JACK: Thursday evening,
four days after the split
I have dressed with care. I am wearing the shirt you bought me. Blue to match my eyes, you said. You like the way it is tight in the upper arms over my biceps. I keep myself in good shape. For you. All for you.
I had a shower earlier this afternoon, and now I spray myself with the aftershave you like. At the top of the stairs I wait, listening for the television. Then I pad down in my socks, putting my shoes on by the front door before letting myself out. I need a drink before counselling. Just one. To steady my nerves.
One turns into three. As it often does. But that’s all right.
We meet outside the counsellor’s house. It’s a nice house. Semi-detached with purple slate gravel in the front garden and a wisteria plant framing the doorway. The first time we came here you said this was your dream house. That was when I still thought this was just a bad patch in our marriage. I watched you take in the wide hallway with the sweeping staircase, and the huge square living room with golden floorboards and a real fireplace. I knew you were comparing it to our small, cosy terraced house. I knew you were blaming me for not giving you what Julie has. A pain started in my head that still bothers me now.
As always, Julie answers the door and leads the way past the living room to the little room at the back where she sees her clients. Clients. It makes us sound like we are at the bank asking about a loan, instead of trying to save our marriage.
We sit down on the boxy blue sofa, one at each end. You could park a bus in the space between us.
Julie sits in a chair opposite. She has brown hair that comes to her chin and swings when she talks, and her eyes are so close together she sometimes looks cross-eyed. Her tights always match her clothes. Today she has on a green jumper and skirt and tights of exactly the same colour. The first time we came she was wearing red all over, and you said afterwards that you thought she should have chosen a calmer colour.
‘How have you two been?’ Julie asks.
‘Great,’ you say, and I laugh.
‘Interesting that your response is laughter, Jack,’ says Julie. ‘Is that because it is funny or because you don’t see how Kate could be feeling great?’
That is what she does. Picks apart every little thing you say or do like it’s a faulty seam.
‘I just can’t see there’s much that’s great at the moment,’ I say.
There’s a low table in front of the sofa which is clear apart from a single box of tissues. Most weeks you make good use of that box.
Now I stare at the tissue box long and hard to avoid looking anywhere else.
Julie asks about the kids. You say they are angry with us both. But that isn’t true. They are angry with you, and I point that out. Then she asks about living arrangements and you say things are not ideal, but you hope we can sort something out that suits us both. I stare at the box of tissues and press the nails of my right hand into the palm of my left hand and say nothing.
You say, ‘You see, Julie? You see how he is? Talking to him is like getting blood from a stone.’
So Julie looks at me and asks, ‘How about it, Jack? Do you have anything you would like to say to Kate?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I would like to ask Kate if she is seeing someone else. I am not angry any more. I just want to know the truth.’
You make a tutting noise and shake your head. You and Julie look at each other. ‘He’s like a stuck record,’ you tell her.
Julie turns to me, and I look at how her hair is swinging by her jaw so that I don’t have to look into her eyes.
‘You bring this up every week, Jack,’ she says. ‘And every week, Kate denies it.’ Her voice is soft and she never raises it. Even when I lost it the first time we came here, she didn’t raise her voice. She just quietly told me that, though she could see why I was upset, she would not put up with threats. She said that, if I carried on, I would have to leave the room.
She continues. ‘Do you think you are so fixed on the idea that Kate has another man, because it is easier to accept that, than to accept that she is no longer in love with you? It is very easy in cases like this to look for someone or something to blame, rather than have to look at our own behaviour. Do you see that, Jack?’
She is looking at me intently with her nearly crossed-over eyes. I look back at the box of tissues so I don’t have to see her any more, or see your face.
Because I know you are lying.
I count to ten in my head, nice and slow, and I imagine throwing a coconut against a wall as hard as I can. I hear it crack as it hits.