Is this the end?

My head is pounding, and rubbing my fingers into my temples is doing nothing to ease it. Another miserable therapy session over that’s probably not much use to my crumbling marriage. Robbie still doesn’t understand why I work so much, and I still don’t understand why he can’t help more around the house. There’s still no solution to stop our arguments turning into slanging matches and ending with tears and slammed doors. The lift doors open with an annoyingly cheerful chime and I step in, Robbie silently sloping in behind me.

I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. The idea of tackling the emails that will no doubt have stacked up over the last fifty minutes makes me feel a little sick.

“Oh, here we go. Can’t even make it to the car before that thing is back to being glued to your hand.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes his dark hair off his forehead. He’s overdue a haircut, but I won’t bring that up. He’s clearly already in a grim mood, and I don’t want to push. Besides, I’d always preferred it on the longer side. It reminds me of when we first met. When I was just an ambitious student and he was lead singer in a band. Things have changed a lot over the years. Now I’m an overly ambitious lawyer and his guitar is collecting dust in the loft. I can’t remember the last time I heard him play. This whole amazing part of him just locked away.

I don’t answer him. I’d never admit it but the tiny computer in my hand helps as a barrier to conversation. We agreed when they first started marriage counselling that they would give each other space after each session to reflect. The more sessions we went to, the harder Robbie seemed to find it to do that. Instead, I just press the button for the ground floor and get back to emailing my assistant to tell her I would be back in the office soon. Just in time for her two-thirty appointment. Not thirty seconds after I press the button, the lift screeches to a halt.

“Oh god, what now?” I groan. I jam my fingers against the button over and over but nothing happens.

“We’re stuck.” Robbie says, and my teeth grind together.

“Of course, genius. I could tell that part for myself.” I snap. This is why we agreed not to talk. We have enough arguments in the counsellor’s, we didn’t need to carry them on outside.

“Well, jamming the button isn’t going to help, is it? Just press the call button.” He reaches across and presses it before I even have a chance. A piercing ring fills the lift, doing nothing to help the dull ache that has now firmly settled into my temples. I wince at the pain until the line crackles and a muffled voice says, “Hello, what seems to be the issue.”

“The issue is that the lift is stuck and we need to get out.” I grip my phone tightly, shaking it at the speaker like the poor girl on the other side can see. I catch Robbie rolling his eyes again as he sighs heavily.

“We’ll get on to the engineers. Just settle in and we’ll have you out of there as soon as we can.”

This can’t be happening. I have to back for this meeting. It’s an important client and if I miss it, if it’s given to someone else, it would be terrible. I have to prove myself if I have any chance of making director before I’m thirty-five. I tap through my emails, answering the ones I can and forwarding the others to my assistant to get me any information that I need.

The influx these days is just constant. One hour with my out of office on and my inbox had gone from zero to seventy-six. How could Robbie not see that with this kind of workload, a nine-to-five schedule is just impossible? It wasn’t unknown for me to be in the office until ten o’clock at night, catching up on work after a busy day. I could have six hearings in court in one day. And then I’d have to get back home and clean the mess he made making dinner that I have to microwave if he even saved me any at all.

The seconds tick by until they turn into minutes and the voice behind the speaker still hasn’t come back. Robbie shrugs out of his pea coat and drops it on top of his messenger bag. Even at thirty-seven, he’s still every inch the indie boy. Still perfectly put together and effortlessly cool. As attractive as I still I him, I can’t remember the last time I’d run my fingers through that too long hair and tugged in a moment of passion. Robbie was usually long asleep when I finally made my way to bed after an evening of case notes, dictation and research. Another problem he frequently raised with the therapist. That we never have sex anymore. That I don’t show him affection. Which is ridiculous, I mean, sex isn’t the only way to show affection? I show him affection when I wash his clothes. When I do the ironing and make our bed. When I book meals out at expensive restaurants and buy him gifts just because they make me think of him. Dr Green agrees that those are ways of showing affection. But she also agrees with Robbie that sex was still an important part of a relationship. Which I know. I get it. It’s not that I don’t want sex with him. I love sex with him. But I’m so exhausted all the time. And when we do, it these days, it feels a lot like Robbie taking everything he wants and not giving much back.Like it's about making him happy and not me. Not both of us.

“Come on, Abby. Stop pacing. You’re going to use up all the air.” He lets out a short laugh at himself. He’d always found himself so much funnier than he found me. I shoot him a glaring look.

“Oh, way to make me feel better about this.” He pats the floor next to him but I slide down the side of the lift next to me.

“Now you can’t even sit next to me?”

“Of course I can. I was just here.” Truth be told, I don’t know why I didn’t sit next to him. Something about being close to him, here, or even at home on the sofa, feels like I’m opening myself up to something that could hurt me. Like if I reach out and hold his hand, he might pull away. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to feel that rejection or think that our marriage could really be over. So I avoid it. Healthy, right? “Plus, it’s next to the speaker for when they come back.”

Right on cue, the speaker crackles again, and I’m back on my feet as quick as I can get there.

“Sorry, guys. The engineers are coming as quick as they can, but they’re still half an hour out.”

“Half an hour? I have a meeting to get to in twenty minutes. It’s really important.” I can hear Robbie scoff behind me but I do my best to ignore him. I don’t have the energy to do this right now, no matter how much he’s clearly dying to get into it. I have better things to worry about.

“I’m sorry. We’re doing everything we can.” The line clicks off and I slink back to the floor, pushing my manicured fingers into my hair and messing up my ponytail.

“Abby, you need to stop worrying. You can’t control every situation. So you miss one meeting. It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t be fine. It is important, I’m not exaggerating about this. This could seriously affect my career.” He scoffs again, and the temperature of my blood rises rapidly. That noise, that throaty, arrogant noise, has been driving me crazy. Always thinking he was right, always thinking he knew better. “Forget it. You don’t understand. You never understood my plan.”

He folds his arms, resting them on his knees. His legs are so long, his knees are almost to his chin.

“That bloody plan. That’s most of the problem. Don’t you see that. It was always your plan. What about my plan? What about our plans? To travel. To have children. Those never seemed to happen. The only bloody plan you ever acted on was the one that made you some hotshot lawyer and left everybody else behind in the dust.” I look up at him, ready to argue, ready to fight him. But I stop when I see a shimmer I’ve never seen before. A shine to his eyes I’ve seen so many times in my own reflection since our marriage started falling apart. when we started to spend less time cuddling on the sofa watching TV and more time in separate rooms, doing separate things. Is he about to cry?

“Robbie?”

“No, it’s fine. Forget it. We’ll just save it for the next session, shall we. It’s the only bloody time we ever speak these days, anyway.”

This time, he is right. I can’t say for certain when it happened. There’s no day to mark in a calendar, no time to set my watch by, no event to remember. It’s been happening so slowly that it almost seemed to happen all at once. It just occurred to me one day that I couldn’t recall the last time we’d had a meaningful conversation. There’d been nothing more than hellos and goodbyes and goodnights for so long. I guess it was because so many of our conversations ended in arguments that one, or maybe both, of us realised that talking wasn’t worth the heartache that came afterwards any more.

For the first time since we’d agreed to try counselling I wonder if we’re wasting time and money. Is there anything left to fight for any more.

It’s been twenty minutes. Twenty long, slow, painful minutes. I eventually gave in and realised there was no way to fix the meeting problem and reluctantly emailed Peter to cover for me. Peter is a smarmy, greying fifty something with a serious Napoleon complex. The amount of support staff he’d scared off over the years was worrying. It’s amazing we haven’t been subject to a court claim of our own with his attitude. He’s broken at least two computers that I know of through sheer aggression, and this Is the man I’m up against for promotion.

Instead of worrying about the meeting, I focus on racking my brain to come up with ways to make up for this mishap. Late nights and volunteering to help with the charity fundraisers the firm puts on for a chosen charity every year? Both would go well to showing that I’m a team player who cares about the firm’s future and reputation.

“You know, I can practically hear your brain whirring.” I blink out of my concentration and look over to Robbie who is now sat with his legs crossed like a six year old school kid at story time, his phone resting on his knee, one earphone in and one in his hand. Whilst work and study had been my passion, his has always been music. He finds his calm in it. After every argument I had stormed away from I could guarantee that, within minutes of walking away, music would fill the house. It made me feel better to know that he had something to soothe him after those arguments.

I feel jealous too, though.

I bury my head in my work. Distract myself from what’s happened instead of stewing. I have to take my mind off it. But Robbie. Robbie feels it all. He picks a record that suits his emotions, reflects them, and he listens to someone sing his pain. He listens until he makes sense of it. It was how we’d always worked. I’ve never been good at opening up, or sharing how I feel, or feeling at all. I always thought Robbie felt enough for the both of us. It turns out, that’s not really how it works. He feels for him; I feel for me. I just don’t show it.

“Sorry, it’s just that meeting really was important.” I look away. I don’t want to see that look he gets when I talk about work. The one that’s full of disappointment at me for caring too much about work, and maybe even a little pity that I care so much. Robbie’s job doesn’t mean that much to him. He worked in IT whilst his band tried their best to “make it” but they never did and Robbie never ended up leaving. I tried really hard to encourage him to find something he loved. Maybe it was for selfish reasons, so he could finally understand the whole work thing from my point of view, but I thought it would help him too.

“I know, Abby. But it’s not the only important thing.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because sometimes I think you treat work like it’s life or death, and it’s just not.”

“I don't treat it like it's life or death but I do treat it like it's going to have us mortgage free by forty years old and like my work is important to my clients. And you treat it like it's the reason for everything bad in our lives.”

“It is.” He yells throwing his phone to the side, his headphones clattering aside, and jumping to his feet. “If you didn't work so much we'd still be happy, we wouldn't have to go through all this.”

I feel sick. He has to start this now. In a few minutes the engineers will be here and they're going to arrive to a shouting match and tears. I worry they might just leave us in here until one of us kills the other one. But I can't stop the words as the rise like bile in my throat.

“Of course. It's all my fault. I'm the reason this marriage is doomed. And you're the oh so perfect one who never does anything wrong. Not forgetting to do the dishes, not leaving hair all over the kitchen sink, not expecting me to do all the cleaning when I get home from work. Not leaving all the responsibility of paying bills to me and not really doing anything to help out.” I can't control my heaving breath or the drops of spit on my chin from the angry venom that has just erupted from me.

“Well maybe if I was happier I'd be more motivated to do things around the house.”

“Oh really? It's my fault.” He nods like I've just said the most obvious thing in the world, “You're miserable because of me?” Is that true? Did I ruin this? Did I break us?

He must be able to see the panic I'm feeling, the blame I'm laying solely at my feet as he is doing, and I see pity reflected back at me. I hate it. I'm only agreeing with him why should he pity me. If he really thinks I broke us, why would he feel sorry for me. He should hate me.

“I don't think it's all your fault. There are things we both could have done better. But I think the trigger of all of it was the late nights in the office. We used to have fun, remember. We used to do things. We used to want to do so many things. We don't do anything anymore.”

I look at him. Really look at him. This is it. This is the moment. I can cut the cord here. Write this off as a life experience. It's not like it's uncommon to get divorced these days. But I don't want to. I'm not ready to give up on this. This ten year marriage can't be over, just like that. I won't let it. And he is right. It was the trigger. When we were happy I would always come home to a clean and tidy house. We took it in turns cooking and washing the dishes, or we did it together. Back when I worked normal hours. It's like the further into my career I got the harder I felt I had to work to deserve it. And I took it for granted that Robbie would be there waiting when it was all over and I had achieved everything I possibly could. I didn't want to take him for granted anymore.

“Could have done differently?” I ask, “Or can do?”

“What?” His nose crinkles in that adorable way as he furrows his brow.

“We can still do things differently. It doesn't have to be like this.”

“Oh really, what are you going to do? Quit your job?” He snorts. Could I? Just quit? My job is not nearly as important to me as my job. I shrug,

“Maybe.” He looks at me even more confused. He reaches his hand over his shoulder and kneads at the muscles in his neck.

“You can't mean that?” He says, no longer looking at me.

“I do. I'm not ready to give up on this. On us. I'd do just about anything to save it.” My eyes sting and my throat feels like it's closing. I don't know what's going to happen. I feel like I'm on a tightrope and if I make it to the other end I could have everything I want, but first I have to get over this pit of rejection. If I fall into it, I don't know if I'll ever make it out.

“I never wanted you to give up your job, Abby. I would never ask you to do that.” I look to floor to hide the rush of heat to my cheeks. Of course I'd got this wrong.

“I know, but I thought-” His fingers grazing softly against mine make my mind go blank. I can't remember when he touched me last like this. With love and tenderness. I can't bring myself to look at him. Instead I move my hand to welcome his. Letting his finger tips graze my palm, really feeling his fingers interlace with mine. After what seems like an age of cautious strokes he grips my hand hard and pulls me to him, my head against his chest and his hand in my hair.

“I don't want you to give up your job. I just need you to balance things more. I don't want to feel like I love you more than you love me.” I look into his endless green eyes as my heart shatters.

“You thought that?” He nods, slow subtle, embarrassed.

“I thought you loved your job more than you loved me.” I reach my hand to his cheek and stroke up to his hair.

“Robbie? I have loved anything or anyone as much as I love you. Which is why I know we can't give up on this? It's going to take adjustments from both of us. But I want to fight. All the way. Over every obstacle.”

He lowers his forehead to rest against mine and we stand there, in the quiet for a second, a lifetime, until we move together, our lips moving towards the others like a magnet attracting its partner. I finally thread my fingers through that too long hair and pulled gently as his lips tease mine.

I make a decision in the moment. A million decisions. It was going to be a long road. And we might face other roadblocks in the future. I'm certain of it. But there is nothing I wouldn't do for this man. He is the love of my life and I would do anything for him. I love my job but I was telling the truth, I would leave it in a heartbeat if it was what he wanted. And I know he would do the same for me. He's been fighting for so much longer than I have already. Holding on for dear life.

As we kiss-truly, deeply kiss, like our lives depend on it-I feel the earth move beneath my feet. Robbie pulls back and looks around.

Ah, not the earth. The lift is moving.

Wait.

The lift is moving.

“Well, that was, interesting timing.” His jaw tenses and his grip on my hand tightens slightly.

The crackle of the speaker makes me jump and the feminine voice is back. “The engineers are lowering the lift now, we'll have you out in just a second.” Robbie backs away a step, and then another.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching out to him.

“It's silly.”

“Tell me anyway?” Now is not the time for us to keep things from each other. If we have a hope in hell's chance of saving our marriage we can't be worried that our feelings are silly. I know that now.

“What if it's different out there?” It's hard not to laugh but I don't want to mock him, because I can feel the fear rippling of him in waves, “What if this is just because we were trapped in a small space together?”

“What if what we needed all along was to be trapped in a small space together?” The corner of his mouth twitches, “This isn't going to fall apart just because we step outside. And it isn't all fixed because we were trapped in a lift for thirty minutes.”

“But it's a start.”

“It's a start.”

The lift stops and the doors ping, opening up and joining our little fortress of solitude to the big, bad, scary world out there. The engineers thank us for our patience and let us pass without another word, not caring that a life changing event just took place inside that lift.

We walk outside, hand in hand. I rest my head on his shoulder.

“So, what now?” Robbie asks, “I guess we just go back to work and we'll see each other later?”

“Actually,” I smile, closing my eyes against the sun and imagining the rest of my life spreading out before me, “I think I might blow off work this afternoon.”

The next week, at our session, Dr Green leans back in her chair, her fingers templed beneath her chin and a satisfied grin on her face.

“Well guys, I think, for the first time since your sessions began, we've made some real progress today.”