by Prue Leith
Tears started to run down her face. She was completely alone, abandoned by the two people she loved most in the world, Poppy and Eduardo. Poppy didn’t understand how hard it had been for her. Poppy, the plain one, the dull one, had everything. She was a successful actress. She had children. A house—two houses, money, Eduardo. She had bloody everything.
Carrie pulled a cushion onto her knees and hugged it. She thought, I’m the one everyone said was lucky. The pretty one. The vivacious one. And what have I got? A bloody great overdraft, no husband, no children. It will be baggy tits and cellulite next. She buried her face in the cushion, wiping tears and mascara on it in equal proportions, and sniffing. Oh why didn’t Eduardo ring?
Maybe he was on a flight right now. Or a train. Maybe he’d got her message and was flying back to her. This thought sustained her for a little. But in fact she knew he’d have telephoned if he’d got her messages. And she doubted if planes and trains ran that late.
She tried his hotel but he still wasn’t in, then his mobile to hear again the clipped “Eduardo Santolini. Please leave a message”. She was very tired. Bed. She’d go to bed. As she locked the front door she looked into the little hall mirror. Her face was red and puffy, streaks of make-up under her eyes. Ugly. Ugly. And old.
Still sobbing slightly, she went up the stairs. Why aren’t I drunk, she thought? I’m usually drunk on a bottle.
She pulled her clothes off, but didn’t do her teeth or wash. Good, she thought, seeing the two untouched glasses of wine at the bedside. Maybe if I drink them?
But she knocked one of them over while reaching for the television control. She used a handful of tissues to mop ineffectually at the table, but didn’t bother with the carpet. It’s a dark carpet. It won’t show.
The little TV at the end of the bed must be on the blink, she thought. It’s vertical hold’s gone. The newscasters kept rolling up and being replaced by another identical pair. She drank the remaining glass of wine, while she watched the uncontrollable telly. It was the same on all channels. In fact the whole bloody room’s vertical hold was dicky.
Must be drunk at last. Good. Sleep now.
Chapter 16
When Eduardo entered their bedroom at seven the next morning, Poppy had barely slept. She felt dreadful. Her skin was pasty and tight, her eyes puffy and lids leaden.
Eduardo pulled a chair up near the bed and put the tea tray down on it.
“Do you want some tea?”
She nodded. “Please,” she said. She thought how odd to be talking about tea. In fact, the whole thing was like a play. Eduardo never brought her tea in bed unless she was sick. And he didn’t turn up at 7 a.m. if he’d been away. Carrie had called him then. So he knew that she knew.
He handed her a cup and she wriggled up to a sitting position. She fumbled for her glasses and put them on. She examined her husband, sitting at her bedside like an anxious family doctor. He looked strained too, she was glad to see. She felt oddly reluctant to say anything more. If only they could just sit here and drink tea.
But with a kind of weary inevitability, she started the conversation, which could undo her life completely. “Are you leaving me then?” she said.
“Leaving you?” His eyes widened in alarm and disbelief. “Leaving you? Darling, do you want me to?”
Poppy shook her head, more a gesture of confusion than a no. “I don’t want you to stay with me if you’d rather marry my sister.” There, she’d said it. All the night as she lay churning and gnawing at it, that had been the worst scenario. That he would leave her and marry Carrie.
“Marry Carrie! Oh darling, I’d never marry Carrie.”
“What is it then?” She had to put the cup and saucer down because her hand shook so badly they rattled. He didn’t answer, put reached out to take her by the shoulders.
But she snapped, “No, Eduardo. Let’s get on with this. How long have you been sleeping with my sister?”
Eduardo had the grace to look ashamed. He was on a hook and didn’t like it. He looked at his highly polished Italian shoes and said, “How do you know? Did Carrie tell you? She threatened . . .”
Poppy interrupted him. “Haven’t you spoken to her? Hasn’t she sent you to say this thing is bigger than the both of you, that you couldn’t help yourselves, that your wife doesn’t understand you . . .”
Eduardo stood up. “No, no. Listen, Poppy. You’ve got to listen . . .” He picked up the tray and set it on the dressing table. She looked at his back as he did so with something very like loathing. Then he turned back and sat down on the chair, facing her. “But finish your tea first.”
Poppy knew he was playing for time but she needed the tea. She held the cup in both hands so she would not spill it, and drained it. Eduardo took it and said, “More?”
She shook her head, and said, “I’m listening.” Her voice told him she would not believe him anyway, but it had to be got through.
“It just happened, Poppy. I didn’t plan it. Carrie is such a flirt, and I fell for it.”
“So it’s Carrie’s fault?”
He gave a slight shrug. Six of one.
“Where?”
She knew that he understood the question, but he pretended not to. “Where? What do you mean?”
“Where did you first sleep with her. In Kaia Moya? Here in this bed? In our bedroom at Manor Farm?”
“Poppy, you don’t want to know the sordid details. I had an affair with Carrie. A brief affair. And it’s over.”
“Who says so? Carrie? Does Carrie know it’s over?” She knew her eyes were gimlets, boring at him. He shifted uneasily, opened his mouth to say something but she was merciless. “And I do want to know the sordid details. I want to know the whole lot. When, where, how long, is this the first? How many affairs have you had while I’ve so dumbly thought you loved me . . .” She stopped abruptly. If she went on about love she’d cry.
“Poppy, I swear to you. I am so, so sorry. I would not have had this happen for worlds. I cannot believe I could have . . .” His voice trailed off, dried up by the coldness of her stare.
She said nothing and he asked, the fingers of his right hand fiddling lightly with the very edge of the lace of her sleeve, “Poppy, how did you find out? Did Carrie tell you?”
But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him anything. She said, “I think it’s for you to explain things, not me.”
“I can’t explain it. I can only say I regret it,” he said. “Which I do. I really do.”
For a fleeting moment Poppy felt her heart soften toward him, but she denied herself any such weakening. She pulled her legs up and said, “Well in that case, could you shift now? I’ve got to go to rehearsal.” He stood up and pulled the chair out of the way as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be back at eight. That gives you a whole day to tell Carrie it’s all over, or pack your things and get out of here.” She picked up her watch from the bedside and stood up, a small, round, determined woman, her chin high.
“And you should know, Eduardo, that those are your only options. I know you both too well for you to get away with any more screwing behind my back.” Eduardo didn’t like the phrase on her lips, she could see. Too bad. She went on, “I may have been blind, up to now. Trust makes you blind I guess. But you’ve blown that. I’d notice now if you waved at her from a mile away.” She headed for the bathroom, ending with, “And if you decide to stay, fine, but tell Carrie a mile away is not enough.”
*
Carrie came to the flat three days later. She used the key she’d had since the Santolinis’ moved in, and she was in the kitchen before Poppy could prevent it.
“What the hell are you doing here?” said Poppy. She had a bucket of garden debris in one hand and a pair of secateurs in the other. She swept into the kitchen from the terrace, anger in her every movement. She dumped the bucket in the sink.
<
br /> Carrie hesitated, then came toward her sister.
“Poppy, I have to talk to you . . .”
Poppy interrupted her at once. “Carrie, I’ve nothing to say to you, and I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say to me. So go, please.”
“Poppy, how can you be so horrible? Can’t you see I’m in hell?” Carrie tried to touch Poppy’s arm, but Poppy backed out of reach, flinging off Carrie’s hand with a jerk.
“And who made the hell? You did.”
Carrie tried again to reach for her sister, but Poppy stepped back and raised her voice “And you dragged me and Eduardo in there with you. But then, you always did that, didn’t you? Make other people suffer for things you did.”
Carrie’s head came up at this. Stung, she said, “What I did? I suppose you think I seduced Eduardo? Do you? Well, I bloody didn’t. I don’t suppose your innocent husband told you he insisted on coming to my house, did he? Or why? And I suppose you think I’m the first? Well, Sis, I’m not. He’s been cheating on you for years. Ask him about Michelle Ward for a start. The only difference is that this time he . . . he loves . . .” Carrie faltered and stopped.
Poppy suddenly felt on treacherous ground. She had wanted Eduardo to tell her everything, and he wouldn’t. But she did not want to hear it from Carrie. Carrie jerked her chin higher and said, “He loves me, Poppy, and I love him.”
Poppy folded her arms across her bosom and faced her sister, face drained of all color, all expression. She said, “He said so, did he? That he loves you?” Carrie didn’t answer and Poppy gained momentum from her advantage. “Did he? Then why won’t he see you? Why doesn’t he return your calls? Why is he staying with me?”
Carrie’s shoulders suddenly fell and she said, “That’s what I don’t understand. I know he loves me. No, don’t shake your head. He does. He’s just frightened of you Poppy, and he loves the children. But you could let him go . . . You could tell him . . .”
Poppy’s eyes widened and she let out a gasp of astonishment. “What? I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Carrie, are you asking me to give Eduardo leave to screw you? Tell him to go ahead and shove his dick where everyone else does?”
Carrie, taken aback by her sister’s crudeness, said nothing, and Poppy, gaining momentum, went on, “You are as immoral and selfish as you were at ten years old. You think you can just do what you did then, turn on those big, beautiful eyes and you’ll be forgiven, and be given exactly what you want. Whether it’s yours or anyone else’s. Well for once, baby sister, it won’t wash.”
For a second there was silence, as the red of Carrie’s flush climbed her neck and burst over her face. Then she yelled, “Me get everything I want! That’s rich. Who got to go to RADA when there wasn’t enough money to send me to Switzerland? Who got all Dad’s books?”
Poppy frowned, then a dry little laugh escaped her and she said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Carrie. I got the books because I read books. You don’t. And I went to RADA on a scholarship, as you know perfectly well. And the hotel school was way beyond Mum and Dad’s means. Though I expect you’d have been happy to see Dad spend what he had on you rather than on looking after poor Mum. You don’t give a damn about Lucille.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
For a second Poppy struggled to regain control, to be her normal, reasonable, accommodating self, but then, with a feeling of pure exhilaration, she let go, releasing years of resentment in a river of fury. She stuck her face into Carrie’s and shouted, “I don’t think you even visit her when you say you do. You know she can’t remember so you just don’t bother. When did you last take her out to lunch? Or do a jigsaw with her? Or do anything at all other than steal her silver and china for photo-shoots?”
Carrie took a step back. Then, her mouth twisted and ugly, she spat out, “Well, why should I bother when little miss goody-two-shoes, wearing her halo and waving her fairy wand, does it so well? Who needs Carrie when Perfect Poppy is at hand?” She drew a breath and said, “Except Eduardo, of course, who finally couldn’t bear another day of domestic perfection, and opted for some fun instead.”
“Fun. Yes. That’s exactly what you are good at. I expect half of London has enjoyed your idea of fun. What’s the recipe, Carrie? Other than sex, drugs and rock and roll? Well, get this. You cannot have Eduardo. And he does not love you.”
Carrie turned away, then flung herself into a chair. She pulled out a packet of Marlboros and lit one, her hand shaking.
She said, “You hate me, don’t you?”
Poppy drew a breath, and said with more control but still forcefully, “Are you surprised? Doesn’t sleeping with my husband warrant hatred? Christ, Carrie, grow up! You aren’t ten years old now, helping yourself to the best bike, or best pony, or top bunk. You can’t just help yourself to Eduardo and expect me to forgive you. I’ll never forgive you.”
Carrie’s face was still flushed. But now her eyes filled with tears. She said, “OK, Poppy. I came here wanting to be friends. I thought we could talk about this. Whatever I’ve done, or Eduardo’s done, we are all in it together, and you don’t hate me.” She hesitated and then said, hesitantly, “We all love each other . . .”
Poppy exploded, “Love each other? Love? What I feel for you, little Sister, is not love. Eduardo is right—you don’t know the meaning of the word. Love, real love, is for grown-ups.”
Carrie was reeling under Poppy’s onslaught. She had never seen Poppy remotely like this, but while Poppy’s venom astounded her, it fired her once more to retaliation. She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and shouted, “Oh yes? Like you and Eduardo, I suppose? Is that why Eduardo spent more nights with me than he did in Bilbao or Manchester? Because love with you was so all-consuming?” Carrie glared at Poppy, wanting only to hurt her as deeply as she could. She went on, “Maybe Eduardo has run home to Mummy now, but don’t think he won’t miss the recipe, as you call it. He said I was the best fuck he’d ever had. He said being with me was an undreamt-of liberation. He said I made him feel twenty years younger . . .”
Poppy had a childish desire to cover her ears. For a second her hands fluttered in distress round her own face, then she ran at Carrie, swinging her right arm as hard as she could. The slap made a sharp crack, jerking Carrie’s head to the side.
The sisters stared at each other in silence.
Then Carrie righted herself in the chair, and put both hands up to her cheek, now suffused with purple. Her eyes brimmed with tears as the stinging pain spread. She said, “Hitting me won’t change the facts, Sis. Eduardo hasn’t the bottle to leave you, but that doesn’t mean he loves you.”
Poppy looked at Carrie’s face in horror. Horror at her own violence. For a second she wanted to fall on her knees and put her arms round Carrie and say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But she just stood there, and then the thought occurred to her: No, I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all.
Poppy swung away from Carrie and took a few paces. But then turned back and said, quietly now, “Do you think I want to be the sensible one? Do you think I like being the dependable wife who always does the right thing? While you gad about looking beautiful and getting exactly what you want from everyone?”
Carrie looked at her in disbelief, “Me, get everything I want? That’s rich coming from you. Who has fame? And a fantastic career? and money? and children?” Her voice faltered as she said . . . “and Eduardo. Forgive me if I’m a bit short on sympathy.”
Carrie stood up, picked up her bag and made for the door.
Poppy heard the front door bang, and the whirr of the lift as Carrie pressed the button. Her palm was still ringing from hitting her sister.
*
Poppy was sustained by her new cynicism. Bitterness helped her get through the days, but she would have preferred to have remained a dupe. She’d been a fool to have so innocently believed in love and truth and happy-ever-after,
but she’d been happy then.
Until the first night of Filumena, Poppy mostly managed not to think. She concentrated all her efforts on the play, escaping with relief to the feisty life of Filumena, ex-prostitute, who tricks her long-time lover into marriage. Pouring invective on her stage husband, organizing the lives of her sons, dominating the other characters, the play, and the audience, Poppy felt each night the adrenalin rush of power.
They opened to rave reviews, and after that the steady routine of domestic life and the heavy demands of a great leading role helped her to avoid a descent into misery. But she felt ten years older. She felt she was indeed the age of the role she played.
When she had first read the play, Poppy had seen it simply as a strong character part, with no relevance to her own life. Now she understood Filumena’s rage and desire for revenge. Because she’d so loved Domenico, Filumena had spent twenty years as his mistress, only to wake up to the knowledge that while she’d been keeping house and running his business for him, Domenico had been traveling the world and cheating on her. Poppy knew every performance was a kind of catharsis. Sometimes she felt she might spit the name Eduardo instead of Domenico.
But the play was funny rather than dark. On the first night Poppy was glorious, powerful and captivating. The audience wept with laughter, and the Bravo’s and curtain calls went on and on. Poppy could not help comparing the esteem and love the audience seemed to bear her with the tired duty of Eduardo’s attitude. She was now inclined to believe he did not love Carrie, but she thought the less of her husband for so readily abandoning his lover. What kind of a man sleeps with his wife’s sister, and then ditches her at his wife’s say so?
As Carrie and Richard climbed the stairs to the star dressing rooms they heard Eduardo behind them. Richard turned and said, “Hello, Eduardo, I knew you’d be here. I suppose you got the house seats, you lucky dog. We could only get the back of the circle.”
“Hi, Eduardo,” said Carrie, her heart pounding. “She was wonderful, wasn’t she? Even better than before the summer?”