Cait
From: [email protected]
Hi Cait
I’ve been researching marriage-guidance tips. One advised kindness so I’m passing that on to you. Give it a try, not that I think you’re not kind, you are but maybe a bit extra? Also, suggest you don’t discuss Tom or Matt any further with Debs. Lorna X
*
From: [email protected]
Point taken. Be extra kind. I will buy him a Toblerone when at the shops. See, I am kindness personified. Yes, wish hadn’t mentioned Tom to Debs, feel it was a mistake. Anyway, upwards and onwards. CX
Matt
Our meeting with the second counsellor on our list was scheduled in Chippenham late morning. A man this time. Richard Lees. I’d checked his age online before we set off. He was fifty-five, looked a friendly chap, and had been practising as a therapist for over twenty years. That’s more like it, I thought as we set out.
We parked the car by the station and made our way along a street of terraced houses to number 24.
Cait knocked on the door, which was opened by a tall, pale, thin man dressed in beige. He looked like a weary banana with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The photo I’d seen online must have been taken on a day he was feeling more cheerful.
‘Puddleglum the Marshwiggle,’ Cait whispered as we followed him inside.
‘Pardon? Did you say something?’ asked Richard.
He might look weary, I thought, but his ears work OK.
He ushered us into a cosy-looking room at the back of his house, where there was a comfortable-looking cream sofa and leather chair. We went in and sat on the sofa while Richard got himself a notepad and sat opposite.
‘So,’ he said. ‘How can I help?’
‘We were wondering if you could tell us how you could help us,’ said Cait. ‘What do you do? I mean, what are your methods?’
‘That depends on why you’ve come,’ said Richard.
Cait glanced over at me. ‘We’ve come for marriage counselling, or at least to find out about it.’
‘I do that,’ said Richard. ‘I work with many married and unmarried couples. Can you tell me a bit about why you think you might like to do couples therapy?’
Cait looked over at me again. Cue me to say something. ‘Well, er … Cait thinks our marriage has gone stale, that we don’t talk any more.’
‘OK. Good. Cait, is that right?’
Cait shrugged. ‘Sort of.’
‘Would you like to clarify?’ Richard asked.
‘I feel we live like lodgers in the same house and don’t really share anything anymore or talk. So much is unspoken.’
‘OK. Good. So you’re here today to air your unspoken feelings. Matt would you like to start?’
‘Not really. It wasn’t my idea to come.’
Richard turned to me. ‘So, Cait, I take it that it was yours. Would you like to start?’
‘No. That’s just it. I feel I take the initiative with everything. I found the therapists.’
‘Therapists?’ Richard asked. ‘You’re seeing more than me?’ He didn’t appear to like this.
‘No. Yes. Sort of. Not at the same time,’ said Cait. ‘We’ve never done anything like this before and wanted to make sure we got the right person.’
‘OK. Good,’ said Richard, though he looked pretty pissed off. ‘And I am number?’
‘Number two,’ I said, then had to suppress a juvenile urge to laugh.
‘And how many are you seeing?’
‘One more to go.’
‘OK. Good. Interesting. So – let’s address your unspoken feelings.’
I felt like saying, maybe we should address your unspoken feelings. He was clearly annoyed that we were seeing other counsellors. We sat in an awkward silence for what felt like an eternity.
Finally Richard sighed. ‘Do either of you want to say anything yet?’
I looked at Cait. ‘You?’
She shook her head and asked, ‘You?’
I shook my head. We both turned to Richard.
‘Sometimes in a partnership, one is the leader, the other the follower,’ he said. ‘Were you saying that Cait is the leader in your relationship?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘As I just said, not by choice,’ she said.
‘OK.’ Richard looked at his watch. ‘So what are you saying, Cait?’
‘It was never my choice to be the leader but, if I didn’t lead, a lot of things wouldn’t get done. Things have changed lately, though. My husband has recently been made redundant. We have to make a plan about how we’re to survive. Rethink how we live, in fact.’
‘And how do you feel about that, Matt?’ asked Richard.
‘It’s early days.’
‘And how do you feel about that, Cait?’
‘Frustrated. Early days. What does that mean? He doesn’t talk to me. Won’t discuss plans.’
‘And what would you say to that, Matt?’
I shrugged.
‘See,’ said Cait. ‘That’s what I get.’
‘And how do you feel about that, Cait?’ Richard asked.
‘I just told you. Frustrated.’
‘And how do you feel about Cait being frustrated, Matt?’
I laughed. ‘Frustrated too. Not much I can do about it though, is there?’
‘Hmm,’ said Richard. ‘Are you hearing what Matt said, Cait?’
‘Yes. He just said there’s nothing he can do about the situation.’
‘Is that what you meant, Matt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm. And how do you feel about that, Matt?’
Like I’d like to hit someone, I thought. Preferably you, Richard, then ask how you felt about that.
‘I feel like we’re not getting very far,’ I replied.
‘Cait. Would you like to chip in now?’
‘Not really,’ said Cait.
We continued in this vein for the rest of the hour. Going round and round in circles, with Richard nodding and asking how we felt and asking us to repeat back to each other what we’d said. It was very annoying.
*
‘Cross him off the list?’ I said as we got back into the car after the session.
‘Definitely.’
‘OK good. And how do you feel about that, Cait?’
She laughed. ‘Like I’d like to throttle you, no, him actually.’
‘OK. Good. See, we do agree on something. Let’s go to the pub on the way back. I need a drink after that, but first let me ask, how do you feel about that?’
‘I feel that you should lead the way and make mine a double,’ said Cait.
Maybe this therapy lark does have something going for it, after all, I thought as I started up the car. You feel liberated when you get out.
*
Cait
‘Let’s have a blitz,’ said Matt when we got home to an empty house and a note from Dad saying that he had gone over to Lorna’s to walk her dogs. I was pleased to hear that because they’d met on many occasions over the years and always got on well, particularly when Alistair was alive. He and Dad had always loved to put the world to rights. ‘Clean the place up.’
‘Excellent,’ I said.
We were interrupted mid-hoover by Duncan arriving, so coffee was made and, as he often did, he pulled out a joint.
‘Got some new stuff,’ he said. ‘Want to try it?’
‘No thanks,’ I said, and gave Matt a look to say ‘and neither do you.’ Sadly he didn’t appear to be telepathic because he took the joint and inhaled deeply. He immediately went white and almost keeled over.
‘Woa. Feel sick,’ he said as he steadied himself on the island, then staggered his way to the cloakroom.
Two minutes later, we heard moaning. I ran to the cloakroom to find Matt on the floor. I bent over to help him up but he groaned in pain and refused to move.
‘What happened?’
‘I slipped, felt I was going to pass out,’ he said. ‘I must have twisted as I went down so I wouldn’t bang my head on the sink. Hurt my back.’
Duncan came through and, between us, we managed to get him into the sitting room, where he lay on the sofa, clearly still in pain and very pale.
‘Have you broken anything?’ I asked.
‘Don’t think so,’ he said as he attempted to change position. ‘Arghhhhhh.’
Duncan sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘He’s had a whitie.’
‘A whitie? What’s that?’
‘Like a whiteout – when you almost pass out.’
‘What was in that stuff?’
Duncan shrugged and laughed. ‘Not sure. Skunk is quite strong. Same thing happened to me last year.’
‘Not funny, Duncan. Skunk? Matt’s not used to that stuff.’
‘Sorry. Painkillers will do the trick for his back. Ibuprofen. Got any? He might have torn a muscle.’
‘I’ll get some, and it might be an idea if you left before I punch you.’
Duncan grinned. ‘He’ll live.’ Thankfully, he made a swift exit, and I was left with Matt, who looked slightly bewildered; his pupils were dilated and he had come out in a sweat.
‘Still feel sick. Need to get up to bed before everyone gets back,’ said Matt. ‘So sorry.’
‘Can you walk?’
‘I’ll try. Oh …’ He made an effort to lift himself but yelped and lay back, where he writhed in pain.
‘Am in agony but need to pee. Can you help me?’
‘You need me to help you pee?’
I try to lift him but he could barely stand. I managed to get him, groaning loudly, back to the downstairs cloakroom.
‘I can manage,’ he said, and steadied himself with one hand on the wall.
I left him to it and stood outside the door.
‘You OK?’ I asked after a few minutes.
‘I can’t get my trousers back up.’
‘I’ll help.’
I went in and knelt down in front of him to pull his trousers back up. At that moment, we heard someone come through the front door.
Dad came into the hall, took one look in the cloakroom at Matt’s bare bottom and me kneeling on the floor and took a step back. ‘Oh lord, sorry. Disturbed your private time.’
‘No, no, Dad. It’s fine, we weren’t, we were … just Matt …’ What could I say? Your sixty-three-year-old son-in-law has been smoking skunk and almost passed out.
Dad had hotfooted it up the stairs and I heard his bedroom door close a few moments later.
Matt attempted to bend and pull his trousers up but still couldn’t. ‘Please help me,’ he said, and groaned in agony again as we heard the front door open once more.
This time it was Jed and Martin. They took a look in the cloakroom, where Matt was still moaning and I was still kneeling
‘Urgh, Mum,’ said Jed and put his hand across his eyes. ‘Do you have to?’
‘Your dad’s hurt himself,’ I said,’ he’s groaning in pain.’
‘If that’s your story,’ said Jed, and he and Martin headed up the stairs, sniggering. I heard Jed saying, ‘shouldn’t have used her teeth’, which led to more sniggering. Their bedroom door closed a few moments later.
Matt looked very sheepish. ‘So sorry, Cait.’
‘Best get you into bed so you can sleep it off.’
‘I don’t think I can,’ he said. I pulled his trousers up and helped him hobble back to the sofa. I could see there was no way he was going to make it up the stairs, so I stripped off his clothes then raced up to the bathroom to get his dressing gown and comfy pyjama bottoms. Getting him into them was a difficult process. I managed to pull his trousers off, but his back went into spasm again, causing him to cry out. He really did look in a bad way. I was just bending over trying to get the pyjamas up Matt’s legs, and was nose to nose with Matt’s groin when, unfortunately, Dad decided to venture down again.
He took one look in the sitting room, turned on his heel and fled. ‘Oh. Whoops. Sorry. Not finished. Was just going to make myself a cup of tea,’ he called behind him.
‘No. Dad, come back. I’m just getting Matt comfy,’ I called back.
I looked at Matt lying helplessly on the sofa, stark naked from the waist down, his pyjamas round his knees, his face as white as a sheet and his hair all mussed up. ‘I think I’ve really hurt myself. I can’t move.’
‘I’ll call 111,’ I said.
A lovely man at the other end of the phone recommended an ice pack for Matt’s back, that I ask the doctor for painkillers, then suggested a hot-water bottle be applied tomorrow. I had to suppress the urge to sing, ‘I believe in miracles, where you from? You sexy thing’, as I rummaged in the freezer then took a pack of frozen peas through to the sex god on the sofa.
*
‘Cait, please can you collect my prescription?’ Matt asked later the same day. Cue a lot of groaning in case I hadn’t realized how hurt he was.
‘Is there any of that Toblerone left? I’ve got the munchies,’ he called five minutes later.
‘Cait, please could I have a cup of tea, that chocolate’s made my mouth dry.’ More groaning.
‘Cait, please could you put some more cushions behind my back.’ More groaning.
‘Cait, I forgot to post a letter to the accountant. Could you …’ More groaning.
‘Cait, have we got any of that anti-inflammatory gel? No. Please could you get some? Sainsbury’s is probably still open.’ More groaning, which I decided to join in with. A duet. Sadly, Matt wasn’t amused.
I’d have felt more sympathetic if he’d fallen or slipped by accident, but no, it was due to him being a first-class eejit. Of course I didn’t like to see Matt in pain, but I’d also have liked to slap him and say, grow up, you’re not in your twenties any more, the rock-and-roll days are over. I was finding it hard to maintain my kindness resolution, plus any thoughts of resurrecting the romance seemed impossible in the light of seeing my husband, hair standing up like Marge Simpson’s, in pain, dignity flown to the wind, bollocks akimbo.
Some are born kind, some achieve kindness, and some have kindness thrust upon them. That is me today. I have had kindness thrust upon me. Of course I will get the pain-relief gel, serve the tea, bolster the cushions. I am not a monster, but it is not the same as choosing to do it from the goodness of my presently withered heart.
In the meantime, Dad was avoiding eye contact and Jed couldn’t look at me without sniggering.
I skipped my Zumba class and went upstairs to look at photos of Tom’s house in Majorca. I sent him a text asking – do you smoke dope? He texted back, no, don’t do drugs. Why? What are you suggesting?
*
Matt
I am in agony and God, I’ve done it again, let Cait down. I’m back in the doghouse. So much for my keep-fit programme too – that’s scuppered now. Why oh why did I take a toke of that joint? And just after things were feeling marginally better between Cait and me. I really must shape up and stop acting like an idiot. Smoking dope was never my thing, not even back in the Seventies but I’ve felt a bit reckless since losing my job, at sea with who I am and where I’m going which is why I want to try new experiences but that’s no excuse for my stupid behaviour. Lately, I’d felt that I was finding my way again … until this. So, no more. Once I’m mobile again, I am going to change, show Cait that I haven’t taken a dive into drugs, depression and depravity. I shall resume my work on the TV series, do what I can to support Cait, act like a man again and sort our present situation out. In the meantime …
‘Cait, I need some more painkillers,’ I called, ‘and please could you pass me the TV remote, I can’t reach it.’
She came in a few moments later and I could tell she was finding it hard being kind. She’d never have made a nurse or doctor. She was good for a few rounds of tea and toast then she turned into Harold Shipman.