Someone Else's Shoes(48)

Dr. Kovitz waits.

“Sam doesn’t wear makeup. I mean, a bit of mascara sometimes, yes. But mostly she just can’t be arsed. She’s not into all that. And I never minded, you know? I think she looks nice whatever. She’s, you know, not a bad-looking sort.”

“And now she’s wearing it?”

Phil thinks. “Most days. I mean I’m in the room while she’s getting ready in the morning and she’s putting on foundation, eye-shadow, that blush stuff.”

“But you don’t . . . say anything to her about it?”

“No.” Phil shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well . . . well . . . I’ve found . . . it’s usually just simpler if she thinks I’m asleep.”

“So she doesn’t know you know she’s putting on makeup.”

“No.” It sounds stupid put like this.

“Phil, do you have specific concerns? I mean, do you understand why this is worrying you so much?”

“It just doesn’t feel very . . . Sam.”

There is a long silence.

“Can I ask about the physical side of your marriage?”

“It’s fine.”

“?‘Fine.’?”

“I mean, it’s always been fine. But obviously since I’ve been . . . well, it’s . . . I mean it’s only normal that things . . .”

A long silence.

“Are you telling me it’s fallen away a bit?”

Phil’s ears have started to burn. He nods, wipes at his nose.

“Can you remember when you last had . . . relations with your wife?”

Phil wants to die. He actually wants to die. He is regretting his decision to come back here.

“It’s been a while. Like . . . months. Probably . . . well, maybe getting on for a year.”

“And is this a situation you’re both comfortable with?”

He cannot tell him. The searing shame he felt when Sam was cuddling up behind him the other night, her obvious need for him. And he just . . . couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her it wasn’t that he didn’t want to try, but that he was afraid that if he couldn’t make it happen, that was it, the end of everything. That it was easier if they just didn’t try at all. Just till he got past this . . . whatever it was. He couldn’t say any of it. Not out loud.

Once upon a time she would have made him talk about it, maybe even laugh about it. But the other night she just flopped onto her back and sighed this big sigh, like he was disappointing and irritating, and he wanted to crawl into a little ball and disappear.

“I mean I know she probably feels a bit let down by me at the moment. But—but I can’t—I just feel . . .”

“It’s too much.”

“Yes,” Phil says, relieved. “Too much. It’s . . . I just can’t deal . . .”

There is a long silence. Dr. Kovitz is keen on long silences. Eventually he says, “What do you think would happen if you told Sam how you feel about things just now, Phil?”

Phil isn’t sure if he moves physically, but he feels an internal slump at the thought. “I can’t talk to her. She’s so angry. I mean, she’s not a shouter. She’s not walking round yelling at me. But I can feel it. I’ve let her down. She thinks I leave her to do everything. And I guess she’s kind of right. But I can’t. I just feel . . . so . . . tired. Like I just want to lie down and let it all drift away around me. And if I tell her how I feel she’s just going to think that’s one other thing she has to deal with. One more burden.”

“So . . . your strategy is just to wait until it all passes?”

“I guess.”

Dr. Kovitz waits again.

“I haven’t really got the energy to do anything else.”

“What did you feel when your dad died, Phil?”

The words sound wrong said out loud, even now. “What do you mean?”

“You said before that when he was dying you felt like you’d let him down.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” The words are thick on his tongue.

“Okay. But I suppose what is coming through from our discussions is that you feel you’re letting people down. Is that a fair assessment?”

“It’s not what I feel. It’s what I know.”

“Has Sam used those words?”

“No. She wouldn’t say that.”

“So that’s your interpretation.”

“She’s my wife. I know her.”

“Fair enough.” A long silence. “What do you think you’d have to do for her not to feel that way?”

“Well. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Get a job. Be a man again.”

“You don’t think you’re a man?”

“A real man.”

“What’a real man, Phil?”

“Oh, now you’re being ridiculous.”

Nothing Phil says offends Dr. Kovitz. He just keeps watching him, his expression bland, a half-smile on his lips.

“Can you elaborate? What’s a real man to you?”

“Just the obvious definition. Someone who has a job. Looks after his family. Does stuff.”

“And you don’t think you’re a real man if you’re not doing those things?”