Page 27 of Not Moving Out
‘Oh my fucking God! Get out!’ screamed Freya, who was standing in the middle of the room completely and utterly naked. For a second I didn’t know what to do, and so I just stood there and looked at her. I hadn’t seen Freya naked in a very long time. ‘Joe!’
‘Oh, shit! Fuck!’ I said, covering my eyes, but I had already seen too much. ‘Sorry, sorry—’
‘Out!’ demanded Freya, as I backed out of her room, and then Dolly was suddenly on the landing.
‘What’s going on?’ said Dolly. ‘I heard shouting.’
I turned to face Dolly, my face red with embarrassment.
‘I, umm, walked in on your mother, and she—’
‘Is fucking livid!’ said a very angry Freya, now in a dressing gown, her wet hair up in a towel. ‘You can’t just walk into my room like that, Joe. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s a bit pervy, Dad,’ said Dolly. ‘Just saying.’
I looked at Freya, who huffed in annoyance, gave me a look that I could only describe as ‘hostile’ and then walked back into her room and slammed the door shut. I turned to Dolly.
‘It was an accident, Dolly. I didn’t mean to—’
‘That’s what all the dirty pervs say,’ said Dolly, turning around and walking back into her bedroom, leaving me on the landing, speechless, and feeling like I had just made things between me and Freya so much worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Freya
It was hard to pin down exactly when I had stopped doing things just for myself. When I looked back, I think it had happened so gradually I hadn’t even realised it was happening. When I was younger, and even after Joe and I first got together, I liked to do things on my own. I had my own set of friends and I had hobbies. I used to fly to places on my own, I had interests, and then very slowly my whole life shrank down and all I had was Joe and Dolly. I was a wife and a mother and that seemed to be about it. Gradually over time, I made friends with Lucy, but I still didn’t really have things that were just mine. I had even stopped reading when I used to be a voracious reader of at least two or three novels a month, but now I was lucky if I finished one a year. What had happened to me? Who was I? I was discussing this very point with the rest of Cold Water Club, while we waded into the sea at just after seven o’clock on a Friday morning.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Caroline. ‘Before we had kids, I used to do all sorts. I ran half-marathons, did yoga, and me and a few friends hiked the West Highland Way for fun!’
‘I used to go to dance classes,’ said Debs with a whimsical smile. ‘Without Steve, of course, because the useless bugger has two left feet. I did Latin, jazz, swing and flamenco!’
‘That sounds brilliant. I can imagine you doing the tango!’ said Lucy, and then we all stopped because it was time to submerge ourselves up to our shoulders and start swimming. I was getting slowly better and with each and every time I went into the sea, I felt myself getting stronger. The main thing I enjoyed, apart from how I felt afterwards and the energy it gave me, was the camaraderie with the other women. I loved how we all shared stories about our lives without apprehension or worry.
It was clear from day one that we each had our own ways of being in the water. Caroline was always the most physical and would start swimming, heading off in all directions, while Lucy would do her sort of half breaststroke, half doggy-paddle around in circles. Debs and Helen walked about a bit, and Amy did a couple of breaststrokes before she stood up and looked off towards the horizon. I had decided that I definitely couldn’t swim as bravely as Caroline but wanted to do a bit more than Debs, Helen and Amy, and so I joined Lucy in her swimming-in-circles routine. It felt like I was actually doing some exercise and it helped keep me warm.
Eventually, just as I started to feel like everything was numb, and knew it was time to get out, everyone came together and we slowly stood up and started making our way back towards the beach. I realised as we were walking that I hadn’t yet mentioned my after-work walk home with Sam to Lucy, which was strange because I’d had plenty of time to tell her, and it wasn’t like it was something I was trying to hide. Lucy and I told each other everything, and it felt odd I hadn’t mentioned it.
‘Sam walked me home from work the other day,’ I said suddenly, and Lucy looked across at me.
‘And you didn’t tell me about it?’
‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’
‘When? Where? Why? So many questions.’
‘Last week, and only because he somehow knew about my separation, which I mean to ask you about—’
‘I didn’t say anything to him,’ said Lucy quickly.
‘You’re sure?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘Then how did he find out?’
‘No idea, but what happened?’
