by Helen Warner
Martha knew Louisa Thomas, Charlie’s publicist, well. She had interviewed many of her clients over the years. ‘Yes, I can just imagine. Was she cross with me?’ she said suddenly.
‘No, of course not. I think she felt more sorry for you when I told her the story of how you came to be wearing my clothes . . . I hope you gave that husband of yours a telling off when you got home, letting you go out like that!’
At the mention of her husband, and taking her entirely by surprise, Martha burst into furious, uncontrollable sobs.
‘Oh God!’ Charlie said on the other end of the line. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you . . . you didn’t look that bad. You looked good, actually. Oh crap. Why are you crying?’ His words were tumbling over each other as he spoke, while Martha’s sobs grew louder and louder.
‘No!’ she managed to gulp. ‘Nothing to do with you.’
‘No. Quite,’ Charlie sounded embarrassed. ‘None of my business. Sorry. Look, shall I call back later?’
‘No!’ Martha shook her head and tried desperately to calm herself. ‘Something’s happened. Something really bad. I didn’t mean it’s none of your business, I just meant it’s nothing you’ve done wrong.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Charlie said, before lapsing into a silence that meant he didn’t see at all.
‘Sorry,’ Martha gulped, finally gaining control of herself. ‘I’ve . . . well, I’ve had a bit of a personal trauma.’
There was a long pause. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Charlie said eventually.
Martha shook her head wearily. ‘It’s a long and awful story,’ she began. ‘And it’s too personal for a phone conversation. But thanks anyway.’
There was another pause. ‘Why don’t you come to the hotel today? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it might help to get away? I could go out and you could just sit in the apartment and read or watch TV or something?’
‘I couldn’t . . .’ Martha started to say automatically, before stopping. Getting out of the house was exactly what she needed to do, and talking to someone like Charlie, who didn’t know her or Jamie and wouldn’t make judgements might help. ‘But you must have lots on?’ she protested.
‘Day off. I’m completely free. As I said in my message, I’ve got something to give you anyway. Get on a train and come.’
Something about his voice soothed Martha so much that, without giving it any more thought, she found herself agreeing to go and meet him. She bundled his t-shirt and sweatpants into a bag – she had intended to wash them but there was no time, and she figured he would have ‘people’ to do that sort of thing for him anyway – and threw on her own t-shirt, jeans and Converse trainers.
She splashed her face with cold water, cleaned her teeth and put on some mascara, before heading down the stairs. Jamie was in the kitchen, slumped over the table. He looked up as she came in and his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw that she was dressed and apparently about to go out somewhere. ‘Where are you g—?’ he began, standing up.
‘None of your business,’ she snapped, picking up the car keys and walking out of the kitchen towards the front door.
‘Martha!’ he begged, as he followed her. ‘Please don’t go like this. We need to talk.’
Martha ignored him and headed out of the house. Jamie stood on the doorstep, watching her. Just as she was about to get into the car, she looked up and met his eye. He looked so confused and anguished that for a split second she felt sorry for him. Then an image of him doing unspeakable things with that revolting woman flashed into her mind and her lip curled in disgust. She got into the car and drove off without looking back, knowing that he was still standing on the doorstep.
As she drove to the station, she started to have second thoughts, wondering what the hell she was doing. Charlie Simmons was one of the most famous actors in Britain and she was heading off to meet him so that she could pour out the story of her marriage breakdown.
She pulled over and stopped the car in a lay-by overlooking a wide green field bordered with poppies. On any other day she would have enjoyed the beauty of the view, but today she was blind to it. Should she just go home and discuss things properly with Jamie in a grown-up fashion? But, she reasoned, Charlie Simmons, for all his fame and money, would know exactly how she was feeling today. He had been through it too, and it must have been so much worse for him because it had played out on the front pages of the tabloid newspapers. And he had asked her to come, so it wasn’t as if she was turning up uninvited. She started the car again. She would go. Jamie could spend the day stewing in agony over what she might do next.
Chapter 11
Jamie stood on the doorstep long after Martha had driven off, staring with blank eyes at the space on the drive where her car had been. The look she had given him before getting into the car would stay with him forever. In one small glance, she had managed to say so much. He could cope with her contempt, even her disgust; what he couldn’t cope with was the hurt and pain in her eyes.
Martha was such a sunny person. The way she had reacted that morning had scared him because it wasn’t something he had ever seen before. He didn’t know how to deal with it or how to help her. And knowing that he was the cause of such pain compounded his guilt a million times over.
Finally, he closed the front door and stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of the house; normally so familiar and comforting, today they felt threatening and reproachful. He slouched into the kitchen and looked around at the usual chaos and detritus of family life. Only this morning everything had changed. What he had done might mean that family life as he knew it was over.
He didn’t know if Martha was serious about wanting him to leave but he knew he should be prepared to go. As he looked around him, the thought of leaving their happy home, of never having ridiculous, meaningless debates with the children over meals, or putting them to bed, suddenly hit him and a tsunami of misery washed over him. He slumped down onto the cold tiles of the kitchen floor as the emotion overwhelmed him.
After a while, his tears subsided and he looked up, almost in surprise, as he heard a voice inside his head telling him clearly what he needed to do. He frowned, wondering if the voice was real. Of course it wasn’t real, he told himself crossly, there’s no-one else here. But he had heard a voice, quite clearly.
He stood up, feeling shaky and stunned. It was as if he had had an out-of-body experience. As if his mum had been with him, stroking his back like she used to when he was small. His yearning to speak to her just then was so intense, as if all his grief had been distilled into that one moment. She would have given him hell, but she would have been there for him, just as she always had been in the past.
Tears poured down his face as he moved, almost on autopilot, towards the table. He carefully collected up the cups and bowls left over from the children’s breakfast and put them into the dishwasher. Then he took the dried washing that had been in the tumble dryer for two days and put it onto the worktop, ready for ironing, before he put the washing that had been in the washing machine for two days into the dryer.
For the next three hours he worked meticulously through the house, tidying and cleaning, putting away things that had needed putting away for months, ironing and clearing out cupboards that no-one had seen the back of for years. He felt as if he was cleansing himself as well as the house as he worked, vacuuming, dusting and scrubbing until the sweat was pouring off him with the effort.
As if to inflict as much pain on himself as possible, he put his headphones on while he worked and listened to the playlist of their favourite songs that Martha had made for them to take on their honeymoon. As each track started, it brought with it a fresh stab of shame at how he could have wrecked something so precious.
When the house was clean, he mended the bookshelves in the study that had been broken for two years, wishing as he did so that he could mend his marriage as easily. Then he went through the piles of paperwork that had been gathering dust o
n the desks for months, sorting and filing until each surface was clear.
By the time he had finished he felt slightly better. At least he had done something useful instead of lying around feeling sorry for himself. He stripped off his jeans and t-shirt and stepped into the shower where he stood for a long time, letting the jets of water pummel his skin and wash away the sweat and grime from his exertions. He lathered up some shower gel and rubbed his skin furiously, pleased when it reddened under the pressure. The welts on his cheek where Martha had scratched him were stinging like hell and, again, this pleased him. He deserved to suffer.
‘Win her back,’ his mum’s voice had told him, and that was exactly what he intended to do. He had made the worst, most catastrophic mistake he could ever have made, but he was going to put it right. If it took him the rest of his life, he was going to prove to Martha that he loved her and that it would never happen again. He had to win her back because losing her would destroy him and everything they had built together.
As he stepped out of the shower, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He looked awful. His eyes were sunken, he badly needed a shave and the scratches on his face were vivid and angry. He peered at them closely. It was almost as if he had been branded an adulterer.
It had never even occurred to Jamie that every time he had had sex with Debra he was committing adultery and betraying his marriage vows. After the first time, when he had felt horribly guilty and dirty, it had got easier. He had put all his clothes into the wash to remove any trace of Debra’s cloying scent, but when it became clear that he had got away with it, that Martha had absolutely no idea what he had done, he felt the urge to do it again. And again. And the more he did it, the less guilty he felt. It seemed so meaningless, and because he felt absolutely nothing for Debra, he convinced himself that what Martha didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Except that now, of course, she did know. And worse, she had discovered his treachery in the most shocking and upsetting way possible. While other wives might torture themselves imagining their husband having sex with his mistress, Martha had actually seen it with her own eyes. The thought of it was nauseating to him, so he could only imagine how it felt for Martha. The images would be burned indelibly into her memory and nothing could ever erase them.
He dried himself, shaved, brushed his teeth and put on a clean t-shirt and jeans. A new feeling of determination had replaced the helplessness he had felt that morning. He went back into the study where Martha’s awful discovery had taken place earlier. He swallowed hard and stared at his computer, suddenly scared to look at it again.
But he knew he had to. Had to get rid of those awful photos for good. He thought he had deleted them but something must have gone wrong. He sat down and looked at the dock along the bottom of his screen. The icon Martha had clicked on was one that kept duplicate copies of his main photographic folders and wasn’t one he ever used. Why on earth hadn’t he thought about that?
His hand shaking, he clicked on the icon again and immediately the screen filled with a shocking picture of him and Debra, naked on her bed, his head between her legs. Jamie closed his eyes as his head swam with the shame and horror of what he had done. Why the hell had he taken the pictures? He tried to think back to the day in question. He had told Debra that he had got a camera for Christmas and she had leeringly suggested that he use it to photograph her the next time they had sex.
‘Oh God!’ he moaned, putting his head in his hands and trying not to cry again. Forcing himself to look up, he began to go through the folder, systematically deleting each horrific image. Debra looked grotesque. Her body was flabby and her empty eyes were cold in her hard face. Over and over again, he shook his head, trying to understand why the hell he had been stupid enough to wreck his marriage.
When all the photos had gone, he took a deep breath and logged into the mail account he had set up especially for contacting her. He had never given her his real name or his phone number, just in case. So they had contacted each other via email instead. Sure enough, there was an email from her. He clicked on it. She had attached a link to a hard-core porn site and added the message: this is what you will be doing to me next time!
The bile rose from Jamie’s stomach and he put his hand over his mouth, suddenly afraid he might throw up. He deleted the message and then deleted his email account. Debra wouldn’t care that she would never hear from him again. He suspected she picked up men all the time.
Once he had deleted everything, Jamie closed his computer and thought about what to do next. He wondered where Martha had gone and whether she would be back that night. He had a cold fear in the pit of his stomach that she might have gone to stay with her mother in Surrey.
Jamie was terrified of Martha’s mother. If Martha was to tell Jane what had happened, there was no telling how she might react. Jane had always been pleasant towards Jamie, but she had made it clear that she thought he wasn’t good enough for her daughter.
Jane had also made it clear that she thought it was wrong that Jamie ‘sat at home all day’ while Martha took on the role of breadwinner. Her own husband had died several years previously, and until his sudden death he had been a very successful editor of a national newspaper. Jane had had her own career as a garden designer, but it was always more of a hobby than a necessity and she thought it wrong that Jamie was happy to see Martha bear the burden of supporting the family financially.
If she discovered what Jamie had been up to while Martha was working so hard, he knew for certain that Jane would tell Martha to kick him out immediately and find someone who was worthy of her.
Again, Jamie opened his laptop. He would send Martha an email. It might be easier to get through to her in writing, if she was refusing to speak to him. It took a long time before he could think of the right words. What the hell could you say when you had betrayed someone so badly?
When he had finished, Jamie re-read the words several times. She would get it on her phone, wherever she was. He hoped desperately that it would make her think twice before ending their marriage. Losing her for ever was unthinkable. He pressed ‘Send’.
Chapter 12
Four thousand miles away, Liv was also lying awake, trying to figure out how to save her relationship. She looked at the clock beside her bed. It was exactly three a.m. She had come to bed at around eleven but had slept fitfully, her dreams unsettling and vivid. She felt groggy and tired, as if her hangover had already kicked in, yet her heart was racing. Something was going on with Danny. She knew she was being neurotic when she had no proof that he had done anything untoward, but her instinct was strong and she always trusted her instinct. Plus, said a little voice inside her head, you cheated on Charlie, so you know the signs.
She felt a sudden, desperate urge to talk to Charlie. Maybe he could come to LA earlier and she could fly to Hawaii and surprise Danny? She turned over in bed, pulling the duvet around her to prevent the chill that was spreading through her body. Did she really want to do that? Catch him red-handed, with all the humiliation that would entail? Maybe. If she was prepared for it, maybe she would be able to handle it more easily.
And what would she do if Danny was cheating on her? Would she leave him? She loved him so much and he was so good with Felix. Felix would take it very hard if he lost Danny as well as Charlie. The tears swam behind her closed lids. It was no good, she decided, sitting up irritably. She wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight.
She leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp, looking around her palatial bedroom, now bathed in a soft pink glow, her eyes coming to rest on Danny’s side of their vast bed. She felt so alone and there was no-one she could talk to who wouldn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Well, maybe her mother, but Mariella wasn’t exactly the best example to follow, or very good at giving advice for that matter. She would probably tell Liv to ignore the infidelity and make herself feel better by taking a lover of her own.
Liv thought for a moment before picking up her phone and dialling Charlie’s num
ber. It would be around eleven a.m. in the UK, so she hoped he would be able to talk. She listened to the ringing tone nervously. She never, ever called him when she didn’t have Felix with her to speak to him, so he would know something was up.
After six rings, his voicemail clicked in. ‘Hi, leave me a message and I’ll do my best to get back to you . . .’ he said in his deep, resonant voice. Liv stared at her phone in disappointment. Should she leave a message? No, she decided, ending the call, she would try again later.
She lay back down, feeling lonely and lost. She had been so cruel to Charlie and now she was reaping what she had sowed. It was inevitable and she deserved it. She thought back to that awful time four years previously, when Charlie had returned to Los Angeles after his trip to Britain, expecting to find his wife and son waiting for him. Instead, he had found their rented house empty, with a letter from Liv telling him that she needed some ‘time out’ from the marriage.
She remembered Charlie’s anguished phone call as he begged her not to leave him, not to take his son away. Looking back now she couldn’t believe how cruel she had been, but she had already moved on. Danny and Hollywood were her life. Charlie was history.
Charlie had returned to the UK, broken and humiliated. He had thought about staying in LA to be near to Felix but was worried he wouldn’t be able get work there, whereas he knew he could get numerous roles in the UK.
And sure enough, over time, he started to rebuild his shattered life and reputation by throwing himself into acting. As far as Liv was aware, he hadn’t had any other serious relationships. Charlie was loyal and a one-woman man. He wouldn’t have been interested in playing the field or exploiting his fame.
And as for Liv, she seemed to have made the right choice. Everyone had warned her away from Danny. Warned her that he was a womaniser who would move on to his next leading lady when their movie finished shooting. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d moved Liv and Felix into his multi-million dollar home and lavished them both with love and affection. He told her that he had hated the emptiness of his old life and had been looking for something more meaningful when he met her. ‘I didn’t even know what I was looking for until I found you and Felix,’ he would say, making Liv sigh with happiness.
