Page 123 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Not one, she thought. She’d lost touch with all of them. This felt like a tennis match and Si had just served an ace.

‘You stopped me seeing Gemma,’ she said.

‘Pah, Gemma! You say that I wanted to change you, but Gemma was the one sending you all those self-help articles about how to improve yourself.’

‘She wanted to help me.’

‘Yes, and so did I. What’s the difference? Your friend saying you should learn to love yourself or take control of your destiny, and your husband encouraging you to get a new haircut and make the most of yourself?’

‘She had my best interests at heart,’ said Jo.

Si harrumphed. ‘Debatable. I was the one with your best interests at heart, Jo. You’d never have amounted to anything without me. Who was it encouraged you to get a job in television in the first place? And you’ve loved it, haven’t you? Working in a prestigious industry? Most young women would kill for a job in the media.’

Jo thought back. Admittedly, it had been exciting when she’d landed that first job in TV, but she’d been happy before that, working in the solicitor’s office.

‘You wanted me to work in TV,’ she said coldly, ‘so you could show off to your colleagues. I never wanted to leave the solicitor’s. I fitted in there.’

‘But you’ve got a proper career, now, Joanne. That’s all down to me. You’d never have amounted to anything without me.’

The tiniest doubt crept into Jo’s mind – perhaps he was right, perhaps she wouldn’t have got anywhere in life without him – but she pushed it away. Of course he wasn’t right. She had organised a successful festival, hadn’t she? How many people could say that?

‘Pop! Productions,’ he was saying now and he looked proud.

She couldn’t believe it. He actually had the audacity to look proud.

‘I often see their programmes on the telly,’ he continued, ‘and I think, that’s my Joanne doing that. Making those shows.’

‘I’m not “your Joanne”.’ She practically spat the words out at him. ‘And I’m leaving the TV industry anyway. It was never really me.’

His expression changed, flicking from pride back to derision in an instant, as quickly as changing TV channels. ‘Fine, do what you want. You’re nothing to me now.’

Jo took a deep breath. She wouldn’t rise to the bait, wouldn’t let her anger show. ‘You love-bombed me, and I was so keen to meet someone and have my happy ever after that I let you. That was my mistake. And then as soon as I had that engagement ring on my finger, you changed and you tried to change me.’

He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand to stop him. ‘You told me left was right, and right was left – literally. Remember that day we argued over the way to Formby beach? And I said to turn left, but you turned right. And when we ended up lost, you blamed me. Said that I had said to turn right. But I hadn’t. You could have told me black was white and I would have believed you. You isolated me from the people I loved spending time with. We never socialised with Gemma and Jack, only with your friends. You told me I was fat and that it would be best for me if I went on a diet. You told me my clothes were frumpy and bought me new ones that I wasn’t comfortable wearing. You tried to mould me into the woman that you wanted me to be. If you didn’t want me the way I was, Si, you should never have dated me. Should never have married me. Because I know now that I am worthy of being loved for who I am, Si. I always was.’

The words were tumbling out now. She took a deep breath, expecting him to try to interrupt again, but he didn’t. ‘They call behaviour like yours gaslighting these days. Gaslighting. Coercive control. But as far as I’m concerned, the word for it is bullying. You’re a bully, Simon. Perhaps the truth is that you’re insecure, you don’t feel good enough yourself, so you make yourself feel better by making other people feel small.’

‘Have you quite finished?’ he said coldly. ‘It sounds like Gemma’s been filling your head with all of this crap. Given you another one of her articles, has she?’

Of course, she’d known he would try and twist things, try to tell her that things weren’t how she saw them.

Suddenly, she realised that he believed his own lies and that whatever she said, he wasn’t going to accept it. She could never convince him that their marriage had been a sham, that he was a bully, that he tried to control people and that that kind of behaviour wasn’t love at all.

There was a kind of freedom in this realisation. She had told him her truth, but he’d never believe her. But maybe other people would. Jo knew at that moment that she would go to the police. Would testify in a court of law if things got that far. But she also knew that even if he was convicted, Si would never believe her version of events. He’d think there’d been some huge miscarriage of justice and that he was the victim in all of this.

‘Right, is that it?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for female histrionics.’

He stood up again.

Jo felt… what was it she felt? It wasn’t anger. It was a feeling she hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t expected.

Pity.

She felt sorry for him.

Two failed marriages, neither one of them based on real love, and he hadn’t even turned forty.

‘I feel sorry for you, Si. I didn’t expect to – but I do.’