Prime Time

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  Charlotte adopted a studious expression. ‘Well, the way to look at it is this,’ she said gravely. ‘They don’t really care what I think – they just want you to entertain the punters. So we’ll keep quiet about my inside knowledge and write “good for a laugh” or “always up for a party” or “never says no to a drink”. If we start going into your mood swings and your talent for smashing the crockery, they’ll run a mile.’

  ‘You make me sound bonkers,’ I said grumpily.

  ‘And your point is?’

  We were on the second bottle and giggling in a juvenile fashion over the section on likes and dislikes

  (Likes: Chocolate

  Charlotte

  Tadpoles

  People who tell me I’ve lost weight.

  Dislikes: Slimy ex-husbands

  Blondes of eight stone

  Liver

  Squashed sandwiches

  Tax inspectors – see above)

  when Roger arrived home. ‘What are you two snorting about?’ he asked, getting a beer from the fridge and reaching into the cupboard for a tall glass.

  ‘Miss Britain’s Got Talent here,’ said Charlotte. ‘On your screens soon .’ Roger threw his jacket over the back of a chair, leant down and kissed the side of her forehead. ‘Had a good day?’

  ‘Very wild and exciting,’ said Charlotte, reaching for her cigarettes. ‘You?’

  ‘Oh, about the same.’ Roger opened the swing top bin and squashed his empty beer can into it.

  Charlotte got up from the table. ‘Don’t do that, you lazy sod. It needs emptying, not just more and more stuff forcing into it. I’m the only one,’ she said, looking at me, ‘who ever empties the bins. They’d go on cramming stuff in for ever – no matter how bad it started to smell. Couldn’t possibly walk ten paces to the wheelie bin, now could we!’

  She put a cigarette in her mouth and heaved at the black liner. ‘I’ll put it out while I’m having a ciggie.’ She picked up her lighter with her free hand and went out through the back door. Roger sat down in her empty chair.

  ‘What’s your mobile phone number?’ I hissed.

  Roger looked startled. ‘What?’

  ‘I need to speak to you privately and I don’t have your number.’

  ‘Oh!’ He stared at me. ‘Umm, OK.’ He looked around and pulled the newspaper toward him, tearing off the top corner and reaching for a pen from his jacket pocket. ‘What’s the matter, then?’

  ‘Just write it,’ I said, thinking I’d better at least get that before I said anything as Charlotte could come back any minute. ‘And don’t tell Charlotte.’

  He wrote quickly and pushed the piece of paper across the table. I shoved it hurriedly in my jeans pocket.

  He looked at me quizzically. ‘You OK?’

  ‘No, I’m very worried about you,’ I said in a low voice.

  He frowned as Charlotte came back to the doorway and lounged in it, puffing smoke. ‘What are you looking so miserable about?’ she demanded of her husband. ‘That bloody wheelie bin’s nearly full already and it’s only Friday,’ she added, without waiting for an answer. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Had some sandwiches in the meeting earlier,’ said Roger. ‘I’ll make another one in a minute.’ He swallowed the last mouthful of beer. ‘I’ll just go and get changed and say hi to the kids.’ He didn’t look at me as he went out of the room.

  ‘Hmm, I think I’m a bit peckish myself,’ said Charlotte, surveying the empty hummus pot. ‘Shall we have some cheese on toast? Or there’s a bit of the fish pie I made the kids earlier.’ She opened the oven. ‘Ah – no there isn’t. Joe’s got his friend, Ryan, staying and they must have come back for seconds. His mother says he’s a fussy eater … Not when he comes round here he isn’t – eats more than the rest of us put together …’

  I was barely listening. Roger was obviously bemused by my wanting his number. Did that mean he was innocent or had it just not occurred to him that I could possibly be on his trail? He probably thought he was safe seeing her in Canterbury – he wouldn’t expect me to be hanging about there and of course he didn’t know about the phone call …

  ‘Actually,’ Charlotte was saying, ‘I’d better just go and check on them. They’ve been awfully quiet for ages …’

  Come back, Roger , I willed him silently as I heard her feet go up the stairs. Quickly – get in here now! It was like a bloody farce, all this coming in and out of doors and trying to get a sentence out before the wrong person reappeared. But, with perfect timing, as in the best comedies, Roger strolled back into the room in jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt.

  ‘Now tell me what’s going on?’ He gave me his usual friendly smile.

  ‘Come here,’ I said. ‘We mustn’t let Charlotte hear.’ He sat down opposite me and leant forward expectantly. I leant forward too.

  ‘You know when you went to get the pizza the other week – after we’d been to the TV thing?’

  Roger nodded, his mouth twitching as if trying not to laugh.

  ‘Well a woman phoned up,’ I said sharply, feeling cross now that he wasn’t taking me seriously, ‘and implied you were having an affair.’ I saw he was taken aback though he looked at me calmly and his voice was even.

  ‘What did she say exactly?’ he asked.

  I tried to remember. ‘Something about couldn’t I see – she obviously thought I was Charlotte – what was going on? She said “your husband” and then Charlotte came back in so I put the phone down and pretended it was double glazing.’

  Roger sat back and shook his head. I couldn’t decide if there was a tinge of relief there or I was imagining it. ‘It was probably a wrong number.’

  ‘Well I wanted to think that too,’ I said boldly. ‘But she also said you’d just seen her and you had been a long time getting the pizza and then you parked up the road on the phone–’

  ‘That was work,’ said Roger firmly.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So who was that woman I saw you with in Canterbury? Was she work too?’

  For a moment he looked stricken, then leant forward again, his voice sounding urgent now. ‘What do you mean? When did you …’

  He sat up straight as Charlotte walked rapidly back into the room. I felt myself blush but she’d already started to laugh at the sight of our heads bent together.

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’

  Chapter Twelve

  I wondered what Roger would do now he knew I knew. Would he phone me on the QT with an explanation? Demand to know what else I’d got hold of? Or would he just pretend the exchange had never happened and hope I’d keep my mouth shut as far as Charlotte was concerned? I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  The following afternoon, as I was making my seventeenth coffee while thinking how to best make Gnome with Watering Can sound like this season’s must-have, the doorbell rang and there he was – in his business suit on the doorstep – looking decidedly twitchy. He glanced around him as he stepped inside. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Just me and Roderick.’ I waved a hand down the hall to where a blue and yellow-jacketed gnome sat on my kitchen floor, clutching a bucket. ‘He is staying with me while I sum up his attributes,’ I explained.

  Roger looked perplexed. ‘I wanted to finish our conversation,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you might.’ I pulled another mug from the cupboard. ‘So what are you playing at?’ I continued without preamble. ‘If you’re up to no good and Charlotte finds out –’

  ‘I am not having an affair,’ he interrupted.

  I took the lid off the coffee jar and waited.

  ‘I don’t know who the phone call can have been from and I don’t know what you mean about a woman in Canterbury.’

  I kept my back to him as I stirred. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, there’s nothing going on.’

  I turned round and put the mug in front of him. ‘I saw you, Roger. I came to your offices, hoping to catch you and tell you about the phone call. And I saw you wa
lking across the car park with a woman. So close you were almost touching. You both looked pretty cosy.’ I could hear the agitation in my voice.

  Roger looked uncomfortable. ‘That was a colleague. She was a bit upset and was talking to me, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  Roger hesitated. ‘Hannah.’

  ‘And was it Hannah you were talking to parked up your road in the dark? Hannah you had a drink with last night before you came home?’

  I saw from his face I’d got that bit right.

  ‘She’s split up with her boyfriend,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m just a shoulder to cry on, that’s all. It’s not sexual.’

  My heart sank. ‘What you mean is – it’s not sexual yet. Men always say that when they’ve started fantasising about getting their leg over but haven’t managed it so far. For God’s sake, Roger, what on earth are you –’

  ‘I’m not! Just listen to me for a moment. She’s one of our staff. She’s having a very hard time and I’m just trying to be helpful and supportive as I would be to any of my colleagues. We’ve been for a couple of drinks, and that’s all.’

  ‘And have you told Charlotte?’

  ‘No, because it’s not important. She’s not interested in my colleagues’ personal problems.’

  ‘She might be if she knew this one just happened to be 35 and single and adoring.’

  ‘She’s 36,’ Roger said stiffly, ‘and she’s not adoring at all. She just needs a friend right now, that’s all.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got any, then? Roger, if she was the one who made the phone call then she’s bad news.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t her. That must have been a wrong number.’

  ‘Or someone at work who thinks you and Hannah are an item and wants to warn your wife. I should let someone else counsel her if I were you, and steer well clear.’

  Roger looked troubled. ‘I will when she’s feeling a bit better. She sort of needs me at the moment …’

  My heart sank deeper. ‘Roger – I know that sort of woman. She’s trying to make you feel all protective – being all helpless and needy. Men are so gullible. The next thing you know, she’ll be trying to get you into bed with her and then ’

  Roger shook his head. ‘Look, Laura, I know you’re thinking about Daniel but this is me. I wouldn’t do that to Charlotte. I’m not gullible. Hannah’s a very genuine person actually who’s been really badly treated and I’m just –’

  I shook my head. My stomach had that feeling it gets when it detects impending doom. ‘Had you seen her that night when you went to get the pizza?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Had you phoned her?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at him hard.

  ‘Yes, maybe – I was worried about her, I think.’

  I sighed, exasperated. ‘I don’t even have to meet Hannah to know just what she’s like. She’s playing on your sympathy, she’s ’

  ‘No!’ Roger was emphatic. ‘She isn’t and what are you doing pre-judging someone like this? You know nothing about her. This is all about you, Laura. Just because Daniel behaved badly doesn’t mean we’re all going to. I am being a friend to a colleague and that is all.’

  I could see he was getting irritated.

  ‘OK, OK. I’m only thinking of you,’ I said in a more conciliatory tone. ‘I’d just hate anything to be – misconstrued.’

  ‘Well, so far,’ he said, smiling at me again, ‘the only person misconstruing anything is you.’

  ‘Yes – so far,’ I said darkly. ‘Roger, please be careful! I know you think I’m overreacting but I think you should ask her about that phone call and watch her face very carefully. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be her …’

  ‘She’s a professional woman –’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? So was Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction .’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Laura.’ Roger gave a hearty and totally unconvincing laugh.

  ‘What does she do anyway? Is she a solicitor?’

  ‘One of the senior secretaries. Not mine,’ he added.

  ‘Well then, why are you involved? Why can’t her boss listen to her tales of woe?’

  ‘We’re not like that, we all help each other.’ He took a mouthful of coffee.

  I stared at him, unable to decide whether he was really being naïve or spinning me a line, and hating the thought of the latter. Nothing changed the fact that he hadn’t told his wife and if it was all that matey and innocent, surely he would have done? Just in passing at least, just as part of his day’s work …

  I opened my mouth to make this very point and had got as far as, ‘Well I can’t help thinking …’ when the doorbell rang and we both froze.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I squeaked. ‘Suppose it’s Charlotte!’

  Roger leapt to his feet alarmed. ‘Could it be?’ He stared wildly at the clock. ‘Does she often come in at this time?’

  ‘She comes in any time – if she’s got an appointment nearby. I’m her coffee stop.’ I glared at him. ‘Quick! What are we going to say?’

  Roger looked blank. ‘Um – I left work early and popped in to borrow something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Er – an electric drill? I’ll say mine’s broken and I want to put a shelf up.’

  ‘Does she know anything about this shelf? Have you got the wood?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it won’t work then, will it, you pillock? She’s not bloody stupid.’

  My heart was beating faster than usual. The doorbell rang again. Roger was pacing around the room. ‘Come on!’ I urged him.

  ‘We’ll say I needed to use your computer because our one at home froze this morning.’

  ‘Didn’t you leave before her?’

  ‘Yes – but she won’t remember if I was on the computer first or not.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound right. You could be checking with me what size she is because you want to buy her a dress.’ Even as I said it, I knew it was hopeless.

  He shook his head. ‘She’ll never believe that.’

  The doorbell rang for a third time. This time we could hear knocking on the glass too. Taking decisive action, I hurled his coffee mug into the sink, opened the back door and shoved him through it. ‘Go and hide in the shed!’

  ‘But my car’s outside.’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  My brain was in overdrive as I made my way up the hall, heart still pounding. I’d act surprised – say I hadn’t seen him. Buy us some time to think of a plausible reason why Roger might have parked outside my house and then pissed off somewhere. Bloody Roger! Jesus Christ – here I was, locked in lies and subterfuge against my best friend, all so Roger could play Samaritans.

  ‘I’m coming,’ I called gaily, knowing she’d take one look at my face and know I was hiding something. ‘Sorry – I was in the loo,’ I cried, flinging the door open. It was Stanley, who’d left his front door key at home again. I leant weakly against the wall.

  He frowned, his face slightly red in the afternoon sun, his hair stuck up on end. ‘You were ages,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ I said, pulling him into a large, motherly embrace in my relief. He wriggled away from me. I moved backward, blocking his path to the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink – you look hot. Something to eat? A sandwich?’ I smiled brightly. ‘I’ll do it – you get out of that uniform first. And don’t forget to hang your trousers up. Oh, and make your bed if you didn’t do it this morning. And maybe get your books sorted for tomorrow,’ I added, wondering what else I could add to the list that would give me time to get our visitor out of the shed and send him packing before Stanley reappeared. ‘I’ll be getting your food. Cheese and ham OK?’

  Stanley sighed and began to plod wearily up the stairs. As I reached the kitchen door I heard him pause by the window on the landing.

  ‘Mum,’ he called. ‘Why’s Uncle Roger in the garden?’
/>   Chapter Thirteen

  My mother sniffed as only my mother can.

  ‘What on earth do you want to do that for? I would have thought,’ she continued, without waiting for an answer, ‘that you had enough to be getting on with here, what with the house to keep clean –‘ here she paused to look in the corners for dust ‘– and your son to look after, now you are on your own.’ The last three words were weighted with disapproval.

  I breathed deeply. My mother spent the entire 18 years Daniel and I were together delivering regular, if veiled, criticisms of him, our marriage, and our lifestyle. But since he left, she has switched tack and makes it very plain that I was careless to lose him, because he is, after all, a man, which affords him a far greater status than I will ever have, even if he does happen to be a very poor example of the species.

  Any man is better than no man, her warped thinking goes, which is why she spent 40 years complaining bitterly about my father’s shortcomings yet refused to let him out of her sight. I sometimes wonder if he died of sheer desperation.

  I spoke as cheerily as I could. ‘Because it will be interesting and a bit of fun and I might win some money to buy Stanley the new mobile phone he wants for his birthday.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said my mother, crossly, knowing I had got her on that one because Stanley, being her only grandchild and a male, could do no wrong.

  My brother, Anthony, the other light of her life, had so far failed to produce any offspring, being too busy drinking and chasing unsuitable women – a fact my mother resolutely refused to acknowledge — and had very sensibly gone to live 200 miles away in Nottingham.

  So, in the absence of either him or a second generation of geniuses sprung from his loins, all her love – grandmotherly and otherwise – was lavished on Stanley.

  ‘I think he’s looking a bit peaky,’ she said now. ‘Are you feeding him properly?’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ I said. ‘I’ve had Daniel on at me about too many pizzas and not enough vegetables.’

  ‘Well he can talk,’ my mother said. ‘I can’t ever remember a Christmas when he finished his sprouts.’ Here she paused again to see if there were any other festive misdemeanours she could dredge up and relive for the enjoyment of us both. Clearly disappointed that there weren’t, she continued briskly, ‘I’ll make sure he has something proper while I’m in charge.’