by Jane Fallon
‘You both are. Me not telling you wasn’t me sanctioning what she’d done. It was me not having a clue how to handle it. And it’s not as if it was still going on …’
‘So the idea was I would just never know? Poor dopey old Harry, stupidly thinking his marriage was perfect …’
‘No. I don’t know. I mean, yes, I think she wasn’t intending to tell you. Because she regretted it. She hated herself. And she knew it would never ever happen again.’
‘I bet if you’d asked her six months ago if she thought it could have happened in the first place she would have said never too.’
I sit at the table. I don’t know how to handle this for the best. I’m out of my depth and terrified of making things worse than they already are. ‘What has she said to you?’
‘That it was a mistake. A one-off. A midlife crisis. All the clichés.’
‘They’re clichés for a reason, I suppose.’
He flops down opposite me. ‘I thought we were happy …’
‘You were. You are …’
He laughs a fake laugh. ‘Yeah, looks like it.’
We sit there not saying anything for a moment, me willing Nick to walk through the door. I have to do something, a distraction, so I jump to my feet. ‘I need to make a salad. You’ll stay and eat, won’t you?’
He shakes his head but says nothing. I get tomatoes and spring onions out of the fridge and lay them on the chopping board. Start slicing them half-heartedly.
‘What else did she tell you?’
I stop, knife in hand. ‘Nothing. I mean, just that she felt awful. That she wished it had never happened.’
‘Why did she even tell you anything? That’s what I don’t get. Just to unburden herself? Because she thought you’d be impressed?’
Fuck, so she hasn’t told him I saw her and Jez together. But Lydia did, didn’t she? This is a fucking minefield. ‘No. God. I don’t know. Maybe because of what I was going through with Nick.’
My mobile starts ringing. I pick it up. Edie. I can’t exactly talk to her now, but I can’t ignore it either. I wave it at Harry as if to say I have to answer this, and he shrugs.
‘Ede. I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you back in a bit? Are you OK?’
‘Yes, of course. And yes. All good. I just wanted to congratulate you!’
For a second I wonder what she means. Last night seems like years ago, so much has happened since. ‘Oh, yes. It was the make-up that did it.’
‘That’s what I assumed. Talk to you later. I want all the goss.’
I’d like nothing more than to settle down for a chat with her now, but I know that’s out of the question. ‘Great. Bye, love.’
‘My kids go to that school,’ Harry says as soon as I hang up. ‘That fucker teaches Billie.’
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. ‘They don’t know, do they …?’
‘Of course not. But I don’t want him anywhere near them.’
‘No.’
‘And Anne Marie must see him every day … Oh God, it doesn’t bear thinking about …’
I remember how I felt when I thought Nick was sleeping with someone he worked with. How that made it so much worse – the idea that whatever happened they would still be connected in that way. There would be no question of a clean break. I put the knife down and go and sit on the chair next to Harry. Put a hand on his. ‘I am so so sorry. I can’t even imagine …’
He puts his big hand over mine. ‘I know. I’m not having a go at you … You must have been in an impossible situation. I just want to know the details. I have to, do you understand?’
I do. That was one of the worst parts. Feeling lied to. Stupid. Duped. Knowing that there was no way of dealing with the fallout because you weren’t armed with all the facts. The constant attempts by your imagination to fill in the blanks.
‘I do.’ So I fill him in with everything I know. Yes, I probably underplay the obvious sexual tension that I witnessed between Anne Marie and Jez in the car park, but I give him the hard facts. He nods along, and I realize, thankfully, that I’m not telling him anything Anne Marie hasn’t already shared. I’m just confirming that whatever he’s heard from her is true.
‘Thanks,’ he says when I finish. ‘I appreciate that.’
‘She made a mistake,’ I say, just as I finally hear the front door open. Igor jumps up and runs up the stairs. ‘There’s nothing she can do to take it back now but I know she would if she could. So you just have to decide if you can live with it.’
‘It’s not that simple though, is it? Not while she still sees him every day …’
We’re interrupted, thankfully, by Nick, coat half off, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Haz,’ he says, chucking his outerwear on a chair and throwing his arms round his friend.
‘Did you know too?’ Harry says into his armpit. Nick shakes his head emphatically.
‘No. Not a clue.’
‘I’m just going to …’ I say, indicating the stairs. I want to leave them alone for a bit. Get away from Harry’s ravaged face. In the living room I send Anne Marie a text. Harry’s here. Just in case you’re wondering where he is x. Then I sit on the sofa, head in my hands.
CHAPTER 52
Of course she calls Bibi first thing. She can hardly make herself wait until nine thirty when she hopes the offices might open, only to be met with a recorded message telling her the phones are manned from ten till half six. She’s feeling a touch delicate this morning. Not that she had a particularly late night – she didn’t. But she did have one glass of wine too many, taking a nightcap to bed because she was worried she would lie awake due to a combination of excitement about Bibi, fury with Georgia and guilt about Anne Marie. In the end she’d slept like a baby.
She distracts herself by checking the illustrations in the final proofs of a book about aneurisms. Luckily Aldwych Press is a small company and still housed in a rickety old terrace house, so she has a tiny office to herself and doesn’t have to suffer the indignities of an open-plan space. It’s literally the only thing that makes her job bearable. She can shut the door and be doing pretty much anything. At exactly four minutes past ten she calls again. Asks to be put through to Bibi Welbeck.
After a moment she’s transferred to an assistant. Kate, she thinks she says her name is. Lydia is so nervous she hardly hears. She waits to be told that Bibi is in a meeting or out for the day or otherwise indisposed but what Kate actually says is ‘Oh, Lydia, great. Bibi was hoping you would call. Let me just get her.’
Lydia’s heart starts to pound. She gets up and checks that her door is closed; she wouldn’t want her colleagues to hear.
‘Lydia!’ a voice booms through the phone, making her jump. ‘Wasn’t last night a blast? You should have come to the Hospital with us; it was insane. So, tell me everything. What do I have to do to persuade you to sign with us?’
‘Oh,’ Lydia says, overwhelmed. She’d thought this would just be a ‘Hello, how are you, would you like to come in for a meeting?’ kind of conversation. Her head feels fuzzy but she mustn’t fuck this up. ‘Really?’
‘Really. I mean, assuming you’re up for it. Who’s your agent?’
‘I don’t have one. I mean, I haven’t actually committed …’
‘You’ll need to find one. For your own sake, I mean. Unless you’re a lawyer on the side and you can negotiate contracts …’
Lydia feels a wave of dizziness. This is actually happening. ‘I will. Can I tell them …?’
‘That Phoenix are interested? Too right. Meanwhile, do you want to come in and say hello properly? Meet the team? Allow me to persuade you we’re the ones for you? At least let us see if we all get along?’
‘Yes,’ Lydia says, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. ‘I’d like that.’
Mind blown, she runs through a list of the agents she deals with. Most of them small fry, happy to accept whatever she’s offering for their clients’ work. And most of them just deal in i
llustrators for hire. Not writers of actual books. The backing singers, not the star. She wants to aim higher. She googles Franklin and Carter, Georgia’s representatives. She’s met Antoinette a couple of times over the years, just casually. At Georgia’s fortieth and once when she and Georgia were having lunch in Charlotte Street. She’s not sure if Antoinette would remember but it’s an in at least. A way to get past her assistant.
She knows that Georgia would be horrified. Well, tough. You had to make use of any contacts you had these days. She takes a long swig of coffee and dials the number. Someone answers immediately.
‘Antoinette Goodison, please.’
‘Who’s calling?’ the plummy-voiced receptionist asks and Lydia almost loses her nerve. She’s definitely called Tamara and lives in a flat in Knightsbridge that her parents Hugo and Annabelle pay for. She probably has a brother also called Hugo. Who plays polo. She’s almost certainly judging Lydia by the miniscule variant in the poshness of their accents.
‘Lydia Somers. I’m a friend of Georgia Shepherd. We’ve met before.’
‘Let me try her.’
She’s put on hold with tinny classical music playing in her ear. A few seconds later she hears a click.
‘Lydia? It’s Antoinette. How are you?’
She can tell from Antoinette’s voice that she can’t quite place her; she steadies her breath. ‘Hi! Good, thank you. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but something rather unexpected has happened. I think Phoenix want to offer me a book deal – Bibi Welbeck said I could say that – and I don’t have representation …’
‘Oh,’ Antoinette says, sounding interested now. ‘Tell me all the details …’
Ten minutes later Lydia has an agent and the sniff of a book deal and her life has changed in a million ways in a split second. Not for the first time, of course. But maybe this lightning bolt will help obliterate the memory of that other one, all those years ago. She allows herself to think about her parents for a second. Something she rarely does. She can’t imagine how much this would blow their minds. There is no one in her life now who would ever feel such pure pleasure when something good happened to her. You can’t underestimate the loss of unconditional love. You can’t replace it.
She wants to tell someone her news but there’s no one. Susan, of course, but it’s way too early in Florida and, besides, she wouldn’t really understand the magnitude of what’s happened. She thinks about sending Georgia a text – Guess what? – but it already feels like an empty victory. She doesn’t want to gloat, she wants someone to celebrate with. Lydia knows that she’s still a million potential missteps away from being published, let alone successful, she’s not delusional. Bibi could change her mind, be overruled, offer her such an insulting deal that Antoinette advises her not to take it (she would ignore that one, to be fair), but she’s closer than she’s ever been before. There’s only one thing she can do. She retouches her make-up in the little mirror she keeps in her desk drawer, smooths down her hair. Snaps a selfie with a wry, knowing smile.
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CHAPTER 53
Harry refuses my offer of Joe’s room for the night, and I’m relieved. He needs to go home to Anne Marie. Try to sort things out. He’s much more sad than angry. In fact, he’s not angry at all, just broken-hearted.
‘What can we do?’ I say to Nick as we get ready for bed.
‘Nothing,’ he says, reaching out a hand and squeezing my shoulder. ‘Just be there if either of them needs us.’ The implication is there: don’t interfere.
He has no need to worry, I have no intention of ever interfering in anything ever again.
I feel the loss of Anne Marie like a bereavement. Lydia goes deeper, but I’m used to sometimes not seeing her for a few weeks. Anne Marie is my everyday, just-around-the-corner-if-I-need-her friend. My uncomplicated, no-baggage, no-agenda, no-tiptoeing-round-the-awkward-stuff buddy. History versus daily life. I unblock Lydia’s number, send her a text: Why the fuck would you do that? What’s Anne Marie ever done to you? You’re so fucking self-obsessed, you don’t care whose life you ruin. Don’t ever contact me again.
It doesn’t achieve anything but it makes me feel better. Until five minutes later when it makes me feel worse.
Igor and I hover in the street outside the school. Igor always elicits a reaction. He’s not the kind of dog you can ignore. People either cross the road to avoid him or throw themselves at him for a hug. I now judge people on which category they fall into. Jez, it seems, is of the ‘cross the road’ variety. That tells me everything I need to know.
I didn’t mean to speak to him. I’m here to try to talk to Anne Marie again. To see if she’s OK. She may not want to see me but I’m not going to let our friendship die without a fight. And I’m not going to stand by and watch her and Harry fall apart either, whatever I’ve promised Nick. I’m keeping half an eye on the car park when I see him, heading for his blue Toyota. Despite the signs saying ‘No Dogs Beyond the Gates’ I’m over there before I have any idea what I’m doing. I feel irrationally angry with him. What was he thinking, breaking up my friend’s marriage? Of course, she was the one who owed Harry loyalty, not him, but why split hairs?
‘Jez,’ I say loudly as he’s about to open the car door. He looks round, sees Igor and jumps, actually jumps. Holds a hand out in front of him as if to say ‘Keep your dog away.’
‘He’s friendly,’ I say. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I’m, um, sorry, do we know each other …?’
‘Georgia Shepherd. I’m Anne Marie’s friend.’
Up close he looks older, more lived in. That’s not a bad thing. It makes him more interesting if anything, but he still has the leather-elbow-pads, bad-American-movie-teacher vibe going on. He’s good-looking – in a bland kind of way – but it’s not easy to see what Anne Marie saw in him. Why she would have risked everything.
‘Oh,’ he says, warily. ‘Er … nice to meet you.’
I have literally no idea what I’m doing here. What I’m going to say. And Anne Marie coming out and spotting me talking to Jez would hardly be the quick fix for our friendship that I need. We both stand there in silence for a moment. It starts to drizzle. I fish a scrunchie out of my coat pocket and tie my hair up in a ponytail.
‘Um …’ Jez says, making a vague motion that he should go.
‘Did she tell you Harry knows?’ I say. ‘It’s not good.’
‘Er …’ he says, colouring up. His bumbling nature is starting to irritate me. ‘I … erm …’
‘You’ve met him, I suppose. You teach Billie, don’t you? He’s lovely. The nicest man. I don’t know why I’m telling you this …’
‘It’s all over and done with,’ he says, stroking his beard nervously. ‘She …’
‘Regrets it. I know. Maybe … I mean … Could you get Billie transferred to another class? So Harry doesn’t have to think about bumping into you?’ Is that even possible? And what if Billie loves him and thinks he’s the greatest teacher ever (unlikely, I feel. Billie and enthusiasm for anything beyond music don’t generally mix).
‘I … um …’ I have to stop myself interrupting him to tell him to get on with it. ‘I’m leaving at Easter. I’ve handed in my … um … notice.’
Oh. Well. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’m applying. When she said she didn’t … um …’
I wonder if he’s a serial hopeless Romeo. Waffling about like a harmless old bumble bee before making his move. Falling in hopeless, inappropriate love and then on to the next. I want to ask him if that’s why he left his last job but it’s clearly none of my business. ‘Right. Does Anne Marie know?’
‘I don’t know. We’re not …’
I wait. Does this man never finish a sentence?
‘Well, it’s for the best, I suppose,’ I say eventually. I catch sight of a familiar tall figure over by
the main doors. ‘Fuck. I don’t want her to see me talking to you.’ I start to move away. ‘Good luck. I’m sure you’ll find something.’
He half raises a hand goodbye. I hurry across the car park towards the front gates. Anne Marie is just up ahead, striding fast, head down. I catch her up at the main road.
‘Hey.’
She turns. Turns back. ‘Oh. Hi.’
‘I … um …’ Christ, now I’m starting to sound like Jez. ‘I came to meet you.’
She looks drained, miserable. She puts the hood of her black coat up. It might be the rain but it also might be to create a barrier between us. Igor recognizes her though and jumps up, happy to see her. She reaches down a hand and strokes his head.
‘I don’t really want to talk to you,’ she says flatly. ‘I’m not trying to be horrible but there’s nothing you can say to make anything better.’
‘I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to see you and Harry like this.’
I expect her to say ‘Well, you shouldn’t have told Lydia then’ but she just shakes her head. The lights change and we cross, me shadowing her, surfing her shoulder. ‘Jez says he’s leaving,’ I say desperately. Anne Marie stops in her tracks.
‘You’ve been talking to Jez?’
‘No. I mean, yes, but … I saw him just now, I …’
‘What? Wanted to check up that it really was over?’
‘No! God, Anne Marie, no. I thought I should tell him Harry had found out. Just in case …’
‘In case what? Do you think Harry’s the type to storm into the school and pick a fight? I almost wish he was, so he could get it out of his system that way. I can’t bear that I’ve made him so sad. That I’ve shattered his fucking heart.’ She strides off again and I hurry to catch up. Suddenly she stops dead again. ‘Did Jez really say he was leaving?’
I nod and then realize she can’t see me. ‘Yes. At Easter.’
‘So, I’ve messed his life up too.’
‘I think he knew what he was getting into,’ I say. ‘He decided to sleep with a married woman.’
