by Tess Stimson
I’ve put up with a lot over the years, God knows, but he’s crossed the line this time. Inviting Louise into our home, for God’s sake! Angie’s right: any other woman would have thrown him onto the street.
An email pings into my mailbox, startling me out of my bitter contemplation. I open it, then exclaim in frustration. ‘AJ! Get the creatives on the Vine account down here!’
AJ swings round in his chair. ‘What’s the problem?’
I tilt my computer screen towards him. ‘Take a look.’
‘Seems OK to me,’ AJ says.
‘Take a closer look.’
He scoots over and peers over my shoulder, then looks at me, confused. ‘You said you wanted diverse. Mantiba is really cool right now, everyone’s using him. Her. You know what I mean. Gender fluidity is—’
‘I’m not worried about the model, AJ,’ I say tightly. ‘Take a look at what they’re wearing.’
‘You don’t like pyjamas? Vine want their kicks to look relaxed, like you could wear them all day—’
‘Blue-and-white-striped pyjamas,’ I interrupt. ‘Remind you of anything?’
‘Not really,’ AJ says.
‘Well, maybe we might get away with it, though I think it’s a little close for comfort, if it wasn’t for the star-shaped yellow Vine logo on the top left pocket.’
The penny drops.
‘Oh, my God!’ AJ exclaims.
‘There you go,’ I say, turning the monitor back to face me.
‘That looks just like—’
‘I don’t think Holocaust chic is a thing,’ I say, ‘but let’s not put it to the test, shall we? Go and put a rocket up the joint creative arse and get them to fucking sort it out, would you? Before we end up crucified in the Daily Mail.’
To my dismay, AJ’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve let you down. This is all my fault—’
‘Shit, AJ. This isn’t on you.’ I crouch down by his desk and put my arm around him, feeling awful for making him cry. ‘Come on. We caught it in time. It’ll be fine. There’s no need to panic.’
‘Wayne and I split up,’ he says suddenly. ‘It’s OK. It’d been on the cards for a while.’
I’m a crap friend. I should’ve picked up on this sooner. AJ’s always been a bit fragile. He was brutally beaten up by some homophobic thugs in his second year at art school, and dropped out of college for a year. The worst of it was, his boyfriend at the time was still in the closet, and actually joined in the attack. AJ’s found it hard to trust anyone since then, and it took him a long time to risk his heart again. ‘Oh, AJ,’ I say softly. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you two would really go the distance.’
His eyes cloud. ‘So did I.’
AJ’s phone rings, and he takes the call. ‘Talk later,’ I mouth, and he gives me a quick thumbs up.
I need some air. I haven’t smoked since I was in college, but the last few days have had me back on the Marlboro Reds, though I’ve had to limit myself to work hours because of Kit. I grab my bag and go down to the mezzanine floor, shoving open the glass doors to the terrace overlooking the street.
I light up, and inhale the reassuring hit of nicotine and carcinogenic chemicals. AJ dropped the ball on Vine, but I should’ve caught the cock-up myself, and I would’ve done, if Louise wasn’t taking up all the space on my mental hard drive. I still don’t know what really happened the night Andy stayed at her place. The doubt is gnawing away at me. I’m reaping the reward of every mistress: I know without question the man I love is a liar.
I should’ve walked away from Andy a long time ago, before we ever got married, the second I found out he’d lied to me. I know that. There’s only one reason I haven’t, and it’s the oldest and lamest one in the book. I love him.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I fell for a man nearly twenty years older than me. Daddy issues, I hold my hands up, but who doesn’t have issues of some sort or another? My father died when I was eleven. A record producer, he was travelling with one of his bands when the minibus came off the road. The lead singer and bass guitarist survived, and lived to re-form another day, but Dad and three other band members and the driver were all killed. It was just Mum and me after that, no brothers and sisters to take the edge off, just the two of us. Mum never remarried, or even dated again. If I’m a screw-up, I lay it at her door.
But Kit’s here now, and I owe it to him to keep his family together. If Andy and Louise did have a nostalgic fuck, it doesn’t have to mean the end of us. I can get past it. If it was just once. If it doesn’t happen again.
My cigarette shakes in my hand. Despite my bravado, the thought of the two of them together is crucifying me. How could he even bear to touch her, after what she did to him? I was the one who picked up the pieces and put him back together. He may choose to forget it now, but I know just how much she hurt him.
I stub out my cigarette just as a black cab pulls up in the street below. Tina Murdoch gets out, glancing up at the building, and I duck back out of sight. Christ. This is all I need.
Patrick is waiting by the lifts when I go back inside, just as Tina rises up towards us in the glassed-in elevator like the phantom of the opera. He steps forward as she alights, his hand extended, but she goes in for a one-two air-kiss, and he submits with good grace. ‘Good to see you again, Tina.’
‘Always a pleasure, Patrick. Hello, Caz. I thought I’d come in personally to introduce my new PR to Whitefish,’ Tina says, gesturing to the woman hovering behind her. ‘I’m sure you’ll all make her feel welcome.’
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘Good to see you again, Louise,’ Patrick says, giving her a warm hug. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘You know each other?’ I blurt.
Louise smiles coolly. ‘We met a few years ago, when I did a piece on Patrick for the Post.’
‘Far kinder than I deserved,’ Patrick adds.
My fingernails dig so deeply into my palms, I’m certain I draw blood. ‘I had no idea you did PR work, Louise.’
Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes are like chips of granite. ‘Most journalists can turn their hand to PR,’ she says. ‘I found myself with some spare time, and Chris – sorry, I forgot you go by Tina at work – was in a bit of a bind, so I offered to help out. We go back a long way,’ she adds, clearly relishing every moment of this. ‘Actually, we were at school together. You probably didn’t know that when she introduced you to my husband at that RSPCA fundraiser.’
I feel sick. Of course I had no idea Louise knew Tina Murdoch. Andy’s mentioned Louise’s best friend ‘Chris’ a few times, but I’d never met her and it’d never occurred to me who she really was. No wonder Tina tried to get me fired: I ran off with her best friend’s husband. She probably blamed herself for introducing us in the first place. She’s obviously wangled this job for Louise now to fuck with me. I am in deeper shit than I ever imagined.
‘Louise will be my liaison on the Univest campaign,’ Tina says, her gaze drilling into me. ‘She’s got my full authority to make any decisions necessary on the account.’
‘I think having someone here in-house to oversee your PR strategy and take advantage of the synergy with our ad campaign will be very helpful,’ Patrick says. ‘It’s not something we do very often, but we’re a small enough company to make it work, and I’ve found it useful before. Look, I’m afraid I have to dash,’ he adds to Louise, ‘I’ve got a conference call with New York, but I’ll catch up with you later. Tina, do you have time for a quick word in private?’
With a final, malicious glance in my direction, Tina leaves us alone. Louise ignores me completely, strolling out onto the terrace like she owns the place. It takes me a moment to recover myself, and then I storm after her, so angry I can hardly see straight. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Such a lovely view,’ Louise says, leaning on the railing. ‘What a wonderful part of town to work. I’m so looking forward to—’
�
��Cut the crap. Why are you here?’
‘You started this,’ she hisses, dropping the act.
I’m suddenly aware people are watching us through the plate glass windows, and lower my voice. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know damn well. Sussex University had an anonymous tip about my record, and decided my services were no longer required.’ Her voice hardens. ‘I have children to feed, or didn’t you think about that? I still have to keep a roof over our heads—’
‘A roof over your head? You’re living in my fucking house!’
‘It’ll be my house soon,’ she says coldly. ‘And I will be living there with my husband.’
She walks away, leaving me rooted to the spot. I’ve always known she hates me, but I had no idea just how much. I wonder if she’s a little mad. She was locked up in a psych ward once for attacking the wife of an ex-boyfriend; that’s why she’s got that criminal record. It was a long time ago, but how do I know she’s not going to do something crazy again?
The knot in my stomach tightens. Andy, the one person I’d normally talk about all this with, the one person who should have my back, is part of the problem. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so isolated in my life.
Chapter 17
Min
Putting my doctor’s hat on for a few minutes, I’ve seen patients decompensating before. They all have essentially the same symptoms: the functional deterioration of a system that had been previously working with the help of allostatic compensation – in Louise’s case, a combination of counselling, CBT and time. Together, these therapies have kept her visceral fear of loss – initially triggered by the traumatic death of her brother, and affirmed by what happened with Roger Lewison at Oxford – at bay for many years. But I think a perfect storm of circumstances are causing the sudden and alarming decay of these protective structures. In layman’s terms: I suspect Lou might be headed for another breakdown.
It’s something I worried about when Andrew deserted her four years ago, which is why I kept such a close eye on her at the time. In retrospect, I think the demands of caring for a newborn had the counter-intuitive effect of protecting her by keeping her too busy to think about anything else; too busy to think at all. But now the past is catching up with her, and I’m more alarmed than I care to admit.
I check the time on my phone, wishing the waiter hadn’t seated me in the centre of the restaurant; irrational, I know, but I hate people walking behind me. He’s late. I’m already regretting this, but my concern, as I tried to explain to Celia, is for Lou. Nothing else would induce me to sup with the devil, no matter how long the spoon.
Louise can rationalise her actions however she wants, and no doubt that woman of Andrew’s provoked her. But speaking as her friend, now, not a doctor, I have to say that moving into her ex-husband’s house isn’t normal, no matter what the excuse. Taking a job where his new wife works is not normal.
There’s a muted stir behind me, and I look round to see Andrew hastily making his way to my table, ignoring the whiplash glances of recognition from other diners. ‘So sorry I’m late,’ he apologises. ‘Bloody Circle Line.’ He puts a hand on his chair, but doesn’t sit down. ‘You hate sitting in the middle of a restaurant, don’t you? Let me see if I can get another table.’
‘Oh, there’s no—’
‘Excuse me,’ Andrew says, politely accosting a waiter, ‘but would you mind terribly if we sat in one of the booths over there, out of the way?’
‘Please go ahead, sir.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I mutter, as we’re swiftly ushered to a private corner of the restaurant.
‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ Andrew smiles.
He is extremely handsome. He looks good enough on television, but in real life, he has a presence, a charisma, that’s beguiling. It’s something in the way he looks at you, as if he sees only you, all of you. Even now, I have to remind myself of who he really is.
‘So, what are you doing in London?’ Andrew says, not taking his eyes off me as the waiter unfolds his napkin for him and drapes it across his lap. ‘Something to do with work, or are you taking a day for yourself?’
He makes the latter sound faintly risqué. With an effort, I break his gaze, and take a large swallow of water. ‘This isn’t a social lunch,’ I say sharply. ‘I know what happened the other night with Lou. I’m here to tell you that you need to stay away from her, Andrew. I’m not kidding. You’re both playing with fire, and I’m not going to let her get burned again.’
To my surprise, he leans back and laughs. ‘That’s what I love about you, Min. As direct and frank as always.’
‘You think this is funny?’
‘Of course not,’ Andrew says, his expression suddenly serious. ‘It was just a kiss, Min. It wasn’t planned, and it certainly didn’t mean anything.’
‘Does Lou think it doesn’t mean anything?’
The waiter returns to our table and hands each of us a menu. Andrew doesn’t even glance at his before placing it on the thick white linen tablecloth. ‘I didn’t put that well. Of course it meant something. But I’m not going to drag Louise back into my mess. I put her through enough before. It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry doesn’t cut it. I want your promise that it’s not going to happen again.’
‘It’s not just up to me, Min,’ Andrew says. ‘Takes two, you know.’
We both jump as there’s a sudden crash of plates on the other side of the restaurant. The entire room abruptly falls silent as everyone turns to stare at the young waitress standing in the midst of a sea of spilt food and broken crockery, looking like she’s about to burst into tears. Before anyone else has a chance to react, Andrew leaps out from our booth and goes over to help her. ‘God, don’t you hate it when this happens?’ he asks, grabbing a napkin from the nearest table and putting the largest shards of crockery into it. ‘At least you didn’t do it live on air. You’re probably too young to remember me knocking an entire row of priceless crystal off the sideboard at Highgrove …’
He keeps up the cheerful one-sided conversation as a phalanx of restaurant staff recover their wits and rush over to reassure the diners whose lunch is now scattered across the tiles. Within minutes, order is restored, the mess is cleaned up, and Andrew returns to our table.
‘That was kind of you,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I think you just saved that poor girl’s job.’
‘It requires depth of character to be truly wicked,’ Andrew says dryly. ‘As Celia will no doubt agree, I have only hidden shallows.’
I sigh. ‘I don’t think you’re wicked. Just bloody selfish.’
‘Progress.’ He raises a hand to attract a waiter. ‘Are we allowed a glass of champagne, Doctor Pollock?’
‘I don’t usually drink at lunchtime—’
‘Oh, Min. Live a little,’ Andrew teases. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
I hesitate. ‘All right, then.’
I’m unnerved by how much I want to like him again. This is the man who betrayed your best friend, I tell myself forcefully. The man who also made a pass at you when he was already in the midst of an affair with another woman.
I’ve never told anyone about that night, when Andrew drove me home from their house because I’d had too much to drink on a girls’ night out with Louise. When the two of us sat parked outside my house for just long enough for him to try to kiss me, and when I let him for just too long for either of us to pretend that I hadn’t wanted him to.
He leans across the table. ‘Min, I meant what I said. I don’t want to hurt Lou any more than I have already. I honestly didn’t intend that kiss to happen.’
‘The road to hell is paved with—’
‘I miss her,’ he says simply.
It’s the combination of lethal sex appeal and vulnerable little boy that makes him so irresistible. He has the charm and ego of a child. I’m torn between wanting to give him a consoling hug, and a desire to punch him on the nose. ‘You left her
,’ I remind him curtly. ‘You gave up the right to miss her when you walked out.’
The waiter returns with our champagne and a bowl of salted edamame beans, which he places on the table between us. We both order a Cobb salad, and wait until the man has gone before resuming our conversation. Andrew picks up one of the beans, and then puts it down again. ‘I’d forgotten what it could be like when Lou and I were a team,’ he says. ‘That night, fixing the roof together, it reminded me. It’s not that easy to turn your back on fifteen-odd years of history together. Me and Caz, we don’t have any of that.’
I give him a hard look. ‘Andrew, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, stop right there. You had an affair and broke up your family for that woman. You’re married to her now, for better or worse. You have Kit. You made your bed.’
‘What if it’s not the one I want to lie in?’
‘These are people’s lives you’re playing with,’ I say. ‘Louise has only just got her life back on track after you blew it all apart. Don’t reel her back in, Andrew, just because you can. Stay away from her. It’s not fair on anyone.’
‘I don’t just miss her,’ Andrew says, ignoring everything I’ve just said. ‘I miss all of you. When I got that invitation to Celia’s party, it just brought it all home. You were my family for more than a decade.’ He gives me a sweet, lopsided smile. ‘You can’t blame me for wanting that back sometimes, can you?’
Bloody Celia, I think despairingly. This insane idea of hers to remind Andrew of what he’s missing might just work. In which case, God help us all.
Chapter 18
Louise
I know as soon as I board the train to London I’ve got it all wrong. I spent ages last night dithering over what to wear; at the university I could get away with jeans, and when I’m freelancing I frequently don’t make it out of my pyjamas, so it’s been years since I had to dress for a real job. I wanted to make sure I looked appropriately smart for a London advertising agency. In the end, I plumped for a black skirt suit from my early days at the Post that still just about fits, and a pair of heels. But most of the other women on the train are wearing trousers, not skirts, paired with ballet flats or loafers and chambray shirts or wrap blouses, effortlessly pulling off the business casual look. I’m about two decades out of date.
