by Jane Fallon
So, you see, she’s more than a friend, she’s like a sister. But the good kind. The kind that wants the best for you, not the kind who only phones you up to tell you that you’re a shit daughter and you should go and visit your parents more often.
I simply don’t know what I would do without her. I love my brothers, I love my mum and dad, but Michelle is the first person I call when anything happens to me. She’s the only person who knows everything about me. Until now, that is – obviously.
I let Bea leave a couple of hours early on the Thursday so she had time to get to the station before the after-work crowds would be too overwhelming. I wanted to make sure she had lots of time to get herself ready. It was important she looked her seductive best. All the rooms at the hotel where the function was being held had turned out to be taken, so I’d booked her into the Premier Inn five minutes up the road.
‘Get a taxi, won’t you?’ I said, like a worried parent. ‘I don’t want you walking home late at night.’
‘I have no intention of still being there when it’s late.’ Bea was checking through her overnight bag in my office, making sure she had everything she needed. ‘As soon as I’ve accomplished my mission I’m leaving. I’d rather eat room service and watch Newsnight than hang out with a load of people I don’t know who are sad enough to think the Lifestyle Cable Choice Awards are a fun night out.’
‘Ring me, won’t you? Make sure you charge your phone in the hotel before you leave.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘If for some reason we don’t talk tonight, call me first thing. What train are you getting back?’
‘No idea. I’ll call you. Try not to worry.’
‘Good luck,’ I said, hugging her tightly as if she was off to Helmand Province and I might never see her again. ‘Just … try your best.’
‘Will do. Right, I’d better go …’
‘Bea,’ I said as she was about to open the door to leave my office. ‘Is this a really stupid idea?’
‘It sucks. But, like you said, what’s the worst that can happen?’
The minute she left it crashed down on me exactly what I was doing. Sending my hapless assistant on a wild goose chase to try to seduce my best friend’s husband. Or, at least, to allow him to try to seduce her. It was never going to work. And if it did, what kind of a person did that make me? By the time I left for home – having bitten one of my fingernails down to the quick, a habit it had taken me years and many bottles of poisonous-tasting nail polish to grow out of – I had decided I was no better than a madam. A pimp. I was like Fagin taking advantage of poor old Bea’s good nature, sending her off to do my dirty work. I nearly called her and told her to turn back and forget all about it. I didn’t, of course. I wish I had now. Then maybe I would never have done what I’ve just done.
8
I decided I needed a distraction for the evening. Something to take my mind off whatever was happening in Birmingham. Ian and Fiona had been pestering me forever to go on a date with one of their single friends.
‘He’s perfect for you,’ Fiona had said, words guaranteed to strike fear into the heart of any unattached woman.
Meeting who your friends think is your ideal match is like seeing yourself through their eyes. That unattractive/dull/stupid man makes them think of you. You’re so alike. Unless the man in question turns out to be drop-dead gorgeous and a member of Mensa it’s an insult. So I usually avoid any attempts to set me up. But desperate times called for desperate measures. I phoned a slightly surprised-sounding Adam and asked him if he wanted to meet for a drink. A one-night-only offer.
As soon as I arrived at Galvin’s at the top of the Hilton on Park Lane, pushing my way through the hordes of suited after-work cocktail drinkers, I knew that this was never going to be the greatest love story ever told. I recognized Adam from a snap Fiona had shown me. That was a good thing. I’ve met up with so many potential suitors who look nothing like their pictures. More like the older, sadder, heavier brother. The bad thing was that I already knew I didn’t fancy Adam. He stood up to greet me. If he felt any disappointment it didn’t show on his face. I am an expert at spotting the subtle eye flicks and shifts in body language that give away when someone is unimpressed by what they see. He gave me a big smile – the smile he wore in his picture – and it exuded friendliness and warmth. Without it, though, his face was, well, a bit potatoey. A bit undefined.
The bottom line is that I like sharp and pointy and Adam was soft and doughy. I’m not shallow enough to think that looks are everything, but they are something, and a quite significant something at that. It’s not that I want all my dates to be good looking. I’ve fancied men in the past who would scare off crows if they stood in a field long enough. But they had something about them that appealed to me. And Adam didn’t.
I told myself I was here for a reason. Operation Take My Mind Off Patrick and Bea. I would just have a few drinks, make idle chit chat and leave having managed to kill the best part of the evening. Adam stuck out a hand to shake mine.
‘I’ve always wanted to know what Ian and Fiona thought of me. Now I’m not so sure.’
Ordinarily this would have made me laugh, but I had too much on my mind.
It turned out he was a teacher at one of Ian and Fiona’s kids’ schools and he tried his best to keep me entertained with stories from the playground. He was funny, too, I just wasn’t in the mood. I did feel a bit guilty about how distracted I was, but I couldn’t stop myself from checking my phone every couple of minutes. I hadn’t heard a thing from Bea since a text when she’d first arrived at the venue that said, ‘The eagle has landed ha ha,’ and my mind was racing with the possibilities of what might be happening.
‘Expecting something important?’ Adam said as I picked up my mobile for the tenth time.
‘Oh, no, sorry. That is, yes. My mum’s ill …’ I have no idea why I said this. It just seemed like the excuse that would garner me the most leeway to keep checking my messages.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Adam said. ‘Not bad, I hope.’
I blathered through some half-baked story about diabetes and a fall. Adam was all sympathy. I answered his questions in monosyllables. He ploughed on valiantly, asking me about myself and my world. I knew I should be reciprocating, but it hardly seemed worth it. Eventually he pretty much gave up and sat gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the whole of London spread out below us.
At about half ten, just as I was wondering whether I could make my excuses and leave, my mobile rang. I stood up abruptly, gesturing to Adam that I had to take this. I answered it before I even checked who was calling, but thankfully it was Bea because my opening words were:
‘What the fucking fuck is going on? I’ve been getting really worried.’
I heard Bea laugh. ‘Jesus. I told you I might not be able to call. And by the way, nothing is going on. They only just finished giving out the awards. This thing is INTERMINABLE.’
I walked away from the table and stood by the windows. On any other night the view would have taken my breath away.
‘Oh God, really? Have you spotted him yet?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry. I’m about to go over. I was just calling because I knew you’d be sitting by your phone like a lovesick fourteen-year-old. Now go to bed. I’ll call you when I get up.’
‘Try me later.’
‘I’ll ring when I can. It might be a while, though. I can hardly go off to make a phone call in the middle of trying to impress him. Don’t panic if I don’t get you, that’s what I’m saying. It’s all taking longer than I’d hoped. Now I ne
ed to try and grab him before he leaves. If he’s got any sense he’ll be out of here like a shot.’
I resisted the urge to ask her a million questions about whether Patrick was on his own or if she’d seen him acting flirtatious with anyone. I would have to wait.
‘OK. Go get him.’
‘Wish me luck.’
There was no reason to hang around any longer. I probably wouldn’t hear from Bea for hours, if at all, so I might as well head home and try to get some sleep.
‘I have to go,’ I said to Adam, pulling on my jacket. I dug my purse out of my bag and put down a couple of tens.
‘Hopefully that’ll cover my half.’
‘Is your mum worse?’ he said with a slight raise of his eyebrows that I knew meant he wasn’t buying any of it.
‘Something like that. Thanks for a lovely evening. I enjoyed it.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I could tell.’
I started to apologize but then I realized there was no point. I was never going to see him again.
Back home I took Ron down the front steps to his bathroom on the kerb, waited while he just stood there and looked at me, convinced that if he hung on long enough I would give in and take him for a walk – despite the proliferation of late-night muggers that had hit the area recently he always lived in hope – played that game where I pretended to give up and be about to lead him back inside and he panicked and lifted a leg on next door’s recycling boxes, and then got into bed with a book and my phone on the pillow beside me. I thought there was no chance I would drop off any time soon, but the next thing I knew my alarm was buzzing and it was time to get up. I always sleep well. I can – and frequently do – sleep anywhere and everywhere. One ex used to call me ‘The Dormouse’ because of my love of napping. He didn’t last long, obviously.
I dragged myself out of bed just as my phone beeped to tell me I had a message. Bea.
‘I have good news but bad reception. Call you when I get somewhere better. But all good!’
Good news. That must be, well, good, right? She wouldn’t have told me that, given me that piece of hope, unless she was sure. Patrick must have come out of it well, been tried and proved himself innocent. I felt a weight lift off me, as if I were loosening a tight corset, peeling off my control underwear at the end of a long night out. My breath rushed in, flooding my lungs, making me feel lightheaded.
Of course I couldn’t help but try to ring Bea back. Over and over again. I wanted to be sure that the moment a conversation was possible we were having it. I was starting to regret giving her the whole day off when I had still heard nothing by ten past eleven.
In Bea’s absence Ashley was supposed to step in and assist me, but I refused all offers of help except for sending her to Caffè Nero for a skinny latte. Everything else could wait for Bea’s return on Monday. Somehow even the coffee she bought me didn’t taste as good as it does when Bea gets it. It was weak and watery. I drank it anyway, marvelling at how she could have managed to screw up something so simple, and then headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of instant.
Ian was already in there, fussing about with the kettle.
‘How was last night?’ he said, and it took me a moment to remember what it was he was talking about.
‘Oh. Adam. Yes. Nice man.’
‘Ah! Damned with faint praise,’ he said. ‘Oh well, I’ll break it to Fiona that she’s not going to be bridesmaid just yet.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘We just didn’t … you know.’ I hoped Adam hadn’t reported back that I’d had all the manners of a surly teenager. Now it seemed Bea had good news for me I was feeling a touch guilty about that.
‘Can’t win them all,’ he said, pouring water into two mugs he’d already spooned coffee into. I assumed he had tried to ask Lucy for one and then bottled it and offered to make one for her instead.
‘Want a cup?’ he said and I nodded yes. I found another mug in the cupboard and handed it to him.
‘Thanks, though,’ I said unconvincingly. ‘For setting me up.’
Reluctantly I went into a budget meeting with the producers of one of our shows, although I could scarcely concentrate. My sole contribution was to offer up that the catering allowance looked a bit high. By the time I came out there it was. A missed call from Bea. I shut myself in my office and phoned her straight back.
‘So?’ I said before she even had a chance to say hello. ‘What? What happened?’
‘Well …’ Bea said, prolonging the suspense. ‘Either he just found me repulsive or he’s really not the player you think he is.’
‘He didn’t bite?’
‘Not even a flicker.’
‘Oh my God, Bea. So … you went over …’ I needed to hear all the evidence.
‘In the end it was getting so late that I just went over, plonked myself down next to him and started chatting.’
‘And …’
‘And he was perfectly nice. Polite. I flirted my ass off, I’m not even joking. I even started telling him where I was staying and how he should come and see my room because it was so amazing – it wasn’t by the way, it was basic to say the least …’
‘Sorry.’
‘But he didn’t even indulge me by flirting back. In fact, he mentioned Michelle within the first two minutes.’
‘Really?’ I felt so happy I could have burst into song.
‘It was pretty obviously his way of trying to stop me in my tracks.’
‘So what then?’
‘Oh God, Tamsin, I feel sick when I think of some of the things I said. I thought I’d better have one last push just to make sure he wasn’t merely being cautious. So I basically propositioned him right there.’
‘Shit! What did you say?’
‘I can’t bring myself to tell you. But he knew that it was all his on a plate if he was up for it.’
‘And he said no.’
‘He didn’t just say no, he pretty much got away as quickly as he could. Said it wasn’t his style. He wasn’t the kind of man who would do that to his wife. And then he left not long after. On his own, I hasten to add. I didn’t even see him speak to any woman for more than about two minutes.’
‘So what about all the stories then?’
‘Malicious gossip, I reckon. Chinese whispers.’
‘You can’t believe how happy I am. I’m so grateful, Bea. I know it was an awful thing to ask you to do.’
‘I’m never going to let you forget it,’ she said, laughing.
‘OK, go and have a nice day off. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.’
The relief was overwhelming. Although it was tinged with a fairly large dose of embarrassment, it has to be said. I felt like a bit of an idiot for having allowed my suspicions to escalate to such a fever pitch, and for roping Bea into my crazy plan. Thank God she was the only one who knew about it. I knew I could trust her to keep it to herself.
The good feelings won out pretty swiftly. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling that Patrick had talked about Michelle to ward off an overzealous flirt. She was on his mind. He wanted the world to know he had no intention of betraying her.
All was right with my world.
I know, I know.
9
I’m never very good when the doorbell rings and I’m not expecting anyone. Half the time I just ignore it and hope whoever it is will go away. I hate surprises and that includes unannounced visitors. Plus when I am at home I’m never in a fit state to see anyone. I’m in my pyjamas about five minutes after I walk through the door, showered, scrubbed and dressed for bed with a lar
ge glass of Sauvignon Blanc in my hand.
For once, though, I was dressed and looking halfway presentable because I had decided to spend my precious Saturday doing exciting stuff like food shopping and going to the dry cleaners.
I recognized Patrick’s voice on the intercom straightaway. Although it was unusual for him to drop round alone, it wasn’t unheard of. There had been odd times when Michelle had sent him round on some errand or other. That was about it, though. He and I had never had an independent friendship. Of course, he and Michelle together had spent countless evenings sitting in my living room or eating in my kitchen. But anyway, the point is that I didn’t immediately think, What’s happened? Or, Who’s died? I just invited him in and asked if he’d like a cup of tea.
‘You on your own?’ he said by way of an answer, looking round as if he thought I might have picked up some man the night before, and he was about to emerge from my bedroom dressed in nothing but one of my nighties (for the record I don’t own any nighties. I am strictly a pyjama and T-shirt girl).
Ron, who is getting on a bit and whose reactions are not what they were, finally realized we had a visitor and barrelled out of the bedroom, throwing his whole weight at Patrick’s legs. Patrick leaned down and ruffled his wiry head.
‘Hey, boy.’
There was something not right about him. Patrick that is, not Ron. Something a bit on edge. The good feeling that had carried me through the past twenty-four hours started to dissipate.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Can I talk to you about something?’ Patrick said, words that no one ever wants to hear. Why was he here on his own and on a Saturday? I jumped to the worst conclusion.
