Therapy

obvious. Laurence is my dearest friend, my dearest male friend anyway. I don’t like to see him wretched. I know you’re smiling cynically. Anyway, I don’t mind admitting that my reasons for feeling upset are partly selfish. I was very happy with our relationship. It suited me. It was intimate without being... I don’t know. All right, without being sexual. But no, I don’t mean sexual, or not just sexual, I mean possessive or demanding or something. After all, our relationship was never sexless. There’s always been an element of... of gallantry in Laurence’s treatment of me. Yes, gallantry. But the fact that he’s happily married - was happily married — and that that was understood by both of us, took all the potential tension out of the relationship. We could enjoy each other’s company without wondering whether we wanted to go to bed together or whether we expected each other to want to, if you follow me. I enjoyed dressing up to go out with Laurence — dressing up to go out with a girlfriend is never quite the same — but I didn’t have to think about undressing for him afterwards. If you’re a single woman and you go out with a man you’ve either got to insist tediously on going Dutch or you have an uneasy feeling that you’re incurring some kind of erotic debt which may be called in at any moment.
    No, I’ve no idea what his sex life was like with Sally. We never discussed it. Yes, I told him all about my experiences with Saul, but he never told me anything about him and Sally. I didn’t ask. A kind of pudeur restrained me. Pudeur. After all, they were still married, it would have been an intrusion... Oh, all right, perhaps I didn’t want to hear about it in case she turned out to be one of those women who have multiple orgasms as easy as shelling peas and can do the whole Kama Sutra standing on their heads. What’s so funny about that? They do stand on their heads in the Kama Sutra? Oh well, you know what I mean. I’ve never pretended I don’t feel inadequate about sex. I mean, why else am I here? But I was never jealous of Sally. She was welcome to that part of Laurence’s life, and to that part of Laurence for that matter. I just didn’t want to hear about it. Oh, am I using the past tense? Yes I am, aren’t I. Well, I certainly don’t think that our relationship is over, but I suppose I’m afraid it will change, in ways I can’t predict. Unless they get back together, of course. I suggested to Laurence that they should see a marriage counsellor, but he just groaned and said, “They’ll only say I need psychotherapy, and I’m having that already.” I asked him how he knew that’s what they would say, and he said, “From experience.” It seems this isn’t the first time Sally has been seriously pissed off with the marriage. Once she walked out of the house for a whole weekend, he didn’t know where she’d gone, and came back just as he was phoning the police.
    She didn’t say a word for days because she’d got laryngitis, she’d been tramping all over the Malverns in pouring rain, but when she got her voice back she insisted on their going to marriage guidance. That’s how Laurence started on psychotherapy. He never told me that before. I suppose there was no reason why he should, but it was a little disturbing to have it sprung on me now. I suppose one never does tell anybody everything about oneself. Except one’s analyst of course...
     
    Well, I saw Laurence yesterday evening, at his flat. He rang me at work to say he was coming up to town but he didn’t want to eat out, so I knew I was in for a long, harrowing tête à tête. I stopped off at Fortnum’s after work to pick up some quiche and salad. Laurence didn’t eat much of it, but he drank quite a lot. He’s very depressed. I mean, he was depressed before, but now he’s really got something to be depressed about. Yes, I think he’s quite conscious of the irony.
    Things haven’t improved chez Passmore. Sally has moved into the guest bedroom. She goes to work early in the morning and comes back late in the evening, so she doesn’t have to talk to Laurence. She says she’ll talk at the weekend, but she can’t cope with his problems and do her own job at the same time. I think it’s rather ominous that she says “his problems”, not “their problems”, don’t you? Mind you, I understand how she feels about talking to Laurence in his present state. After four hours of it last night I was