Strictly Between Us

by Jane Fallon

  And besides, I am eaten up with curiosity. I can’t deny I want to get a look at her.

  I have to get there early. I need to find a vantage point where I can scout out the reception without any risk of being seen. Of course the afternoon turns out to be busy. In fact, the whole day is a treadmill. Meeting after meeting with barely enough time to go to the loo in between. Some days are just like that.

  The production manager on Rooms With a View has called a crisis meeting with me because she’s lost faith in the producer’s ability to steer the ship. Ordinarily I would listen briefly to her concerns and then take it up with said producer, but Stella has been production manager on countless shows for me over the years, both at Castle and before, and despite the fact that I find her a little intimidating, I trust her absolutely.

  Michael, the producer, on the other hand, is new to all of us. This is the problem when you’re busy. You end up having to take a punt on people you have no prior relationship with. I even tried to promote Stella, but she wasn’t having it. Some people don’t want the buck to stop with them. They’d be left with no one to pin the blame on. Michael is nice enough. He’s trying. But he has no experience of really long-form programming – twenty-six forty-minute episodes in this case – and things are, in Stella’s opinion, getting away from him.

  ‘He keeps wanting to reshoot everything after we’ve already packed up and left the location. He doesn’t seem to have any idea of the cost implications, no matter how many times I try to tell him.’

  ‘Are you going to go over?’ I try to take a sneaky look at my watch. I have to leave by quarter to six to ensure I’m safely hidden away. It is now seventeen minutes to.

  ‘Well, at the moment he’s insisting we schedule an extra day on the end of this episode so, yes, probably. And I’m sure this won’t be the last time.’

  ‘Let me speak to him.’

  ‘We need to do something soon because if I’m going to have to extend the whole schedule it’ll have huge knock-on effects.’

  ‘We can’t extend.’

  ‘That’s what I keep saying …’

  I start to gather my things together, hoping she’ll take the hint. ‘Like I say, I’ll speak to him. Leave me the latest copy of the schedule, will you? I really have to go, sorry.’

  ‘I don’t really understand how he got the job to be honest …’

  This is a leading question and she knows it.

  ‘Because I hired him, Stella, OK? Sometimes chances pay off and sometimes they don’t. There’s no knowing until they start.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to have any experience. I mean, what’s he done before?’

  Now she’s overstepping the mark.

  ‘I will speak to him, all right? He’s producing the show and that’s that. We just have to make it work.’

  I leave her there and head for Bea and Lucy’s office.

  ‘I’m going,’ I say, sticking my head round the door. Bea is all dressed up and doing her make-up while sitting at her desk. I haven’t had a chance to tell her my news yet, what with the wall-to-wall meetings, and I’m not about to with Lucy sitting there.

  ‘You got a date?’

  She smiles a smile that takes over her whole face. ‘Sure have.’

  ‘Is this still Danny?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Well have fun. I have to rush off. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Night, Tamsin.’

  It’s great that she’s found someone. I mean, I know it’s only been a few weeks, but he seems to be making her happy. I decide that I like Danny.

  The stupid tube grinds to a standstill somewhere between North Acton and Shepherd’s Bush. No explanation. I sit there sweltering in the heat, watching the minutes count down. By the time we get to Oxford Circus I have no option but to run to Dean Street. I arrive at the Soho Hotel at twenty-three minutes past six.

  On balance I decide that it’s worth the risk to head into the hotel. Patrick is always late. There is a possibility that he’s so enamoured with whoever it is he’s meeting that he will make a special effort, but he’s hard-wired to always arrive at least five minutes after he should. I need to find a good vantage point, where I can watch reception but not be seen myself.

  The foyer contains a giant black sculpture of a cat and not much else. Certainly nothing I can safely hide behind, and besides, the reception and concierge staff might wonder what I’m up to skulking around, and call over to ask me if I need any assistance. Around the corner are a couple of small sitting rooms neither of which offers a good view of anything much. The bar is packed. And risky. I can’t decide whether or not I think Patrick and his date might stop off for a drink. Unlikely given that they only have a few short hours, I assume – Michelle certainly hasn’t mentioned that he is staying away all night – and there will almost certainly be a mini bar in their room. If they’ve booked a room, that is.

  I need to act quickly. The bar is dangerous but it has great views of the entrance to the hotel. It’s big enough that I should be able to find a corner to hide in. I just have to make sure I’m not near any lone women who might be HER. It’s definitely possible that she has already arrived and is sinking a bit of Dutch courage.

  I push my way through the crowds of after-work drinkers. Have I mentioned that I dug out the only hat I own – a kind of fedora-shaped straw sun hat – and I am now wearing it pulled low over my face, my hair mostly tucked up inside. Secret Squirrel on a mission. I keep my head down. My first cursory glances reveal no women drinking on their own. And definitely no Patrick. I relax a little. I’ve made it.

  There are no free tables as far as I can see but I think it’s best if I stay mobile anyway. In case of the need for a quick getaway. There is also, I notice, a back entrance from the bar onto what must be Wardour Street. I have to place myself somewhere where I can watch two aspects at once and still not be seen. There is no time to get a drink, but I’ve given up caring whether any of the punters think I’m a basket case. I find a spot near the front window, tuck myself into a corner, between tables of bemused drinkers, and wait.

  Five minutes go by. Still no single women show up. Maybe her timekeeping is as bad as Patrick’s. Or maybe they have somehow sneaked in through a fire exit and up the stairs before I could spot them. Of course it’s entirely possible that they have changed their arrangements and either cancelled or altered the time. I decide to give it till quarter to seven before I give up.

  At just before twenty to my heart practically stops. I recognize the walk first. Patrick has this way of rolling from side to side as he moves. Even his gait is cocky and thinks it’s a bit better than everyone else’s. It stops just short of being a swagger. I step back from the window, afraid he might see me, but he keeps his head down and his eyes on the ground. I see him enter the reception. I assume he’ll go straight to check in – and it only occurs to me at that moment that he will probably call ‘Ben’ and let her know the room number so she can meet him up there, in which case I will never know for certain who she is – but he bypasses the desk and seems to be aiming straight for the bar.

  Shit.

  I edge back into a corner. Turn to face the wall like a naughty child taking its punishment. I’m sure I look perfectly normal. Middle-aged woman, straw hat, staring at a spot where they missed a bit of paint on the wall from a distance of six inches. I don’t care. I just don’t want to get caught.

  Of course, I now have no idea what is happening behind me. Patrick might be shagging someone on the wooden floor in full view of everyone, for all I know. I have no idea how long I’m going to have to
wait either, before it’s safe to turn round. I know now that my plan is ridiculous. I should never have involved myself. I will it all to be over.

  When a hand touches my shoulder I jump. Actually jump as if I have been shot out of a cannon. And then I hear him. Patrick.

  ‘Tamsin! What on earth are you doing here?’

  34

  Bea

  Jesus. That was close. A few seconds either way and fuck knows what would have happened. A live episode of Jeremy Kyle probably. Someone was on my side this evening, though. Or, more likely, it was just a massive stroke of luck.

  I left work about ten minutes after Tamsin. She had gone off in a big hurry, apparently to meet someone. I didn’t ask who. I assumed Michelle because I knew she would be on her own this evening. I had arranged to meet Patrick at the Soho Hotel. The plan was, as always, that I would hang around outside discreetly until he arrived. He would walk straight past me without acknowledging me. Once I had given him a few minutes to check in I would go to the reception desk and ask if I could call up to his room. He’d tell me the room number and I’d be on my way.

  The ‘Ben’ rules are very strict. Days, times and venues only. No texting of room numbers because why on earth would Patrick have booked a room if he was meeting his friend? No phoning ever, except under the most dire emergency and even then, if Patrick says, ‘I’ll call you back in a bit, mate,’ it means that he is with Michelle and I am to hang up immediately. In the unlikely event that I run into him and his lovely wife on the street I am to walk on by. Not even a glance.

  I know how it goes.

  I’m always a little bit cautious whenever I arrive at our chosen meeting place. You never know who you might bump into and I make sure I have an excuse at the ready. I tend to look around, checking out who is in the vicinity before I head inside. And thank God for that because that’s the reason I saw Tamsin.

  I didn’t realize it was her at first. She was wearing this big straw hat. It wasn’t a particularly sunny day so she stood out even more. She was walking just in front of me as I reached the alley where the hotel entrance is and, as she turned in, I noticed she pulled the hat down even further over her face. Large sunglasses underneath it. I spotted the bag next. Tamsin has this big bright red tote that she always carries. Full of Christ-knows-what crap. And then I realized that the pale pink pedal pushers and honey-coloured Fitflops had a very familiar ring to them.

  I stopped in my tracks. A woman behind me tutted as she swerved to avoid me. I tried to fathom what Tamsin was doing here. Was this where she was meeting Michelle? It seemed unlikely just because of the coincidence alone. And if she was, then why the disguise? For a second I entertained the idea that Tamsin might be having an assignation herself. Meeting someone she shouldn’t be meeting.

  And then it hit me.

  I scrambled for my phone. Broke protocol and called Patrick – if this didn’t count as an emergency then I didn’t know what did. He sounded irritated when he answered.

  ‘What’s up?’

  I burbled something about Tamsin and the fact that we were in danger of getting caught.

  ‘How the fuck did she know where we were meeting? Is she on to you, do you think?’

  The thought made me shudder. ‘No. Definitely not. I’d be strung up over Brook Green if she did.’

  ‘Don’t go in,’ he said and I stopped myself from saying, ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

  ‘Of course not. Shall I meet you somewhere else?’

  He thought for a second. ‘No. Do you mind if we forget about this evening?’

  I did, I was actually quite pissed off, but I stopped myself from saying it. ‘OK. What are you going to do?’

  ‘If she’s there to see me then she’s going to see me.’

  ‘You are kidding?’

  ‘No. Fuck her.’

  ‘Patrick, don’t just do this because you’re angry at her. What if she tells Michelle?’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can be so certain of that …’ I understood that Tamsin would never want Michelle to know the ways in which she had helped Patrick cover up his infidelity, but I wasn’t confident she wouldn’t decide enough was enough. After all, why was she here?

  ‘I just am, OK.’

  ‘Will you call me later – it’ll be OK, I’ll be on my own …’

  ‘I’ll try. If I don’t, don’t call me, OK.’

  ‘I know! Patrick … Jesus …’

  The temptation to hang around and try to see how it played out was overwhelming. I couldn’t imagine what Patrick was intending to say to her. Or what her reaction would be to getting caught out. It was almost funny.

  Almost.

  35

  Tamsin

  I freeze.

  Escape plans flash through my head. I could pretend to faint, collapsing on the floor and refusing to respond until some kind soul calls an ambulance and has me spirited away. I could claim amnesia, pretend I’m on a secret spy mission – which I am in a way – or even just the old-fashioned make a run for it. Hold on … why is he acting so pleased to see me …?

  Reluctantly I turn to face him.

  ‘Patrick!’

  He laughs. ‘Why are you standing looking at the wall? And why have you got that hat on?’

  ‘Oh … I just saw someone I can’t stand come in … that bloke who works in my bank … actually, you wouldn’t know him. But, anyway, I didn’t want to have to talk to him. How about you? What are you doing here?’

  He doesn’t miss a beat. ‘I was supposed to be meeting my mate Ben, but he just called and cancelled. Right as I walked in the door.’

  ‘Oh. Do I know Ben?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He’s from football.’

  Patrick plays football once a week or so with a seemingly random group of friends, none of whom I have ever met, so that seems like as good a cover for Ben as anything.

  ‘See him a lot do you?’ I say, and I know my question sounds loaded but I can’t stop myself. I’m still convinced that Ben doesn’t exist. That he’s her.

  ‘I do actually. What about you, though, Tam? You haven’t said what you’re doing here.’

  That’s a good question. What am I doing here? I can hardly say I was supposed to be meeting someone but they cancelled, too.

  ‘Oh, I just had a quick after-work drink with Bea. You know, my assistant.’

  I can’t tell if he believes me or not.

  ‘Right. That’s a long way for you both to come. Don’t they have pubs in Brook Green?’

  Fair point. ‘She’s going to the cinema but she wasn’t meeting her friends till just before seven so I said I’d come and keep her company for a bit.’

  ‘What’s she going to see?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea. Why are you asking me all these questions?’

  He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Annoying, isn’t it?’

  My heart is pounding in my chest but I don’t see how he could be on to me. Not unless he’s noticed that my text message has been deleted, which is possible but – I think – unlikely. Unless he’d thought to check after Michelle told him about my early morning visit on Saturday. There’s no way of knowing unless he brings it up. Or I do.

  ‘Who were you really supposed to be meeting? I assume it was your girlfriend.’

  ‘I told you. My friend Ben. That … it’s all over and done with.’

  ‘Really?’ Even though I know I can’t trust him as far as I could throw him I can’t help but grasp on to this glimmer of hope.

  He
nods. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I came to my senses.’

  ‘Fuck, Patrick. I wish I knew whether I could believe you.’

  ‘It’s the truth. To be honest I’m past caring about what you think. So … what were you really doing here?’

  Oh no. He’s not catching me out that easily. ‘Having a drink with Bea.’

  ‘Great,’ he says, a crocodile smile on his face. ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’

  I get out of there as quickly as I can. Thankfully Patrick doesn’t suggest hopping on the Northern line with me. I think he’s as glad to see the back of me as I am of him. My over-excited heartbeat doesn’t slow down until the tube reaches Camden. On a whim, I push my way through the crowds and out onto the platform. I head up the escalator, pull out my mobile and call Bea. I have to talk to someone.

  Her number clicks straight on to answerphone. Of course. She’s on a date with Danny, probably having pre-club drinks somewhere smart. I decide not to leave a message. After all, what would I say?

  36

  Tamsin

  I know what I have to do. Scrap that. I know what I want to do. I want to find out who he’s seeing and I want to have it all blow up in his face. I don’t want to give him the chance to cover his tracks. He thinks he’s so fucking untouchable.

  Of course I have no idea how I am going to achieve this. That’s the boring detail; I’ll deal with that later. Meanwhile I have to make sure that breaking up Michelle and Patrick – or at least giving her the reason to want to break up with him – is really what I want to do. I have to make sure that I’m not just entertaining the idea for selfish reasons. And there are enough of those. I want my friend back. I want revenge.