Page 40 of Not Moving Out
I waved my hand in Marmalade’s general direction. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I had to talk with Freya. I finally reached her and Lucy, and they both turned to me with expressions of disgust on their faces.
‘Go away, Joe,’ said Freya coldly.
‘Please, Freya, let me explain,’ I said hopefully.
‘Joe, I don’t think now is the time,’ said Lucy, taking a step towards me.
‘Freya, I just want to tell you the truth.’
‘The truth?’ spat Freya, suddenly so much louder, and it was clear that everyone in the garden had heard her. Conversations were halted, and all we could hear was the music, and the low spitting noise of meat sizzling on the barbecue. A dark cloud moved ominously overhead. ‘Please Joe, explain why you have been lying to me for the past six months, I’d love to fucking hear it!’
An audible gasp went up from the garden.What the fuck has Joe done?
I turned, looked around and, as I had suspected, everyone was looking at us, and then Dolly and Maya came walking into the garden, followed rather sheepishly by my father. Everyone in the garden was waiting for my retort, and yet I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to do or what I could possibly say to defuse the situation. I was a bomb-disposal officer without the proper training. Eventually, after a minute of agonising silence, Freya broke the horrible stand-off.
‘Just as I thought, Joe, when it comes down to it, when the shit hits the fan, you still have the emotional maturity of a toddler.’ She strode past me and back into the house.
I stood in excruciating awkwardness and I didn’t know what to do. The party was clearly over and so was my marriage. Freya was right: when it came down to it, when the chips were down, I wilted. I couldn’t cope when the pressure was turned up and, once again, when faced with a moment of truth I had failed to rise to the occasion.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to face everyone. ‘Umm, just keep eating, drinking, and we’ll be back soon. I hope.’
I started to walk back through the garden, past family and friends, Dolly – who gave me the deadliest of death stares – and Maya, everyone looking at me, and that’s when the heavens opened and it started to rain, and not just a casual light summer drizzle, but an actual, proper, will-get-you-drenched-in-about-thirty-seconds downpour. Luckily, while I and everyone else seemed to be caught up in my argument with Freya, Stuart did what he did best and took charge.
‘Right, everyone, grab what you can and get inside!’ He turned the barbecue off, closing the top and grabbing whatever food he could as everyone ran for cover. The garden went from a lovely summer party, to the worst-case version of a wet Glastonbury Festival in about ten seconds. Freya’s mum was trying to grab a plate of sausage rolls, while Marmalade attempted to immediately run inside, tripped on a chair and ended up face down in a flower bed. Dad and Juliette picked up the big tray of sandwiches I had lovingly prepared and took them inside. Barney was trying to help get some food inside, but was dropping more than he was saving, and Lucy was attempting to help Freya’s mum with plates of food, but after a moment realised how wet she was getting, and just grabbed Freya’s mum and they both made it inside, closely followed by a very wet and slightly muddied Marmalade. Dolly and Maya both grabbed a plate of food each, and I tried to get whatever I could, and finally we all made it inside, dripping wet, but all I really cared about was seeing Freya. I turned to Stuart.
‘Can you sort everything out, mate? I need to find Freya.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and immediately started rallying the sodden troops, while I walked up the stairs to Freya’s bedroom because I imagined she would be in there – the scene of the crime. I took a deep breath, opened the door to her bedroom, and there she was, sitting on her bed, her face as dark as the clouds outside. I could hear the rain battering against the bedroom window. So much for summer.
‘Just fuck off, Joe!’ she exclaimed as soon as she saw me.
‘Freya, please let me explain.’
‘No, Joe,’ she said, the anger on her face suddenly replaced with sadness and tears. ‘You lied to me. You made me feel like a fucking idiot. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, that maybe you and I… it doesn’t matter, we’re done, Joe. We’re—’
‘I had panic attacks,’ I said suddenly, walking across and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Freya looked at me, her face red and her eyes glistening. I took a second to compose myself before I continued. ‘It’s why I started seeing a therapist. The panic attacks started about eight or nine months ago when things were really bad between us, and I wasn’t writing, and I felt this huge weight on me. That’s when it happened. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like the whole world was closing in on me, and I needed help. I know, I should have told you, come to you, but I didn’t and instead found a therapist. Her name is Karen and I go whenever I need to, and it’s really helped me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry you had to find out like that, but that’s the truth.’
I stopped speaking and turned to Freya. I had no idea what she was going to say. She was so angry with me and rightfully so, but all I could do was hope that maybe she might find a way to forgive me and perhaps understand. Finally, after a minute of silence, while we sat and listened to the rain outside, Freya spoke.
‘But why wouldn’t you go to couples’ counselling with me? If you were already in therapy and knew it worked for you, why wouldn’t you do the same for us?’ She had tears in her eyes, her voice was drenched in despair, and I hated myself for doing that to her.
‘Because I didn’t think I could do it. It was hard enough talking to a therapist about my own shit, Freya. I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to admit to another therapist what a shit husband I had been to you, too. How I had failed you, failed us, and it all felt so overwhelming. I know it’s fucking weak and you deserve better. I’m sorry.’
A pause, and the silence in the room was overwhelming.
‘Then why didn’t you tell me that? I would have understood a lot better if you had just explained and instead you let me think you didn’t give a shit about saving our marriage.’
‘I know. I’m such a fucking idiot, Freya, and I’m sorry. I really fucked up.’
‘You did,’ said Freya bluntly, before she added with a slightly softer tone, ‘but I’m sorry about the panic attacks. It must have been scary.’
‘It was,’ I replied, and then we sat in silence, not saying a word to each other.
I don’t know how long we sat there, but it felt like hours. Eventually, we both stood up, and slowly made our way downstairs without saying another word to each other. There had been some sort of agreement between us, and I wasn’t even sure what the agreement was, but it had in some part been resolved or at least put aside for a moment. It was still pouring with rain outside, and when we walked into the kitchen, most of the tidying up had been done. Some of the food had been lost to the weather, but most had been saved and packed away in the fridge, or wrapped in cling film on the table. I couldn’t thank our friends enough for helping, especially after everything that had happened. After a few minutes, when it was clear the party was definitely over, people started leaving.
‘Sorry, son,’ said Dad by the front door. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine, Dad, it wasn’t your fault.’
