I think you were right. It wouldn’t have worked. Your mother would have destroyed our relationship eventually. Sender: Michael Mob 07009 704462 Message centre: +447999100100 Sent: 20 Mar 2010 19:00:05 ‘Un café très, très grand,’ I said to the bored teenager trundling through economy coach D with a drinks trolley. My phone started ringing and I looked at it warily. I didn’t want to hear any more of Michael’s bullshit. He’d sent me five messages already, each containing more denial than the one before. But instead it was Alex. I answered. ‘Hi, Alex.’ ‘Fran?’ ‘Yes. I’m on the train home.’ A silence. ‘I … I know,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘I … Fran, I owe you an enormous apology.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. The train started to move. ‘Michael is who he is. It’s not your fault I didn’t realize that.’ I was exhausted. I didn’t want to talk to Alex or, indeed, anyone else. I pulled my new, pointless négligée out of my bag and put it between my head and the window. Alex wasn’t having any of it. ‘No, Fran, it was awful of me not to tell you about Michael and your mum. I’ve been torturing myself over it. I thought you knew.’ ‘Why on earth would I have gone to Paris if I’d known?’ Alex sighed. ‘That Monday morning when I came to your desk and said I needed to talk to you about something. I was going to tell you then. I had the speech planned. But you stopped me – you said you already knew. What were you talking about? What did you “know” if it wasn’t about Michael selling your mum to the Mirror?’ I tucked my phone between shoulder and ear and smiled sadly at my newly manicured hands. ‘I thought he’d got engaged,’ I said. ‘I thought he was shacked up with a girl called Nellie Daniels. Didn’t Leonie tell you all of this?’ ‘No,’ Alex said. ‘We agreed at the start we wouldn’t talk about Michael and you. Leonie was insistent. And I …’ I laughed briefly. ‘You do everything she says.’ He went silent. ‘Alex, I’m only joking. So … that Monday morning you were trying to tell me what Michael had done and I stopped you. Oh, God, I remember … you said you’d seen him the day before. While Leonie and I were eating burgers. Fuck … So I could have avoided all of this if I’d just listened? Great. Another triumph. Amazing work, Fran.’ ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Alex said. There was kindness in his voice. It was in great danger of choking me. ‘You were just trying to protect yourself. After the amount of shit you’d been through I’m not surprised.’ I didn’t trust myself to talk. Alex sounded genuinely stricken. And kind. And warm. I didn’t understand it. Where had the weasel gone? He cleared his throat. ‘And, Fran, I’m afraid there’s something else I need to talk to you about.’ The train was passing through ugly, neglected railwayside buildings and darkness was falling. I could begin to see my reflection in the window; tired, sad, small. ‘Go on,’ I said hesitantly. This didn’t sound good. ‘I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time,’ Alex began, and then stopped. ‘Go on,’ I repeated, now nervous. ‘Fran … you’ve been led to believe that I’ve had all sorts of opinions about you that just aren’t true. Apparently you were told that I was very disparaging about you and your work on the ents and culture news desk. And that I thought you were a bit silly and frilly. I cannot emphasize strongly enough how completely untrue that is. What you’ve done on that news desk is amazing! I’d bloody love to know the stuff you know about popular culture and arts and stuff!’ He added, ‘And I only had good things to say about you. From the very start.’ I sat back, surprised. This in no way tallied with what Michael had told me. Which meant, I realized slowly, that … ‘Michael made it all up,’ Alex said firmly. ‘All of it. Sorry, Fran, I don’t want to point fingers but I can’t have you thinking those things about me. It’s not for me to put words in someone else’s mouth, but I do rather wonder if he used me as a way of expressing his own prejudices.’ I felt disbelieving. Then angry. Then sad. Defeated. It had to be true. ‘Wow,’ I said, after a pause. ‘What a … what a bastard. How could I have been so stupid, Alex?’ ‘You’re not,’ he said. ‘We all make mistakes in who we fall for.’ ‘So you really didn’t try to get me sacked,’ I said slowly. ‘No,’ he said, very firmly. ‘In fact, I found out the other day that the reason your tape was in the bin was that Dave put it there. He was worried someone would find it and you’d get sacked. Obviously it went a bit tits up! But …’ ‘Right,’ I said. ‘So really I owe you an apology.’ This was not a situation I’d ever imagined being in. I felt extremely embarrassed. God only knew how rude I’d been to Alex over the last two years, presuming he loathed me. ‘No, it’s the other way round. I shouldn’t have let you shut me up when I tried to tell you about Michael. I should have insisted that we talked about it.’ ‘Don’t be silly. I told you I knew about it – what were you going to do? Hold a biro to my throat to clarify what exactly I “knew”? It was a misunderstanding, Alex. I … Look, I’m glad you called me. Things are making a lot more sense now.’ ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. A painful lump lodged in my throat. ‘Not really. But I will be OK. He’s wasted two years of my life. He’s not getting any more.’ ‘Good girl. You’re brilliant, Fran. You have a lot of fans. You’ll be just fine.’ ‘Thanks. Um, I’d better go. We’re probably about to lose signal. Thanks again, Alex.’ ‘Let’s have lunch!’ he cried excitedly. ‘Monday!’ I smiled. ‘OK. Monday. And thanks again.’ The train gathered speed. As we headed into the now-dark countryside and I settled down to sleep, my phone delivered a message from Dave. The sight of his name in my inbox made my spirits lift a little. I heard. I’m so sorry Franny. But I know you’ll be OK. Michael was wrong for you. He couldn’t have made you happy. No, I thought. No, he really couldn’t. It came to me, as I stared at Dave’s message – Dave, around whom I’d always felt so safe and normal – that I had been … scared of Michael. Scared of his brain. Scared of what he thought. Scared of not being good enough. And as we cut silently through France, I saw that that was exactly where he’d wanted me. You’re right. Thank you, DB, I replied. Come back to London Fannybaws. We’re all waiting for you. I smiled, knowing I was going to be OK. The train shot on into the night. Chapter Forty-one
‘Oh, my God! Dave! It’s brilliant!’I breathed. He smiled lopsidedly and got two bottles of alcohol-free beer out of the mini-fridge in the corner. ‘That’s down to you, not me,’ he replied. ‘Rubbish! Dave, it’s brilliant because of how beautifully you’ve filmed it. You great big talented Glaswegian!’ Dave grinned as he cracked open a Bitburger and handed it to me. He’d had his hair cut – in preparation for this long hot summer we were being promised – and he really looked quite normal. Nice, in fact. A lot less homeless. It was 14 May, and Dave and I had shot the final scenes of my documentary three days before. We’d been waiting for these all-important final scenes so we could finish editing and now – at last! – it was done. Polished, complete and ready for Hugh. I glugged the Bitburger and high-fived Dave, dizzy with tiredness, relief and achievement. ‘We’re wrapped, David Brennan!’ I said. ‘Team Documentary disbanded and awaiting debrief!’ He nodded. ‘Yep. And you’ve done bloody brilliantly, Fran. I’m proud of you.’ ‘Shut it, Dad,’ I muttered, as scarlet invaded my face. I was truly spent. On my return from the ill-fated Paris trip in March I’d started my documentary and simultaneously been drafted in to help Alex’s election team pretty much full-time. ‘Help them whenever you aren’t tied up with your film, Fran. I don’t want to see you so much as going for a shit. YOU HAVE NO SPARE TIME, UNDERSTOOD?’ Hugh had barked. I had understood. In the weeks that had followed I’d completely lost track of time. London at three a.m. had whizzed past my taxi window night after night; Gin Thursday had ground to a halt (or was flourishing without me, I didn’t even know) and my relationship with the outside world was reduced to a mumbled conversation with Mum once a week from the ITN toilet, a one-way stream of smutty text messages from Leonie and a regular supply of healthy stews deposited through my cat flap by Stefania. Duke Ellington had long since taken to ignoring me completely and had instead cultivated
a close relationship with the automatic feeder. He ate when the timer popped open and then departed silently for Stefania’s shed. Stefania. I’d not had time to snoop around after her but something extremely scandalous was definitely going on still. Apart from the fact that she had taken to wearing makeup, I’d arrived back from work at two thirty a.m. a couple of weeks ago and heard the deep bass notes of a man’s voice murmuring in her shed. And this morning when I’d left at six to get to our breakfast briefing she had been arriving home on the walk of shame with a smile of not-particularly-secret joy on her face. ‘FRANCES!’ she had shouted, although I was only three feet away from her. She grabbed and hugged me. ‘Ve are missing you, me and Duke Ellington!’ I extricated myself from her bony grip and grinned, clutching my flask of coffee for support. ‘It’s mutual,’ I replied. ‘And you are so unbelievably lovely for leaving me those dinners. I’ve been taking them to work in Tupperware boxes every day. Everyone thinks I’ve lost it, rocking up with bloody okra curries, but I swear that stuff is what’s keeping me on it!’ My taxi beeped outside the gate. ‘I have to go. But don’t think you’re off the hook. At the end of today it’s all over and you, madam, are due a very severe grilling.’ She smirked and mimed zipping up her mouth. ‘Stefania vill discuss not matters viz you before she is ready,’ she said craftily. ‘Just like Fran had to go on eight dates LONG before she was ready? No chance. Expect an interrogation!’ I shouted, jumping into the calm haven of my taxi. As we passed through an already busy London, I pondered for the millionth time who her lover was. I still had a horrible suspicion it was Dave. He’d mentioned her often of late, and more times than I cared to remember during the filming of my documentary, I’d caught him gazing into the distance. I was rather glad that I’d been too busy to give the matter much thought. Because I simply didn’t like it. Dave wasn’t meant to be with Stefania. Stefania wasn’t meant to be with Dave. I couldn’t really make more sense of it than that. I put down my bottle of Bitburger and pulled an embarrassingly warm bottle of champagne out of my handbag, which I gave to Danny, the editor. ‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘Between you and Dave you made it really special.’ He guffawed. ‘Cheers. But you guys gave me some wicked material to work with! You make a well good team!’ My blush returned and I looked sideways at Dave. He smiled briefly, then answered the internal phone. ‘It’s Stella,’ he said, peering at the caller display. Under normal circumstances, Hugh would have signed off the documentary before we left the edit but he was so flat out on the general election that he’d deputized to Stella. We were waiting for her now. ‘She’s late. Half an hour. Let’s take a break,’ he said, as he replaced the receiver. Danny grinned and went off to smoke. ‘It’s lovely outside,’ Dave said to me. ‘Wanna go up to the roof for a wee stroll? There’s been a shoot up there, the door’s open.’ ‘Yes! Ace!’ We went. Dave chinked my bottle as the lift slid quietly upwards. I grinned at him. ‘I know we’ve been filming together but I feel like we haven’t talked in weeks,’ I said. Dave swigged his Bitburger. ‘Aye, it’s been a funny old time. But don’t you worry about me. I’ve been fine,’ he said, with a wink. I punched his arm. ‘What have you been up to? What was that wink for?’ ‘Ah, nothing much. I’ve been working a lot too. They’ve had me down in Westminster every second that I’ve not been filming the doc with you.’ ‘And what else have you been doing?’ ‘Moochin’ around,’ he said vaguely. We got out of the lift and walked into the sun. London sprawled away in all directions, its customary honking and revving muted by the roar of air-conditioning vents. A tiny but significant early-summer heat haze shimmered over the sea of satellite dishes. Dave leaned on the south-facing wall, and beckoned me over when I didn’t join him. ‘C’mon, Fannybaws! Bloody well relax for half an hour!’ I trotted over obediently, only to be enveloped in an enormous hug on arrival. ‘Well done, kid,’ he said, into the top of my head. ‘You did so well. You’re going to blow Hugh’s arse away when he sees it.’ I lost myself in his stripy T-shirt for a few seconds. ‘Thanks. I needed a hug,’ I said, as I emerged. ‘Fuck knows how I haven’t lost my mind.’ ‘Well, you didn’t,’ Dave said, ruffling my hair. ‘And that’s even more to your credit. Live election shows and quirky documentaries are two pretty difficult things to juggle, Fannybaws. Particularly when you have shit to deal with elsewhere. There aren’t many people in this place who could’ve pulled that off. For a mentalist of your calibre it was an outstanding performance.’ ‘Nonsense. I’m just a baby in comparison to most of the people here.’ Dave reached for my hand. ‘Not true. Look at me, Fran.’ I obeyed. He was smiling. ‘You really aced this, love. You should be so proud of yourself. And even if you’re not, I am!’ I grinned up at him. The afternoon sun was hitting him square on his right-hand side, picking out little auburn bits in his stubble. ‘Dave! No way! You’ve got a ginger beard!’ I got my mirror out of my bag. He squinted at his reflection and shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ He walked over to the west-facing wall. ‘How’s your mum getting on?’ he asked, looking out at the city. ‘Good. Well, up and down, but good. She seems to be realizing how bad she’s been. It’s amazing, seeing her revisit the last twenty years with different eyes.’ It was true. Last weekend Mum had come round to cook a roast while I was rewriting the voiceover for my documentary. After chiding me for trying to eat Yorkshire pudding while watching footage and tapping frantically at my laptop she had suddenly put down her knife and fork and told me how sorry she was for absconding from her role as my mother. ‘I lost my grip on reality,’ she’d said. ‘I did always know that, Mum.’ ‘But to think of how lost and lonely you must have felt … Michael leaving you, and the business with that other girl … Oh, Fran, it must have been terrible. I want to make up for it. I want to be your mother again.’ Of course we’d both cried. ‘I’m so glad,’ Dave said. There was real pleasure in his eyes. I loved Dave. Then an almost imperceptible change flashed across his face. ‘How are you feeling about Michael?’ he asked tentatively. We’d spoken about it, of course, but only in the few snatched moments that we’d slumped in the back of taxis loaded with camera kit, or in the fluorescent glare of the news floor at three a.m. And the truth was, now that Dave had asked, I didn’t actually know. ‘I feel … I dunno. Numb. No, sad. Disappointed. But after I’d had it out with Alex and discovered how much shit Michael had stirred, I suppose it just got rid of any doubts.’ Dave was watching me closely. ‘And has he contacted you?’ ‘Nope. Nothing. Nada. He’s probably found someone else to massage his ego,’ I said sadly. ‘I really thought I was going to marry him. When he got that ring out, I thought that was it. Us. For ever. And now, seven weeks later, I’m thirty and single and I don’t even know what country he’s in.’ I lined up my bottle on the wall next to Dave’s so the shadows spilled on to the concrete under our feet. ‘But … I’m liking myself more now he’s gone.’ Dave nodded. ‘Fannybaws. I’m only going to say this once, cos God knows, I’ve thought about it enough. But here’s the truth. Watching you spending all your time trying to impress Michael – trying to be good enough for him – it broke my heart. Leonie told me you even agreed to leave your fuckin’ job for him in Paris. She said you told him you’d spend less time with your mum, with us – fuckin’ hell, Fran, you even told him you’d ditch Gin Thursdays!’ I bit my lip. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Really shabby behaviour.’ He took my hand for a second and squeezed it. ‘No, I’m not making a row with you.’ I looked away, embarrassed. In the quiet moments as my taxi had slid through early-morning London I’d spent a lot of time trying to work out why I had been so willing, over the last few months, to change everything about myself. How I looked, what I did, who I hung out with, how much time I spent with my own mother, for crying out loud. I’d been happy to throw away every detail of myself to become someone that Michael would want to be with. Michael, who had left me on my thirtieth birthday because I wasn’t giving him enough. Dave ran a hand through his hair. He looked lovely today. ‘Fran, I’m just
saying, or I’m trying to say … whoever you end up with, Fannybaws, you shouldn’t be changing a thing for them. Nothing. Don’t be with anyone if you can’t be you. Because you’re bang on just as you are. OK?’ He started fiddling very studiously with a loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt. ‘Erm, thanks. Appreciate it. You sentimental old gay.’ I gave his hand a quick squeeze to let him know how much it meant to me. Because it did. ‘Right, well, better get back for the viewing,’ he said, suddenly brisk. I groaned inwardly. I was so tired of Dave’s yo-yo behaviour. One minute he was a lovely great big huggy bear, the next he was as abrupt as a full stop. It had been like this since before I went to Paris. ‘It’s only been ten minutes!’ I protested. ‘Stella won’t be there for at least another fifteen!’ Dave was off, though, his shoulder blades moving powerfully through the old faded stripes of his T-shirt. He had a nice big bear-like back, I thought, as it retreated from me. The kind of back that was good for throwing one’s arms around. Was this the back that was making Stefania so damn happy? I hoped not. ‘Oi, Dave!’ I yelled. He stopped and turned. ‘Oi, Fran,’ he shouted back. ‘Dave, are you seeing Stefania?’ He looked round, as if I was asking someone else. ‘Yes, you. Are you seeing Stefania?’ I walked towards him, draining the dregs of my now-warm fake lager. Dave smiled privately. ‘Bloody hell, you are, aren’t you?’ A brief clutch of something unidentifiable, but not particularly lovely, grabbed my stomach. He raised an eyebrow and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘How would you feel if I was, Fannybaws?’ he asked. I noticed that his twinkly eyes were a lot more visible now that he’d shorn off a load of mad hair. I didn’t say anything. His phone started ringing and he answered it, smiling. ‘Hey, hey!’ He disappeared through the exit. ‘Fine,’ I said, after he’d left. ‘Yeah, I’d feel great about it. There would not be a problem at all. Not even a tiny one. I’d be really happy for you both.’ When I got back to the edit, Danny was sipping his warm champagne on his own. Stella had not arrived and Dave was nowhere to be seen. ‘Oh, that guy, the one who works on the live show, was looking for you, Fran.’ ‘Which one?’ ‘The skinny fucker. Posh bloke. Glasses. Bit of a twat.’ ‘Alex. Actually, he’s all right. What did he want?’ ‘Dunno. He had a butcher’s at this film, though – looked well impressed. Went off to meet his bird.’ I wandered out to Reception on the off-chance and struck gold. ‘Franny!’ Leonie screamed. She was jumping up and down, holding Alex’s hand, a manic grin stretched across her face. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’ I gasped, as we hugged. ‘Bloody work! We have some SERIOUS catching up to do. What’s going on?’ Leonie could barely speak she was so excited. ‘PENGUIN!’ she yelled. Alex was laughing. Bless Alex. He was so happy, these days. He waited for her to explain. I was baffled, and a stream of nonsense came out again. ‘PENGUIN!’ was the only word that made any sense. ‘You’ve bought one?’ I ventured. ‘Adopted one?’ ‘THEY’RE PUBLISHING MY FUCKING BOOK!’ she yelled, grabbing my hair in two clumps and jumping up and down. ‘Ow!’ I had to jump up and down with her so that my hair wouldn’t be ripped out. And then I grasped what she was saying. ‘Oh, my God!’ She nodded madly – still jumping – and emitted a series of hoots. The security guard was watching us with a raised eyebrow, and Alex clapped his hands like a young girl. I grabbed Leonie and hugged her. We jumped up and down some more until a bony assault from our left announced that Alex had joined us and we were now a three-way bouncy ball. Squeaks and roars and whoops abounded. ‘THIS IS THE BEST NEWS EVER!’ I shouted, extricating myself eventually. ‘Isn’t it?’ Alex cried. His glasses had slid round to offer enhanced vision to his left ear and in his excitement he seemed not to have noticed. Leonie moved them back on to his nose, which she kissed briefly. ‘Oh, you guys,’ I said, suddenly emotional. ‘This is totally awesome. I’m so happy. When are we celebrating?’ ‘Er, right now?’ Leonie said. ‘How long till you finish? Surely if Alex’s mad hours are over you’re in the clear too.’ ‘Nearly. I’m just waiting for sign-off from Stella. But you two go. I’ll join you in a bit!’ I hugged Leonie again. ‘I’m so fucking proud of you, my clever sex-pert friend!’ I stood back and surveyed her, all five foot nine of my wonderful, beautiful, talented childhood chum, clad in a beautiful full-skirted dress from the 1950s: she had finally got the career and aristocratic boyfriend I’d always imagined her to have. I felt like a proud mother at the nativity play. I loved her with every part of my body. ‘I have to go to the loo before we leave,’ Alex cried, and skipped off. We smiled indulgently. ‘He really loves you, doesn’t he?’ I chuckled. ‘He doesn’t fail to amaze me, Fran. I always thought he was such a penis and he’s just … he’s just wonderful! He’s so humble. And so open. He always wants to know about me and my day – I have to practically wrestle him to make him talk about his.’ ‘It was kind of the opposite with Michael and me,’ I said. Leonie looked sharply at me. ‘Well done, Fran.’ I glanced back at her, confused. ‘Well done for saying that sort of thing out loud. It’s true, of course, but it’s important you acknowledge it. I’m proud of you.’ ‘Well, there’s no pretending otherwise, is there?’ She shook her head. ‘Did you always think that about him?’ I asked. ‘No, actually, I didn’t. I knew from the start that you saw him as some sort of god but I didn’t realize that was because he made you feel like that. I thought you were just a bit mad and carried away.’ ‘Well, I was that, too.’ ‘Perhaps. But it was him, Franny. He was toxic. God, the stuff Alex has told me … Michael needs to sort himself out and stop using other people to do the job for him. Poor Alex took a right beating over the years. No wonder he comes across as such a wazzock the first time you meet him!’ I giggled. ‘He’s definitely one of the good guys, Leonie. I’m so pleased for you! I’ve really loved working with him these last few months. Who’d have thought it, eh?’ I paused, looking out of the huge glass swing doors at the busy pavement outside. ‘How funny that it should have worked out like this. You and Alex all loved up, me and Michael totally incommunicado. Not what I saw when I imagined the future.’ Leonie nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m seeing more and more how much Michael fucked with my head. He was really … really subversive, y’know? I dunno how he did it – he just somehow got under my skin and made me feel like he was the best thing that could possibly have happened to me.’ ‘Well, he’s history. You’re free to meet the man of your dreams now, Franny.’ ‘Yeah.’ I thought for a few moments and started giggling. ‘And you know what, Leonie? Here’s a little something for your book. Michael used to yell, “FINGER IN BOTTOM!” just before he came.’ As Alex bounded over, puppy-like, from the Gents, Leonie and I clutched our stomachs and howled like werewolves. Chapter Forty-two
Greatest Love Story of All Time Page 26
