by Ruth Jones
‘She won’t forgive you a second time. You do realize that, don’t you?’ Gary was uncharacteristically soft. ‘And there’ll be a whole queue of men knocking on Belinda’s door the second she’s available.’
‘She’s fucking amazing though, Gary!’
‘Your wife or your bit on the side?’
Callum looked at him. He’d asked for that.
‘I know who I’d choose,’ Gary said.
‘So you could say no to this, could you?’ Callum got out his phone and brought up the photo Kate had sent him that morning, which he couldn’t yet bring himself to delete. She was in the lilac basque again, her hair dishevelled, pouting like some 1950s silver-screen siren.
Gary took the phone and stared at the image. Callum, watching his expression, was bizarrely proud of the effect it was having. Even from Gary’s lofty position on the moral high ground, he had to admit Kate was stunning. He whistled long and hard as he took in the glory of the be-lingeried Kate, and Callum couldn’t help smiling, smug, peacock-like and preening.
Then Gary shattered the moment. ‘Every old man’s fantasy, eh Cal?’ He handed the phone back. ‘You wanna delete that, mate. Before your luck runs out.’
Callum left the club that night irritable and disconsolate. He was pissed off with Gary, but only because, deep down, he knew that what his friend was saying was true. He was fifty-six years of age, for God’s sake. Who was he trying to kid?
He got in the car and adjusted his rear-view mirror, examining his reflection, cast in shadow by the lights from the club, which emphasized his tiredness and his lines. He looked exhausted and out of his depth. Because he was.
His phone beeped.
Kettley’s Garage reminding him that his car needed a service.
He paused before responding, more reluctantly than usual: OK – giving Kate the green light to get in touch. He waited. A few seconds later, her reply came through:
Exciting news.
Edinburgh for Xmas!
Santa’s coming …
… And so am I Ho ho ho! xx
It didn’t take much to restore his enthusiasm, and as he readjusted the mirror ready to drive off, he noticed he actually looked a lot younger when he smiled.
51
‘What was I thinking, organizing a bloody reunion five days before Christmas!’
Hetty had just finished taking a call on her mobile. ‘That’s Betsy Barrack cancelling now!’
Matt felt so sorry for her. She’d made such an effort for this party but people were dropping like flies. He watched his friend open a box of yearbooks she’d had specially printed for the evening. She was awkward in her new and very un-Hetty-like dress, which looked like it belonged on someone else’s body, with overdone hair and unusually vampish make-up she’d paid a professional to do. He searched desperately for words of comfort.
‘Hey, come on! There’ll still be loads of people here, you watch! And like you said, even if it’s just you and me, that’s still technically a reunion!’
Hetty had already put out the name badges on a table. A big home-made banner behind it read WELCOME WARWICKONIANS! CLASS OF ’88, an attempt at jollity in this otherwise lifeless function room of the Marmant Hotel. The DJ in the corner was setting up his gear, sound-testing snatches of eighties songs that stopped as quickly as they began, whilst the sombre barman poured complimentary wine into rows of glasses on four large trays.
‘We could always drink all of the free booze between us if no one comes.’ He was running out of cheery things to say.
‘Oh stop it, Matty. I know you don’t even want to be here, so let’s stop pretending, shall we?’
It was true. Matt was only there to support Hetty.
He’d always made it quite clear he couldn’t understand the point of reunions of any kind. ‘If we were meant to stay in touch with people,’ he’d told her, ‘then we would have done! There’s a reason why Bromsgrove Tom and German Mike aren’t a part of our lives any more, and vice versa. You’re just a lovely romantic with an idealized view of the world who sees the best in everyone!’
‘Including Adam Latimer,’ she’d ventured. And Matt had sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to that encounter one bit – another reason he didn’t really want to be there.
‘Be nice to him, Matty, that’s all I’m asking.’
Matt nodded and made a mental note to get as drunk as possible. They were travelling to Edinburgh the next day for Christmas, but sod it. If he was hung-over, he could sleep it off on the plane. In fact, he hoped he could sleep for the whole of the holiday.
Things between him and Kate had reached a kind of stalemate. They’d see each other briefly in the mornings before she was picked up for work, then briefly again in the evenings, when they’d rarely eat together, but frequently smoke and definitely drink together, before she’d turn in at ten, needing her beauty sleep.
Sex, unsurprisingly, was non-existent. He’d never known her to be like this before. He’d been used to her manic phases and her periods of self-loathing, and her anger – even rage – which had been known on occasion to turn violent. And, of course, her depressive phases, when she couldn’t even get out of bed, lying there, mute, for days on end.
But despite how upsetting those different sides of Kate could be, he now longed to have them back, because he knew how to handle the mania and the self-hatred, the rage and the black, black moods. This new Kate, though, was like nothing he’d ever known before. There was a brightness in her eyes, she was sprightly but calm, friendly yet very, very distant. It was like living with an amenable work colleague rather than the mother of his child and his wife of six years.
It had crossed his mind that she might be having some sort of ‘thing’ with someone on the TV job – it wouldn’t be a total shock. There’d been flirtations before, it sort of came with the territory – much as he hated it, this was a fact. But he’d met the cast of Shot in the Dark on several occasions, and the crew. And there was nobody there who set his alarm bells ringing, no one he felt uncomfortable with or sensed anything untoward about. And Kate seemed desperate to finish the job, so that didn’t stack up. Almost every day she’d tell him how much she was looking forward to the end of the shoot.
Today was the last day of filming – and Kate would be getting ready right now for the wrap party, less than a mile from Hetty’s reunion.
Maybe he just needed to be patient.
Kate would have a few weeks off in January before she started her next job, and maybe a week with her parents in Edinburgh was just what they needed. But he was reluctant to go there now that he associated the city with Kate’s weird behaviour, rushing up to see her friend Jinny a few weeks back and the whole strange story about Jinny’s affair.
He’d met Jinny several times.
And her husband, Bill.
And a more happy, grounded couple he’d never before encountered, so content in each other’s company. He knew it was always the ones you least expected, but still – Jinny?
He’d asked Kate if they might see Jinny during their visit and she’d looked at him with disdain, as if he could possibly think that might be a good idea given the circumstances. ‘Come on, Matt, get with the programme!’ she’d said. And he’d felt about two inches tall for asking.
He ordered a double G&T from the barman, who was confused that Matt didn’t want the free wine. But if he was going to have a hangover tomorrow, he may as well make it a good-quality one, not an acidic, cheap-wine-fuelled one. As he took his first mouthful, he made a silent toast to himself: that he would get through Christmas, make a fresh start in 2003 and hopefully get his wife back.
A squeal of delight behind him signalled the first arrival. It was Sarah the Goth! Who, bizarrely, was still a Goth. He watched Hetty transform into the perfect hostess, handing Sarah her name badge and directing her towards the free wine.
In for a penny, he thought and ordered another G&T before heading over to see Sarah himself, to find out if she remembered him.
Sarah he could just about deal with – it was Adam he dreaded seeing. And he hoped, despite the hurt it would cause Hetty, that Adam Latimer would live up to his reputation tonight and fail to appear.
52
Kate had always loved wrap parties. Admittedly she’d loved them more in her younger, wilder days – taking coke in the ladies’ loos with costume assistants who until then hadn’t said boo to a goose, or doing shots with the mild-mannered trainee from the art department; even, once, snogging the face off a nervous young actor who’d had two lines in a scene with her – his first TV job and he got ravaged by the leading lady because the gaffer had dared her to do it. Those days were long gone now, of course. She’d calmed down a lot since meeting Matt and becoming a mother. Yes, she still flirted occasionally – no harm in a bit of that. Usually with the electricians or burly carpenters. She was drawn to their roughness, their witty cynicism, the pinches of salt with which they took everything, and the fact that their skills weren’t limited solely to the TV industry, having been sparks or chippies in a previous life. They seemed more real somehow. Yes, she sometimes flirted, but generally, as befitted her age, she had no desire to misbehave these days.
Despite this, a wrap party still felt like the end of term in school. The same mood of recklessness and misrule pervaded. Job done. No more twelve-hour days and six-day weeks – responsibility relinquished and pages and pages of script transformed into hours of screen images, handed over now to the editors and sound engineers, to make of them what they would. There was something liberating about finally letting it go, a year or more before seeing the fruits of their labour advertised in magazines or on the TV channel to which it belonged. Coming soon, new drama starring Kate Andrews.
The party was being held in a Spanish restaurant, ironically on Greek Street. With it being five days before Christmas, everyone was doubly keen to celebrate. There was free tapas on tap and mojitos, courtesy of the production company. Clara the camera trainee was already pissed and they’d only been going an hour.
Kate had arrived early, specifically so she didn’t have to stay long. They were leaving for Edinburgh at eight thirty the next morning and she wanted to feel good when she travelled. She’d told Callum he could call or text her any time until ten p.m., when she planned to leave the party. ‘And if you get my voicemail, leave me a filthy horny message!’ she’d whispered to him.
Callum himself was at the staff Christmas bash, school having broken up for the holidays two days earlier. He always felt good at the end of term, but the prospect of seeing Kate was making him even more festive than usual.
It had all been meticulously arranged. She’d booked a room at McKinley’s Hotel for the twenty-second, in Callum’s name. He would tell Belinda he was going into Edinburgh to do some Christmas shopping – Alone! I hate shopping at the best of times, you know that – I’ll get it done far quicker on my own – and Kate would tell Matt the same thing.
It would give them three hours together in the afternoon. Then, in the evening, Callum would tell Belinda he was meeting Gary for a drink, and Kate would tell Matt she had to see Jinny again – She’s a mess, Matt, I can’t believe it. This would buy them another three hours, from half eight to midnight. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.
And it was still two days away. For now, Callum had to endure socializing with the staff from North Park Primary, listening to Brian Boyd droning on and on about yearly figures, expanding class sizes, and the cruise he’d booked for himself and his wife next summer. Callum sat politely, smiling and watching Brian’s mouth move, not processing the words that came out of it, and all the time hiding his delicious little secret: in two days’ time he’d be with Kate again.
Four hundred miles south in London’s Greek Street, Kate was doing exactly the same thing – not really listening as Benno talked at her, a dusting of white powder stuck stubbornly to his left nostril. He’d been taking coke and was talking crap at a rate of knots, but she didn’t give a fuck. Because in two days’ time she’d be with Callum again.
‘Oh it’s been the most amazing shoot,’ she lied, her eyes filling up on cue. ‘I’m really going to miss everyone.’
And she thought to herself, Christ, I’m a good actress.
53
‘Didn’t recognize you without your shopping trolley!’ An overweight woman with a faint downy moustache and a sheen of sweat on her forehead had cornered Matt at the bar.
‘Sorry?’ He didn’t recognize her.
‘Last time I saw you,’ she persisted, enthusiasm bursting out of her as keenly as the upper-arm flesh that refused to be restricted by her overtight sleeves, ‘it was graduation night and Martin Bowler was wheeling you past Senate House in a shopping trolley! Weren’t we all just so mad back then?!’
Matt inwardly sighed. He still didn’t remember her, but discreetly clocked her name badge and, urged on by too much gin, faked it to make it.
‘Anthea!’ He hadn’t managed to catch the surname but he knew it began with a ‘W’. ‘Anthea Williams?’
‘Weldon. BA. QTS.’
From the depths of his memory he instantly remembered that QTS stood for Qualified Teaching Status.
‘I don’t teach, though,’ she said enigmatically. ‘Never did.’
And she just stared at him, inviting him to ask her why, but he didn’t take the bait and just stared back, mystified.
Mercifully the awkwardness was interrupted by two guys, fresh off the dance floor, approaching Anthea, one of whom put his hands over her eyes and said in a cod Birmingham accent, ‘I don’t care if it’s a sit-in, where’s me bloody cushion!’
Anthea screamed with delight. ‘Phillip Beddon, as I live and breathe!’
Hugs all round. Matt, once again completely at a loss as to who the two men were, looked round for a sneaking-off opportunity. Too late.
‘Matt! You’re not wearing your name badge!’ Hetty was at his side, jokingly admonishing him.
Before he could make his excuses, the voice he’d dreaded hearing all night boomed, ‘Doesn’t need one! How could we forget the infamous Matty Fenton!’
It was Adam, of course.
Matt realized in that instant that the thing he’d most been fearing was finding Adam attractive when he saw him. Since their liaison at Warwick, there’d been no other encounters with men, putting paid to any possible doubts Matt might have had about his sexuality.
He was still slightly curious though, waiting for an unexpected rush and the return of those alien but uncontrollable sensations Adam had once engendered. None came. No feelings at all. Not even repulsion. Just confusion that he’d ever felt that way about him. He looked older, Matt thought, a bit fatter, and very … ordinary.
‘Matt? You remember Adam?’ Hetty prompted.
‘Yeah. Yes, of course. How you doing, alright?’ And he shook his hand, looking him straight in the eye, refusing to be remotely intimidated.
‘All the better for seeing you again. Hetty’s been filling me in on all your news, she—’
It didn’t take long for Matt to find Adam irritating, interrupting him by offering to get the drinks in and leaving Adam high and dry, mid sentence. Matt headed to the bar with no intention of going back. He ordered himself a large Scotch and downed it in one.
Hetty approached him, scowling. ‘Honestly, Matt, could you have been more rude?’
‘I can’t pretend to like him, Het. The guy’s an arse.’
‘Just for tonight you could’ve pretended. For my sake.’
‘I’m gonna make a move.’
‘Because of Adam?’
‘No! It’s just … there’s only so many times you can say “remember when … remember when”. It’s boring, to be honest.’
‘Thanks a lot!’
A cheer of recognition went up and nipped their argument in the bud, as the opening bars of ‘It’s Raining Men’ prompted a surge of thirty-somethings onto the dance floor.
Within seconds Adam had grabbed Hetty, thrown her over hi
s shoulder fireman’s-lift style and was carting her right into the centre of the dance floor.
‘Come on, Hetty, let’s show them what we’re made of!’
She screamed with delight, hoping beyond hope that her keep-it-all-in knickers weren’t being exposed to the entire room.
Matt was surprised by an overwhelming sense of jealousy as he watched his best mate being carried away.
The double gins were starting to take effect now, and Matt was beginning to feel rebellious. He was annoyed that Hetty couldn’t see Adam for what he was, sensing that she would choose him over Matt if she was forced to, and resenting this Johnny-come-lately, no-good ex-boyfriend for potentially ruining their friendship. He was also aware that any frustration or annoyance he might be feeling tonight was in reality down to Kate and her behaviour, and nothing to do with innocent bystanders like Hetty.
Suddenly Anthea Weldon, BA QTS was grabbing Matt’s arm and leading him away from the bar, forcing him to dance with her. His first thought was to refuse. But he’d had just about enough to drink to make him surrender.
Feeling overtly competitive with Adam, and trying to drunkenly out-dance him, Matt was soon displaying a vast array of flamboyant moves that would have put John Travolta to shame.
Anthea was delighted as Matt pulled her this way and that, swinging her around with such ferocity and passion that she began sweatily hoping this might be her lucky night.
Adam knew the gauntlet had been thrown and he, in turn, put on a spectacular show of choreography, lifting Hetty, twirling her, dropping her dangerously low to the floor, then swiftly picking her up again.
When the song ended, everyone cheered, breathless and energized, and most people went back to their drinks, laughing. But then the DJ came up with another corker: ‘Time Of My Life’. And the competition continued.
This time, though, Matt went straight over to Hetty and pulled her away from Adam, announcing, ‘My turn!’
Hetty laughed hysterically as Matt gave her the Anthea treatment.