Page 25 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

‘I still love you,’ I say eventually, looking straight ahead and grateful for an excuse to do this without sitting face to face.

‘I still love you. It’s just been harder lately, with the publicity and the book and all the pressure. And everyone goes through rough patches, we all know marriage is hard—’

Jessica and I used to laugh at people who said marriage was ‘hard’, on their socials, like they were accidentally telling tales on themselves. ‘It shouldn’t be hard,’ we used to say to each other smugly as we lay in bed all weekend, shagging, reading, drinking red wine and talking nonsense. ‘It’s not hard for us.’ Maybe we tempted fate. Or maybe it comes to all couples eventually. Either way, we’re not smugly laughing anymore.

‘We’re fine,’ Jessica repeats, more determinedly.

‘Are we?’ I look at her in profile and she looks back at me.

‘Aren’t we?’ she asks.

‘We thought Tom and Grace were fine,’ I say, my hands tight on the steering wheel, in the ten and two position I was taught years ago and have always been too boring to deviate from. ‘They thought they were fine. Actually, scrap that, everyone thought they were perfect. And now they’re putting his stuff in boxes and she’s probably downloading the apps.’ It still doesn’t seem possible.

‘They really did seem so happy.’

‘Yeah. But then I guess people would say that about us, right?’

‘Are you saying you think we’re going to split up?’ she asks me.

Occasionally when I’m reading I wrinkle my nose at the lack of imagination in how people describe shock. It’s always a twist of the gut or a punch to the chest. But maybe people describe it like that over and over again because it’s the only really accurate way to put it. I do feel, as she says the words ‘split up’, like I’ve been hit in the middle of my body by something very, very heavy.

‘No,’ I say eventually, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘I’m saying I’m worried about us. I think we’re running on empty – we’ve spent too much time together but no actual quality time. We’ve been living in hotels, all we’ve talked about is work; it’s honestly no wonder that we’re snapping at each other constantly. But I don’t think we can keep shoving it under the carpet and just go on saying that marriage is hard without asking each other why it’s hard.’

She nods. ‘I think you’re right.’

At least we’re on the same page, I suppose. The same horrible, miserable page, a page I literally never thought I would find us on. But in harmony here, if nowhere else.

‘I mean, we are on our way to a marital bootcamp,’ Jessica offers.

‘Yeah, but for other people, not for us,’ I reply.

‘What if we change that?’

I’m genuinely shocked. ‘You want to take part in a marriage bootcamp?’

‘Why not? We’ve put together this incredible programme, we clearly need some help, surely we should take advantage?’ She’s sat up in the passenger seat now, looking at me expectantly.

The whole time Jessica was planning the retreat, she kept saying what an amazing project it was, that maybe wecould run these things ourselves when she’s qualified. But we were very clear from the outset that we were there in the background. We’d offer an hour session to each couple if they wanted to ask any questions about the book, but otherwise the experts would lead the workshops and we'd be a nice bit of colour at mealtimes. There had been absolutely no suggestion that we would take part in anything, aside from standing around the sides making encouraging noises. I’m not sure I can think of anything I’d like to do less than join in and bare my soul and our problems in front of everyone. But it’s a shockingly agile suggestion from Jessica, the woman who won’t bicker with me in the back of an Uber lest it ends up live-streamed on the internet.

‘You’d really be willing to do that?’

‘I would. Would you?’

‘I’d give my right arm to make things right with you,’ I tell her, entirely honestly.

‘Great,’ she says. ‘I’ll email Suze. Project Bootcamp is a go.’

When we pull up at the house, I have to take a moment to really look at it. It’s a huge, beautiful former farmhouse. Natural stone with huge wood-framed windows, it’s pure Countryside. Not really Jessica’s taste, which skews more urban, but suitably escapist that it’s the perfect setting for this kind of weekend. Jess unlocks the door with a key code rather than an actual key and pushes her way inside. It’s incredibly warm and predictably luxurious, with pale-painted wood, thick carpets and wood burners. Not the kind of place I’d ever want to live – I’m a dull suburban boy at heart and the idea of not being able to pop out for a pint of milk terrifies me – but it’s the kind of place I’mdelighted to be staying, and hopefully the kind of place which will make these people feel it was worth giving up their time to come here.

‘Suze? Are you here?’ Jessica calls out as she walks down the long corridor.

Suze appears from nowhere, carrying a thousand files and looking a bit frazzled. She’s followed by a very beautiful twenty-something man, and an equally terrifying twenty-something woman, both wearing trendy all-black outfits.

‘Hi, hi,’ she says, in a posh breathy tone. We all do hugs and then she realises that we’re staring at the haunted twins next to her. ‘Oh, this is Will and this is Cait, they’re from our events team.’

‘Will and Cait!’ I point out, amused.

‘... Yes?’ replies Cait.

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