You, Me and Other People

by Fionnuala Kearney

  ‘Harold’s asleep upstairs.’

  ‘So I’ll fuck you quietly downstairs.’

  This brings a smile and she offers me her hand. I take hers in mine and enter the White House for the first time in weeks. Inside, she guides my hand into her tiny pants, parting herself for my freezing fingers.

  She gasps. ‘You need warming up,’ she says.

  I feel immediate stirrings and am grateful for small mercies. My life as I knew it may well be broken, but my dick is not.

  The Neighbourhood Watch chairman is my old cricket buddy and ex-neighbour, Nigel, so I’ll be all right if I’m caught loitering with intent. I’ll just drop his name and I’ll be fine. The irony is not lost on me – I’ve already seen both of my ex-mistresses tonight and here I am outside my wife’s door. It’s two a.m. and I’m due in work at seven. A grand gesture it’s not, but I’ve just dropped a mega-bunch of yellow tulips on Beth’s doorstep. Tesco really is open all night.

  The card, though, does have a grand message. It says I’m sorry for hurting her, for hurting Meg and other people too. It says I’m sorry for being a crap husband and father. It says I will always love her …

  Chapter Nineteen

  This is just plain weird. I put the bins out last night after midnight, so Adam must have dropped these flowers off after that. I place them in water, snipping the ends on a slant in the hope that their overnight droop may be revived. Just before I head out of the door to work, I remember someone telling me once that soluble aspirin works. So I go back in and drop one in the water.

  I haven’t time to text him, ask him what he’s doing. Something tells me just to accept the flowers and the sentiment because my life is moving on without him. Approaching the High Street, I focus on the morning’s work. Today, I have another tour of properties for Stephanie. I’m excited. It’s completely different to Mrs Scott’s tour, which is one of the things I’m enjoying about this job – no two days are the same. Today I’m showing a woman around three different serviced flats, all top-notch, all très posh.

  There’s a tiny box on my desk when I reach the office. Intrigued, I remove the top. Inside are two hundred and fifty of my new business cards. I stare at the name, unsure now, seeing it in black and white. Lizzie works, because Ben and my mum use it, but it doesn’t really feel like my name … It’s when I see the maiden name that I’ve readopted, I’m doubly unsure. I’ve opened a bank account in her name but who is this Lizzie Moir person? I quite liked being Beth Hall. She’s who I’ve been for so long …

  I look up to see Stephanie hover over my desk.

  ‘Do you like them?’ she beams.

  ‘They’re lovely.’

  ‘The applicant will be here at nine fifteen. Would you like a quick coffee? I’m just about to make one.’

  I look at her growing frame. ‘You sit down. I’ll make the coffee.’

  ‘Thanks, Lizzie.’ She rubs her back. ‘This lady, when she comes in? Try and get her to understand that there’s not a huge selection of really good-quality serviced flats. Just let her know these are the best of the best?’

  ‘I will.’ I make my way to the tiny kitchenette at the back of the office space. I’d spent last night driving the route in my head, and am now sure that I could do it blindfolded. I make two coffees, since everyone else is out of the office. Outside, I hand Stephanie hers – a decaf, black, no sugar. My latte I try and knock back, just as the door opens.

  Stephanie is on her feet, offering her hand, steering the woman towards her desk. I look on, trying my best to remember the woman’s name. She’s tiny in stature, walking on tall heels. Wearing dark jeans and a short fur jacket, and sunglasses that are too wide for her tiny face.

  ‘Lizzie? Come and meet your lady.’

  I put my mug on the desk and try not to laugh. It sounds as if I’m about to offer her a cut and blow-dry. Coat still on, I cross the office and take the stranger’s hand.

  ‘Lizzie, this is Mrs Pugh.’

  ‘Hi, good to meet you.’ Her gloved hand offers a firm handshake. ‘Am I stopping you finishing your coffee?’

  ‘No, not at all, I’ve finished. Good to meet you too.’ I hand her one of my shiny new business cards. ‘We’ve got three to see and I know you’re pushed for time, so shall we go?’

  Mrs Pugh laughs, pockets the card. ‘A woman after my own heart! I do hate tardiness, don’t you?’

  My first thought is that she has never met Adam, who would be late for his own funeral. As she follows me out through the rear entrance to Stephanie’s car, I pray that the gearstick will behave and that I will make it to the end of this property tour looking as if I know what the hell I’m doing.

  In the car, I hand her a copy of the itinerary.

  She removes a pair of reading glasses from her bag, swaps her sunglasses for them and studies it. ‘I don’t know any of these streets. Are they all safe, secure?’

  I put the car into reverse and, thankfully, it moves without the grinding noise I’d been dreading. ‘They’re all relatively central, close to Weybridge High Street, and they’ve all got twenty-four-hour porterage.’

  Even if I say so myself, I sound good. I’d rent a flat from me … I offer her a winning smile.

  ‘I know serviced blocks are hard to come by so, hopefully, one of these will suit.’

  ‘Is there anything about Weybridge you want to know, Mrs Pugh?’

  ‘No thanks, Lizzie. As long as I can get to the hospital easily, I’ll only be using the flat as a sleeping space – and please,’ she turns to me and smiles, ‘call me Kiera.’

  I swear that if Kiera Pugh hadn’t liked the third flat, I’d have asked her to come and live with me. I feel that sorry for the poor woman. But she is gushing as we walk around property number three, and I sense this is the one for her. She won’t need to come and live with me after all, and I won’t need to explain to Meg and Adam why my heart went out to a perfect stranger and I asked her to move in.

  ‘Not quite home, but it’s perfect for my needs,’ she says as we pull the door behind us and I double-lock it. She grabs my arm with both her hands. ‘Thank you, Lizzie,’ she says. ‘Thanks for finding this place and for listening.’ I don’t correct her. Stephanie found the place. I’m just the chauffeur. As for listening, I’m trying to swallow the lump that’s been crawling up my throat ever since she started telling me her story. I can’t help thinking of Simon, and Mum’s words, ‘Nobody should have to lose a child.’ Silently, I pray that Kiera’s son makes it. ‘Why Chertsey?’ I find myself asking her when we’re back in the car.

  ‘There’s an American paediatric oncologist on a teaching secondment for two months at Chertsey, and he’s agreed to private treatment,’ she explains. ‘I’ve moved Noah from Great Ormond Street in order to try a new treatment there. It’s ground-breaking stuff, but it could help prolong his life. Meantime we’re hoping for a suitable bone marrow donor …’

  I can’t help but think at least she’s lucky she has money. That’s obvious. At least she has enough money to throw everything she has at saving her son. Before we go back into the office and I have to hand her back to Stephanie for the paperwork, I tell her I hope that everything works out. I tell her I’ll say a prayer. And I mean it, even though it’s a very long time since I’ve asked any form of higher power for anything.

  The next day is not a good day. If I could draw it, it would have drooping eyes and a turned-down smiley face. It is only ten o’clock and, so far, I have made a complete fool of myself and I still haven’t heard from Josh. The fool bit bothers me. Giles came around on the way to work, dropped off a bottle of champagne for me from Kiera Pugh, and for some reason I thought it might be the right time to ask if he felt I could do Stephanie’s maternity leave cover.

  I asked him for a job I am ill-qualified to perform; one I don’t even want – which meant he had no choice but to highlight both embarrassing facts to me. He is right, of course. I want to live in my loft and write Grammy-winning songs, but until Josh calls me
with any news, that’s not even a pipe dream. And though Kiera’s gesture is lovely, all it has done on this blue day is to highlight in neon my sad singledom. I have no one to share this champagne with, which just means today reverts to being one big frown.

  Unable to work, I play on the Internet. On Pinterest, I make a page of some ‘beautiful shoes’ I’m going to buy. If Josh doesn’t phone me soon, I will just have to sack him and keep his fifteen per cent for Selfridges shoe department. I ignore his voice ringing in my head, reminding me that fifteen per cent of nothing is still nothing. After I fire him and go shoe-shopping, I will lock his bony arse in his shabby, not-so-chic office, where he will starve slowly and his body will be found by Polish builders when they decide to renovate the building in years to come.

  I call Ben, who is, after all, my accountant. He picks up on the first ring.

  ‘Whassup, Lizzie?’

  ‘If I fire my agent and spend his commission on shoes, is it still tax deductible?’

  ‘Hmmm. Shoes …’

  ‘Yes, shoes. Well, boots to be specific.’

  ‘I thought you were busy writing a song for the movies.’

  ‘It’s done, I’m waiting to hear.’ I pull a hangnail from my left thumb. ‘So, I’m shoe-shopping on the Internet. Selfridges have a particularly sexy pair of boots. They have red soles. I want their babies.’

  ‘Ahhh …’

  ‘What do you mean, “Ahh”?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I insist. ‘It was a very loaded “Ahh”.’

  ‘Call Josh.’

  ‘He won’t answer my fucking calls!!! It’s driving me crazy …’

  ‘Buy the boots anyway.’

  ‘I can’t afford the boots unless I get the song thing.’

  ‘They’re not tax deductible.’

  ‘No, I thought not.’

  ‘Come up to London tonight, you’re obviously bored. I’m meeting Karen at The Waterhole. She’d love to see you. We’ll surprise her.’

  I hesitate. It’s strange to be asked by Ben to meet him and Karen for a drink. I’ve known Karen since we hooked up at after-school drama club. She was twelve and I was fourteen. I’ve seen her through one bad marriage and a few bad relationships, so really, deep down, I’m pleased that she’s found Ben. But The Waterhole is the place where we meet for drinks in town, which means – right up on surface level – my epidermis is trembling with jealousy.

  ‘You could get a train early afternoon,’ he continues. ‘Meet us at seven. I’ve booked a booth for nibbles and bubbles. Why don’t you come via Selfridges – that way you could actually touch the boots.’

  Nibbles and bubbles. These are the words that Karen and I use when we go to The Waterhole for a treat. We have lots of tiny titbits to eat and share a bottle of champagne or cava, depending on how flush we are. Despite the fact that I now want to lock Ben in that office with Josh, I push my resentment to one side. ‘Deal. Meantime, work out a way to make the boots a necessary expense.’

  I finish the call thinking, ‘To hell with Josh and Ben. To hell with Giles and his “senior role”. I’m going to buy boots.’ I ignore the sound of Lucy Fir saying: ‘You’re a shallow woman! Yesterday you spent time with someone who has a dying child … And you’re going to buy boots?’

  I reason with her – something I’ve been trying to do, lately, rather than ignore her totally. Calmly, I tell her that – sad as it is – life goes on. I will buy my boots, because I am worthy. And when LA love my song, I will donate some money to the paediatric unit at Oakside in Chertsey. Lucy seems satisfied with this offer. The bitch has finally been silenced …

  Chapter Twenty

  We’ve agreed to play at St George’s Hill since Matt and I have corporate membership there. I have a nine o’clock tee-off booked and Tim Granger has declined lunch afterwards, telling me in his email that he will be visiting Noah before heading back to the city.

  This hurts. It’s like it’s open and out there, but it’s not. Tim knows, Kiera knows, Gordon knows, but no one in my life can know – including Matt. I put him off the round of golf, telling him I think it would be good for Tim and me to do it alone, iron out all our creases. Matt was not so sure and pleaded with me to reconsider.

  It’s eight thirty and, in the car park, I see Tim first. His driver, Cal, has dropped him off, is removing his golf clubs from the boot as Tim waits, head down over his BlackBerry. I remove my own clubs, walk the trolley in his direction, and offer my hand when I arrive.

  ‘Tim,’ I say, ‘good to see you.’

  ‘I’ll text you when we’re back on the eighteenth, Cal.’ Tim ignores my hand, and my greeting. There’s nothing I can do but retract it and walk on up to the clubhouse, hoping he’ll follow. Unsure how to behave, I decide there and then to let him take the lead. I’d like to talk about my unfair dismissal from the Granger account. He will no doubt want to concentrate on the fact that Kiera and I created Noah. Either way, this isn’t going to be easy.

  We play the first hole in silence and are walking towards the second tee. I’m determined to let him have the first verbal shot at me. When it comes, it’s a cheap one.

  ‘So, how long were you, a married man, banging my sister?’

  I do not rise to the bait.

  ‘Kiera and I were friends. We only ever spent one night together.’ In this case, honesty, I decide, is definitely the best policy.

  ‘Once was enough, wasn’t it?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Fuck up several lives.’

  My mouth almost gapes open. Do not react.

  ‘With respect, Tim, how have I done that? Kiera told me she was pregnant, told me she wanted to have the baby and that she wanted me to have nothing to do with any of it. I have respected her wishes, especially since she got married when Noah was a baby. Kiera has dictated this whole thing. Whose life have I fucked up?’

  He is silent.

  ‘It’s not my fault he’s sick, Tim.’

  ‘It could be. There could be a genetic link. Maybe your DNA is as fucked up as you.’

  I’m suddenly unsure that I should be on a golf course with this man. He’s angry. Angry at me, angry at Kiera, angry at the world. His irrational hatred of me has just become crystal clear. Where I thought I could reason with him, I’m no longer convinced. And he’s wielding a steel stick beside me.

  ‘You let her go through a difficult pregnancy alone. Just because you were screwing someone behind your wife’s back.’

  ‘I never knew she … I—’

  ‘You’ve never given her a penny.’

  ‘She wouldn’t let me. I have an account set up for Noah. She—’

  ‘Keep your fucking money, Adam. It’s not like he’s going to need it anyway …’

  This floors me. I feel as if he’s hit me square on the jaw, when all he actually does is hit one of the best drives I’ve ever seen. This is a man able to channel his frustration. I should take lessons. Of course, I follow it up with one of the worst shots I’ve ever hit and end up in the rough in the trees. He laughs.

  ‘Why did you want me off your family account?’ There. I’ve said it. He stares at me, then shakes his head vigorously.

  ‘Because you’re a wanker, and you’re a wanker who’s lost us a shitload of money.’

  ‘The markets lost you a shitload of money. You know very well that money would have been lost no matter who had advised you.’

  ‘Well, let’s just stick to you being a wanker then.’

  I stop walking. ‘You know what, Tim? I have been a wanker to my wife, to my daughter – hell, even the woman I just dumped: guilty as charged. But I have never behaved badly to clients, or to Kiera. We had a one-night stand – both consenting adults. The only person who was hurt from that was Beth, so get down off your fucking high horse.’

  ‘You just dumped someone?’ Tim makes a face.

  ‘Yes.’ I blush at the memory of the no-strings booty call since then.

  ‘Does Beth know about this one?’ />
  ‘Yes. Beth dumped me first. She threw me out because of Emma. I’ve just dumped Emma because I still love Beth. Happy?’

  He laughs. ‘No. Are you?’

  The unspoken implication is one I’ve wrestled with myself. If I continue to behave the way I do, will I ever be happy again?

  ‘We used to be friends,’ I say.

  ‘We did, or so I thought,’ he muses.

  ‘What was there to gain, Tim? This is the way Kiera wanted it. She kept the baby and I kept schtum. Everyone was happy, and no one would ever have known any different if Noah hadn’t got sick.’

  ‘He’s a great kid, you know. Really clever … bright.’ His eyes widen behind his narrow steel-framed glasses.

  My heart falls in my ribcage. I cannot respond.

  ‘Have you been tested yet?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, I’m waiting—’

  ‘How long ago?’ he interrupts.

  ‘A few days.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You’d have heard by now. Good news travels fast. Bad news …’

  My heart plummets further. Meg. I know I have to do it.

  ‘Your daughter?’ Tim reads my mind. ‘Exactly how big a wanker does she think you are?’ He hits another big shot, right up the fairway. ‘Fore!’ he bellows to the group of golfers at the pin up ahead.

  And all I can think of is how apt his cry is. Warning up ahead! I might as well have it branded on my scalp …

  While we’re not bosom buddies when he leaves, I do feel that I’ve made headway with Tim. He shakes my hand, thanks me for the round of golf. I ask him to get Kiera to call me.

  He nods. ‘Are you going to try and see him? Noah?’

  ‘I want to.’

  ‘Gordon won’t want you there. Especially—’

  ‘If I’m not a match.’ I finish his sentence for him. ‘Why upset the balance, right?’

  Tim shrugs.

  ‘I want to see him, Tim. He doesn’t have to know who I am. I could be a “friend” of the family. I could be a “friend” of yours? I don’t want to upset the Kiera and Gordon dynamic, that’s not what I want. But I would like to see him.’