the times | Tuesday October 20 2020 1GT 9
times
are really
unreasonable at
the moment.’ ‘I’m
unreasonable, but you’re
fine, are you?’ I screech in my
head. We’re both trying to make
ourselves understood, but Phil and
I are like two archers shooting arrows
in different directions, none of them
hitting the mark.”
Communication becomes poor and
perfunctory when you’re defensive
and cross. It took patience I didn’t
have to understand his behaviour and
to be kind, not brattish. Another diary
entry reads: “Phil has bought some
expensive wine. His reason is: ‘I want
to drink this, as I might die.’ I’m not
that bleak, but I am eating a third
more than normal. I don’t say
anything mean about the wine.”
As lockdown wore on I became
more appreciative of how my husband
dealt with stress (by being obsessively
compulsively productive). He baked
exemplary sourdough almost every
day. When I complained that trying to
teach our 13-year-old son old how to
write a story was draining the life out
of me, Phil had the genius idea of
ordering him to play Call of Duty, then
write a match report. I am in awe.
We more or less established a rota in
having low moments, and supported
each other. To compensate for
greeting Phil on our 23rd anniversary
with, “Have you done the VAT?” I
booked our favourite restaurant. He
was subdued at first, but it just being
us, together, alone, out, away, felt
special, and that was fortifying.
Throughout, I admired Phil. He took
care of his mother, cooked restaurant-
level meals for us, helped our younger
children with their work, and knew
what to say when they were upset,
whereas sometimes, when I wanted to
be wise, words failed me.
He also bought loungers for our
deck, and stripy beach towels, and
over summer we lay out there
together, pretending hard to be on
holiday. Thanks to Phil, despite the
horrors, disappointments, griefs and
losses of this year, I laughed most
days. For that and everything else,
I couldn’t love him more.I
have never found that misery
brings people together. When my
father died, more than 20 years
ago, my grief was a circle of hell
separating me from Phil, and
everyone. It took a lot of work to
recover our relationship. We’ve had
practice in how not to manage tough
times. We’ve got better at it. But still,
in March, attempting to absorb the
shock and enormity of events was like
trying to function while a beach ball
hits you in the face.
Yet, according to a survey by the
Open University this week, a quarter
of adults say that their relationship
improved during lockdown.
In March I felt frozen, but didn’t
want to infect the family with fear.
Our eldest was coping with the
summary cancellation of A levels.
All that work. The loss of agency. So
unjust. Meanwhile, society reasoned
that he wasn’t fighting in the trenches,
so suck it up, snowflake.
And Phil’s mother was unwell. He
was upset by the hoarding because
she couldn’t get food. So at first we
operated on parallel lines because
our focus had to be elsewhere. Some
days we barely spoke because we
were busy with work — yet we were
grateful for that. It’s easier to be
a good partner when you’re not
in fear of losing your house.
We still clashed. Phil was
infuriatingly practical — almost
ruthless. I was more: “Let me gather
my babies to me.” I’ve written before
about the cat escaping — he was
supposed to stay indoors after an
operation — and my ill-fated rescue
concluded with the cat re-escaping
and Phil taking our 18-year-old to
A&E with a dislocated finger. His
x-ray looked as though he drank tea
in a super-posh way. That day Phil
and I hated each other.
I apologised. (The cat’s return made
contrition easier.) In lockdown we
argued, but always made up fast.
I needed there to be harmony because
I couldn’t bear for the world to feel
more grim. What helped is that we
always believed the best of each
other. Eventually.
Often, not to scream at each
other nonstop required considerable
emotional control. For a while I kept
a lockdown diary, and an early entry
reads: “Phil and I are getting on very
badly. (Everyone is, and if they say
otherwise it’s a lie.) He wakes me up
early by clonking about. I ask, ‘When
you get up early, can you try to be
quiet?’ He responds, ‘I wasn’t making
a noise. I was just getting up.’ I tell
him, ‘I am not saying you were doing
it on purpose.’ He then declares, ‘YouO
utside a post-apocalyptic
Netflix series, isolating
together while under the
threat of death is not an
ideal romantic scenario.
Yet the Open University’s survey
suggests that it’s not exactly a
relationship death knell either.
Looking back, I kept most of my
fears to myself. I didn’t mention my
worry that the economic hit could be
catastrophic for us. Instead I simply
said to Anna that these few months
could become so stressful that we’d
better make an extra effort to be nice
to each other. She agreed, adding that
we should keep as much of it from the
children as possible.
Noble words, but it didn’t help me
that the gyms were shut. At the gym
I could exert self-control and manage
my anxiety. Without it I felt as if I was
slipping backwards, worrying more
and more that there would be a global
depression and mass unemployment
— just as our eldest child started
college and needed financial support.
I stopped sleeping, but didn’t want
to worry Anna. One night it got so
bad that I woke at 3am and watched
Darkest Hour before returning to bed,
wondering what I’d been moaning
about: everything important was
still intact. We were lucky.
I quickly realised I had to
confide more in Anna, and
during the two months of
isolation in April and May
we took daily walks together.
Away from the children and
home we could be frank about
our anxieties, clear the inbox of allthe horrible news and try to find
some balance. These walks were like
a pressure relief valve, but they were
also a chance for us to be a couple —
to listen and care for one another
while also escaping the children’s
incessant high-decibel banter with
their mates on the PlayStation.
Over the past few months I feel as
though I have peeled years away from
my relationship with Anna. The
pandemic has presented us with daily
opportunities to be respectful and
kind, to show humour and forgiveness.
Living together like a submarine crew,
we have had to communicate more
effectively, listen more deeply, and
solve the problems in front of us
rather than avoid them. The trope that
lockdown must be bad because you’ve
had to spend it with your partner
belongs in a 1970s comedy set.
Some relationships have broken
down because living in close proximity
put intolerable pressure on cracks that
were already there, and couples could
no longer use the office, pub or gym to
avoid them. But by the same measure
lockdown has enabled us to confront
and build on what is good. For most
of us lockdown has enabled us to
rediscover the people we love.The pandemic has
improved romantic
relationships,
according to a new
study. One married
couple weigh in
Anna Maxted
We argued more,
but we made up
a lot quicker
Phil Robinson
I couldn’t sleep,
but we shared
our anxieties
I realised I had to
confide in Anna.
We took daily
walks together
d i w A h o
How Covid
made our
marriage stronger
(honest!)
KATIE WILSON FOR THE TIMES