Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  “Yoo hoo! Anyone home?” Sue Templeton. This wasn’t what she needed. She put down her tea before she had even managed to put it to her lips, and went into the hall. “What a lovely place, Maddy,” Sue gushed, trying to peer into the rooms. “Mind if I have a peep?”

  “No, Sue, go right ahead.” Maddy followed Sue into the sitting room.

  “What lovely curtains!” Sue stood in admiration. “I do think terra-cottas are so restful, don’t you? That’s why I put them in our lounge. Do tell me where you found such super things. Blacks and creams. What an unusual idea, but then you have such a great room to work with. Are the others all like this?”

  “Most of them, yes. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m just having one.”

  “Oh there’s me nattering on and being nosy, but I do love snooping in other people’s houses. They give one such good ideas.” Maddy urged her into the kitchen. “Oh isn’t this super! So modern and contemporary. Is it Magnet? I keep telling Gary we need to do ours again.”

  “Mum, we’ve only just had a new kitchen,” said Josh, astonished.

  “Oh, sweetie, that was years ago.” She ran her hands over the wooden work surfaces. “This would look super in our house.”

  “Now, you lot,” said Maddy briskly, “when you’ve finished your ice cream—Will, that’s enough chocolate sauce—you can have five minutes’ play. I’m sure Sue has to get home, and, Will, you have reading to do.” With the children bundled off, she refreshed the pot of tea and invited Sue to sit down. Sue did so seamlessly without drawing breath. “I love your new look, Maddy. So peasanty and earthy. Quite a change from the sort of things we used to see you in.”

  Maddy was too weary to even try and make conversation, which was fortunate as Sue was making more than enough for both of them. “So have you got your holidays planned? We’re off to Provence this summer. I do so love France, all that effortless style. Gary likes to do the vineyards, to stock up our little wine cellar, so we tend to take a villa and go native. I think next year we might do Portugal again—Gary loves the golf—and the seafood is so good, don’t you find? Of course I can’t complain. We have just had a super skiing holiday. The chalet was simply marvelous and Arabella, our chalet girl, made the most delish suppers.”

  “Maddy?” Crispin called from the back door. She heard him kicking off his boots, and he appeared, grubby and disheveled. “What time did you tell that hippie lot I’d be—?” He walked into the kitchen and stopped short. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company. Hello.” He glanced briefly at Sue, and then he looked again. “It’s . . . Sue, Sue Pilbeam, isn’t it? Haven’t seen you for years.”

  Maddy was pretty confused by the speed at which Sue left her half-drunk tea, picked up her bag, dragged Josh away from his game of dreadnought power fighters on the landing, and, pleading a “huge list of things to do,” was out of the drive like a frightened rabbit. Maddy came back into the kitchen, where Crispin was still standing in his stockinged feet.

  “Well, bugger me!” he said, awestruck. “If that wasn’t Pokey Pilbeam. She’s poshed up a bit but still got that magnificent chest.”

  “Pokey Pilbeam?”

  “That’s what we called her at school. She was a right goer, was old Sue Pilbeam. Think I had a snog with her once at a school disco, but that wasn’t all she was offering, as I recall. Hence the Pokey bit. Hardly recognized the old slapper . . .”

  It took Maddy at least ten minutes to stop laughing long enough to phone Izzie with this enlightening news.

  Chapter 13

  Izzie gleefully passed on the hot news to Marcus as soon as he got back from the pub before supper, but he barely smiled. She’d been hoping it would thaw the atmosphere that had been building up between them enough for her to broach the tricky topic of their planned trip to the Cévennes. He ate without looking up from the paper, and she wasn’t even sure he was listening to what she was hesitantly explaining.

  “So there’s no option really.” Izzie looked down at her plate, twisting the pasta round and round the fork without ever raising it to her lips. “We’ll have to get the centpertuis boiled down and filtered in France. It’s costing far too much to have it shipped over here in its raw state.”

  Still no response. “We were thinking we could go over once the school holidays begin—spend a few days there setting up the operation. We’ve got access to premises and there are staff lined up.”

  At last he closed the paper and folded his arms, looking up stonily. “All lined up. That’s handy. How did you manage that then?”

  Izzie concentrated very hard on organizing the carrot sticks in her side salad into neat rows. “Maddy more or less took care of it. She’s got contacts over there and she made a few calls.” Damn, why did she sound so apologetic?

  “Right—simple as that then? And what about the kids? I hope you’re not simply assuming I’ll drop everything and look after them again?”

  It was time for her trump card and she smiled triumphantly. “No, actually. Maddy and I thought we might take them all with us. It could be fun for them.”

  “Very neat.” Marcus looked away and exhaled loudly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So you won’t need me at all this time. What am I supposed to do while you’re off in France, then?”

  “Do what you want, for goodness sake. You’re always complaining that you don’t have any time to yourself.”

  “Suppose what I want is to have you and the kids here with me. What then?”

  “Marcus, make up your mind.” Izzie’s patience had worn through. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you resent looking after the kids so much of the time, but when I offer to take them off your hands, you get all sulky. I’m trying to be helpful here.”

  “Oh you are, are you? Silly me! I thought you were just trying to squeeze me out. Again.”

  “Look, I’m offering a few free days on a plate. What’s the problem?” Izzie stood up abruptly and emptied her uneaten food into the bin, then crashed her plate into the dishwasher.

  “I don’t know. You tell me! You’ve got all the answers, haven’t you?” Marcus stalked over to the fridge and pulled out another can of lager, staring at her challengingly.

  “The way you’re talking, anyone would think I was dumping on you. I’m not going on holiday, for goodness sake. I’ll be working, making Paysage Enchanté more efficient.”

  “Oh working!” He turned away, sauntered back over to the table, and sat down again with his legs stretched out in front of him. “Well that makes it all right then. If you’re working, then you can put everything and everyone to the back of the queue and it’s all right, in fact it’s fantastic because you’re a big fucking success, aren’t you? Everyone I meet tells me how lucky I am, how proud I must be, how hard you work. I know how fucking hard you work, because you’re never here. You’re never here, you never talk to me, you never tell me what you’re doing—until you’ve already done it—”

  “Now hang on.” Izzie stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “That’s not fair. I’m not just doing this for me, you know. Do you think I like working all hours making this stuff, having to watch my every move for fear that some cruddy journalist will spot me putting on mascara or something?”

  “I assume you do like it.” He shrugged. “I mean, you’ve got a choice in the matter. If it’s so awful, just stop. Go on—give it all up now.”

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous. You know it’s not as simple as that. I have responsibilities, obligations—”

  “And what about your responsibilities to me?” Izzie could feel her heart sink. There was no deflecting the row now. “Don’t turn away from me,” he went on. “Sit down. We’re going to have this out. Basically you just take it for granted that I’ll fit in with whatever you dump on me.”

  Izzie forced herself to sit, but clenched her fists together on the table. “That is so not true! All the time you were working, I put my work, my whole life on the back burner, just so I’d be there for you. I kept the kids out of your
way when you were tired. I always put your career and what was best for you first, even when—”

  “Here we go. I was waiting for this.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even when what? When I lost my job, you mean? Do you think I wanted to move to this godforsaken hole . . . ?”

  Izzie gasped. “But I thought you loved it here. It was your idea!”

  “What other option was there? It’s all worked out fine for you, hasn’t it? You’ve got your own little business, your little mate, your little bank balance.”

  “But it’s not my money, Marcus. It’s ours. For you and me and the kids.”

  “Can’t you see how excluded I feel from all this?” He thumped the table. “My life is going down the tubes and your solution is to pop over to France with the kids. Great timing, Izzie. Top marks!”

  “But the whole idea is that we’ll make enough money eventually for me not to have to work so hard. That way we can all be together. It’s what I want. Really! Marcus, you’re welcome to come, if you want to,” she lied. “It’s just a question of getting another plane ticket. Look”—she reached for the phone—“I’ll call right now. I’ll book you in—”

  Marcus slammed his hand down on the table again. “You’re not listening to me. I’m telling you I feel rejected. What do I have to do to get your attention? Send you a fucking e-mail? You’re not really interested in how I feel. Just managing me like you do the kids. Well, I’m not a kid, and you can’t brush me off!”

  Izzie stood up, too angry now to keep a guard on her tongue. “If you’re not a child, then stop bloody acting like one. Take responsibility for yourself for a change. If you’ve got a problem, do what I do—sort it out yourself. I’ve got enough crap to deal with, and I don’t want yours.”

  He sighed theatrically. “Yeah, you have such a lot to complain about—don’t you? Well, where would you have been without me these last months, eh? I’ve done everything for you, picked up the kids, fed them, even gone shopping for you. And this is the gratitude you show me!”

  Izzie felt an icy calm close round her heart, and she stood up, looking at him with distaste. “Yes, of course. You have been helpful; you’ve done lots of things for the children. But the one thing only you could have done—give me your complete support, belief, and love—well, that’s the thing you haven’t been able to do.”

  Marcus seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Well, from now on you can pay someone to do it all for you, because I’m out of here, and we’ll see how you manage.”

  And he walked from the house, leaving the door wide open behind him.

  Izzie collapsed into her chair. She felt sick, and her lower back was throbbing with tension. Was that it? Was that the end of it? She felt so confused, she couldn’t work out how they’d got to that cold hateful place. She felt a surge of remorse. She went through the motions of clearing up, then went upstairs to bed, where she curled up in a fetal position, her teeth chattering. She thought, He doesn’t have his jacket. He’ll be cold. Then she fell asleep.

  The next morning, he hadn’t reappeared. She tried calling his mobile phone but didn’t leave a message. The children didn’t seem unduly surprised that Marcus wasn’t there, and she quickly made up some story about his having to work early. Charlie complained, “He was going to help me make an assault course for my Action Man tonight. Will he be here when I get back from school?”

  Izzie swallowed hard. She had no idea what to say to him. “I hope so, darling. But let’s see later on. Maybe I can help you if he’s busy.”

  Izzie and Maddy were due to have another meeting with Elements that afternoon, but since Maddy had gone to visit Peter and Giselle, they had arranged to meet outside the head office. A single phone call was enough to ensure that the kids were taken care of, and she explained carefully before dropping them at school just who would be picking them up and for how long.

  Maddy was already waiting on the pavement by the time Izzie hopped out of the taxi, looking slightly shifty in a puff-sleeved blouse with drawstring neck. Izzie plastered a smile on her face. “Moll Flanders, I presume?”

  Maddy groaned and rolled her eyes. “Don’t! I’ve had Giselle going on and on about my clothes since first thing this morning.” She gave her a kiss. “You all right? You look a bit peaky.”

  Izzie couldn’t face this now. “Oh—fine, more or less. I didn’t sleep very well. Come on. We’d better go in. Can’t keep Billy Bullshit waiting.”

  An hour later they emerged onto the pavement as if they’d been punched. “Could you please pinch me?” muttered Izzie, dazedly. “I’m not sure that wasn’t a dream.”

  Every element of Elements had undergone some sort of metamorphosis. Gone were the plasma computer screens, the glass-topped desks, the primary-colored chairs. Gone was the monochrome tailoring, the gravity-defying hair, the NASA-inspired decor. When the gleaming lift doors hissed open to reveal Finbar, it was not as they had known him. Could he be wearing corduroy? Yes, top to toe—brown corduroy. Positively Hugh Grant in his floppiness, and smiling with a gentle warmth.

  As the whole encounter unfolded, it became increasingly clear that Elements hadn’t taken on Paysage Enchanté. Paysage Enchanté had taken over Elements, body and soul. The entire company had suffered a sea change into something rich and very strange. The walls had been made to look like rustic plaster, and swags of carefully distressed damask hung at the plate-glass windows. In place of the coffee machine, there was now an evil-smelling earthenware teapot. Even the staff were dirndled and Birkenstocked.

  A lot may have changed at Elements, but the language remained the same, though even Finbar couldn’t cloud the message this time. Sales were fantastic. They were crying out for the new range. The shop-within-a-shop idea was working perfectly—and the “future-here brands” were apparently being somewhat bypassed in the stampede to reach the Paysage Enchanté that now lay at the heart of each store, as Finbar had poetically put it, like a pearl within an oyster.

  So Maddy did pinch her hard, then hugged her, and Izzie tried to match her enthusiasm as they staggered (again laden down with samples) homeward.

  Pleading a headache, Izzie pretended to fall asleep on the train and tried to imagine life without Marcus. Would he stay in touch? Would he disappear out of their lives? Or would things just carry on as before, and they’d agree to forget about the whole stupid row?

  By the time they got into the car at Ringford, she felt she owed Maddy an explanation.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t know where he is.” Tears spilled from her eyes, but she dashed them away angrily. “How could he walk out on the kids like that, without saying where he was going? He’s being so fucking selfish!”

  “What started it off?”

  “Something stupid—I can’t even remember. Only it wasn’t a stupid row. Not really. We’ve bickered before, but this was something different.” She sniffed unattractively. “It’s been building for a while—well, you know that—and for the first time in ages, I really told him how I feel, but I don’t think I did it very well. I wasn’t—you know—assertive. I got a bit harpy-ish. But it’s just so unfair. I look after everyone, and my needs always come last. All I really want is to be loved and looked after, you know, nurtured, and really cherished. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No, I don’t think it is. How do you feel about him now?”

  “Bloody angry. But I’m just so confused.” Izzie paused and looked out of the window as Maddy drove. “And the idea of never seeing him again is terrifying. Oh, I’m sorry, Maddy. This must sound so trivial compared to what you’ve had to endure. Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about it. I can hardly bear even to think about it.”

  Maddy put her hand on Izzie’s leg. “It’s okay. I’m here when you do feel like talking. And don’t worry about the Simon thing. I promise I don’t compare. We have two different stories—that’s all.”

  When they got back to Maddy’s, Izzie hugged her f
riend gratefully, then got in her own car to pick the children up from Janet’s. Full of fish pie—why wouldn’t they eat hers?—and worn out from playing with Tamasin and Oscar, they bickered in the backseat, but without conviction. As they approached home, Izzie’s stomach contracted. What would she find?

  A surge of relief mingled with panic. Marcus’s car was in the drive. Letting the kids run on ahead, Izzie tried to pin down her feelings, as if they could guide her in her decision about what to do. Was she pleased he was back or not? Both really. At least she knew he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, but she didn’t think she could face another row like last night’s.

  She needn’t have feared. Marcus was drunk as a skunk, fully dressed and asleep on their bed. While the children tormented him, like Lilliputians pulling at Gulliver washed up on the beach, she quickly checked for empty bottles. There were plenty—at least he hadn’t been driving drunk. That she could never have forgiven. She quietly extracted the children from their bedroom, ignored Marcus’s slurred, “Love ya, babe,” and got them ready for bed. She cleared up the mess he’d left, slamming things into the bin and enjoying the moral high ground as she gave in to her resentment, then watched crap on telly. By eleven, showered and in clean pajamas, she lay down on the very edge of the bed as though on a precipice, and fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by nightmares about missing trains.

  But if Izzie had thought they were going to shuffle back to a flawed but tolerable version of normality, she was mistaken. Marcus was assiduous in his care of the children. If anything, he was far more patient than usual, but to Izzie he said only the barest minimum and never made eye contact. The frosty politeness was somehow worse than rowing. “Tea?” “Finished with the paper?” “No thank you. I’ll iron that shirt myself.” By the time they left for France, Izzie was at screaming point.

  Ensconced on the plane, Maddy leaned across the aisle while the kids grappled with their seat belts. “Go on then, spill the beans.”

  “Oh, Maddy, he’s being so immature.”