Page 31 of Not Moving Out
‘Sounds awkward. Do you want to discuss that?’
‘Not really. I’d had a couple of drinks, made a hasty decision, instantly regretted it, apologised, and I think we’re both over it now.’
‘Right, that’s good.’
A pause.
‘But there’s something else I need to talk about.’
‘Go on,’ said Karen, sitting up a little taller in her chair. The rain continued lashing against the window and it sounded like a thousand small gunshots.
‘The thing is, my new sitcom, it’s about me and Freya. I had a meeting with my agent and he thought the idea of a couple, separated but forced to keep living together, would make a great sitcom. It’s modern, zeitgeisty, and yet it still has all the traditional tropes of a sitcom. At first, I was against it, but then I started making notes, sketching out ideas, and I just fell in love with it. It’s the best thing I’ve written in years.’
A beat. More rain hammered against the window.
‘But?’ said Karen after a moment because she could obviously detect the uncertainty in my voice, and probably see it written clearly across my face.
‘I haven’t told Freya about it, and I know I should. It’s so personal, and we’re still going through it. It’s happening right now, and I’m using it for laughs, but it’s cathartic, writing the scenes we’ve already lived, and seeing things from her perspective has, I think, really helped me understand what went wrong. What I’ve written so far is probably the best stuff I’ve done for a while, and I love it. It’s reminded me that I’m good at writing, that I can do this and be successful again, but a part of me knows I have to tell Freya. That I need to ask for her permission.’
‘So why don’t you? What are you so afraid of?’
A good question. WhatwasI afraid of?
‘I don’t know. I think about telling her, but when it comes to actually doing it, I can’t, and usually I just change the subject. I suppose I’m afraid of upsetting the apple cart. Like I said, we’ve been doing so well, and I don’t want to jeopardise that. I suppose I’m also worried she might tell me to stop writing it.’
Karen looked at me from behind her glasses with a familiar expression. ‘Would you?’
‘Would I what?’
‘Stop writing it if she asked you? Remember your homework from last time? I asked you to think about why your marriage ended, and if there was something you could have done differently.’
‘I remember.’
‘Do you think that this lack of willingness to risk confrontation had something to do with it? You have always lacked the ability to tell Freya exactly what you’re thinking. When it comes down to it, you don’t tell her your deepest, darkest fears, your worries, frustrations, and even now when you have separated, you’re still afraid to tell her something even when you know you should. Where do you think this challenge with communication comes from, Joe?’
This was the sort of thing that made me hate therapy. I despised being put on the spot and questioned in such a practical, straightforward way, and yes, I knew she was right and had a valid point, but it wasn’t something I wanted to address. I would rather keep things light and breezy. It was probably why I had ended up being a comedy writer. Nothing could get too deep when you were writing a sitcom, and if it did, you just chucked in a knob gag and you were back to laughter again because the thing about sitcoms was that people didn’t really change. It was why audiences loved to watch them again and again because the characters, the situations, didn’t change in the way that life did. Sitcoms were comforting because they were simple, uncomplicated, and always had a happy ending – or at least an ending. A whole storyline neatly wrapped up in a tight thirty-minute script. There was something incredibly beautiful about it.
I leaned back in my chair for a moment, running a hand through my rapidly thinning hair, and I didn’t quite know how to reply.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said finally.
A pause. She looked at me.
‘But do you agree your, shall we say, lack of communication effectively hurt your marriage?’
‘I’m sure my inability to tell Freya how I’m feeling, and what I actually need or want, negatively impacted our relationship.’
‘But where do you think it comes from? Sorry if I’m repeating myself, Joe, but I think it’s important to get to the root of where this fear of confrontation comes from.’
There wasn’t a neat, perfectly scripted answer for this question. The obvious answer was my parents, and more specifically my father, but was it that simple? Could everything I was, or wasn’t, solely be blamed on the deficiencies of my parents?
‘We’ve spoken about my parents before,’ I eventually replied. ‘And it’s clear my childhood has informed much of my adulthood.’
‘Agreed. But do you think there’s something else at play here, Joe?’
‘Like what?’
She took her glasses off and placed them carefully on her desk. I noticed her earrings because they looked new, and I hadn’t seen them before. Long, silver, with pearls at the end.
