by Jane Fallon
Dee has decided to take the day off and go with him, although only as far as the front door and then she’ll wait in the café round the corner. If Hugh agrees to step out for a coffee with Gavin they will sit at a different table and she’ll pretend to read a book while earwigging. If there’s no other table free she will offer them hers saying she is just leaving, and then lurk about in nearby Fitzroy Square until Gavin gives her the all-clear.
The pair of them are like a couple of children who’ve overdone it on the tartrazine when we meet up to talk about it in the bar at the end of my road.
‘How are you going to persuade him to see you in the first place?’
‘I’m going to be honest,’ Gavin says, fingers scrabbling round in a packet of dry roasted peanuts. ‘How will he be able to resist when I tell him Roz has been claiming to be married to him for the last few years? I’ll tell him I thought he ought to know. Man to man, like.’
‘Clearly she only spins this story at work,’ Dee says. This had never occurred to me. Obviously Roz couldn’t be telling her friends and family the same set of lies because they would know immediately that it wasn’t true. ‘So he probably has no idea. That’s what we figure, anyway.’
A lightbulb goes off in my head. ‘That’s why she does the whole thing about not putting anything personal on Facebook.’
‘Exactly. Why would Mrs Oversharer Show-Off not be boasting to her whole circle of acquaintances every chance she got? Because they’d know it was bollocks.’
‘What are you going to do if he’s not in the office? If he’s on holiday, or he’s off sick? You’ll have taken the day off for nothing.’
‘Go shopping,’ Dee says with a big smile. ‘Or to the British Museum or the cinema. Who cares?’
‘OK, so let’s assume he decides to hear you out. What then?’
Gavin rifles round in his jacket pocket and produces a scrappy bit of paper. ‘We came up with a list of questions.’
‘We sat up till two o’clock this morning writing these,’ Dee says proudly, snatching the paper out of his hand. She hands it to me. ‘What do you think?’
I can’t concentrate at work the next day, thinking about what’s happening and the many ways it might backfire. Dee and Gavin’s plan is to turn up at Fitzrovia PR close to lunchtime – not too close that Hugh might have already gone somewhere to eat, but close enough so that he can’t make the excuse that he can’t leave the office. Of course, I pointed out that he could have a lunch date or back-to-back meetings, but they didn’t really care. The whole thing has turned into a big adventure for the two of them. It has a significance way beyond the actual task.
Of course I stayed awake half the night picturing Hugh, righteously angry on Roz’s behalf, calling her up straightaway to tell her I’ve set two weirdos on him to investigate her. Her going straight to HR to put in a formal complaint about me. Glen having to break it to me that I haven’t passed my probation. Is it a sackable offence to enlist two middle-aged idiots to pry into a colleague’s personal life? I almost texted Dee this morning to call the whole thing off. Nothing they found out from Hugh about Roz would help me defeat her anyway. Surely.
In the end I decided to throw caution to the wind. Curiosity about the extent of Roz’s lies has won out. I’m both appalled and fascinated that I have no idea who she really is. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that I make up stories for a living, but I need to know what the ending is.
She’s all smiles this morning. No idea about what’s happening a few miles down the road in Fitzrovia. No idea how much I know about her already. She’s covering the studio and I can see her and Lorraine both gathering up their stuff to head down there, in the guise of Lorraine shadowing her as part of her training, but really, I have no doubt, so that they can sit there and gossip all day, and Roz can show off to a captive audience – but I have other ideas. Emma called me earlier to say she was staying home with a cold. Someone needs to answer the phones.
‘Lorraine,’ I call as I see them getting ready to leave. She stops in her tracks. ‘You need to cover for Emma today, I’m afraid.’
She grimaces. Looks at Roz as if hoping she’ll step in and save her. ‘Why?’
‘She’s had to stay at home.’ I smile apologetically, as if I hate to have to ask her.
‘God, don’t tell me,’ Roz pipes up. ‘She’s sick. Again.’
In so far as I can remember Emma has taken maybe four impromptu days off because of illness in the three years I’ve worked here.
‘It’s hardly a regular occurrence,’ I say.
‘I don’t see how it’s my job,’ Lorraine says, emboldened by Roz’s attitude.
I almost laugh. ‘Whose job do you think it is, just out of interest? Mine? Juliet’s? Joe’s? Or shall I see if Glen’s free?’
Lorraine rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘It’s a genuine question. Someone needs to cover for Emma today and if you think it’s beneath you then who else would you suggest?’
She dumps her bag on her desk. ‘That’s not what I was saying. I just meant no one has ever told me I’d be expected to cover for Emma if she decided to have an unscheduled day off, that’s all.’
‘I think decided is the wrong word.’
‘I’m not a secretary,’ Lorraine says imperiously.
‘No,’ I say, adopting a sterner tone. Everything else aside, her attitude is appalling. ‘You’re not an anything yet. You’re a trainee.’
‘Ha! That told you,’ Roz shrieks and I’m reminded of how we used to delight in moments like these. Something we could dissect over lunch, making each other cry with laughter as we relived the moment. I feel a sudden pang of sadness for the loss of my friend.
Lorraine seems to realize that she’s lost the war. She grabs her bag again, huffs over to Emma’s desk and slumps down.
‘I don’t even know how to put calls through,’ she says sulkily.
‘Well, then now’s the time to learn,’ I say, smiling. ‘If all else fails, take messages.’
As Roz goes off, waving in Lorraine’s direction, I accidentally catch Juliet’s eye. She raises her eyebrows, but I can see she’s suppressing a smile.
I’ve told Dee not to call me at work once their mission is over, because I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything for checking my phone every five seconds. But now I’m regretting that I didn’t at least ask her to text me to let me know they’d got through it unscathed. And I’m still looking at my messages on average every four minutes, just in case. I’ve timed myself. So I might as well not have bothered.
Once it’s a respectable time for me to leave for the day I’m out of the door without even stopping to say goodbye to anyone. I told Dee I would be round at theirs by quarter to seven and I have no intention of getting there a second later. Lorraine, who could now run a masterclass in accidentally cutting off numerous phone calls, sees me leaving and immediately grabs for her own bag. I experience a tiny jolt of happiness that she’s had a shitty day.
Thankfully Dee is home. I can tell by the look on her face when she opens the door that there’s news that she’s dying to tell me. I also know that she’ll want to eke out every little detail of the story before she gets to anything of substance, so I give myself a silent talking to: be patient. Let her have her moment.
‘Just tell me the worst bit now,’ I blurt out as we hug. I’ve never been one to listen to my own advice.
‘There’s no worst bit. It’s all fine,’ she says as I follow her in. Today’s candle is either basil or cat pee, it’s hard to tell. My eyes start watering.
‘That’s not a good one,’ I say, wafting my hand in front of my face.
‘I know! I blew it out as soon as I smelt what it was like but it’s lingering.’ She pours me a glass of wine without asking while I open the window. Gavin, I know, has already left to drive to Manchester, ready for an appointment first thing. She opens the oven and puts in a suspiciously home-made-looking moussaka.
‘When did y
ou have time to make that?’ I can’t remember the last time I made anything other than a bowl of pasta from scratch. Probably Christmas.
‘This afternoon.’ She wipes down the surfaces. ‘We were back here by four.’
I sit at the kitchen table. Gulp my ice-cold wine. ‘OK. Tell me.’
She sits across from me. Inhales a long slow breath like she’s preparing to swim a length underwater. ‘So …’
After five minutes she’s still only got as far as them getting on the Tube, having agonized for way too long about what Gavin should wear (they settled on a pair of chinos and a long-sleeved T-shirt). I almost have to physically restrain myself from asking her to get on with the story. Ordinarily I love the random details that Dee provides (‘We bumped into the downstairs neighbour on our way out and she told us that the woman next door shagged a bloke who delivers for Ocado. She says she’s never seen anyone order so much food. And, of course, it’s never him, because they’re different every time’) but this evening I’m too anxious to even take half of it in. I file this one away in my ‘ask later’ bank, though, because it sounds like a good one.
I tune back in. Dee and Gavin have arrived at the café round the corner from Fitzrovia PR. There are several empty tables. Dee settles herself at one in the window, orders a coffee and tells the waitress she’ll probably order some lunch but not for a while. The waitress has a cool tattoo of a snake going all the way up her forearm. Gavin goes off on his mission.
‘So …’ She leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘He went into reception and said could they call Hugh Whitehall and tell him that Gavin Sanders was downstairs to see him. He was hoping that Hugh might just come down to see who it was but, of course, he didn’t, he asked the receptionist who the hell Gavin Sanders was. So Gav said tell him I met him in the café the other day. Tell him I need to have a conversation with him about Roz Huntingdon if he can spare me a few minutes. Anyway, thankfully, Hugh bought it. Next thing Gav knew the lift was opening and there he was –’
I interrupt. ‘Did he seem pissed off?’
‘A bit, apparently. He came over and said, “What’s she done now? I’m a bit busy.” Not in an angry way but a bit wary, Gav said. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? Someone he doesn’t know from Adam, who’s already accosted him over his egg and chips, turns up at his work and demands to speak to him …’
‘No way would I have gone to reception,’ I chip in. ‘I might have sent Emma though.’
‘Well, big shot Hugh probably doesn’t have an assistant. So Gav says, “I know this sounds a bit odd, and I’m really sorry to bother you at work, but a friend of mine works with Roz and she’s discovered that she’s completely fabricated her whole personal life and a lot of it involves you. I thought that you should know. And that maybe you could help my friend understand what’s going on.” ’
She pauses to get up and peer into the oven at the moussaka. It’s like a drama cutting to a commercial break just as it gets to the juicy bit. It’s actually unbearable sitting there watching her faff around.
I can’t help myself. ‘And …’
She slams the oven door shut. ‘Hang on.’ I watch as she fannies about with the timer. ‘Couple more minutes.’
‘So,’ I say impatiently. ‘Did they go to the café?’
Dee sits down again. ‘Where was I? Yes, so, Gav asks Hugh if he wants to grab a coffee and Hugh says OK.’
There was a table free next to where Dee was sitting apparently, so Gavin steered Hugh there. Dee kept her eyes down on her menu, not acknowledging them, listening in. She tells me (in detail) what they all ordered – a pot of English breakfast tea and a salted chocolate brownie for her (‘Unreal!’), an Americano for Gavin with hot milk on the side, and a flat white for Hugh. Clearly they’d been chatting on the walk from the offices, because Gavin was part way through telling Hugh that apparently he’d been married to Roz for nearly three years and they lived in a Holland Park mews.
‘She’s told everyone you’re a bigshot PR with loads of celebrity clients,’ Gavin was saying as they sat down. He told Hugh some of the stories Roz had shared about their fabulous social life.
‘What was Hugh saying to all this?’
‘Gobsmacked, apparently. I mean, who wouldn’t be? So, Gav says to him, “How do you know Roz, if you don’t mind me asking?” ’
At this point Dee’s ears had pricked up, obviously. She wanted to be sure to remember everything Hugh said so that she could pass it all on to me. Unfortunately that was also the moment some woman asked if she could sit at the empty seat at Dee’s table – it was getting close to lunchtime and the place had filled up – and then proceeded to try and engage her in chit-chat. Dee, who had been staring at her phone as a cover for her mission, had to shut her up by saying she was revising for the theory part of her driving test that afternoon and she really needed to concentrate.
‘And then she said she could test me if I wanted!’
I sip my wine. ‘Well, that was nice of her. Not many people would do that.’
Dee laughs. ‘Yes, I suppose it was. But I just wanted her to be quiet so I may have snapped at her to leave me alone.’
‘Ha! That’s the last time she ever offers to do a kind deed. You have literally ruined that woman.’
She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Collateral damage.’
‘So, what, then you just sat there glaring at each other?’
‘Basically. At least, she glared at me while I looked at my phone. It was a bit uncomfortable, in all honesty.’
The upshot was that Dee had missed half of Hugh’s response, but Gavin filled in the details later.
Roz and Hugh met about seven years ago when they worked in the same bar. She was trying to get a break in TV, reading scripts as a freelance for as many companies as she could on the side to try and get a foot in the door. He had a business degree but he’d decided he wanted to be an actor, although in reality, by this point, he was someone who worked in a bar. They hit it off immediately – same sense of humour, same crazy side, same drive – and they quickly became best friends. But then …’
I let out a yelp as the timer pings. ‘Jesus Christ. Did you somehow set that up so it would go off just as you got to a juicy bit?’
She looks at me, deadpan. ‘Of course.’
‘Please dish up and talk at the same time, I can’t bear the suspense.’
Thankfully she does, spooning steaming hot moussaka on to plates and producing a salad from the fridge. ‘So he said after a while things got a bit weird. They got drunk at a party and Roz started telling him she fancied him and she wanted them to be more than friends, but he didn’t feel that way at all, she was his mate, his wing woman, so he batted her away gently. He put it down to the drink and the next day he just pretended it hadn’t happened, and so did she, so he thought, hopefully, she didn’t even remember …’
I heap salad on to my plate. Tuck into the moussaka. ‘God, this is delicious. Sorry, go on …’
‘But then it happened again. And again. Only the third time they hadn’t even been drinking, so he realized she actually meant it. He broke it to her gently that he wasn’t interested but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said it got really awkward after that because whenever they were on their own together she would start on about it again. It got so that he just couldn’t enjoy spending time with her any more. At least not one on one. So they drifted apart a bit and then she got the job on Churchill Road, which made life a bit easier.’
‘So they’ve never had any kind of romantic involvement?’
Dee sticks her fork into her moussaka and leaves it standing there. ‘Never. He said that every now and then she would turn up pissed on his doorstep late at night and try again to persuade him they should. They still hung out with the same people though.’
‘I wonder how soon after she started on Churchill Road she told people he was her boyfriend,’ I say through a mouthful. I do at least put my hand in front of my mouth. I’m not a complete animal.
‘I’ll ask Juliet if she remembers.’
‘Well, obviously he had no idea about any of that. Gavin asked him about the Holland Park mews and he said that’s his mum and dad’s house. He took Roz there once to meet them when they were still getting on. They loved her, and she loved them. She kept saying she wished her mum was like his.’
I push my plate away to stop me eating any more, although I’m tempted to pile the rest of the moussaka on there and scoff that too. ‘That was fabulous. How did he end up being the accountant if he was trying to be an actor?’
‘He said something about realizing he was never going to make it as an actor so he went on an accounting course. He ended up at Fitzrovia PR and he liked it there so he stayed. He has nothing to do with the clients, though. Gav reeled off all the names he could remember Roz had dropped and he’d never met any of them.’
I twist one of my earrings round and round. See Dee watching me and stop. ‘Does he look like a Greek god?’
Dee raises an eyebrow. ‘He does. Drop dead gorgeous. Obviously a good few years older than that picture she has on Facebook. He says he hasn’t even seen her in at least three or four years. He was a bit freaked out by the whole thing, to be honest.’
‘I don’t blame him.’ I notice Dee has finished eating too so I grab both our plates and carry them over to the sink. ‘Did Gav ask him about her background? The posh school stuff?’
She nods. ‘He didn’t really know anything about that. He said he knew she was from Brighton but not much else.’
‘Nothing else? Nothing I can use against her?’ I can’t help feeling a bit disappointed.
‘No, sorry. Oh,’ she says, reaching for the wine bottle. ‘But I forgot the best bit. He’s married to a woman called Annabel and they have one-year-old twins.’
‘Whoa! Do you think Roz knows?’
Dee shrugs. ‘God knows. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Like he said, they haven’t even seen each other for years; it’s not as if she’s stalking him. I think she just turned bits of him into the perfect partner for her fantasy life.’