by Fallon, Jane
James didn't reply. Instead, as soon as he had got his breath back, he stood up and started shouting encouragement to Finn, who turned round, beaming, when he heard his father's voice, his anger forgotten in that way children have of being able to be so instantly forgiving. They didn't speak again until the end of the match when Finn came running over — buoyant from a five to four victory — flung himself at his father and asked him if he was coming over for tea.
Stephanie noticed James cast a nervous glance her way. ‘Oh, no, I don't think —’ he started to say, and Stephanie interrupted. It would make Finn happy and in some way compensate for his earlier disappointment.
‘I'm sure Daddy would love that, if he doesn't have anything else to do,’ she said, and managed a smile.
James smiled back gratefully. ‘I don't. I don't have anything to do.’
Stephanie thought he seemed rather subdued during their — very early — supper. She was hoping to have the meal over by six, and then she could hide in the living room while James and Finn chased each other round the garden for a couple of hours before he headed back to the Travel Motel. He was making jokes with Finn, going over their old rehearsed routines, which made the two of them crack up but which left pretty much everyone else cold, but it didn't seem like his heart was quite in them. Finn didn't notice, of course, so overexcited was he that his father had witnessed him deliver the crucial cross which had spawned the third goal, but Stephanie had an inkling something was wrong — something more than his usual woes, that was — and that whatever it was he was going to want to share it with her. She wasn't sure she could face dealing with whatever new problems James perceived he had: she had enough on her own plate, trying to find a suitable time and occasion to tell Michael the good news. She had been putting it off. She didn't know why.
By seven thirty Finn was exhausted and ready for bed, and it was apparent that James was going nowhere. Reluctantly she opened a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and offered him a glass.
‘I may as well drink the whole bottle. I don't have to get up for work in the morning,’ he said, with a grim laugh, and then he waited for her to ask him what he meant, which, of course, she did.
As soon as James got to the part about Charles Sullivan's aide, Stephanie knew where the story was going. ‘Was it a woman?’ she asked.
‘Was what a woman?’ James said, evidently confused by this detour.
‘His aide. Was the person who phoned up a woman, do you know?’
James's brow furrowed into several long creases. ‘It was, I think. What's that got to do with anything?’
Stephanie knew she couldn't tell him. Or, at least, if she ever did she needed to think it through very carefully first. ‘I just wondered, that's all. Anyway, carry on.’
When he got to the point where Harry had sacked him Stephanie exhaled loudly. OK, so this had gone too far. Apart from anything else James being completely out of work would affect both her and, more importantly, Finn.
‘I don't know what I'm going to do,’ James said plaintively, and he looked so pathetic that all she felt for him was pity.
‘I guess we'll have to sell the house after all,’ she said, and James looked like he might burst into tears. ‘Buy two smaller places.’
‘No. I've told you that's not going to happen. That's not why I'm telling you. I'm going to sort myself out, I promise.’
He carried on with his story, getting to the part where he had shouted at Harry as he ran down the street to get to Finn's game. Stephanie couldn't help but laugh at the way he described Harry's open-mouthed stare. ‘Did you really tell him to go fuck himself?’
‘I did.’
‘About time, I reckon.’
‘He was gesticulating like he wanted to kill me but he had someone's Chihuahua in his hand, so it kind of looked less macho than he was hoping, I think,’ James said, laughing himself.
‘You should talk to the police. Tell them he was threatening you with it. That's a lethal weapon.’
‘It had a pink jumper on,’ he added, helpless now. ‘And nail varnish. I distinctly saw that the dog had nail varnish on. Also pink.’
Stephanie wiped her eyes. ‘It was probably going in for a nose job.’
‘Breast augmentation,’ James said. ‘All eight of them.’
‘Do you want another glass of wine?’ Stephanie said, and then wondered where that had come from.
‘Thank you,’ he said, holding out his glass for her to fill.
As soon as James had left — nearly two and a half hours later, and for all that time they had chatted and laughed and he had exhibited a remarkable lack of self-pity — Stephanie tried to call Katie. What she had done was beyond belief. OK, so they had both agreed that James had to pay. She flushed as she reminded herself that it had all been her idea. Well, Natasha had started her off thinking that way, to be fair, and she wasn't exactly sure how she felt about Natasha and her advice at the moment. She forced herself not to think about the way she had spoken to her friend. At this rate there wouldn't be anything left she could think about that didn't make her feel uncomfortable.
Katie's mobile rang and rang, and eventually went to voicemail. Stephanie left a message, trying to sound much friendlier than she felt because she wanted to make sure that Katie called her back. ‘Hi, it's Stephanie, call me! We haven't had a chat for ages.’ Then she did the same with Katie's home phone. An hour later she tried both again and the same thing happened. She left more messages, this time saying Katie wasn't to worry how late it was — if she could still call Stephanie back this evening that would be wonderful, thank you. She left her mobile on her bedside table and went to bed angry.
She slept badly. She felt panicked about what Katie might do next. The woman had clearly lost her mind and had no intention of stopping. Paying James back was one thing. Completely ruining his life was quite another. Stephanie had always believed that the punishment had to fit the crime. She had wanted James humiliated, like he had made her feel humiliated. She had wanted to make him feel hurt and ashamed and regretful. But the truth was that both she and Katie had been able to pick up the pieces of their lives. Whatever he had done to them, they still had their work and their homes and their friends. They still had foundations to build on. It was simply too much to strip James of everything he'd had in his life, to leave him with nothing. Not to mention the fact that to hurt James like this would inevitably hurt Finn too. Finn, who had already all but lost his father, would probably also lose his home and the garden he loved. Of course they could manage somewhere smaller, the house was too big for the two of them really, but that wasn't the point. The point was that at the moment what Finn needed was some stability in his life.
At six thirty she got up and made herself a cup of tea and tried to find displacement activities to stop herself from dialling Katie's number too early. She made a lot of noise hoovering outside Finn's room so that he got up and came out to see what was going on. By the time she had dropped him off at school and returned home it was gone nine. A respectable hour to call someone.
Once again Katie's phones rang and rang with no response. Stephanie had convinced herself in the night that Katie was actually avoiding her and could now picture her standing, mobile in hand, checking who was calling before she decided whether or not to answer. She left two strained, polite messages, which didn't sound quite as jolly as she'd managed to sound yesterday: ‘Katie, I really want to talk to you, you know, just to see how you are. Call me back.’ This was crazy. Katie could avoid answering the phone to her for the rest of her life if she put her mind to it. There had to be something else she could do.
By the time James had got home — well, to the Travel Motel which was the closest thing he had to a home, these days — he'd felt a little bit worse for wear, having had four glasses of wine, but surprisingly cheerful for a man who had just lost his job. Stephanie had cheered him up, just as he had dared hope she might. A couple of hours’ laughing about the tragedy of the situation he found himsel
f in had made him feel like a different person.
48
Finally Katie could stand it no more. She was exhausted getting up at five thirty to put on her makeup and do her hair so that Owen could more or less ignore her at the bus stop. It was time to bring things to a head. Stanley, who now thought this was his permanent new routine, was waiting patiently by the front door at ten past six, lead hanging down from either side of his floppy mouth. Katie made sure she had change — eighty pence, she thought it was, and then, of course, another eighty pence for the return journey. She didn't think she would have to pay for the dog. Owen would have no escape: when he got on the bus so would she.
She picked up her mobile, which she had turned off last night, and decided not to switch it on again. Stephanie had been leaving messages for her, which had made her nervous. It wasn't what she said, all of which sounded perfectly friendly, it was the way she had said it, the strain Katie could hear in her voice, the almost imperceptible undertone of annoyance. And Katie knew why. Stephanie would be cross with her that she hadn't consulted her before she phoned the surgery. She had meant to ring her about it but when she'd had the idea she'd just had to get on and do it. She had always been impulsive. Besides, she'd had a feeling that Stephanie might disapprove and try to talk her out of it. Stephanie had been disapproving a lot lately. And, anyway, as far as Katie was concerned, Stephanie would never have told her what had happened to the dog if she hadn't subconsciously wanted her to do something about it. She'd leave it a few days before she called her back, let her cool off a bit.
She flapped along the lane in her pink flip-flops, her long skirt trailing a little in the dirt. Owen had once said to her that he preferred earthy women, not like his ex-wife Miriam, with her blow-dried hair and her clicky court shoes. He liked women who were concerned with more important things than their appearance or, at least, the cost and label of their clothes. Real women. Women, he had intimated, like Katie, nurturing, maternal, soft. Today she had left her long hair down, curling round her shoulders. She wore the dangly silver and jade earrings he had admired once and a halter top with no bra, which was maybe pushing it a bit at her age but which was sure to get his attention. It was cold out so she put her baby pink hoody over the top. She could take it off just before she rounded the corner by Owen's bus stop.
As it was, she was early and he wasn't there, so she had to walk round the block in order to be casually passing when he arrived. The timing was crucial — too early and she would have to go round again, a minute late and he'd be on the bus and out of sight. As she came back round she caught sight of his green padded jacket and her heart jolted. God, she really had it bad. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. Look casual, she thought.
Owen was gazing fixedly up the road in the direction the bus would be coming from. ‘Hi,’ she said, to get his attention, and he turned round slowly, not exactly looking, she thought, either surprised or pleased to see her.
‘Hi,’ he said, in a flat voice, and turned away again, obviously expecting her to keep walking.
OK, she thought, this might be harder than I was hoping. She sat down on the wooden bench next to him. ‘How have you been?’ she said.
Owen turned round to face her reluctantly. ‘Fine.’
‘I miss our sessions,’ Katie said. ‘I was wondering if you'd thought about coming back.’
‘I don't have time.’
‘I do evenings now. And weekends. I'm opening up a proper spa in the old vet's surgery.’
‘Good for you,’ he said, sounding genuine. ‘I know that's what you've always wanted.’
He was definitely thawing, Katie thought, even if he hadn't bitten her hand off to come back for more acupuncture. The bus rounded the corner and Owen stood up. Katie stood too, change in hand.
‘Well, ’bye then,’ Owen said, as he boarded the bus.
Katie followed. ‘Oh, I'm coming too. I've got something I need to do in town.’ As soon as she'd said it she realized how lame it sounded. What in the world could she have to do in Lincoln at half past six in the morning? ‘Swimming,’ she added quickly. ‘I'm going to the leisure centre. They open really early, these days, for people before they go to work, you know.’
Owen looked at her sceptically. ‘With Stanley?’
‘He waits outside. They have a bit where you can leave your dog…’ She tailed off. It sounded ridiculous. She was so obviously lying. Owen sat at the back of the bus and she sat down next to him. She had him captive for eighteen minutes. She decided to go in for the kill.
‘Actually, Owen, I was thinking I should take you up on that offer of dinner.’
‘Dinner?’
She couldn't work out if he had really forgotten or if he was being deliberately obtuse. He was still angry with her, obviously. Maybe he just wanted to make her suffer a little.
‘You said you wanted to take me out to dinner — don't you remember? To say thank you for being patient while you paid me back.’ Owen had been pushing envelopes of cash through her door regularly — always when she was out — and only had another twenty pounds to go before his debt was cleared completely.
‘You and James,’ he said. ‘I offered to take you and James out to dinner.’
God, he was being difficult. ‘Well, obviously that's not going to happen now. So I thought you could just take me. It was me you owed anyway,’ she added, sounding a bit sharper than she'd meant to. Why couldn't he just say yes?
‘Sorry, Katie, I don't think my girlfriend would like it.’
Katie felt as if she'd been punched. She tried — almost successfully — to keep the shock from showing on her face. ‘Your girlfriend?’
Owen smiled a smile so nervous that she knew he had worked out exactly how much this would hurt her and was worried by it. ‘Danielle Robinson. She lives in the village. Do you know her?’
Katie did. Danielle Robinson was a plain, inoffensive girl — well, woman actually, she was in her thirties — who worked at the doctor's surgery. Surely offered a choice between her and Katie, Owen wouldn't hesitate.
‘Oh, well, I'm sure she'll understand. It's not like you're engaged or anything, is it? I mean, how long have you been seeing her for?’
‘A couple of months,’ Owen said, and Katie nearly fell off her seat. Two months? All this time she'd been getting up at half past five and prancing about in front of Owen at the bus stop he'd been seeing someone else? ‘And yes,’ he continued, ‘she would understand because she's kind and caring and not at all possessive, but I still wouldn't feel right about it. Sorry.’
‘But she's so… ordinary,’ Katie blurted out. This was ridiculous. Owen had always had a massive crush on her, she knew it.
He looked at her pityingly. ‘God, Katie, what's happened to you? I always thought you were such a sweet woman. I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through, I really am, but don't let it change who you are.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Katie got up and rang the bell.
‘I thought you were going to the leisure centre,’ Owen called after her, as she made her way down the aisle.
‘I've changed my mind,’ she shouted back, pulling hard on Stanley's lead to make him hurry up.
Once off the bus she crossed the road looking for where she could get the bus to take her back to where she had come from. How dare he lecture her like that? What did Owen, of all people, know about how to be a good person? The man who had thrown his wife's Moorcroft vase through her conservatory window and done God knows what to a joint of pork. The man who had confided in her that he was harbouring elaborate fantasies about how to get back at his wife and her lover. In an instant her crush on him had dissipated and she felt sick thinking of how she had chased after him so blatantly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. As soon as she turned it on it beeped. Another new message from Stephanie, saying, ‘Call me.’ It must have arrived after she had switched off the phone last night. Then it rang telling her it was her voicemail.
She listened long enough to hear Stephanie's voice and then turned it off again. She didn't need this now.
49
Every time she finished a glass of champagne some passing waiter filled it again until Stephanie had absolutely no idea how many she'd had but what she did know was that the room was spinning and that she really needed to drink some water before she either passed out or made a fool of herself or both. Meredith had taken her by surprise when she'd asked to her go to the soap awards as her guest. Natasha would have had a field day going on and on about Stephanie being Meredith's new girlfriend and what should she wear to the wedding but, of course, Stephanie hadn't told her about it because she had been avoiding her, which hadn't been easy, given that they worked in the same office. Stephanie had spent the week working from home or visiting clients in their houses, leaving the occasional curt message on the office answerphone for Natasha, asking her to do something or other.
When Meredith had called, she had thought, What the hell? It wasn't as if her calendar was bursting with social engagements and she might pick up some new clients (she wasn't sure how, going up to people randomly and saying, ‘You look awful, have you ever considered using a stylist’ maybe). Besides, Michael was going to be there as one of the official photographers, snapping the happy winners with their trophies, so she could always sit backstage with him and pretend to be his assistant if she felt like it.
She had finally told him last night that she thought he was right — it was time they moved in together.
‘Really?’ Michael had said, his smile taking over his entire face. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘I just have to clear it with Finn,’ Stephanie had said, smiling at his reaction.
‘Of course. And, of course, if he feels it's too soon, we can wait. Whatever he wants.’
He wanted everything to be exactly right and everyone to be happy. He'd been ecstatic, ordering a bottle of champagne and squeezing her hand. It had felt good to be the person who had made him so happy.
