by Jane Fallon
She looks at the table. ‘Do you think … Should I try and find him, tell him he’s going to be a granddad?’
‘Lol?’ Should she? It’s not as if he’s been beating a path to her door to try to be a father. ‘Only you can decide that, sweetheart. I’ll help you if you like, but you have to be prepared that you might not get the outcome you want …’
‘He could have found me easily enough, couldn’t he? I mean, you still have the same surname …’
‘Yes.’ I don’t want to influence her either way, but I owe it to her to be honest.
‘So I guess he decided not to.’
I squeeze her hand. ‘You can always change your mind.’
‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘One day.’
I leave her pottering around in her old room. We still have half a carful to unload but both of us need a break. I could do with a lie-down, to be honest. But I have something I need to do.
I open up my work email on my phone. I noticed this morning that I had a new message, and I have to decide what to do about it. It’s from the producer of a long-running hospital show that films up in Manchester. It’s been on for years – longer than us – one hour a week for about ten weeks of the year. It’s a bit of an old dinosaur to be honest, but it still pulls in an audience.
I read it through again.
Hi Holly,
Apologies for contacting you out of the blue. We’re in the process of hiring a new script editor, and I interviewed Roz Huntingdon this week, and really liked her. But she hasn’t put anyone from Churchill Road down as a reference, which seems a bit odd given she’s been there for the last five years, so I just wanted to check if she’s someone you would recommend.
I’m around all weekend. My mobile’s at the bottom of this email if you have the chance to call me. We’re hoping to make a decision on Monday, because we’re up against it. You know how it is!
Thanks so much in advance,
Kerry
I have no idea what to do. I could ignore it altogether, but that would look bad. Who knows where Kerry might end up one of these days? A head of drama. A controller. I might find myself applying to her for a job somewhere and she’ll think ‘that’s that cow who ignored my email’.
I could tell the truth. But that would, without a doubt, result in Roz not getting the job. And then what? She’d apply for something else, somewhere else, and I’d be asked to give a reference there too. I could pretty much make sure she never works in this industry again. But would I sleep at night knowing she was struggling, knowing how much she loves what she does, knowing work is her respite?
Or I could lie. Praise her to the hilt and hope it never comes back to bite me. But what if she hasn’t learned her lesson? What if she makes someone else’s life a misery?
Even as I dial Kerry’s number I have no idea what I’m going to say. She answers on the second ring.
‘Kerry Walker.’
‘Hi, Kerry. It’s Holly Cooper.’
‘Holly! Thanks for calling me back. How’s your weekend?’
‘Good, thanks,’ I say, not keen to get sidetracked into a social conversation with someone I don’t even know.
‘So, Roz Huntingdon. It’s our current editor’s last week this week, and you know what it’s like, you need someone like yesterday …’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Editors? Just the one and a junior. It’s his first job, and he only joined us this series so, even though he’s great, he’s not ready to take over the whole shebang …’
I think for a second. Maybe if Roz were the only editor she might not feel the need to compete, or at least she’d have no one to compete with. And she would need an ally, and one who wasn’t a threat, so she might take the junior under her wing.
Kerry is still talking. ‘I thought it was a bit odd that she didn’t put down any references from Churchill Road, that’s all. Is there something I should know?’
I can’t be completely untruthful. It wouldn’t be fair. And this industry is incestuous, so anyone from Churchill Road might know someone from Stratford General and spread the gossip. But I honestly think this might be a good fit for Roz.
‘No. I mean, she left very suddenly – for personal reasons, entirely her choice, but she got herself in a mess with someone on the show and I think she thought it would be better to make the break …’
‘By “mess” you mean …?’
I hesitate. ‘I don’t think it’s my place to give the details. It was nothing bad, just messy and a bit unfortunate. Nothing to do with her work. Her work is great.’
‘And she’s a nice person?’
What can I say? ‘We didn’t really get on the last few months, I have to be honest. But the writers rated her. And so did lots of other people.’
‘She wasn’t happy you got promoted over her?’ Like I said, news travels fast in this industry.
‘Something like that. But she’ll do a good job.’
‘So, if you were me, and I promise I won’t hold you to this, would you take her on?’
‘I think I would. Sometimes you just have to take what she says to you with a pinch of salt, that’s all. Just … generally …’
‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ Kerry says. ‘I really appreciate your honesty. I think I’m going to go for it. There’s no one else around so …’
I’m glad. That Roz has a new job. That I haven’t had to completely perjure myself. That she’ll be moving away to Manchester. I wonder briefly what that means for her mum. I assume she’ll move with her. Maybe Roz’ll be able to afford a bigger place. Maybe carers will be less expensive. Maybe it’ll make life easier.
Either way I’m happy I don’t have to think about her any more. I realize I’ve been holding on to a residual worry about what would happen to her, how she would cope. I hate what she became but there’s no getting away from the fact that for the best part of three years she was my friend.
Now she’s just somebody that I used to know.
45
Today’s candle is something figgy apparently, although it’s hard to tell. We’re sitting in the living room with the windows wide open, partly because the summer heat is unbearable otherwise, but also because Rufus ate some broccoli earlier and the results are toxic. He’s been with Dee and Gavin over a month now, and he’s started to relax around me a little, but he’s still got his defences up, and he’s jammed between my two old friends on the sofa that was barely big enough for the two of them in the first place.
The pair of them are beaming, proud dog parents. I’ve noticed how affectionate they’ve been with each other recently, how playful. It’s as if the whole Roz thing reminded them of who they were – who they used to be before disappointment got in the way. It makes me so happy to see them like this. It almost makes the whole thing worth it.
A couple of weeks ago I decided to have a dinner for the people who had supported me when I needed it. A thank you. Alongside those two were Juliet and Jake, Emma, and Patricia and her partner Howard, a tiny delicate-looking man. Dee whispered to me in the kitchen that Patricia and Howard looked as if they’d been made from the material needed to make two people, but Patricia had got first dibs, and then every time I looked at them together I started to laugh.
It was a random collection of people. We ate on our laps because my table isn’t big enough, and we all drank too much except Jake who, I’m sure, wished he could, and we laughed about God knows what till three in the morning. Patricia told us scurrilous stories about the rest of the cast, and Howard tried to stop her but then he started telling us even worse things that she’d told him over the years. We all made a pact never to divulge them to the rest of the world. It was honestly one of the best nights I’ve ever had.
The most bizarre outcome was that Dee and Juliet hit it off incredibly well. I have no idea why. Somehow they found a wealth of stuff they have in common – mostly a sense of justice and straight talking, I think.
‘Tell us a story about something that
happened this week,’ Juliet had said. I’d told her about Dee’s job at the hospital. She’s looked like a different person since she got promoted. Still rocking the mum jeans but confident, glowing. Maybe it’s her new responsibility or maybe it’s just that she can feel free to be herself at work now, without worrying that someone is looking for reasons to take the piss.
‘Oh,’ Dee said, ‘let me think. Oh yes, someone came into A and E with a fork stuck in their eardrum …’
‘It didn’t happen,’ I said, turning to Juliet. ‘I mean, think about it, it would have to be a stupidly narrow fork or one with one long prong to fit.’
‘You can get really skinny ones,’ Juliet said. ‘Those things they use for getting cockles out of their shells.’
‘Oh my God, you’re as bad as she is.’
Dee told me the next day that I was an idiot for never having given her a chance, and I agreed.
Tonight the three of us are toasting the fact that Gavin has a new job – we always seem to be toasting something at the moment. Isn’t that how life should be? Always looking for any small success, both yours and your friends’, to celebrate? He’s grown increasingly fed up with selling pharmaceuticals, bored of having to spend so much time away from home. He wants a challenge but he also wants to be able to spend more time with his wife. After a lot of soul-searching he hit on what he wanted to do. Before selling, before he got in a rut of good wages and better prospects, he had trained as a teacher. I’m talking years ago. Twenty probably. And now he has a job starting in September. OK, so it’s in a failing school where none of the teachers seem to stay more than a year and so they were happy to take on someone with the training but no experience at all. OK, so he’s shit scared and the pay is terrible and he can’t remember anything he ever learned. But still he can’t wait to be Mr Sanders, Chemistry teacher: years seven to nine.
‘You’ve both got new jobs,’ Dee says at one point. ‘Everyone’s got a new job except for me.’
‘Do you even want a new job?’ I say.
‘God, no. I love it where I am.’
‘What are you on about then?’ I turn to Gavin. ‘What’s the chemical symbol for antimony?’
He looks startled. It’s my favourite new game to ask him questions like this out of nowhere to test him on his forgotten chemistry knowledge. I have no idea of any of the answers myself, by the way, but I like to watch him sweat.
‘Um … S something. Shit. Dee, google it.’
She fiddles around with her phone. ‘Sb. So you were half right.’
‘Half right’s no good. Oh God, they’re all going to know more than me.’
‘Juliet told you Jake’d be happy to give you some coaching,’ I say. ‘She says he could do with the money and he’s very discreet.’
Gavin puts his head in his hands. ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’ he says, but he’s laughing.
‘So,’ Dee says when we’re all half-cut, having finished our takeaway and two bottles of wine. She reaches a hand across the dog to set it on top of Gavin’s. ‘We have more news.’
I know it can’t be anything bad but I’m suddenly nervous. There’s been far too much change lately for my liking.
Gavin gives her a ‘go ahead’ smile and Dee takes a deep breath. ‘We’ve made a decision. Actually we’ve done more than that, we’ve had an interview and everything.’
She looks at me triumphantly as if I’m supposed to know what she’s on about.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘It might come to nothing. Or we might end up getting rejected or being too old by the time it all gets processed …’
‘Fucking hell, Dee. Just tell me what you’re on about.’
Gavin gives Dee’s hand a squeeze. Smiles at her with a smile so loving it almost breaks my heart.
‘We’re going to try for adoption,’ she says. ‘The woman we saw said she was sure we’d be suitable but, you never know. Oh God, are you OK?’
Gavin whips his head round to me. Tears are pouring down my face. They’ve just appeared out of nowhere. Nought to sixty. ‘Yes. I’m just … I’m so happy for you,’ I wail.
‘It really might not ever come to anything,’ Gavin says gently. ‘I mean, there are so many hurdles you have to get through.’
‘I’m just so happy you’re trying, that you both want to try,’ I sob. ‘Whatever the outcome.’
‘We’re being philosophical about it,’ Dee says, and then I worry that she feels she has to reassure me, as though, if it doesn’t work out, I’m the one who’s going to fall apart. ‘We know it’s probably a long shot.’
‘That’s good.’ Suddenly I’m worried that Dee will have to deal with another crushing disappointment.
‘Hopefully it’ll happen,’ Gavin says. ‘But if it doesn’t we’ll be OK. Really we will. We have Rufus.’
‘He’d love it!’ I say. ‘He loves kids, remember, Dee.’
She strokes his beard and he looks at her with his soppy brown eyes. ‘He does.’
‘Oh my God,’ I say with a sudden realization. ‘If you adopt then you’ll be a mum but I’ll be a granny.’
Ashley is meeting up with Clare’s son Charlie this evening, rekindling their friendship. I’d be lying if I wasn’t harbouring a tiny hope that they might end up more than just friends. That he might have a hankering to help bring up a baby regardless of who the father is. I’d phoned Clare when I heard and we’d spent half an hour planning what to wear to the wedding again, just like we did when they were fifteen.
‘That’s the only reason I want to do it.’ Dee laughs. ‘So I can rub that in your face.’
‘I love you,’ I say, realizing I’m drunker than I thought. ‘Both of you. I don’t know what I’d have done without you these past few months.’
‘Oh God,’ Dee says. ‘She’s going to make a speech. Quick, fill my glass up.’
Gavin leans over to pour us all another drink. I put my hand over my glass, to say I don’t want one.
‘I’m not. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say.’ I look at my phone. ‘Shit, it’s late, I should make a move before I pass out in your living room.’
‘Feel free,’ Dee says. ‘You might have to share the sofa with Rufus though.’
‘I’ve had worse,’ I say, but I pick up my mobile to ring a cab.
Back home Ashley is sitting up in the kitchen eating ice cream from the tub. Smokey sits on the table gazing at both her and the ice cream adoringly.
‘What time do you call this?’ she says, getting up and giving me a hug. Or trying to. It’s like being attacked by a space hopper. Her arms only just reach ahead of her bump.
‘Did you have fun?’ I say, flopping down at the table. I pick up the spoon she’s discarded and dig in.
‘It was nice,’ she says. ‘All that catching up. It’s weird that he’s been here all the time I’ve been away so he knows all the gossip on everyone. I’m going to meet up with a few of them next week.’
‘It’s nice you still have friends here.’
She shrugs. ‘We’ll see. People go a bit funny when you’re pregnant. Like they just assume you won’t be fun any more so why bother?’
‘Well, fuck ’em then.’
‘Mum,’ she says, eyes wide, as if she’s never heard the word before. Which she hasn’t coming out of my mouth, I suppose.
‘What?’ I say, laughing. ‘You’re a fellow mum-to-be. I have to treat you like an adult.’
She takes back the spoon. Scrapes it round the tub. ‘In that case shall we talk openly and frankly about our sex lives?’
‘Jesus, no. Besides, I don’t have one.’
‘You should. I might make you go on Tinder.’
‘OK. You win. I’m the adult, you’re still my little girl and let’s never speak of this again.’
She reaches her hand across the table. ‘I’m glad I’m here, Mum.’
‘Me too.’
‘You are OK about the baby living here, aren’t you? I’m not expecting you to have to look
after her for me or anything.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I say. And I mean it. Even though I can’t imagine trying to juggle the broken nights with work. I’ll manage somehow.
She stands up, stretches. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She leans down and gives me a hug, and this time the bump hits me in the face.
‘You need a licence for that. It’s out of control.’
Ashley straightens up and clutches her stomach. ‘She’s kicking.’
She takes my hand and puts it on her tummy. I wait, and there it is, the tiniest of movements. I gasp.
‘Did you feel it?’
‘Yes! Oh my goodness. Hello, little thing.’
‘Thing meet Granny.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, ‘maybe I’m not ready for this after all.’
She pats me on the head. ‘See you in the morning.’
I sit there and watch her go off towards her room, Smokey following closely behind.
‘’Night.’
She lifts one hand and waves. I turn on the kettle to make myself a camomile tea, sit back down to wait for it to boil.
My phone beeps. It’s late to get a text so I assume it’s Dee. Checking I got home OK. I pick it up, see the name Roz and my heart starts thumping. I force myself to open the message.
I got the job. Thank you.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do. I have no desire to get into a conversation with her. Ever again.
I feel good, I realize. Content with my life exactly as it is. I have a job I love, the best friends I could ever want, my daughter is healthy and doing well, and I’m about to be a grandmother. I think about Roz. Wonder if she can ever feel like this. If anything will ever live up to the fantasy world she created for herself. If she can ever be truly happy.
Despite everything I hope she can.
I send her a text back. I’m glad. And then I turn off my phone.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to my tireless and amazing editor, Maxine Hitchcock, for all of her help with this book. Also to Louise Moore and everyone else at Michael Joseph (this means you Claire Bush, Gaby Young, Jenny Platt, Matilda McDonald, as well as countless others), Jonny Gellar and all at Curtis Brown, and Charlotte Edwards for her research.
