getting on, and getting settled.
Today I had my laptop, and I opened it up, and typed the beginning of a new idea.House Shared. Maybe there was something in it. I knew Carl was right that it had all the ingredients for a perfect modern sitcom. Comedy and pathos, and something that most people would be able to identify with. It could be about love, marriage, parenting, and that moment in life when you have to let go, whether you want to or not. It could feature flashbacks of when the daughter was small and the couple were happy, and mostly be set in one house, and around Brighton. As I started thinking more and more about it, I began writing things down, just ideas for scenes, character notes, and by the time the train pulled slowly into Brighton station, I had written well over 2,000 words.
As I walked out of the station, and towards home, I got a text from Carl.
Just mentioned House Shared to my assistant Sara and she loved it!Get writing!
I put my phone back in my pocket and started off through the Brighton streets towards the house where my wife and daughter lived, and where the idea ofHouse Sharedwould be set. I felt that buzz I only got when I knew I had an idea that might actually go somewhere. It only happened from time to time, that spark of creativity, that surge of adrenalin when I felt I was at the beginning of potentially something magical. Ideas like electrical shocks were already popping into my head, connecting to other ideas, as a whole new world began to form in my head, and I felt myself walking a little taller.
I got home and walked into the kitchen, where I saw Freya standing up and looking pensive. Seated at the dining table was my father.
