by Jane Fallon
Ron pushes his nose against my leg. I lean down and rub his head. ‘You like him too then?’
Jesus! Do I like Adam? Is that what’s happening? With his potatoey face and his stupid jokes? No chance. I like my men with cheekbones and angles. I’m just feeling vulnerable is all. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I’m Whitney Houston falling for her bodyguard – it’s all about needing to feel protected.
50
Bea
My euphoria doesn’t last long. I’m walking from Hammersmith tube, heading for Brook Green. Coffee for Tamsin in one hand, tea for me in the other. I hear my second phone buzz. I plonk the drinks down on a bench and root around in my bag. I know it’s Patrick, although I’ve had a few false alarms, even with this phone that no one knows exists. Vodafone. Someone telling me I could claim for an accident I didn’t know I’d had. A wrong number. Still, every time it beeps my heart skips a bit, I am so convinced it’s him.
This time it is. It’s a text. I press to read the message impatiently.
‘Sorry, have to cancel Friday. Family emergency.’
I read it again just to make sure I haven’t missed something. What the fuck? What does family emergency mean? It had better be that someone’s at death’s door. Michelle hopefully. There’s no mention of when else we might meet up.
I sling the phone back into my bag. My good mood has evaporated. So maybe he hasn’t forgiven me for our little fight the other night after all. I feel sick. My heart is pounding. I grab the drinks, not caring that some of the coffee spills over the top.
Tamsin is arriving just as I get there. I spot her from halfway down the road – auburn hair, pink jacket, minus her red tote for once. I keep my head down so we don’t have to do that waving hello thing all the way along the street. I actually consider ducking into one of the shops to avoid meeting her on the doorstep, but it would only postpone the inevitable for a few minutes and, besides, I’m not sure how I could justify the sudden urge to buy a bathroom fitting or a table lamp to her if she saw me.
‘Morning.’ I look up and she’s waiting for me at the door. She does that thing where she looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to notice – what? And then I see it. There’s a raw red scrape down the side of her face.
‘What on earth? What have you done?’
She was mugged, she tells me. Practically on her doorstep. It sounds scary – I’m a bit of a coward when it comes to stuff like that. Whenever someone tells me about something bad that has happened to them I have a tendency to re-imagine the whole scenario with me in their place to frighten myself. It works too.
For once I genuinely feel bad for her. ‘Did you go to A & E? Do you think you should get yourself checked out?’
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Do I have anything this morning?’
I try to remember. Usually I’m good at this, but today my focus is off.
‘I don’t think so. I’ll double check when I get upstairs.’
Turns out she has a general meeting with a producer scouting for work at half past nine. I just have time to hand her his CV and the coffee before he arrives. I’ll leave it up to Ashley to offer him a drink when he gets here.
‘Could you get this for me?’ Tamsin says, holding out a dry-cleaning ticket. ‘And get me a Red Bull? I didn’t sleep much last night. And you might as well pick up a Marie Claire while you’re there. And pop into Boots on the way past and get some Savlon. And some Vitamin E cream.’
Anything else? I want to say. Would you like me to give you a massage or trim your nose hairs? I keep my mouth shut, of course.
‘Oh, and I have a load of filing needs doing. It’s on that little table in the corner of my office.’
‘I’ll ask Ashley to do it.’ Filing is the most brain dead of all brain-dead jobs. Apart from shredding. The fact that Tamsin always insists on giving it to me to do is, frankly, insulting.
‘Could you do it? I don’t want her away from the phones for too long.’
I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. ‘Fine.’
‘No rush,’ she says. ‘Just before lunch.’
Lucy, it turns out, is off sick. So she says. I imagine she’s having a Brazilian blow dry or a Brazilian wax. Something South American anyway. I spot a pile of her work on my desk – she must have asked Ashley to put it there. I pick it up and dump the whole lot on the reception desk.
‘I have to go out and do errands for Tamsin.’
Ashley doesn’t even flinch. ‘OK. I’ll try and work my way through some of this. She was adamant I give it to you, though, otherwise—’
‘She doesn’t even have to know,’ I say, already heading down the stairs.
Being out of the office gives me more time to check my second phone. Nothing. I turn the ringer on just in case. I know Tamsin will be in with the producing hopeful for at least forty-five minutes, so I dawdle along, in no rush. Get it out of my bag at least ten times and check it. Dial his number twice and then chicken out of pressing call.
Not for the first time I realize how helpless I am in this relationship. The balance of power is – and always has been – in Patrick’s favour. When I allow myself to think about it I feel a flush of shame. Did women really throw themselves under horses so I could mope around and wait for a married man to phone me when it suits him?
Who am I kidding? I’m someone’s bit on the side. And maybe, in so far as Patrick is concerned, I am never going to be anything more. I’m a walking cliché.
When I get back Tamsin is just showing her visitor out. I can tell she wasn’t that impressed because she’s edging him towards the door without introducing him to anyone or making any ‘Welcome to the family’ type comments. She beckons me into her office. It’s actually looking less like a tip for once, because I threw a load of stuff into a bin bag last night, knowing she had someone coming in first thing. The cleaners have been in, too, and there’s a vague hint of furniture polish rising up from the odd naked bit of desk. They should wear hazmat suits, those cleaners. I can see a law suit one day where one of them sues for some tropical disease they’ve picked up from a weeks-old bit of cheese sandwich they’ve found under her chair.
I hand over the dry cleaning, the copy of Marie Claire, the drink and the toiletries. She opens the Red Bull and necks half of it back in one.
‘Feeling any better?’
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I’m OK.’
I flop down on the sofa. ‘So, tell me exactly what happened. How late was it?’
Tamsin grimaces. ‘Actually, Bea, I need you to help Ashley out with Ian’s stuff. It’s not right to leave it all to her.’
I wonder if she hit her head as well as grazed her cheek. ‘Oh. OK. You do know Lucy’s skiving, right? She was fine yesterday.’
‘Even if she is. It’s not Ashley’s job …’
Well, that told me. ‘Sure.’
There’s an awkward pause where I realize she means go and do it now. I stand up again. ‘Right … I’ll just … let me know if you need anything.’
51
Bea
Finally – after endless agonizing days – there’s another message. A date. ‘Tonight. 6.30. Claridges?’
I consider replying with some genius witticism like ‘Are you sure your family are all OK?’ or even ‘Sorry, I’m meeting someone else’, but of course, I don’t. I text ‘OK’ back within nanoseconds.
Friday evening was agony. Sarah was meeting a few friends in Covent Garden. Including some bloke from her work that she’d been banging on about for ages, and she
was trying to impress. I invited myself to tag along. Drank way too much way too quickly. Flirted with him outrageously. There’s a blurry memory of crying at one point. Me, not him. Threw up on the way to the tube. Sarah hasn’t spoken to me since. Not that I care much. She can be very annoying.
I spent the rest of the weekend nursing my throbbing head and rehearsing what I was going to say to Patrick. I still believed he would be in touch to explain more. I couldn’t think he would just leave me hanging. I kept on checking my new phone every two minutes, even though there was no way he would have taken his home with him at the weekend. He wouldn’t risk Saint Michelle coming across it.
Yesterday afternoon, I’m ashamed to say, I got the tube up to Highgate and wandered along North Hill as if I had every legitimate reason to be there. I don’t even know what number he lives at – not that I had any intention of knocking on the door. I haven’t lost the plot that much. Not yet – I don’t know what I wanted, to be honest. Actually, I do. I just wanted to stop feeling like it was all out of my control. I wanted to feel as if I had the power for once.
As soon as I got there I realized what a waste of time it was. I walked for about ten minutes and still hadn’t come to the end of the street. It goes on forever. And then I started to panic that I might bump into him and Saint Michelle, out for a cosy Sunday stroll, so I jumped onto the first bus that came along and seemed to be heading vaguely in the right direction and got out of there.
But then at lunchtime today I check and there it is. The clouds part, the sun comes out. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Tamsin stands up. Stretches. Yawns. ‘Will you go through that filing cabinet in reception and chuck anything we don’t need any more? It’s way too full.’
‘Couldn’t Ashley do that?’ For fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be her personal assistant not the general dogsbody.
‘Are you busy?’ She knows, of course, that she hasn’t really given me anything to do this morning. I’ve been hanging around hoping to get some insight into what might be happening chez Patrick, but she’s refusing to indulge in small talk.
‘A bit. I’d just planned to catch up on a few things, that’s all.’
‘Well, maybe start this afternoon then.’ She turns on her heels to go. ‘Oh, and could you get me a Caffè Nero? And some Mentos? Thanks.’
She’s gone before I can even say OK.
Lucy is back. She’s doing that thing where every now and then she remembers she was supposedly off sick last week and lets out a little cough. Ian is all concern.
‘Do you think you came back too soon?’
She gives him a martyred look. ‘I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch.’
‘I appreciate it,’ Ian says. ‘But don’t stay unless you feel a hundred per cent.’
I hear myself sigh loudly and keep my head down in case he decides to try and offload some of his stuff onto me because Lucy’s not feeling up to it.
‘Maybe I will leave a bit early,’ she says. ‘Just a little.’
‘I have to go at half three today,’ I say. It has suddenly occurred to me that I need to go home and shower and change before this evening. I didn’t come prepared. ‘Tamsin said it’s fine. So, if you do leave early, Lucy, I can’t cover for you. Sorry.’
Lucy gives me a look like I’ve just shat in her coffee. Something I’ve considered once or twice.
‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to stay till the end of the day then,’ she says in a pained voice. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean I feel worse tomorrow.’
Tamsin is behaving a bit oddly. I don’t know if it’s down to her still feeling a bit wobbly after the mugging or she’s pissed off with me about something, but she’s keeping her door shut and not beckoning me in for little chats. I knock lightly. Go straight in. She’s sitting at her desk staring off into space.
‘You need anything?’
She jumps back to life. ‘No. Thanks.’
‘Is it OK if I leave a bit early today? Our boiler’s on the blink and the only slot I could get is four till eight, so I’ll have to go by half three latest. Ali’s got some meeting last thing that’s life or death apparently, and Sarah’s away …’
‘No, not really,’ she says. I feel as if she hasn’t even listened to what I’ve asked.
‘It’s just the plumber’s going to be there.’
‘Really sorry, Bea, I need you.’
I can’t help myself. ‘For what?’
Tamsin smiles an apologetic smile. ‘You have to watch the latest Rooms With a View edit. I just can’t decide what I think of the middle section. I mean, it might be OK, but it drags a bit and I’m not sure what else they could put there. It needs a fresh pair of eyes.’
Unbelievable. ‘Couldn’t Lucy have a look? I wouldn’t normally ask but this was the only time we could get and we’ve got no hot water.’
‘I wish you’d asked me this morning,’ she says. ‘I would have got you to watch it earlier.’
I think quickly. I’ll be home by ten, I could have a look at it then, ‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘I’ll take it home with me and watch it while the plumber’s doing his thing.’
‘No, that’s no good. I promised them I’d get back to them by the end of the day. Sorry.’
I can’t help my irritation showing. Now I’m going to have to meet Patrick with unwashed hair and wearing my most unflattering jeans.
‘Fine,’ I say huffily. ‘I’ll just call and let them know we’ll have to cancel. They’ll probably charge me a cancellation fee this late in the day.’
‘Like I said, I wish you’d asked earlier … Oh, and can you get me another coffee,’ she says as I go to leave.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Anything else?’
She gives a vague shake of her head, so I take that as a no. I go to Caffè Nero and buy her a full-fat latte. It’s the least I can do.
52
Tamsin
Michelle and I are meeting in Pizza Express. I couldn’t face the intensity of sitting round at hers. I need people around us. Distractions. I thought about telling her I was busy again. Even that I had a date. But I’ve used that excuse so often recently I’m worried she either thinks I’m avoiding her or she’ll be expecting me to introduce her to some new boyfriend soon. Invite her to the engagement party.
‘Let’s go out,’ I said when she invited me over to keep her company. She screwed her face up.
‘I don’t know if I can be bothered.’
‘I don’t mean to a night club, I just mean to grab something to eat. Just for a change.’
We arranged that she would come over my way because she had a meeting just up the road last thing. Pizza Express was the only restaurant we could think of that we both knew where it was, so it seemed like as good a place to meet up as any. I’m flapping a bit of powdered foundation over my face in a haphazard fashion when my phone buzzes.
‘Michelle is in reception for you,’ Ashley says when I answer.
‘She’s here? Why?’
‘Um,’ Ashley says. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘She’s not expecting me,’ I hear Michelle say. ‘Just tell her I was early. I can wait if she’s busy.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll come down.’
The thought of Michelle in my office makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Bea since she shared her thoughts on the Rooms With a View edit with me, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t leave without telling me she was going, even if she’s still in a bad mood. I’m hoping she’s hidden away in the toilets preparing for the date
that I have no question she has this evening.
I can hear Michelle’s voice as I head down the stairs.
‘Whistles. But it was a couple of years ago.’
‘It’s a great colour.’ Bea says. I feel a wave of nausea. Not that I think there’s the slightest chance that Bea would give herself away. It’s just not right. The two of them making friendly conversation when Bea knows exactly who Michelle is but Michelle has no clue.
‘Hi,’ I say before I hit the bottom step. ‘I thought we were meeting in Pizza Express.’
I give her a hug.
‘I was early.’ She rolls her eyes as she says this. ‘I can wait, though, if you’re still busy.’
‘No, it’s fine, let’s go.’ I just want to get her out of there.
‘Plus I got the chance to finally meet the infamous Bea,’ Michelle says, smiling widely at her rival. ‘She’s been banging on for the past year about how amazing you are.’
Bea laughs. ‘Ha ha ha. I do my best.’
‘To hear Tamsin talk you’d think you were the second coming!’
‘And this is Ashley,’ I say, trying to change the subject.
Michelle waves. ‘Hi, Ashley.’
‘I was just admiring Michelle’s dress,’ Bea says, a smile I know must be insincere on her face. ‘It’s so … cute.’
I pick up the condescending edge in her voice. Will Michelle not to take the bait. Of course she does, though. She’s Michelle, she can’t help being nice to everyone.
‘It would look fantastic on you with your figure.’
Do I imagine it or does Bea give a hint of a smirk. ‘Maybe I’ll have a look, see if they have anything similar. Although no one’s really doing that A-line thing this year.’
How mature. Have a love rival who’s a few years older than you? Have a dig at their fashion sense.
‘I can’t keep up.’ Michelle laughs with no hint of having been slighted.