‘I’m off to the States tomorrow,’ she said briskly, stubbing her cigarette out, ‘an’ I hardly think she’s gonna want to hear all this over the telephone, do you? But I’ll tell you what, I’ll ring ’er up and let ’er know you’re coming to see ’er, how ’bout that?’
‘But –’
‘Come on, Polly, it’s the least you can do.’
I had a nasty feeling this girl was used to getting her own way. Talk about persistent. She fixed my eyes with hers like a couple of drawing pins, nailing them to the wall while the rest of me squirmed around in my seat. Was there no way out of this? Suddenly I spotted one, a tiny little exit sign. I lunged for it.
‘OK,’ I said, nodding and smiling warmly, ‘I’ll go and see her.’
‘Good on yer, girl!’ she said heartily, and went to slap me on the back, but I instinctively ducked when I saw her hand coming and she cuffed me round the head instead.
‘Blimey, sorry, you moved!’
‘It’s OK,’ I mumbled, straightening my hair.
‘Here’s the address,’ she said, busily scribbling the name of a smart Chelsea street down on the back of an envelope, ‘… and ’er phone number.’
‘Great, great,’ I said, picking it up and grinning broadly, still clinging like billyo to my big idea. It was quite a good one as it happened, very simple. You see, I wouldn’t go. I just wouldn’t go. I’d pretend I would, but I wouldn’t. Amanda would be out of the country tomorrow and hopefully, by the time she got back, so would I. Somewhere far-flung, somewhere remote, somewhere incredibly inaccessible, maybe even somewhere hot. I’d like to get something out of this ghastly fiasco, even if it was only a suntan. I pocketed the address, a plastic smile still spread broadly across my face.
‘Super, well, I’ll go and see her tomorrow then, shall I?’ I said brightly, getting to my feet.
She eyed me cautiously. ‘You will go, won’t you, Polly?’
‘Yes, of course I will,’ I assured her, ‘first thing probably, straight after breakfast, pop round for coffee, get it over and done with. And now’ – I looked at my watch and sighed regretfully – ‘I’m afraid I really must go because I haven’t got a key and I don’t want to keep Pippa up too late.’
‘Oh right.’ She drained her drink. ‘Well, I’ve got to go to the lav, so you go on, don’t wait for me.’
‘Righto!’ I chortled merrily, grabbing my bag and scuttling for the door. I turned and gave her a cheery wave. ‘Have a good time in the States then, bye!’
I was out, out and running. I scurried up the dark street, clutching my handbag to my chest, my heart thumping away high up in my ribcage. Heavens, what a nightmare, what a complete and utter nightmare! And what a narrow escape! Lucky I was such a quick thinker. How many other people could have extricated themselves from such a tight spot quite so brilliantly?
I rounded the corner at a canter and set off down the home straight, panting heavily now. I mean, did she think I was mad? Totally stark staring mad? What – go and confess to the wronged wife? Have a quiet word with her indoors? Pop round for coffee and say, ‘Oh, by the way, I appear to have rogered your husband, only once, mind, and I can’t remember a thing about it, but if you’re interested I can give you the name and address of someone who’s been much naughtier than me, rogered him on a much more regular basis – mmm, lovely coffee, is it filter?’ Oh no, no thanks, not likely.
I dashed up the path to Pippa’s front door, found the spare key under the geranium pot and bounded up the stairs two at a time, quite forgetting my delicate condition. I threw my clothes on the floor, dived under the duvet and pulled it up high over my head. Oh no, I had quite enough on my plate without tipping that particular can of worms on to it as well, thank you very much. I shut my eyes tight. Sorry, Amanda, nice try an’ all that, but sorry, no.
Chapter Twenty-three
I hadn’t really been serious about fleeing the country, but the more I thought about it as I lay in bed the next morning, the more I decided it wasn’t such a bad idea. What was the point of going home right now? What did I have to look forward to apart from a big empty house and the odd telephone call from Nick enquiring as to whether I’d found a house to live in and how soon could I get out of his? I felt my eyes fill up at this but gulped down the tears determinedly. No, Polly. No more falling apart at the seams. Instead I was going to get away from all this aggro, even if it was only for a week or two. Yes, I’d take a little break, a little holiday. When had I ever needed one more? I asked myself. I couldn’t be more tired and run down if I tried. I huddled under the duvet, staring at the cracks in the attic ceiling, warming nicely to my plan.
I’d go somewhere hot, of course, no point whatsoever in going away if I didn’t come back with a suntan, but it didn’t have to be too remote, just Spain, or maybe Greece, or – hang on, were they hot enough at this time of year? In May? There was no doubt about it, it had to be absolutely sizzling.
I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs in my dressing gown to quiz Pippa on southern European meteorology. Big mistake. As I bustled into the kitchen, full of my newest plan, I caught her red-handed. She was standing with her back to me by the stove and as she heard my footsteps she turned quickly. I saw her eyes. Huge with guilt. She was clutching the evidence in her hands and damn nearly dropped it right there on the floor, but instead she panicked, and quickly rammed the whole thing into her mouth. The biggest, greasiest doorstep of a bacon sandwich you’ve ever seen in your life. Her eyes were still wide with fear as she chomped away frantically, butter oozing down her chin.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled through half a pig, spraying me copiously with crumbs, ‘thought you were still in bed!’
She grabbed an air freshener from the windowsill and began spraying furiously.
‘No, don’t!’ I yelped, heaving on lavender and bacon grease. ‘Just open the back door!’
She ran to push it open but it was too late. I was already running fast in the other direction, arriving just too late to deposit last night’s dry biscuit and tonic water in the downstairs loo. I mopped up the floor and emerged a few minutes later looking very green around the gills.
‘Thanks a bunch, Pippa,’ I whispered.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered guiltily, taking my arm as I tottered back into the kitchen, clutching the furniture, ‘thought I’d be able to get rid of the evidence before you came down.’
With a little help from my friend I gingerly lowered myself into a chair and rested my cheek on the kitchen table.
‘Sorry about the pong in the loo,’ I muttered.
‘Couldn’t matter less,’ she assured me, ever the hostess.
She sat down opposite me and regarded my slumped form anxiously.
‘You know, it’s going to be bloody difficult to keep this pregnancy thing from everyone when you get back to Trewarren. You’ve got morning sickness written all over you. You’ll be heaving in the post office and fainting in the dairy and it’ll be round the village in no time, Nick’s sure to hear.’
‘I know,’ I said, raising my head a couple of inches, ‘which is precisely why I’m not going back yet.’
‘Oh?’ Pippa looked alarmed, perhaps not relishing the prospect of an enforced starvation diet continuing in her own home.
‘Oh no, it’s OK, I’m not staying here,’ I assured her, ‘I’ve got a cunning plan.’
‘Oh really? What’s that then?’ Pippa looked even more nervous. She knew my plans of old.
I sat up and wrapped my dressing gown around me decisively.
‘It’s simple, I’m going to skip the country for a couple of weeks and go somewhere hot. I’ll lie on a beach with a pile of books and come back refreshed, rejuvenated and with an incredible suntan. Then I’ll go home and flaunt my suntanned body around the village and everyone will tell Nick how amazing I’m looking. I’ll make sure all the eligible men in the village chase after me – I’ll resist their advances, of course – but Nick will get wind of it and he’ll be wild with jealousy. H
e’ll come storming round to demand to know what’s going on, see how gorgeously brown I am and how wonderfully blond and sunstreaked my hair is, be absolutely mesmerized and forgive me unreservedly for having had a fling with Sam.’
‘He will?’ Pippa looked incredulous.
‘Well.’ I hesitated. ‘OK, perhaps not, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’ I pleaded desperately.
‘Well, I’m not sure. I can’t help thinking there are some socking great holes in your logic. For a start there are precisely no eligible men in your village, and secondly the chances of Nick being mesmerized by a mere suntan are pretty remote, aren’t they?’
‘Well, all right, you come up with something then!’ I snapped. ‘I’m trying to be positive here. Sure, we both know that the reality of the situation is I’ll be holed up in a council flat as a single parent with a baby to look after, but, for God’s sake, give me some positive vibes! I’m trying to look on the bright side.’
‘Well, I’m all for looking on the bright side, Polly, but –’
‘But in this case there isn’t a bright side because I’m married to a highly principled, uncompromising man who is never in a million years going to overlook the fact that his wife committed adultery with another man. Is that it?’ I demanded savagely, my jaw wobbling.
‘Er, well –’
‘Yes, Pippa, I know that, but if I kept that thought in my mind every waking moment, first of all I’d go barking mad and then I’d slit my wrists, wouldn’t I?’
‘Well, crikey, don’t do that,’ she muttered hastily. ‘Heavens, Polly, I didn’t mean to upset you, I mean – yes, yes, have a holiday! I think it’s a great idea, marvellous! Wish I’d thought of it myself.’
‘Good,’ I said shakily, gaining control of my jaw, and blinking back the tears. ‘Right. That’s settled then. Hand me the phone, would you? I’m going to ring the estate agents right now and ask them to book me a flight tomorrow. I want to go somewhere hot, cheap and absolutely sizzling with harmful ultraviolet rays.’
‘Travel agents,’ corrected Pippa, handing me the phone, ‘and here, before you land me with a bill for directory enquiries, I’ve got Thomas Cook in my address book.’
I punched out the number she dictated and waited impatiently as it rang in my ear. Pippa frowned.
‘Polly, I don’t want to be a killjoy, but wouldn’t it be better to get the baby business sorted out before you go away? Only I can’t help thinking that when you come back you’ll be really quite pregnant, and if you decide you don’t want to go ahead with it it’ll be a darned sight more difficult to do anything about –’
‘Hello, Thomas Cook?’ I shut my eyes and held up my hand to silence my critic on the opposite side of the table.
‘Yes, I’d like a flight and a hotel please, preferably tomorrow and most certainly to somewhere radiating temperatures in excess of thirty degrees. D’you think Greece would fit the bill? … Twenty-five degrees? No, not hot enough, I’m afraid; I won’t get third-degree burns in that. Where else have you got? … Where? Lanzarote?’ I looked at Pippa. ‘We’ve been there, haven’t we?’ I hissed, my hand over the mouthpiece.
She nodded and shoved two fingers in her mouth in a puke-making gesture.
I turned back to the girl. ‘Bit grotty, isn’t it? I seem to recall discos throbbing to “The Birdy Song” and heaving with bimbos in white high heels and ankle chains who thought a banana daiquiri was the ultimate in sophistic … Thirty-two degrees, eh?’ I raised my eyebrows at Pippa. ‘Well, that certainly meets the requirements in the burning-flesh department, bugger the banana daiquiris, d’you have any vacancies? … Would you? Terrific, thanks so much, as soon as possible? … Brilliant, it’s Polly Penhalligan and I’m on eight, seven, two, five, nine, six, one. Speak to you in a mo then, bye.’
I put the receiver down and grinned.
‘Lanzarote, she’s ringing me back in a sec to confirm the booking, then I’ll just pop round and sign the cheque. I’m off! I’m off tomorrow, Pippa! Sun, sea, sand and – well, no, none of that, of course, had quite enough of that recently, but, God, I’m so excited! Something’s actually going right for a change!’ I clapped my hands together gleefully.
Pippa screwed up her face in disgust.
‘Hate to put you off but it’s the pits, Polly, don’t you remember? It’s not just the Sharons, it’s the beaches. Black volcanic sand that sticks to your suntan lotion whenever a force eight gale blows, which I seem to remember is most of the time – we couldn’t work out why we were the only idiots on the beach until we stood up and realized we’d gone a shade darker than we intended. The only other lunatic lying there was that drunk who was unconscious most of the day until he lurched past us, pausing only to throw up in my sunhat.’
‘I know, I know, but all I need is the sun and hopefully one of those comfortable lounger things by a hotel pool. I won’t even see the beach if I’m lucky, and I can wear dark glasses to blot out the rest of the punters, and who am I to complain about puke? I’ll be puking with the best of them – oh no, nothing can stop me now. I’m really excited, it’ll be brilliant, I’ll relax, read some books – oh Pippa, why don’t you come? Take some time off and get away from work and Josh for a bit, surely you could –’
The phone rang.
‘That’ll be for me!’ I squeaked, grabbing it.
‘Hello, is that Polly Penhalligan?’ said a girl’s voice.
‘Yes, that’s right, is it OK, is it booked?’
‘Um, my name’s Sally.’
‘Oh, right, right, fine, Sally, you’re my tour operator or something, are you? Sweet of you to introduce yourself but to be honest I’m not sure I want the whole package-deal bit – you know, camp fires on the beach and ging-gang-goolie, I’m just after a quiet –’
‘My name’s Sally Weston.’
‘Marvellous, terrific, Sally but – oh! Sally Weston?’
I gazed at Pippa in terror. She clapped her hand dramatically over her mouth, eyes huge with horror, and backed away in the direction of the fridge. It occurred to me to simply drop the receiver and do likewise, perhaps climbing into it and shutting the door behind me, but by the time I’d got any sort of muscle co-ordination together Mrs Weston was already addressing my right ear.
‘I hope it’s not a bad time, not too early or anything?’ she was saying hesitantly.
‘Er, no, no, it’s fine,’ I gasped, ‘fine!’
‘I can quite understand that you don’t want to get involved in all this, but I’d be so grateful … you see, Amanda told me she’d spoken to you but she wasn’t sure if you’d really come and see me and – well, you’re my only hope of finding out something concrete about m-my husband.’
She sounded shaky, uncertain. This wasn’t the voice of a bitter, vengeful wife, but all the same …
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I muttered, ‘but I really don’t think it’s any of my –’
‘Oh please don’t say no, please, this is so important. I must talk to you! I know what happened between you and Sam, and I swear I don’t hold it against you. I know – well, I know how persuasive he can be. Please, Polly, please just pop round for a moment, or maybe I could come to you?’
By now the palm of my hand was sweating up a treat and I had to hold the receiver in a vicelike grip to stop it slipping from my grasp. I rolled mad, expressive eyes at Pippa, who rolled mad, sympathetic ones back.
‘Look, um, the thing is, Mrs Weston, if Amanda’s told you about m-me and your husband, well, I’m not sure that there’s an awful lot more I can add.’
‘But I must talk to you about Serena. Amanda said you were convinced that she’s the real – you know – protagonist in all this.’
‘But it’s all very much conjecture, nothing definite, and –’
‘But you found a picture? In his Filofax, is that right?’ she persisted.
‘Well yes, but –’
‘Please, I – I must have it, I must have some sort of proof to dangle in front of him, could I possibl
y have it? Could I? Could you bring it round? In the Filofax?’
She sounded really desperate, but blimey – not deliver the Filofax back to Sam? Take it round to the wife complete with photo of bird? Did I have that much of a death wish?
‘I – I really don’t think I’m in any position to –’
‘Look, what d’you owe him?’ Suddenly she was more assertive. ‘If what Amanda told me is true, he took advantage of you when you were completely and utterly plastered, as I’m sure he’s taken advantage of many other girls. Let’s face it, he’s taken advantage of me all our married life,’ she said sadly.
I didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could feel myself weakening. Perhaps she felt it too.
‘OK,’ she urged, ‘don’t bring the Filofax, I can see that puts you in a difficult position, just bring the photo. It doesn’t have to be anything to do with you then. I’ll just say I found it and took it out a few days ago, that way you can return the Filofax and you’re in the clear, what d’you say?’
I bit my lip. She was right, what did I owe him? Thanks to him, my life was now one huge, comprehensive mess.
‘OK …’ I said slowly, ‘I’ll just bring the photo.’
‘Oh, thank you so much!’ she breathed quickly, before I had a chance to reconsider. ‘I’m so grateful, really I am, and I know it’s a dreadful thing to ask but I’m desperate, you see, really desperate!’
Yeah, so am I, I thought as I put the phone down, having promised to be there in about an hour, really desperate. I’m an abandoned wife too, you know, and I’m big with child, but no one rushes round to my house to offer to sort out my life for me, do they?
Nevertheless, half an hour later, Pippa duly trotted off to work, case in hand, complete with Filofax but minus the photograph.
‘What if he notices?’ she hissed in terror as I handed it to her at the front door. ‘What if it’s the first thing he checks for?’
‘Well, he can hardly ask you, can he? He can hardly say “What’s happened to that photo of my bird, the one I keep tucked behind the picture of my wife?” ’
Going Too Far Page 34
