I noticed he no longer tried to deny that it had been her who’d been making the anonymous phone calls.
‘I’m so sorry Becky was upset,’ I said to Charlotte now. ‘I hate the thought of her in tears because of me.’
‘Oh, she’s hormonal,’ Charlotte said, trying to make light of it and failing. ‘She’s always in tears about something.’
I gave her a hug. ‘I love you,’ I said, a lump in my own throat. ‘I wouldn’t do anything, ever, to hurt you.’
Charlotte hugged me back hard and then pushed me away. ‘Don’t start me off too.’
I wouldn’t have chosen the method but the extra, unexpected weight loss from two days of not eating was handy. The final shoot was in ten days’ time, just after Charlotte’s weekend away, and Cal was hoping there would be a real visible difference in me they could capture on film. I was spending every spare minute at the gym and trying to live on cheese and tomatoes. I was also trying not to dwell on the fact that we were going to be staying in the hotel overnight …
Cal had phoned several times since I’d seen him, with arrangements for the final session and once, he said, just to see how I was. It was probably, in fact, to check I hadn’t been detained under the Mental Health Act, since he’d managed to catch me the time before, still shrieking manically at Stanley while picking up the phone. ‘Sorry,’ I said, shamefaced, ‘hormones are raging.’
He gave a low, sexy chuckle. ‘That’s OK – I wouldn’t mind getting you on film doing that,’ he joked. ‘Just to show your human side – viewers like a bit of raw female passion.’
The words had sent a jolt through me. ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ I’d said hastily, thinking it would probably rather suit me as well …
‘So are you up for it, Laura?’
‘Sorry?’ I came back to the present to find Clara speaking to me. It was Sunday morning and we were having an après-gym juice with Alfie and Andrew but I had no idea what she was talking about. She winked. ‘That’s if you’ve got any energy left after all these hot dates with your toy boy.’
A slightly odd expression crossed Andrew’s face. A kind of disapproval or distaste. I flushed, anxiously hoping he wouldn’t say anything to Stanley and then pulled myself up short. Of course he wouldn’t – he was a teacher and would be responsible and ethical. Anything said to him in the gym was confidential, surely.
‘He’s not my toy boy,’ I said quickly.
‘Come off it,’ smirked Clara. ‘I saw you together the other night, remember. And I must say I don’t blame you one bit …’
‘Anyway,’ said Alfie. ‘Are we a team?’ He’d lost even more weight now and was really beginning to look good – his face was more chiselled and his eyes seemed bluer than ever.
‘I’m game,’ said Andrew.
‘What do we have to do again?’ asked Clara.
Alfie looked at the paper in his hand. ‘A 1km row, 2km run on the treadmill, 1km on the cross-trainer, 50 lengths of the pool, 2km on the bike and 50 press ups. Mixed teams of four – fastest times win.’
‘Press-ups?’ I groaned. ‘Can barely do five of the bloody things, let alone fifty.’
‘It will be a challenge,’ said Andrew firmly. He patted his middle. ‘Right – when can we all get together for a team training session? I for one need some incentive to carry on – it’s only seeing your three bright, cheery faces that keeps me going.’
‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ said Clara fondly, after Andrew had taken all our mobile numbers and promised to text us our team training schedule. ‘You can always tell a teacher,’ said Clara. ‘And he’s quite yummy in his way, isn’t he?’
‘He’s married.’ My voice was sharper than I’d meant it to be.
‘Aren’t they always?’ Clara smiled.
‘I’m not,’ said Alfie.
‘Well I don’t know why,’ said Clara, grinning now, ‘’cos you’re yummy too!’
‘I’ve always been a bit too much to handle,’ he quipped back.
‘How much have you lost now?’ I asked him. ‘You look really different.’
‘I’m down four and a half stone,’ he said proudly.
‘Christ, I wish I was,’ said Clara gloomily. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Vicky tonight but I’m going to have to cancel. She’s bound to ask if I can get into the dress yet – and last time I sort of implied it was just a bit tight. The truth is that I still can’t get the zip up; it’s nearly there but still not all the way, and even if I could fasten it, it would look terrible – I bulge out of it everywhere.’ She looked at us both in despair. ‘It’s just too small.’
Alfie patted her arm. ‘I think you look terrific as you are,’ he said loyally.
‘Can you really not get it taken out?’ I asked.
Clara shrugged. ‘I don’t think so – I’ve looked at the seams. And they’d never match the fabric if they tried to put panels in and Vicky would notice, and God help us all if it didn’t match everyone else’s exactly, and oh my God, the wedding’s in 13 days. I’m going to have to be on hot water and enemas from now on to have a fighting chance of even getting it on properly. I’ll still look like a barrage balloon.’
‘Can’t you just tell her?’ I said. ‘Can’t you be a maid of honour instead and wear something different?’
Clara shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t think so. When Vicky has a vision, that’s it. Just the thought of seeing her makes me just want to go home, hide under the duvet, and eat chips.’
And she’s your best friend , I said silently, suddenly suffused with emotion at the thought of Charlotte, who was mine. I’d never be in that situation with her – we had a real closeness, a bond, and I was now appreciating how rare and special it was.
Bloody Roger for jeopardising it. Bloody Hannah. Bloody hell.
What have I done?
‘Thanks for all you’ve done.’ Charlotte hugged me as Roger put their luggage into the boot. ‘I’ve left you lots of food and lists of what the kids are doing and the Aga is stoked right up – you should be OK.’
‘We’re only going for the weekend,’ said Roger, ‘and we really must hurry or we’ll miss the ferry.’
I thought he looked anxious and I knew it wasn’t just about getting to Dover on time.
‘She keeps texting,’ he’d said worriedly, while Charlotte was upstairs. ‘She says she needs to see me and talk to me or she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Says she’s desperate. I haven’t answered the last three, but I feel terrible – suppose she kills herself?’
‘She won’t,’ I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘I know it’s hard but she’ll get over it and meet someone else. But for God’s sake, tell Charlotte – you don’t have to go into every last detail. Just say a girl at the office is getting a bit disturbed about you. Just to prepare her – in case she comes home to find Benson simmering gently on the hob! Oh my God, I’m sorry,’ I said, clapping my hand to my mouth as Roger looked stricken. ‘Really bad, tasteless joke, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it. Look, it will be OK and if she keeps on, just turn your phone off.’
Roger shook his head. ‘Can’t do that – not until the end of the day anyway – I’m expecting work to call. I’ll just ignore her. Or shall I text her once more and say I’m sorry but I can’t see her?’
‘No – I don’t think –’ I stopped as Charlotte came into the room.
‘Got everything?’ I smiled brightly. ‘Don’t worry about a thing here.’
Stanley hadn’t been over-enthusiastic about the idea of a whole weekend at Becky’s but it made sense to uproot one child rather than two. Especially as there was also Benson to consider and Becky had an inset day today and would be bored left to her own devices in my house.
Also I’d need entertainment for both boys, and Charlotte’s house was where the PlayStation was, which clinched it. So I’d loaded Boris’s dishes with food and asked Rosie, my next-door neighbour, to come in and out and had brought my laptop and anything else I might need to last me till Monda
y.
Though as I said to Stanley, who seemed to have packed an inordinate amount of goodness-knows-what for three nights, we only lived two miles away – we could always pop back.
When Charlotte and Roger had driven off, I left Becky, still in her dressing gown, sprawled on the sofa in front of Jeremy Kyle, made a coffee and set my laptop up on the kitchen table. With no distractions to hand, I was hoping to finish the current brochure copy – patio heaters and braziers one can’t live without – and start tackling a video script Mike had given me to “polish up”, which I knew from experience might be a lengthy process.
After an hour or so, I thought I’d better check how Becky was doing. She’d moved on to My American Dream – a vile-looking programme about 16-year-old girls in Florida who had nose and boob jobs and their own life coaches – and looked set in for the day.
‘Do you want a cup of tea or something, Bex?’
She nodded at me. ‘Toast?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Sure.’
Oh God, how much I could do with some toast myself. With Marmite, or peanut butter, or maybe both. I went back to the kitchen and sawed at the large brown loaf Charlotte had left. Maybe just a tiny end bit for me – it was a four-slice toaster after all. Shame to waste all that power …
It had just popped up when the phone rang and Becky wandered into the room. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, fishing the handset out of Benson’s bed.
I got plates from the cupboard and started buttering.
‘No, sorry she’s not here,’ Becky was saying. ‘No – he’s not here either – they’ve gone away. Yes. Paris. No, on the ferry – Mum doesn’t like tunnels. About an hour ago. No, I’m sorry I don’t know. Um, yes, of course, just a minute –’
As I heard her start to give out Charlotte’s mobile number, a sudden alarm bell rang. I threw down the butter knife.
‘Becky!’
She had wandered into the hallway with the phone against her cheek, still talking. ‘OK. Bye.’
‘Who was that?’
Becky shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Someone for Mum – said she needed to talk to her.’
‘Did she give a name?’
‘No.’
‘Here, let me have that a moment.’ I took the phone from her and dialled 1471. Number withheld.
‘What did she sound like?’ I asked, trying to sound calm.
Becky shrugged again.’ Dunno. Normal.’
Which was precisely what she wasn’t if it was Hannah, which I suddenly felt sure it was. It was all those questions. Oh God, what if it was her and she was about to phone Charlotte before Roger had a chance to break the news?
Suppose she drove to Dover and declared her undying love in the middle of Departures. Informed the whole queue at passport control that Roger had been within a condom’s reach of having her? Oh my God, again.
I wondered what to do. If I texted Roger he might ignore it – he’d think it was Hannah and wouldn’t want to start reading texts in front of Charlotte. I’d have to phone him – then he’d answer in case it was work. But then he might look at the display and say, ‘Oh, it’s Laura phoning,’ and put me onto Charlotte and then Charlotte would wonder why I was phoning him and not her and we’d be back to square one.
My head whirled.
I could phone from their home line so he thought it was Becky. But no – same problem. He might hand it to Charlotte if he was driving or in the middle of sorting the tickets or something.
In the end, I took a deep breath and withheld the number. It rang and rang and then went to voicemail. Shit – he must think it’s Hannah.
I’d just have to risk it – if Charlotte answered, I’d have to pretend it was to do with the hotel booking or something – say there’d been a call about it. Christ, how I hated all this subterfuge. With stomach churning, I dialled again, letting my number show. Roger answered immediately. There was a lot of background noise, with people talking and some sort of announcement coming over a Tannoy. I spoke as quickly as I could.
‘Roger, it’s me but pretend it’s work. I think Hannah might have phoned here – a woman called and asked Becky a lot of questions. She knows where you are now and Bex gave her Charlotte’s mobile number. You must tell Charlotte at once – in case she turns up there or phones her.’
Roger answered briskly. ‘OK, got that – thank you for calling. We’re just about to sail but I’ll deal with it later.’
I put down the phone in relief. At least if they were about to leave there’d be no time for any dramatic scenes and once they were in French waters Charlotte probably wouldn’t answer the phone anyway.
I’d been on holiday with Charlotte often enough to know that her general philosophy when one had to pay to receive calls, and she was busy sunning herself, was to look at the number and if she didn’t recognise it or there wasn’t one, to say, ‘I can’t be arsed,’ and turn it off.
I just hoped Roger would take my advice a bit more quickly than he had last time and tell her about Hannah as soon as possible since it didn’t look as though the mad shrew was going to give up on him any time soon. Charlotte needed to be in the picture by the time she got back on Monday. In the meantime, if Hannah phoned here again, I was going to give her very short shrift indeed.
I was so distracted by planning exactly what I’d say, that I ate two slices of toast and Marmite.
In an effort to burn off these careless calories, I took Benson for a walk on the beach before I left to pick up Joe from St Mary’s, and then scooped up Stanley from the bus stop on the way back.
The exercise and fresh air left me invigorated, and seeing the kids all safe and sound round the table, eating the lasagne Charlotte had left us, filled me with such pleasure and relief that I almost began to feel sorry for Hannah.
It must be awful to be home on your own, feeling desperate and deranged over a man you couldn’t have. It was why I was trying very hard not to think about Cal 24/7 even though a thrill of anticipation ran through me every time I pictured the next filming session. And the lingering way he’d kissed me goodbye …
I decided, as I passed the bowl of salad around the table, knowing only Becky would even look at it, that if Hannah did phone again, I would be calm and kind to her. I’d tell her that Roger loved Charlotte and that she, Hannah, must concentrate her energies on finding someone else – someone who was single and available.
So once the boys had headed for the PlayStation and Becky had gone off for a shower, I was glad I was still in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher when the phone rang, so I could grab it before any of the kids.
‘Hello?’
‘You cow.’
I was speechless for a moment – taken aback by the ferocity in her voice. ‘Charlotte? What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve just been through my husband’s phone – this is what you have driven me to, thank you so much – and it was you calling him earlier, when he told me very specifically it was someone from the office. What’s the problem? Were you missing him already?’
I had no idea what to say. As it happened, Charlotte wasn’t going to let me get a word in anyway. She sounded furious and bitter.
‘To think I apologised to you! I am going to sit him down now and make him tell me all the gory details – just so I can fully understand how stupid I’ve been – and then we’ll use the peace and quiet to thrash out the details of the divorce. My feeling so far is that I get the house, the kids and the money. And Roger gets to go to hell.’
I felt sick. I could hear Roger in the background giving a sort of groan. ‘Charlotte,’ I heard him call out. ‘Please don’t, it’s not her fault.’
‘Oh, how sweet! He’s defending you.’ Charlotte’s voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Are my children all right?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ve not long eaten and they’re …’
‘Just you look after them!’ The phone went dead.
I stood staring at it in my hand. God almighty, how much worse could this get? Hannah mu
st have contacted Charlotte and said something about Roger. Charlotte wouldn’t have been looking in his phone otherwise – they were fine this morning. I did some deep breathing and tried to get a grip.
Roger would sort it now. He’d tell Charlotte about Hannah and she would realise, once and for all, there was nothing going on with me. I knew that and knew Charlotte would calm down once she got the truth, but I still felt shaken. I had never heard Charlotte so angry – and she’d certainly never spoken to me like that before.
I wondered whether to send her a text, but decided it was better to keep my head down and leave it to her and Roger. She’d probably phone back later anyway – she’d want to say goodnight to the kids.
She did, but she clearly didn’t want to speak to me because an hour later she phoned Becky on her mobile and chatted to Joe on that too.
She even sent her love to Stanley but I wasn’t called to the phone.
‘Mum all right?’ I asked Becky casually, when the boys were having one last go on their football game and she was back on the sofa in front of Jonathan Ross. She hardly looked up from the TV.
‘Yeah, think so.’
I wondered if Roger was …
I was up early the next morning despite not having slept well. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar bed and Charlotte’s noisy heating pipes that disturbed me, it was the jumbled dreams about Cal and Roger and Charlotte and Hannah and – oddly – Alfie, that startled me awake and left me staring at the ceiling, wondering what exactly was going on in Paris.
I hoped Hannah hadn’t called Charlotte – I dreaded to think what sort of reception she might have got if she had – and it could only make it worse for Roger. Though perhaps he had told Charlotte the whole story by now and everything was OK.
‘I’ll take you for a walk later,’ I said to Benson as he reappeared from the garden. At the word “walk” he flung himself at me and then charged into the utility room where Charlotte kept his lead and throw-the-ball thingy. I heard his tail swishing wildly against the wall.
‘No, not yet,’ I said, as he came back out with his lead in his mouth and threw himself against me again. ‘We’ve got to do some other stuff first.’
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