Love is tested in so many ways

1’s 1.30 pm, in bed — and if I am on page 141 of We are Water by Wally Lamb, I’m thinking it is no thanks to my husband, who’s scampering enthusiastically across the room’s diagonal on all fours sideways, so as to make our ancient floor-joists judder and squeak in alarming fashion.

“If I move the sofas back in the barn, perhaps you could do your Spiderman Scuttle down there instead?” I suggest, with icy courtesy, lowering We are Water.

“It’s freezing in the barn,” he pants.

Page 142:

We are Water is bouncing up and down in time with the floor-joists.

“Have you moved my pull-up bar?” he says, rising to his feet from scuttle position.

“I put it away in the cupboard, so that I might walk in and out of our bedroom without having an eye taken out each time”

“What cupboard?”

“The linen cupboard.”

Page 143:

“It’s not there.”

“Look up, Spiderman.”

“I’m looking up.”

“You’ll need a chair. I lobbed it right at the back.”

“It can’t go in there,” he says, attaching the bar to the bedroom door-frame, “I don’t want to be rooting around in the linen cupboard for it every night.”

“How about if I moved your pull-up bar down to the barn, too? It would be like your very own gym. You’ve even got the stairs with the funny treads in there. You like hanging upside down off those.”

“I only did that for a short while,” he says, “for a muscle injury because my physio suggested it.”

“More than a short while,” I say, “I watched a whole season of Masterchef with you hanging upside down like a fruit bat behind me.”

Top of page 144:

OOF. OOF. OOF. MMFF. MMMFF. MMMFF. OOF. OOF. OOOOOOFFFF.

Bottom of page 144:

Thoough god knows how I got there, what with all the OOFs.

Page 147: My husband’s stopwatch pings; he’s finished doing his planks and I have read three pages undisturbed by noises of extreme exertion.

Page 147: 1st paragraph.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

“Clarins Beauty Flash Balm.”

“I can’t just get you that.”

“Why not? I’ve run out.”

“I always get you Clarins Beauty Flash Balm.”

“Lemon verbena by L’Occitane.”

“I always get you lemon verbena by L’Occitane.”

“A bedroom that is not a gym.”

Page 148: 2nd paragraph.

“Seriously, I need to know.”

“Love is tested in so many ways,” I say.

Page 149:

“Just give me an idea.”

“A surprise.”

“You don’t like surprises.”

“I am reading,” I say, lowering We are Water again, “think of it as my sport. Like tennis. Imagine how distracting it would be if someone asked you “what do you want for your birthday?” from the baseline, just as you were about to serve. Just pretend I’m on the tennis court. Out of earshot.”

“Gru...”

“And if you call me grumpy-pants, I will kill you.”

He goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, runs the cold tap.

Page 150:

“Can I just ask you something,” he says, returning to the bedroom, holding toothbrush aloft, “I just want to ask you one question.”

“I’m on the tennis court...”

“See this “on” button here,” he says, pointing at the toothbrush.

“...I’m about to serve.”

“When I press it, guess what happens?”

“...from the baseline.”

“Nothing. Nothing happens. How many times, in the twenty years we’ve had an electric toothbrush, have you recharged it?”

“...out of earshot.”

Page 151. He returns to the bathroom. He is talking to himself in there. It’s as well I’m on the tennis court or I’d have heard him call me “a right bloody grumpy-pants tonight.”

Page 152. He climbs into bed.

“Seriously, how many times? It’s a simple question.”

“I can’t say.”

“Ball-park.”

Page 153:

“I mean once?”

Page 154:

“Twice?”

“Sixty times,” I say.

“Sixty?” he says, rounding out his eyes, “how did you work that one out?”

“Three times a year over twenty years,” I say, “roughly as many times as you’ve cleaned the toilets.”

Page 155:

“Love is tested in so many ways,” he says, reaching for the light switch. And plunges me into darkness on page 156.