Page 33 of Untether

‘Look, Aida. I get that you’re still angry, and you have every right to be. But if you’re so disgusted by my behaviour,why on earth you’d want to stoop to my level is beyond my comprehension.’

He’s unwittingly hit on the very crux of our problems, and that crux, surprisingly enough, is not the fact that he slept around while we were married.

Not even close.

Our true dirty little secret is that, in our marriage, sex and shame were far too closely intertwined. More closely than certainly I realised. So closely that those toxic intertwined tendrils wound their way more and more tightly around our relationship, not content until they suffocated us both.

And, while I maintain that John bears the brunt of the blame for that, I had my part to play, too.

I allowed him to sit in that shame.

I allowed it to fester.

I allowed it to isolate him to the extent that he felt compelled to look outside our relationship for the validation and release he needed.

I can’t condone his methods, but I can sympathise with the cracks in our relationship, with the absence of support, dialogue, that made him a man desperate for an outlet.

Even if that outlet was unethical and ill-judged.

‘It’s precisely the opposite, actually. It’s not about stooping at all. It’s about normalising. I plan on standing in front of a camera and shining a spotlight on myself—on my desires, but also on what about me causes those desires. And that’s fucking terrifying, but I’m gonna do it anyway.

‘Because when you don’t normalise things that are, in fact, normal, you’re really opening them up to shame and fear and hiding, which is basically what you—we—fell victim to.’

He raises his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced, andopens his mouth to speak, but I keep going before he can get a word out.

‘Your needs never disgusted me, John, and it’s my bad that I ever let you think they did. I sincerely regret that I didn’t hold more space for us to be fully honest with each other. The way you went behind my back and made me a national laughingstock disgusted me far more. But, honestly, it’s a good life lesson. Get this shit out in the open. Tell people it’s okay to feel what they feel and want what they want.’

He shakes his head. ‘I just can’t imagine this is what you really want, Aida. I worry it’s a knee-jerk reaction. You told me you wanted to, and I quote, “go live in the Sahara and never see another human being again”.’

He’s right.

I did.

I felt like that for weeks afterward.

‘That was the knee-jerk reaction,’ I explain. ‘Not this. I know you don’t get this, but I promise you I’m doing this for noble reasons. This feels like a healthy, positive outcome for what was a pretty shitty episode. I know it’ll be positive for me and for other women my age. It’s something I have to do. But I wanted to do you the courtesy of making you aware that, over the coming weeks, it’ll be my sex life plastered all over the front pages. Even if I’m setting the agenda to a far greater extent this time.’

My reserved British husband is far less advanced on his journey than I am, which is ironic given he’s the one who’s been outed as a serial philanderer. But the way he’s been vilified and shamed and ridiculed by the press has only underscored in his head that airing your sexual laundry in public is tawdry and distasteful and to be avoided at all costs.

I get that. I really do.

But, right or wrong, he didn’t get a chance to control his narrative. I have a pretty full understanding of his story these days, and it’s not what the press or the British public would imagine it being.

But I get a chance to control my narrative.

And I damn well plan on using it.

22

CAL

AIDA (OFF-CAMERA): Why don’t you introduce yourself, just to get yourself comfortable talking to the camera?

ME: [Gives what I hope is a devastating grin] Yeah. Hi. I’m Callum Sinclair. Fuck, I can’t believe I just waved.

AIDA: It’s okay. We won’t use any of this part anyway—it’ll be very tightly edited. And we can also put B-roll over some of your content.

ME: Like the wave?

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