by Jane Fallon
But then the words come out. Not aimed at me, the cause of her anger, but at the friend who dared defend me. You couldn’t get a lower blow.
‘I wonder how loyal Harry thinks you are. Or doesn’t he know about that bloke Georgia saw you with? In the school playground, wasn’t it? Bit tacky.’
Everything stops. It’s like a game of statues, the world frozen. I hear someone across the room laughing loudly at a joke, oblivious to the carnage going on in our corner.
Anne Marie’s face gives her away. She looks at me, betrayed. Out of the corner of my eye I see Harry, head whipping round from her to me. Confusion. Fuck. I need to step in and try to defuse the situation. ‘For God’s sake, Lydia. You really must be desperate to start making things up. Leave Anne Marie out of it though. She hasn’t done anything to you.’
She sneers at me. ‘What was it you said? You were so embarrassed you had to get out of there? You said they were basically rubbing up against each other like a pair of randy cats.’
‘Lydia—’
‘And where was it you said the actual deed happened? Oh yes, the fake conference. Pretending to dedicate themselves to the welfare of young people while actually holed up in a Premier Inn screwing each other senseless. Nice.’
‘Don’t listen to her, Harry,’ I say, trying to play it down. ‘She’d basically say anything at this point.’
But Harry is only looking at Anne Marie.
CHAPTER 49
She didn’t mean to say it. It wasn’t Anne Marie she was angry with after all, although Anne Marie had inserted herself into something that was none of her business and so couldn’t really complain when it rebounded in her face. Lydia could remember Irene once telling her not to fight anyone else’s battles. ‘Life’s hard enough, love,’ she’d said. ‘And in the end no one’ll thank you anyway.’ But when she found out what Georgia had done – that Bibi had liked her work enough to ask to be put in touch only to be told she wasn’t interested – well, all bets were off. Lydia had been waiting for that validation all her adult life and her best friend, the one with the career and the success and the whole fucking fairy tale, had almost stolen it from her. No, she actually had. But she’d been caught. So of course Lydia had lashed out. Just at the wrong person.
And the truth is she likes Anne Marie. Harry is as dull as dishwater. Nice but wet. Probably a great dad and a kind husband. But, other than that, just a bog-standard bloke. Nothing to make him stand out from the crowd. When Georgia had told her about Anne Marie, it had made sense. Who wouldn’t want a little excitement on the side when surrounded by all that sensible reliability?
‘Remember she told me Nick was having an affair,’ Georgia says now, still trying to get Harry’s attention. ‘It’s what she does when she feels like she’s losing.’
She’s about to retort when Bibi appears, coat on. Whatever happens, Lydia doesn’t want to show herself up in front of her new contact. She keeps quiet.
‘Are we going?’ Bibi says, sounding a little irritated. ‘Only Kate’s holding a couple of cabs outside.’
Georgia grabs her coat from Nick. ‘We are.’ The rest of the group just look sideswiped. Unable to move.
‘Are you coming, Lydia?’ Bibi says and Lydia almost laughs. She has to stop herself from saying ‘Yes, I’d love to’ just to see Georgia’s face.
‘No, I should get going. I have to work first thing.’
‘Well, give me a call,’ Bibi says. ‘Tomorrow maybe? I’ll be the only one in the office without a hangover. Or maybe just the only one in the office.’
‘Definitely,’ Lydia says, smiling sweetly. ‘Night, everyone. Have fun. Oh, and congratulations again, Georgia.’
None of them say goodbye as they leave.
By the time Lydia gets home – after two more glasses of champagne – she’s feeling deflated. This isn’t how the evening was supposed to have gone. She had wanted to repair their friendship, not fall out even more and drag Anne Marie under the bus with her. But she knows now that it is beyond repair. What Georgia has done to her can never be forgiven. Fuck her. It’s Lydia’s time.
She can’t think about Anne Marie. Or Harry. His look, like a puppy who has just been kicked by an owner it worships. They’re collateral damage.
CHAPTER 50
Anne Marie won’t look at me. She and Harry trail behind as we leave, her staring at the ground, him giving her anxious sideways glances. Nick clutches on to my hand as if I need holding up, which I probably do. I have no desire to do anything other than go home, get into bed and hide. I definitely do not want to go on to a bar with Bibi and Co, even though I was the one who suggested it.
I have to stop every few metres when someone congratulates me. One woman asks for a selfie with me to show her little girl, which ordinarily would have blown my mind. This has never happened before. Ever. I paste on a smile – more of a grimace, to be fair. My little fan will probably be put off for life.
When I catch up with the others Harry and Anne Marie are already heading off up the road. I look at Nick quizzically and he shrugs. Harry turns back. ‘We’re … sorry … See you soon. Thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘Bye,’ I say, waving a limp hand. Anne Marie just keeps walking.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Nick hisses. ‘She’s been cheating on him?’ Bibi, Kate and the others are clambering into one of the two waiting taxis.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Can we just go home?’ I look at him pleadingly.
‘We can’t now, can we? It’ll look rude.’
‘I can’t … I’ll tell them I’m not well. Hold that other cab, will you?’
I walk over just as Bibi shouts, ‘See you at the Hospital Club, guys! Endell Street. I’ll leave your names at reception,’ and slams the door. They pull off before I can reply. I stand there, deflated, award in hand.
‘Fuck. What do we do now?’ I say to Nick. I can’t go and pretend to have fun. All I can think about is Anne Marie.
‘Follow them, I guess.’
‘I can’t face it. Shit.’
He puts his arms round me. In the cab the driver is getting restless, tapping his hand on the outside of the door. It starts to drizzle. ‘Are you coming or what?’ Nick waves a hand, hold on.
‘This is meant to be your big night,’ he says into my hair. ‘You’re an award-winner.’
‘I’ve ruined everything,’ I say quietly.
I tell him what I know about Anne Marie and Jez on the way back to Primrose Hill. I’ve sent Bibi a text – Really sorry. Not feeling good. Too much champagne and excitement! See you soon. Thank you so much for everything! x – and then turned my phone off. There are more important things.
‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘Poor Harry.’
‘It was just once,’ I say as if that’s going to make the blow any softer. ‘I mean … it’s still awful but, you know … she wasn’t thinking straight. She ended it.’
‘And Harry had no idea?’
I shake my head, tears welling up. ‘No. She knew it would devastate him, and it was never going to happen again, so …’
‘Why the hell did you tell Lydia? I mean, sorry, I’m not having a go but …’
‘I don’t … It’s complicated. Obviously I never thought she’d say anything. She barely even knows them.’
He rubs his face with both hands. ‘Anne Marie? I just can’t …’
‘I know. But you have to believe me that it was a moment of madness. Don’t judge her.’
He sighs. ‘I’m not.’
‘Oh God, poor Harry,’ I say as the cab pulls into our road.
‘This is Lydia’s fault, not yours.’
‘I know. Shall I send Anne Marie a text? Fuck, she must hate me.’ It strikes me that I might have gone from having two best friends to none in the space of a few days. I can’t bear the thought of losing her. But more, I can’t bear the thought of her losing Harry.
‘Now’s maybe not the best time.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘I’d leave it till the morning.’<
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I bite back tears. ‘Oh God, Nick, what have I done?’
I don’t know how to say what I need to say in a text, and I don’t want to give Anne Marie the chance to cut me dead, so at lunchtime the next day I’m hovering outside the school reception, trying to get up the courage to go in. I know my way around from when the twins went here – both of them left to do A levels at college though so it’s been a couple of years, but nothing has changed. Neither of them took music, thankfully; Anne Marie didn’t have to teach them. They probably would have been scarred for life by one of their teachers getting mildly drunk in their living room on a regular basis. I keep my head down and try not to draw attention to myself. There’s little security, which suddenly strikes me as a dangerous oversight. We all send our kids off every day to be taught by a bunch of strangers in a building where literally anyone could walk in and do anything.
I head for the canteen first, jostled along by a tidal wave of hungry teenagers. I can’t just walk in but, luckily, it has windows on three sides and, even though it’s crowded, it’s easy enough to see she’s not there. I’m loath to try the staff room. Someone is bound to question my reasons for being there. I decide to check out the music room first.
Unlike some teachers, whose form room changes every year, Anne Marie has been in residence in the same space since she joined the school five years ago. I imagine the two pianos were the clincher. Over time it’s become like an extension of her home. Instruments of all sizes and shapes stacked up in heaps. Glass jars of plectrums and clarinet reeds. Lamps with vibrant scarves draped over them (‘Do they know how much of a fire hazard you are?’ I asked her the first time she showed me round). Misshapen pottery animals that Nina has made. A still life by Billie. A photo of Gino in fancy dress as Albert Einstein. It’s cosy and warm and, for a lot of the kids who don’t have much to go home to every night, an oasis of comforting calm, I imagine.
As I approach the door I can hear someone playing the piano. Something haunting and beautiful. Anne Marie sometimes gives free lessons to gifted kids who couldn’t afford to have them any other way. It’s one of the reasons she’s still here. While the vast majority might be indifferent to, even dismissive of, her importance, a vocal few fight to keep her with a passion so intense it’s hard to ignore.
All I can do is wait. I sit on a plastic chair in the corridor. At least she’s at work. That’s something. Eventually the piano stops, halfway through a piece. I strain to hear voices. It’s difficult against the noise of children shouting and playing outside. I get up and lean in towards the door. Nothing. Silence. For the briefest second I panic that Jez is in there with her and they’re having a lunch-break quickie. But I know there’s no way that’s true. It’s just Anne Marie on her own, losing herself in her piano-playing instead of eating lunch.
I tap on the door, heart pounding.
‘Yes,’ she calls. But faintly. Uncertainly.
I steel myself and go in. She’s sitting on the piano stool, hands on her knees, looking up expectantly. When she sees it’s me the shutters go down.
‘What are you doing here?’
She looks terrible. Dark shadows under her eyes as if she’s been up all night crying. Her always pale face is grey-white.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. I’ve planned my speech but I can’t remember a word of it. ‘I should never have told her—’
She interrupts me. ‘I thought we were friends. I trusted you. And you treated what I told you like a piece of gossip?’
‘No. It wasn’t like that.’
‘You knew how much I regretted it. How fucking … shit … I felt.’ Tears are suddenly pouring down her cheeks. It seems so wrong. My strong, capable friend.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say again. I don’t know what else there is to say. I go over and wrap my arms around her and she lets me for a second before pushing me away roughly.
‘I’m at work. You shouldn’t have come here.’
‘How’s Harry dealing with it?’
She looks up. ‘How do you think?’
‘I think Nick was going to call him …’
‘And say what? That it never happened? Because it did. And there’s nothing I can do to change that.’
‘He’ll come round,’ I say, not at all sure I believe it.
‘Like you did when you thought Nick had strayed?’ she snaps. ‘And that wasn’t even true.’
‘He loves you,’ I say.
‘He loved who he thought I was. But he doesn’t think I’m that person any more. Thanks to you. You know I never would have done anything like that again? For as long as I lived? I hated myself. I could barely look in the mirror.’
‘I know …’ I say quietly.
‘But I decided that if I told him I would be doing it because I couldn’t live with the guilt, not because it would be better for him. Because it wouldn’t be. It would ruin his life. And now it has.’
‘I never thought she’d say anything. Never …’
‘Forget it. If I’d never done it in the first place there wouldn’t have been any gossip to tell. It’s all my own fault – I know that.’ She doesn’t say this as if she’s absolving me. More as if she wants to punish herself.
‘Anne Marie …’
She stands up. I know it’s impossible in less than twenty-four hours but she looks thinner, frailer. All the vibrant life that made her who she was has drained away.
‘Please go now. I have to get ready for my next lesson.’
‘Please talk to me,’ I say desperately.
‘I need you to go,’ she says and I know that the conversation is over.
I walk home and get Igor, take him straight out for a walk to the top of the hill. I need to clear my head. The brief euphoria of last night is completely gone. I have nothing to celebrate. I’m furious with Lydia. She knew what she was doing, however cornered she might have felt. She knew that what she was saying would change Anne Marie’s – and Harry’s – lives forever. But she still decided to counter a slap with an atomic bomb. She pressed the big red button.
The truth is, though, that if I’d never shared what I knew with her in the first place, she would have been unarmed.
And that’s on me.
CHAPTER 51
Nothing can shake my mood. My phone is buzzing with messages congratulating me on my win. Flowers and champagne arrive from Antoinette and more from Phoenix. Last night we WhatsApped the kids and my mum to tell them the news, me holding up the trophy, gurning. I forced myself to look happy in the photos. It should have come naturally. I’d won an award. It’s a massive validation for me, and for Wilbur. And a giant middle finger up to Lydia which, I’m not ashamed to say, gives me satisfaction. But I couldn’t feel it. I felt hollow.
There was even a tiny mention in one of the papers today. Just a list of the winners. I take a screen grab and send it to my mum. That’s a first! she sends back. One of us in the paper for something to be proud of! She adds a smiley face to let me know she’s joking. I assume it’s Frank’s shady past she’s referring to. I don’t ask.
As I’m dragging Igor up the hill again to try to clear my head Nick sends me a text. Harry coming over later, hope that’s OK.
It’s the last thing I want. Poor devastated Harry.
Of course, I send back. How can I say no? I divert up Regent’s Park Road to buy some food, assuming he might stay for dinner. The idea of Harry being so unhappy he’s off his meals doesn’t bear thinking about. I buy fresh tortellini and pesto and fragrant baguettes. A chunky block of aged Parmesan. Two expensive bottles of Chianti Classico. It’s ridiculous, I know. I imagine the last thing on his mind at the moment will be the quality of the wine or the maturity of the cheese but, like when your kid has been bullied at school and you comfort them with usually forbidden junk food, I want to make him feel better in the only way I can think of. I keep my eye on Igor tied up outside. Nick and I have a rule that he’s never left alone in public. Too many stories of dognappers stealing pets to sell on Gu
mtree, and fighting gangs looking for bait. But this constitutes an emergency. I put him where I can see him from all the corners of the shop and stick my head out of the door every few seconds to reassure him. He seems to be making a new friend every time, basically offering himself up to would-be thieves. Look at me! I’ve been abandoned! I’m wasting away here! I’m pretty sure the assistant behind the counter – new since I was here last – thinks I’m a would-be shoplifter trying to build up the courage to make a run for it. I try a smile on her. ‘I hate leaving him outside.’ She blanks me.
When we get home, thankfully unscathed, I tidy up a bit and then put clean sheets on Joe’s bed in case Harry decides to stay the night. At about twenty past six I get another text from Nick – Running a bit late. Sorry! Won’t be long xx – and then the doorbell rings. Shit. I really wanted to avoid being on my own with him. I’m scared he’s going to press me for details and I have no idea what Anne Marie has told him.
Like Anne Marie, Harry seems as if he’s shrunk. His coat suddenly two sizes too big. He looks, well, shattered. Devastated. Broken. I give him a hug. To my absolute horror he starts crying on my shoulder. Big, heaving sobs. My heart breaks. He’s such a good man. No one deserves this less.
‘Come and have a drink,’ I say, once he’s calmer. He nods, red-eyed, follows me down to the kitchen, petting Igor on the way. I try to think what to say. Everything feels trivial under the circumstances. ‘How are you?’ is the best I can come up with.
‘You knew?’ he says.
I clear my throat. Nod.
‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago …’
He steadies himself with a hand on the counter. ‘So we’ve seen you since? We’ve all been together? Making jokes. Having fun. Celebrating Nick’s fucking fidelity.’
I pour him a glass of red, my hand shaking. ‘I didn’t choose to find out, Harry. And then I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t my secret to tell.’
‘I’m one of your best friends …’
