Page 75 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘This flat, this life. I sit on the Tube sometimes just frantic thinking about our finances, counting the hours Joe was up, trying to work out how to get out of here…’
We examine the peeling paint of this place, this godawful carpet, all our furniture which we either inherited or are random, cheap pieces from Ikea.
‘Out of here? What, like away from us?’
‘Like trying to work out where this goes? Affording somewhere bigger? I don’t want to live in this flat forever.’
I am silent. We’ve only technically been here for a matter of months. Moving when I was heavily pregnant was difficult enough but we’ve always known it’s a temporary measure. However, deep down I worry his words mean more than that. Is this what he’s doing then? Has he gone away to sketch up a new plan?
‘Why are you being so hard on yourself? On us?’ I ask him.
‘Because look at people. Look at Peter, Jason, they’re so sorted in life. Meg, Emma…I just feel like we could be living like this for years, no one giving us a break. You and Joe deserve more.’
‘You want to be single like Jason? Divorced like Emma?’ It sounds like he’s craving their material lives – townhouses and rampant social lives. Is that what he wants? Not us? Are we stopping him from having those things? I also can’t work out if this is a really convoluted way of dumping me. It’s not you, it’s me. You deserve better. I can’t give you what I want. If he goes down some route of cowardice and dishonesty, then it’ll break me. Mainly because I never thought Will was that gutless.
‘Do you want to get married?’ he asks me.
The question sits in the air for a while. Was that a proposal he just put out there? Surely that’s the next step in this equation: babies, marriage… something of permanence. But at least get a bag of Hula Hoops out of the cupboard and do it right.
‘Well, no. Did you?’
The lack of romance here is heartbreaking – that we may be deciding on marriage as a way to glue this all back together. I can’t think of anything I want less at the moment than to wear a white dress and vacuum away our finances on a wedding. This has always been something we joked about, something we would possibly do when we were grown up but we never spoke about it seriously. We spoke about the playlists, the canapés and the quality of the party. We wanted a walking brass band playing funk. That would not be the answer now.
‘No…’
We sit here together contemplating what that means.
‘I do love you though,’ he says.
I don’t say it back. Those words mean nothing to me without him here. I don’t need him here with limp words. I need him here in this flat, despite all his misgivings and fatigue and showing up. He looks over at Joe.
‘I just thought parenthood would be easier. People made it look easier.’
I know. But that’s part of how we live, no? We spy people through their social media, through glossy magazines – people who seem to have their lives sorted, sewn up. Jeans. How do people find jeans that fit? How do people afford half-a-million-pound houses? How do they slip into being parents without even batting an eyelid?
‘It’s not easy,’ I reply. ‘I know…it’s fucking hard. I’ve never known fatigue like this and it’s the hardest thing we’ve had to do as a couple. But all Joe really needs is a dad. We need you here. It felt like this got hard and the first thing you did when that happened was to walk out.’
I start to tear up at my words. I care about this man so much, I’ve lived and loved and been by his side for the best part of eight years but the now deserves his full attention, his presence.
‘I’m sorry…’ he says.
I reach over and hold him close to me. I think about all the things that used to be us. How he’d come in from work and we’d sit here and absorb the details of each other’s day. We’d argue over who would make the tea. It was always enough for me; I didn’t need more. He starts stroking my arm and then brings me in tighter.I’ve missed you more than you know, you idiot.I reach up to kiss him, unable to remember the last time we actually achieved this simple level of intimacy. His face meets mine and he gives in, his lips meeting mine. I lean him into the sofa. Please come back to us. And then out of nowhere, I do a very strange cumbersome move where I try and straddle him. It’s anything but spontaneous. Crap, I think I am trying to seduce him. In a nursing bra. How am I going to do this? The baby is right there. Maybe I should turn Joe away? Will this scar him? We should go to the bedroom. I climb off him and lead him there by my hand. I haven’t shaved anything but the curtains are closed so he might not be able to see. It’s not even passion driving this but pure panic. I can try and sex him into staying. I start to take off my clothes and he does the same, getting his top stuck on his arms. He smiles at me. OK then, let’s have some sex.
‘Do you have a condom?’ I ask.
‘I don’t.’
‘Then I don’t think you can cum in me?’
‘I can’t?’
‘You were going to?’ I go to kiss him again to cover up the awkwardness. ‘We’ll make it up as we go along.’ I push him into the bed and he bumps his head on something hard. My laptop. I move the laptop to the floor and attempt to climb astride him. This bra is bloody hideous. I can also feel my many stomachs hanging. Like udders. I haven’t moisturised my legs. I don’t even know if I’m aroused; I’ve not even had the courage to look down there in six months. We used to be decent at this. But, it all feels alien to me, foreign. Those bits have a different purpose now. They make babies. Can I do this? I must. Will pulls his boxers down and I take off my knickers. Please don’t be completely horrified by my muff. I won’t release the boobs. I then reach down to touch him.
‘Is that alright?’ I ask.
He nods. I kiss him again. But it’s not alright, is it? There’s nothing happening. He doesn’t want this one bit. Oh. Oh dear. I retract my hand, heart sinking, and lie next to him quietly. That sealed that deal then. Wow. I felt as seductive as a beached walrus anyway, but now I feel utterly stupid. A tear escapes, because all I can think about is that girl he kissed at work. I think about how they kissed, how those lips were not mine. However drunk you are, you kiss someone because there is an attraction, a spark. This feels like someone throwing a match in a puddle.
‘Could you leave?’ I whisper.
