by Ruth Jones
‘Bizarrely, once. For a stag night. Three years ago. Remember Dom?’
‘English and Drama?’
‘That’s the one. Well, he married none other than Moj – stage manager? Dungarees and a baseball hat?’
‘No! But I thought she was gay.’
‘Apparently not! Anyway, he chose to have his stag night at the Union. It’s changed so much, y’know. The Mandela’s gone. And the Elephant’s Nest.’
A flash of hurt poked Hetty in the chest as she remembered the humiliation of Adam abandoning her at the Mandela Bar that time. But she brushed it under the carpet of denial and raised her glass instead. ‘To Warwick days!’
And Adam raised a glass too. ‘And to Dom and Moj. They’ve got two kids now!’
At the end of the lunch, Adam held Hetty’s coat out for her to put on – a proper gentleman, her grandmother would call him – though she slightly ruined the moment with her clumsy inability to find the second armhole.
Outside, he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She’d savoured all six seconds of the exchange, inhaling his expensive cologne and yielding to the once-familiar feel of his arms encircling her shoulders. She could’ve stayed like that for ever.
‘I’m sorry we lost touch, Het.’
‘Me too.’
‘But we can put that right now, can’t we?’
Hetty inwardly purred. ‘I’d like that. It’s been so good seeing you again, Adam.’
‘You too.’ Was he welling up? She was sure they were tears …
‘Look, I’ll be away until the day before the reunion, but you’ve got my email. It’d be nice to hear from you when I’m in foreign climes. Stop me feeling homesick.’
Her heart was positively cartwheeling, bursting with joy that he was being so lovely! ‘Of course! I’d love to, Adam! Safe journey now.’
‘Yes. Bye Hetty.’
And then the final juicy cherry on the softest icing on the fluffiest, best-baked cake in the world was that he blew her a kiss. A kiss! She blew one back and, smiling, they went their separate ways.
But she’d only taken two or three steps when she heard, ‘Oh, and Hetty?’
She turned around. ‘Yes?’
‘I completely forgot to ask. How’s that friend of yours – Matthew something?’
‘Matt Fenton.’
‘That’s him. You still in touch?’
‘Gosh, yes, we see each other all the time. I’m godmother to his little girl.’
‘How lovely!’ Adam looked impressed. ‘I heard somewhere that he married an actress?’
‘Yes. Kate Andrews. She’s ever so nice.’
Adam smiled and nodded before enquiring, ‘And will Matt be coming to the reunion, d’you think?’
‘Abso-blooming-lutely!’
‘Oh, that’s good. Well, do send him my regards. And tell him I can’t wait to see him again!’
And with that he turned, leaving Hetty bowled over by this transformation in Adam, who’d become so considerate and thoughtful and had truly mellowed with age. He’d even remembered Matt, for God’s sake!
She approached the exit to the gardens and slowed down her pace as she noticed the Romany lady she’d seen there the week before. The recognition wasn’t mutual and once again the woman tried to sell Hetty a tatty bit of tin-foiled heather, to ‘bring you good luck, luvvy!’
‘Oh, I don’t need any, thank you!’ Hetty yelled, warm thoughts of Adam, her lucky talisman, buoying her up. She was wheezing, sweating and blistered, but inside she positively brimmed with confidence.
44
Kate loved where they were filming. Ten days in Kielder Forest – not Newcastle, after all, but Newcastleton. At least, that was the village where the crew were staying; the cast had all opted for forest lodges, delighted that they came with outdoor hot tubs.
Kate couldn’t believe she’d got the location so wrong. ‘Babe, I didn’t realize till we’d been in the car for hours and not a Starbucks in sight!’ She’d laughed about her ignorance on the phone to Matt yesterday lunchtime.
‘So you’re basically in Scotland again?’
Kate adopted her native accent, Scottifying it for effect. ‘Aye, weel it’s nae Scotland, pal, but the Borrrrrdurrs if ye want tae be exact!’
‘Too far for us to visit, though.’
Kate knew such a journey was out of the question during term time. ‘Yeah, but I’d hardly see you even if you did come up. I’m in virtually every scene,’ she lied, knowing that on Friday she’d be done by mid morning. ‘Still, maybe we could come up here for a holiday at Easter?’
‘You’ll be doing the film then though, won’t you?’
Matt sometimes knew Kate’s work schedule better than she did.
‘Oh yeah. Duh!’ She tried to keep things light. They were only just back on good terms after the Cynthia fiasco and she didn’t want the stress of another argument. ‘I tell you what, though, I’m going to book myself out for the whole of Lula’s summer holiday. We’ll go to France for some of it, then somewhere more child-friendly, like Florida. Hey! Disney World!’
At which Matt groaned, as did Kate – neither of them relishing the prospect, though they knew Tallulah would be beside herself.
There was a knock on the trailer door. ‘I better go, they need me back in make-up. I’ll call you tonight, yeah? From the hot tub!’
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
And she hung up. Conscious of the glaring difference – in her book anyway – between a heartfelt ‘I love you’ and a common-or-garden ‘love you’. The ‘I’ was the all-important missing ingredient. Hopefully Matt hadn’t noticed.
She’d thought about calling Callum yesterday morning on her journey up north. But she had no idea of his schedule or when would be a good time. Was he ever alone on a school day? She composed several texts to send – varying from long explanations about how she felt, through to simple two-word messages such as CALL ME or YOU OK?, through to a solitary exclamation mark. But none of them felt right. And by the time she’d come to the end of the day’s filming, she didn’t dare risk contacting him.
He could’ve contacted her though, couldn’t he? Especially as she’d told him she was filming in Newcastle all week. But she’d not heard a thing and was getting on her own nerves, checking her phone countless times for a text or a missed call. Even Benno had noticed her mobile obsession. ‘No phones on set please, Ms Andrews!’ he’d joked, but she knew deep down he meant it. Her concentration was rubbish that day. She just couldn’t stop thinking about Callum.
Was she kidding herself?
Had she forced him into seeing her?
Well, yes, of course she had. But he could’ve said no, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to turn up at the hotel on Saturday night. And so she went on like that, berating herself all day. And despite seeking help from a bottle of red and a couple of trusty bedtime Valium, Kate still managed to stay awake till gone two, cursing herself for going to Edinburgh last week, cursing Callum for not getting in touch, cursing Belinda for ever discovering their affair, cursing Matt for loving her when she was such an irretrievably lost soul and so fucking horrible to him, cursing life for being so complicated, cursing, cursing, cursing, until finally sleep came and swallowed her up, before spitting her out again just four and a half hours later.
By eight fifteen she’d got into costume, been through make-up, eaten her paltry breakfast of yoghurt and black coffee, and was sitting on her trailer steps, phone in hand, smoking.
‘Five minutes before we go to set, Kate.’
Kate smiled back at Becky, took a deep draw on her fag and dived right in. Surely now he’d be on his way to school, if not in school? Surely now it was safe to send a text? And it would come up on his phone as ‘Kettley’s Garage’, so what was the problem?
Before she had time to weigh up the pros and cons – and feeling light-headed from the lack of proper sleep – she composed the message. Mr MacGregor your car is due for a service. P
lease call us at your earliest convenience. She pressed send, deciding to leave her phone in her trailer till they broke at one o’clock so she could concentrate on work and let fate hand out the consequences.
45
The gallery was busy that morning. Matt put it down to Christmas shopping – even though there were still a good six weeks to go. A painting wasn’t an obvious choice for a Christmas gift, he’d be the first to admit – the love of a painting was so subjective, for one thing. But many customers had come in and declared, ‘Oh, John would love that!’ or ‘Now that is so Milly. She’ll adore it.’ Matt and Pete smiled politely as they carefully wrapped each painting, ensuring the customer knew that the gallery didn’t operate any kind of refund policy.
‘We’re not Debenhams, Madam,’ he’d heard Pete say a couple of times.
One woman had asked if they did family portraits. Pete had scoffed at the notion, but Matt thought it wasn’t a bad idea and maybe something they should explore.
‘And who, pray tell, would be the artist to paint said portraits? Might you volunteer, Matthew?’ Pete could be ultra-pompous at times, and it always made Matt smile.
As if on cue, Chloe, the artist from upstairs, popped her head round the door to tell Matt the heating wasn’t working in the studio again.
‘Ah, Chloe! Come in, come in,’ Pete beckoned. ‘And tell us, where do you stand on portraiture? Matthew is looking for an artist to do family paintings. Two for the price of one.’ Matt rolled his eyes and smiled. ‘You could have them in your studio for hours and hours, recreating their dazzling smiles on canvas, and little Jimmy’s screeching face. Oh, what fun!’
Chloe, despite her bright-pink hair, was a very serious soul who tended to take things quite literally. She’d once shared with Matt that she was on the Asperger’s spectrum.
‘I’m rubbish at faces, me. Tried painting my sister once. She looked like a sad goat.’
Matt laughed. ‘I’m sure there’s a market for that kind of thing somewhere.’
But Chloe didn’t smile and Matt changed the subject. ‘The radiators just need bleeding. I’ll look for the little key.’
There was something so satisfying about bleeding a radiator, Matt thought, as he turned the key anticlockwise and listened to the trapped air slowly escaping, the water rushing in to take its place.
‘I could’ve done it, y’know,’ Chloe said, watching him. ‘If I had one of them thingies.’
‘All part of the service!’ Matt joked, but Chloe looked stern.
‘I just don’t want you thinkin’ I’m some kind of useless girlie who has to play dumb to get men to do things for her.’
‘What a revolting thought,’ Matt said. And Chloe finally smiled. ‘There we are, all done.’ He put his hand at the top of the radiator to feel its spreading warmth.
‘Cheers.’
‘How’s the riverboat coming along?’ Matt knew Chloe had started a new commission recently for a millionaire businessman.
‘I hate it. But it’s what the guy wants.’
‘Take the money and run, I would.’
‘Yeah, that’s what George says.’ George was Chloe’s boyfriend, who Matt had met a couple of times. A more unlikely couple he’d never encountered. He was a twice-divorced barrister, who represented big companies in negligence claims. They’d met at one of Chloe’s exhibitions and, at forty-nine, George was a good twenty years older than her.
Matt headed to the door. ‘Everything else OK?’ he asked, out of politeness more than anything.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. But you’re not.’ Chloe’s directness caught Matt off guard, even though he should have been used to it by now.
‘What makes you say that?’ He smiled.
‘You’re not as shiny as usual.’ And suddenly she stepped forward and hugged him.
He was totally thrown, partly because he felt a rush of emotion tightening his throat and partly because Chloe had never hugged him before and it felt somehow … inappropriate. He was technically her landlord, after all. He wondered what his life was coming to, if virtual strangers like Chloe were feeling sorry for him.
Chloe didn’t speak, and finally let him go before turning back to her riverboat canvas. She seemed to instantly forget Matt was there, so he crept out quietly, leaving her to her angry statement-making pastels.
He didn’t go straight back to the gallery. The unpleasant misunderstanding with Kate on Sunday had started him back on the fags. And although he’d thought at the time it was just a one-off, he now found himself reaching into his jacket for the third packet he’d bought since the weekend. He was back on twenty a day. It was as if he’d never stopped.
Even within two days, he’d already established himself a quiet little smoking spot behind the shop. The noise from the street was muffled there and he could look up at the backs of all the houses, wondering if any of the dozens of people living in them were in the same mess as him, wondering if any other husbands were questioning their wife’s behaviour, wondering if they really knew the person they were married to at all.
Kate had been so convincing about the casino that he felt stupid ever doubting her, especially when she’d proved she was in Edinburgh by hysterically rifling through her purse, pulling out a used train ticket – London to Edinburgh return – that bore Saturday’s date, and yelling, ‘There! Believe me now?’
He told her he did.
But he didn’t. And he didn’t know why.
So when Kate had left for work early yesterday, Matt had got up with Tallulah and made her breakfast as usual, taken her to school as usual, then rung Pete to tell him he’d be a little late to the gallery. He’d then gone back home and switched on the computer. He knew it was a mistake to do it. Ignorance is bliss, What the eye doesn’t see and a whole plethora of apt sayings had flashed through his mind and warned him against opening this Pandora’s box, warned him against googling new casinos in Edinburgh, specifically those opened in the last week, specifically those opened in the last week by TV star Kate Andrews.
And, as if that wasn’t enough to confirm his fears, he then called up the tourist board in Edinburgh and spoke to a very enthusiastic woman with a brusque Scottish accent. She’d listed all the casinos in the vicinity and informed him that the most recent establishment had been built three years ago and there were no plans for any more in the foreseeable. Would he like a brochure about the Military Tattoo? He’d stopped listening after ‘three years ago’ and hung up.
And now he couldn’t avoid the stark truth.
Kate had lied about where she was on Saturday night.
Yes, she was in Edinburgh.
But no, she wasn’t opening a casino.
So what was she doing there?
46
‘That’s lunch, everyone!’ Benno shouted at the end of the morning’s filming, initiating a mass exodus towards the trailers and film-unit base and a three-course meal.
As usual, Kate wasn’t interested in the food. And despite leaving her phone behind that morning so she wouldn’t get distracted on set, the plan hadn’t worked very well. She’d found it so hard to focus, desperate to get through the scenes and not giving it her best. Even the producer had to ask her, ‘Where’s your head at the moment, Kate?’
‘Sorry, sorry. Didn’t sleep very well last night.’ Which was true. But not the reason she couldn’t concentrate.
Mack the facilities guy, who looked after all the trailers, unlocked her door, keen to impress by asking if she needed anything and eager to point out she had real coffee in there, ‘none of your instant nonsense’.
‘Oh, thanks darling. You’re a star.’ She smiled at him sweetly, silently willing him to leave so she could get on and check for messages.
Once inside the trailer, she slammed the door and leapt at her phone. There were a dozen or so texts – she frantically scrolled through them, searching for his name, which she’d disguised in her contacts list as ‘MacGregor’s Restaurant’.
Nothing.
No
thing!
She could feel rage rising up in her like boiling oil. What?? He’d had five hours! How the fucking hell dare he not answer? She saw there were answerphone messages too and she lit a cigarette, her hand shaking. OK, maybe he’d phoned instead. Calm down, Kate. And retrieve your sodding voicemails.
The recorded voice thanked her for calling and told her she had, pause, six new messages. She skipped through them, listening only to the first two or three words of each one before disregarding it and moving onto the next: there was only one voice she wanted to hear.
First, it was Matt: Hi babe, it’s me … skip.
Then her agent: Kate, it’s Cynthia … skip.
Then the accountant from the production office: Hi Kate, it’s Jane Dobbs from Accounts … skip.
Matt again: Oh, and Kate … skip.
Then her dentist: Hello Mrs Fenton, it’s the Park Dental Practice … skip!!
And finally, the sixth message.
Please God, let it be him.
It was her mother: So you were in Edinburgh last week and didn’t come and see us …
She threw the phone across the trailer, where it landed forlornly on the purple sofa.
A knock at the door.
‘Go away!’
It was Mack. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, I just wondered if you needed any toilet rolls?’
‘Mack, if I need anything I promise I will let you know. Now can I have my lunch break, please?’
She heard him scuttling away and shouted after him, ‘Sorry, sorry!’ kicking herself for being so rude. She wanted to cry, and stood there glued to the spot, humiliated by Callum’s rejection, aggressively inhaling on her cigarette, desperately trying to quell the panic that was rising inside.
And then the phone rang.
It would be Matt.
She couldn’t speak to him right now, she’d let it ring off.
But even from across the trailer she could see that the name flashing on the screen wasn’t Matt’s. She walked over to the sofa and looked at it.