The Temp

by Michelle Frances

‘And you couldn’t resist.’

  ‘I . . . I’m not going to say it’s been a long time since . . .’ He looked awkward mentioning their sex life.

  ‘You just did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve just said we haven’t had sex in ages, which is why I’m assuming you felt the need to go elsewhere.’

  ‘No!’ He was exasperated, as if she’d misconstrued his words. ‘No,’ he said more calmly, ‘it wasn’t like that. It was . . .’ She saw him searching for the right phrase, ‘a mistake. A one-off, stupid, pointless mistake.’

  ‘Did you want me to find out?’

  ‘No!’ he exclaimed hotly for the second time. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So when she blackmailed you, why did you pay her out of the joint account?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.’

  She recalled the scarf he’d bought her as a gift – paid for out of his personal account so she wouldn’t know the cost. If he could remember to buy his wife a scarf and not use the joint account, he could certainly remember not to pay his floozy. He just wouldn’t have made that sort of mistake.

  ‘Really? Someone’s blackmailing you who you’ve had an affair with and it’s not uppermost in your mind to keep it a secret from your wife?’

  ‘I just . . . forget which account is which.’

  Carrie didn’t believe a word of it. A painful thought kept nagging at her – had he deliberately let her find out because he was too cowardly to tell her to her face that their marriage was over? She was too scared to ask.

  ‘Why was she blackmailing you?’

  ‘I told you – she threatened to tell you about us unless I paid her money.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘You saw . . . five grand.’

  ‘That’s not very much considering she’s sabotaged her career.’

  Adrian had picked up the pestle again, was smashing it into the bowl, and Carrie got a strong smell of garlic. ‘No . . . well . . . maybe she was planning to ask for more later.’

  ‘But she must have known these things would come out. I would’ve thought she’d have done anything to keep it secret.’

  Adrian shrugged. Didn’t meet her eye.

  ‘Especially after all the effort she put into making the job work. My God, she couldn’t do enough to show everyone how brilliant she was, how qualified she was to have my job, kick me out and take over.’

  He looked up at her strangely.

  ‘What?’ she said suspiciously.

  ‘Nothing.’

  His dismissal was more than she could bear. Carrie was suddenly spitting with rage. ‘Has she been whispering in your ear while you were lying in our bed together, about how she’s wanted to oust me from my work and you . . . you’ve been listening? What did you do, encourage her? Give her tips?’

  ‘No, Carrie, no, nothing like that.’ He looked mortified. ‘If anything, she looked up to you. She didn’t want your job. She wanted to work with you.’

  Carrie realized she was shaking, was on the verge of tears. Sod it. She went to the fridge, and getting out a bottle of wine, poured herself a large glass and downed half of it.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Adrian quietly.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can we fix this?’

  She didn’t know if he was asking her permission or asking whether it was possible. Maybe they were too broken to be fixed?

  A cry went up from the monitor. Both of them stiffened.

  As she got up, she caught a glimpse of something that frightened her, a tiny moment. Before Adrian looked away, she saw his eyes cloud over with defeat.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Friday 12 January

  Emma swilled the last remaining coffee round the takeaway cardboard cup to try and get some warmth into her glove-clad hands. There was barely any heat left: it had gradually petered out as if its very life was slipping away. It was the third morning in a row she’d walked out of the house with her bag and a pleasant goodbye to her parents, who were both under the impression she was headed for work, as she had done the last few months.

  Instead, she’d got a coffee from the cafe on the main street, and not wanting to be sitting in the window when her parents made their own way to work, had walked onto Wandsworth Common. She’d stroll briskly among the few dog walkers who braved the extreme cold until she could safely go home again.

  She only needed to do this for another couple of weeks and then they would move to Italy and she’d be in her new flat. Anxiety gripped her, as it always did when she thought about her new home. She had some money now, but it wouldn’t last forever and she didn’t have a job. She’d gone back to the pub where she’d worked the previous spring, but they had no vacancies, and neither did the other half-dozen in the area.

  She shivered; the cold was always more penetrating when thick cloud hung low in the sky, trapping the freezing air near the ground. Seeing a bin, she dumped the cold coffee, and checking her watch, decided enough time had passed for her to go back home.

  Warmth, she thought with relief as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

  ‘Emma, is that you?’ called her mother’s voice, and then Alice was there, standing at the top of the stairs, a figurine in each hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ she called down in surprise.

  Emma quickly covered her shock. She turned her back so her mother wouldn’t see her face as she lied, bending over and pulling off her boots. ‘Adrian’s not on set. He’s asked me to do a bit of research on the computer – send it over to him. He just called me on my way in, said it made more sense to work from home.’

  ‘Right,’ said Alice brightly. She trotted down the stairs. ‘I’ll make us both a drink.’

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ asked Emma.

  Alice held up the figurines. ‘Packing. I’ve got a few days’ leave to use up, so thought I’d make a start.’

  That means she’s here all day, thought Emma.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ called Alice from the kitchen.

  ‘Tea, please,’ replied Emma, following her in.

  Alice looked round, waved her away. ‘I’ll bring this up. You get on.’

  Emma had no choice but to keep up the pretence. Up in her room, she switched on her laptop and sat at the desk. What she really needed to do was research for a new job, but she’d have to wait until after her mother had brought up the tea so she didn’t see anything on the screen. She also needed to get back to her writing, her true love. She needed a spec script that she could send out to agents to try and secure herself representation. Maybe Liz would help introduce her to a couple of people, she thought suddenly. She’d detected an element of sympathy from her for how things had played out; maybe there was a favour she could cash in.

  She opened the script she’d been working on for the last several months now, started to read it through. Her mind was only half on the words on the page; the other half pictured Adrian as he’d brazenly insisted he’d done nothing wrong, that he’d in fact created both his shows single-handedly, and the old anger flared up again.

  Breathe, she instructed, and took a deep inhalation, then let it out. Tried to find her place on the screen. Cheered herself with a thought that she’d make this script so brilliant, she’d become a success, elevated to the upper echelons of television, perhaps even surpassing Adrian himself.

  CUT TO:

  INT. BAFTA – NIGHT

  EMMA is at the BAFTA after-awards dinner, dressed in a fine gown. She is being wooed by the HEAD OF DRAMA FOR NETFLIX; behind him, the HEAD OF DRAMA FOR AMAZON is vying for her attention.

  HEAD OF DRAMA FOR NETFLIX

  I’m so thrilled for you. What a win! Best Drama, Best Screenplay and it scooped up nearly all the craft and acting awards. You’re our star writer, Emma.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emma can see her former colleague ADRIAN, thief and adulterer. He looks dishevelled, drunk.

  EMMA

 
Excuse me a moment. I must just catch up with an old acquaintance.

  Emma approaches Adrian, who is slugging back a glass of champagne.

  EMMA

  Sorry you weren’t nominated for anything this year, Adrian.

  ADRIAN

  (puzzled, slurring)

  Do I know you?

  EMMA

  You thought you did, once. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?

  They are interrupted by a commotion at the entrance. A group of POLICEMEN swarm in and head straight for Adrian. One puts him in cuffs.

  ADRIAN

  Hey!

  POLICEMAN

  Adrian Hill, I am arresting you for the theft of a television programme idea. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.

  CUT TO:

  Amusing as it was, it wasn’t helping her to write. Emma realized she’d lost her thread and hadn’t taken the last few pages in. Frustrated, she scrolled back to a familiar place and started again.

  The door opened. ‘One tea,’ said Alice as she came in.

  Emma tensed, but hid her reaction and turned round, a smile on her face. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  She expected Alice to go, but her mother took herself over to the bed and sat down. Looked around the room.

  ‘Not started packing yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When is it you move into your flat?’

  ‘Two weeks.’

  Alice nodded. ‘What are you going to do when your contract ends on this job?’

  I’ve slept with my boss and have already been fired, ran through Emma’s head and she envisaged her mother’s response – it was almost laughable. No, her mother was not the type of person she could confide in, especially not when she’d voiced so much disapproval of her daughter’s career choice.

  ‘I’ve already been offered something else,’ lied Emma.

  ‘Same company?’

  ‘No, somewhere else. A development executive role.’

  Alice was looking at her with something like resignation. ‘Well, if you’re determined, I suppose there’s nothing we can do to stop you. I still think you’re making a mistake.’

  ‘I’m not like you, Mum. Or Dad. I just can’t get passionate about medicine.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be medicine. There are plenty of other stable careers out there.’

  ‘But I want to write. Make TV shows. Can’t you understand that?’ Emma privately wondered if she’d ever get the chance again.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind being an astronaut, but no one’s going to pay me to do it.’ Alice sighed. ‘I’m not going to try and persuade you anymore – you’ve obviously made up your mind.’ She stood, gently touched Emma’s cheek. ‘I never felt I understood you. I’m sorry for that, Emma.’

  A lump formed in Emma’s throat. She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Will you come and see us in Italy?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Course,’ said Emma quickly, knowing it would be perhaps just the once, to see the place, take in the novelty of the move, and then what? How much time would pass before she went back?

  Alice nodded. ‘Good.’ She straightened, smiled brightly. ‘I’ll let you get on.’

  As she left, Emma listened to her footsteps go back down the stairs until they disappeared completely. She swallowed and made herself sit up. Refocused on the screen. Right, she thought, with a determination she didn’t feel. Stared at her script. Nothing. She inwardly screamed with frustration, stabbed her fingers aggressively at the keys, stopping just short of actually touching them, for fear of her mother hearing. She held her head in her hands, despair cascading over her.

  After a while, she sat up, wiped away the silent tears and smoothed back her hair. She opened a new document and slowly began to type.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Friday 12 January

  It had been sleeting for an hour now and a lumpy, wet mess covered the cars parked outside the window. Carrie gazed out dolefully, in half a mind to stay indoors and not go to the baby ‘Rhyme Time’ session at the library. Although, if she didn’t, she’d more than likely be stuck in the house all day, a thought that made her shudder, so she continued to pack the baby bag with the large amount of items that she’d need for an hour’s venture away from home. She put Rory in his fleecy all-in-one and was about to tuck him into the pram when the doorbell rang.

  Her arm locked tight when she opened the door and saw who it was.

  ‘Hello, Carrie,’ said Emma.

  A blast of freezing air invaded the house and Carrie instinctively glanced down at Rory in her arms, to make sure he wasn’t cold or upset, but he was smiling and burbling at Emma, pumping his arms up and down in delight.

  Carrie drew him closer to her and started to close the door.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Emma. ‘Please let me speak.’

  Carrie looked at her hard. The sleet was splattering the hood on her coat, which was pulled forward over her eyes. Emma suddenly pushed it off, looked desperately at her.

  ‘I’m truly sorry for what I did, but . . . I didn’t want to . . . It was a mistake.’

  Anger suddenly ignited her. ‘How dare you?’ said Carrie, her voice loaded with emotion. ‘How dare you come to my home like this? You have no right to be here. You take over my job. You . . . you are obsessed with my husband.’

  ‘Obsessed?’ said Emma, taken aback. ‘I’m not obsessed.’

  Carrie pointed a finger lividly. ‘I catch you in here, in my home, playing with his BAFTA mask, you snoop around to find out how much he’s paid, and then you . . .’ You sleep with him, she was supposed to say, but it stuck in her throat.

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Get away from my house,’ Carrie demanded. To her irritation, Rory was still cooing at Emma.

  ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong, I want to protect you from Adrian.’

  Carrie let out a strangled laugh. ‘You’re a fruitcake. Now, you listen to me and listen good. You are going to go away from here and I am never going to see or hear from you again. You got that?’ She went to close the door, but Emma put her hands on it to stop her.

  ‘Please,’ she begged, her hair now plastered to her face. ‘Let me explain.’

  Carrie pushed against the door. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  Emma started to cry, something that surprised and annoyed Carrie. She eyed her with distaste – all this because she’d lost her job? She should be behaving with dignity, not snivelling on her doorstep like a child. ‘Get off!’ she snapped, pushing harder against the door. Then suddenly the resistance went and it slammed shut. Carrie waited a moment, expecting a knock. When the letter box opened and an envelope fell to the floor, she jumped. She waited some more and eventually heaved a large, tension-relieving sigh. Saw Rory was looking at her.

  ‘You need to know which side your bread’s buttered,’ she muttered to him. ‘I am your mother. Yes, me, Mummy. Mum-my,’ she said, pointing to herself. ‘That girl out there is nothing to you. To any of us.’

  Rory smiled at her, and despite still feeling shaken, Carrie smiled back. ‘We’ve got to work on that parental respect,’ she said, then went to put him in the pram. She almost changed her mind about going out again but pulled herself together. She wasn’t going to let Emma ruin her plans, have any more of a negative effect on her life. She quickly checked the living-room window to make sure she’d gone and then came back into the hall.

  The envelope was still on the floor, her name handwritten on the front. She picked it up and stuffed it in the middle of a pile of flyers ready for recycling. Then she braced herself and left the house.

  FORTY-NINE

  Friday 12 January

  Half an hour of singing bloodthirsty nursery rhymes (whoever thought a song about cutting off the tails of mice was suitable for young children?) and still Carrie couldn’t shift the uncomfortable feeling she’d had since Emma’s visit. She’d gone to the baby-friendly cafe afte
rwards with the other mums, where they’d let their offspring crawl over each other in the mini soft-play area, occasionally rescuing one from a wallop on the head with a sponge brick. Now they were at home, Rory was asleep, worn out with the exertion and delight of noticing his feet for the first time.

  The afternoon was turning dark. Carrie tried to get through some household chores while Rory slept, but she still felt restless. Questions went round and round in her head as if they were on a spinning game-show wheel, questions she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the answers to. What had Emma meant, protect her from Adrian? It was nonsense – wasn’t it?

  Adrian came in around seven and poured himself a large glass of red wine. They were being coolly polite to one another, unsure of where their relationship was at. He soon escaped to watch TV, something Carrie would’ve ordinarily found a relief, except that tonight there was something she wanted to speak to him about.

  She followed him to the living room, sat on the arm of the sofa across the room from him. ‘Emma came to the house today.’

  He started. ‘What for?’

  ‘To apologize.’

  He gave a wary nod.

  ‘And explain.’

  ‘What did she say?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘I wouldn’t let her speak. Sent her away.’

  She was watching him carefully. Was that a glimmer of relief?

  ‘She did mention one thing, though,’ continued Carrie. ‘She said she wanted to protect me from you.’ She waited a moment to see what effect this would have on him, but he was blank.

  ‘What did she mean?’ pressed Carrie.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  There was a loud burst of laughter from the panel show on the TV and Adrian was distracted, eyes pulled to the screen.

  Carrie glanced at him, tried to read his face. Do you really have no idea? she thought.

  She gathered an empty mug from the coffee table and took it from the room. Downstairs in the kitchen, she placed it in the dishwasher.

  She looked across at the recycling bin. Turned away and put the kettle on. Dropped a mint teabag into a fresh mug. The kettle seemed to be taking a while. She listened, and heard Adrian laugh at one of the jokes on the TV. She used to think she could read him so well, but lately cracks had appeared, things that were chipping away at her sanity. His insistence over the confusion with the accounts, those texts. So many unanswered questions, half the time she didn’t know whether to trust him or not.