by Susan Lewis
Inside the apartment, cards, flowers, ribbons, bows, unopened and opened gifts spilled from tables, sofas, chairs and walls, even the bed. The delicious pop of champagne corks rang almost constantly from the kitchen, the whoosh and fizz of the bubbles making everyone shriek and laugh and thrust their glasses out for more. The table of catered food looked like a battlefield strewn with streamers and limp balloons; the floor was littered with discarded high-heeled shoes and crushed paper hats.
At the midst of it all was Rhiannon. Everyone danced around her, clapping to the beat, stamping their feet and whooping as she twirled. The Check It Out team showered her with glitter that clung to her skin and sparkled in her hair. She looked radiant. So alive, so full of energy and exuberance that it was almost impossible to believe that this wild and riotous party was being held to mark her departure from Check It Out.
Cheering and clapping her hands over her head, Lizzy bumped her hips against Rhiannon’s as James Brown took over the CD. Jolene moved in, an exotic triumph in a sheath of red and gold sequins; Martin followed suit as Carrie and Rohan romped and gyrated, pulling everyone into the mêlée, while a couple of ITN guys emptied Moët over Rhiannon’s and Lizzy’s heads.
At the edge of the garden, trying desperately not to feel out of place as they jigged about awkwardly to the beat, were Morgan and Sally Simpson – the proprietors of Check It Out who were taking over the running of the programme starting next Monday. Firing Rhiannon had been one of the hardest things either of them had ever done, especially after all she had been through.
‘I feel such a heel,’ Sally said to her husband as they watched Rhiannon and Lizzy tilting their faces to catch the champagne.
‘What!’ he shouted.
‘I said I feel a heel,’ she repeated. ‘Do you think she’s doing this on purpose? I mean to make us feel bad?’
‘If she is, it’s working,’ he responded, desperately wishing they hadn’t come, but knowing there was no way they could have avoided it.
Sally’s sun-weathered face hardened for a moment, then turning to look at Rhiannon again she felt her heart give a twist of guilt. ‘She’s not that malicious,’ she said grudgingly. ‘At least, she never used to be.’
‘It’s not our fault,’ Morgan reminded her firmly. Though, in truth, they both knew how bored they had become with the lotus-eating life in the Caribbean and how they’d been dying to get their hands on the programme for months. But after all she had done there was no way they could ask Rhiannon to step aside, especially when, apart from money, they had contributed next to nothing since the programme’s conception. For a while they had toyed with the idea of asking Rhiannon to share the exec-producership, but then Mervyn Mansfield had been appointed commissioning editor for Channel 4’s news and features and the problem – at least from the Simpsons’ point of view – had been solved.
Looking at Rhiannon now, Sally felt the ache of disloyalty and a fierce almost murderous hatred of Mansfield. To her, he would forever be the focus of blame, even though in her heart she knew that neither she nor Morgan had fought hard enough for Rhiannon to stay – in any capacity. But how could they when Mansfield’s ultimatum had been unequivocal: either Rhiannon went or Check It Out was off the air. Under any other circumstances it might have been interesting to try calling his bluff, for axing a ratings-puller like Check It Out would be plain crazy. But since Mansfield’s grudge against Rhiannon was as deep as it was personal, the Simpsons had seen no point in antagonizing him unnecessarily, not at this stage of his editorship, anyway. So they had taken a deep breath, put a tight rein on their consciences and extracted Rhiannon’s resignation.
That had been over six weeks ago. Since, the entire team had resigned in a show of solidarity – it was Rhiannon who had talked them into staying. And on the face of it, since there had been no indication to the contrary, it appeared that Lizzy was going to stay too. Morgan was convinced of it, but Sally wasn’t so sure. They were very close, Rhiannon and Lizzy, and after all that Rhiannon had been through Sally couldn’t see Lizzy letting Rhiannon face anything alone, not yet, anyway, because three months was no time at all to get over the kind of trauma Rhiannon had suffered. In fact, her throat still bore a faint purplish mark from the knife that had cut her, which was probably nothing compared to the devastation she was still carrying in her heart; a devastation she never spoke of to anyone, with the probable exception of Lizzy.
Knowing Sally and Morgan were watching them, Lizzy shimmied back to back with Rhiannon and treated her new bosses to a dazzling smile. Actually, she’d have liked nothing better than to punch out their lights, but this was the way Rhiannon wanted it, so this was the way it had to be: no bitterness, no recriminations, no reprisals.
As the record ended Rhiannon flopped breathlessly into Lizzy’s arms, whereupon they both toppled drunkenly into the fountain. Actually neither had had as much to drink as their behaviour suggested, though Rhiannon appeared much closer to letting go tonight than she had throughout all the long, painful summer days since her return from Marrakesh. Lizzy just hoped that it wasn’t hysteria fuelling the exuberance, for she, more than anyone, knew how utterly broken Rhiannon was by the prospect of no longer being a part of Check It Out. The very real closeness of the team had played such a vital part in seeing her through the past three months that Lizzy could hardly envisage her coping without it.
In fact, no one but Lizzy knew how bad it had really been, for only Lizzy knew how Oliver had been prepared to stand by and let two men rape Rhiannon right in front of him; and only Lizzy knew that all the money Oliver had borrowed from Rhiannon had never been repaid. Worse, and in Lizzy’s book totally indefensible, was that on four separate occasions now Oliver had called Rhiannon and pleaded with her to see him. How the bastard had the nerve Lizzy would never know, any more than she would ever begin to understand what had made him go so far, only to back down when he had. She guessed that maybe that was the worst part for Rhiannon, finding out that she hadn’t meant as much to him as she’d thought.
The party raved on towards dawn and by six even the diehards had gone, leaving Rhiannon and Lizzy alone with the chaos. A lot had happened during the past ten hours, enough to keep them laughing and gossiping for another hour or so, until exhaustion finally defeated them and they fell asleep on the sofas.
Rhiannon was the first to wake, around midday, when the merciless rays of an Indian summer sun beamed like lasers into her eyes. Groaning, she reached out for a cushion and covered her face.
‘Oh fuck,’ Lizzy grumbled.
Several seconds ticked by before Rhiannon lifted a corner of her cushion and peered across the room at Lizzy. Though it hurt there was no way she could stop the splutter of laughter when she saw the paper plate Lizzy had used to ward off the sun sticking to her face in gooey blobs of cream.
‘Please, don’t,’ Lizzy implored, sliding the plate off her face and letting it drop to the floor.
‘Buck’s fizz?’ Rhiannon offered maliciously.
‘Oh God!’ Lizzy groaned.
‘Bellini? Pimm’s? Scotch on the rocks?’
Lizzy opened one eye. ‘What did I ever do to you?’ she demanded weakly.
Grinning, Rhiannon lifted herself carefully up from the sofa and attempted to straighten her dress. Failing, she tugged it over her head, hooked up the straps of her camisole and padded into the kitchen. She’d lost several kilos these past few months and the freckles on her body seemed somehow to have paled with her confidence.
Finding the kettle beneath a pile of streamers and plates, she filled it and hunted around for a couple of mugs. Her movements became quick and precise, as the devastation of her life started suddenly rising within her. But she kept on moving, making the coffee, humming tunefully through the pain and fear while willing herself away from the despair. It was hard, so hard that it was almost impossible to make herself believe she would never be going back to the office again. For her it was over, while for the others it carried on. Her eyes closed, her b
reath for the moment was locked. It was like losing a child. Not as bad, of course, nothing could be as bad as that, but it felt as bad – it felt as though her precious only child had been taken away and installed in the arbitrary care of strangers. No one had the right to do that, the programme was hers, it was she who had conceived it; she who had nurtured it through to its launch; who had named it, shaped it, set it back on its feet when it stumbled and swelled with pride when it roared. How could they take it away from her now? How could they?
‘Hey, how are you doing out here?’ Lizzy said gently.
Rhiannon let her breath go. ‘Fine,’ she said, sweeping back her hair. ‘Just fine.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’ll survive, even though sometimes it feels like I won’t.’
‘I know,’ Lizzy said, wanting to wrap her arms around her, but knowing that was the surest way to make her break down. Maybe letting go wouldn’t be such a bad idea, though, except she had many times these past few months, enough times to know that tears were only a release, never a cure.
‘So,’ Rhiannon said cheerfully, ‘I think we can safely say the party was a success, don’t you?’
‘Unequivocally,’ Lizzy agreed, knowing already how it would be written up in the papers. Rhiannon was popular and everyone knew that Mervyn Mansfield’s petty envy was behind her departure, meaning that outrageous innuendo and blood-letting parodies were going to find their way into certain diary columns now that the news of it was out. But no matter how loyal her colleagues, nor how shamed they might make Mansfield feel, for Rhiannon the inevitability of going public with her enforced resignation just meant more hurt and humiliation on top of what she had already suffered when the news of her annulment had leaked out.
‘Did you talk to Morgan and Sally at all?’ Rhiannon asked, pouring boiling water on to the crystals of instant coffee.
‘No, but I smiled a lot,’ Lizzy answered.
Rhiannon, in the midst of a yawn, lost it in a laugh. ‘Did anyone talk to them?’ she wondered.
‘The rabbit looked interested for a while,’ Lizzy responded, gazing despondently out at the garden. ‘What are we going to do about all this mess?’ she groaned. ‘I don’t think I can face it.’
‘Oh, it won’t take long once I get started,’ Rhiannon assured her, carrying two cups of coffee into the sitting-room.
‘Well, I’m hardly going to let you do it on your own, am I?’ Lizzy retorted, flopping back on to the sofa and unwinding a soggy streamer from around her toes.
‘Aren’t you?’ Rhiannon looked at her, waiting for their eyes to connect. The subtext that had crept into their banter had brought a by now familiar discomfort to Lizzy’s eyes.
For days, weeks, ever since she had known she was leaving Check It Out, Rhiannon had waited for Lizzy to say she was leaving too, that together, with the skills and contacts they had, they would start a new programme and eventually poach their own team away from Morgan and Sally. To be fair, at the beginning Lizzy had suggested exactly that, but still dazed from the blow, Rhiannon had insisted that Lizzy stay where she was, that the last thing she wanted after all the work they had put in was for the programme to lose its identity which, if Lizzy left too, it almost certainly would.
Now, Rhiannon wasn’t at all sure that was what she wanted; in fact, in her heart she knew it wasn’t, for though there were times when the programme felt like the most important thing in the world, there were others when she just wanted to smash it apart or erase it as if it had never happened. If it hadn’t she might never have met Oliver and she and Lizzy might never have grown so close as to make Lizzy’s silence now as bewildering and hurtful as Oliver’s betrayal.
Why, Rhiannon wondered, as she sipped her coffee. Why was she afraid to ask Lizzy what was going through her mind? They had never held back on each other before, so why now? Or was this just the start? Was this the way it was going to be? Drifting further and further apart as their lives took different paths and their goals became shared by somebody else. Fear and misery were constricting her throat. It was too much to bear. She couldn’t lose Lizzy too, she just couldn’t. Without Lizzy she’d never pull through. Yet she could already feel the distance creeping between them, as though Lizzy were being drawn inexorably away, disappearing into a world that was spinning out of reach.
‘Have you thought any more about Mavis Lindsay’s offer?’ Lizzy said. As the words left her lips she could almost feel the dread they had inflicted and wished to God she could take them back. More than that, she wished she could tell Rhiannon what she was planning to do, for that was what Rhiannon was waiting to hear – that her best friend wasn’t going to walk out on her too. But Lizzy couldn’t do that. She wished to God she could, but if she did she would be giving Rhiannon hope where, for the moment at least, Lizzy believed there to be none.
‘Uh, no, not really,’ Rhiannon answered hoarsely. ‘Well, a bit.’
Lizzy could see how utterly lost and afraid she was, despite the valiant effort to hide it and the words were forming on her lips to tell Rhiannon her own plans. But still she held back – now wasn’t the time. She wondered if there would ever be a time and could have wept at the way fate was dragging them apart. But life had to move on, change had to take place and courage, on both their parts, had to be found. It wasn’t that Lizzy was planning to stay with Check It Out, because she wasn’t, but her future didn’t lie with Rhiannon either, no matter how desperately she wished it did. And one of these days, when she judged the time to be right, she would tell Rhiannon what she was going to do – by which time, hopefully, she would be able to explain why she was doing it, because right now she wasn’t sure she understood it herself.
‘Do you think you can work for someone else? I mean, after all this time of being your own boss?’ Lizzy asked, going over old ground, but knowing that it helped Rhiannon to discuss it.
‘Mavis is worried about that too,’ Rhiannon answered. ‘“As you know, sweetie, there can only be one executive producer,”’ she said, mimicking Mavis’s Scottish accent to perfection,’ “but I’m quite prepared to give you a chance to go back to producing if you’re prepared to take it.”’
Lizzy’s face was a picture of distaste. ‘The woman lends a whole new meaning to rock brain of the universe,’ she muttered, referring to the music quiz that Mavis produced, ‘but at least she’s letting you know how you’d stand.’
‘True,’ Rhiannon agreed. ‘And I’m thinking about it.’ She sighed. ‘Actually, my financial situation being what it is, I’ll probably have to take it, since it’s the only offer I’ve had that starts virtually straight away.’
Lizzy’s face tightened, but to start berating Oliver now was going to get them nowhere.
Rhiannon’s eyes moved to the floor as her heart twisted with disappointment. It was crazy and she knew it, but she longed to talk about him, to hear his name spoken and be allowed to remember how it had been between them before it had all fallen apart. But nobody liked to mention his name these days, not even Lizzy and the way she, Rhiannon, was trying to blot out the pain by casting her mind back to the spring, to the time when they were so much in love was, she knew, a cowardly retreat from the future. So pulling herself together she took another sip of coffee and said, ‘By the way, did I tell you I had a letter from Galina Casimir?’
Lizzy’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘No, you didn’t,’ she said, her mind racing ahead in an effort to figure out what this could mean. ‘When?’ she asked. ‘What did she say?’
‘It arrived yesterday morning. I forgot about it in the build-up to the party. She’s invited me to her wedding.’
Lizzy’s mouth fell open at the staggering audacity and unbelievable timing of such an unexpected invitation. ‘How can she do that?’ she finally cried. ‘I mean, how can she write to you now, out of the blue, as though running off with the man you were going to marry was about as major as running off with a cold, and invite you to her bloody wedding? Doesn’t she realize what she did? Doesn’t she know what’s just happene
d to you? No, no, all right she probably doesn’t, but nevertheless . . .’
Rhiannon’s smile was weak. ‘She’s marrying Max Romanov,’ she said.
Again Lizzy’s eyes dilated as she realized she’d temporarily forgotten who Galina Casimir was involved with. Then suddenly she started to laugh. ‘Well, it should be quite a wedding,’ she said. The man’s richer than God and she’s more beautiful than ever should be allowed. Will you go?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought.’
‘If it’s the money . . .’ Lizzy began tentatively.
‘She sent me a ticket,’ Rhiannon said wryly. ‘First class, open return.’
‘Wow!’ Lizzy commented. ‘She really wants you to be there.’
‘It seems that way.’
‘I wonder why.’
‘Didn’t you know? Always the bridesmaid . . .’ Rhiannon responded, failing to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘If I go, this’ll be my third time.’
‘She’s asking you to be her bridesmaid?’ Lizzy said incredulously.
‘Maid of honour,’ Rhiannon corrected.
The woman’s got more front than Blackpool.’
Rhiannon laughed.
‘Is this the first time she’s been in touch since she took off with Phillip?’ Lizzy asked after a pause.
‘Yes,’ Rhiannon nodded.
‘Amazing,’ Lizzy murmured. ‘What else does she say? Anything about Romanov?’
