I produce a pleasant smile and say, ‘I would suggest that someone finding their partner lacking when compared to a fictional romantic hero is asymptomrather than acauseof their relationship breakdown.’
‘While that is to some extent true,’ Jake says, not missing a beat, ‘it is also the case that most relationships – romantic or otherwise – go through difficult patches, and it is better to work at them than to be told by the book you’re reading or the film you’re watching that your partner is lacking.’
I open my mouth to say that that’s ridiculous and how suggestible does he think peopleare, and then close it again on the off chance that theyarethat suggestible and I’d be insulting those people.
‘Have you read any of Freya’s books?’ asks Sonja into the pause left by me not replying.
‘No,’ Jake says, ‘but I know a woman who did read a lot of them.’
‘And who is that?’ I ask, not sure that I’ll like his answer.
‘My ex-wife,’ he says, like he’s playing the trump card to end all trump cards.
‘Ooh,’ says Sonja, looking delighted. ‘Was she the one who instigated the divorce and did she cite Freya’s books?’
‘I…’
For the first time, Jake looks a little uncomfortable, and I realise that he was goaded into saying something he now regrets, and that he – obviously – doesn’t want to talk about the circumstances of hisowndivorce on national television.
And, despite his nasty (and also correct) cynicism about my views on love, I do actually feel a bit sorry for him, so I give him a little helping hand and move the conversation away from the details of his divorce, asking, ‘And yet you still believe in love?’
‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘And that one sentence there demonstrates to me that I don’t think youdo. Your use of the word “yet”.’
‘Nonsense.’ I cannotbelieveI was trying to help him. I also cannot believe that, courtesy of him, I seem to be digging an unforeseen hole for myself. I do not want to alienate or upset my lovely readers.
Suddenly, though, something occurs to me. Maybe Jake Stone is doing me afavour. It’s very hard work constantly pretending that I think I’m going to find my own true love one day. As time goes on, I get more and more questions about it and they’re more and more difficult to answer. And people like honesty, don’t they. And Idobelieve in love, I really do. Just not for myself.
I sit and blink for a couple of seconds. Then I come to a snap decision.
I’m going to go for it. I didn’t expect to, but I am. I’m going to do it now. Admit the truth.
‘I do, very much, believe in love,’ I say. ‘I mean, as we’ve said, look around us. Figuratively. We all know many people who are clearly deeply in love, in wonderfully satisfying, passionate relationships. Adorable couples. I don’t think anyone could sensibly suggest that love is not a thing, or thatforeverlove is not a thing. It is merely that I, personally, don’t think forever love is forme.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ breathes Sonja. ‘Freya!’
‘Hunh,’ says Jake, slightly frowning, looking satisfyingly wind-out-of-sails.
‘I love your honesty,’ Sonja says. ‘Is this—’ she lowers her voice, as though we aren’t on national TV but are sharing confidences in one of our kitchens over a glass of wine ‘—the first time you’ve admitted this?’
‘Yes.’ I’m really not sure now whether this was a good idea.
‘So… you’ve beenpretendingall this time?’ she continues.
‘Well, I…’ I’m trying to think really fast. Would it be bad for me to own up to a teensy pretence that really hasn’t hurt anyone? I mean, the whole of fiction ispretending, isn’t it? In that it’s made up. And fiction isgreat, because books and films make people happy. I mean, obviously not if they cause people to get divorced, but that clearly isn’t actually true.
Sonja’s been studying me while I’ve been thinking. Now she gives a decisive nod, and I realise that, oh crap, she’s made up her mind about me, and it might be good, but also it might be bad.
I try for an innocent, helpless little smile.
‘So you’ve been pulling the wool over your readers’ eyes by pretending to believe in happy-ever-after love in order to sell more books?’ asks Jake. He’s such a weasel.
I shake my head, speechless. I actually want to kill him. Is hetryingto upset people and ruin my career?
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Sonja pronounces. ‘I think Freya has just felt unable to admit to her feelings about her own love life because she cares so much about her readers, and didn’t want them to feel bad for her.’
Oh my goodness, thereliefthat she seems to have come down on my side. I could kiss her.
‘Exactly,’ I say with great emphasis.
