by Jenny Kane
Once Jack and Amy had gone off to their respective destinations, Kit re-opened her notebook and read the last couple of paragraphs with satisfaction, before reluctantly closing it again, and taking a different pad out of her bag. Only five more naughty stories, then she could focus solely on her novel. The idea of that spurred her forwards, as she picked up her pen and began to write lines of kink. It used to scare Kit how easily she dreamt up erotic story lines; now, she was simply grateful, as luridly fun descriptions splashed across the page.
Jack had already got several paces away from Pickwicks when he decided to change direction, and catch Amy up. It was time he took Kit’s advice and told her about Toby.
He hadn’t meant to keep Toby a secret for more than a day or so, but he hadn’t expected things to go quite so well, and then when they had, he hadn’t wanted to jinx it by talking to his friends about it. Jack hadn’t even properly discussed Toby with Kit beyond their first meeting, and had stalled all her attempts at friendly enquiry into how things were going. He hadn’t wanted to tempt fate. But the time to confess to Amy had arrived; it couldn’t be put off any longer.
‘Amy! Wait a minute.’ Jack ran after her, ‘Have you got a second? I need to talk to you.’
‘Sure, I have nothing planned except more ploughing through soul-destroying jobs papers.’
‘You’ll be all right, babe; you’re bright, cheerful, pretty. You’ll get snapped up.’ Automatically, Jack put his arm around her waist as they walked, but then pulled it away sharply. Toby might not like it.
‘Well, I wish someone would do their snapping-up a bit faster!’ Amy looked at him quizzically, surprised by the abrupt withdrawal of his arm.
‘Coffee?’
‘We’ve only just had some.’
‘So?’
‘Good point. Let’s have it at my place though, I’d better start saving the pennies a bit.’
‘I’ll get it, silly.’
‘No you won’t. My place, or not at all.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Jack saluted and followed her back to Princes Road.
As Amy dumped her coat and bag down in the corner of the dining room, Jack moved ahead of her to put the kettle on. He’d repeatedly run through how to tell Amy about Toby in this mind. She’d known he’d had some dates recently, but Jack had deliberately let her assume they were all with different men. Beyond a perfunctory ‘Good date?’, Amy had never asked Jack to elaborate. Now, he wished he’d told her more from the start. Jack had a nagging feeling Amy wasn’t going to like having been kept in the dark.
‘So, what’s up?’ Amy sank down next to Jack in their now regular spot on the sofa, the radio humming in the back ground; her spotty-socked feet up on the table. She felt strangely rejected when Jack got up and moved away, repositioning himself on the second sofa across the other side of room.
‘Jack?’ Amy’s skin chilled with anxiety.
‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ Amy’s face blanched, her brain filling with numerous potential crises. ‘No, don’t panic, it’s nothing bad.’ His face broke into a beam as he spoke. ‘In fact, I think it’s rather good.’ Jack’s smile spread to his eyes and his intentions to break it to her gently dissolved, as he became more animated, his personal happiness got the better of him.
Amy didn’t hear his next few sentences, she didn’t need to. Oh God, he’s in love. He’s met someone. She fixed a positive expression onto her face, and allowed her years of built-in self-protection take over; making sure she nodded and said all the right things in all the right places as Jack gushed out his words, his joy.
Her brain nudged her ears in time to hear Jack say, ‘So, will you meet him? I’ve told Toby so much about you?’
‘Of course.’ Amy’s facial muscles worked entirely of their own accord, as she smiled with mock pleasure. Jack would have had to be looking at her very carefully to see that her expression was pure fake, and of course, he wasn’t. Amy’s hands felt colder as she stuffed them into her pockets, while the rest of her body flushed hot, as if flu was about to engulf her. Her head ached. How new was this relationship? Why hadn’t he told her before? Why not mention Toby over last week’s pizza? Forcing herself to concentrate, Amy said, ‘I’d love to.’ Her brain prodded her, ‘He’s called Toby?’
‘Yes.’ Jack exuded pleasure.
‘Not Nick?’
‘Who’s Nick?’
Amy shook her head, ‘It doesn’t matter.’ And suddenly, it didn’t.
Amy sat quite still after he’d gone. Did she mind about Toby? No. Jack had every right to have someone special in his life. Did she mind that that person wasn’t her? Amy clutched her arms around her legs drawing her knees up under her chin, protecting herself from the world. Yes, she minded that, however ridiculous, however contradictory. She minded that very much.
Forty-three
December 12th 2006
Kit hadn’t paid much attention to the state of her shoes recently. They were merely something she put on every day in the unthinking dash to get the twins to school on time. Staring down at them now as she travelled in the stale-aired, sardine-tin of a tube towards Clapham, Kit saw that the toes were scuffed, and had lost their black shine. They were now the sort of mottled grey which indicated a hole was imminent. She groaned inwardly, Kit hated shoe-shopping.
Once she’d disembarked into the enclosed mall at Clapham Junction, Kit took a lungful of the marginally fresher air, and headed towards Phil’s office. It had been at least a year since she’d last been there.
She’d worked her idea over and over in her mind all the previous evening. Even watching Notting Hill with Phil last night, as they snuggled up on the sofa, hadn’t been distracting enough to stop her thinking over the possibilities.
Kit suspected that, even though Phil had made what he called his “final employment decision,” he was having trouble letting go of something that had been part of his life for so long. She just hoped he would like her plan.
Perhaps I should have called him first? Kit was unusually nervous as she climbed the stairs to Home Hunters’ office. Phil could be anywhere this side of the river, showing clients around, or viewing prospective properties for lease. However, Kit was in luck. He was there, semi-buried beneath piles of paper and bulging files.
Phil caught sight of her, ‘Kit! Everything all right?’ He waved from his corner of the room.
‘Yes, thanks love,’ She strode over to him, ‘I wondered if you’d like to take me out to lunch.’
‘I most certainly would.’ Without hesitating, Phil grabbed his coat, and with a friendly nod to his workforce, began to steer Kit towards the door, ‘Come on, Mrs Lambert. Let’s escape and go Italian.’
The music was marginally too loud for such a small restaurant, but the fact that they got the last remaining table at only twelve o’clock so close to Christmas was a promising sign. The solid, chunky furniture sat awkwardly against the cobbled floor, suggesting that the diner should take care not to rock the table, for fear of knocking off the leather-bound menus and the dainty glass vases which sat centre stage.
They’d munched their way through a mountain of fresh bread and olive oil dip before Phil asked Kit what it was she wanted.
‘How did you know I didn’t just want to see you?’
‘You haven’t popped in for lunch since you decided I needed buttering up before persuading me to get the bathroom redecorated.’
Knowing this to be true, Kit grinned. ‘I had an idea to help you out of the work rut thing.’
‘Go on.’ Phil leant forward.
Kit began her pitch. ‘Part of the problem, if I understand correctly, is that you can’t quite bring yourself to sell the business. You built Home Hunters up from nothing, and getting rid of it is proving harder than you thought it would be.’
‘So?’ Phil sighed, ‘we both knew that.’
‘How about not selling it, but not running it anymore?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Chris is good at his job, isn�
�t he; runs the place when we’re on holiday and stuff.’
‘Yeah, he does a good job, but he wouldn’t want all the responsibility. I’ve talked to him about taking over before.’
‘He’s probably scared of letting you down.’
‘Maybe; he couldn’t afford the place anyway.’
Kit threw down a hunk of half-eaten bread, ‘Haven’t you been listening, Philip? I said, don’t sell it, but let someone else run it instead.’
‘Chris wouldn’t want …’
Kit cut across him, ‘No, Chris wouldn’t want sole responsibility. But what if he didn’t have it? What if he had an equal? Jointly-run?’
‘Why do I have the feeling you already have someone else in mind?’
‘No need to tease me. You only have to say if you hate the idea.’ Kit flapped open her napkin and placed it on her lap in readiness for the arrival of lunch.
‘I don’t know the whole idea yet, do I. Keep talking.’
Kit leant back from the table to let the waiter deposit a bowl of aromatic hot bacon salad in front of her, and a lasagne before Phil. ‘I thought that if you kept Chris and employed someone else at an equal level, pay them each a lower wage than you get, but a fraction more than Chris gets now, then you could stay on as director. Perhaps you could still get a small wage, plus you could get a share of the profits, as the business would remain yours? That way you’d be earning while you hunt for a new challenge. It might be easier to let go in stages.’
Taking a draught from her cola, Kit sat back, watching Phil carefully as he considered what she’d just said.
‘I’m not sure we make enough money to pay two sets of managerial wages as well as something for me, not after the taxman has taken his share.’
‘Could we manage on the profits alone while you search for something else?’
‘Maybe. It would be easier though if we paid Chris the same as he got now, but made his new job three-quarter time. Then the new person could do the same, but at overlapping times. That way, the company could operate over increased hours, which would make overseas calls easier.’ Phil began to consider his wife’s idea. ‘It’ll take a lot of thinking about, love, and it would cut into the profits a fair bit, but I must admit it’s the best plan so far. I don’t like the notion of losing touch with it altogether.’
‘I know you don’t. I don’t think you should shut yourself off from it completely anyway, it’s been your life for so long.’
‘To be honest love, beyond thinking about leaving, I’ve been putting off any actual decision-making, any real plans. I just don’t know what to do next.’
Kit looked at her husband in amazement. She’d been convinced he’d been hatching future plans for weeks. Phil, embarrassed by her surprised expression, pushed a forkful of pasta around his bowl and asked, ‘So, when do you want me to ask Amy if she’d like the new job I might be creating?’
Kit laughed, ‘Am I that transparent? How did you know I had Amy in mind?’
‘Makes sense, she has a good business background, she needs a job, and against the odds, you obviously like her.’
‘Yes I do, I think she’d work hard too.’
Suspicion shot across Phil’s face, ‘You haven’t said anything to her already have you?’
‘Of course not! You might have hated the idea.’
‘Or Jack?’
Kit stretched out her hand to stem Phil’s paranoia. ‘The only person I have talked to about this is you.’
‘What about Peggy?’
‘Phil, I have just said, I haven’t told …’
‘No,’ Phil held up his hand to stop Kit’s protests, ‘I mean, what about Peggy work wise? Without Amy doing extended hours for half-pay, I’m not sure she’d cope at the moment.’
Kit hadn’t thought of that, and certainly didn’t want Peggy abandoned when life was tough enough anyway. ‘I suppose I could do it, you know, write there until about eleven, help with the lunch period, and then type up in the evenings.’
‘I need to think, Kit.’
‘I know.’
Phil put his hand over Kit’s, ‘Thanks, love.’
‘That’s what I’m here for.’
‘It might not be the right answer, and it will take some serious working out, but I think you might be on to something. Our savings are pretty healthy these days, so we could live off them for a while if we have to.’ Phil talked to himself for a moment, before he returned his attention to his wife, ‘Please don’t mention it to anyone else for now, though, in case it doesn’t come off.’
Kit licked her fork clean,. ‘Do you really have no idea what you’d like to do next?’
‘Not really. More contact with people would be nice. Showing people around is the only bit of the job I’ll miss.’ Kit opened her mouth to speak, but Phil jumped in, ‘And before you say it, no I don’t want to work at Pickwicks, not even for Peggy and Scott!’
‘That’s a relief. I didn’t really fancy you breathing down my neck all day.’
‘Bloody cheek.’ Phil toasted his wife with his glass of water.
‘Now,’ Kit started to shrug on her jacket, ‘pay that bill. I have to embark on the torture that is shoe shopping.’
Phil looked lovingly at his wife. ‘What are you like? Most women love shoe shopping!’
‘And since when have I been “most women”, hmmm?’
Forty-four
December 16th 2006
It had been five days since Jack had first told her about Toby’s existence, and Amy still wasn’t quite sure how she was felt. She certainly wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be feeling. Wasn’t this exactly what she had wanted?
Since Jack had confided in her, he’d told Amy all about Toby, the guy he’d slept with last night; the guy who, right now, might well be curled up under Jack’s duvet, drinking strong coffee and eating biscuits, a treacherous voice at the back of her head pleaded, ‘But that’s my spot; that’s where I should be.’ She quashed it quickly. ‘Damn. I thought I’d got on top of this.’ Amy hissed at herself angrily as her insecurities washed over her. Get a grip, woman.
It didn’t help that Amy knew she only had herself to blame. After their first meeting at Kew, Jack had asked her, on more than one occasion, if she was sure she wanted to be included in that side of his social life. ‘Of course’, she’d assured him without hesitation, ‘I’m happy for you. I missed being part of your life, and your friendship is very, very important to me.’ It was a well-practised speech. Amy also knew that it was almost completely true. All those years with Jack as a confused memory were gone, and this was how it had to be now. She just hadn’t banked on how challenging it would be to accept that Jack could be happy with someone else. How arrogant you are. She berated her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Just get on with it. It was high time she started to get ready for Kit’s arrival.
‘What’s the matter?’ Kit called through Amy’s bedroom door half an hour later, ‘Jack said you never took any time to get ready to go out. What are you doing in there?’
Amy glanced anxiously at her closed bedroom door, her once-cream, now faded grey, dressing-gown hanging lonely on its hook. Bubbling with nerves, she took another furtive glance at herself in the mirror. How the hell was she supposed to know what to wear to a nightclub? She hadn’t been to one for over a decade. The face staring back at Amy seemed old and wrinkled. Her laughter lines said there was nothing to smile about, and in her mind they could have doubled as the V-shaped valleys her old geography teacher had always gone on about. Her hair hung limply, in spite of its recent wash and straighten at the hairdresser’s, and the jeans, which had definitely fitted yesterday, pinched into Amy’s thighs and waist accusingly, making her legs resemble the sturdy props of a rhino rather than a young woman. But you’re not a young woman, are you. Her image taunted her. You’re in your mid-thirties, you’re unattractive, no one in their right mind is ever going to fancy you, and any minute now you are going to have to tell Kit that you’re scared stiff about goin
g to a club.
Fed up of hanging around outside the bedroom door, Kit called out, ‘Amy, I’m coming in.’
Amy couldn’t move; her palms were sweating. The mirror girl had her hypnotized.
Kit peered around the door. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
Amy’s voice was small, ‘I can’t come. I’m sorry.’
‘Why not? You look great. You’re not ill, are you?’ Kit flopped down onto the edge of the bed.
‘No. And I don’t look great, I feel like yesterday’s T-shirt.’
‘I’m sorry?’
Amy pointed to a pile of dirty laundry that was patiently waiting for its turn in the washing machine. A blue T-shirt languished on the top, creased and stained from a day working at the café. ‘That’s me. All wrinkled up and used out. Yesterday’s person. Best hidden in the corner.’
Kit frowned, ‘What the hell are you on about?’
‘I can’t go out.’
‘Amy, this isn’t like you.’ Kit came closer to her friend, squatting down next to her.
‘That’s just it, you see. It isn’t. Going to a club isn’t me. I don’t do that. How do I do that? I have no idea. I have no suitable clothes to wear, and no bloody clue how to behave once I get there.’
Kit couldn’t believe it. Amy sounded as insecure and illogical as she herself had before Amy’s arrival had forced her to face her own demons. ‘I don’t do that dressing-up stuff either. You already know that! Your clothes are perfect and you’re annoyingly attractive. I can’t dance and I’ve given up behaving well, it never gets you anywhere. This is supposed to be fun, not some sort of inverted torture.’
Amy turned towards Kit, her fingers pulling at each other as she tried to explain. ‘I’m sorry, it’s been so long. I’m nervous.’
‘When did you last go clubbing then?’
‘1993.’
‘Bloody hell!’
‘Exactly.’
‘Tell you what,’ Kit took a firm grip of Amy’s hand and heaved her upright. ‘We’ll go to a nice wine bar I know down by the river. If we feel like going on somewhere, we will, otherwise we’ll stay there and chat.’
