Mad About You

by Sinéad Moriarty

  ‘What did you buyed, Mummy?’ Lara asked.

  ‘A lovely dress.’ I pulled it out of the bag and held it up.

  ‘Oooooooh, I love purple.’ Lara was enthusiastic. That was something. Yuri was far too busy stuffing his face with chocolate to comment.

  While the children were eating, Babs asked Claire if she was still seeing her boyfriend.

  Claire blushed and looked at the floor. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wow, you have that loved-up glow,’ Babs said. ‘Is it serious?’

  Claire nodded. ‘Yes, it is. I’m hoping to move in with him soon.’

  ‘Really?’ It was my turn to be surprised. Claire hadn’t been going out with him long.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘He has a really nice place, but we just need his housemate to move out before I can move in.’

  ‘It seems very quick.’ I was worried Claire was rushing into this. She was very innocent. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for a big move like that?’

  ‘I’m positive. This guy is really special.’

  ‘So, what’s he like? Tall, dark and handsome?’ Babs asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hope he treats you well and appreciates you,’ I said.

  Claire fidgeted with her backpack. ‘He does. He especially loves my cooking.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, so do the kids. And you know James adores your lasagne,’ I enthused.

  ‘What does your boyfriend do?’ Babs asked, but before Claire could reply, Lara fell off her chair and started bawling.

  I ran over to her, but Claire got there first. She picked up Lara and cuddled her. I know it shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I wanted to comfort my child. Lara nestled her head into Claire’s shoulder.

  When Lara had calmed down and Claire had left, Babs put her feet up on the chair in front of her and shook her head. ‘I’m telling you, Emma, there’s something not right about her. I know she’s great with the kids and all that, but I just don’t trust her.’

  ‘We love Claire,’ Yuri defended his nanny.

  ‘Do you love her more than your mummy?’ Babs asked.

  They paused. ‘The same.’

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks for that.’ I glared at Babs, feeling really hurt that my children loved their nanny as much as, and probably more than, me.

  ‘You should get rid of her,’ Babs said.

  I asked the children to go and watch cartoons for a minute while I prepared dinner. I closed the kitchen door and turned to my sister. ‘Don’t you dare come in here and start harassing my nanny and insulting her in front of my kids. Claire is the only reason I’m still sane. She’s brilliant with the kids – as you can see, they like her more than they do me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have anyone in my house that my kids preferred to me. I’d get rid of her, if I were you. They like her way too much.’

  ‘I know they do and I find it hard sometimes, but I’d be lost without the help. I’m serious, Babs, back off. My life is complicated enough as it is without you stirring things up.’

  I pulled the Indian takeaway menu from the drawer under the kettle. ‘Let’s order.’

  As I took my phone out of my bag, it buzzed. A new message: U r 2 old n ugly 4 James. He is way too hot 4 u.

  I covered my eyes with my hands. Babs grabbed the phone from me and threw it on the counter. She pulled out a chair and sat me down. Then she poured me a glass of wine, which, despite my recent decision never to drink again, I gulped down.

  Babs read the message. ‘This is all way too strange. This woman is completely delusional. No matter how much I liked a man, I’d never stalk his wife! She’s unhinged. Even her texts feel very forced and unnatural. I wonder if it’s someone who has serious mental issues. She could be dangerous, Emma.’

  My hands shook as I put the glass down. ‘It looks like James has been sleeping with a younger woman.’

  ‘Well, he’s hardly likely to shag an older one,’ Babs pointed out.

  I began to cry. ‘I am old and I am ugly and I am past my best. James looks great. Everyone’s always telling me how handsome he is and how charming and nice. Maybe he just woke up one day and looked at me and thought, What the hell am doing settling for her?’

  ‘Come on, drama queen, you’re not that bad. And he’s not that good-looking. You look great for forty, and now that you’ve lost some weight, you look better than you have since you had the kids. James looks good too, but please, he’s not exactly Ed Westwick.’

  I sniffed. ‘Mum said your forties is a really dangerous time and that lots of people have affairs.’

  Babs popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth. ‘I’m sure they do, but it doesn’t mean James is. Look, I reckon the worst-case scenario here is that he had a one-night stand and is now paying for it. And you know what, Emma, a one-night stand is nothing. It means nothing. It was probably just a drunken ten-minute shag.’

  ‘It’s not nothing! It’s a very big deal, actually. It’s a break of trust and commitment, not to mind the hurt of knowing he wanted to have sex with someone else. What if he’s in love with her?’

  Babs pointed to the phone. ‘I can tell you now, no man is in love with this nutter. She’s obviously deranged, and if James was stupid enough to shag her, you can be sure he regrets it soooooo badly. He’ll never go offside again after this experience. And if the poor guy didn’t do anything and the stalker is just a freak who became obsessed with him because she sees him in work, then I really feel sorry for him.’

  ‘What do I do?’ I cried.

  ‘Get your arse down to that club and find out who the hell it is. Be strong, Emma. Take back control. Sitting around crying isn’t going to solve anything. Go down there and show the bitch you’re not going anywhere.’

  The kitchen door swung open. ‘Muuuuummy, we’re huuuuungry.’

  Babs pulled one child onto each of her knees. ‘We’re ordering food from a restaurant. What do you want?’

  ‘I want chicken nuggets and chips,’ Yuri said.

  Babs turned his face to hers. ‘Listen, Shorty, fried food is not going to make you grow, OK? You need to be eating sirloin steak, roast potatoes and broccoli.’

  ‘Yuck, yuck, yuck.’

  ‘Do you want to be the smallest kid in your class for ever? Do you want to miss out on all the hot tall girls when you’re older? Do you want to be the last kid picked for every team?’

  ‘Steady on!’ I didn’t want Yuri’s confidence knocked. I spent my whole life building him up and telling him it didn’t matter that he was small. I constantly assured him that the best things came in small packages.

  ‘Why are the tall girls hot? Will they burn me?’

  Babs chuckled. ‘Probably.’

  ‘Am I a hot tall girl?’ Lara wanted to know.

  ‘Not yet, but your prospects are good.’

  ‘Is Mummy?’ she asked.

  Babs burst out laughing. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Are you?’ Yuri asked his aunt.

  ‘Hell, yes.’ Babs winked at them. ‘The hottest.’

  ‘Do you burn boys with your hotness?’ Yuri was keen to find out if Babs was a fire hazard.

  ‘Every day.’ She grinned.

  ‘OK, hot stuff, you can stop filling my children’s heads with rubbish.’ I rolled my eyes. Babs was incorrigible but it was good to see her spark back. Now I just had to scrape my crushed ego off the floor for long enough for me to suss out the women at the club and show them that I wasn’t backing down.

  30

  Babs had said she’d cover for me in work the next day as the only makeup I had to do was hers. They were just filming her pieces to camera, so she could get away with doing her own face. So, the next morning, after taking the kids to school in my tracksuit, I dashed home and set about making myself look as attractive as possible. I showered with my Jo Malone gel – used only on very special occasions – then wrestled myself into my Spanx. I put on my new purple dress and necklace, black tights and my high heels. I felt over-dresse
d for the daytime, but it was vital that I was at my best.

  I applied my makeup slowly and meticulously, going for a glowy, fresh-faced look with strong eyes. I wanted to look really good when I confronted this Harriet person. I had decided during yet another sleepless night that the stalker must be Harriet. She saw James every day, she had obviously become obsessed with him and pregnant women often behaved very strangely. I was determined to find her and give her a piece of my mind.

  I walked gingerly down the stairs, put on my coat and picked up my bag. The shoes were already killing me – I could feel a blister forming on my heel. There was no way I was going to be able to walk to the hairdresser in them, then get the train to the London Irish ground. I took them off and put them into my bag, then slipped on a pair of flat ballet pumps and headed to get my unruly mane tamed into silky waves.

  I left the hairdresser an hour later, having assured the girl that I had no holiday plans, was not going anywhere nice tonight and did not need a supersize bottle of Moroccan oil. I caught my reflection in a shop window and smiled. I looked as good as I possibly could. But then, just as I boarded the train to Sunbury, it began to rain. Not little drizzly rain but big, sheeting rain. Damn, I hadn’t brought an umbrella with me. I gazed at the dark clouds overhead and prayed that by the time I got to Sunbury it would have stopped.

  I rested my head against the train window and watched the scenery whiz by. I tried to practise what I was going to say to Harriet. I wanted to be calm, cool and cutting. I wanted to be like one of those heroines of Second World War movies, those women who parachuted into occupied territory carrying vital messages. When they were captured by the Germans they held their heads high and refused to name names. Even when the big fat Gestapo captain threatened to pull their nails out, they still didn’t cave. They looked straight at their captors and smirked at them. Brave, stoic and superior.

  By the time the train pulled into the station, I felt invincible. Watch out, Psycho Woman, here I come …

  I stepped onto the platform into the kind of rain that comes at you sideways, so even if you did have an umbrella, you’d still get wet. Every taxi that went by was full. There was nothing for it, I was here now, and I had to get to the training ground. I walked up Staines Road East and The Avenue, trying to hold my coat over my head to protect my blow-dry. But by the time I reached the London Irish stadium, I was drenched and my lovely bouncy, silky hair was ruined. My tights were soaking, as was the lower half of my dress. I staggered inside the building and took off my dripping coat. I switched from my flat shoes into my high heels and tried to get my hair into some kind of controlled shape. But it was a lost cause – only the very back was still dry, the front was soggy and limp.

  Taking a deep breath to try to control my nerves and frustration, I attempted to stride confidently down the hallway. As I tottered around a corner, I saw a young guy dressed in a London Irish tracksuit. I asked him if he knew where James Hamilton’s office was. He pointed to a door at the end of the corridor.

  I clip-clopped on, feeling blisters forming on both heels now. When I reached James’s office, I flung the door open, tripped on the threshold and stumbled, landing on my hands and knees.

  Thank God, the office was empty. I picked myself up and examined the damage. Great! My tights were ripped at both knees and had ladders running down to my ankles. So far nothing was going according to plan. Stoic heroines didn’t fall about in ripped tights and wet hair. I turned to leave, and bumped straight into one of the players. He was about seven feet tall and had white-blond hair. I recognized him from the match I’d gone to see. He was covered with mud.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, taking in my dishevelled state.

  ‘Fine, thank you. I’m looking for my husband, James Hamilton. Do you happen to know where he is?’

  ‘Sure. He’s just finishing a training session. Go out of that exit door and turn right.’

  I nodded and carefully clunked towards the exit. When I stepped outside, my new shoes sank into the muddy grass. I yanked my feet out and sploshed along the side of the pitch, where the players were practising. I saw James on the sideline, deep in discussion with a young, sporty blonde woman. She was talking very intensely, and when she’d finished, James put his arms around her and gave her a hug.

  What the …?

  I completely lost it. My cool, calm plan went right out of the window. How dare he? How dare he carry on a full-blown affair in front of everyone? He wasn’t even hiding her in his office. He was blatantly flaunting his floozy in front of everyone. Did he have no respect for me? Was he really such a cold-hearted bastard that he could carry on this affair and come home every night and pretend nothing was going on?

  I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear nothing and see nothing but James’s smug face. I started to run over, but my left shoe got stuck in the mud. I tried to pull it out, but the heel was firmly entrenched. To hell with it, I kicked it off and hobbled the last twenty yards on one shoe.

  As I got closer, James looked round and saw me. His face dropped. He went pale and his arms fell away from the blonde girl’s shoulders.

  ‘YOU BASTARD!’ I screamed. I was less stiff-upper-lipped POW and more screeching fishwife. Much more.

  I turned to the blonde, who was staring at me, open-mouthed. ‘You dirty slut. Do you think you can screw my husband and stalk me? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?’

  I turned to wallop her with my bag, but James reached and grabbed it. I let go of it and slapped the woman across her smug face with my hand.

  She looked positively frightened. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m his wife, you whore.’ I went to slap her again, but this time she was prepared. She grabbed hold of my arm and twisted it behind my back.

  ‘OW!’ I cried.

  ‘STOP!’ James pulled us apart. Then, to the blonde, he said, ‘Paula, I’m so sorry about all this.’

  ‘SORRY!’ I shouted. ‘Sorry for what? For being the biggest prick in England?’

  Paula glared at me. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but you need help.’ She turned to James. ‘I’ll leave you to your domestic.’ She jogged off across the pitch.

  I was suddenly aware of an eerie silence. All of the players had stopped what they were doing and were staring at me. An older man shouted to James, ‘Everything all right, Mr Hamilton?’

  James glared at me and, in a strangled voice, said, ‘Fine. Carry on, lads. Sorry about the interruption.’ Before I could protest, he grabbed my right arm and dragged me across the pitch, jaw clenched.

  ‘Let go of me this instant.’ I struggled to get free, but he tightened his grip.

  When we got inside, James pushed me into his office and slammed the door. I threw my bag onto the floor and massaged my arm. ‘How dare you do that to me?’ I screamed. ‘You’re a monster. You’re a horrible human being. How could you humiliate me like that?’

  James put his face right up to mine. ‘HUMILIATE YOU?’ he bellowed. ‘Have you lost your mind? Have you finally gone completely insane? How dare you come to my workplace and embarrass me like that?’

  I poked him hard in the chest. ‘Embarrass you? Oh, I’m sorry, James, did I make you and your whore feel uncomfortable? How awful of me. Imagine a wife being upset about her husband having an affair and lying about it for weeks while he allowed his psychotic mistress to send her texts and sex toys. Poor you. Poor little James.’

  James put his hands on my shoulders and shook me. ‘STOP IT. Stop jumping to conclusions and going off the deep end. Can you for once in your bloody life listen to me? Paula is not my mistress.’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, you looked very cosy to me, you lying toad.’

  ‘I am not sleeping with her.’

  ‘Why the hell would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?’

  ‘Because, Emma, she’s a lesbian.’

  I pushed him away roughly. ‘You’re pathetic. Is that the best you can come up with?
Pretending your mistress is gay? You are such an arsehole.’

  James pulled me over to his desk and made me sit down. He clicked a few buttons on his laptop and a photo appeared. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  The picture was of the blonde, Paula, in a white dress on a beach. She was holding hands with a dark-haired woman in a navy dress, who was heavily pregnant. In front of them was a minister with an open Bible in his hands, and they were surrounded by guests.

  I felt an awful sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach, but I pushed it down and ploughed on. ‘You could easily have made that up in Photoshop, or whatever it’s called, to trick me.’

  James sat on the edge of his desk, facing me. His arms were folded and he was breathing deeply. ‘Emma, as I have told you over and over again, I am not having an affair. Paula is gay. She got married a week ago in Barbados. She came back from honeymoon today and I was very glad to see her. She’s the junior physio, but she’s way ahead of Tommy, the older guy. The players love her and she’s brilliant at her job.’

  I examined the photo again. It did look authentic. Maybe he was telling the truth. ‘Why were you hugging her out there? Do you hug everyone who works for you?’

  ‘No. I put my arms around her because she’d just told me that her father had finally accepted that she’s gay. I was happy for her because I know how upset she was that he refused to go to the wedding.’

  My heart had stopped racing and I was beginning to feel slightly calmer. He did seem to be telling the truth. But then I remembered Harriet. She was the person I had come to see. This Paula person had distracted me. ‘Where’s Harriet? I want to see her now.’

  James marched out of his door and knocked on the one opposite. He stuck his head in. I heard him say, ‘Harriet, could you come here for a minute? I’d like you to meet my wife.’

  James stood back and held the door for Harriet. She waddled towards me, her arm outstretched. Shaking my hand, she said, ‘How nice to meet you. My goodness, you’re soaked through, you poor thing.’