I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? We talked about an idyll, how the countryside would be beautiful, how it would inspire my writing. The ideal family life, just perfect for bringing up children. Fresh air, open fields, a supportive community. How can it inspire me when I'm so bloody tired and so damned lonely. I love Finn, I do, but it's relentless. He's in everything I do. I'm feeding him, watching him, playing with him, sleeping with him, chasing him, reading to him. I fall asleep next to his bed and when I wake up he's staring at me, awake already. There's no break, no time to write, no me time. It's fine for you; your work, your vocation, all fitting in really nicely. Off early in the morning, leaving behind your 'sleeping beauties', the occasional text during the day asking how 'we' are when really you just mean Finn and then home at night, rushing up the stairs to catch him before he drops off. It's not fair, he doesn't need you to wake him up when I've spent two hours taking him through a bedtime routine. He needs structure, it might seem like a regime to you but he needs to sleep and this would work if you would leave it to me. I know you want to be an active parent, to be involved, but that needs to be on his terms not yours. I know we said that we didn't want to change, that we wanted to be different to our own parents but we have changed, we had to. To be honest, I think it would be wrong if we hadn't. I do still love you but I don't know where 'we-two' have gone. Oh yes, there's definitely 'we-three', so much so it's suffocating. The perfect family. Everywhere we go, on our best behaviour, looking the part, the local vet with his wife and son. The county shows, the country fairs, out on parade, meeting Farmer This and Mrs That. And your friends Mac, not mine. There might be a community but it's a closed door to me and Finn. Yes, they were different at the beginning but it soon dried up. I had nothing in common with any of them; the perfect mothers; the career wives; the WI crowd; forced conversations about the weather and keeping home. I tried to make it work, we had dinner parties, people came round, we entertained but there were no invites back, did you notice that? I've never been so stilted, so lacking in inspiration. There's nowhere to escape it, in the city I could lose myself, be something else. I had friends, here I have nothing.
It's not right Mac, not for me.
Mac:
I guess it's not what it set out to be, you and me, is it? I thought it would be great, that you'd love it up here. The fresh air, the hills, the open spaces. What a wonderful place to bring up a family, our family. I saw us in a rambling home, kids running through the halls, friends gathering in the kitchen. Frankie, where did all that go? When did we decide only to have Finn. He is great but I thought we'd have more, I thought you wanted more. We talked about children, not a child. We talked about working alongside each other, my vet practice providing the base for you, for you to write. Why have you stopped writing, stopped sharing it with me? You don't like my friends, their wives. You've no patience to get to know anyone. If they're not right for you at first meeting then that's it, no second chance. How can you hope to make friends like that? I don't understand why you don't want to spend time with people, Frankie, why Finn doesn't have friends of his own. I have to work really hard to provide this house, this home, this life that you take for granted. Do you have any idea how knackered I am, early mornings long days. Weekends at shows and fairs, being the face of the practice, supporting the community so that it keeps supporting us. Yes, I do love it and yes, it is what I always wanted, but at what cost? I never see him during the week, you've rushed him off to bed before I get home, no thought for my time with him. And then there's the drinking. Whatever time of day I get home, there you are glass of wine in hand, the bottle 'only just' opened. The dinner parties ruined by your ranting, your rudeness, your inability to keep your food down. We had to stop having them, going to them, I had to manage my reputation. I still love you Frankie, but I'm not sure that I like what you have become.
It's not working Frankie, not for me.
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