by Helen Warner
Felix was young enough not to understand his father’s hurt and heartbreak and, to Charlie’s credit, he had always behaved impeccably towards both Danny and Liv. As far as she knew, he had never said anything horrible about her to Felix and, as a result, the little boy was as balanced and happy as he could be, with two fathers who loved him deeply.
On the bed beside her, Liv’s phone rang, the sudden noise jarring her already jangling nerves. The ringing echoed loudly around the room and she snatched it up, suddenly worried that the reverberations might wake Felix, asleep in the next room.
‘Yes?’ she snapped.
‘It’s Charlie.’ His voice sounded slightly irritable. ‘I just saw I had a missed call from you . . .’
‘Oh, yes!’ She tried to breathe slowly, to stop her heart pounding. ‘Thanks for calling back. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time?’
There was a pause. ‘Um, well, it’s not great,’ he said, and she could tell he was mouthing something to someone. ‘But I can spare a minute.’
Liv wondered who he was with. ‘Well, you know you said that you were coming next week?’
‘Yes.’ He was definitely keen to get her off the phone.
‘Well, I wondered if you might think about coming a little earlier?’
‘How early?’
‘As soon as possible.’
There was another pause. ‘I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get everything sorted here.’
‘OK,’ she said, knowing that it was the best she could hope for.
‘Just out of interest,’ he added, taking her by surprise. ‘Why do you want me to come earlier?’
Now it was her turn to hesitate. ‘I just thought that maybe . . . maybe I would go and see Danny . . .’ She tailed off as she finished speaking. Charlie knew her too well. He would know that wasn’t the whole story.
‘You want to surprise him?’ he prompted.
Again, Liv hesitated. ‘Something like that,’ she said at last.
On the other end of the line, Charlie let out a breath. ‘Well, it’s none of my business but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Why?’ Liv snapped, her defences immediately up.
‘In case you find something you don’t like.’ She thought she could detect a trace of bitterness in his tone. She almost expected him to add, ‘Like I did.’
‘Well, as you say, it’s none of your business, but thank you for your concern,’ she said in a clipped voice. She knew she was being unfair. She had no right to expect anything at all from Charlie, least of all compassion or sympathy.
She heard a noise on the other end of the line that sounded like a woman crying, and she sat up straighter, straining to hear. ‘Is everything all right there?’
‘I’d better go,’ Charlie said, not answering her question. She heard the noise again. It was a woman crying. ‘I’ll see what I can do about coming over a bit earlier. Goodbye,’ he said, in the usual curt tone he reserved for her.
The line went dead and Liv frowned. Why would a woman be crying in Charlie’s hotel room, and who was she anyway? Was it the one from the photo in the paper?
She got out of bed and padded to her bathroom where she retrieved her silk robe and pulled it tightly around her, tucking her phone into the pocket. She felt agitated, as if she was standing on some kind of precipice.
She headed out into the hallway and crossed to Felix’s room. It was a child’s utopia, expensively decorated with all the paraphernalia of his favourite American football team, and big enough to house a basketball net, an air hockey table and, in a nod to his British roots, a full-size snooker table.
She made her way over to his car-shaped bed and looked down at his sleeping form. His dark curls, so like his father’s, were spread out on the pillow. His duvet was bunched by his feet, leaving his pyjama-clad body exposed. He was getting so tall that he almost filled the length of his child’s bed, and she wondered as she gazed at him where her baby boy had gone. His long lashes rested on the top of his cheeks and his full lips trembled slightly with each outward breath. She bent to kiss him, savouring the warm touch of his skin on her lips, soothing her aching heart and filling the empty space inside her with love for her only child.
After watching him for a while longer, she left Felix’s room and headed for the vast steel and gloss-white kitchen. She stood for a moment by the glass wall, looking out onto the glimmering turquoise pool and terrace that overlooked the dusty green Hollywood hills and, further down, the bright white lights of LA.
She opened the fridge and looked in at the bottle of white wine that she had started last night. It was only around a quarter full, so she picked it up and drank greedily from the bottle, closing her eyes with pleasure at the deliciously cold, sharp tang. She deposited the bottle at the back of the cupboard under the sink, then made herself an espresso. Definitely no more sleep tonight. In her pocket, she felt the phone vibrate against her thigh, the signal that it was about to ring, and she snatched it up quickly, before it could chime through the house again. ‘Yes!’ she said, wondering who the hell would be calling at this time.
‘It’s me, Charlie. You sound a bit odd again.’
‘Oh! Hi, sorry, it’s just it’s the middle of the night and—’
‘Well you called me just a short while ago,’ Charlie cut in, pre-empting any rebuke from her. ‘So I thought it would be ok . . .’
‘It is,’ Liv said quickly. ‘It is. Sorry.’
‘OK,’ Charlie replied, failing to mask the note of irritation. ‘Well, I just called to say that I am going to be able to come over a bit earlier . . .’
‘Oh that’s great.’ Liv took a sip of her espresso and wondered if it was great. It might mean she got to find out once and for all whether Danny was cheating on her.
‘But there’s just one thing . . .’ Charlie continued, suddenly sounding slightly nervous.
‘Hmmm, what’s that?’
‘I think I might be bringing someone with me after all.’
Chapter 13
Martha couldn’t remember anything of the train journey to London. She had sat in a daze, staring blankly out of the window over the undulating countryside, as images of Jamie and that woman flashed before her eyes.
It had been just a few short hours since her whole life had fallen apart. This time yesterday, she had felt happy and content. As if things couldn’t get any better. She loved her job, she loved her children and she loved her husband. But he didn’t love her. He couldn’t have done. Not only had he cheated on her, he had done it so casually. So easily. And he had almost got away with it. Almost.
The bile rose in Martha’s throat and she put her hand over her mouth, suddenly terrified that she might be about to throw up again. She glanced towards the toilets, praying that the engaged sign wasn’t illuminated.
She wondered why she had agreed to meet Charlie. On the worst day of her life, when she so desperately needed someone to talk to, she was heading up to London to meet with a man – a film star at that – who she didn’t really know at all. And yet it felt like the right thing to do. They had got on so well yesterday and he had been so sweet about the embarrassing hole in her dress that she already felt as though she could trust him.
She headed for the tube in a daze, barely aware of where she was going, and yet she managed to get on the right train and before she knew it she was standing in front of the hotel once more. Suddenly, she felt conspicuous in what she was wearing. Her t-shirt and jeans felt scruffy in such opulent surroundings, but just as she was thinking about turning around and leaving, her phone buzzed. She fished in her large leather bag, and as she retrieved it she could see immediately that she had a message from Charlie. I can see you! Come on up. Room 802.
Instinctively, she looked up and could just about make out a dark, curly head leaning out of his window. She smiled, despite herself, and headed into the hotel towards the lifts. After what seemed like ages, she arrived at the eighth floor and knocked at the door
of his room, by now feeling nervous and again wondering why she was doing this. But as soon as the door swung open and Charlie greeted her with a wide, warm smile, she knew she had done the right thing.
‘I brought back your clothes.’ She held out the carrier bag containing his sweatpants and t-shirt.
‘Thank you.’ Charlie took the bag and led her into the suite. ‘I’ve got something for you too . . .’
Martha followed him in. ‘You said.’
Charlie glanced back at her with a sweet smile before disappearing into the bedroom. Martha frowned to herself and shook her head. What was he up to? A few seconds later he emerged carrying a stone-coloured dress on a hanger.
‘Is that . . . my dress?’ Martha frowned again, her weary brain unable to compute.
‘No. It’s a new one that is exactly the same as your dress.’
Martha shook her head, feeling the tingling sensation behind her nose that signified fresh tears. ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ she murmured, her voice thick. ‘Thank you.’
Charlie laid the dress over a chair and waved his hand dismissively before motioning for Martha to sit down. ‘So,’ he said, once they were perched on the pale blue sofas facing each other. ‘What can I get you? Tea, coffee or hard liquor?’
Martha bit her lip, which had started to quiver dangerously. ‘I’m not sure what I want . . . I don’t know why I’m even here . . . This is ridiculous,’ she finished with a whimper. She could feel fresh tears sliding down her face and she swept them away irritably. ‘Sorry,’ she added, embarrassed.
Charlie looked at her with an expression that she read as sympathetic but which could also have been awkwardness. She hoped he wouldn’t feel the need to move over to her sofa and comfort her. She needed space. To her relief, he stayed where he was. ‘You don’t have to apologise,’ he said, shaking his head slightly. ‘Never apologise. Why don’t I get you some coffee and then maybe you can tell me all about it?’
He got up and poured coffee from the silver pot on the stone table into a fine china cup. Then he added a tiny bit of milk, just as she had asked for yesterday. He slid the cup towards her then poured his own, which he took black. Suddenly his mobile phone rang and he looked at her apologetically.
‘Sorry,’ he said, leaving the phone unanswered until it went to voicemail.
‘Why don’t you see who it is?’ Martha prompted, feeling conspicuous in her misery and keen for him to leave her alone for a minute.
‘OK. Excuse me a sec?’ he said, as he disappeared into the bedroom with the phone.
As soon as he had gone, Martha began to cry, glad that she could do it in private. Through her sobs, she was dimly aware of him speaking on the phone in the other room, before he returned carrying a box of tissues, which he put down beside her. Then he sat back down on the opposite sofa and looked at her expectantly.
Martha took a sip of her coffee, trying to compose herself. ‘I’ve had . . . a bit of a shock,’ she managed, looking up and meeting his eye.
He nodded. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Don’t worry if you don’t. We can either chat or I can make myself scarce?’
‘No!’ Martha said, a little too quickly. ‘No. I really need to talk about it. It just feels strange talking about it to you. We barely know each other.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I think that’s probably a good thing. Consider me a free therapist. You’re lucky, I had to pay for mine!’
Martha felt the faint trace of a smile play on her lips. Of course, Charlie had been through all this himself. He would understand more than most. ‘Well,’ she began tentatively, ‘I discovered this morning that my husband . . .’ She had to stop speaking for a second to recover her composure. ‘My husband has been having an affair—’
Her voice broke and she felt the tears starting to slide down her cheeks again. She grabbed a tissue from the box beside her and dabbed as delicately as she could at her face. She stole a glance at Charlie, who was looking at her with such a pitying expression that she almost felt as though he was embracing her.
‘And the way I found out,’ she continued as strongly as she could, ‘was by finding photos of them having sex on his computer.’
‘Oh God,’ Charlie murmured, looking shocked. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Martha continued to cry quietly for a few moments.
‘Did you have . . . any suspicions?’ Charlie asked after a while. ‘Is that why you were looking at his computer?’
Martha blew her nose and shook her head. ‘No. That’s why it was such a shock. Jamie is such a devoted father and, I thought, husband. He’s literally the last person in the world you’d expect to do something like that. Ironically, I was looking for a photo of him to superimpose on your head, so that he wasn’t upset about those pictures of us leaving the hotel together. I wasn’t snooping. I’ve never felt the need to snoop. I trusted him completely.’
‘Oh God,’ Charlie said again. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The kindness of his tone set Martha off again and this time she didn’t cry quietly, she literally howled with anguish. ‘The pain . . .’ she gulped between sobs. ‘ . . . is physical. I feel as though I’ve been kicked in the stomach repeatedly.’
Charlie nodded and finally got up and came to sit beside her. He reached out and took her hand, which he stroked gently. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he murmured. ‘I remember it so well.’
Martha sniffed hard to try and quell the outpouring of grief and looked up at Charlie. His dark eyes looked pained, whether for her or for himself she didn’t know, but she knew that they mirrored her own. ‘But . . . it passes, right?’ she asked, her tone slightly pleading.
Charlie hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose you could say it passes.’
‘How long does it take?’
He looked away and didn’t answer for a long time. ‘Well, I guess that depends . . .’ he said finally.
‘On what?’
‘On whether the cause of that pain remains in your life.’
Martha’s stomach froze. Even though she had told Jamie their marriage was over, she wasn’t sure she could really picture her life without him. She imagined the years stretching ahead, with them living separate lives. She imagined Mimi’s wedding day, Jamie walking her down the aisle while Martha looked on. Would they both have new partners by then? She imagined Christmases where they had to take it in turns to have the children. College graduations. Shared custody. Separate houses. It was all too awful to contemplate and she put her head in her hands. Jamie hadn’t just ruined their marriage, he had destroyed their children’s future happiness too.
‘Where is he now?’ Charlie asked, pouring more coffee.
‘At home.’
‘Does he know where you are?’
‘No.’
Charlie nodded. ‘What about the children? You’ve got two, haven’t you? Are they aware of what’s gone on?’
At the mention of the children, Martha groaned. ‘I told them I wasn’t feeling well. I think they bought it. I hope they bought it.’
All the while, Charlie continued to stroke Martha’s hand, soothing her frayed nerves.
She looked up at him apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I know you must have loads to do. I shouldn’t have come . . .’
‘Shhhhh . . .’ Charlie interrupted her. ‘Of course you should. I asked you to. What do you want to do now? Are you hungry?’
Martha shook her head miserably, not knowing what to do with herself.
‘OK,’ Charlie said, getting up. ‘Why don’t you go and have a long, hot bath and I’ll order up some food. If you don’t want it, that’s fine, but at least you’ll have the option.’
Even though she’d had a bath at home, the thought of a soak in Charlie’s beautiful large bathtub was desperately appealing. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, still not quite able to believe she was sitting in the hotel suite of one of Britain’s biggest film stars, pouring out her tales of marital woe.
‘I’m sure,’ Charlie repl
ied emphatically, reaching out a hand to pull her up.
Martha took it gratefully. Her legs were trembling and she realised that all she had had today was coffee, which had only added to her shakiness. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him to try to convey that she was thanking him for so many things.
‘No problem,’ he replied, flashing her a sad smile. ‘Do you want me to run the bath for you?’
Martha smiled back and shook her head. ‘No, I think that might be what’s called “above and beyond”, but thank you all the same.’
She walked stiffly towards the bathroom, where she had discovered the gaping hole in her dress yesterday. So much had happened since then. She closed the door behind her and looked at herself in the giant mirror above the double sink. In just twenty-four hours she had become a completely different person. She felt older, more haggard, and above all she felt as if Jamie had smashed every ounce of confidence out of her, as surely as if he had hit her repeatedly with a hammer.
She filled the huge bathtub and added some of the Jo Malone bath oil that was on the side. Stepping into the comfortingly hot water, she had a sudden memory of her and Jamie, staying at a spa for the weekend, getting into a similar bath together, her leaning back against his naked body while he soaped and stroked her breasts. Had he done that with her?
The dull pain in her chest that had been there ever since she saw those photos suddenly intensified and she cried out. Immediately, she heard Charlie’s footsteps running towards the door. ‘Martha!’ he called out. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes!’ Martha replied in a strangled voice.
‘You don’t sound OK,’ Charlie said through the door.
‘I am,’ she said, trying to sound stronger than she felt.
