Worst Idea Ever

by Jane Fallon

  This is definitely a bad idea. I have never visited the offices of Diamond Leisure before. Never had a reason to schlep to King’s Cross just to drop in on my husband unannounced. Today I am going to use the excuse that I’ve been to a meeting with my publishers in Queen Square and have time to kill before I’m seeing my agent for tea in nearby Fitzrovia at three. Surprise! I thought we could have lunch!

  None of this is true. Instead, I travel from home straight to the confusing new development at the back of the station, and wander round for half an hour before I can locate the correct building. I assume Nick usually goes for lunch at about one. (Isn’t it odd, these details about our partners that are such ingrained parts of their lives that we don’t even know? Does he eat a sandwich at his desk? Sit in Leon? Wander round the Camley Street Park? I have no idea. Maybe he closes the blinds on his office windows and straddles Janice across the desk while eating cheese and tomato on granary.)

  Diamond Leisure is housed in a shiny anonymous-looking glass building, occupying – so the floor plan in the ground-floor reception area tells me – floors four and five. A security guard waves me through to the lifts. Everything about the main atrium says success: the koi pond (although I can only see one fish; maybe no one can agree whose job it is to feed them), the acer in an island in the centre, the complicated metal wall art. The Diamond Leisure reception on the fourth storey, on the other hand, is strictly utilitarian. No frills.

  I’m hoping that the receptionist – Eyelashes, I assume – will let me go on up to Nick’s office so I can have a nosey round. That’s the whole point of this exercise. Get a look at the potential suspects. Of course, I’m taking a leap of faith that not only does Lydia’s friend work here, but the woman Nick is apparently seeing does too. Although the truth is she could know her from anywhere. But I need to start somewhere. Need to begin to narrow down the list from ‘all the women in the world’ to something more manageable. And maybe a small part of me is hoping that Nick will somehow give something away.

  Eyelashes, however, is having none of it. I know it’s her from the voice, but my detective powers clearly need work because she’s fifty if she’s a day, with a short dark mullet and minimal make-up. She wears a badge declaring that her name is Karen.

  ‘If you take a seat, I’ll call his assistant,’ she says. She’s smiley enough, but it’s professional not genuine.

  ‘I was hoping I could surprise him. I’m his wife.’

  ‘I can’t just let you through, I’m afraid. He might be in a meeting.’ The steely look where her smile doesn’t reach her eyes tells me she’s not up for persuasion.

  ‘Could you ask his assistant if I could go on up regardless? I’m sure there’s somewhere I could wait up there.’

  ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Now if you’d like to take a seat …’

  I do what I’m told because she intimidates the shit out of me. I sit close enough so that I can hear her conversation with Sue, which goes something along the lines of ‘Nick’s wife’s here to see him … No, he’s not expecting her … OK, will do.’ She clunks the phone down and turns back to me.

  ‘She says to wait here.’

  I want to say, ‘Well, of course she did because you didn’t ask her if I could go up’, but I know that challenging Karen won’t get me anywhere. I have a feeling she gets off on the power of being the gatekeeper. Instead, I try Nick on his mobile. I’ve lost the advantage of surprise now anyway. If there’s lipstick on his collar he’ll already be cleaning it off.

  ‘Hi,’ he says almost immediately. ‘Are you downstairs?’ He doesn’t sound like a man who’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He sounds pleased.

  I try to mirror his tone. ‘Yes. I have to hang around for a couple of hours before I meet Antoinette. I thought we could have lunch or something …’

  ‘Great,’ he says with a smile in his voice. ‘I’ll come down.’

  I have to try. ‘I was going to come up … see your office …’

  ‘There’s nothing to see. It’s a shithole, to be honest.’

  ‘It’s just … I’ve never been here before, you know …’

  He hesitates for just a second. ‘Sure. Come on up. I can only take an hour though really, so it’ll have to be quick.’

  Nick is the Events Manager. Is he really bound to an hour lunch break? It seems unlikely. ‘Can you tell the receptionist? She won’t let me past.’ Clearly I have lowered my voice here so as not to be overheard. I’m not stupid.

  Nick laughs. ‘Do I have to? She terrifies me. I’ll get Sue to do it.’ He sounds just like Nick. My Nick. I wait, trying to look innocent until Karen answers the phone and then turns to me with her big old fake smile and says, ‘Mrs Shepherd? You can go up. Fifth floor.’ If she knows I dobbed her in she’s keeping it to herself. I look for some stairs, given that it’s only one flight up, but there’s no obvious sign of them, so I wait an age for the lift, conscious of Karen’s judgemental eyes boring into my back. When I finally get out an attractive young woman – early twenties probably, slim and incongruously tanned for January with a high, swishy, caramel ponytail – is there to greet me.

  ‘Mrs Shepherd? I’m Jasmine …’

  Ah yes. Jasmine. Not Janice or Janet.

  ‘… I’m the department assistant. It’s so nice to meet you.’

  ‘Hi. Georgia,’ I say. I’m trying to sound friendly but really I’m thinking: Is this her? Is this the kind of woman Nick would go for? And then I’m hit with a wave of self-loathing. Jasmine’s smile is open and friendly. How would I feel if women reacted to Edie like this? Seeing her as a predator, a threat, just because she’s pretty and young. I have never been that kind of person. And I never want to be.

  ‘Jasmine! Nice to meet you at last,’ I say, at least doing a convincing performance of someone who is happy to be there.

  ‘It’s through here,’ she says, leading me past a bank of open-plan desks towards a row of offices at the back. I rack my brain for conversation but I’m too preoccupied with scanning the personnel. There are at least thirty people out here, half of them female. I try to commit them all to memory so I can forensically examine the images later. A couple of them look up, faintly curious, as I pass. I’m conscious of the fact that my cheeks are flushed red from the cold, my nose shiny. Why am I doing this?

  ‘The managers’ offices are all at this end,’ Jasmine says with a wave of her hand. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?’

  ‘No. Thank you,’ I say and plaster on a smile again. Hopefully she thinks I’m friendly at least.

  Nick gives me a wave when he sees me through the glass. His office is plain. Unloved. This is not the environment of someone who enjoys being here. He stands up from behind his desk, arms out. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise.’

  He looks relaxed. Unfazed.

  ‘It was probably a stupid idea, but I was hanging around—’

  ‘No,’ he interrupts. ‘It’s great.’ He grabs his coat from a peg on the wall, wraps his chunky-knit scarf around his neck. ‘Is it freezing out there?’

  ‘Miserable,’ I say.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  I can’t say, ‘Actually, I was hoping you could take me round and introduce me to all the women who work here,’ but I do need to make this trip worthwhile somehow.

  ‘Show me round first.’

  Nick laughs. ‘Show you round?’ He waves an arm. ‘This is it. Not very exciting.’

  ‘Right. What’s on the other floor?’

  ‘You saw it. Reception. More offices. Honestly, it’s really not worth seeing.’ He looks at his smart Fitbit. ‘And I have a meeting at two, so …’

  ‘Oh. Of course. Well, let’s go then. Where do you usually go?’

  He shrugs. ‘Jasmine just picks me up a sandwich. She gets everyone’s …’

  I seize on that as though he’s thrown me a life jacket. Maybe I can salvage something from this after all. ‘We can do that. If you’d rather. I don’t want to disrupt
your routine, and I’m not bothered about eating. I can get something later …’

  ‘No, don’t be silly, this is an occasion,’ he says, striding out. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so,’ he calls to a woman – Sue, I presume – as he goes. She has a round face under long, stringy hair. Pale pasty skin and owlish glasses. God strike me down for being so judgemental but I don’t think it’s her.

  ‘You have Jeff at two,’ she says sternly.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he says with what I know is an insincere smile. He’s told me before that he finds Sue both overbearing and irritating and now I’ve met her I believe him. I flap a hand at her as both hello and goodbye.

  ‘I’d like to meet some of your colleagues,’ I say, slightly desperately, as I follow.

  ‘God, why?’ he stage-whispers as he presses the button for the lift. ‘I don’t even want to talk to most of them myself, so I’m not going to subject you to it.’

  So that’s that. Now I’m just having lunch with my husband, who is about the last person I want to be spending time with. I can’t be normal with him. Can’t think of anything to say except ‘Who is she?’ or ‘You’re a bastard.’ I’ve been weighing up whether telling him about Anne Marie would be useful or not. A week or so ago I would have called him straightaway. We would have agonized together over what to do next. Now I’m only interested in his opinion because it might give me an insight into his own state of mind. I hold back, though. Whatever Anne Marie is up to it doesn’t seem fair to use her as a pawn in my own relationship.

  We buy sandwiches and drinks in Leon but there’s nowhere to sit so we huddle on a bench outside.

  ‘Jasmine seems nice …’ I say, for lack of any other inspiration.

  ‘Yeah, she’s great.’ I listen for an edge but I’m pretty sure I can cross Jasmine off my non-existent list.

  The wind suddenly whips up, funnelled between two high office blocks. It’s so cold it takes my breath away. I pull my scarf up over my nose, clutch both hands round my coffee.

  ‘Well, this is pleasant,’ Nick says with a laugh. Despite everything, I join in before I remember I’m furious with him.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I ask a few moments later. Maybe he’ll just tell me. Maybe whatever he’s doing is burning a hole in his conscience again and he’s been waiting for a moment to unburden himself. He was brought up a Catholic, after all. I’m not sure this freezing, bleak square is the place to inspire confessions though.

  His brows knit together. I can’t see the rest of his face under its woolly layers but I know exactly what it’s doing. I know it as well as my own. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Nothing … just …’

  I try to give him a meaningful look but my eyes are red and watering from the chill. He looks even more confused.

  ‘I’m all right. Are you all right?’

  I nod unconvincingly, unsure what to say. I’m saved by my mobile ringing. I have to scrabble inside my coat into the pocket of the cardigan I’m wearing underneath to find it. ‘The Mayhew,’ I say, holding it up so he can see.

  ‘Answer it, quick!’ he says.

  ‘Mrs Shepherd?’ a woman says once I’ve said hello. ‘It’s Jules from the Mayhew. About Igor?’

  ‘Yes?’ I manage. I raise my eyebrows at Nick and suddenly we’ve reconnected. We’re in this together.

  ‘We’ve done all the checks and we’re happy to let you have him if …’

  I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying because I’m shouting, ‘It’s yes!’ at Nick at the top of my voice. He whoops with pleasure, flings his arms round me. I can hear Jules laughing on the other end of the call.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. We’re just excited … How soon can we pick him up?’

  ‘Whenever you like. Tomorrow? That’ll give you time to get any bits you need.’

  ‘Yes. I can come at ten. Does that sound OK?’

  ‘That sounds fine,’ she says. ‘And congratulations. I’m thrilled for you. And for Igor.’

  I say goodbye and then Nick and I stare at each other, eyes wide. ‘I need to go to the pet shop,’ I say eventually, standing up. ‘What haven’t we got? A lead. Food. That’s all for now, isn’t it?’ I feel euphoric, like this dog is going to save our lives. Like those people who think having a baby will repair their broken marriage. Like that ever worked.

  ‘I think so. Poo bags.’

  ‘God. Yes. Big ones. Right. I’ll go now and then I can tidy up a bit this afternoon. Make room for him.’

  ‘Don’t you have to meet Antoinette?’

  Shit. Yes. I mean, no I don’t, but I told him I did. ‘Of course. I mean, after, on the way home.’

  I hug him goodbye. Maybe it’s all going to be OK. Maybe Lydia’s friend heard what she heard but it was a flirtation that was never consummated, or – God forbid I would think of this as a relief – a one-night stand that he’ll spend the rest of his life regretting and never repeat. A drunken fumble. I could never accept another affair. Once is a regrettable mistake. Twice would be a habit. But maybe there is no new mistress, only a faint black shadow of remorse. I could live with that. Just.

  CHAPTER 11

  I know without a molecule of a doubt that there’s no way I am going to mention what I saw to Harry. I can’t even imagine how I would crowbar that into a conversation. Nice jacket, and by the way, I saw Anne Marie dry-humping some bloke in the school car park the other day. I try to justify my decision to myself: I may have misinterpreted a friendly but innocent gesture (no way); maybe it was her brother (she doesn’t have a brother); he’ll be better off not knowing (yeah, right). I’m closer to Anne Marie than I am to Harry so I try to convince myself my loyalties should lie with her if push comes to shove. Of course I can see why Lydia can’t bring herself to tell me about Nick. It’s a lose–lose situation. All I can do is try to forget what I witnessed.

  I now know that Lydia will never tell me about Nick, by the way. Not on the basis of hearsay from her friend. Not without concrete proof. And I can’t leave it. There may be people who can turn a blind eye to this kind of thing. Wait for it to blow over. I am not one of them.

  My only hope is Patricia.

  We haven’t communicated for a couple of days, not since Lydia cut the conversation short on the bus. Anne Marie threw me, and it made me realize I have to approach this differently if I’m to have any chance of getting answers. There’s no point spending time trying to persuade Lyds that telling me is the right thing to do. I have to convince her to confide in Patricia.

  How are you doing?

  I leave that there and try to distract myself with other things which, given Igor’s impending arrival, isn’t as hard as it could be. I’ve been to the pet shop on Regent’s Park Road and stocked up on everything I can think of, including some kind of harness for the car that would fit a Shetland pony. I’ve moved anything breakable out of harm’s way and lined up his new bowls on the kitchen floor. I snap a photo and WhatsApp it to the kids.

  I suddenly remember that I’ve arranged to meet Lydia tomorrow night, while Nick – apparently – plays squash, but we can’t both go out and leave Igor home alone on his first evening here. He’ll be scared. He’ll probably wreck the place. I don’t like calling her in office hours, so I send her a text telling her we’ve been approved and I’ll be collecting him in the morning so does she want to come over to mine for takeout instead of the pub?

  She must be bored because she replies straightaway. Isn’t Nick going to be there?

  Of course, she probably doesn’t want to bump into him at the moment if she can avoid it. That explains why she was so keen to jump into an Uber the other night too. She knows his big secret. Maybe she’s worried she’ll give herself away.

  Squash, I reply. Won’t be back before ten.

  Ah! I can see why you can’t leave the house then! I’ll get to you about six thirty xxx.

  It’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since I found out about Nick. I’m a bit nervous about it, if I’m being honest. I don’t know h
ow I’m going to restrain myself from just asking her outright after a couple of glasses of wine. I need to make sure I drink slowly – more slowly than her, at least. That I keep my wits about me. Of course, I could just not drink at all but – at the moment – that feels out of the question. There’s too much flying round in my head. I’ve decided I’m going to tell her about Anne Marie, the dilemma I’m in. It’s the closest I can get to the subject of Nick without actually asking her about him. And then, if that fails, I’m going to try and find a way to get out of her who it is she knows who works at his company. I feel bad about using my friend for information but I need to exhaust every lead I have before I give up and confront Nick, dropping her in it in the process and potentially driving a wedge between me and her too if I find myself having to explain about Patricia.

  I text her a row of kisses in return.

  Nick takes the morning off work to come to the Mayhew with me. Rather than feeling grateful I’m slightly resentful, as if he’s muscling in on my big moment. I no longer feel as if we’re in this together. Igor will be my dog. I’m the one who’ll spend all day with him, who’ll take him for most of his walks. I’ve never thought about things in this way before. Territorial. Nick and I pool everything. What’s ours is ours. The idea of unravelling all that, twenty years of building a joint life, is mind-blowing. It occurs to me that maybe my subconscious is already laying the groundwork for a separation. Cushioning the blow.

  Still, we do a good impression of a couple united in excited anticipation. Some kind of autopilot kicks in, arranging my face in an array of happy expressions that perfectly complement Nick’s.

  Igor is waiting in reception with Jules, a purple ribbon tied round his collar in a bow. He definitely remembers us and he jumps to his feet, straining to come and say hello. Ludicrously, humiliatingly, I burst into tears.

  ‘Hey,’ Nick says gently. He puts an arm round me and I fight the urge to shrug it off.