by Tracy Bloom
‘Yeah, decaf please.’ The minute he said it he knew he’d made a mistake.
‘For fuck’s sake, Tom, decaf?’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ He looked around the empty room nervously in case anyone else had overheard his error. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’
‘Obviously,’ replied Jerry, sloshing hot water out of a filthy kettle over two teabags in enormous mugs. ‘So did you get my text?’ he asked.
‘Which one?’
‘The one I sent you on Saturday morning.’
Tom cast his mind back. Jerry was a prolific texter. If his ear wasn’t glued to his phone his finger was. ‘Doesn’t really narrow it down,’ he said.
‘Why do you never reply to my texts?’ asked Jerry.
‘Because I need time to eat and sleep and have a life.’
Jerry threw him a confused look, picked up his phone and started to scroll through it.
‘It said: What a night. How the bloody hell have you got away with that you sly dog?’
‘And what is that referring to?’ asked Tom. This was exactly why Tom chose to ignore most of Jerry’s texts: they often came with no explanation for whatever was going through Jerry’s mind.
‘Carly, of course,’ he said, slamming down Tom’s tea in front of him. ‘I have to say I’m seriously impressed, mate. Takes some balls, that does.’
‘What does?’
‘Are you serious? Moving a hot piece of stuff in like that. Under your wife’s nose. Fucking awesome. I told all the guys at the shoot about it; they literally took their deerstalkers off to you. You are a fucking legend.’ Jerry raised his mug to chink against Tom’s. Tom stared back at him.
‘She had nowhere to stay.’ He picked up his mug and instantly scalded his lips. ‘We’re just helping her out, that’s all.’
‘Well, helping her out of something is what I’d like to do.’
‘Jerry. Do you have to?’
‘Oh come on, Tom, you can’t say it hasn’t crossed your mind, seriously? She’s a babe.’
Tom shrugged, blowing on his tea. ‘OK, she’s pretty, I guess.’
‘Are you real?’ replied Jerry. ‘She’s stunning, and . . . and her moves when she was dancing – oh my God – in your dining room, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven for a minute there.’
‘Well, I guess I’m around dancers all the time so you kind of get used to all that.’
‘What, the near-nakedness, the perfect bodies, the sheer . . . bendiness – you can’t get used to that, surely? That decaf shit must be doing something to your manhood.’
Tom couldn’t deny that the odd exciting thought did pop into his brain every now and then but he thought he’d learnt to shove them to one side and get on with the job.
‘They’re just people like you and me.’
‘If I had a body like that I’d love myself even more than I do now.’
‘Not possible,’ said Tom, shaking his head.
‘But fair play to you, mate, for getting her in the door past Laura. Oh my God, what I would have given to see her face when you arrived home with that.’
‘She’s totally fine about it. Sure, she was a bit upset that I didn’t ask her first but apart from that she’s chuffed to bits with the extra money and it’s not for long anyway.’
‘She really thinks that?’ asked Jerry.
‘Yes. She’s absolutely fine. No problem with it at all.’
‘Not even the fact that Carly looks frighteningly like Natalie?’
‘She doesn’t look a bit like Natalie.’
‘Oh come on, Tom, she’s the image of her. Must be freaking Laura out that you’ve brought a younger version of your ex-fiancée into the marital home.’
‘She doesn’t look anything like her and so what if she did. Natalie’s history: you know that; Laura knows that. Don’t know why you’re even bringing her up.’
‘She still sending you Christmas cards?’
‘Yeah.’ Tom shrugged again. ‘It’s just a Christmas card.’
‘Does Laura know she still sends you a Christmas card?’
‘No. I don’t see the point in having to raise the subject of Natalie every flipping year for no reason. The card comes to work, I open it, read what she’s been up to then put it in the bin.’
‘Right.’ Jerry nodded. ‘Mmmmm.’
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ asked Tom. ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m helping someone out and you’re acting as if I’ve invited the leaders of al-Qaeda to move in.’
Jerry shook his head and drew his breath in through his teeth. ‘This is women we’re talking about,’ he said. ‘A known terrorist moving in may have been preferable to a beautiful woman.’
‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ said Tom. ‘Besides, I have other hopes for Carly.’
Jerry’s eyes flew wide open.
‘Will,’ declared Tom.
‘Will!’
‘Yes, Will,’ replied Tom.
‘ . . . and Carly?’
‘Yeah.’ Tom nodded vigorously. ‘He needs a woman. I’m worried about him.’
‘He needs a shag is what he needs.’
‘Has he mentioned a girlfriend at all?’ asked Tom.
Jerry shook his head. ‘Four-eyes Chloe was all over him for a while. You know, who does the accounts in the office?’
‘You’ve mentioned her in a derogatory manner before, I believe.’
‘She’s such a nag and she looks over her specs at me in a weird way when I don’t have the paperwork she wants.’
‘So she’s just trying to do her job?’
‘Well, yes, but I’m paying her and I certainly don’t pay her to nag me. Anyway, when I got Will a desk in the office so he had somewhere to do his paperwork, Chloe looked like all her Christmases had come at once. She was all over him. It was great, got her off my back for a bit. I told him he should take advantage and he looked at me like I’d told him to stick his hands in a cement mixer.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Perhaps he’s got one on the go and not told me. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s can be very secretive. I don’t know half of what he’s up to at times. Mum rings me if she wants to know what he’s doing – not that I’m much help.’
‘Well, I’ve not spotted him making a fuss of anyone at work,’ said Jerry.
‘Unlike you, you mean,’ said Tom. ‘Fussing up to anything on two legs despite the fact you’re married. You were a bit full on with Carly on Friday night if I’m honest, even for your standards.’
‘Blah.’ Jerry threw his hands up. ‘That’s just me, isn’t it? I don’t mean anything by it. Hannah knows what she signed up for.’
‘Yes, well, I’d prefer it if it was Will giving her the eye and not you. I think she’s just what Will needs. If she can’t get him interested then no one can.’
Jerry raised his eyebrows at Tom. ‘Whatever it is you’re trying to achieve with this apparently innocent move – inviting a beautiful stranger into your house – it’s got trouble written all over it. Major trouble.’ Jerry stood and picked up the empty mugs. ‘But you clearly know what you’re doing,’ he added with a grin. ‘And I will personally enjoy the company of the gorgeous Carly until it all blows up in your face. Friday night at ours as usual then?’
Tom nodded mutely, his brow furrowed.
‘Be sure to bring Carly too and let’s see if Will takes the bait. Even if he doesn’t, it’s sure to be an entertaining evening.’
Chapter Nine
Laura
Somebody had left the landing light on. She’d left first that morning so it must have been Tom. She sighed, rifling through her large handbag for her key, past plasters, an opened packet of tissues, expenses receipts and her laptop, which she’d bought home so she could fine-tune a presentation she was doing to a Marketing Director from a large retail chain the following day. She’d left work early and was looking forward to putting the kettle on away from the hustle and bustle of the open-
plan office and concentrating her mind on distilling exactly which major points would be most useful to her client. Key located, she plunged it into the lock, her ears pricking up as she pushed her way into the hall. Now that really does take the biscuit, she thought. Tom must have left the TV on as well – or worse the Xbox as she could hear electronic noises coming from the living room. What on earth was he thinking, sneaking a quick go on the Xbox before work? That was addict behaviour – or in his case a way of avoiding going to work until the last possible moment. She dumped her bag in the hall, took off her coat and went into the lounge to go and sort out the chatty Xbox.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, leaping in surprise when she entered the room.
‘Hiya.’ Carly waved. She was stretched out languidly on the sofa, eyes glued to the TV screen, Xbox handset glued in her fists. ‘Be with you in a sec, just about to get utterly trashed by Atlético Madrid.’
Laura stood awkwardly in her own living room, not knowing what to do or what to think as uncooperative footballers dashed about the screen, looking as though they didn’t have a clue what was going on either. She’d been expecting Carly to turn up later that evening, Tom having told her that she could move in on Monday ready for rehearsals on Tuesday. She’d hoped to have the afternoon to go through her presentation as well as mentally prepare herself for Carly’s arrival. The last thing she had imagined was arriving home to find her already installed and enjoying the facilities.
‘Aaaaaaah,’ cried Carly, as a box flashed up on screen announcing defeat. ‘I really don’t get it. I’ll have to ask Tom to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Can I make you a cup of tea?’ she asked, leaping up and leaving the controller carelessly behind her on the sofa, just like Tom. ‘How do you take it?’ Carly stopped in the doorway so that they were standing nose to nose. She was minus the layer of audition make-up she’d been wearing on Friday night. Sadly she still looked flawless.
‘White, no sugar,’ Laura replied as calmly as she could.
‘OK.’ Carly smiled. ‘Coming right up.’
Laura followed her into the kitchen and stood helplessly next to the table as Carly nonchalantly flicked the switch on the stainless-steel Russell Hobbs kettle that had been Laura and Tom’s first purchase when they moved in together. The kettle that Laura prayed every day would break so she could buy a purple one to match the toaster. She watched as Carly grabbed two mugs off the mug tree and threw in two teabags. Laura sat down in the chair opposite the sink, oven and fridge. She didn’t think she’d ever sat on that side of the kitchen table for the entire four years they’d lived there and now she noticed with horror that in this light, even at a distance, the oven splashback was filthy.
Carly turned and handed Laura one of the Cath Kidston flowery mugs that had looked cool three years ago when she’d bought them in an overpriced gift shop but now just looked old-fashioned and chintzy, especially in the hands of the twenty-something opposite her.
‘So how was work?’ asked Carly, settling herself down.
‘Fine,’ replied Laura, picking up the mug and taking a gulp of scolding hot tea.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Carly continued, ‘but on Friday I don’t think I asked you what you actually do. It was such a lovely evening I got a bit carried away, I’m afraid.’ She laughed. ‘So nice, you know, to spend time with normal people.’
‘Normal?’ said Laura, unable to stop her eyebrows shooting up.
‘Yeah, you know. Not theatrical types. They can be just so . . . theatrical. It can be totally exhausting.’
‘Yes, well, as you’ve no doubt noticed I don’t have a theatrical bone in my body.’
‘Oh absolutely,’ replied Carly. ‘You are clearly very normal.’
Laura’s eyebrows shot up further.
‘Which is great,’ Carly went on. ‘Refreshing.’
Laura chose not to reply.
‘So what do you do then?’ asked Carly. ‘That allows you to be so refreshingly normal?’
Laura swallowed. ‘I’m a market research analyst.’
Carly nodded but clearly was none the wiser as to Laura’s occupation.
‘I review data and make sense of it,’ continued Laura.
‘Brilliant,’ said Carly cheerfully.
‘It could be existing data: the internet has transformed the availability of information so we now spend a lot of our time collating and analysing information for our clients online,’ Laura informed Carly. ‘But that usually leads to more specific research requests at which point we come up with detailed plans and methodologies that give our clients answers to the questions that will help drive their business forward.’
Carly stared back at her blankly.
‘We find the answers to the questions that drive our clients’ businesses forward and allow them to grow and flourish,’ said Laura. ‘That’s our mission statement.’
‘Wow,’ replied Carly. ‘Sounds super important.’
‘I actually think it is,’ replied Laura, feeling her shoulders rise.
‘You must think what I do is kind of pointless?’
‘No,’ Laura responded immediately. ‘Of course not.’ Damn that politeness gene, she thought. ‘You entertain. That’s important.’
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Carly.
‘Well, yes,’ said Laura. ‘Tom obviously works in entertainment, so of course I think it’s important.’
Carly nodded. ‘He’s a really good dancer,’ she added distractedly.
‘Well, he used to do what you do,’ said Laura. ‘He did perform, before he got promoted.’
‘Oh, really? That makes sense now. So does he ever perform any more?’
‘No.’ Laura shook her head. ‘He was lucky. He got offered a management position. It worked out really well because it meant he had a permanent contract and because, well . . .’ She paused, wondering if she should proceed. ‘. . . we knew we wanted a family at some point and he might have had to start looking for work elsewhere, which is hard when you have kids, isn’t it?’
‘I understand,’ replied Carly, having nodded throughout. ‘Married men don’t stay married long in entertainment.’
Laura gasped. She hadn’t expected Carly to spell out her worst fear quite so bluntly. ‘Yes, well,’ she stumbled. ‘Statistically that is actually true.’
‘You see it all the time,’ continued Carly, clearly oblivious to Laura’s pale face. ‘In particular married men working away from home for long stints – a recipe for disaster.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Laura.
‘They come on to me all the time,’ added Carly, shaking her head. ‘Occupational hazard, I guess.’ She shrugged, getting up and putting her mug in the sink.
Could you not just put it in the dishwasher? thought Laura. Who’s going to do that for you? The washing-up fairy? Carly turned back to face her.
‘You’re right,’ she went on.
‘About what?’
‘You’re very lucky,’ she said, casting her eyes around the kitchen. ‘Mind if I wash my hair?’
‘No,’ replied Laura and watched her leave the room, the mug still in the sink.
‘Where’ve you been?’ cried Laura the minute Tom walked through the door. She was running around the hall like a whirlwind, trying to gather her things whilst also avoiding acknowledging the hideous occurrence that was somehow taking place in her kitchen.
‘Work, sadly.’ Tom shrugged, taking his coat off. ‘Got a bit held up getting everything ready for rehearsals tomorrow.’
Bloody Halloween, thought Laura. If it weren’t for that, Carly would never have entered their lives and she wouldn’t be hiding in the hall whilst Carly played domestic bloody goddess in her kitchen.
‘You remember I’m out tonight,’ said Laura.
‘Really? Going anywhere nice?’
‘It’s Zumba,’ spat out Laura. ‘Remember, I go every Monday night?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Tom vacantly. ‘Zumba, cool. What’s for tea?’
There might just be
a Halloween bloodbath right here in their hall, thought Laura, ignoring his question. Tom glanced over at her when she didn’t respond.
‘I mean what’s for tea so I can make it, of course,’ he added quickly. He smiled at her innocently.
‘There’s no need,’ replied Laura, through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, why’s that?’ He looked confused at her tone.
Laura stared at him. She could have quite happily burst into tears. ‘Because Carly’s already made it.’
Tom’s eyes widened. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘She’s an angel. See, I told you it would be really helpful to have her around.’ He brushed past Laura to go into the kitchen.
‘Hiya,’ she heard him announce cheerily. ‘Wow, that looks delicious. We didn’t expect you to cook on your first night, did we, Laura?’ he shouted through the door.
‘It’s no bother,’ she heard Carly say. ‘I love cooking. Take a seat. I bet you’re starving.’
Laura turned round and strode into the kitchen.
‘How cool is this, eh?’ said Tom, having settled himself at the table. ‘Having your tea cooked for you in your own home. Just brilliant.’
Laura didn’t know how to point out to him that actually he had his tea cooked for him almost every night in his own home . . . by her, apart from on the odd night when she went out at which point she always got all the ingredients out for him and laid them on the kitchen counter so that even a chimpanzee could cook it. As could Carly, as it had turned out, much to Laura’s surprise, when she’d come downstairs having changed into her exercise clothes to discover Carly cooking the shepherd’s pie that had been left for Tom to prepare.
‘Delicious,’ announced Tom after a plateful of steaming pie was put in front of him.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Laura, unable to stand the scene a second longer.
‘Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine,’ she heard Tom shout as she pulled the hall door to behind her.
Chapter Ten
Tom
‘She’s not a morning person,’ said Tom as Carly secured her seatbelt in Tom’s car early the next day. They’d just had the most awkward breakfast in the history of the universe. Carly had sat down chatting away happily, bubbling over with excitement about the imminent start of rehearsals, until it had been made clear by Laura’s monosyllabic answers and thumping down of cereal bowls and cartons of milk that she wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in engaging in early-morning banter with their new lodger. Carly had cast Tom a nervous glance and then stalled her chat to a stop as they all chewed cereal in silence.