Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck it from a fucking height, I think, frantically trying to scheme a plausible way out of this.
‘A playwright?’ Billy says, looking at me.
‘But then the strangest thing of all,’ says Gel-Head, even though I’m avidly willing him to shut the fuck up, right NOW. ‘After you left our house, I went out too ’cos I was going to buy the lads a few more tins of beer from the offie down the road. And I saw you getting into a taxi and scooting off. You told us you were canvassing, yet ours seemed to be the only door you knocked at. Bonkers carry-on, I thought.’
They’re both staring at me now, and I need to come up with something feasible. Fast.
‘Oh, it’s all very straightforward, really . . .’ I start to lie, but Gel-Head isn’t letting me off any hooks.
‘I know the way campaigning works,’ he says. ‘I’ve done enough of it myself, in my time. What I couldn’t figure out was how did you manage to get my housemate’s name and address in the first place? Our house isn’t even on Google Maps.’
‘Yeah,’ says Billy slowly. ‘How did you get the address, Meg? And why did you say you were canvassing, when you weren’t?’
Frantically, palms sweating, I’m try to downplay the whole thing.
‘As a matter of fact,’ I’m stammer, ‘I’m working on a project that I needed to speak to your housemate about, and I happened to get his address from his agent. And that’s all there is to it,’ I half smile at the two of them, praying they’ll drop it now.
‘Oh really?’ says Gel-Head, folding his arms. ‘Well, I for one would love to know how you managed that feat. Because Jonny doesn’t have an agent anymore. He got fired, and that was long before he moved into where we’re living now.’
My mouth opens as if to say something. But for once in my life, nothing comes out. Not a single word.
Gel-Head looks triumphantly at me.
‘You two work together?’ he asks Billy, who nods yes.
‘Sounds like your playwright pal here has one or two questions to answer,’ he shrugs, before drifting off. Which is when Billy rounds in on me.
‘Never knew playwriting was one of your many talents,’ he says icily, ‘but there you go, you live and learn, don’t you?’
From the microphone at the top of the room, Katherine Sisk is still being praised to the heights in the most glowing terms imaginable.
But I’m not listening.
All I can think is – I’ve got out of tight spots before. I’ve done it many, many times, and you know what? I’ll do it again.
I look up at Billy, desperately trying to read his face, but it’s impossible.
‘Meg,’ Billy says slowly, really eyeballing me. ‘It’s as plain as the nose on your face that you stole that address from the electoral database, so you needn’t bother trying to get out of it. Just tell me this much, will you? Why? Why did you do it?’
‘Do what?’ My instant reaction. Buys time, if only seconds.
‘Oh for God’s sake, you can drop the act. You were told that we can’t break the law, and you still went ahead and did anyway. Don’t you get it? I don’t give a toss about that bunch of guys you called to see today, or your reasons why. Nor do I care about Katherine’s reasons for hiring you, although I have my suspicions. It’s her private business and nothing to do with me. All I care about is that it looks suspiciously like you appropriated a private residential address using government databases and then used it to your own ends.’
‘But even if I did, would that be so awful?’ I stutter. ‘I mean, why are you acting like this? Like I just ran rampage through the streets with a machine gun? We’re talking about one address here, one lousy little address! Why are you making such a big deal about nothing? The election is on Monday – don’t you have other things to worry about?’
‘So that stack of USB sticks I found at your workstation was just a wild coincidence, was it?’ Billy persists. ‘It wasn’t like you intended to download the whole database?’
‘I already told you . . .’ I start to say, but then I break off as my mind goes blank. Jesus, I think wildly. What exactly did I say to get out of that one? Which lie did I tell?
I start to clutch at straws.
‘Look, here’s the truth,’ I tell him, inventing on the spot. ‘Believe it or not, I actually am a huge fan of Jonny Featherstone-Jones’s, I’ve seen him in a few shows over the years, and I suppose I just have this embarrassing little crush on him, that’s all. So when I spotted his name and address on that database, I just acted on it. It was a stupid fangirl moment, and nothing more . . .’
‘You’re something else, you know that, Meg?’ Billy says, shaking his head disgustedly. ‘Like you really think there’s one rule for you and an entirely different one for everyone else.’
I’m about to fight back, I’m about to say something, anything, when out of the corner of my eye, I see someone very, very familiar heading this way. The very person I’ve been trying to avoid ever since I got here, and the very last person I want to have to face.
Thank you, Universe, I think, as the power of speech seems to desert me. Just what I need to turn this horrible evening into Dante’s Ninth Circle of Hell.
‘Meg? I thought it was you.’
Harriet. With Freddie and her mother lagging not too far behind, all three of them glaring daggers at me.
‘Just give me a minute with her alone,’ I overhear her saying to her mum and Freddie, before she effectively corners me.
‘Hi,’ is all I can think to say to her, as just then, Katherine’s introduction is done and there’s a thunderous round of applause to welcome her up to the podium.
‘I suppose it’s hardly surprising to see you here,’ Harriet says, quite assertively for her. ‘Still working for Ellen de Courcey then, are you? Still hoping to break me and Freddie up? Best of luck with that.’
So she knows then, I think, in a pool of panic. She knows everything and it’s game over.
There’s loud clapping and the cheering is almost raucous and suddenly I need to get out of here. I need air. I need to think.
‘I know you and I should probably talk,’ I almost have to yell at Harriet to be heard over the din. ‘Can we step outside?’
Harriet gives a tiny nod to her mother and Freddie, as much as to say, it’s OK, I’ll be fine in a one-on-one with this witch from hell. Then she follows me out onto a terrace area, through French doors that open directly from the ballroom. There’s a few hardy cigarette smokers having a puff outside, but other than that, we’re pretty much in private. It’s cool and quiet, and all you can hear is the muffled sound of Katherine launching into her big speech inside.
Now there’s silence, as Harriet glares hotly at me and I wonder who’ll blink first. I eye her up and, I have to say, she really looks well tonight; she’s in a pale blue dress and with the long, fair hair swishing around her shoulders and just a little make-up, the overall effect is . . . well, all in all, pretty wow, actually.
The expression on her face tells a very different story though.
‘Meg,’ she says, folding her arms and rounding in on me, ‘I know. I know all about you. And about Ellen de Courcey too. And how you wrangled your way into that insane flat in return for . . . how should we put it? “Services rendered”? Too bad the service rendered was getting rid of me, wasn’t it? And too bad that I found out all about it. And too bad that Freddie knows all about it now, and too bad for you that we intend to do something about it.’
Well, well, well, I think, impressed in spite of myself. Harriet grows a spine. Finally. After all this time.
Funnily, I actually prefer her like this. Spunkier. Feistier. There’s metal in her core now that was never there before.
‘Have you any idea of what you’ve put me through?’ Harriet says, her anger levels starting to rise now that there’s no risk of us being overheard.
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Well then, let me enlighten you. Because
I trusted you, Meg. I believed you. I thought of you as a pal, a real friend. But all that time we spent together? That was just a job for you. A gig. As far as you were concerned, I was just collateral damage to be dispatched and bundled out of the country just as soon as you could!’
I look Harriet up and down and weigh up how best to handle her. Gently, I figure, is probably the best option. A bit like the way you’d treat a hysterical child.
‘You want an apology,’ I say soothingly. ‘And, of course, you’re probably entitled to one. Because yes, Harriet, I’m guilty as charged. Guilty as hell. You got me. And the killer is, I thought of you as a friend too. That, believe it or not, is actually me being truthful.’
‘So this is how you treat your friends?’ she says furiously.
‘I did you a kindness,’ I tell her. ‘If you’d just cool down and think for two seconds, then you’ll soon realise you should actually be thanking me.’
At that, she almost splutters. ‘Did I just hear you right? You’re admitting to all of this and you honestly expect me to thank you?’
‘Harriet, yes. I did you a favour. When you’ve really given it thought, in time, you’ll come to see the truth of what I’m saying. Because that’s the thing about what I do. Actually, I did you the greatest service possible.’
‘You’re insane,’ Harriet says, shaking her head. ‘I almost want to drag my mam and Freddie and the rest of my family out here so they can hear this conversation for themselves. Although even then, none of them would believe it. You’re a psychopath,’ she insists firmly. ‘An out-and-out psycho.’
‘You’re not seeing the bigger picture,’ I reply, quite calmly. ‘You’re just shocked, that’s all. But don’t you realise that your life is so much better off because of me?’
‘You manipulated me, you lied to me so many times I’ve lost count, and you think I’m better off? Meg, are you hearing yourself? Are you actually aware of what you’re saying?’
I sigh. This evening has been vile enough without having to deal with histrionics, thanks very much. ‘What I’m trying to explain, you silly woman, is that when I first met you, you were in a dead-end job in a shithole dump, working for buttons. You didn’t even realise who Freddie de Courcey was, and you’d been seeing him for weeks at that stage! And look at you now. That job I encouraged you to take? Best thing that could possibly have happened to you. Now, you’re a successful person who can hold her head up high, career-wise. You’ll walk into a far better job – oh, still in your precious charity sector – but as someone who’s headed up a huge initiative in the developing world, along with the budget to go with it.’
‘You’re mad,’ Harriet says, white-faced. ‘You’re completely off-your-head . . . In fact, I can’t stay here for one second longer. I won’t listen to this. You’re toxic, you’re poisonous.’
She marches back to the terrace doors, then stops abruptly and turns around to face me, as though something just struck her.
‘Of course, you do know,’ she says, ‘that the laugh really is on you, Meg.’
‘You think so?’
‘Well, see for yourself,’ Harriet says. ‘You set out to break up a couple and you couldn’t. Not even after a full year apart. Not even after all your lies and your machinations and your scheming and your deception. You couldn’t do it, Meg. You failed, and now we’re on to you. I’m not the only one whose life you’re manipulating, I know that. And I’m going to make sure that you can’t deceive anyone else the way you deceived me. So it was all for nothing.’
I let her enjoy her little ‘comeuppance’ speech, before following her back inside.
*
Did I really think the evening had been a nightmare up till now?
Turns out that was only the warm-up act.
I step back through the terrace doors and they’re all here, like they’ve been standing waiting for me. Harriet’s parents, Carole and Sean, those oafish twin brothers of hers, Jack and Terry. Billy’s here too, along with that idiot with the gelled head of hair . . . what was his name? Carl James. But front and centre, with his arms folded and a face like thunder, is Freddie de Courcey himself. Like they’ve all come to witness a public stoning.
I remember the following, in no particular order. I remember hearing Katherine Sisk’s voice, ringing out loud and clear over the microphone, as her speech reached its climax. She was talking about climate change when Freddie stepped forward to speak to me.
‘I’d like you to leave my home,’ he said, in a strong, clear, assertive voice. So completely unlike him, I remember thinking. ‘To say you’re not welcome here is the understatement of the year.’
I remember not being able to breathe and feeling like my face was suddenly on fire.
‘Now, please,’ Freddie insisted. ‘Surely even you realise that your presence here is an insult?’
So many faces, all glowering at me, wanting me gone. I remember the room starting to come in and out of hazy focus, as the blood left my legs.
I remember feeling so weak, I had to grip onto the wall behind me, right at the edge of the ballroom, to try and inch my way out of there.
Shock. This was total, undiluted shock, so severe I honestly didn’t know whether to throw up or pass out.
I particularly remember Carole Waters. Ordinarily, she was a perfectly friendly, warm-hearted woman, but not now.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you,’ she said furiously as I passed her, ‘after what you put my daughter through. After all your lies and your deceit . . .’
But then, most surprisingly of all, I remember Harriet actually sticking up for me.
‘Leave her, Mam, this isn’t the time. Can’t you see she’s not well? Meg, Meg, can you hear me? You look like you’re going to faint.’
I don’t faint though. Instead, I feel a strong arm grabbing me by the elbow – a man’s arm – supporting me, and steering me through the crowd in the ballroom and on out to the main hallway. Whoever this was then firmly ushered me out the main entrance door, to the cool chill of the summery night air. And I remember looking up to see that it was Freddie.
‘Now leave this house,’ he says firmly, as a taxi crunches up the gravel driveway. ‘And if you even think about contacting my girlfriend or her family again, be well warned, I will refer this matter straight to the police.’
I remember taking one final glance back at the house, as I’m bundled into the back seat of the taxi, weak as a kitten, my mind in total and utter meltdown.
Last thing I remember of all?
Ellen de Courcey wheeling herself out to the top of the steps, sitting in her wheelchair, like a queen on a throne. And even though it was pitch-dark, there was no mistaking the look in those cold, flinty eyes as she stared haughtily down at me.
And before or since, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my entire life.
SATURDAY
Chapter Forty-Two
Meg
The morning after the night before, and it’s like doors have started closing in my face. That’s the only way I can describe what seems to be playing out. Literally, overnight. Nothing but a long line of doors being slammed in my face, one after the other.
I start with Katherine Sisk. Call her. Am ignored. Call her again, and again and again. Nothing. So I email and text, still nothing. So I decide to visit Government Buildings, where I don’t even make it past security. Instead I’m told that my ‘access all areas’ lanyard pass has been revoked, and that’s the end of that. It’s the weekend, but the election is on Monday and I know for certain they’re all there and working flat out today.
I try my best to argue it with the guard on duty.
‘I’m Meg Monroe,’ I tell him, ‘and I’m working on a project for Senator Sisk. I’m sure she’s probably out of the office just now, but could I possibly leave a message for her, please? Or better yet, could I just run up to her office for two minutes? I promise, that’s all it’ll take.’
‘I’m afrai
d I don’t have the authorisation to allow you inside. Security concerns, you understand.’
Yeah, but security never stopped me getting in before, I want to scream, but I know I’m wasting my time.
It gets worse. As the weekend wears on, it’s just one call after another from the few clients I thought I’d managed to hold onto. Each and every one telling me that my ‘services are no longer required’. Even Raymond Sandros, the client I was working for when I went to see Jonny Featherstone-Jones, and first met that Gel-Head moron who started all this, calls me to cancel.
This is Ellen de Courcey’s doing, I’m sure of it. It was Ellen de Courcey pretty much deciding that enough was enough and that my number was up. Maybe because she couldn’t handle seeing her precious Freddie happily reunited with Harriet at the fundraiser. Maybe because I’d caused a scene at her fancy benefit. Maybe because of a whole lot of things.
By the end of the loneliest and probably the most dismal weekend I can remember in a long, long time, all I know is this. It’s over. This time, it really, truly feels like it’s over.
Monday comes and goes. Election Day. The election which Katherine Sisk wins, as it happens, and by a large landslide. Which means that Jess is more or less dispatched to Brussels and my work is almost done.
Almost.
I wait a few days for the dust to settle and, indeed, for the celebrations to be over among Katherine’s team, then I call to her constituency office, hoping to take advantage of the fact that things should be a little calmer there now.
I buzz on the street intercom, but this time, shock horror, I’m actually given the time of day. Someone I’ve never met before, a new intern, I’m guessing, opens the door. She’s a glossy-looking woman about my own age who clearly has no idea who I am.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m Meg Monroe and I really need to speak to Senator Sisk urgently. I know she’s working hard, but if you could just let her know I need to see her.’
‘I’m afraid the Senator is in meetings right now,’ is the only response I get though.
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