by Helen Warner
Her legs felt like jelly and she had to concentrate to make them move as she shuffled behind Charlie towards the front door. Just as he was about to put the key in the lock, she stumbled.
Charlie reached out a hand to steady her. His forehead creased into a look of concern. ‘It’s fine,’ he murmured gently, reading her fear. ‘You can do it.’
‘Come on, Mum!’ Felix yelled, scampering through the huge door as soon as it swung open. He beamed up at her expectantly.
Suddenly, Liv’s shoulders seemed to drop. Of course she could go back into the house. It was Felix’s home. It was all he knew. Whatever Charlie was planning to do, she had a trump card. Felix loved her and he loved his home. To him, the two were inextricably linked.
She stepped into the huge white hallway and was immediately flooded with a sense of calm. Everything looked so different and yet so much the same. ‘Wow,’ she breathed, following Felix into the kitchen. ‘It’s good to be home.’
Charlie put her bag down and looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘It’s good to have you home,’ he said. ‘We’ve missed you.’
Later, Charlie came into the day room where Liv was lying on a sofa cuddled up with Felix. He was watching Toy Story for the millionth time while Liv was just watching him, revelling in his presence.
She looked up at Charlie. ‘What have you got there?’ she asked, nodding towards his right hand.
Charlie uncurled his hand. ‘It’s your phone.’ He held it out towards her and smiling encouragingly.
Liv’s heart skipped slightly. Before rehab, she had never let her phone out of her sight. Now, having been without it for eight whole weeks, she was wary of it, as if it might possess some kind of evil power that would suck her into its grasp once more.
‘I think it might have some good news for you . . .’ Charlie said, when she hesitated.
Liv frowned and stood up, edging Felix carefully to one side. She reached out and took the phone, surprised that it felt so familiar in her hand.
‘You look like you’re carrying a bomb!’ Charlie said, as Liv headed for the kitchen, holding the phone out in front of her.
She headed for the island in the middle of the kitchen and perched on her favourite stool. She put the phone down in front of her and peered at the screen. ‘What good news?’ she asked, wondering if he was going to tell her that he’d changed his mind about filing for custody, which was the only news she wanted to hear.
Charlie reached over her shoulder and tapped the email icon. Immediately dozens of new emails began to scroll down the screen.
Liv frowned, overwhelmed by the sheer number. ‘Can’t you just tell me what they say?’ she asked, looking up at Charlie, fear gripping her anew.
He shrugged. ‘Well, let’s just say that your agent has been very busy since you went into rehab . . .’
‘Why?’ Liv frowned, followed by, ‘Oh my God!’ as she realised what he was saying. ‘Does everybody know?’
‘Well, it’s always hard to keep something like that secret, Liv. You know that.’
Liv closed her eyes to try to block out the sense of shame that was enveloping her.
‘It’s OK,’ Charlie said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged him off. ‘OK that the whole world knows I’m a drunk?’ she cried. ‘That certainly plays into your hands, doesn’t it?’
Charlie sighed and shook his head. ‘That’s not what anyone thinks, Liv,’ he protested. ‘And look, you’ve got so many offers of work that Jonathan can’t cope.’
‘I don’t care how many job offers I’ve got!’ she shouted. ‘I’m a failure as a mother, a failure as a wife, and I’m such a drunk that you think I can’t look after my own child and are going to take him off me!’ She looked at Charlie, with his sweet dark eyes and gentle expression, and felt a sudden urge to punch him, to make him feel just a tiny fraction of the pain she was feeling right now.
Charlie looked away.
‘Well?’ Liv prompted. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
Charlie shook his head and exhaled in a long, slow breath. ‘Let’s not talk about this now, Liv. You’ve just got home and you need to concentrate on getting completely well.’
‘I am well!’ she snapped, furious at his insinuation that she still needed help.
‘I know, I know . . .’ Charlie put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Liv, you’ve done incredibly well to come through this past eight weeks and I’m sure you’ll be fine from now on. But let’s just see how things go, shall we?’
Liv could feel the tears of frustration threatening so she snatched up her phone and took it to her bedroom. She had just gone through eight weeks of hell thanks to Charlie and she suddenly felt like she wanted to get away from him.
She walked into her bedroom and had to stop for a minute to take in the sheer size and scale of it. Her room in rehab had been pretty but small and very simply furnished. The opulence and vastness of her bed alone was breathtaking. She lay down on top of the silk throw that she had bought from a souk on a visit to Morocco with Danny and stared up at the ceiling. She wondered if Danny knew about her stint in rehab and, if so, whether he had been in touch with Felix. She suspected not. Danny had been a wonderful step-father to him, but now that he had moved on she imagined he would probably think it was best to cut all ties. Anything else was too painful and complicated.
She missed Danny, but to her surprise she felt as though she had accepted their break-up with remarkable calmness. She had had a lot of time to think while in rehab and had decided that it was probably because she had felt all along that she only ever had him on loan. Danny had loved her, she was in no doubt about that, but he was also a womaniser. It was something that was in his blood and it was almost as if he couldn’t help himself. It was just another character trait, like having a good sense of humour or a bad temper.
And now that Liv had been punished for what she had done to Charlie by being dumped herself, she felt cleansed. It had taken away a lot of the guilt she had been carrying, as if she had been absolved from her sins, and it was only now that she was clean of alcohol that she could allow herself to be forgiven.
She lifted her phone and began to read through her messages and emails. Most were from her agent, Jonathan, or her personal assistant, Carrie, outlining various roles she was being offered and asking her to get in touch as soon as she felt ready. But in amongst them was a short email from Danny, telling her that he was glad she was getting the right help and that she didn’t need to worry about the house – he had already instructed his lawyers and would be signing it over to her as soon as possible. He ended by telling her that a part of him would always love her and that he had no regrets about the past four years, which had been the happiest of his life. He asked her to send his love to Felix but said he thought it was best for everyone if he didn’t see him again and wished them both happiness in the future.
Liv felt a familiar tingle at the back of her eyes and blinked furiously. She refused to cry over Danny any more. It was what she had expected and it was what she deserved. At least she didn’t need to fret about being homeless, on top of everything else. Now all she needed to do was persuade Charlie that she was well enough to look after her own son. And do it she would. She put her phone down and sat up straight. She was ready for the fight.
Chapter 43
‘So . . . Charlie Simmons seems to be doing rather well for himself in Hollywood, doesn’t he?’ Martha said, trying to keep her voice light.
She was having lunch with Louisa Thomas, Charlie’s PR, at The Wolseley, a beautiful art deco restaurant in London, where most of the city’s media contingent gravitated to do business.
Louisa’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Yes, he’s doing brilliantly. I spoke to him yesterday. He’s on location in New York at the moment, lucky thing. Actually, Liv’s doing really well too. I’ve just started doing her PR and it’s a gift – her stint in rehab did wonders for her career.’
Martha smiled
and nodded. ‘I’m glad for her,’ she said, meaning it. ‘She’s a good person. I liked her a lot.’ She speared a slice of tomato from her salad and ate it, thinking back to her strange time in LA.
‘Oh, yes, of course. You went with Charlie to LA, didn’t you?’ Louisa eyed Martha closely. ‘What happened back then, Martha? I could never really get an answer out of Charlie.’
Martha pushed out her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘Nothing happened,’ she said, trying to keep her answer clipped so that Louisa wouldn’t be tempted to ask any more.
‘Oh, you know me better than that, Martha!’ Louisa laughed. ‘That’s nowhere near good enough! Something went on. I just can’t figure out exactly what.’
Martha took another mouthful of her salad, followed by a sip of her wine, trying to stall for time. ‘Charlie was very kind to me,’ she said carefully. ‘At a very difficult time of my life.’
Louisa frowned. ‘So why did you back out of doing his memoirs, then? It doesn’t make sense if he was so kind to you.’
‘Actually it was Charlie who decided that I shouldn’t do them,’ she said, immediately feeling disloyal.
‘Hmmm,’ Louisa murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I still feel as if something happened in LA, and I have obviously jumped to certain conclusions . . . but I would really love to know if I’m right.’
Martha sighed. She desperately didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but she did owe Louisa some kind of explanation. She had given her an incredible opportunity and she deserved to know why Martha hadn’t taken it.
‘We just became very close,’ she said, before stopping for a few seconds, lost in thought. ‘And then,’ she continued, ‘perhaps not surprisingly, my husband felt a bit threatened by Charlie. To do his memoirs would have meant us spending an awful lot of time together, and in the end I decided to put my marriage first.’ As she finished speaking, the tears flashed into Martha’s eyes and she blinked them away, embarrassed.
‘You don’t seem too happy about that decision,’ Louisa prodded, frowning slightly.
‘I am!’ Martha brushed away a stray tear that had refused to stay put with an irritable flick of her napkin. ‘It’s just that . . . well, things are never black and white, are they?’
Louisa nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘Well I’ve got Kevin Porter doing them now and I don’t think Charlie finds him quite as appealing as he did you!’
Her words lightened the mood and Martha grinned, her stomach flipping over at the idea that Charlie was missing her. If he felt anything like her, that would mean he was thinking about her all day, every day.
Jamie had been delighted when Martha had told him that she wouldn’t be seeing Charlie again, but Martha herself still hadn’t managed to shake off her sense of loss. She couldn’t get him out of head and she couldn’t stop dwelling on what might have been.
Jamie was proving himself to be a model husband at home and she couldn’t fault him. But she also couldn’t fully forgive him either, no matter how hard she tried. So many things reminded her of what he had done. Even the children’s birthdays had made her think with fury of what he had put in jeopardy. Every time someone told her how lucky she was to be married to such a wonderful man, she wanted to scream that he was a cheating fraud. And all the time she was with him, she felt as though there was a massive gulf between what they said and what they actually meant.
To the outside world, they appeared to have the perfect marriage and to be as happy as ever. But in reality, she increasingly felt that she was putting on an act and it was draining her. She felt tired and miserable most of the time and her work was suffering. The last couple of profiles she had done were fine, but she knew that they weren’t up to her usual high standard. If she wasn’t careful, PRs would stop asking for her, which is why she had contacted Louisa to ask if she could take her out for lunch.
‘So,’ she said, as the waiter brought them both coffee. ‘What’s on the horizon work-wise at the moment? Anything I could help you with?’
Louisa took a sip of her black coffee and tilted her head to one side as she looked at Martha. ‘Well it’s funny you should ask . . .’ she said with a sly smile.
‘Really?’ Martha replied, her heart beginning to flutter with anticipation. ‘Tell me more.’ She could sense from Louisa’s expression that it had something to do with Charlie.
‘Based on what you’ve said today, I think it might be something you’d like.’
‘Is it . . .’ Martha began, aware that her voice had risen an octave. ‘Is it to do with Charlie?’
‘Yes and no,’ Louisa replied, again tilting her head.
Martha felt like she might explode. ‘Oh stop being so cryptic!’ she cried. ‘Tell me!’
Louisa laughed. ‘Sorry. It’s a profile interview with Liv. It’ll be the first one she’s done since getting out of rehab, so her agent wants to make sure it’s someone good whom she can trust.’
Martha almost squealed with excitement. ‘Wow! That would be amazing.’ She tried to sound measured but failed. Instantly, she felt a little of her old enthusiasm and fire returning. She already knew that she could make an amazing job of this profile and she couldn’t wait to see Liv again. She had thought about her so much over the past months and had wanted to get in touch but could never really think of a good enough reason. She didn’t know her well enough to just phone out of the blue for a chat, even if she had her number. This was perfect.
‘So you’d be interested then?’
‘Yes, definitely!’ Martha shot back eagerly, before hesitating, already thinking about how she might feel returning to LA, and about how Jamie might react when she told him she was going.
‘Charlie’s moved out of Liv’s house,’ Louisa said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘So I don’t think you have to worry about bumping into him.’
Martha nodded distractedly. ‘That’s probably for the best.’ Bumping into Charlie wasn’t something that worried her – far from it – but she knew that it would worry Jamie and cause problems when it came to her going. Jamie would definitely ask if he’d be there and she wouldn’t have been able to lie.
Then again, she thought mutinously, what right did Jamie have to dictate what she did? She had already turned down the opportunity to do Charlie’s memoirs to appease him. No, she decided, this time she was taking the assignment. If Jamie didn’t like it, that was his problem.
Chapter 44
Jamie watched Martha drive off with a sense of foreboding. He closed the front door and trudged listlessly into the kitchen where Mimi and Tom were sitting at the table eating their breakfast.
‘Dad?’ Mimi said, through a mouthful of Cheerios. ‘How do you think different types of fruit got their name?’
Jamie made himself a coffee and sat at the head of the table, in between them. ‘Clarify what you mean,’ he said, trying to focus but feeling distracted.
Mimi put her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers together, like an eminent professor. ‘Well, an orange is called an orange for fairly obvious reasons. But then why isn’t a lemon called “a yellow”? Or an apple called “a green”?’
‘Well you couldn’t call an apple “a green” because there are lots of fruits that are green. How would you distinguish between them?’ Jamie countered with a sigh.
Tom put his spoon down and clapped his hands together as he had an idea. ‘You could call an apple “green number one”! And grapes could be “green number two” and a melon “green number three” and a—’
‘Yes, we get the idea, thank you!’ Mimi interrupted her younger brother briskly. ‘But frankly, who’s going to want to eat a fruit that’s called a “green number two”,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in an exaggerated fashion and sniggering to herself as she did so.
Tom looked puzzled for a few seconds as his brain caught up, then he too started to giggle. ‘Ha ha! “Green number two”!’ he laughed. ‘Do you get it, Dad?’
Jamie nodded and took a sip of his coffee. ‘Yes, I
get it,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Anyway, you guys, it’s about time you were getting ready for school. Come on, finish up and then go and brush your teeth.’
Both children looked at him in surprise. It wasn’t like Jamie not to throw himself into their morning discussions, but he just didn’t have the heart this morning. Not when Martha was heading off to LA.
He was still reeling from the terrible row they had had last night, when Jamie had asked her if she would be seeing Charlie while she was there. Martha had reacted with the fury of a snarling animal, screaming that he had no right to question her since he was the only one who had screwed around in this relationship. That it was no longer any of his business.
Jamie had been shocked by the fresh venom that she had thrown at him, as forceful as the day she had discovered his betrayal. He had never really appreciated how resentful she was about the fact that she had missed out on doing Charlie’s memoirs because of him, but it was clear that she wasn’t prepared to put him before her career any more.
He was trying so hard to make things right between them but whatever he did, it just wasn’t enough. He could see for himself that Martha’s spark had been extinguished, and the raw guilt he felt, knowing that he was the cause, gnawed at him from the inside, making him feel like he was mentally and physically half the man he used to be.
Forever more, he would be the weaker half of the couple, prepared to do whatever it took to prove to Martha how sorry he was. He felt a bit like her slave and it made him feel even more inadequate than he had before he had embarked on his stupid affair. He could never again win an argument because each time it would end with Martha playing her trump card: everything that was wrong was his fault and could be traced back to what he had done.
Before, Jamie had had such a lust for life and had always been an outgoing, sociable person, but he certainly wasn’t that person now. He felt weak and useless and instead of looking forward to the future, he dreaded what it might hold instead. He knew that Martha would never leave him while the children were young, which bought him a certain amount of time. But he also knew that the rest of his life was going to be spent on tenterhooks, in case she woke up one morning many years from now and decided that she was going to leave anyway. The prospect made him feel bleak.