by Cathy Kelly
‘Jojo!’ Hugh tried to pull away from Elizabeth but she held firm, almost smiling at Jojo.
‘It’s not – I mean, don’t think this is—’ tried Hugh.
But Elizabeth had other ideas.
‘It is exactly what you think,’ she said, her colour heightened. ‘You don’t deserve him, Jojo. He’s a good man and you treat him like shit.’
Jojo stared, dumbstruck.
‘Total shit,’ went on Elizabeth, on a roll now. ‘You don’t want Daddy to get married again and you want a baby, and it’s your baby and your issues and nobody else is allowed to feel upset.’
‘Elizabeth!’ Hugh looked stricken and then the formal, decent, everything-by-the-book Hugh Hennessy took over.
He disentangled himself from Elizabeth who stood staring at Jojo almost triumphantly.
‘I will move my things out later,’ he said in a formal voice. ‘I can’t do anything else. Except apologise, Jojo. This is not what it seems.’
‘Yes it is,’ snapped Elizabeth.
Without having uttered a word, Jojo turned and left.
Jojo sat in the car on the way home and felt a clarity she hadn’t felt for a very long time. It was like being a computer that had been reset, a slap in the face to a woman screaming hysterically.
For months she’d been caught up in her internal struggles and now she saw that all that struggling and emotional heartbreak had brought her nothing. Nothing.
Hugh had loved her and she’d pushed him away. Shoved him away.
Made him feel not just second best but third best, fourth best.
So far down the line that Elizabeth – Elizabeth, it made no sense at all – had been the one he turned to. But then, Jojo had turned to Cari and her father for help, making Hugh know that he came very far down the line: after her, after her desire for a baby, after her grief over her mother. After her hatred of Bess, which was childish and vicious, she knew.
As she drove carefully, fully aware that this was precisely the moment she should have been going to pieces, she felt an eerie calmness.
And in the calmness came one phrase: it’s all your own fault, Jojo.
Cari wanted to pack for the weekend and seeing as she had the book awards the following night, she went home early on Wednesday to get ready.
She was just in the door, when her doorbell rang.
‘Delivery,’ roared a voice in a thick foreign accent.
Normally deliveries came to the office but plenty of agents had her home address, so Cari, who’d taken off her shoes, padded out to the door and opened it.
Conal stood there.
‘Go away!’ she howled but he shoved his foot in the door.
‘I will call the cops.’
‘Please?’ he said. ‘Just one minute. I’ve figured out what went wrong – Beatrice called, that was it? You picked it up wrong … She was a woman I went out with for a while but it didn’t work with us—’
‘She sounded like she was coming right over here pretty damn fast to make it work,’ yelled Cari, trying to shove him out the door. ‘You never told me. You should have told me! That’s the problem. I have trust issues, asshole. You lied to me, bullshitted me about some woman you’d dated for two years and it ended all nicely. “Lovely Yvette, we were like brother and sister … yadda yadda.” I told you everything about me, everything.’
‘I know, just let me explain,’ he beseeched.
‘I don’t want explanations,’ said Cari harshly, ‘I don’t believe them. They’re handy ways out of trouble and I don’t want to get hurt again.’
‘It’s not Madame Butterfly …’ began Conal.
‘It fucking is!’ screamed Cari, and getting his foot out of the door, slammed it.
She ignored him banging on the door and put the double lock on.
‘Go away or I’ll call the cops,’ she yelled.
In her bedroom, away from the sound of Conal still banging on her front door, she dialled Jojo.
‘I need to see you? Can you come over,’ said Cari, sobbing into the phone. ‘Tell Hugh I’m sorry and I know you’re going through so much but if you could just come over for an hour or two I might feel better …’
‘I can stay the night,’ said Jojo, with a depth of calm that was astonishing even her. ‘I think Hugh’s left me.’
Cari had stopped crying and ran straight into her cousin’s embrace the moment Jojo arrived at the door.
‘Jojo, what happened, I can’t believe it. No way Hugh’s left you—’
Jojo shrugged with terrible sadness. ‘He has and it’s totally my fault. I wanted our baby, our baby meant more to me than our marriage and I drove him away. We’re all supposed to think that marriages are forged in fire like Gandalf’s bloody ring, but they’re not. They’re forged in everyday living: making the other person a cup of coffee, asking them if they’re OK and meaning it, being kind, showing them you love them every bloody day in the little things.’
Jojo still didn’t cry.
‘When one person forgets about the other person and just lives in their own pain, stuck in the grand gesture of themselves, not really caring about anyone else’s pain, then there’s no hope.’
‘Really?’ asked Cari, through her own tears. If Hugh and Jojo couldn’t make it, who could?
‘Yeah, really,’ said Jojo. ‘Now you’ve listened to me ad nauseam for two years. Enough about me – you.’
Cari looked glum. ‘It’s sort of a déjà vu situation …’ she began.
For the Stella Awards the next day, Cari wore a dress that made her look like a curvy supermodel on a night out: long and sleek in purple satin, with a halter neck that showed off her sheeny skin, the swell of breasts that needed no bra, and with a hidden slit over one leg that went up to mid-thigh. Her nails were short and painted dark navy, her heels were sky-high.
Jojo had searched through Cari’s closet and found it.
‘I gave you this: have you ever worn it?’
‘Never had the nerve,’ said Cari.
‘If I have the nerve to go to my father’s seventieth—’
‘You’re going?’ interrupted Cari. ‘We can go together. Change of heart?’
‘I’ve been a selfish bitch long enough,’ said Jojo. ‘I’ve broken up my own marriage – it would be terrible to break up poor Dad’s too. So, if I can do that, then you have the nerve to wear this damn dress.’
‘Hold on,’ said Cari, holding up a hand. ‘You cannot get off this lightly. When did you decide to go?’
Jojo looked down miserably.
‘When I realised that I have personally destroyed my marriage – although I’d say Elizabeth had a hand in it. Hugh isn’t a cheater, he’s too decent for that. I think she’s always had a thing for him and she just jumped into the vacancy left by me. She might be a wicked old cow, but I left the door open for her to do it,’ said Jojo. ‘I pushed poor Hugh away, wouldn’t let him tell anyone about the infertility and then behaved as if I was the only one suffering.
‘When I left town today, I drove out to Mum’s grave and I thought of her and all the lessons she’d taught me, and you know what, I’ve been ignoring them all: to be kind, love others, all that stuff. I’ve been a bitch, furious with the world for taking her away and then the infertility treatment—’
‘Nobody can take that much pain without cracking a bit,’ said Cari.
‘I know but people do,’ said Jojo. ‘People have children and lose them. Kids die from cancer. Horrible things happen. If I can’t get pregnant naturally, then we could adopt but I wouldn’t let Hugh even say the word adoption.’
‘Harsh.’
‘Stupid,’ agreed Jojo. ‘What I did to Hugh was terrible but Dad and Bess – I’ve been trying to make him choose between us. I didn’t mean to but I have been, unconsciously. I don’t have that right. So that’s why I’m going to the party, to make it up to him and her. She probably hates me too.’
‘In fairness, you did a pretty good impression of hating her,’ Cari pointed
out.
‘Yeah. So it’s going to be a fun weekend. No Hugh and me telling Dad and Bess what a selfish cow I am,’ said Jojo.
‘Hugh loves you,’ said Cari.
Jojo shook her head.’I don’t know if he does, Cari. Not any more. He sent me a text that he’d move his clothes out of the house later today.’
‘There is no way he’d cheat on you,’ insisted Cari. ‘I know that I think all men – well, most men – are scum, but not Hugh. He loves you. He’s simply doing what he thinks you want him to do. You have to fight to get him back.’
‘You think?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Thought you weren’t supposed to combine’ – Jeff gestured downwards when he spotted Cari at the awards – ‘you know, bazooms and leg?’ he said.
‘I had a change of heart,’ said Cari. ‘OK, point me in the direction of everyone I need to schmooze.’
‘You know who to schmooze better than me,’ Jeff said, and loped off.
John Steele watched from his table as Cari Brannigan worked the room like the charmer she was. There was nothing false about the way she talked to people, not like Gavin, who had attached himself to John and Mags early on and was apparently sticking to them in case anyone else tried to get at John. He also, however, displayed his annoying habit of looking around the room for any more important people than the ones he was seated beside.
Gavin was also making great inroads on the wine on their table, even though the dinner hadn’t started yet.
‘These things are so boring,’ said Gavin, gulping up more wine.
‘Not if you’re up for an award,’ said Mags sharply.
She really didn’t like Gavin, John knew. Neither did he, he realised.
Jennifer, one of the British team, a woman with a sharp black pageboy haircut and a list of authors like a list of Booker prize winners, sat down beside Mags.
While Gavin looked around the room for important people, Jennifer talked to Mags and John about his new book.
‘Is this taking you away from writing?’ she said.
‘I haven’t delivered the first draft yet,’ admitted John. ‘The plot keeps getting away from me.’
‘He needs a bit of brainstorming,’ said Mags, as if John’s admission was a mistake and she had to cover it up.
‘You should meet Gavin tomorrow morning then,’ said Jennifer, looking at Gavin with a certain amount of displeasure, as Gavin ignored the conversation entirely.
‘I’m going back first thing,’ said Gavin, who could look and listen at the same time.
Jennifer’s eyes met John’s coolly but she said nothing.
John would have loved to have said that Gavin had been to his house but had proved, yet again, to be entirely useless at brainstorming or discussing the plot loopholes. He was basically interested in his own career, not in John’s.
John could see Cari leaving one table and looking around for hers. Dinner had been called. He needed to talk to her. If he could just grab her for a moment and explain the plot problem, then she’d fix it in a moment and he could relax and write the bloody book.
‘Excuse me,’ he said and shot up from his seat.
Cari decided she’d race to the loo before the dinner proper began. The awards were interspersed between courses so you couldn’t nip out to the ladies once it had all started.
She’d just wriggled out of the swing doors into the huge lobby when a voice stopped her.
‘Cari!’
It was John Steele.
As this was a business dinner and as she was due up early to drive to Kerry, Cari’s drink of choice was orange juice. She was entirely grateful for this right now. With a glass of wine inside her, she might lose her inhibitions and tell John to go forth and multiply in clear Anglo-Saxon. As it was, she smiled professionally.
‘Good luck tonight,’ she said.
‘You look lovely, Cari,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry the way all of this turned out …’
Cari held up one hand, admiring her manicure at the same time. ‘It’s fine, John,’ she said. ‘Must rush to the loo. Bye.’
‘No, I need to talk to you.’
His hand on her arm stopped her.
‘I’m really having trouble with the book – the plot, it’s not working out, it’s got more holes than one of Mags’s bloody bits of knitting and I can’t figure out why. I can’t get at the magic and …’ His eyes glazed over the way they used to when he was discussing plot details and Cari would sit with him, throwing in the odd suggestion until he grinned and he’d say, ‘Got it!’
Hauling back her temper because a woman could only cope with so many damned men at one time, Cari gently removed his hand from her arm.
‘John, I’m not your editor any more. Gavin is.’
‘But just—’
Cari took a step away, making sure he noticed the distance between them.
‘You chose Gavin,’ she said quietly. ‘Not me. You can’t run back to me for the tricky little details and let him be your editor. You can’t have it both ways. Besides, it’s not professional of me to work with you when Gavin’s your editor.’
She knew that if Edwin Miller or Jennifer were listening they’d choke, but she didn’t care. Let them fire her if they wanted to. Besides, there was nobody listening out here.
‘I knew you’d try to get your hands on him,’ said a voice, slightly slurred.
Cari and John turned to see Gavin coming towards them.
‘Up to your tricks of trying to lure him away with a hot dress, is that it?’ said Gavin.
He was definitely drunk.
Suddenly, Cari no longer cared if she was fired or not.
‘Gavin,’ she said sweetly, leaning in close as if to kiss him.
He stumbled towards her and Cari began her move. It was a very long time since she’d worked on the self-defence book and the writer – a former special forces guy – had come into the office and showed all the girls how to throw a bigger assailant off. But she could remember most of it.
Move in, distract, position your leg so your weight is evenly balanced, lean in, grab your opponent round the waist so you can twist them. Slide your knee to the side, making sure you are hitting your opponent’s anterior cruciate ligament and while you shove, twist their body the other way.
It had been a tricky move but not impossible – even in high heels, she found.
‘Ouch,’ squealed Gavin and he went down, clutching his knee.
‘Bad knee?’ said Cari solicitously, thinking that Gavin probably wouldn’t have damaged anything. Probably.
‘Too much wine, I’d say,’ she said, shaking her head at John Steele. ‘He just tripped over me.’
She yelled over at the bar.
‘Man down,’ she said cheerfully. ‘They’re starting early.’
Then, smiling, she said, ‘Bye, John,’ and walked off.
John Steele had turned away from Cari Brannigan and he was the third man in her life to do so.
It would not happen again.
Getting Gavin on the floor was just … Cari pondered the correct word: fun.
Twenty-Four
‘The most effective way
to do it is to do it.’
Amelia Earhart
Gavin Watson had missed a couple of calls on his mobile.
When he finally got around to looking at them, he realised they were all from Freddie, John Steele’s agent. He felt that weird panicky feeling he had begun to experience lately when he got any call relating to damned John Steele.
Gavin didn’t want to ring the agent on a Friday afternoon. He had a hangover from the previous evening’s awards in Dublin, a sore knee, plus he had an evening planned, things to do, parties to go to and Freddie could wait. What could be that important?
Then a call came through from Edwin, Managing-Director-of-Cambridge-Edwin, and the sort of person Gavin could not ignore.
‘Hi, Edwin,’ he said eagerly, ‘how are things? What can I do for you?’
&
nbsp; ‘You can phone Freddie North,’ said Edwin in a deep, low voice, the sort of voice he used when things were wrong.
It wasn’t a voice people heard very often because Edwin really did have a reputation for kindness and gentleness.
‘Phone Freddie, of course,’ said Gavin guilelessly, as if he hadn’t ignored several calls from the agent already. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’
Gavin had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew exactly what was up. Things weren’t working out between him and John Steele and there had been several uneasy phone calls between them. It wasn’t just the editing, it was everything, but editing was at the heart of it. Editing wasn’t as easy as everyone thought it was – non-professional people thought you just read over something another person had written, said, ‘Sure, that’s all tickety-boo,’ inserted the odd comma and a semicolon for fun, and that was it.
But it was far trickier, you had to develop a relationship with the person and work with them, give them guidance, give them encouragement, have entire conversations about where the whole novel was going, discuss the story arc – stuff that really bored Gavin to tears. He liked the idea of publishing, but editing, not so much.
And last night, John had seemed very out of sorts with him, as had John’s annoying little wife.
‘John Steele is not happy,’ intoned Edwin, still using his deep, dark voice.
‘Right,’ said Gavin, mentally thinking, well I don’t feel very happy right now, either, but tough bananas. John Steele is just going to have to get used to not being happy. Life sucks.
‘I can almost hear the thought processes in your head,’ said Edwin.
Gavin seriously hoped not. He also wondered why everyone thought Edwin was just an old sweetie. He had to be bloody psychic.
‘John is not happy because you are not working with him. You are talking to him about tours and interviews but you are not working with him on his novel, which is your job! He wants an editor. He reached out to Cari Brannigan at the awards last night but she told him she’s not his editor and that it wouldn’t be professional of her to go behind your back like that.