by Fallon, Jane
‘Why should I be driven out by them?’ he'd said as he'd said several times before.
‘You mustn't look at it like that. You've got to think about what's best for you.’
‘If I move out they've won,’ Owen had said huffily.
‘It's not a game, Owen. There's no question of anyone winning or anyone losing for that matter.’
‘You don't understand.’
‘Do you know what?’ she'd said gently. ‘I don't, I really don't. That's why maybe it'd be better if I just left you to relax. Let the needles do their work.’
‘No. Don't go. I feel better when we chat about stuff.’
‘You know I'm not a real therapist,’ she'd said, laughing, ‘and I might be giving you all the wrong advice.’
‘That's OK,’ he'd said, smiling back. ‘I ignore it all anyway.’
So she'd stayed, although she had felt distracted, not in the mood to listen to Owen's self-pity, because of the phone call she had received just before he had arrived.
James had been gone for about an hour and Katie had been tidying the house, trying to make it look like a professional, calming space where she could receive her clients. She was lighting the burners to rid the spare room of the Stanley smell when her mobile had rung. She had looked at the screen, she didn't recognize the number — it could have been anyone — but Katie always saw her phone ringing as an opportunity. You never knew what life might throw at you, her mother had always said. Grasp everything by the throat and make the most of it. It would never have occurred to her not to answer.
‘Hello,’ she'd said, in her most positive voice. She had read somewhere that because of the lack of visual clues people sounded more bored and disconnected on the phone than they actually were. It was important to project positivity. Smile while you talk, the article had said, and the person at the other end will pick up on it.
There was a moment's silence, then a voice had said, ‘Is that Katie?’
‘It is,’ she'd said cheerfully.
‘This is Stephanie Mortimer.’
Katie had thought quickly. Stephanie, that was the name of James's wife. They had never spoken before but, she'd thought nervously, Stephanie didn't sound as if she was brimming with friendliness.
‘Hi, Stephanie. How nice to talk to you finally.’
There had been a long silence. Katie had grown anxious. ‘There's nothing wrong, is there? James hasn't had an accident or anything?’
‘Do you know who I am?’ Stephanie had said. ‘I'm James's wife.’
‘Of course I know who you are —’ Katie had said, and then the doorbell had rung. Owen, bang on time for his appointment as ever. ‘Stephanie, I'm really sorry but I have to go. Can I call you back later? On the number that came up?’
‘OK.’ Stephanie had sounded taken aback. ‘I'm around all morning.’
So now Katie couldn't concentrate. This was an event, a milestone. OK, so Stephanie didn't sound like a barrel of laughs but once they'd started to talk she knew they'd get on fine. Katie got on with everyone. And then it would be only a matter of time before Stephanie suggested that James bring Finn up for a couple of days and they could all start to play Happy Families.
9
Stephanie put the phone down and wondered if she had imagined what had just happened. It had taken her two or three false starts before she had been able to go through with dialling Katie's number. She had sent Natasha off window-shopping around Sloane Street, armed with Meredith's measurements, a Polaroid camera and a notebook. She knew that even if she'd got her to sit in the room next door Natasha wouldn't have been able to resist putting her ear to the door and listening in to her conversation, and Stephanie didn't think she could perform with an audience.
She had gone over and over in her head what she planned to say to Katie. She would announce herself with dignity — she was determined not to get hysterical, she didn't want to give Katie the excuse to think, Oh, I can see why he wouldn't want to be with her. ‘I am Stephanie, James's wife,’ she intended to say but then it was hard to imagine how things might go after that because Katie might either deny all knowledge of James or she might break down remorsefully and beg forgiveness. Stephanie was hoping it would be the latter — not because she intended to forgive her, far from it, but because an out-and-out denial would be so hard to deal with: she would feel that Katie had the upper hand. What she certainly hadn't been prepared for was the easy friendliness of Katie's ‘Hi, Stephanie’, the confidence of her ‘How nice to talk to you finally.’
She had no idea what to do now. The next move was Katie's and that made Stephanie feel very uncomfortable. If she hadn't heard Katie's doorbell ring for herself she would have thought she was making up the interruption to get off the phone, giving herself the psychological advantage. I mustn't get any more paranoid than I already am, she reproached herself. All she could do now was sit and wait. If Katie didn't call her back she would try again and then again and again until she got her. She wasn't going to let her get away with it that easily.
James will soon be on his way back to London, she thought, dreading his arrival. She wanted to be fully appraised of what was going on before he got home. Forewarned is forearmed and all that bollocks. She tried to call Natasha, but her phone went straight to voicemail meaning she was probably on the tube, so she rang Cassie and listened gratefully as she rambled on about a conversation she had had with one of the other nannies on the school run.
She looked at her watch; ten fifteen. She was scared to move from her desk, even to go to the bathroom, in case Katie rang and she missed the call. Why hadn't she rung her from her mobile? She decided she needed a displacement activity and that tidying the office might be just the thing. It was about forty-five minutes later, while she was knee-deep in a selection of this season's belts and clutch bags, that the telephone rang. She almost fell flat on her face running to answer it.
‘Stephanie Mortimer,’ she said, trying not to sound out of breath, which could be misinterpreted as nervousness and therefore weakness.
‘Stephanie, hi, it's Katie.’
There it was again, that unrepentant tone. What was wrong with the woman? Didn't she feel the tiniest bit ashamed of what she'd done — what she was still doing? ‘Hello,’ Stephanie said evenly. ‘Thank you for calling back.’
‘ That's OK. So… erm… it's great to talk to you.’
Maybe there's something wrong with her, Stephanie thought. She's bipolar or amnesiac or something. ‘Katie, maybe you didn't hear what I said before. I'm James's wife. I know about the two of you.’
She thought she heard Katie gulp. In fact she did but not for the reason she thought. Katie was, in fact, swigging from a bottle of Evian water as she spoke.
‘Of course you do. James told me he'd told you.’
Now Stephanie was really confused. And, what was more, she was growing irritated. This wasn't playing out in any of the ways she'd imagined. ‘James didn't tell me. I saw one of your text messages. Accidentally. I wasn't looking or anything.’ She didn't want this woman to think she was the jealous, irrational type.
Now it was Katie's turn to sound confused. ‘Well, maybe I've got it wrong. I thought he told me he'd told you himself because he didn't want you to hear anything on the grapevine, you know. In case you bumped into anybody you knew from up here and it was a bit awkward.’ Katie was beginning to wish she hadn't called back without talking to James first. Clearly Stephanie had issues. Maybe the break-up hadn't been as amicable as James had made out. In fact, she had tried to ring him, once Owen had left, but James, who must have had his hand up in the inside of a cow somewhere, hadn't answered. ‘Either way, I'm glad you do know. It's much more civilized that way, don't you think? Everything out in the open.’
‘That's all you can say? “I'm glad you do know,’” Stephanie snapped. ‘How about “sorry” or that you feel ashamed of yourself or something? You're fucking my husband after all.’
Katie flinched, as much from the language as
from the implication behind Stephanie's accusation. She rarely swore. She didn't believe it was necessary or, at least, only as a last resort. ‘Ex-husband,’ she said cautiously. Clearly Stephanie was a bit unhinged.
Stephanie stopped dead in her tracks. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said he's your ex-husband. The man I'm… the man I'm going out with. If you have a problem with that, then that's between you and him.’
‘He told you we're separated?’
‘Of course,’ Katie said anxiously. ‘You are, aren't you?’
‘No,’ Stephanie said. ‘Not the last time I looked, anyway.’
Katie felt as if she were falling down a rabbit hole. Wind rushed past her ears and the floor seemed to be slipping away from her. ‘What about Peter and Abi?’ she said, quietly.
‘Who?’
‘Peter and Abi. The people he lodges with when he's in London. What about the put-me-up and Abi's bad cooking and Peter's terrible jokes?’
‘I have no idea what you're talking about,’ Stephanie said. ‘When James is in London he lives with me. In our house. With our son.’
Katie knew all about denial. It was a defence mechanism that protected the deluded person from having to deal with the gravity of something that had happened to them, hopefully until they were strong enough to take the consequences. A year and a half seemed like a long time to still not be acknowledging that your husband had moved out though. She was sure she read somewhere in one of her many self-help books that you shouldn't indulge deluded people in their fantasies. She took a deep breath. ‘I'm really sorry, Stephanie, and know this must be hard for you to accept but James is with me now. There's nothing you can do to change what's happened. You have to move on.’
Stephanie felt a shot of adrenalin-fuelled oxygen flood her brain. This was like a bad dream. She had thought Katie might deny her involvement with James but what she had never — could never have — imagined was that Katie would actually deny Stephanie's relationship with him. She knew though, as soon as Katie spoke to her in that rather patronizing way, that Katie believed she was telling the truth. There was no doubt in Stephanie's mind that James had convinced his mistress that his marriage was over.
‘Katie,’ she said, trying to stay calm, ‘I don't know what James has told you… Well, actually I do. He's clearly told you that we're no longer together — but the truth is he's lying. He's deceiving me and he's clearly deceiving you…’
She stopped as Katie interrupted, her voice a little wobbly: ‘I have to go, Stephanie, I'm afraid. I have another client. It was nice to talk to you and I'm really sorry, I am, that you're finding it so hard.’
Katie had said goodbye and put the phone down before Stephanie had a chance to respond. She put her head in her hands. Now what?
10
Once she had ended the call Katie started to shake. She had so often fantasized about finally getting to speak to Stephanie and consolidating her new little family, but in none of those fantasies had it ever turned out like this. Stephanie had sounded, well, crazy; deluded and angry and accusatory all at the same time. Poor woman, Katie thought. I had no idea she was this unhappy. James had always made it sound as if Stephanie had been behind the split, as if she'd put her ambition before her marriage without a second thought.
I have to speak to James, she thought, picking up the phone again and calling his mobile. The call went straight to voicemail, as it so often did when he was working. She panicked a bit about leaving him a message, not wanting to worry him, so she settled for a warm, calm ‘Hello, lovely,’ followed by ‘Give me a ring if you get a moment,’ and left it at that. Hopefully he would call her back before he left for London because once he was there communication was always a bit more hit-and-miss. James had always told her that his phone got no reception at Peter and Abi's flat in Swiss Cottage and that in order to call her he had to risk life and limb climbing out on to their first-floor flat roof. There was no point her ever phoning him in the evenings therefore, and he had never got round to giving her Peter and Abi's home number. A hot arrow shot through her. She didn't even know their surname, she realized now, she had never thought to ask — why would she? — so she couldn't even ring 118118 and get their number for herself.
She reminded herself to breathe. Surely there couldn't be any truth in what Stephanie had been saying. No way was James living a double life. Hadn't he and Katie talked about the importance of honesty and respecting your partner, and hadn't he seemed as adamant as she was?
She jumped as her mobile rang. James. She hesitated for a moment before answering, not quite knowing what to say.
‘Did you call?’ he shouted, when she finally said hello. He sounded as if he was out in a field somewhere.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, as if she'd forgotten. ‘I just wanted to tell you to drive carefully.’
‘I always do,’ he said softly. ‘I'll call you when I get there.’
‘James,’ Katie said, before he could hang up, ‘I was wondering if you'd got Peter and Abi's home number yet. Do you remember I asked you for it before and you said you'd get it for me? Only it seems crazy that I can't call you in the evenings and I worry about you clambering around on that roof in the dark.’
‘God, I'm useless,’ he said convincingly. ‘I forgot. I'll try to remember tonight. But, you know, I don't really want to be disturbing them every five minutes with the phone going. They're putting themselves out for me enough already.’
‘Well, just for emergencies, then. Don't you think I should have a number for emergencies, you know, given your mobile reception's so bad?’
‘Of course. Look, I've got to go. I'll call you later.’ He hung up before she could say anything else.
Katie, who was unused to mistrusting people, who never questioned that what you saw on the surface was a true reflection of what was going on underneath, felt her legs go weak and sat down heavily at the table. Something wasn't right.
Later, when James phoned to say he had arrived safely, and then again that he was going to bed, she'd reminded him gently about getting her the number and he had swiftly changed the subject. She wondered how long he could keep this up. If she asked him every time they spoke, what excuse could he come up with over and over again? She wanted to think she was overreacting, that everything was fine, nothing to worry about, but it was beginning to seem unlikely.
‘What's Peter and Abi's surname?’ she asked him out of nowhere, trying to sound casual, when he called for the second time.
He answered without missing a beat: ‘Smith. Why do you keep asking me about them?’
‘Smith. Peter and Abi Smith. Or did she keep her own name?’
‘I'm going to bed now, goodnight.’
‘Night, darling,’ Katie said sadly. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Do you have an address?’ the friendly sounding man at 118118 asked her. ‘Only there are a lot of Smiths.’
‘Swiss Cottage somewhere, I don't know.’
‘Postcode?’
‘Sorry. NW something, I suppose.’
He sighed. ‘I have seventy-six P. Smiths in northwest London. Plus eighteen Peters. What would you like to do?’
Katie knew she was defeated. ‘Nothing. Thank you.’
Smith, thought James, had been a stroke of genius. He had no idea why Katie was suddenly so interested in Peter and Abi but he also knew she didn't have a suspicious cell in her body. She had never been one of those women who asked where you'd been if you were home five minutes late, or quizzed you about what you got up to when you were away. Come to think of it, Stephanie was the same, he realized, and felt a rarely acknowledged spasm of guilt. There was no getting away from it: he couldn't take any pleasure in deceiving two women who were so easily deceived, who loved him enough to truly trust him.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He felt confident that Katie wasn't trying to catch him out. He could come up with a plausible reason why Peter and Abi didn't want him to give out their number to anyone even for emergencies.
They were on witness protection? Hiding from debt collectors? Had recently changed their number to avoid nuisance calls from violent ex-lovers and been advised by the police not to give it out to anyone, whoever they were? No, it would have to be more prosaic than that, but he would come up with something and fortunately — or maybe unfortunately — Katie being Katie would believe whatever he told her.
In fact Katie was struggling to decide just what to believe. There was no doubt that James was hiding something from her. She just wasn't sure she wanted to accept exactly what that something was. Maybe she should have heard Stephanie out at least, given her the benefit of the doubt. She wondered whether she should call her back, although it was hard to imagine what she could say: ‘OK, so I know I basically accused you of being delusional but now I'd like to indulge you in that delusion for a while, then decide once and for all whether or not I believe you,’ was hardly going to win Stephanie round. And, anyway, it was half past ten at night: she couldn't call her now and risk waking her up. Stephanie had a young son — presumably she had to be up at the crack of dawn to get him off to school so she was bound to go to bed early. It would have to wait until morning. That gave her the whole night to decide exactly how she felt. James would ring her as soon as he got to the surgery, as he always did. She would try to think of one more way to challenge him, another question that he would struggle to answer. Then she'd know.
‘I've had an idea,’ she said, when she answered the phone the following morning. She had been up since six, too unhappy to sleep. ‘I was thinking maybe I could come down to London tomorrow night. Book a hotel so it wouldn't be a problem for Peter and Abi. It would be like a holiday.’
She heard James gulp. ‘Really? But that's crazy. I mean, I'd hardly see you. I spend all Saturday with Finn, remember.’
Katie knew in an instant that what Stephanie had told her was the truth. She tried one last shot. ‘But we'd have the evenings and Sunday morning —’
