by Jane Fallon
I hear the door bang and then footsteps on the stairs. My heart starts pounding. Ashley jumps when she sees me, which makes me jump in return. We both squeal like we’re on a rollercoaster.
‘You gave me a fright,’ she says laughing. ‘Are you feeling better?’
Clearly she doesn’t know anything. I relax a little. ‘Yes, much thanks. I hope you don’t all come down with it.’ I’d told Ashley on the phone that I had a stomach bug. Some kind of norovirus.
‘Well, you didn’t miss anything. Everything’s up to date.’
‘Great. Thank you.’
Lucy’s next. Her concern is all for herself, of course. She makes that clear by opening the window wide and wafting her hand in front of her face whenever I speak.
By the time I hear the door again I’m calmer. However much Tamsin might want me dead, she’s not going to cause a ruckus in front of these two. Maybe she hasn’t even told Ian or Anne Marie, I think, but I dismiss that idea pretty quickly when I see Ian appear in reception, take one look at me and flee upstairs. I suppose it was too much to hope for.
Anne Marie manages a stiff hello and then Tamsin rolls in. I hear Ashley cheerily saying, ‘Bea’s back,’ and I keep my eyes on my computer screen, seemingly engrossed.
‘Great,’ Tamsin says. From what I can see out of the corner of my eye she doesn’t even look at me. ‘Would you mind phoning that director who’s meant to be coming in today and asking him if he can make it half an hour later, Ashley? I’m sure Bea has things to catch up with.’
There’s a turn-up for the books. Tamsin asking Ashley to make a call for her. That’s how desperate she must be not to have to deal with me. Fine. The more she keeps her distance the better.
And then she’s standing in the doorway.
‘Bea, could I see you in my office for a minute?’
68
Tamsin
I hadn’t expected to see her sitting there. Over the weekend I’d convinced myself that she was never going to come back. We could just post her final payslip to her – with some considerable deductions because of the way she’d let us down with no notice – and I could start the arduous task of finding a new assistant. An older, married one this time, with a face like a worn-out boxing glove.
I was actually feeling good. Lighter, as if a huge fat weight had been taken off my shoulders. Michelle had spent the weekend at mine. On Saturday morning we had spent hours removing everything she wanted to keep from her house. It was precious little for a thirty-eight-year-old, but it still filled both our cars. Michelle had decided to leave only with the personal things. The rest – the ‘stuff’ that a couple accumulate – was replaceable. Thankfully I had talked her out of just signing the place over. Patrick could buy out her share or he could sell up and they’d split the money, those were the options she was going to present him with.
All her worldly goods were now stashed in my spare room and she had already started looking at adverts for flats to rent. Adam – who had tactfully declined to help with the move when I put it to him, because he thought it might be insensitive for someone Michelle had only known for such a short time to be rampaging through the dying embers of her marital home – had offered to help her move in whenever she found somewhere new.
‘I’m very handy,’ he said. For some reason that made me laugh. It was such an unimpressive boast.
‘Great. Let’s hope the place she finds is falling down.’
On Sunday afternoon Michelle and I had gone to see Julian and Miriam in Maidenhead. Of course they were thrilled when they opened the door. An unexpected visit from their daughter and surrogate daughter was their idea of the perfect surprise. They took one look at Michelle, though, and with their parents’ witchy sixth sense knew something was up.
‘What’s happened, love?’ Miriam said before we’d even taken our coats off.
Michelle had sighed and then burst into tears, reduced to being a child again at the sight of her mum.
‘Patrick’s having an affair,’ she sobbed.
Needless to say Julian and Miriam were shocked, upset and ultimately angry. In fact Julian was practically incandescent with rage that his protégé could have repaid the family in this way. I saw the promise of the Truth Channel job escape from Patrick’s grasp and flutter to the ground.
‘You can move back in here,’ Miriam said when Michelle had finished telling them everything.
‘Don’t let him keep the house,’ Julian butted in. He had already threatened to go round and punch Patrick in the face, and even Michelle had tried not to laugh.
‘I won’t. And I’m staying with Tam for a bit, just till I find a flat.’
‘Well, your bed’s always here if you want it.’ It was, too. Michelle’s room was still almost the same as it had been when the two of us left aged eighteen. Our twin beds still facing each other on opposite walls. The same white throws and pale green sprigged curtains. Only the clutter had gone. And my poster of The Backstreet Boys.
‘Look after her,’ Miriam whispered in my ear as we left, after being force fed sandwiches and cakes. I had a chunk of a Victoria sponge wrapped up in my bag ‘for later’. What is it with me and cakes? Julian was busy telling Michelle he would dig out the name of a good solicitor for her.
‘I will.’
She hugged me. ‘Thank goodness she has you.’
‘Of course,’ I said, hoping she couldn’t sense the guilt that I could feel coming off me like heat from a radiator. She didn’t have to worry. Making Michelle happy was going to be my main priority from now on.
‘Close the door and sit down.’ Bea looks white faced. I actually have no idea what I am going to say to her. I just know I can’t pretend nothing has happened.
‘I’m a bit surprised you’re here, to be honest.’
‘You can’t sack me,’ she says, and I wonder if this is going to be more tricky than I’d hoped.
‘I know. I just thought you might stay away for a while longer, that’s all.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m handing in my notice. And I have holiday to use up. You won’t have to see much of me.’
‘Are you not even going to say sorry?’
‘Why do I need to apologize to you? You’ve behaved as badly as me after all.’
I ignore that. Now I have to put what I did to the back of my mind. Pretend it never happened.
‘I confided in you. You knew how worried I was for Michelle. God, Bea, you knew how much I thought of you.’
She looks a little chastised at that. Takes a long drink from her bottle of water. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen. It just did and then it spiralled out of control. I could hardly tell you. And let’s not forget it was you sent me up there to seduce him in the first place.’
‘To pretend to. Jesus Christ, how did you go from “please don’t make me do this” to shagging him?’
‘Same as you did, I suppose.’
‘We didn’t … anyway … it happened that night? That’s when it started?’
She nods.
‘If it makes you feel better I’m not seeing him any more.’
‘You can marry him now, for all I care. The damage is done.’
‘Listen, I feel awful for Michelle, I really do. But if it hadn’t been me it would have been someone else.’
She’s right, of course.
‘Probably.’
I feel as if there’s nothing more to say. I’m not going to ask her to stay because I couldn’t ever trust her again. But I can’t find it in me to hate her, either. The bottom line is that Patrick is the one to bl
ame. And Bea and I probably tie for second.
‘I’ll give you an OK reference.’
I see tears well up in her eyes and I look away. Her leaving is still the only possible outcome. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’d better go and tell Anne Marie you’re leaving. Make it official.’
‘Right. Yes.’ She stands up, sniffs. ‘Coffee?’
‘Lovely, thanks.’
And just like that I need to start looking for a new assistant.
PART FIVE
* * *
69
Tamsin
I’m sitting in the bedroom of Michelle’s flat in Maida Vale, watching while she gets ready for her first post-Patrick date. She looks gorgeous. The drawn, wan look has gone and been replaced by something more like her old self. The past week or so she’s actually started to look happy. Happier at least. On the road to happiness.
Next week she’ll complete on her new place – a one bedroom, one and a half bath, flat near St John’s Wood High Street. She – with me and/or Adam in tow most of the time – looked at about thirty apartments, from the big and beautiful in a scary area to postage-stamp-sized studios in chi chi postcodes. This one is a compromise. It’s on one of the not-so-desirable streets mere metres from high-end loveliness. The block is well cared for and safe, but with none of the added extras, like concierges and twenty-four-hour gyms, that would push the price over the edge. With the help of her share of the profit from the house – which sold in a matter of days to a cash buyer once Patrick got it into his head that there really was no happy ending on the horizon and buying Michelle out was out of the question given how dodgy his career prospects had suddenly started looking – and a large mortgage, she managed to charm the elderly home owner into accepting her offer.
Meanwhile she has been staying here since the week after it all blew up. Somehow she’s managed to make it feel like home, despite the dodgy décor and utilitarian furniture.
‘Too much?’ she says now, blotting her pale pink lipstick with a tissue.
‘You look gorgeous. And besides, it’s not like he doesn’t know what you look like.’
‘I’m actually nervous, how dumb is that?’
‘Just forget it’s meant to be a date. Don’t get all self-conscious.’
‘Is this a really stupid thing to be doing?’ She turns to face me.
‘Not at all. I think it’s great.’
The last couple of weeks working with Bea were what you might call interesting. Even though I knew she was feeling guilty, it was too little too late. I couldn’t shake the thought that she would still have been with Patrick if she’d thought he was really interested. But I couldn’t be bothered to punish her either. After all the hysteria and excitement, all I wanted was a peaceful life.
To be fair, she kept her head down and got on with her work. I’m not entirely sure what it was she was doing, because it seemed far preferable now to ask Ashley when I needed something, or to do it myself, than to have more contact with Bea than was necessary.
She went for several interviews while she was still with us, and I happily gave her the time off. I’m not even sure what they were for. I didn’t ask.
On her last day Ian and Anne Marie made a fuss of her, as indeed they should have. She’d done nothing wrong professionally, only personally. I hovered in reception as they toasted her with fizzy wine and cake, and handed her a gift voucher and a card. She came into my office just as I was putting my coat on. I’d been hoping to avoid any kind of a goodbye. I didn’t know what to say.
She shut the door behind her, which immediately made me nervous.
‘I just wanted to say,’ she said before I could ask her what she wanted. It all came out in a rush, as if she’d been rehearsing and wanted to get it out there before she forgot her lines. ‘I don’t want you to think I would ever go round spreading gossip, or telling anyone anything about what happened. I didn’t want you to think I’d go to a new job and be bad mouthing you or talking about … you know what …’
She paused. I have to be honest, it was a bit of a weight off my mind. Even though Bea wasn’t prone to bitching, I had wondered whether she might not be able to resist smearing my name a bit. Not that I thought people would believe her – they would most probably just assume it was sour grapes – but since when did people have to believe gossip to spread it?
‘Thank you. And the same goes for me. I’ll give you your reference and that’ll be the end of it.’
‘I’m sorry I fucked up. It’s not something I’m proud of.’
‘I know. You’ll be fine. Someone will snap you up.’
She stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do or say next. I felt a lump in my throat. Willed myself not to cry.
‘Right. Well … I should go … Thanks, Tamsin. I mean it …’
I felt a ridiculous urge to hug her. I stopped myself, though. It was a positive thing that we were moving on like two adults, but I didn’t want her to think all was forgiven, because it wasn’t.
‘Good luck with finding something,’ I said. ‘If I hear of anything …’
She flashed me a wary smile. ‘Thank you.’
Two weeks later I had a request for a reference from one of the big independents, who were looking for a production secretary for one of their shows that was about to be re-commissioned. A long-form home-makeover programme. One of those ones where it’s all about the big personalitied builders. It’s been running for years. Probably on its last legs, but they wanted to offer her a nine-month contract, which is about as good as it gets in the freelance world. I recommended her highly, said she would be a great asset to their team.
A few days later I received a card from Bea telling me she had got the job. I gave it to Ashley to put up in reception.
Meanwhile we advertised for a new assistant.
‘What are you looking for?’ Anne Marie said to me as we sat shivering outside a local café, cups of coffee in front of us. She had a notebook out. Pen poised.
‘Someone who’s not going to run round shagging the commissioners,’ I said and she gave me a look. Very funny.
I had been thinking hard about this. Did I value efficiency over loyalty? Would I forgive someone a few typos if I knew there was no chance of them sleeping with my friend’s husband? Not that she had one any more, but you know what I mean. Did it matter if we weren’t friends, if we didn’t have a laugh and an occasional drink together? No. Not at all.
‘Assuming I can’t have it all? Someone I can trust.’
‘Well, let’s not assume you can’t have it all yet. There must be hundreds of good candidates out there.’
‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘The thought of having to train someone up.’
‘I know you won’t be interested, but Ashley wants to apply.’
My first instinct was to scoff. A few months before and I would probably have said, ‘Ashley who?’ I thought about it for a second, though. For weeks now Ashley had been more or less doing the job anyway. Keeping her head down, getting on with it quietly, manning reception at the same time. She hadn’t fucked up anything yet as far as I had noticed. She hadn’t done anything to piss me off either.
‘Actually, that’s a genius idea.’
Anne Marie looked surprised, as well she might. ‘You’re not just saying that because she’s the devil you know? I’ve never thought you were that keen on her.’
‘I just never really noticed she was there. Which I now realize might be a good thing.’
‘We’ll still have to ad
vertise, so you don’t have to decide now.’
‘Shit, really?’
She nodded. ‘That’s good, though, because then if you went for her you’d know you hadn’t just done so because she’s the easy option.’
‘OK. But unless someone brilliant walks through the door I’m thinking she’s the right choice.’
‘Well, that would make me very happy,’ Anne Marie said, smiling. ‘Now, what do you want to put in the ad?’
Of course you know what I’m going to say. After two days of mind-numbingly dull interviews we gave Ashley the job. She’s an efficient, willing and supportive assistant. I like having her around. We don’t shut ourselves in my office and put the world to rights, but I think that’s a good thing. I don’t tell her about my love life or ask her to go and buy me control underwear. We have proper boss/assistant boundaries. It’s working.
At the beginning I put in the effort to make sure she knew the way I liked things done.
‘Sort them by experience first, but then separate the piles into where they’re based,’ I said, handing her a pile of crew CVs.
‘I know,’ she said, with no edge in her voice. ‘I used to do it for Bea.’
Turns out she used to do a lot of things for Bea. All the time I thought my assistant was the only person I could trust to get things right, it seems she was delegating half of it to an assistant of her own.
When Ashley gets me coffee it still doesn’t taste as good as it did when Bea got it, though, but as flaws go, it’s one I can live with.
Patrick and Michelle have severed all ties now that the house has been sold. To be fair to him he left her alone once he realized there was no hope. And, of course, once he found out she had told her father he probably thought there would be no reason to attempt a reconciliation anyway. I think he did love her, but not that much. She suited him – she was sweet and trusting and uncomplaining – but if she didn’t come with a hefty job title attached she wasn’t worth fighting for.