Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  Sweaty, troubling dreams of long corridors and public toilets with no doors plagued Izzie. In the distance, she could hear the bell for the end of lessons, but she couldn’t remember which classroom she was supposed to be in and didn’t seem to have any books with her. The bell kept on and on ringing. Eventually she felt Marcus drag himself out of bed, swearing under his breath, then he was back, shaking her roughly awake and thrusting the cordless phone into her hands. She shook her head, trying to pull herself into wakefulness. Was it her mother? Was somebody ill?

  “Hello? Who is it?”

  “Izzie, listen. Something extraordinary’s happened.”

  “Maddy? Wha—wha’s up?” She squinted at the clock—only eleven thirty, but she’d been so deeply asleep. She stumbled along the corridor to the bathroom so as not to disturb Marcus any further. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and calm the panicked beating of her heart, she tried to focus on Maddy’s excited jabber.

  High on adrenaline, she switched off the phone. Could this be the answer to everything? She hurried back to the darkness of the bedroom, anxious to share the news. “Darling, you’ll never guess what. That was Maddy. She says that—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what that bitch says.” He heaved himself from his hunched sitting position at the side of the bed and stumbled toward her, his face ugly and contorted in the light from the landing. “Who does she think she is, calling us at this time of night? She’s got a fucking nerve. Rattling round in that bloody mansion of hers, she’s got nothing better to do than try to push herself in between us any time it takes her fancy. That spoiled bitch—she’s not going to ruin my life.”

  “What the . . . ? What are you talking about? It’s not that at all. She was only—”

  “I know what she was doing,” he spat. “I can see right through that slag even if you can’t.” He stood there, hands on hips in the shaft of light coming through the open door. “She’s got you just where she wants you, running round after her like some pathetic little lapdog. Can’t you see how stupid you look? Poncing around in your silly little outfits, pretending to be oh so important. You might be fooling those tossers in London, but you’re not fooling me.”

  Izzie reeled back from this outpouring of venom. Where had this come from? She knew he’d had too much to drink, but this was way beyond the whiskey talking. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down, you’ll wake the kids.”

  “Oh, the kids. Here we go! The loving mother.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Where the hell have you been for the last six months when they needed you?”

  “You’re drunk! Just stop it, now. Go to sleep. Just shut up, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know exactly what I’m saying. I’ve had long enough to think about it, all those evenings when you’ve left me alone. I’ve only got your word for it that you’re even working—”

  Suddenly she felt a wave of anger. “Yeah, that’s it, Marcus. Every night we knock off at five then go and pick up a couple of blokes down the Fox and Hounds in Ringford and shag them senseless. Is that what you want to hear? You’re pathetic, Marcus!”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you. The only person you ever think about, apart from yourself, is that toffee-nosed bitch.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that.” Izzie knew she was shouting, but she was past caring. “You’re happy enough to spend the money I earn when I’m working every hour God sends. You’re so full of self-pity. You disgust me!”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, thrusting his hate-filled face toward hers.

  “Do I now? Do I? I bet that French bastard can give it to you all night, can’t he? Go on—tell me all about it.” Suddenly she was chillingly aware of how much bigger and stronger than her he was. Like a cold shower, the fear swept over her, completely eradicating all the good feelings that had been bubbling over just moments before. She felt vulnerable as never before. She was aware that a small rational part of her brain was calculating just how far it was to the door and how quickly she could get to the children. “And I bet you were just gagging for it, weren’t you?”

  He turned away, and staggered, then with uncontrolled violence he swept his arm across the top of her dressing table, sending everything flying. There was an unbearable crash, then stunned silence, and the smell of perfume from a shattered bottle slowly filled the air. She looked down at the debris in the half light. A photograph of the children lay on the floor, their smiling faces distorted by the smashed glass. From along the corridor, she could hear Jess whimpering.

  So the charade was over.

  Very calmly now, she brushed past him as he stood there swaying and confused, and opened her wardrobe door. She took out a fleece and put it on over her pajamas, then turned and left the room. “I’m coming, darling. Mummy’s here.”

  Maddy rigged up beds out of blankets and duvets on the floor of Will’s bedroom, whispering to Charlie and Jess to get under the covers, leaned down to say how lovely it was to have them to stay at such short notice, and tucked them in to sleep. It would be quite a surprise for Will when he woke up in the morning, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d calm him down enough to go to school.

  She passed Colette coming up the stairs. “I’ve made her a cup of tea,” Colette said quietly. “She looks terribly sad.”

  “Mmmm, I’m not sure tea will be strong enough. Can you just check for me that Charlie and Jess are settled?”

  “Sad” wasn’t really strong enough either. Izzie was still sitting huddled on the kitchen chair, dressed in pajama bottoms, with a fleece pulled over the top. Her legs were pulled up onto the seat and her arms folded around them, cowering like an animal, her cup of tea steaming and untouched in front of her.

  “Izzie, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have called so late—I was just excited and didn’t think. It really could have waited until the morning.” She took a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard and sat down next to Izzie, who continued to gaze into space, her face betraying no emotion. Perhaps she was too mad with her to speak, but then why would she have turned up on the doorstep at half past midnight?

  “I don’t think I can go back,” she said finally in a monotone. “I think he’s really done it now. We both said things so terrible that there’s no going back on them. It’s like smashing a precious piece of porcelain or something.” She laughed mirthlessly. “And he took care of that too.” Maddy pushed the glass of wine toward her, and watched Izzie pick it up without really noticing and take a sip.

  “No, it’s not, Izzie,” said Maddy after a while. “Porcelain is brittle, but a marriage should be stronger than that. This has just brought to a head something that has been brewing for ages. Okay, so the company has been a success, but he should be pleased about that, not making you suffer for it.” Izzie didn’t respond. Dare she say anything about the agency or would it be so fundamentally destructive that there would be no mending the marriage? “Look, Izzie, Marcus is pretty much out of work—even if it, er, wasn’t his fault—and you were short of cash. What you have done has changed your whole lifestyle.”

  Izzie was fiddling with the stem of her glass, running her thumb and forefinger up the length of it. “Maybe, but it’s been a hell of a price to pay, hasn’t it?”

  “Has it made you happy though?”

  Izzie frowned. “Yes and no. Meeting you, putting together the team, all this”—she waved her arm around the kitchen—“has been fantastic, but in some ways it’s made life a nightmare. I can’t remember who it was I married anymore. He’s changed so much.”

  “What about Jean Luc?”

  “He’s very special.”

  She carried on playing with the glass, and Maddy put her hand over hers and said gently, “No, I meant, what about him? You have to ask yourself some pretty searching questions here. Do you feel happier with him now than you do with Marcus? Because I’m sure there is an option there if you decide that you have to leave.”

  Izzie l
ooked at Maddy for the first time since she’d sat down. “No, there isn’t,” she said firmly.

  “But I thought—”

  “I know what you thought, but we’re not having an affair. But meeting him made me feel special and valued, and I suppose it’s given me the strength to see what my marriage has become.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s a past master at making you feel good, that’s for sure. I ought to tell him about the Tessutini bid. He’ll laugh like a drain.”

  “He’s been so easy to work with, hasn’t he?” Izzie sounded vaguely regretful. “Right from the start he was willing to help us out and be encouraging. If we accept the bid, it will affect him and the women who work with him. What shall we do about that? The bid I mean. It’s unbelievable really.”

  Maddy got up from her chair and dug a cigarette out of her bag. She’d had her ration for Monday, but it was tomorrow now, after all. “I was thinking about it after Geoff called tonight.” She inhaled deeply. “It all seems a bit of a coincidence to me, when we’d been talking about floating and suddenly along comes an offer to buy us.”

  “I suppose. But it could be fate.” Izzie sounded dismissive. “It could just be the get out that we’re looking for. Face it, Maddy. Life’s hell. We’re having to live this completely false existence which is anathema to both of us—I mean”—she tried to smile—“the way you’ve suppressed your primeval urge for Bond Street is nothing short of miraculous. But, you know, it’s destroying the most fundamental thing to both of us—our family life.”

  Maddy fiddled with her lighter. “Are you going to go back to him?”

  Izzie sighed and took a cigarette from the open packet. Maddy suddenly felt a huge burden of responsibility. Whether she had meant to or not, by pursuing the idea of Luce’s recipes, she’d created a situation which had changed Izzie’s marriage perhaps forever, she’d virtually forced her into the arms of Jean Luc—or at least she’d done nothing to stop the situation—and now she had even got her back on the fags.

  “I don’t know that I can,” said Izzie finally. “I think we might all be better off apart for a while. And if this bid comes off, I could afford to be on my own with the kids.” Her face was distraught, her eyes big and frightened. “Christ, Maddy, I don’t know. It’s so huge, isn’t it? Here I am talking about leaving something that has been part of my life for fifteen years, but nothing I do makes the situation any better.”

  “Do you still love him?” Maddy probed gently.

  “At the moment, honestly, no. In fact, I hate him, but I’m not sure I can bear to be without him. We used to have such fun. I wish you’d known him then, when the kids were first born, but since we moved up here some of that fun has gone. He’s become prickly and, well, chippie really. Always critical of other people. I used to think it was funny, but I don’t anymore. It’s, well, it’s bitchy really. Ugly.”

  “Do you think he sees all this as a comedown? I mean, I don’t know much about the advertising world, but it must be pretty glam compared to a wet Wednesday afternoon in Ringford.”

  “Oh, it was glam. In a shallow kind of way—you know, adverts for ketchup suddenly becoming an art form. But it was fun and exciting. I suppose I miss that sort of thrill and excitement too. But then I’ve loved all this. It knocks spots off copyediting knitting patterns.”

  Suddenly peckish, and remembering that she’d had nothing to speak of since lunch, Maddy went over and raided the biscuit cupboard and, from force of habit with Pasco, found herself unwrapping a Kit Kat for Izzie.

  “You’ve changed, you know,” she said, sitting down again with a mouth full of chocolate. “Even in the twelve months I’ve known you. When I compare the woman holding the cake in Sue’s kitchen to the person who took on Finbar and the gargoyles at Elements. Things may have changed at home but you’ve found a self-confidence on the way.”

  Izzie bit through the biscuit. “Have I?”

  “Yes, and it suits you. Perhaps, this might be overstepping the Marc-us a bit, but perhaps you can now meet him on a level playing field. You’ve proved what you can do, and he’s having to learn that you have changed too and he’s going to have to treat you in a different, more respectful way.”

  Izzie folded the foil from the Kit Kat wrapper into smaller and smaller squares. “You make it sound easy, but I don’t think it will be. He’s bloody stubborn and he’ll sulk. I don’t think things can change for the better with the business getting bigger and bigger all the time.”

  “Shall we go with the bid, then?” Maddy asked.

  Izzie shook her head, almost punch-drunk. “I’m too tired to think straight about anything, let alone something as big as that. Let’s talk to Geoff and Peter about it, shall we? Can’t we just go to bed now?”

  Maddy couldn’t really sleep, and at half past six she gave up trying and went downstairs in her pajamas and slippers while the house was still quiet. It was already light, though the sky was dull and gray with the threat of more heavy rain, and the kitchen felt warm and welcoming. She cleared up the glasses and ashtray from the table, laid out the bowls and plates for breakfast, and put on the kettle. As it began to heat, she dialed Jean Luc’s number.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Maddy, darling. No, I’ve been up an hour. We’ve got a big day ahead to get supplies over to you. Celeste has been ill and we’ve got a bit behind. Are you calling to whip us into action?”

  Maddy laughed. “Oh, yes, got to keep you on your toes! As a matter of fact, things might be about to change,” and she told him about Geoff’s call.

  “That’s an amazing offer,” Jean Luc finally said after a long pause. “Are you going to take it?”

  “I don’t know. Things have got pretty out of control here one way and another.” She told him about Izzie and heard him snort down the phone. “I think the business is making him resentful and her unhappy. It could just be the best thing to bale out.”

  “Well, she’s a fool to give it all up for his small-mindedness.”

  Tucking the phone under her chin, Maddy poured the boiling water onto a couple of tea bags in the pot. “I don’t think she knows what to do, but she’s going to find it hard to go back. They must have said some pretty terrible things to each other.”

  “People do.” That sounded heartfelt. What had gone on between him and Pascale at the end? she wondered. She had never rowed so painfully with Simon, not rowed about anything serious really, and in a way she was glad that she hadn’t been faced with heartache like that to include now as part of his memory.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Maddy, you know, anything.”

  She quietly closed the kitchen door and lowered her voice—ridiculous when she was talking in French. “I found out some time ago that Marcus was not actually made redundant from the advertising agency in London. He was fired.”

  “Merde. Does Izzie know?”

  “That’s the point. I’m pretty certain that she doesn’t. She ought to know. It’s a monstrous secret to keep from your wife, but do I tell her? I could risk ruining everything.”

  There was a long pause down the phone, and she thought for a minute he’d been cut off. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said quickly. “No, I don’t think it is your place to say anything. He has to tell her, but you may have to make him do it. Can you speak to him alone?”

  “I don’t know how. I think the man’s a jerk, and I think he knows I do. It would seem very odd if I suddenly phoned up.”

  “Peut-être, but it’s pretty important, isn’t it? You really must speak to him somehow. Listen, darling, I’m going to have to go. The girls are here. I’ll speak to you soon. Take care, sweetie.”

  She put down the phone. How the hell could she get to Marcus? Listening intently to check there was no one coming downstairs, she picked up Izzie’s rucksack from the floor and, feeling horribly guilty, delved inside to find her mobile. God, it was a worse mess than her bag. She pulled out her purse, a sheet of paracetamo
l, half a packet of Softmints, and a bulging Filofax, before she found the phone buried deep with Lil-lets and a handful of Micro Machines at the bottom. It wasn’t a mobile model she was familiar with, and it took her a couple of tries to locate the address book and to find “Mmob.” She scribbled the number on a Post-it note by the phone, hoping to God it was his number, not Izzie’s mother’s. She even checked it wasn’t her own. Cramming everything back into the rucksack, she hastily tucked the Post-it note into her own bag, poured Izzie a cup of tea from the pot, and went upstairs to wake the household.

  There wasn’t much waking to be done. Will, on finding his bedroom had two new occupants, was frenzied with excitement, and his squeals had managed to rouse Florence, Pasco, and Izzie, who emerged from her room looking like shit. Maddy pushed the mug into her hands, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and began to round up the kids for breakfast. Once she’d quieted them down long enough to work out who wanted which cereal, Colette appeared in the kitchen looking fresh and efficient, and Maddy skulked off for a shower.

  “Come and pick something revolting from my wardrobe,” she called to Izzie as she passed the half-closed spare room door.

  “Can I borrow some more of that luscious underwear?” came the sleepy reply.

  Once all the children had been dropped at their destinations, Izzie dug around in her bag for her phone, and quickly dropped it back when she saw there was no message.

  “It’s still early,” Maddy said encouragingly, turning onto the main road, still feeling guilty for having snooped.

  “I don’t know why I looked. I don’t want to hear from him anyway,” and Izzie turned her head to look out of the window. “Can we get Geoff and Peter to a meeting today—bit short notice?”

  “I get the impression Geoff would come and talk about it like a shot.” She passed Izzie her phone. “Give him a call.”

  As predicted, Geoff suggested a meeting late that afternoon at Maddy’s house, and said he would speak to Peter. He stressed fervently to them how important it was that they talk to no one. “It all sounds all very cloak and dagger,” said Izzie, hanging up. “He had a sort of excitement about it as if it was Bulldog Drummond.”