Prime Time
Page 37
I couldn’t help giggling. ‘She doesn’t like men showing their feminine side, then?’
He ate another chip. ‘My wife doesn’t believe in emotional displays of any kind. That’s why when you sat in front of me at parents’ evening and burst into tears, I was instantly smitten.’
I examined my plate, embarrassed. ‘You were?’
‘I was. I thought you were beautiful. Even with watery eyes and a red nose.’
I began cutting my cod into small pieces, unable to look at him.
‘I was really disappointed when Clara said you were seeing the director chap. But do I gather that’s finished?’
‘It never started,’ I said. ‘Only in my head.’ I told him the sorry tale. Andrew touched my hand.
‘I’d never defend anyone who works in reality TV,’ he said. ‘I think all those programmes are awful. But I bet you, even if he was piling on the charm to keep you sweet for the film, he enjoyed every minute of it. That’s why his girlfriend was so upset, because she knew he fancied you rotten – just like I do – and he had the perfect excuse to indulge himself.’ Andrew leant over and squeezed my shoulder. ‘He behaved badly, but you shouldn’t feel bad about it.’
I cut my food up a bit more. ‘Thank you,’ I said awkwardly.
‘Anyway, it was when I saw you losing it in the supermarket that I really fell for you,’ he continued easily. ‘I loved the fact that you were so volatile. Even though your eyebrows were a bit scary by then, I was drawn to all that passion. I sometimes used to wonder just what it would take to make Elaine lose control. I’ve still never discovered the answer to that one’
‘I had PMT,’ I said self-consciously. ‘Were my eyebrows really scary?’
‘Yes, they were quite. What did you tell me you said to Annabel in the changing room? You looked better before?’
‘It’s nice being a bit thinner.’
‘You’re crumpet however much you weigh – am I allowed to say that now? And as for the night the programme had been on, you looked so lovely and you got so cross. When you started shouting, I just knew I was going to have to win you round.’ He grinned.
‘Why didn’t you answer my text then? When I said sorry.’
He looked at me, still smiling. ‘I did. I kept sending texts. You were the one who didn’t answer. I assumed you were still in a strop.’
‘I didn’t get them. I haven’t had any texts at all.’ I got up and dug in my handbag for my phone and handed it to him. ‘See?’
He looked at it and smiled some more. ‘Excellent. You are dippy and un-technical as well as given to emotional outbursts. Perfect!’
I peered over his shoulder. ‘There aren’t any texts on there. It hasn’t beeped or anything.’
‘No – because the phone’s full of them.’ He pointed to a tiny flashing envelope in the corner of the screen. ‘When did you last delete any?’
‘Not sure I ever have.’
He made coffee while I scanned through weeks of messages, noting before I pushed the button that would erase them all, how many were from Cal. Can’t wait to see you. I bet you bloody couldn’t, I thought.
‘So what’s happening now with Elaine?’ I asked as a series of beeps told me the backlog of texts was finally coming in.
‘She’s gone back to her job and rented house in Woking,’ Andrew said. ‘We’re going to sort things out properly so she can buy somewhere. And I’m going to have the boys to stay regularly – and go up there for Christmas. I think it’s a relief for both of us. Now we know it’s really over, we’ll be able to be civilised – maybe even be friends, who knows.’
I nodded, but I was only half-listening. The thought of Christmas, about which I’d done nothing, and being here on my own with Stanley, had sent a stab of pain through me. ‘We were supposed to be going to Charlotte’s,’ I said miserably.
‘You still might be.’ Andrew pointed to my phone where the screen was filling up. It read 12 messages received . ‘Only about six of them are from me,’ he said.
When he’d gone into the garden for his post-dinner cigarette, having refused my offer of having one indoors on the grounds that he wanted it all to be as difficult as possible so he finally did give up, I sat and read all the texts, my eyes filling with tears.
There was one from Andrew sent the night I’d thrown him out, saying not to worry about anything and would I let him explain about his wife, please? And one a little later the same evening from Charlotte which simply read call me, you silly cow.
This progressed to answer the phone, you silly moo , when I would have been lying in bed the next day, ignoring the incessant ringing, and still love you daft bat text me back this morning and finally, when I’d have been on the treadmill thinking about how much I missed her, Miss you sorry for everything. Let’s stop this now. Call me or else.
‘Oh my God,’ I said, as Andrew came through the back door. ‘She thinks I’ve been ignoring her.’
‘I know how she feels.’
I looked at the next one. You’re still gorgeous.
‘I don’t feel gorgeous,’ I said, my chin wobbling all over again.
‘Well, you are.’
I shook my head. ‘I feel and old and unattractive and I’ve made an idiot of myself in front of thousands of people.
‘You are gorgeous. And you always were. You were badly lit in a TV programme that hardly anyone watched. And most of those who did don’t even know you. As the kids would say: get over it.’
‘And I sounded stupid.’
‘You were unfairly edited. It’s a lesson for next time. You’ll have to get over that too.’
I shuddered. ‘There is never going to be a next time.’
‘So let’s concentrate on now.’ He reached out a hand and drew me toward him, bringing his dark, curly head close to mine, his green eyes gleaming. I gazed back at him. Part of me wanted to fall into his arms, to feel their warmth around me, to be hugged again, to believe I could be attractive. But the rest of me was still mortified. I remembered the way I’d gazed into Cal’s eyes and fallen so readily for his insubstantial charms. Andrew was a lovely man and he was being very kind to me but …
‘But you’re Stanley’s teacher,’ I said lamely, stepping back from him.
‘We can deal with that – I’m not going to snog you in the middle of the classroom.’
‘And you’ve got all this to sort out with your wife …’
He dropped my hand. ‘I’ve told you it’s sorted. Aren’t you just making excuses, Laura?’ He looked at me sadly. ‘Isn’t it more that you’re still hung up on your director chap? Or of course,’ he went on flatly, ‘it could be that you just don’t fancy me. Perhaps I’m rather jumping the gun here …’
His eyes were searching mine and I suddenly felt miserable and defeated. I wanted to say something nice, to explain, to let him put his arms around me but all I could see was him watching me on TV and I felt awkward and embarrassed and washed over by shame all over again. I looked away from him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just can’t.’
Chapter Forty
My greatest fear is that PMT doesn’t exist and this is my true personality.
I turned the wooden plaque over in my hands. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘How thoughtful.’
Charlotte laughed loudly. ‘Knew you’d like it. You can put it up in your kitchen. And look what else I’ve got!’ She opened her fridge to reveal two bottles of pink champagne. ‘I thought we’d have a bit of a party!’
‘Why?’ I asked suspiciously, my PMT, as it happened, bubbling away nicely and making me scratchy. ‘Presents, inviting us for dinner, champagne … Why are you being so nice to me?’
Charlotte snorted. ‘Cheeky moo. I’m always lovely to you and you spend half your life eating round here. But if you must know,’ she went on, ‘I am getting sick of the sight of your miserable face. I thought if I could get you half-cut on fizz, you might cheer up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, glumly.
‘I am mourning my lost youth.’
‘You’re being a pain in the arse.’ Charlotte covered the top of the first bottle with a tea-towel and twisted. There was a loud pop. ‘Glasses! Quick!’
‘We could ask Alfie and Clara round if you like,’ she said, as she poured. ‘I’ve got a massive piece of beef.’
‘They’re in Rome,’ I said. ‘Alfie booked a weekend trip for Clara’s birthday.’
‘Lucky buggers. I’d like to go there – or Milan. My New Year’s resolution,’ she added, as Roger appeared in the doorway, ‘was for my husband to take me away more.’ Charlotte gave him a mock-severe look. ‘Off his own bat!’ She raised her glass cheerily. ‘Come and get a drink, love.’
She didn’t look at me as she filled a glass for Roger. ‘How about inviting Andrew, then?’ she said slyly.
I put my drink down in irritation. ‘For God’s sake, you never give up, do you? Andrew is not interested in me. I haven’t heard a word from him.’
Charlotte took a large swig of champagne. ‘What did you expect? He declared his passion for you and you turned him down – you can’t expect the poor bloke to keep coming back for more after that. It’s down to you. I bet if you called him now and said we’re having a little celebration, he’d be round here like a long dog.’
‘What are we celebrating?’ I asked moodily.
‘Wait and see!’
I looked at her as she opened a bag of peanuts. She was smiling to herself and I felt a deep sense of foreboding. The last time she’d looked like that had been my 21st birthday, when she’d had the bright idea of rounding up my previous boyfriends to join in the fun and I’d been forced to dance with Kevin Gornley, last seen aged 15, whose spots and foot odour had only intensified in the meantime.
Stanley and I’d been round for Sunday lunch plenty of times before but at this point it was usually her and me and a glass of Pinot Grigio at the kitchen table while she peeled vegetables and Roger watched the sports channel. This felt different.
And I knew why as soon as the doorbell sounded. I glared at Charlotte as Roger went into the hallway and I heard a familiar voice floating toward us.
‘How could you?’ I hissed furiously. ‘I asked you not to interfere. I don’t want to see him.’
Charlotte was unrepentant. ‘Never mind what you want, love. It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m in the mood to party. The more the merrier. Can you get those crisps open?’
‘I’m sorry – you know what she’s like,’ murmured Roger, winking at me as he passed on the way to the fridge, carrying cans of beer. I looked up unwillingly. Andrew stood just inside the door, wearing jeans and a soft blue shirt. Charlotte was beaming at him. ‘Glass of champagne? We won’t be eating till about four so do have some nuts …’
‘Hello Laura.’ Andrew gave me a polite smile. I cringed inside as I muttered back a greeting. What the hell was Charlotte doing? He didn’t want to be here like this any more than I did.
Roger was making jolly conversation. ‘How are things? Good Christmas?’
Charlotte pulled a face. ‘That was ages ago. And best forgotten. If ever the Americans want to develop a new torture I’ve got one – eight hours listening to your mother at the same time as Laura’s. Thank God for the numbing effects of alcohol.’
Too right, I thought, knocking back all the rest of the champagne in my glass and wishing I could go home. I couldn’t believe Charlotte had gone to such lengths to do something so utterly crass. She hadn’t even put the meat in the oven yet – we were going to be stuck together for hours. What would we all talk about?
The answer was nothing, it seemed. ‘Let’s all go and watch television,’ Charlotte said brightly. I stared at her. This was the woman who used to berate Roger for hiding behind the remote control if she had friends round.
‘Call the kids, Roger!’ she instructed. She looked up at the clock. ‘Come on – we’ve got five minutes.’
She refilled my glass and held out the bottle toward Andrew. ‘Have a top-up,’ she said, picking up the crisp bowl with her other hand. ‘Bring the peanuts, Lu.’
I trailed behind her and the others into her sitting room, wondering what on earth she was up to, feeling suddenly sick as a horrible possibility occurred to me. Surely not …
‘You weren’t going to tell me, were you?’ Charlotte was saying, pressing buttons on the remote. ‘Lucky I still had Alicia’s number – she was very helpful. She told me that your cookery programme ’ Charlotte turned round to stare at me ‘ went out on Thursday.’
I heaved a small sigh of relief. ‘Did it?’ I asked casually. ‘Oh, I didn’t know …’
‘Alicia said you’d have been sent an email,’ said Charlotte accusingly. ‘She did it in the end with one of her friends – they pretended to be cousins, I gather – and she got an email weeks ago with the dates. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I deleted it,’ I said shortly. ‘I didn’t want to know.’
‘Well, I did,’ said Charlotte. ‘And guess what?’
Please don’t tell me you’ve got a recording …
‘It’s repeated today!’ she cried triumphantly. Charlotte grinned at me. ‘It’s being shown on Foodies UK and we’re all going to watch it right now.’ She threw back her head and yelled, ‘Boys !’ before looking at Roger. ‘Thought you’d called them?’
‘I did,’ he said.
‘We’ll record it too.’ Charlotte seemed oblivious my horror. ‘Bex will be furious if she can’t see it. I told her to watch it at Lauren’s but she says they might be shopping. For a change!’
I felt sick to my boots. ‘Charlotte, please …’ I began shakily, stopping as Joe and Stanley came reluctantly into the room, my son looking suitably askance to find his form tutor there.
‘We were in the middle of a game,’ Stanley said to me plaintively. I shrugged helplessly.
‘Well, this is much more exciting,’ said Charlotte. We’re going to watch your mother being a television star!’
I stared at the carpet, hating her. Why was she doing this? Surely she could imagine what it was doing to me.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ I heard Andrew say. ‘Stanley’s fantastic in the play we’re doing at school. Quite the star himself – got his mother’s acting ability, all right.’
I bit my lip as I felt tears of humiliation tingling at the back of my nose. That was all I needed – him taking the piss. Bastard. Why had he come? Just to laugh at me with everyone else?
Then suddenly the opening music started and I shrunk back into the sofa as the red and green lettering of the Cook Around the Clock logo bounced across the screen. ‘Oh my God …’
Andrew was somehow next to me. ‘You’re going to be great,’ he said brightly.
Yeah, right – like I was last time?
‘Entertaining, anyway,’ added Charlotte with a grin. She beamed at me across the room. I scowled back, feeling like crying and longing to run from the room.
‘Embarrassing, more like,’ said Stanley glumly from the carpet, where he was sprawled next to a giggling Joe.
I stared mutely at the screen as the couple I remembered as Bob and Carol appeared in front of me.
‘And now we have Bob and Carol!’ cried Austin the presenter, flashing his improbable white teeth. ‘Are we excited?’ he cried.
‘She was terrified,’ I snapped.
‘She looks it,’ said Roger.
‘He looks a right dick,’ said Charlotte. ‘Told you,’ she continued triumphantly, when Bob had finished regaling the audience with his prowess in the kitchen and special flair for making sausage and apricot curry.
‘No, I can’t cook at all,’ said his wife Carol faintly, looking as though she might collapse.
‘Stop talking,’ said Roger. ‘You’re worse than the kids.’
Stanley and Joe were too busy hoovering up the nibbles to say anything much. but both looked suitably bored as Bruno the chef led a quaking Carol off to one side of the studio and Bob made a show of putting his chef’s hat on and striding off to the other. My hands clutched each other, nails digging into my palms. My stomach was churning.
I could feel Andrew breathing beside me as we watched Bob guffawing his way through the creation of a chicken and leek pie while Carol gripped a large knife in frozen terror before eventually managing to chop some broccoli. I slumped in relief as Austin grinned manically at the camera and the music played.
‘Let’s get the next bottle open,’ said Charlotte getting up and prodding Roger as the adverts came on.
‘Can we go back upstairs now?’ asked Stanley.
‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘Your mother’s on next.’
Stanley sighed.
‘Got a football? I’ll stand in goal for two minutes,’ offered Andrew. ‘That OK?’ he said to Charlotte. He didn’t look at me.
‘Good idea. I’ll come and watch,’ said Charlotte at once, delving into her handbag for her cigarettes.
‘She’s supposed to be giving up,’ said Roger, as they all disappeared through the back door and I stood uncomfortably in the kitchen while he got champagne out of the fridge.
‘Well, she’s got a nicotine ally out there in Andrew,’ I said. ‘Unless he’s stopped again by now.’
‘Charlotte says she’s cut down,’ said Roger, pulling a disbelieving face. ‘Though I can’t say I’ve seen much evidence of it.’
‘Is everything all right now?’ I asked awkwardly. We hadn’t spoken about Hannah since Charlotte and I had made up. She and Roger seemed happy enough, but I wanted to make sure.