by Tracy Bloom
‘Thanks,’ he replied, barely able to raise a smile. ‘Go and get your lunch before people start talking,’ he said, waving her away.
‘Sure.’ She grinned. He watched her walk away; then she turned and shouted back to him: ‘This is going to be brilliant. You wait and see. We’ll make it brilliant.’
‘Aye aye,’ came a low voice behind him after Tom had sat with his head in his hands for five minutes.
‘What are you doing here?’ he gasped, watching Jerry stroll in. ‘And what are you wearing?’
‘Can’t a builder look smart every so often?’
‘A builder, yes. You, no.’
‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I’ve just been up to see the big boss man to give him an update and thought I’d come and see you in your natural habitat for a change. Just seen Carly outside actually. I mentioned Friday to her; sounds like she’s up for it.’
‘Right,’ said Tom, nodding slowly.
‘So why have you got a face like a donkey’s arse that’s been slapped because someone died?’
Tom assumed Jerry must mean he looked miserable. He shrugged. ‘Just the usual work crap,’ he said. ‘Knowing there is likely to be failure around every corner.’
‘Aah, but it’s what you do with that failure that can lead to success,’ replied Jerry.
Tom stared at him for a moment.
‘Jerry?’ he said.
‘Yes, my friend,’ answered Jerry.
‘Just fuck off, will you?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Jerry. ‘I annoy myself sometimes. See you Friday night.’ He turned and walked out, leaving Tom to wonder if he dare get the cold bacon sandwich out of the bin.
Chapter Eleven
Jerry
Jerry looked down at the bowl of green salad Hannah had just placed in front of him. ‘Is there any food to go with this salad?’ he asked. She was fiddling with something on the enormous central island in their enormous kitchen. He prayed it was a big juicy steak or a plate of chicken wings. She turned round and approached him with a tin of sardines.
‘Sardines?’ he questioned.
‘Yes. You know what the doctor said. You have to reduce your cholesterol. Sardines are good for that.’
He looked at the sad-looking greasy fish now beached on a piece of iceberg lettuce. Possibly the most unappetising thing he’d ever seen. He looked up at Hannah for some kind of explanation as to why she would torture him in this way but she just smiled and sat down. He sometimes wondered if she took joy in denying him the things he loved. Good food, great wines, foreign travel: all the trappings their wealth should bring them. Hannah wasn’t really interested in any of that. She was proud of what they’d achieved together, he was sure, but she’d seemed happier in the two-up two-down they’d started married life in. Polished granite and Italian porcelain floor tiles seemed to make her uncomfortable, miserable even, and despite the fact they’d lived in what Jerry believed to be their dream house for over two years she’d never truly seemed at home surrounded by such glamour and opulence.
He looked down at the sardines still waiting patiently to be consumed. Perhaps Hannah was relieved his cholesterol level meant they mostly dined in on simple food rather than took advantage of a wealth of fancy restaurants in their area. He sighed and picked up his fork and stabbed at the pathetic fish before biting its head off. He stared at Hannah, chewing steadily, trying hard not to spit it out.
‘Reminds me of being a kid,’ he said, reaching for a glass of water to wash it down.
Hannah nodded. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Of when we had no money and had tinned sardines about three times a week because Mum did the night shift down the shop and got a discount.’
‘Well, these were two for one in Aldi. I couldn’t believe it – and they’re good for your cholesterol. I bought a dozen tins.’
Jerry stared at Hannah and then cast his eyes around their state-of-the art kitchen with four ovens including a steam oven he’d had flown in from Germany and an LED lighting system that cost more than one of the entire lodges he was building up at Wonderland. And yet his wife was excited about a cheap deal on sardines at Aldi.
He scraped his chair back and got up. ‘Well, I think these bargain-basement tiddlers at least deserve to be accompanied by a decent glass of Sauvignon,’ he announced, striding over to the full-height wine chiller. He pulled open the door, having already decided what he needed to add some excitement to his meal.
‘Let’s have a drop of this, shall we?’ he said, sitting down again and unscrewing the top. ‘Pretend we’re in Oz with Charlie.’
‘We can’t drink that,’ protested Hannah.
‘Why not?’ asked Jerry. ‘Don’t you like my brother’s wine any more?’
‘Of course I do. It just costs so much to get it here, doesn’t it? Makes it so expensive.’
‘Well, if Charlie got off his arse and sorted a UK distributor, like I keep telling him to, then it would be cheap, wouldn’t it? Save me a fortune shipping it over just for us to drink. I keep telling him he would make a killing over here but will he listen?’
‘He’s not over there to get rich. He just likes the lifestyle.’
‘Lazy more like.’
‘He’s happy.’
‘I dare say he is,’ replied Jerry, defiantly raising his glass and necking half of it. He put his glass down and topped it up, then proceeded to eat more salad in silence.
‘We finished the footings for all the lodges at Wonderland today,’ he eventually said.
Hannah nodded. ‘We really need to chase them for the second payment.’
‘Well, that’s your department. I did go up and see Phillip though – you know, to give him an update.’
‘Had he asked to see you?’
‘No.’
‘So what did you go and see him for?’
‘Reassurance. That it’s all going to be ready in time. Keep him off our backs.’
‘You didn’t promise anything, did you?’
‘No, I’m not stupid. I kept it vague.’
Hannah nodded again. ‘Good.’
‘I’m not an idiot.’
‘I know you’re not,’ said Hannah. ‘It just causes all sorts of problems in the office if you over-promise.’
‘I know,’ sighed Jerry, taking another slug of wine. ‘Oh, by the way, I dropped in on Tom whilst I was up in the admin building. Checked he and Laura are OK for Friday. And I saw Carly too so I invited her. That’s all right, isn’t it?’ He shrugged; then he filled his face with sardine so he could say no more.
Hannah looked up from her own salad. ‘What did you do that for?’
Jerry was forced to leave the question hanging in the air as he emptied his mouth. ‘What do you mean? I was just being nice.’
‘I don’t think Laura will be too pleased to hear you’ve invited Carly.’
‘Why? Doesn’t she like her?’
‘What do you think?’ replied Hannah. ‘Her husband brings home a glamorous woman and moves her in. Laura’s all over the place. She’s already been to see me about it. She’s really upset with Tom.’
‘I knew it,’ Jerry exclaimed. ‘Tom thinks she’s cool with it. Says she’s delighted to have another woman around the house. I told him he was deluded but he wouldn’t hear any of it.’
‘Yeah, well, perhaps he needs to listen properly to his wife. She’s petrified something’s going to happen – especially after you dragged up Natalie of all people. That really wasn’t the right thing to say. What were you thinking?’
‘Oh, I didn’t think. It just popped in my head and I’d said it before I could stop myself. Anyway, you can tell Laura she has nothing to worry about, Tom has a plan for Carly.’
‘What do you mean a plan?’
He chuckled. ‘He wants to try and fix her up with Will.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Hannah, dropping her fork on the f
loor. She made no attempt to retrieve it. ‘Why would he want to do that?’
‘Why not?’ Jerry shrugged again. ‘Will could do with a shag and if Carly can’t switch him on then I don’t know who can.
Hannah visibly flinched.
‘I know, I know,’ continued Jerry, seeing that Hannah was not impressed with his language. ‘I did point out to Tom that inviting a girl to stay and lining her up to have sex with his brother isn’t exactly PC but Tom’s worried about him. Thinks Carly might be able to bring him out of his shell.’
‘You are a pair of idiots,’ said Hannah, getting up and walking across the kitchen to throw her half-eaten salad into the stainless-steel bin. ‘Will doesn’t even like her and you can’t . . . you can’t force him on to someone just because you think that’s what he needs.’
‘How do you know he doesn’t like her?’
‘Because he said so.’
‘When?’
‘When we met to do the wages on Saturday. Laura was there and asked him point blank.’
‘Aah, rubbish,’ said Jerry dismissively. ‘He’s a man. No man would turn a girl like that down.’
Hannah turned to glare at him. She considered telling him that Will was preoccupied with another woman to the point that he was blind to the attractions of anyone else but decided that the last thing Will needed was for Jerry to trample all over this piece of news.
‘Besides, he’s been on his own for far too long,’ declared Jerry, knocking back another slug of wine. ‘He needs to have some fun. He shouldn’t be living the celibate life now. There’s plenty of time for that when you’re married.’
Hannah gasped. Their eyes locked. He’d gone too far. He gave her a sad smile and then looked away, unable to face the tears starting to brim at the corner of her eyes.
‘I’m going to take the dog out,’ she said after another moment’s silence. She crossed the floor to the boot room, which was the size of most people’s kitchens. He heard the clank of the dog lead and Sherlock, her treasured bloodhound, brushed past him instantly, clearly as eager to escape the confines of the house as Hannah was. He heard words of affection directed at the dog, which made him sad. Words he never heard directed at him any more. The back door banged without a word of goodbye or promise of return.
Chapter Twelve
Laura
‘Hello, Harvest Research, Laura speaking,’ said Laura, picking up the phone whilst checking her watch to see how much time she had before her group started.
‘It’s me, Hannah.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Laura. ‘You never call me at work.’
‘Oh, nothing in particular,’ said Hannah. ‘It’s nothing really, I just thought I should probably warn you that Jerry’s invited Carly to dinner on Friday night.’
‘What!’
‘I know. I said you wouldn’t be pleased.’
‘What did you say that for?’
‘Well, because you’re not pleased, are you?’
‘No, but you don’t need to tell Jerry that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’ll tell Tom.’
‘And that is bad because . . .?’
‘I don’t know,’ proclaimed Laura. ‘I don’t know anything any more. She’s playing with my head, Hannah, I tell you. She’s doing really nice stuff like cooking the dinner and cleaning the bathroom and she even took the bin out without being asked.’
‘And you hate her for it?’
‘Exactly,’ breathed Laura.
‘It’s because she’s pretty,’ stated Hannah. ‘One of the few advantages of being ordinary-looking is that people are always grateful when you do something nice, never suspicious.’
‘But that’s not fair really, is it?’
‘No. But maybe the world shouldn’t be fair to beautiful people.’
‘I was so looking forward to a Carly-free night,’ sighed Laura. ‘What on earth possessed Jerry to invite her?’
‘I haven’t a clue. I told him it was a bad idea, but you’ve not heard the worst of it.’
‘There’s more?’
‘Yes. Tom and Jerry are cooking up a plan to get Carly and Will together.
‘Oh,’ said Laura.
‘I know – it’s a terrible idea, isn’t it?’
‘Well . . .’ Laura did a quick assessment. ‘Not really. At least it keeps her out of Tom’s way.’
‘But he said he wasn’t attracted to her.’
‘I know,’ replied Laura. ‘But he hasn’t been out with anyone in ages. It’s a bit weird. Do you think he’s got some secret woman on the go or something?’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Hannah quickly.
‘Well, it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? He seems to have totally lost interest. Tom’s quite worried about him.’
‘Well, he did kind of mention something after you left on Saturday, but I’m not sure if I should say anything.’
‘Mention what? What did he say? Come on, tell me?’ Laura heard Hannah sigh, clearly weighing up whether to spill the beans.
‘It was nothing really,’ she said eventually. ‘Just that there was someone he liked but it was never going to happen.’
‘Ooh,’ said Laura. ‘Wonder who that is then? Have you any idea? Can Jerry think of anyone?’
‘There’s no way I’m mentioning it to Jerry,’ spat Hannah. ‘You know what he’s like. He’ll blunder in with his size tens and ruin whatever’s going on as he usually does.’
‘Are you OK?’ asked Laura. ‘You seem a bit tetchy.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’m fine. Jerry just wound me up more than usual last night, that’s all. I took the dog for a walk to get out of his way. By the time I got back he was asleep on the sofa with Real Housewives of New York City blaring in the background.’ She paused. ‘I think that’s the kind of wife he’d like really, you know.’
‘What, plastic?’
‘Yeah.’ Hannah sighed. ‘Or maybe rubber.’
‘Ueeergh, too much information,’ said Laura. ‘Look, I gotta go. I’ve got half a dozen women in their menopause waiting to tell me about how they think the middle-aged are portrayed in advertising.’
‘Well, rather you than me.’
‘Thanks. See you Friday then. Ooh, what are you wearing?’
‘When?’
‘On Friday.’
‘I’ve no idea. Why are you asking? It’s just dinner; we never normally dress up.’
‘I know but Carly will. Look at what she wore last time.’
‘I don’t care what Carly will be wearing,’ said Hannah. ‘I’ll be wearing what I normally wear. The clothes I’ve been in all day probably.’
‘OK,’ replied Laura. ‘I hear you. See you Friday.’
Maybe I’ll get the chance to pop into town at lunchtime, she thought as she put the phone down. Treat myself to something new.
‘OK then, ladies,’ said Laura, settling herself down in the purpose-built research suite on the ground floor of their office building. There were six women sitting on low chairs grouped around a coffee table, all sipping cups of tea and gingerly eyeing each other up. Six total strangers, all aged between forty-five and fifty-five, plucked from the high street by a recruiter that morning and who were hopefully going to give her some quality insight on how to market to their age group.
‘Thank you so much for taking time out today to sit and talk to us. It really is appreciated,’ Laura began. ‘I really hope you enjoy what should be a very relaxed, open chat. There’s nothing to be worried about; anything you say is of course treated as anonymous. We are going to start with a very general chat about how you feel you are treated as a consumer group and then I’ll introduce later the specific product my client would love to hear your views on. Does that sound OK? Does anyone have any questions?’
‘Will we get any freebies?’ asked a lady who had leant back in her chair and put her feet up on the table.
‘Er, no, Karen. No, there won’t be, I’m afraid,’ said Laura, leaning forwar
d to read her name label.
‘Oh,’ replied Karen. ‘When I did a panel for Pumpkin Paradise we got a shedload of soup to take home.’
‘Right, well, not in this instance. The products we are testing are not always suitable to give away and obviously we wouldn’t want your feedback skewed by the fact you are getting freebies.’ Laura wrote a note to have a stern word with her recruiter. People who had previously taken part in focus groups were supposed to be filtered out. They quickly got wise to what they thought the researcher wanted to hear. Also people prone to agreeing to take part in market research often turned out to be big talkers who actually never said anything useful at all.
‘Right,’ said Karen, rubbing her hands together. ‘So is it a really expensive product then – that’s why you can’t give it away?’
‘Not necessarily,’ replied Laura, shuffling her notes to indicate that Karen should just pipe down.
‘Bet it’s Apple or someone.’ Karen looked conspiratorially around the room. ‘They must do mega research. Maybe she’s going to tell us what the next new Apple gadget is, see if we like it. Maybe we’ll get to try it.’
Laura smiled a tight smile. So Karen was the derailer. Every group had one. Someone determined to distract the entire conversation to something they wanted to talk about.
‘Why don’t we start with something easy?’ she said, beaming at the other five women in the room. Some of them would warm to Karen, she knew, start playing to her tune, enjoying her rebelliousness. Others would go quiet with embarrassment whilst the rest would choose to simply ignore her and focus on responding to Laura. She hoped the majority were that way inclined.
‘So can you tell me who you admire in the media, who are your role models? And I’m talking specifically people within your age group.’
Everyone looked blank. Laura beamed at them encouragingly; some turned their eyes away.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There must be someone on the television or in films who you aspire to.’
‘Our age, you say,’ asked another lady wearing a label with ‘Helen’ written on it. She looked around shiftily, trying to judge exactly what age group Laura was referring to.
‘Yes,’ nodded Laura, still smiling. ‘Anyone roughly between forty-five to fifty-five.’ She watched as everyone glanced sideways to assess who in the group was wearing well and who had clearly had a tough paper round.