Page 53 of Not Moving Out
I didn’t want to make the night weird and go down the rabbit hole of why it all went wrong because we’d had those conversations over and over again. We had dissected our relationship on too many occasions already. We didn’t need to go back over it again when surely the point of tonight, if anything, was to try and enjoy being together again while we still could. We needed to find that thing that had made being together fun in the first place.
‘Do you remember our first anniversary in Paris? That was perhaps my favourite,’ I said.
‘It was. Although you have clearly forgotten you got monumentally pissed on the second night and ended up puking up in the en suite. I bought that expensive piece of lingerie for nothing!’
‘I still claim it was food poisoning. There was something dodgy about those oysters.’
‘The only thing dodgy, Joe, was the amount of vodka you drank. Seriously, we were in the most romantic city in the world and you passed out on the bathroom floor!’
‘You’re hardly one to talk, Freya. Glastonbury two thousand and ten?’
‘That wasn’t my fault and you know it!’
‘You projectile vomited midway through Stevie Wonder! Stevie was singing “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours”, and you were chundering onto my shoes. A brand-new pair of Adidas Sambas, and they didn’t survive the weekend!’
‘Lesson learnt though. Never accept home-made cider from strangers.’
‘I did make up for Paris though. Remember that gorgeous cottage I rented in Scotland?’
‘That was lovely.’
‘Although you had terrible morning sickness the whole weekend.’
‘But still, it was a perfect weekend. Right on the coast just outside of St Andrews, if I remember correctly.’
We looked at each other and smiled. A thousand more memories like that were sitting in my mind, and it felt like one of the most difficult things about the break-up of a marriage to know that the one person who had shared so much of your life wasn’t going to be a part of the rest.
‘How’s the new script going?’ said Freya suddenly, her words jarring against the backdrop of nostalgia.
‘Sorry?’ I said quickly, feeling a heat suddenly rise up inside of me. I had a nervous sip of my lager.
‘The new family comedy you told me about?’
It was definitely time to come clean aboutHouse Sharedand explain everything to her, but we were getting along so well, I didn’t want to ruin it. I knew she would hate the idea, but Carl loved it, and it was coming along nicely. I was already on episode four, and I had outlined ideas for the rest of the series. Stopping it now just wasn’t an option. Perhaps once I had finished it, and got the green light from Carl, then maybe telling her would be easier. Plus, it would be more difficult for her to say stop when it was already a done deal. I knew it was duplicitous, and underhand, but I really felt like I had no option at that moment.
‘Yeah, umm, good.’
‘What does Carl think? Is he happy with it?’
‘He likes it. He took it to the BBC, and he said they loved the idea, so fingers crossed.’
‘Definitely,’ said Freya, crossing her fingers in front of me. ‘It would be great to see something of yours on television again.’
‘It would. Right, more drinks, methinks!’ I said like someone in a Christmas pantomime, getting up quickly and marching off towards the bar before she could ask me any more questions aboutHouse Shared. I got myself another beer and Freya a glass of wine, before I returned to the table.
I moved the conversation along to easier topics, and more moments of nostalgia, and we kept drinking, until it was time to head home. We’d both had quite a few drinks by that point, and as we staggered out of the pub into the fresh air, I felt the alcohol hit me. Freya was definitely a bit drunk, too, and as we walked home I felt her knocking against me, and I had to put my arm around her to keep her stable.
‘I think I’m a little tipsy,’ said Freya.
‘Me, too.’
‘I have Cold Water Club in the morning.’
‘Oh, yes. Ladies-get-freezing-cold-in-the-sea-at-ridiculous-o’clock club. How’s it going?’
‘It’s going great, actually, and surprisingly, once you get used to it, it isn’t that cold.’
‘Oh, okay,’ I said disbelievingly, and Freya gently punched me on the arm.
