I notice the use of the word ‘Esther’ here, and the lack of ‘we’, as he goes on to tell the entire sorry story. Venetia’s eyes dart to me every so often, checking for some sort of emotional pulse, and good luck to her. We are in a bad, bad way– even I can see that.
‘It’s a hard thing to get your head around when you’ve been each other’s soulmate for as long as we have,’ Johnny admits, voice breaking. He’s never mentioned the word ‘soulmate’ before and that makes me sadder than ever. My eye snags on a corner of white painter’s cloth and stays there. I’m too scared to say anything.
‘Does any of this ring true for you, Esther?’ Venetia asks. Suddenly, I feel bone-shreddingly tired.
‘Obviously I thought we would try again not long after, but any conversation around what we are going to do next has just stalled,’ Johnny explains. ‘And I suppose we are both processing all of this, fair enough, but it doesn’t feel like we’re doing any of it together. And I’ve been reading up on it: so many couples break up because of things like this.’
He’s been reading up on it?
‘I’m not… ready for that to happen,’ he falters. Another sharp inhale.
‘There’s other stuff going on that Esther needs to process, from her past.’
This kicks me back to life.
‘We’re not going to break up,’ I reassure Johnny, although he and Venetia both flick their heads to the coldly stern edge in my voice.
‘But where ARE you, Esther?’ Johnny nearly shrieks. A hateful giggle escapes him. ‘Like, where is your mind at? If we’re not going to break up, why does it feel as though we are very, very close to that? What are we doing here? Because I’m not going to have the next six months be anything at all like the last six months. I just won’t do it.’
He turns to Venetia. ‘I still love my wife. There is so much here to fight for, there really is. He angles his body back to mine. ‘But you will need to want this too. Because I hate this. What we’ve just gone through…’
‘Have either of you attended grief counselling in order to process your loss?’ Venetia asks. We both shake our heads.
‘Unfortunately, grief isn’t my area of expertise as I am a relationship therapist, but it is a path that I wouldnonetheless suggest you both take, perhaps separately. And then you might both have the right emotional toolkit to move forward in this, but together.’
We are all but spat back out on to Venetia’s lovely birch-lined street, with an instruction to work on our own shit separately– I am paraphrasing here, as if Venetia has ever said the ‘s’ word in her life– before reuniting to try and manage our marriage together. Both of us have exposed ourselves within that room, with its drapes all over the TV, one of us with words and one of us with inaction, and the vulnerability hangs between us.
‘Getting dumped by a therapist on our first day,’ Johnny says to fill the silence.
I’m afraid to laugh, afraid to agree.
We stop walking and stand on the street, looking at each other. We turn our heads for a quick, precursory peck before walking separately.
‘Bye, then.’
‘Bye.’
I wish we’d arranged to go to the pub after, but I’d remembered that I needed to meet Carrie. I should have realized beforehand that I would be about as likely to be in a mood to meet someone as I would want to punch myself in the jaw. But here we are.
As we walk to the nearest park, Carrie is telling me how she has just flown in from a business trip in New York, a world in which aloe vera is apparently an even bigger deal than it is here. She looks different. More relaxed. The look is somehow looser. Never thought I’d see the day, truly.
‘So how are things with… yer man?’ I remember his name full well, but a petty and horrible side of me wants her to think that I regard all of this as a frivolity.
‘Yeah, really good,’ she says primly. I sense a chill between us. Definite fucking nip in the air there, yeah.
I raise my eyebrows, urging her to go on.
‘What?’ She laughs. ‘There’s really nothing to tell. It’s… just lovely.’ She gives the sort of mysterious smile designed to enrage any sane person.
‘I’m definitely being kept on the outside of whatever’s happening,’ I tell Johnny later. ‘Like, deliberately.’
‘Stop. You’re being a bit paranoid. I’m sure she’s just being cautiously optimistic. Not wanting to jinx it or whatever.’
‘I’m one of her best friends. What are friends there for if not to shout about new boyfriends? It’s at the top of the contract. Lord knows I’ve had to hear about all the assholes.’
‘Well then, say it to her yourself.’ Johnny shrugs, irritated, as he heads towards the shower.
As I hear him lathering up, I remember that he took an old photo of Carrie and me at the Reading Festival years ago. I go to his phone to retrieve it, but instead of finding Carrie and me in festival mode, I find a message from someone I don’t know. Melanie.
