‘It’s like you with your job these days. It’s like it’s the only thing that matters to you. “Ms Miller? Ms Miller?”’ he said, imitating a receptionist on the phone, a high, silly voice.
‘This is stupid.’
‘That’s what Sue’s assistant called you when she rang about the car to the airport. “Is Ms Miller there?” Since when were you a “Ms”?’
‘I don’t know!’ Kate ran her hand through her hair. ‘You’re being ridiculous! Who cares if I’m Ms or Miss or Mrs or whatever? Why should it matter?’
‘Because you’re marrying me,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be Mrs Lambert.’
‘I know, but –’ Kate sketched something with her hands, a helpless gesture. ‘Sean, don’t be like that –’ She reached forward; he had stood up, and she caught his leg. ‘I can’t wait to be Mrs Lambert, honestly.’
‘Really?’ he said, turning round and looking down at her. She met his gaze, solemnly. ‘It just feels like – it’s your job first with you, then organizing the wedding, then Zoe, then the flat and stuff, and I come about fifth on the list.’
She didn’t know how to reassure him; all of those things were true, because she did them all for him. He had urged her to work that hard, to make them the money that would keep them afloat, that would pay for not just the tiles from Modena, but the honeymoon in the Maldives and, she supposed now, the house in the commuter belt, with a drive to park the car in, and a mantelpiece to put the framed photos of the honeymoon in the Maldives on. They were on a treadmill, and Kate realized they didn’t know how to get off.
‘Sean –’ she said, moving her hands up his body, pulling him towards her. ‘Sit down, darling.’ He sat down. ‘You are first with me, you know that, don’t you? Always first.’
‘Of course I do.’ His face softened. ‘It’s just –’
‘Let me finish,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘Look, I want to be with you, I want a marriage to you, not so I can say “my husband’s over there” to people at parties. That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? Because we want to be together.’
She said it in a funny voice, like the old Prudential advert, but Texas-raised Sean didn’t get it, and he looked blank for a moment, before his expression cleared. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Forget about it.’ He leaned in towards her, and kissed her, moving her arms, breaking up her defensive body language position. ‘We are together,’ he said after a moment, his voice muffled in her hair.
Kate sighed. She was so tired, after a long day on the magazine, where there was a new drama every day. She wasn’t sleeping, much, stymied by various things. She hadn’t called the caterers to finalize the menu, nor spoken to Lisa about Danielle’s little dress (Lisa was insisting on Daniel’s new album of Westlife covers being played at the reception and Danielle being a bridesmaid. They’d compromised on the latter). And always, at the back of her mind, was Charly. Steve and Charly. She had absolutely no further evidence, no sign that anything was amiss. Was she going to upset pregnant Zoe over what Sean was convinced was just a misunderstanding? Threaten everything, lose Steve’s friendship – because how could it be otherwise – when she wasn’t really sure?
The trouble was, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Her mind ran in a circle, around and around, always coming back to the same thing: was that why she hadn’t seen Charly for months? Was that why Sean and Steve didn’t play their weekly game of pool any more? Was that why Zoe seemed strange with her now, like she was on her best behaviour? Everything led back to it and it seemed to her, Kate, as if she was the only person who could do something about it, and yet the only person who shouldn’t. She was like a rat, caught in a trap, and she honestly didn’t know how much longer it could go on like this. Her brain wasn’t working properly. She was losing weight, too much weight. People kept saying it was pre-wedding nerves. She knew it wasn’t.
‘Did you speak to the photographer?’ Sean said softly, running his hands over her shoulders, his lips on her jaw.
‘No,’ said Kate, twisting towards him, hoping to distract him further. ‘I will tomorrow. Forget about that now.’
‘OK.’
‘OK.’
‘So the tiles are going up today, are they?’ Zoe said, sitting up and leaning closer, recalling Kate to the present.
Kate shook her head, as if the thoughts inside it were buzzing loudly, and looked around her. She and Zoe were by Smithfield Market, sitting outside in a café that overlooked the vast wrought-iron building. They could hear the shouts of traders, finishing up for the day, echoing behind them as they sat in the sunshine, smiling politely at each other.
‘I suppose so.’ Kate shook her head again, trying to work out what was bothering her. ‘I thought it was later, but … perhaps they arrived early. That’d be cool.’
‘Nice of Sean to give Steve the key. I wouldn’t trust him with … anything,’ said Zoe happily, as she patted her tummy, and lifted one foot up onto the slatted chair opposite her. ‘Look. Harry does this when he’s hungry.’ She made circular movements on her rounded stomach. ‘God, I’m starving. Shall we order?’
‘Yep,’ said Kate. ‘Let’s. Let’s do that.’ She gazed around, suddenly feeling sick. Sick to her soul, with something that was beyond her control. It couldn’t be true, could it. Could it? Steve wouldn’t … Charly wouldn’t … Kate tried to focus.
‘So,’ Zoe was saying. ‘What have you got left to do?’
‘For the wedding?’
‘Yes, for the wedding,’ Zoe said. ‘I know you’re the least bridal bride in the whole world, but you must have some things left to do.’
‘Not really,’ said Kate. ‘Dress, fine.’ She would be wearing a beautiful dress she’d found in Fenwicks. It was pale blue. ‘Registry office booked. Venue booked, band booked.’ Lisa had taken care of the venue, a disused church hall round the corner from their flat, on Shirland Road, and her father had, very kindly, after the CD debacle was cleared up, offered to find a good band for the wedding, coming up trumps with the Frank Walden Band. There was two months to go, anyway – Kate didn’t see what the fuss was about, personally. She kept thinking she should be in a flap, but it was like she was watching it from a long long way away, and she simply couldn’t get worked up into a mountain of stress about it. It’d be a party, she and Sean had decided. A great big fantastic party. Sean was more nervous than her, she thought. His family was coming over, whereas she had virtually no family. And he was more one for the big occasion. When the registrar, attempting small talk, had asked which of them was going to cry, both Kate and Sean had pointed at Sean and said, in unison, ‘Him/Me’. As the registrar simpered, batting her eyelashes at Sean, who was nodding and smiling, he’d added, self-deprecatingly,
‘I’m just a real sucker for the whole thing. I – I can’t wait, you know?’
‘And I’m dead inside,’ Kate said to Zoe. ‘She looked at me like I was a total witch.’
‘Rubbish,’ Zoe said briskly, putting her menu down and squinting at her friend. ‘I can tell you Harry is really, really excited. I think he thinks a wedding’s something to do with the police. He keeps shooting imaginary things when I talk to him about it, I don’t know why.’
‘Hah,’ said Kate, pretending to study her menu.
‘Steve says he’s got an unhealthy interest in weddings for a three-year-old. Well, he says I’ve got an unhealthy interest in weddings too, and he’s right, Kate, but oh, I’m just so excited!’
A waiter walked past; a pigeon landed nearby; a car hooted in the background. That was when it suddenly hit Kate, it wasn’t a flash from the skies, a thunderbolt. It was one ordinary moment passing into another, but it changed everything. She put her menu down, staring thoughtfully at Zoe, not caring if she was being odd. This was her best friend in front of her, the girl she had grown up with, who had been more family to Kate than her actual blood relatives, really. She had to know what was going on, had to take control. She realized that, now. No more of little Kate in the shadows, wai
ting for Sean to sort everything out for her, for them both. He had failed her in that, she had to admit it. It was time for her to do something, though it terrified her.
She stood up.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said suddenly. She picked up her bag.
Zoe looked up at her in astonishment.
‘What?’ she said. A curious expression crossed her face.
‘I’ve – conference call,’ Kate said, recent memory giving her inspiration. ‘The Americans. I forgot. Shit I’m late,’ she said, unconvincingly. She met Zoe’s eyes, bent down and kissed her. ‘Don’t get up, darling,’ she said, patting her best friend on the shoulder. ‘Stay there. It’ll be OK.’
‘Kate!’ Zoe was shouting. ‘Kate? Don’t go! Come back!’ Her voice was incredulous, worried. ‘Kate! Listen to me –!’
But Kate ran off, through the cobbled Smithfield lanes, down Cowcross Street, past the boys with tousled fins and the girls in ponchos, past the coffee shops and little restaurants, gathering pace as she went, brushing City boys out of the way, running now as she slammed her pass against the ticket gate and ran onto a train, not caring about work, about Zoe thinking she might have gone mad, just knowing now she had to get back to the flat, to stop them, because she suddenly knew that’s where they’d been meeting, and it was down to her to stop it. Her alone.
Half an hour later, as Kate ran up the stairs at Maida Vale station, panting, and flew across the road towards the flat, she was no clearer about what she would do when she saw them, and doubt was starting to crowd in on her mind. Come on, Steve wasn’t a cheat! He wouldn’t do that to Zoe, to Harry, to the baby. He just wouldn’t!
And then she saw it, outside her and Sean’s building. Steve’s car, a little red MG, which he had bought over Zoe’s protestations, her arguments that they needed a family car. There it was, like a little shiny cliché, parked slap bang in front of the front door. Kate almost gasped at the audacity of it, and rage overtook her, rage and bile. Her clumsy, shaking hands stabbed the key in the lock.
She slammed the door and ran, taking the stairs two at a time.
She slowed down as she got to their flat, caution getting the better of her. Stealthily, smoothly, with murder on her mind and her teeth gritted, she slid the key in smoothly, opening the door so quietly she knew anyone inside wouldn’t have heard her.
Perhaps there was no one in there, she said to herself. I must have got it all wrong, stupid me, and just as she thought that she heard something, heard a noise from the bedroom, the door of which was ajar. Kate took a step forward. The muscles in her throat had closed up.
Steve …
Oh god. No. No no no.
There she was, on the bed, moving slowly up and down, her hair falling about her shoulders, down the creamy pale, skinny back. Kate would know her anywhere. She was moving up and down on top of him. Kate stopped short at the door. But she still didn’t see it. Then he sat up, pulling her down towards him, his face greedily gobbling between her breasts. He groaned, shaking his head. She moved against him, tilting her head, and Kate saw his face.
It wasn’t Steve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Steve’s voice came behind her as she stood at the door. He was out of breath, she registered it vaguely. She could hear him, as if he were underwater, or far, far away.
Kate … Kate, it’s …
It wasn’t Steve in bed with Charly, her best friend.
It was Sean.
Sean’s hands pressed on Charly’s hips as he exploded into her, with a great, bellowing moan. Steve grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her away, but she wouldn’t move. Why couldn’t they see her, why didn’t they notice, why didn’t they stop.
‘Shit. Shit,’ Sean said suddenly, and Kate looked at him, realizing he’d seen her, standing in the doorway. ‘Kate. Kate.’ He groaned again, as Charly ground herself against him furiously.
‘It’s Charly, you twat,’ she spat into his ear, as she collapsed again. ‘Charly.’
He pushed her off him – she tumbled backwards, gracefully, onto the bed, turning around and looking lazily up, breathing deeply, her tousled hair falling over her perfect naked body. She stared up at Kate.
‘Fuck,’ she said, her eyes dilating. ‘Fuck.’ And then she breathed in again, and closed her eyes, shuddering slightly, running a hand through her hair, grabbing onto it. Sean got up, pulling his boxers on.
‘Kate, Kate,’ he said, stumbling towards her. ‘Shit.’
It was so strange, seeing him awkwardly naked, having just come inside Charly a few seconds before, fumbling with himself, his clothes: Kate backed away, like he was an embarrassing drunk on the street. She bumped into Steve, who caught her.
‘Come on,’ he said. She turned around in his arms.
‘I thought it was you,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Steve, his face red, his green eyes watching the figures behind her. He breathed in, squeezed her arm. ‘Zoe called me. I guessed you must be coming here. I was on the phone to her in the car and you ran past …’ His eyes were full of sympathy. ‘Oh, Kate.’
‘I thought it was you,’ she said again, as Charly pulled the duvet over her body.
‘I know you did,’ Steve said. ‘But there wasn’t much I could do about it, was there?’
She pointed at him. ‘But you’ve been seeing her – I saw you –’
‘I’ve been seeing her to get her to stop doing it, stop both of them,’ Steve said, shaking his head. ‘It’s me, Kate! How could you think I’d do that –’
‘Oh my god,’ Kate said. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back, but it choked her. Sean pushed her into the bathroom next door. Her bathroom, with the tiles they were waiting for. ‘Get away from me,’ she said, backing away from him. She turned, and was sick. Sean and Steve stood at the bathroom door, watching her. It was bright and sunny in there, her huge beautiful bathroom that she loved so much. Kate frowned, thinking abstractly to herself, as she heaved and was sick again. Stupid thoughts flew into her mind, silly questions. Her head spun. What would happen to the bathroom now? She couldn’t come back here again, she was sure of that.
‘Kate, I’m sorry,’ Sean said, when she stood up, a few seconds later. His hair was standing on end, almost comically; he was shaking his head. ‘You – I’m sorry. I love you. This means – oh shit, seriously. I don’t know how it happened.’
How to stand, to face him, to behave in this awful, ungodly situation? She didn’t know, couldn’t work it out. And Charly – she was still in there, in her bed.
She stood up straight. She wiped her mouth, breathing as calmly as she could. Her neck, throat, chest felt constricted, like she might pass out.
‘Get out of here,’ she said, without looking at him. ‘I don’t want to see you again.’ Moving down the corridor, she looked through the door at Charly lying there still, curiously expressionless, and that’s when Kate lost it. She could feel herself as it happened, it was a most strange experience. She marched into the bedroom, aggressively upright, standing straight, and she walked over to the bed. She grabbed Charly by her long hair, wanting to hurt her, kill her. Murderous rage swept through her. She dragged Charly off the bed, screaming, ‘Get out! Just get out, you evil, evil bitch!’
She had hold of Charly’s hair and she was shaking it up and down, and Charly’s head, imprisoned by Kate’s steel-strong fingers, was waggling around underneath her. ‘My god, Charly, I always knew you were cheap, but – this! THIS! You COW! Get OUT!’ And she flung her away from her, as far as she could, away. Charly tumbled onto the floor.
‘You fucking bitch!’ Charly screamed, suddenly alive, scratching at Kate, her long talon-like nails scratching Kate’s arm, but Kate felt invincible, suddenly. She marched over and grabbed Charly again, not thinking, not feeling. Charly was tripping over herself, bashing into the doorframe, as Kate swung her from side to side, wishing she could swing her around the room, rip out her hair, break every bone in her body … Adrenaline pumped into her, cou
rsing through her veins, making her feel light-headed. She could have killed her. She could have killed him … and all the time Charly was screaming at her, screaming torrents of abuse, filthy, black-hearted words close to her ear, as she scratched, clawed like an animal. Oblivious, Kate opened her front door and flung her, still naked, out into the landing and Charly screamed as she banged against the bannisters and nearly fell back, over the stairwell. For a second she hung there, as if she were going to fall, but then she bared her teeth, her dark eyes glittering at Kate, and, righting herself, she smiled.
‘I always knew he was mine, darling,’ she said clearly. Kate shut the door in her face as she rushed towards her and leant up against it, breathing hard. Sean and Steve watched her, in horror, rooted to the spot. Charly started banging on the door.
‘Let me in!’ she screamed. ‘Let me in, you silly, stuck-up, pathetic little bitch! He’s mine! He has been for months — years, if you want to know. I can have whoever I want, Kate, you stupid little girl, why didn’t you ever see that?’
Sean was slumped in the hallway, his head in his hands. He didn’t even look at her, he didn’t seem to be able to. Kate started shaking. She had to get out of there, but she didn’t know how. Steve pushed her out of the way, gently, and as he opened the door to let Charly in, Kate dodged past her, her feet flying down the stairs, down, away from that flat, away away away. She heard Charly’s hiss, and the patter of following footsteps behind her.
‘Kate!’ Sean shouted suddenly. ‘Come back!’ No, she wasn’t going to catch her up. No, no no. Kate ran into the hall, flinging the door open. She daren’t pause for breath, had to keep going, had to had to. The steps behind her were getting closer, and Kate ran out on to the street, hair flying behind her, like a crazed, mad woman, like the hounds of Hell themselves were after her. She could feel Charly gaining on her, all the time, and she kept on running, towards the shops, towards safety, she didn’t know where.
The Love of Her Life Page 23
