“Worse.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
“I told Jen to fuck off.”
“Okay, that’s pretty bad. What did she do to deserve that?”
“Told me that bookselling isn’t all about huge profit margins.”
Anita frowned. “Huh? I thought you’d have agreed with her.”
Daniel put his head in his hands. “Of course I agree with her. I’d just said the same thing to my chairman, who told me that unless I changed my story when I presented my five-year strategy to the board next week I could forget my job.”
“He said that?”
“No. But I know that’s what he meant.”
Anita called the waiter over and ordered some wine and olives. “And you took it out on your girlfriend? Clever.”
“I was miserable, she got all indignant on me, made me feel even worse, and I . . . I just lost it slightly. Jesus, Anita, everything is suddenly so hard.”
Anita shook her head. “It isn’t suddenly so hard; you’ve just found a hill that it isn’t so easy to climb. Daniel, you’ve had an amazing career, you’ve been very successful, but maybe it’s made you think that it’s too easy. If you want something, you have to fight for it.”
“Are you talking about Wyman’s or Jen?”
“Both, probably, but I think I’m probably on safer territory on the Wyman’s front. . . .”
“I feel so helpless.” Daniel shrugged. “I feel . . . impotent.”
Anita raised one eyebrow. “Okay, definitely straying into new territory here. Daniel, you really want my advice?”
He nodded.
“Stop the self-indulgence,” Anita said firmly. “Tell it like it is, and be prepared to walk away if they won’t listen. But first you should probably apologize to your girlfriend.” There was a long silence, then Daniel reached over the table and kissed Anita on the lips.
“Suicide watch over,” he said seriously. “As always, you’ve cut to the chase and told me exactly where I’m going wrong. And as always, I am in your debt for it.”
Anita smiled. “And as always, you can buy me a nice lunch to repay your debt, and let me tell you about a new book we’ve got coming out next fall that I just know you’ll want to buy several thousand copies of. . . .”
Jen stared at her empty coffee cup. An hour and twenty minutes had passed, and still no phone call. This wasn’t just confusing—it was totally weird.
Was he angry at her? She shook her head. How could he be angry at her? All she’d done was tell him the truth—that he was behaving like an idiot.
Jen cringed slightly. Maybe she had been a little over the top—but then again, so had he. She’d been so humiliated when he shouted at her like that. It was like he’d turned into someone completely different.
Maybe he was someone different, she mused. Maybe she just didn’t know him that well after all.
No, impossible. She was going to call him and have it out with him. There had to be some explanation. Had to be a really good reason for his outburst.
Jen sighed. She couldn’t call him. He was the one who should be calling her. If she picked up the phone, it would be like she was apologizing. And she had absolutely no intention of doing that, particularly when he couldn’t even be bothered to call her.
Glumly, Jen checked her phone again to see if the signal was working. It was. Fine, she thought to herself irritably. Absolutely fine. If that’s how he wants to play it, I’ll just go back to Bell. Do something useful with my time.
She started stomping down Piccadilly toward Bell Towers, muttering under her breath as she walked. Bloody men, she fumed crossly. They’re all the same. You think they’re nice, and then they turn out to be like the rest. Selfish, that’s what they are. Totally and completely sel . . .
Suddenly Jen stopped. She was right outside the Wolseley, one of her favorite restaurants, and someone who looked just like Daniel was sitting at a table with an amazing-looking blonde.
She frowned. It couldn’t be him. Could it?
Hoping that the doorman wouldn’t think her too strange, she edged closer to take a proper look. It was him. She opened her mouth in shock—for more than an hour, she’d been nursing a coffee, waiting for him to call, and all the time he was out having lunch? It was unbelievable. Unbearable.
She edged backward so that he couldn’t see her at the door, and watched in horror as the two of them talked. The woman had her hand on his, and they looked . . . intimate. Suddenly Jen felt sick. She wanted to walk away, but couldn’t. Instead, she was forced to watch the woman smiling indulgently at Daniel, and then watch Daniel reach over and kiss her right on the mouth.
Shocked, Jen reeled back. So that was why he’d been so agitated, why he’d been so keen to get rid of her. He was seeing someone else. For how long, she wondered bitterly. And just when had he been planning to tell her?
As Daniel sat back on his chair, his face one big smile, Jen turned abruptly and started to run. She needed to get away, as far away as she could.
When will I learn, she asked herself, big fat tears wending their way down her cheeks as she ran. When will I realize that life is not about happy endings? It’s horrible and cruel and people are bastards and everyone lies about everything, even the people you love . . .
After a few minutes, she slowed down a bit, her breathing heavy and her throat sore from crying. She was close to Bell Consulting now, but somehow she didn’t want to go in. She looked dreadful for one thing, but more important, she didn’t feel like it. She wanted to climb into a big bed and pull the duvet over her head until the pain went away. You couldn’t depend on anyone, she thought miserably. As soon as you trust someone, they let you down and trod on your heart. Well, she wouldn’t trust anyone again. That was the only way to go.
So what if I’ve got lectures, she thought to herself. Doesn’t mean I’ve got to go. Why should I? I hate Bell Consulting. I hate them all.
Sticking her hand up, she flagged down a cab, got into the back, and just managed to give the driver her address before crumpling into a heap on the backseat.
When she got home, Jen made herself a coffee and decided to drink it in the garden. She stepped outside, shivered slightly, and wrapped her cardigan around herself tightly.
Her little garden was icy cold, and yet in spite of the cold weather, it was defiantly acting as though it were spring—little buds appearing, everything becoming greener after the bleak, bare winter months. Jen looked around wistfully. It looked so full of expectation, so optimistic, and whereas usually this would be enough to cheer her up, right now it just reinforced her own gloom. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t want to be optimistic. That was what had got her into trouble in the first place.
As she sat down, she heard her doorbell ring, and her heart leaped. Was it Daniel? Was he going to be here with some really good explanation for that kiss? Was he going to apologize and make things okay again?
Quickly, she ran to the door and opened it. But she was soon filled with a mixture of despair and relief when she saw that it wasn’t him.
“Gavin,” she said with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”
“All right, gorgeous,” Gavin said affably, giving her a quick kiss. “I got some crazy voicemail messages from someone who sounded just like you. Ring any bells?”
Jen frowned. “You’d better come in.”
She made them both tea and they sat down at the kitchen table.
“Thanks, Jen. So look, do you mind telling me what the hell those messages were all about?”
Jen rolled her eyes. Her anger at Gavin seemed a lifetime ago and she could barely muster the energy to explain now.
“It was about the letter,” she said miserably, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea.
“What letter?”
“You told the Times about the letter I showed you, that’s what my problem is. Not that it matters anymore.” Her voice was deadpan, unenthusiastic.
Gavin looked at her,
confusion on his face. “What?”
“The letter, Gavin,” Jen said impatiently. “It was in the Times over Christmas. Look, it’s fine, I’m over it, I just . . . well, I thought I could trust you and evidently I was wrong. . . .”
He put down his tea. “Jen, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been in Scotland. Haven’t talked to a single journalist.”
Jen sighed. “Look, I don’t know why you’re lying, because it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does matter because I’m not fucking lying!” His voice had gone up several octaves and Jen frowned.
“Really? It really wasn’t you? But who else could it have been?”
“I’ve got no idea. Jesus, I’m not coming to stay with you again if this is what I get. How many times do I have to tell you it wasn’t me? Must have been one of your other boyfriends. . . .” He looked at her as he spoke, watching for a reaction.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, actually,” she said sadly, testing out the words and realizing too late that she wasn’t over the whole crying thing.
Gavin jumped up and put his arms round her. “Come on, sweetheart, come on, it’s okay. I’m here now. . . .”
Jen allowed herself to relax into his embrace for a few seconds. All she’d wanted earlier was a hug, a kind word, and instead, Daniel had shouted at her. Gavin wasn’t exactly who she wanted comforting her, but he’d do.
“It’s not okay,” she said balefully. “Nothing’s okay. I fought with Daniel, and Dad . . . well, I thought I could trust him, and, ohheeuugghh.”
She sobbed on Gavin’s shoulder and he stroked her hair gently. “Don’t worry about them,” he said soothingly. “That Daniel bloke was never right for you anyway.”
“I was falling in love with him.” Jen sobbed, suddenly unable to hold in anything anymore. It felt good letting her tears flow.
“No, you weren’t. You just thought you were. Everything will be fine, you just wait and see.”
Jen allowed herself a few more sobs, then pulled herself away. “You seriously didn’t tell anyone about the letter?” she asked, sniffing loudly.
“I swear.”
“Then who did?” Her question was rhetorical, but Gavin didn’t seem to notice.
“That idiot you were going out with? Or what about your mum?”
Jen shook her head. “I didn’t tell either of them about it.”
Gavin looked pleased when he heard that. “Good thinking. Just tell people you can trust.”
Jen raised her eyebrow at him.
“Look, Jen,” he said seriously, taking her hand. “Let’s forget all the bullshit, shall we? We’re good together, you and me. If that other jerk’s off the scene and you’ve finished playing private detective, we can go back to how we were, right?”
Jen looked at him slightly less warmly than before. “Playing private detective?”
“Oh, you know, this whole corporate thing, playing around, spying on Daddy. I didn’t want to say anything, but it was a bit sad, wasn’t it?”
“Spying on Daddy? Is that what you think I was doing?”
Gavin looked confused. “That was what you were doing, wasn’t it?”
Jen shook her head. “You know, for a moment there, you almost had me,” she said with a sad smile.
“Almost?” Gavin said hopefully.
“Bye-bye, Gavin. Time to go now, I think.”
Gavin took her hand. “Look, I didn’t mean it about the private detective,” he said seriously. “Come on, Jen. You and me—we made a good team, didn’t we? We had a good time. I miss it.”
Jen looked at his hand and shrugged. “We did make a good team,” she agreed. “But not anymore.”
“You’re just saying that because of that bloke, aren’t you?” Gavin persisted. “Look, he’s out of the picture now. You were in love with me too, remember?”
Jen frowned. She supposed he had a point. But somehow she couldn’t remember being in love with Gavin. Couldn’t remember feeling this desperate at the thought of losing him.
“Gavin, don’t,” she said softly.
He looked at her intently, then took his hand away and smiled lightly at her. “No chance of a good-bye shag, then?” he asked jovially.
Jen raised her eyebrows at him.
“Well, call me if you change your mind.”
He gave her a good-natured wave as he left her building, and she watched as he disappeared around the corner. If he was telling the truth about the letter, then who had leaked it, she wondered. And more to the point, who on earth could she trust now?
A few minutes later, Jen was stripping off for a bath. She filled the tub, lit candles, and put on a Groove Armada CD, then slipped into the welcoming water and felt her body relax.
She shut her eyes and tried out a relaxation technique Angel had taught her—you imagine yourself in your favorite place, letting all your senses explore it, and you convince your mind that you’re actually really there. Angel called it the thirty-minute holiday.
Jen imagined herself on a beach somewhere, feeling soft, warm sand between her toes. Walking into the bluest sea and feeling the sun warm her bones. Then she was building sandcastles, putting the sand in her bucket meticulously and turning it upright, carefully removing it so as not to disturb her masterpiece. She would have a moat, four turrets, some servants’ quarters. As she built, the sea began to come in, so she started to up her pace— but it was coming in too quickly, ravaging her castle and tearing down one side of it. Frantically she tried to build more, but the sand had become waterlogged and wouldn’t hold its shape. Her parents were both shouting advice to her, but she couldn’t hear them properly because they were both talking at once, and when they saw that it was ruined, they both walked away.
Jerkily Jen sat upright. A loud ringing noise had woken her up. Quickly she jumped out of the tub and pulled a warm terry-cloth robe over her. Slipping her feet into sheepskin slippers, she made her way to the kitchen where her mobile phone was vibrating furiously and the name MUM was flashing on the screen.
Jen’s heart sank. She’d been building up to a conversation with her mother, had planned it meticulously, and put it off effectively for days. Now the mountain had come to Mohammed and she’d forgotten everything she wanted to say.
“Mum?” she said, wishing she’d stayed in the bath.
“Oh, so you still remember who I am, then?”
“Yes, Mum,” Jen said with a sigh, wondering guiltily whether amnesia might not be rather an attractive option right now.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Jen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Jen, look, about this afternoon. I overreacted and I wanted to apologize . . . ,” Daniel muttered to himself as he came out of the tube and started to walk the twenty-minute journey to Jen’s flat, trying to work out the best opening line. He’d thought about phoning, but it seemed so impersonal and anyway, you couldn’t make up on the phone; everyone knew that. Firstly it was fraught with difficulties—not seeing someone’s face made it very difficult to judge whether you could start cracking jokes yet; and secondly the best you could hope for at the end was the promise of a future meeting, whereas when you made up in person you could really . . . consolidate things.
Easy, Daniel, don’t walk before you can run, he warned himself as he began to get carried away with images of him and Jen consolidating their relationship again and again. First he had to convince her that he wasn’t a total asshole.
“Ow!”
He yelped as someone walked into him. Bloody people not looking where they’re going, he thought, looking up to see a face he almost thought he recognized, but rejected the thought immediately because he didn’t know anyone who looked like he’d been sleeping rough for several weeks.
“You want to keep your eyes open,” the face said, to Daniel’s indignation.
“Me?” he said incredulously. “You’re the one walking into people.”
The face looked at him curiously. “You’
re Jen’s ex, aren’t you?”
Daniel frowned. Of course. It was the ex-boyfriend. The tramp. “Think you’re a bit confused there,” he said quickly, deciding that he really didn’t want to engage in conversation with this guy. “You’re the ex. I’m Jen’s current boyfriend.”
“Not the way she describes it.”
“You’ve seen her?” Daniel kicked himself as he spoke. He didn’t want to know if this tramp had seen Jen. Didn’t want to encourage him.
The tramp looked at him, a little mocking smile playing on his lips. “Look, mate,” he said as if letting Daniel into a big secret, “the thing is, me and Jen . . . well, there’s more to it than just, well, me being her ex-boyfriend. We’re still close. And as far as she’s concerned, she doesn’t want to see you again.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Well, in that case, she can tell me to my face,” he said firmly.
The tramp grinned. “You’ve got more balls than me, I tell you. Don’t think I’d fancy going to her flat just to be told to go to hell, but I suppose it takes all sorts. The thing is, mate, you missed the bus, so to speak. And I’ve . . . well, hopped back on, if you catch my drift.”
Daniel stared at him. Jen was going out with someone who referred to her as a bus? Anyway, it was impossible. He’d seen her a couple of hours ago and she hadn’t said anything about this joker.
“Still, I’ll just be on my way,” he said and the tramp shrugged.
“Fine with me. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
“What?” Daniel asked sharply.
“I’m just popping out for some wine, so I’ll be with you in a few minutes. You’ll probably need a drink, come to think of it.”
“You’re going back round to Jen’s?”
The tramp nodded. “We’re celebrating the fact that we’re getting back together,” he said firmly. “Actually, mate, you did me a bit of a favor arguing with her like that. Made her see sense about me and her. I appreciate that.”
Daniel suddenly felt a bit sick. What had he done? Jen was back with this . . . this idiot, and he couldn’t even blame her. Who’d want to go out with someone who flew off the handle when you popped in to see them at work?
Learning curves: a novel of sex, suits, and business affairs Page 22
