Page 59 of Not Moving Out
I walked down the stairs, opened the front door, and standing there was a man in a suit. He was probably selling something. He was tall, and had dark hair and glasses.
‘Mrs Wallace?’
‘I mean, obviously not,’ I replied, and the man smiled at me.
‘Sorry. I’m here to see Freya Wallace about a house valuation?’ said the man.
‘Sorry? A house valuation?’
‘I was asked to appraise the house. See what it’s worth before going on the market?’
‘But the house isn’t going on the market. Sorry, who are you again?’ I said, my mind suddenly free-falling with a hundred questions.
‘I’m Daniel Masters from Brunswick & Co Estate Agents. Mrs Wallace called us and asked for a house valuation. Are you Mr Wallace, by any chance?’
‘Right, okay. Can you give me a moment?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Daniel with a bright but slightly uncertain smile. I saw him glance at the front of the house again, checking he had the right number.
I pushed the front door until it was almost closed, and then I walked into the living room, retrieving my phone from my pocket. I was absolutely fuming. I couldn’t believe Freya had gone behind my back and arranged to get the house valued. There I was, pondering whether our marriage could be saved, if there was still some tantalising hope left, and she was already planning on selling the house. It was obvious that no matter how I felt, she had already moved on. Our night together had obviously meant nothing to her. I rang her mobile and waited.
‘Joe? You okay?’ said Freya casually.
‘No, I’m not fucking okay, Freya!’ I yelled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d arranged to get the house valued?’
‘Oh shit, I forgot about that. I’m sorry, Joe. I was just trying to get things done.’
‘So, that’s it, is it? There was me thinking that maybe there was still a chance. Perhaps after our night together it had changed something, and you’ve already got the house on fucking Rightmove!’
‘Joe, please calm down. I was just being practical.’
‘Practical! Don’t make me laugh. You were being cold, Freya. Fucking heartless.’
‘Jesus Christ, Joe. Don’t turn this into something it isn’t,’ said Freya, sounding suddenly angrier. ‘We need to know what the house is worth. That’s it.’
‘Typical fucking solicitor! What happened to you?’
‘Stop it, Joe. You’re just being rude now.’
‘Whatever. I guess we’re done. That’s clearly what you want, so guess what? You can have it. Sell the fucking house and throw me out on the street for all I care!’ I yelled, and then I hung up the phone because I couldn’t take it any more. She was done with me, and so I supposed I was done with her, too. Our marriage was definitely over, and despite the man waiting outside, I sat down on the sofa and immediately started to cry. This wasn’t the first time I had wept recently, and clearly I was starting to feel the emotional pinch. What next? Would I start sobbing atEastEndersor soppy adverts featuring dogs that needed homes? Breaking down at the sight of an old photo of Dolly or an online story about a child being able to see because of the wonders of medical science? I was suddenly a proper emotional mess, and it had me wondering:Where is it all going to end?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Joe
Freya and I first discovered Devil’s Dyke a few months after we moved to Brighton. Someone had mentioned it in passing and told us we had to get up there because the views were to die for, and so one day we went on the bus, and brought a picnic with us. From that first time we were hooked. We stood at the top and admired one of the most stunning views in England. It felt like you could see all across West Sussex, with the undulating fields, small outcrops of trees, villages with church spires, and hedgerows that looked like they were drawn in to add definition and clarity. It was the most English of landscapes, and Freya and I had returned again and again, each time as Dolly got older, it seemed like a way of defining how we were all changing. The view never altered and so we were the variable, and I liked that juxtaposition. Today, as Freya and I stood looking out over the view we had looked at so many times before, I hated the variable we had become. Of all the versions of us that had stood in that exact spot so many times before, it was by far the worst.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ said Freya, before she turned and looked at me. ‘How did we get here?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. My voice sounded unlike my own, and I felt a hollowness in my chest, a numb ache that had been there since I had shouted at Freya on the phone.
Freya had asked me up to Devil’s Dyke so we could clear the air. Things had been incredibly tense for the past week and we had barely spoken, just perfunctory words about practical things when we bumped into each other at the house, but it couldn’t go on like that, and Freya wouldn’t let it. I was happier to keep wallowing, and moping around the house, ignoring her and pretending that nothing had happened, but Freya wasn’t like that. She couldn’t pretend and had to get it all out in the open. It was one of our biggest differences as people. She loved to talk about our feelings, had to discuss ‘us’, and she needed to resolve issues as they came up, while I was generally happy not to. My ethos had always been to let things go for long enough that eventually they would just blow over. Perhaps it was why we had reached that point, standing at the top of Devil’s Dyke, because I had stopped talking, and she had stopped asking me to.
‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Joe. The house valuation was just something practical to do, so I knew exactly what I was dealing with in terms of money. For both of us. I know I should have told you, and I’m sorry, but it wasn’t intended to piss you off, or make some sort of statement. I simply just forgot.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry I went off on you like that.’
‘But what you said, Joe, did you mean it? Do you still think there’s a chance we could get back together? Are you really holding out hope?’
