Caroline drags me to marital therapy

The trees on Fulham Broadway had a sprinkle of white blossom, but it was with little hope that I climbed the stairs behind Caroline up to the first floor office of the Marital Solutions Counselling and Therapy Clinic. The place had been recommended to Caroline by her friend Xena, and Caroline had dragged me there for what she described as my last chance.

We were met by a receptionist in a white coat and directed towards a waiting room, the walls decorated with posters about erectile dysfunction. Clinic literature showing naked couples having air-brushsed sex was scattered on occasional tables beside the pale green chairs. Thankfully we were the only couple in the waiting room, but I still felt I had to talk in a whisper.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Caroline? In my experience talking about things makes things worse, not better.”

“According to Xena, it’s not just about talking. They have male and female therapists who help you overcome problems with a physical or emotional cause. They say they can get you started again.”

“Couldn’t we go to an expensive hotel for the weekend? Wouldn’t a couple of days in bed with room service do the trick?”

“And what happened when we tried to find a weekend in between my business trips? You said you were going to a football match.”

“It wasn’t any football match. It’s the one that will decide the season.”

“You don’t have any insight, do you? We have to do something now or there’s no point in living together any longer.”

“I don’t know how you can say…” The sense of injustice that surged in me every time Caroline spoke was thankfully stemmed by the appearance of a woman with a mass of frizzy hair held up with a colourful headband.

“Good morning,” she announced, like she really believed it. “My name is Sheila Mavistock and I will be your counselor for the initial diagnostic sessions. You must be Caroline and Robert? I’ve so been looking forward to meeting you. You sound like wonderful people from your profiles.” Profiles? I didn’t recall completing a profile. Caroline gave me the look which said, Don’t say anything.

Sheila gave me a warm smile. “It’s unusual for a man to be so honest. That’s a good sign. I’m sure we’ll be able to help. Come this way.”  She led us to a room which was a cross between a lounge and a library. Shelves with psychology books lined the walls, heavy curtains framed the windows, and musty old sofas completed the look of Carl Jung’s study. She pointed us to a deep red damask three-seater sofa. We sat at either end.

“Time is precious so I’m going to assume you’ve read about our programme. It’s designed for busy, successful people and is proven to work by our own dedicated research team. The references are in the brochure at the back. Do you have any questions before we start?”

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Chemistry

There are some couples where you just know why they are together. They share interests, body mass index, educational attainment. But there are other couples where you scratch your head and ask yourself over and over again, 'Why are they together?'

Couples where one party is a pain in the arse. Couples where both parties are pains in arses. Couples with nothing in common. Couples who look wrong together, couples who offend against the laws of attraction. Couples who, if they weren't bound in some way, would be leading the opposing armies of the next world war.

Although not a couple in the living together sense, Sid Schweinsteiger and Melody Bigger went back a long way and were probably the closest thing either of them had to a relationship. Seeing them together you would ask yourself 'Why?' and 'Why?' again. But the answer to that question was the same as for all the couples listed above. Sex.

Not necessarily sex as you or I would define it, but some primal urge that one was able to satisfy in the other. That is enough, especially where the primal urge is so unusual that the available population who could match the need is very small indeed.

Sex had brought Sid and Melody together when they were mere amateurs in criminal endeavour. Melody was learning her trade as a dominatrix and madame. Sid was experimenting with corrupting his friends with loose women before moving on to corrupting entire multi-national corporations with thousands of employees. Sid's motto was on the lines of 'If only everything in life was as reliable as a loose woman...' Melody practised her ropes on Sid. Sid missed an important meeting as a result, but never forgot her youthful enthusiasm. Although Melody was past the first flush of youth now, Sid still saw her as he remembered her, in leather underwear.

So when Sid returned to the hotel after the orienteering exercise, his photos of Caroline and Clive safely backed up, he switched on his rare charm with Melody, hoping to make money from my wife's indiscretion. Melody, however, was one step ahead. She had already seen Caroline naked in the pool at night and had identified her, along with Antonia, as the most likely candidates for an assignment which could, if successful, change the course of European history.

No, I'm not prone to exaggeration. Events in the Eurozone have been extraordinary beyond belief. And my wife Caroline had the misfortune, or the privilege, depending on how you look at it, to see the inner workings of the economic meltdown at very close quarters. I am able to go into more detail in the book, Shameless Ambition, which may have to see the light of day before long.

For those who read the last post and asked 'What did Caroline look like with a fringe?' the answer is below.