3rd December 2020
Dear Emma,
What a year. We’re almost there, maybe. Or not. It’s really hard to tell what the next few months will bring. I think it’s official that global pandemics suck balls. And we should all definitely be awarded some kind of medal. We’re still together. I mean, we sort of have to be because as I write this we are in the second lockdown. Neither of us can leave the building—but would you even have the energy to leave me? I am definitely running on about 15 percent these days. Leaving sounds like Very Hard Work. Remember how long it takes to build flatpack furniture? And I wouldn’t lend you my electric drill if you left me.
I joke but it has been tough, hasn’t it? After the clapping/sunshine/whoop/furlough first lockdown the year has dragged on. It’s not as sunny and warm and we’re all definitely wearier and less let’s-make-a-viral-video-in-our-downtime. Even that Les Mis family have gone quiet.
And I’ve convinced myself it’s the lockdown, it’s COVID, it’s all the added stresses on you but . . . it still hasn’t really forced you to slow down.
In fact, what with back-to-back Zooms, endless reading in the evenings and weekends to catch up because of homeschool hell it feels like although I see you all the time, it is rarely in any meaningful way. I feel like we are flatmates sometimes. You’re on a committee or dropping a sack of toddler clothes to a neighbor or comforting a friend over the phone on her marital breakup or an author over a rejected book. And it is one of the things I love about you—that you are so generous, loving, kind—but sometimes I feel like we’re so far down your list, or we need to be hurting or sad for you to notice us.
Poppy is changing so quickly it throws me off, and although I am trying to be a great dad, a cool dad, I know it is you she often needs to go to for advice or reassurance and sometimes she asks me where you are, when you’ll be finished with the meeting or that chat, and I realize it’s the fourth evening you’re talking to someone on a screen in the office and Poppy has barely spoken to you since the weekend.
I’m sorry if this makes you feel guilty—I don’t want you to feel bad for being busy and kind. I just think sometimes you need to ask whether everything is as important. Whether you could drop something to make more space for us. I know you’ll laugh and say, “I wish,” and make it up to me by having sex, but I’m serious. It’s not good for you, or us, if things keep going like this.
Sorry, I don’t want to be an arsehole for the whole letter, but I know from past experience that when we write stuff like this down it can prompt us to talk more. I can quote parts of your letters to me from years ago. They’ve jolted me; they’ve acted as a reminder of what I could lose. I want to do that for you.
Maybe I’m feeling frustrated because when we’ve done things together this year it’s reminded me how much I love you, love our family. I thought I’d hate homeschooling the kids but—it was, AT TIMES (let’s not go too far) a little bit fun. You googling what a fronted adverbial was (I totally saw you) and then pretending to just know, was a highlight. You laughing with me because I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO POPPY’S LONG DIVISION (math has definitely got harder). Obviously where I excelled (and I’m glad to see at least ONE of our children might take after me) was presentation—getting them their own little box file, upgrading our home printer, having the excuse to buy myself an industrial-sized hole puncher was the dream.
We played homeschool relay as best we could. Sometimes I did drop the baton (I am still very sorry about appearing in the back of that marketing meeting asking you whether it was a mole on my bum cheek or a bit of chocolate) and sometimes nailing it—two kids educated, our jobs done, wine opened, nowhere to go, just us moaning about it but feeling like we were doing it together. But God, those crunch times were nuts—the crisis over tickets for Cheltenham, that 200-page presentation for the RFU (it became your turn to remind me that I’d barely spoken a word to the kids for a week), the production company canceling the option on Scarlet’s book, trying to be the kids’ parent/friend/teacher/counselor—it felt impossible for us both to juggle it all. So no wonder we’ve had some nights with tense backs to each other, clipped words before bed. “You again’—a morning greeting from you a definite low point.
Although this lockdown has a very Winter Is Coming vibe, it’s made me cherish you all even more knowing that families have faced far worse challenges. That we’ve been lucky—I’ve felt lucky. Despite the work being almost nonexistent right now, despite the panic in our industry, I’m lucky that, so far, the family and friends we love are OK, that we are not grieving like so many others.
And fun? Well, instead of comedy nights or trips to the West End or jazz in Soho, we’ve improvised. Some of my best memories have been those evenings—fine dining from precooked boxes, Zoom Coronavision with Hattie and Ed, our living room decked out in the flags of Europe, games nights just the two of us when we had watched the whole of Netflix (who knew you were so good at chess!) and that one risqué Strip Chess Night. (I’m not sure Poppy will ever live down bursting in on me triumphantly shouting I SHALL TAKE YOUR QUEEN. Therapy cures everything.) The outdoor cinema for my birthday, all of us crammed together on beanbags and blankets in the garden. The renting of a hot tub was a particular stroke of genius.
I’m so glad Dad has had Irene—I can’t believe we haven’t seen him for months. And sod your parents—if they want to stay in Spain it’s their loss. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over watching you faking Miles’s birthday card from them. God, it made me want to get on a plane, virus or no virus, and tell them how much they’ve missed out on. I am sorry they are so shit. And I’m sorry I hadn’t realized how much it can affect you. It is NOTHING to do with you. It is them. And you have us. Not just the kids but Dad and Hattie too—she adopted you years ago. Her evenings, blanket round her shoulders, on a deckchair on our tiny path with her flask of tea as you chat really brought home who loves us.
So I know this year has been hard, I know we still need to navigate the rest of this pandemic but I am grateful that if they were going to lock me in a house, then at least it was with you.
I love you Emma,
Dan x x