by Ruth Jones
‘She’s ever so beautiful, Pete!’ Sylvia had said to him, all excited, as if stunning beauty would make up for any shortcomings.
And then when baby Tallulah arrived, Sylvia had been beside herself with joy. For a while, daughter-in-law Saint Kate could do no wrong. She’d given Sylvia a granddaughter, after all!
But in the past two years, Sylvia had started confiding in Peter that she didn’t think all was well with her son’s marriage.
‘I know Kate’s under an enormous amount of pressure,’ she said to justify it. ‘But she gets these … episodes … where there’s no stopping her. She goes on a self-destruct mission. Gets drunk, then goes crazy with exercise for days. Or worse, Matt says, she’ll buy a stack of food – sausages and cheesecake and the like – and eat it secretly in the middle of the night. One time he came downstairs and found her almost head first in a bowl of trifle.’
Peter never forgave himself for his involuntary guffaw when Sylvia told him this. But as he repeatedly said to her afterwards, ‘It was just the way you said it, dear. Of course it’s disturbing. It’s just Kate doesn’t strike me as someone who’d even be in the same room as a trifle, let alone gorge on one.’
‘She … y’know, makes herself sick afterwards, Matthew says. It’s really upsetting.’
Peter did feel sorry for her when he heard this. Kate Andrews was the last person on earth he’d have down as someone with an eating disorder. Somehow booze and drugs, even gambling, there was something ‘cool’ about being addicted to those, something worthy of a trip to the Priory, he thought, but food! How embarrassing. How humiliating for her.
He watched Matt, preoccupied now, pick up his keys and his phone and make for the gallery door, turning before he left. ‘Hey Pete, well done again with the Lavender painting.’ And he was gone.
Troubled soul, thought Peter, and the old-fashioned bell above the door pinged obliviously as the door shut behind him.
14
At Vegetarian Living, Ivor from Accounts was hovering by Hetty’s desk. He was holding half a dozen eggs. Hetty was ignoring him, engrossed in her computer, trying to work out if Adam was flirting with her or laughing at her in his most recent email when he’d said, ‘Piss catch-up? Didn’t realize you were into “water sports”, Betty Strong?’
She clicked on reply but couldn’t concentrate, too aware now of Ivor’s presence.
‘They’re totally free-range,’ he was saying, ‘and organic. Happy hens, y’see. My cousin’s. He’s got four.’
He put the eggs down on her desk and she suddenly felt awful for ignoring him, especially in the light of Adam’s crude email. ‘Oh Ivor, that’s so kind of you. I’ll have one for my breakfast.’ She looked at him, smiling, silently communicating that this was the end of the conversation.
But he just stood there and smiled back, noticing Hetty’s left eyebrow was bushier than her right, but loving her even more for it. He found the courage and said, ‘How was babysitting?’
‘Didn’t do it in the end.’ And still they stared. Hetty’s computer pinged; she glanced sideways at it: Adam! She inwardly gasped when she saw his name.
‘Who’s that, your boyfriend?’ Ivor asked jokingly.
But Hetty was distracted by the email and unthinkingly said, ‘Er … yes …’
And just like that, Ivor’s fears that Hetty might be seeing someone were callously confirmed. He scuttled off like a scolded puppy, mumbling, ‘Oh, OK,’ and leaving his eggs behind him.
Hetty opened the email: ‘Sorry, am worried I might have offended you. Let me take you out for lunch to make up for it. How about Sunday?’ For a moment, she wondered if this was the same person as the Adam she knew. He sounded so earnest, so kind … and then it hit her. He was actually asking her out! She was going on a date! With Adam Latimer!! She must get her eyebrows waxed, she thought.
At lunchtime, she headed out alone. Usually Ivor tagged along but this time she managed to dodge him, leaving the office without his noticing. She just needed space to think.
She made for the small park area a stone’s throw from the magazine building. It was usually packed at lunchtime with desk-bound workers desperate for a bit of greenery and slightly fresher air than the conditioned stuff that was pumped through their offices. But today the weather had turned, and most workers had opted to eat indoors.
Hetty took out her little sandwich box, filled with a wholesome salad of brown rice, pumpkin seeds, avocado, tomato and spring onion. She started munching, then thought better of the spring onions, fishing them out and throwing them to the birds. She ought to be careful what she ate between now and the Big Day. She didn’t want to put Adam off with overpowering breath – God forbid! A pigeon pecked at the discarded spring onion but wasn’t impressed and moved on to an unwanted burger bap on top of a bin.
Lunch! Adam Latimer was taking her out to lunch!
She had to stay calm. She mustn’t read anything into it. He was just being friendly, that was all, catching up with an old friend.
Yes, but what if … what if it was more than that? Time does funny things to people. He may have been a bit immature back then, a bit thoughtless maybe. But now they weren’t far off forty. Maybe he’d been in an unhappy relationship? Maybe he was reassessing his life? Maybe she, Hetty, was just what he was looking for now. Maybe …
She took out her notebook and pen and started amending her never-ending list. She’d booked a venue for the reunion – the Marmant Hotel in Holborn on December 20th. She’d had to pay a huge deposit but it was worth it. It was classy and bijou, could cater for a hundred people, and the price per head was reasonable. Especially by London standards. She knew she was taking on a lot organizing this on her own, but she was actually really enjoying it. So far she’d had sixty-seven replies.
Ooh, disco! They needed a DJ to play some of the old eighties hits. And name badges – otherwise how would anyone recognize anyone else? Some people would look exactly the same, of course. She wondered how Adam looked now and her stomach flipped in anticipation of seeing him again.
When she got back to the office, she would send her reply. Keep it brief and to the point. She’d already more or less planned the wording: Lunch on Sunday would be wonderful. How about Le Corale on Marylebone High St, 1 o’clock? That’s all she was going to say. Firm. Confident. No kisses. And no reference to the ‘piss catch-up’ disaster. That was best forgotten.
She finished the remnants of her salad and realized she still felt hungry. But she wouldn’t eat anything else. Even if Ivor offered her some of that delicious organic chocolate, she’d say no. She had to look her best for Adam.
Ooh – eyebrows. She put it on the list. She’d wait till the day before to get those done because they were like bindweed, her brows: the minute she waxed them, the minute they’d start sprouting again.
She put the lid back on her sandwich box and was about to set off for the office when a voice came from behind her, ‘Buy some flowers for some luck, luvvy! Buy some flowers for some luck!’ A Romany woman with two front teeth missing and clutching a few pieces of heather wrapped badly in silver foil was standing far too close, invading Hetty’s personal space.
‘Oh! Right! Erm …’
‘Don’t turn me away, luvvy, don’t turn your luck away!’
‘No, of course, it’s just …’
Hetty reached into her pocket and pulled out a ten-pound note. She couldn’t possibly give her that. ‘Hang on …’ She tried the other pocket. Twenty pence. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any change, have you?’
Unimpressed, the Romany woman ignored her and carried on, ‘There’s an old flame been burning a long time. A man. He’ll bring you love, luvvy.’
Hetty looked at the tenner and thought, Sod it. The woman had her hooked. She pressed the note into the Romany’s hand.
‘Time to bring him out now, luvvy. He’s been at the back of your mind a long time – time to bring him out.’
Hetty was transfixed. ‘Is his name Adam?’ she wh
ispered, like a child who thought she’d seen Santa Claus.
The woman looked slightly annoyed by the question and ignored it, finishing with a flourish, ‘And there’ll be a child – just the one. And not straight away.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ There was so much more that Hetty wanted to ask, but the woman was backing off now, her easily earned tenner clasped tight in her hand, and she was gone.
Hetty beamed. Today was a good day!
15
The only thing Kate needed at lunchtime was sleep. She wanted to not eat but Benno wouldn’t hear of it and told her he wasn’t leaving the trailer till she’d had some mashed potato and a bit of cauliflower cheese.
She did as she was told. She couldn’t be bothered to argue, and could probably afford a few calories – being so tired had depleted her energy. She’d do whatever it took to get her to the end of the day. She momentarily thought about taking a line. She was sure the actor playing Ramesh had a stash. But she hadn’t touched the stuff since she’d got pregnant with Tallulah. And let’s face it, her life was enough of a mess without adding to her problems.
Once Benno was satisfied she’d eaten ‘at least enough to keep a mouse going for the day’, he promised she’d be left in peace. She climbed onto her bed in the tiny little trailer bedroom, crept under the covers and closed her eyes.
In the distance she could hear Benno barking instructions at his team: ‘Do not let ANYONE near Kate’s trailer without my say-so. She’s getting some shut-eye.’ He ran a tight ship, did Benno – she’d give him that.
Her eyelids felt gritty and sore. She felt too tired to sleep and there was a very loud hissing in her ears. If she could just have twenty minutes, that would be something …
She dozed off straight away. A deep, healthy sleep engulfed her, and she dreamt, of course, about Callum. Nothing she could remember later, no tangible narrative, just the sensation of having been with him, of knowing he’d been there inside her head. And it felt so good. When she woke up she found her right hand hot between her legs and she knew she’d made herself come in her sleep, just as he’d made her come the night before. Christ, it wasn’t even twenty-four hours yet.
She stretched her arms above her head and yawned for Britain. Then she climbed out of bed and pulled herself into the tiny shower in the trailer bathroom. The water was slow, but at least it was warm. She longed to put her face underneath its refreshing flow – anything to help wake up again – but she knew Betsy would kill her if she messed up her make-up any more than she already had. The shower did the best it could and she stepped out onto the mat, drying herself with the big purple towel from the rack. She felt marginally better. Wrapping the towel around her, she headed into the living area, grabbed a cigarette and lit up before pulling out another Red Bull from the fridge. She sat down and picked up her mobile.
‘Directory Enquiries. How may I help?’
‘Yes, it’s an Edinburgh number. A school on the Queensferry Road – North Park Primary.’
‘Would you like us to text you the number?’
‘Yes please.’
She hung up and waited for the text to come through. Her heart was racing as she keyed in the number and pressed call.
In the staffroom at North Park Primary, the Headmaster was making himself a coffee. They’d all been discussing the article in the Edinburgh Gazette. Brian Boyd was particularly proud of himself – they’d quoted him virtually word for word, in all fairness. And the photograph of him with Kate Andrews was a cracker. He’d already asked Mrs Crocombe to contact the Gazette and ask for a copy. He’d have it framed and put up above his desk. Alongside the one of him with Sean Connery. ‘I thought she was a wee bit batty, if I’m honest,’ he announced. ‘Probably a cocaine freak. I mean they all are these days, aren’t they, these actresses?’
Callum didn’t look up from his marking. The Head could be such a prat sometimes, he’d rather not get involved.
‘I take it you didn’t warm to her then, Bri?’ asked Cathy McBride from Year Four, who had a bit of a crush on the Headmaster.
‘Ach, not really, no. Just can’t be doin’ with ditzy airheads, that’s all.’
Mrs Crocombe came bustling in. ‘There’s a call for you, Callum.’
He looked up from his marking, red pen in hand, and Mrs Crocombe looked quickly around the room, checking her audience before she announced, ‘It’s Kate Andrews!’
Brian Boyd glanced sideways at Cathy McBride, who raised her eyebrows.
Cool as a can of chilled cola, Callum barely blinked and said, ‘Yeah. She said she was going to organize a trip for the kids to her film set – let them go behind the scenes an’ all that.’
He got up from his chair and made for the office, leaning in to the Headmaster en route. ‘So she can’t be all bad, can she, Brian?’
In the school office, Mrs Crocombe was holding the receiver. She put on her best telephone voice, a touch of Morningside creeping in. ‘I’ll pass you onto Mr MacGregor just now.’ And she held the phone out to him.
He took it and stared at Mrs Crocombe, unnerving her enough to finally leave the room as he said, ‘Kate! Thanks for coming back to me so quickly!’ In her trailer four hundred miles away, Kate inhaled so rapidly on her Marlboro Light it made her a little light-headed. Or was that just because she was hearing his voice again?
Safe in the knowledge that the door was now tightly shut, Callum carried on, not waiting for an answer, ‘What the fuck are you doing, calling me here?’
‘I’ve got to see you.’
‘You’re insane!’
‘I’ve got to see you, Callum. I’m coming up tomorrow night.’
‘No.’
‘There’s a hotel in Leith – the Barrington. I’ll be there, in the Lomond Suite. From seven o’clock.’
Callum couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He took a deep breath – OK, time to calm things down. ‘Listen,’ he said gently. ‘Last night was incredible, but it was a mistake. I’m married, for God’s sake.’
‘So am I.’
‘And I’m not unhappy!’
‘Nor am I.’
There was a knock on Kate’s door and Becky shouted from outside, ‘Kate?’
‘Yeah, give me a minute, Becky.’
Callum had had enough. ‘I’ve got to go. Don’t call me here again, OK?’
Kate shut her eyes, her voice level and calm. ‘Callum, I’m coming up tomorrow night. I have to see you. If you don’t come to the hotel I will come to your house. I mean it.’
‘Jesus, you’re nuts.’
‘I’m not.’ Her voice cracked a little. ‘I know you want to see me too.’
The awful truth was that he did.
Mrs Crocombe came back in at that moment, mouthing her apologies and looking for a file with her ‘don’t-mind-me’ demeanour.
Callum’s voice changed immediately. ‘Right, great! Well, thanks for that. The kids’ll be really excited.’ He was about to hang up when he heard Kate add, ‘The Barrington Hotel in Leith. I’ll see you there.’ But all Callum could manage in return was, ‘Bye now! Thanks for calling.’
He hung up and Mrs Crocombe turned to him, all smiles. ‘Oh she’s a wee sweetheart, isn’t she? I’ve always said that about her. A genuine, warm lassie.’
Callum tried to hide the fact he was shaking as he headed back to the staffroom.
16
‘That’s it, sweetheart, make sure it clicks in properly!’ Matt was helping Tallulah secure the large Tupperware box containing Kate’s birthday cake. They’d placed it carefully on the back seat of his car and were fastening the seatbelt around it.
‘OK, now let’s put you in next to it, shall we?’
‘Mummy’s going to have a SURPRISE!’
‘She certainly is, my darling!’
Tallulah was so excited. She loved birthdays, she loved birthday cakes, and she loved going to visit Mummy at work. She held Panda tightly on her lap as Matt fastened her in, towering over the Tupperware box on her My L
ittle Pony booster seat. Matt kissed the top of her head and shut the car door.
They’d finished making the cake that morning before school. It was huge. Three tiers of sponge sandwiched with two different flavours of jam, apricot and raspberry, and layers of whipped cream. Next, they’d covered it in ready-made icing, which they’d rolled out together – shocking pink, just as Tallulah had directed. The lettering was to be in lime green.
Matt had carefully squeezed the icing bag and piped the words ‘Happy Birthday’, before letting Tallulah loose on ‘Mummy’ below. It had taken her ages, her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as she put all her efforts into getting it right. He watched as she struggled with the second ‘m’, concentrating as if her life depended on it.
He had wanted to cry. Not just because Tallulah looked so earn-est and sweet. But because he knew Kate wouldn’t touch a single piece of that cake.
When she had finished, Tallulah turned to Matt, beaming. ‘I’ve done it, Daddy!’
‘Yes, you have! Well done, Lules.’
‘This is the best cake Mummy’s ever had.’
He had smiled at her and ruffled her hair. ‘Come on, let’s get it in the box.’
And now they were taking it to the film set. Matt had rung Becky the runner to warn her they were coming but to keep it a surprise. The idea was that they would get there in time for the afternoon tea break at four, sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and share the cake with the cast and crew.
‘Did you bring the candles, Daddy?’
‘Yes I did, don’t worry.’
It was easy for him to say ‘don’t worry’ – not so easy for him to follow his own advice.
Kate hadn’t been right for some time now. Very slowly she’d started to withdraw, shutting him out of what she was thinking, shutting him down with a look or a snapped response. She’d been getting really weird about food again – he knew she wasn’t eating. She tried to hide it, thinking he wouldn’t notice, but he knew all her tricks and techniques: telling him in detail what she’d had to eat for lunch that day – as if by telling him it would make it true. Or making out she’d seen some amazing dessert on a menu or in a bakery and ‘just couldn’t resist it’.