I received a link in an email from a sender I didn’t recognize one afternoon late last year while I was at home in Dublin. It was the first episode of All Her Fault, the TV version of my 2021 novel, which is something we all know not to click on.
I received a different email four years prior informing me that a production firm was interested in optioning my novel. I yelled when I learned that the lead role will be played by Sarah Snook of Succession fame. When Dakota Fanning also signed up, there were more yells. And suddenly the first episode was here.
I clicked on the URL. I wanted to watch it by myself initially, without worrying about what other people were thinking. However, after six minutes, my 14-year-old son called to ask that I pick him up early from school. I shut down the laptop. summoned for duty.
I returned to unpause the episode an hour later. I was making dinner in my kitchen this time. I watched a moment in which the two main characters discuss the division of labor and parenting. My phone reminded me that it was time to pick up my 16-year-old daughter from hockey. I halted the show, put down the knife, and shook my head at the irony. I reflected on how All Her Fault had transformed my life; at forty-five, it had given me a book deal, an agent, and this TV show. However, while I answered texts and cut peppers, I also realized that not much had changed.
I joked to my husband, “I tried to tell you that I needed more help with the kids, but you didn’t listen,” when we were watching the first episode. You didn’t read the book I authored. Thus, I had to produce a television program. Everyone chuckled, but like all jokes, there was some truth to it.
Julia and Paul in Motherland: a marriage of two halves
The problem is that my spouse is quite intelligent. We both worked in financial services with comparable demands and hours when we first met in our mid-20s. There was no doubt that everything would be equal when we moved in together, including cooking, housework, and rent. Indeed, it was. Then came marriage and children, and everything remained the same: dinners, cleaning, bedtimes, and nursery drops.
When the children started school, everything changed. I was aware of the PE days, permission papers, and last-minute pleas to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day since I participated in every parent chat group. Most of the time, my hubby wasn’t. However, because of this difference in involvement, I was more concerned about friendship troubles and school-related concerns than my spouse was. He wasn’t aware, not because he didn’t care. This also applies to my female pals, who prefer to hear, “This is what I’ll do,” rather than, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
I recall wondering whether I could flee one night while I was writing All Her Fault. I was starting to feel the strain of managing a house, taking care of three children, editing a book, and working as a freelance writer. Did I express my want to escape to my husband? Not exactly, although I did put a lot of it into All Her Fault and other books. A character named Grace in my new novel, Such A Nice Girl, recalls handling all of the early years of parenthood by herself while her ex-husband developed his company.
Three years ago, I informed my husband one evening that our oldest child was out and would require a ride home. I informed him that everyone had been fed, the dog had been walked, our youngest was playing Minecraft upstairs, and my middle child and I were heading to the den to watch TV. A crucial point: as I was saying all of this, he was watching the football. My spouse showed up at the den entrance an hour later. “There you are!” The others are where? He didn’t remember anything I had spoken to him.
Even though it was difficult, I can laugh it off since my husband is ultimately a decent, kind, and kind person.
I didn’t create the book merely to send a message to my spouse, so when I interrupted the episode that evening, we laughed. However, he doesn’t avoid texts. He swiftly and quietly assumed responsibility for one of our children’s doctor’s visits and a significant portion of school administration for another. I’m also learning; I now understand that I must stop the football before telling him what’s happening.
Andrea Mara’s Such a Nice Girl, published by Bantam, costs £16.99. Visit mailshop.co.uk/books or give 020 3176 2937 a call to order a copy for £14.44 till June 7th. Orders over £25 qualify for free UK delivery.
