Page 22 of Not Moving Out
‘I’m really happy for you. Glad you’ve found someone.’
‘Thanks, Joe.’
‘Guess I’ll be seeing even less of you once you move.’
‘You’ll always be welcome in France. Once we get everything sorted.’
‘A cheap holiday at the family B & B. Now there’s a phrase I never thought I’d be saying,’ I said, and we both chuckled, even though the whole thing still felt completely barmy. ‘I can’t wait to meet Juliette.’
‘Yeah, she’s coming over in June.’
‘Okay, all right. I still can’t believe all of this, Dad.’
‘You know the funny thing, Joe? Neither can I.’
‘Really?’
‘I always thought that after your mum I’d see out my days in Colchester. I had no reason to think I’d meet someone else, and certainly not from France. Life can surprise you sometimes.’
‘It certainly can,’ I said, and for a moment I thought about telling him about me and Freya, but before I could he opened his mouth and said, ‘Well, good night then, Joe. See you in the morning.’
‘Right, night, Dad.’
I smiled at him, he smiled at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to hug me, but instead he gave me a quick clap on the shoulder before he wandered off to brush his teeth, and I walked into Freya’s bedroom still completely and utterly gobsmacked. My father was like a new man, and if we weren’t careful, we might start discussing things like love and relationships instead of always reverting to silence or football.
Freya was sitting on the bed and I gingerly walked across and sat next to her. It was uncomfortable. I could wait until Dad was asleep, and then sneak into Dolly’s bedroom and sleep in there, but what if Dad got up in the night and for some reason looked in Dolly’s bedroom or woke up before me and saw me coming out? I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t tell him so the best solution was to share Freya’s bed. It was only one night. How awkward could it be?
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to face Freya. ‘I can sleep on the floor if you like.’
‘Just stay on your side,’ said Freya, somewhat coolly. ‘And we’ll be fine.’
‘Got it,’ I replied, as Freya stood up and got ready for bed.
We both moved around the room and into the en suite brushing our teeth, and Freya made a big deal about going into the toilet/shower room to get changed before emerging in full pyjamas and a bra – as if just seeing a flash of side boob would mean I’d be unable to control myself. It was like all the years we had been married meant nothing. She turned off the light before I clambered into bed next to her. Luckily our bed was quite large and there was plenty of space for both of us, and with a sort of no-man’s land between us. I’m sure if Freya had her way, she would have erected some sort of temporary barbed-wire fence, just to be on the safe side.
‘Good night,’ I said.
‘Night, Joe,’ Freya replied, and we lay in the dark, so close to each other, and my father was in my bedroom, and the house had never felt stranger. Before I fell asleep, I thought more and more about my new sitcom,House Shared. Perhaps it was my last chance to get something commissioned and really make something of myself because, if this didn’t get anywhere, Dolly would be off to university, Dad to France, Freya to goodness knows where, and what would I have left? I had to make it work, and so despite the obvious moral implications of not telling Freya and using our marital pain for some sort of professional gain, I knew I had no choice. I rolled over and in the faint light I could just make out the shape of Freya’s shoulder next to me. She sighed, moved and then rolled over so she was facing me.
‘Stop looking at me,’ she whispered.
‘I’m not. I was just thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘The future.’
‘Sounds terrifying.’
‘It might be.’
‘Or maybe it will be brilliant.’
‘Maybe.’
A pause.
‘I can’t believe your dad is moving to France.’
