Page 51 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

‘Yeah. Just a bit sad.’

Instinctively I go to hug him. ‘I know. I am too. It’s been a really intense weekend, it’s bound to bring some stuff up for you. But I think we’ve made real progress. I feel like we’re doing so much better.’ I look at him, praying he’s going to agree, that he thinks we’re doing better too.

He smiles. ‘I’ll see you down there,’ he says.

‘Sure? I can stay up here if you want to talk about anything?’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I think I’m just tired, it’s been a long few days.’

I kiss him gently, pressing my lips to his. ‘Okay. Home straight now. And then we can go home, I’ll roast a chicken and if you’re really nice to me, we can watchUniversity Challenge.’

I love photoshoots. I know that sounds spoiled and vain and shallow, but I do. We have a team of hair and make-up artists at the house to make everyone look beautiful. It’s optional – they set up downstairs and anyone who wants to be made over can, anyone who’d prefer not to is welcome to sit it out. Predictably all of the women opt in, and I like watching them enjoy it just as much as I do; the space has been transformed with rolls of brushes and pots and jars, styling tools, big mirrors, and lights. At the far end they’veput up a sort of set, a pink backdrop for people to pose in front of. The room smells like hairspray and hot hair, the lighting is bright and warm, and we’re all chatting gently as they put our rollers in.

‘I feel so famous,’ Chloe says, as someone hands her a cup of coffee to drink while her hair is being straightened.

‘Me too,’ I say. ‘I know it’s bad, but this is one of my favourite parts of the job.’

‘Why is that bad?’ Stuart asks. ‘It’s fun.’

It’s a very good question, actually. I always tell myself off for liking this part. But maybe that’s the mean voice in my head talking, the one which is always disparaging about anything light and feminine and sweet. The one which often takes on Jack’s mum’s voice, even though she’s actually mostly very nice to me.

Verity is the only one who doesn’t seem to be having a good time. She’s sitting on the chair next to mine while foundation is dabbed on to her perfect skin. All morning she’s been quiet, much quieter than she was all weekend, and withdrawn.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Me? Oh. Yeah, fine.’

‘You seem a bit ... down.’

‘Yeah. I guess I just don’t really want to go home,’ she says, surprising me.

I put my hand on her forearm and then wonder whether that might be a bit overfamiliar. ‘I get that. We’ll stay in touch, though, and the weekend doesn’t end here.’

‘Jessica, they’re ready for you and Jack for interview questions,’ Suze says, standing in the doorway. ‘Are you done?’

The make-up artist gives me a nod, I check myself in the mirror and then follow Suze down the corridor.

‘I don’t think Verity is very happy,’ I say to Suze’s back.

‘Has she made a complaint?’

‘No, no, she just seems off.’

Suze looks at me like she has no idea why I’m telling her any of this.

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ I say. ‘But will you make sure they’ve all got our direct details for afterwards? So we can stay in touch?’ I ask.

‘Is that a good idea? You don’t really want to set a precedent for that.’

‘I think we need to – we’ve had a really intense weekend together, we owe them all some aftercare.’

The journalist who has come to interview us – Kayla – looks like she’s in her late twenties. She’s wearing a black top, black trousers, and black glasses, and she’s not very smiley. Usually we’re interviewed by good-natured showbiz journalists, but when I googled Kayla, it turned out that she’s spent more time in war zones than interviewing ITV actors. I sense that coming to Yorkshire to do a puff piece about our brand and our book probably wasn’t what she dreamed of when she decided to get into journalism. This isn’t going to get her nominated for a Pulitzer. But obviously as soon as I sense that she doesn’t really like me, I become absolutely obsessed with trying to change her mind.

‘So,’ she says. ‘Is there really such thing as a “perfect” marriage?’

Jack laughs, and I try to too, even though I think she’s signalling that this isn’t going to be the easy interview Suze thought she’d lined up.

‘Sort of,’ I say. ‘There’s no objectively perfect marriage, and if you’re taking perfect to mean faultless and blissfully happy at all times, then maybe not. But there are lots of perfect marriages in the sense that they suit the people in them perfectly.’

---