Page 60 of Not Moving Out
She looked at me, and I had to say something. She needed a decent response, but the truth was, I had no idea what I thought about us any more. I was so drawn into the narrative arc on the show I was writing, it was hard to distinguish between fact and fiction. Sitcom or reality? It felt like I was watching episodes ofMade in Chelsea.You knew they were somewhat scripted but also reality, and so the line between what to actually believe or not was blurred. I knew the night we’d had together was magical, but it was only one night, wasn’t it? And Freya had been right about one thing: whether I cared to admit it or not, I was a hopeless romantic.
Even being back at the top of Devil’s Dyke, I had so many feelings coursing through my body, it was hard to know what was real and what was just whimsy on my part. I preferred living in the small space between where my sitcoms lived and where real life began because there was safety in that. Sitcoms by their very nature were nice places, and they always, without fail, had happy endings. If only life were that straightforward. If only every relationship ended like Ross and Rachel inFriends, but therein lay the problem. WhenFriendsfinished, Ross and Rachel were finally together but they were only in their mid-thirties. They still had the rest of their lives together. We don’t know what happened to them, whether they made it, were happily married for the rest of their lives. What if they had another break? What if one of them had an affair, got sick, or they just fell out of love? We wouldn’t ever know, and it didn’t matter. In our hearts and minds, Ross and Rachel would always be that Ross and Rachel at the end of the show.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Some days I can’t imagine a life without you, and some days, I can’t imagine staying together. I wish we could be as happy as the first time we came up here.’
‘Me, too, but we can’t. That us is long gone.’
‘I know.’
‘We can’t go back to those people because they don’t exist, Joe.’
‘I just… the night when we were together again, it felt right. I felt that old spark between us, and it confused me and made me think about us and the future.’
‘But it was the last time. We said we needed it.’
‘I know, and I meant that, but in the morning when I awoke in our old bed, I thought what it would be like to wake up like that again. I wondered if it was possible.’
Freya looked out towards the view, and I knew she was thinking. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts, and I needed a moment to collect mine, too. I needed to tell her about the show. I needed her to know I was writing a sitcom about the break-up of our marriage. How could I keep writing it without her blessing? But I also couldn’t do it because I was worried she’d resent me for using our pain for my gain, so as much as I knew I needed to tell her, the words just wouldn’t come.
‘The thing is, Joe, it wouldn’t be like that, would it? That night was like a holiday, a momentary pause from actual life, and we, I think, both pretended we were those people again. The ones who had stood up here and been happy together. But the reality is that if we said, fuck it, let’s get back together, we would just be this version of us. Slightly old, battered, bruised, and starting a marriage over again when it had already failed once before, hoping that by some miracle, we could get the magic back. Do you really think we’d have a shot, or would we just be dragging out the inevitable?’
Her question hung over me, and I didn’t know the answer. How could I possibly know what might happen in the future, when even the past eluded me?
‘The honest answer, Freya, is that I don’t know,’ I said with an uncertain smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologise. I don’t know either, but I do know if you look back over the last eighteen months, it wasn’t any one thing that broke us up. It was a hundred little things, a thousand tiny moments that compounded, and we ended up here. The failure of our marriage is complex and difficult to put into words, and so I think even harder to put back together. It’s like a giant jigsaw puzzle that I know is missing a hundred pieces, and no matter how hard we try, no matter how many pieces we put back, it will never be complete again.’
I reached down and held her hand, and we kept looking out at that view that was unchangeable, reliable, and would be there long after we were gone.
Freya and I sat down on the grass, she pulled her knees into her body, hugging them, and I stretched my legs out in front of me. I felt the grass between my fingers, and fragments of memories sat in my mind. The day was slightly blustery but warm, the large cerulean sky with soft clouds that looked like brushstrokes of eggshell-white paint were overhead where birds soared, and near us a dog ran with its owner, then barked excitedly for her to throw a ball.
‘I booked a trip to New York with Lucy and the rest of Cold Water Club,’ said Freya.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘The middle of September, just before Dolly leaves for university.’
‘What prompted this?’
‘We were talking, and for different reasons all needed a holiday, and so we thought, bugger it, why not? A girl’s trip to the Big Apple might be fun.’
‘When you get back, and Dolly is in Durham, we’re really going to sell the house?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘It will be hard.’
‘It will. What about you, Joe? Will you stay in Brighton or move back to London?’
A question I had asked myself countless times already, and I didn’t have a definite answer yet. The truth was that I loved the idea of living in London again, but whether I could afford it was something else. I also loved living in Brighton. I had so many happy memories there, friends, and the idea of leaving and starting over scared the shit out of me.
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Really? I thought you’d be straight on the train once Dolly was gone.’
‘I don’t deny that I’ve missed London, but I’ve been here for a long time, too. I think I’d find it hard to leave, actually.’
‘Okay. Well, whatever happens, I hope we can still be friends.’
