Strictly Between Us

by Jane Fallon

  ‘There she is,’ Adam hisses. I’ve momentarily forgotten why we’re there, so it takes me a second to get with the programme. Adam is trying to hold his mobile up discreetly to snap pictures.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I say. My heart is pounding. I feel sick.

  ‘Hundred per cent. Quick,’ he says as I start to turn around. I feel as if this is the point from which Patrick and I can never return. Our watershed. Or is it our Waterloo? What the hell am I doing?

  There’s only one woman outside the Covent Garden Hotel. She’s struggling to put her umbrella up. Long, thick, dark hair swinging forward over her face. Long tanned legs. For a second my brain just thinks something about her is familiar. This is my moment to storm over, find a way to make her look at me, but it’s as if I’m being held back. I can’t move. Something isn’t right.

  ‘Look up,’ Adam urges her under his breath.

  The umbrella swoops up. And that’s the moment it hits me. It’s not so much that I see her face, it’s more the whole package.

  I turn back round. I feel as if the floor has just been swept out from under me.

  ‘You must have got it wrong.’

  Adam looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘No, that’s her.’

  He looks over. ‘She’s heading for Seven Dials.’

  ‘That can’t be her.’

  ‘It is. Listen, do you want me to follow her? See where she goes?’ He jumps up.

  ‘No. Leave it. Let’s go somewhere else and get a drink.’ I don’t want to still be here when Patrick comes out.

  He sits back down, defeated. ‘I’m confused.’

  ‘That woman,’ I say. ‘That’s Bea.’

  He looks none the wiser and why would he.

  ‘My assistant. I’ve told you about her. She’s great. I adore her …’

  Adam is open mouthed. ‘The one you got to try and catch him out in the first place?’

  ‘Exactly.

  ‘Shit. Now I’m really confused. Are you sure?’

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ I say.

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  I can’t take it in. Can’t begin to understand what just happened. Bea and Patrick? It makes no sense. I don’t even know how it’s possible.

  ‘Actually, do you know what? I just want to go home.’

  PART FOUR

  * * *

  46

  Tamsin

  Adam insisted on coming home with me. Tucking me up in bed with a hot drink like I was a sick toddler. I half expected him to read me a story. He offered to sleep in the spare room, too, but I thought that was a bridge too far. He had a classroom full of scary teenagers to face at a quarter to nine in the morning. I let him give a very confused Ron his late-night bathroom break and then I insisted he head home to Clapham.

  Of course I didn’t sleep at all. My mind was spinning with all the possible explanations. The question I kept coming back to was how long had Bea been lying to me for? Was it her Patrick had been seeing all along? That made no sense. She was the one who confirmed to me that the rumours were probably true when we first heard them. Why would she have done that if some of those rumours might have been about her? To steer me in the wrong direction? It seemed a bit risky.

  It must have happened later, but I had no idea how their paths might have crossed again. And if she was the same woman Patrick had confessed to seeing for six weeks when I challenged him about it, then they must have got together soon after his tearful appeal to me. Soon after You Know What.

  And did that mean she’d told him? About the honey trap? Had he known all along?

  My head hurt. I’ve never been very good at problem solving. I get lost in the possibilities. Forget what it is I should be focusing on.

  I turn my alarm off before it even sounds. I can’t face the noise. I haul myself out of bed, bleary eyed and staggering like a drunk. I have a meeting with Living at lunchtime – one that I requested – otherwise I would just stay put. Take a sleeping pill, pull the duvet over my head and hope to pass out till Christmas.

  I decide to go straight to the meeting, avoiding the office. I can’t face seeing Bea yet. I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. I have to decide what to do first, how to proceed. Punching her in the face probably wouldn’t help matters, although it would almost certainly make me feel better.

  I make a pot of tea, take my laptop into the bedroom and get back under the covers. Then I remember Ron needs attention, so I take him downstairs still in my pyjamas, rush him through his excretions yet again and chuck some Winalot into a bowl for him. He seems thrilled by my unusual return to bed and climbs back in with me when he’s scoffed the lot, panting his meaty breath in my face. I tell myself I’ll take him for an extra-long walk when I feel a bit better.

  Of course, I have no real intention of doing any work. I set my alarm for half eleven and lie back with my eyes closed.

  I’m just drifting off – it must be no more than five minutes later – when my phone rings. Bea. I turn off the sound and let it ring out.

  When the jarring beep of the alarm blares this time I’m fast asleep. I don’t want to get up, but I haven’t left myself much time to get ready, so I force myself out of bed. Ron grunts and settles back down, happy to stay there till Sharon the dog walker arrives at three, no doubt. I would love Ron’s life. Even though he doesn’t always get what he wants – a walk, a treat, the chance to adequately sniff the most recent pee messages left by the other neighbourhood dogs – I think he has it pretty good. He seems to be in a permanent state of ecstasy anyhow.

  I check my phone while I wait for the kettle to boil. A missed call from Adam. I listen to the voicemail – just checking you’re OK, that kind of thing – and it almost cheers me up for half a second. Almost.

  I sleepwalk through my meeting. It’s obvious my heart’s not in it. I leave knowing there’s no chance of them picking up any of my ideas, despite us all promising to keep in touch and ‘catch up when they’re further down the line’. I don’t care that it’s a waste of time. I’m just happy it got me out of having to go into the office.

  I now have three missed calls from Bea. Ignoring her is not a long-term option. Either I confront her with what I now know or I try to pretend everything is OK. For the moment at least.

  Adam is the only person I can talk to. Thankfully he answers. It must still be lunchtime. Unless his class are so unruly he’s just given up.

  ‘So?’ is the first thing he says.

  ‘I haven’t seen her yet. I’m on my way in now.’

  ‘Have you been hiding?’

  ‘Meeting.’

  ‘Did you manage to get any sleep?’ he asks, concern in his voice.

  ‘Not so as you’d notice. I seem to have gone from being someone who can sleep standing up on the tube to someone who couldn’t even manage it if they got hit over the head with a brick.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Adam says, and then out of nowhere he barks, ‘Put him down! I said, put him down! Sorry, Tamsin. Lunch duty.’

  Now he comes to mention it, I can hear the squealing and shouting of the kids on their break.

  ‘Anyway, I was thinking. You hold all the cards now. You know everything and they have no idea that you do. Just think about that for a bit. Don’t do anything rash.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can look her in the face and pretend everything’s normal.’

  ‘You’ve been doing it with Patrick for long enough by the sounds of it.
’

  ‘God, I’m a really bad judge of character.’

  ‘Well, your taste in friends does leave something to be desired. Apart from me that is.’

  I can’t even be bothered to think of something funny to say in return. I hear a loud klaxon on the other end of the line.

  ‘Shit, that’s the bell. I’ll call you this evening. Don’t do anything before then. We can make a plan.’

  ‘OK. Thanks, Adam. Really, though, I don’t know who else I could talk to about this.’

  ‘Because they’d have you sectioned,’ he says cheerily. ‘Which, by the way, I still might.’

  By the time I get off the tube at Hammersmith I’m feeling sick with anticipation. I now have four missed calls from Bea. I should have phoned her back, just to make it seem as if everything was normal, but each time I tried I couldn’t go through with it. I try to make it to the second floor without her seeing me but, of course, she’s been watching out for me to arrive, so she’s on me the minute I set foot in reception.

  ‘There you are!’

  I look at her. She looks like Bea. No edge, no hint that she’s been up all night torturing herself about what she’s been doing, no sense that pretty much every word she says to me is a lie. She’s just Bea. I don’t know what I was expecting – horns and a tail? – but I can’t help but be impressed with her skills.

  Actually, when I allow myself to look closer she does look a bit like she hasn’t slept either. She has dark rings around her eyes. That slightly vacant look you get after a sleepless night.

  ‘Sorry,’ I manage to say. I tell my eyes to look up at her face, but they’re insisting they’re happier staring at a point just by her feet. ‘I meant to phone you back when I left Living but I got stuck on another call. Everything OK?’

  ‘All fine. I just wanted to check if you needed anything.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I didn’t, so that’s fine. Is the new Rooms With a View edit on my desk?’

  ‘Yes. Do you want me to watch it with you? I haven’t had a chance yet.’

  ‘No. I’ll give it to you after.’

  ‘Shall I get you some lunch then?’

  I produce a salad out of my tote. ‘Already got it.’

  ‘Coffee?’ Bea says hopefully, and I think I’d better give her something so I say yes, thanks. I can pretend to be on a call when she brings it so she doesn’t think she can sit down and chat.

  I head for the stairs and, to my horror, Bea follows me.

  ‘So …? What happened? Did you see him?’

  Of course. As far as Bea is concerned I spent the best part of yesterday evening on a hunt for wild geese.

  ‘Oh. No. Nothing.’

  I have to decide quickly whether to reveal I know I was set up or not. Clearly the less information she has about anything the better.

  ‘It’s a big place. There was no way I could keep an eye on everyone coming and going. It was a stupid idea really.’

  Do I imagine it? Do I see her fighting to suppress the slightest hint of a smirk?

  ‘Not necessarily. Like you said, it’s all you’ve got. There’ll be another chance.’

  I want to slap her.

  ‘Hopefully. I can’t quite believe Patrick’ll be stupid enough to let something slip again, though.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. By the sound of it he’s getting careless and complacent. I mean, the fact that he took a call from her in front of Michelle …’

  I’ve had about as much as I can stand for the moment.

  ‘I don’t have time for this …’

  ‘Are you OK? You seem upset.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not pissed off with me about something?’

  Oh the irony. The arrogance. The sheer frigging nasty cockiness.

  I make myself breathe slowly. I don’t want to snap at her. I try not to choke on my words.

  ‘No! Of course not. I just … well, you know that Adam that I mentioned to you? I saw him for a drink last night after I gave up hanging round Canary Wharf and we had a bit of a fight.’ I hope Adam won’t hate me for throwing him under this particular bus. I think he’ll understand.

  Bea’s eyes – which I have finally managed to force myself to look at – are wide. ‘Oh my God. You have to tell me all.’

  ‘Later,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to tell really.’

  And then, because it seems I can’t help myself, I say, ‘How’s Danny, by the way?’

  ‘Funnily enough we had our first row last night, too. There must’ve been a full moon or something.’

  Now I’m interested although, of course, I have no idea if what she’s telling me is complete fiction or the story of her and Patrick with the names changed to protect the guilty. It would explain the dark shadows, though.

  ‘What about?’

  Bea smiles and rolls her eyes. ‘Something and nothing. I can hardly even remember how it started.’

  ‘You didn’t break up, though?’ I say, mock concerned.

  ‘No, no. It’s all fine. I suppose that’s a watershed, isn’t it? Your first fight.’

  ‘Thank goodness. I’m hoping I get to meet him soon. See what all the fuss is about.’

  Does she hesitate for just a second too long? I almost smile at the absurdity of it. ‘Definitely. I’ve told him all about you. My bitch of a boss and all that.’ She laughs.

  Ha ha. How hilarious.

  I force a chuckle. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘So where did you go, you and Adam?’

  ‘I really should go and watch the edit. I promised them notes by the end of the day. And I’m desperate for that coffee.’

  Bea looks disappointed. I’m sure she finds the tales of my disastrous love life very entertaining. She probably shares them with Patrick and they have a good laugh about what a saddo I am. She’s always the professional, though.

  ‘Of course. Do you want our old muck or shall I go to Caffè Nero?’

  ‘Caffè Nero,’ I say, thinking that’ll get rid of her for a few minutes. ‘Large skinny wet latte.’

  ‘I know!’

  She turns and heads down the stairs, long hair swinging. I go into my office and shut the door. OK, that wasn’t so bad. In fact it was quite empowering. Her thinking she had one over on me when, in fact, I’m the one with the big guns. In fact, I have the whole artillery now. Adam was right.

  I write him a text. ‘I haven’t given anything away. You’d be proud of me.’ I send it knowing I won’t get a reply for a while. He’ll be cowering in a corner trying to quote Chaucer while form 11B throw screwed-up bits of paper at him, I imagine.

  47

  Bea

  I hardly slept at all last night. It’s been years since I cried over a boy. I can’t even remember when. But the thought of losing Patrick – of him just cutting me out of his life altogether – absolutely floored me. I know I’m always skating on thin ice a bit, but I really didn’t expect him to take my suggestion of a job so badly. I miscalculated that one wildly.

  I spent hours trying to think of ways I could contact him without making things worse. I thought about going through the official channels again – calling Verity and making it sound as if I was phoning on Tamsin’s behalf – but he might see that as some kind of implied threat. I can get to you if I want, that kind of thing. A bit bunny boiler. I don’t really have any choice but to wait it out. I hate not being able to do anything to influence the outcome. Waiting has never been my forte.

  The day has been interminable. I’m sure I was put on this earth to do m
ore than pick up dry cleaning and get coffee. Tamsin actually needs a wife, not an assistant. The compliant, demure kind who lives to serve her husband. Quietly taking Quaaludes when his back is turned. I am acutely aware of the way Lucy smirks every time I am given another menial task to do. She would never get coffee for Ian. He would never ask her, preferring the easier option of Ashley instead.

  In between cups of coffee Tamsin has me clearing out her old production files and shredding whatever is no longer of any use.

  Ashley is supposed to be in charge of shredding. Tamsin worries that she won’t do it properly and that all the deep dark secrets of the Home For Two budget will be there for the binmen to see. Ashley offers – she always does – but Tamsin practically bites her head off. When Tamsin’s not around, though, I leave a stack of papers on Ashley’s desk with a note on: ‘For shredding’.

  I’m on my way home when Patrick finally calls. I remember, now, to turn the volume on my second phone up when I leave for the day and off again in the morning. I live in hope of it bursting into life. I almost press ignore by mistake in my overeagerness to answer.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Is it OK to talk?’ he says, and I have to stop myself from saying, Obviously or I wouldn’t have answered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry for snapping at you,’ he says, and I almost cry with gratitude.

  ‘No. It’s me who should be sorry. It was a stupid suggestion. I was just in a panic about what to do. I should never have brought it up.’ I always do this. I always over apologize. I’m about to tell myself to shut up when he does it for me.

  ‘OK, stop now. Can you do Monday?’

  I don’t even pretend to have to think about it. We make a plan. Half past six at The Langham. He tells me he’ll send a fake Ben text.

  ‘Tamsin waited at Canary Wharf for two hours, by the way,’ I tell him and he laughs. ‘She didn’t even suspect anything. She just thinks she missed you.’