by Sue Margolis
‘So you have been avoiding me,’ she said with a smile. ‘I thought so.’
‘God,’ he said, ‘I really am sorry.’
“That’s OK. I understand. It can’t have been easy for you.’
‘Look, now I’m over my embarrassment, we’ll all get together soon, I promise.’
‘Great,’ she said, ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
Tom apologised for having to rush off. Beverley offered to lend him the fifty quid she had in her purse, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I think I just heard Plum come back. He’ll tell me which office Naomi’s meeting’s in.’
She stood up to say goodbye.
‘Thanks again... for all this. And take care,’ he said, reaching out and shaking her hand.
***
When he’d gone she sat herself back down in Naomi’s chair. She liked Tom. He was intelligent, kind and clearly very sensitive. Not to mention ridiculously handsome. Of course she knew virtually nothing about him and she could be way off base, but every instinct told her he would make a wonderful father.
***
‘See, what did I tell you?’ Rochelle said when Beverley phoned her after what had turned out to be a very merry and, on Naomi’s part at least, boozy lunch. ‘I knew you’d have nothing to worry about as far as Tom was concerned. So is he even more gorgeous in the flesh then?’
‘Dunno,’ she said, feigning disinterest. She wasn’t about to admit, even to her best friend, that she’d given her sister’s lover a second glance.
‘To be honest, I didn’t really look,’ she said.
‘Come on, don’t give me that. ’Course you did. So is he?’
‘Is he what?’
‘Bev, for Chrissake stop playing silly buggers. Is the gorgeous Tom more gorgeous in the flesh?’
Beverley took a deep breath.
‘He’s very good-looking, yes.’
‘God, your sister certainly knows how to pick them.’
‘Yeah, that’s my sister. She hooks the romantic lead while I have a walk-on part as Madame Ovary.’
‘Meeaaaow. Heavens, Bev,’ Rochelle said in mock horror, ‘do I detect the teeniest hint of sisterly jealousy here?’
‘Maybe,’ Beverley said thoughtfully. ‘I know I shouldn’t be jealous. After all, Naomi’s infertile and I’ve got two kids, but somehow I can’t help thinking she’s having all the fun. Oh God, do I sound really sorry for myself? I don’t mean to.’
‘Don’t be daft. You’d have to be a blind nun during Lent not to be jealous... So have you told Melvin about the baby yet?’
‘No, I’m still girding my loins.’
***
Beverley knew Melvin wouldn’t be exactly happy when she broke the news - hence the loin-girding - but she hadn’t bargained for him being quite so shocked the moment she told him she was pregnant.
‘God, I can’t believe it,’ he said, turning white, and slumping on to a kitchen stool. ‘I never thought... I mean, you’re forty-two. I reckoned England would win the World Cup before it worked... So you’re definitely up the…’
‘Please don’t, Mel,’ she said, mildly irritated. ‘I’m up nothing. I’m expecting a baby.’
‘Yeah, somebody fucking else’s.’ By now his face had gone from white to red.
‘Mel, I don’t understand. You’ve been happy as Larry for weeks and now you look like your whole world’s fallen apart. I knew this would be painful for you, but please try and look on the positive side.’
‘The only side I’m positive about,’ he said tartly, ‘is that you’ve got this Tom bloke’s baby inside you. How could you, Bev? How could you?’
‘Hang on. What do you mean, how could I?’
She looked and sounded exasperated.
‘Have you forgotten,’ she went on, ‘that it was a joint decision for me to go ahead with this thing?’
He shrugged and said nothing. She thought he might be about to burst into tears.
‘Look, Mel,’ she said gently, ‘couldn’t you stop playing cuckold for five minutes and just try to get real. I have got us out of the financial poo, Mel. I did it. Me... who hasn’t contributed a penny to this family’s finances since before Natalie was born. I was hoping that at some stage you might even say you were proud of me. It’s going to be hard for me too. The thought of giving up this child is almost tearing me apart. Come on, please don’t make me feel guilty about agreeing to have Naomi’s baby. After all, I didn’t just do it for her and Tom. I did it for us too.’
He looked at her and gave a weak smile.
‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘I am grateful and I am proud of you, Bev. Really.’
A few more weeks, a few more sodding weeks selling the snoring devices, he thought, and he could have been the one announcing he’d made the family’s fortune. Why the fuck did she have to get pregnant first bloody time? Why did she have to be the one to rescue them?
If it weren’t for bad luck, Melvin thought, he’d have no bloody luck at all.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell Beverley the truth. That his self-esteem was so low it was virtually giving a minus reading.
‘Please try and cheer up, Mel,’ Beverley said gently as she put her arms round his shoulders. ‘It’s like you said, everything’s going to be peachy. In a few days’ time we’ll have the first half of the two hundred and fifty thousand. For the first time in our lives we’ll have money in the bank. Doesn’t that excite you in any way - ’cos I tell you something, Mel, it sure as hell excites me.’
‘Yeah,’ he said resignedly, kissing her cheek. ‘’Course it does, Bev, ’course it does.’
In truth, there was only one thing he found even remotely exciting at that moment. The cash he was coining in from the anti-snoring devices would prevent his worst nightmare coming true. At least he would never have to ask his wife for money.
***
Despite his determination not to hurt Beverley, he couldn’t help it. He started sleeping on the sofa.
Beverley did her best to make light of it and told Queenie and the children what Melvin had told her that he’d moved out of the bedroom because he’d started having difficulty sleeping and didn’t want to keep her awake in her condition with his tossing and turning.
She knew he was lying. Of course she didn’t know the whole truth, but she knew enough. Melvin couldn’t bear to share her bed because she was carrying Tom’s child.
There I was, she thought bitterly to herself one night as she lay alone in bed, Lady bloody Bountiful. I thought I could make everybody happy. I’d give Naomi a child, Melvin and me the chance of some financial security, and get my mother and sister back together. A couple of months down the line and I’m trying to come to terms with giving up my baby while my marriage heads for the rocks. Nice one, Bev. Bloody nice one.
Chapter 14
‘Ah, Naomi,’ Eric Rowe said, beaming, as they met in the corridor. ‘Glad I bumped into you. I was wondering how the live Christmas Eve special was coming along.’
‘Fine, Eric,’ she said without even a hint of enthusiasm. ‘It’s coming along fine.’
‘Jolly good,’ he said, waving his pipe in the air. ‘I thought my idea for a celebrity apple-bobbing competition was somewhat inspired, didn’t you?’
Naomi’s teeth, buttocks and hair clenched simultaneously.
‘Oh, absolutely, Eric. We’ve lined up Lionel Blair, Sharron Davies and Pam Ayres, just as you suggested.’
‘And the Seekers? Did you manage to get them out of retirement and persuade them to come on? Back in the sixties, “I’ll Never Find Another You” was our song, you know - mine and Audrey’s.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said through a tight-lipped smile. ‘Can’t say it wasn’t a struggle, after all these years, but we dug them out all right.’
‘Splendid. Splendid. Audrey will be pleased. And I take it we’ve still got the family of eight from Shepton Mallet who can gargle “Gloria in Excelsis De
o”?’
‘Indeed we have, Eric. Indeed we have.’
‘And the battling grannies idea we discussed a few weeks ago in my office, how’s that coming along?’
‘Oh, Plum’s working on it as we speak,’ she lied. (She considered the idea so cosmically, so world-beatingly dull that she hadn’t even mentioned the idea to Plum, let alone made any progress with it.)
‘Excellent, excellent. Keep up the good work. Now then, cut along, Naomi. I’m sure you’ve got lots to be getting on with.’
He put his pipe in his mouth and began striding out down the corridor, swinging his arms as he went and whistling ‘How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?’.
***
Two minutes later, Naomi was sitting at her desk, stuffing her mouth with cheese and onion Pringles. Celebrity apple-bobbing, the Seekers and sodding garglers - that was what she’d been reduced to. Even if her ratings were down, she knew full well that this bland, vapid crap going out on Christmas Eve wasn’t going to improve matters.
What was more, Eric had been right when he said there would be no hope of her finding another job. She’d phoned various contacts at the BBC and Channel 4. They told her what Eric had told her: that due to the Real People Initiative, producers and presenters were being replaced daily by lollipop ladies and school caretakers, that she was very lucky to have a job at all, let alone one paying what it did, and she should hang on to it while she could.
Her only consolation was that Eric had bought her idea to do a six-part docu-soap on a year in the life of a witches’ coven, with Fallopia Trebetherick as the star. She would have plenty of time to make it as Naomi! was now off the air until the new series began in May.
As she’d expected, he hadn’t exactly warmed to the idea initially.
‘What?’ he’d gasped when she first mooted it. ‘A documentary on Satanism? Devil worshippers cavorting round the countryside in their birthday suits, having sexual intercourse willy-nilly? Have I been talking to a brick wall all these weeks, Naomi? Haven’t you taken anything I said about good clean family entertainment on board?’
But she’d cracked it - or rather she’d cracked Eric Rowe - in one. She simply asked Fallopia, who was bursting to become a TV star, to come into the office and butter him up. As Naomi had cleverly guessed, the two of them had gelled instantly. Within minutes of being introduced, the pair were chatting about the countryside and Eric was on the phone to Elaine in the canteen ordering tea and slices of cherry Genoa all round. The moment they discovered they’d both been Morris dancers in their youth, he was hers. By the time she left, he was prepared to see witchcraft as just another jolly English eccentricity. And, to his own chortling delight, he’d even invented a name for the series: Wicca’s World.
‘Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to making our programmes,’ Fallopia had enthused to Naomi after she’d seen Eric. ‘If all the gossip I’ve read about you is to be believed, then you and I are going to make the perfect team. Both as bossy as whatnot. Couple of true kindred spirits, I reckon. What star sign are you?’
‘Taurus.’
‘Huh,’ she laughed. ‘Blinkin’ bull, are you? Might have guessed. You’ll have to let me do your chart one day.’
‘Oooh. Would you, Fallopia?’ Naomi trilled. ‘I’d really like that.’
‘’Course I would. No probs. You must come and have dinner one evening.’
Naomi, who had taken to Fallopia from the outset, was truly warming to her by now. She was starting to realize that underneath her brusque, flinty outer coat there lurked a generous, caring soul - attributes Naomi rarely appreciated or even noticed in other people, but that she found inexplicably appealing in Fallopia. There was no doubt in Naomi’s mind that she, too, was looking forward to them spending some time together.
But Wicca’s World didn’t alter the fact that Naomi’s Christmas show was going to be unwatchable in the extreme. They’d attract more viewers by showing all the Queen’s Christmas broadcasts back to back. She had to do something. If she became associated with this kind of drivel, her reputation really would start to suffer. She bellowed for Plum. He came trotting in with his notebook.
‘OK, Plum. Sit down. Sit down. Right, you know those virgins you found who were drugged and raped on the beach?’
He nodded, and stared at her with wide eyes, clearly petrified about what was coming next.
‘Well,’ she went on, ‘keep the virgins, but scrap the beach. I want virgins who were raped - all right, maybe not raped, perhaps that’s overdoing it for the time of year, let’s say sexually assaulted - at Christmas.’ She got up and began pacing.
‘Hang on. Hang on, it’s coming...’
‘Righty-ho, Nay-ohmi,’ Plum said, pen poised. She could have no idea, but by now his heart was in his Adidas Gazelles.
‘OK, I’ve got it,’ she said, chipping her hands. ‘Their vicars groped them in church... after the midnight carol service. Perhaps they were middle-aged spinsters who sang in the choir. I want tears, Plum. I want hands up cassocks. I want home-made mince pies strewn over vestry floors.’
Plum sat gazing at her, a pathetic look in his eyes. It was several seconds before he plucked up the courage to say what he needed to say.
‘But Nay-ohmi,’ be said in a virtual whisper, at the same time tugging nervously at his goatee, ‘the show goes out on Christmas Eve. That’s tomorrow.’
‘And your point would be?’ Naomi shot back. Plum cleared his throat.
‘Well, it’s just that it’s nearly seven o’clock now. We’re doing the show tomorrow afternoon. I’ll never come up with the women you want in that time. Please, Naomi, let’s just stick with the garglers from Shepton Mallet and the Seekers. Plus you know what Eric thinks about all this sex stuff. He’ll have a fit if we do groping vicars on Christmas Eve.’
Not once in the two years Plum had worked for Naomi had he questioned an order. She could feel her cheeks reddening. Her hands were forming into two tight fists. She got out of her chair, walked round to where Plum was sitting and brought her face to within an inch of his.
‘Look, you puny, bum-fluff-faced twit,’ she bawled, ‘it’s easy. You’ve got the Internet, you’ve got the cuttings library and if you still fail, you’ve got that agency who’ll supply a couple of actors who’ll pretend they were groped by the vicar. For Christ’s sake, a bloody chimp could do it...’
‘Hello, Naomi.’
She shot round to see Tom standing by the door.
‘Tom... darling...’ she gushed. ‘Gosh, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Clearly,’ he said quietly, giving her a faint smile. ‘I did knock, but you were too busy bellowing.’
‘All right, Plum sweetie,’ she said, turning back to Plum, her face suddenly beaming. ‘Why don’t you leave everything for tonight? Do what you can in the morning. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Really?’ Plum said, looking as if he didn’t quite believe her. ‘You really mean I can go, Nay-ohmi?’
‘’Course I do, sweetie. What do you think I am, some kind of ogre? After all, it’s Christmas. Go home. You deserve it.’
‘Right,’ he said with an eager smile, ‘I will then. Thanks very much, Nay-ohmi.’
He jumped up before she could change her mind, virtually ran towards the door which connected her office to his and closed it gently behind him.
‘Why do you do it?’ Tom said quietly, sitting himself down in Naomi’s chair. ‘Every time I come into this office, I catch you being utterly foul to that poor lad. God knows why he puts up with you.’
‘Oh, he knows I don’t mean it,’ Naomi laughed nervously. ‘You know me, Tom. My bark’s worse than my bite.’
‘Oh, I know you, Naomi, but he doesn’t know you like I do. You scare the shit out of him. I’m telling you - ease up, or he’ll walk.’
She nodded.
‘You’re right, darling. I will try.’ She walked round the desk to where he was sitting, plonked herself down on his lap an
d kissed him on the mouth.
‘Am I forgiven then?’ she said, sounding like a naughty schoolgirl.
He grunted.
‘So what brings you here?’ she asked.
He explained he’d popped in because they needed to go shopping for gifts to take to Beverley’s on Christmas Day.
‘If we leave now, we’ll just catch the shops before they close. I’d go on my own, but you know what she and Queenie like better than me.’
Naomi didn’t say anything for a moment.
‘Actually, I’m not coming,’ she said casually.
‘OK,’ he said, his tone breezy and easy-going. ‘If you’re tied up here, I’ll go on my own. Just tell me what to get.’
‘No, you misunderstand. I mean I’m not coming to lunch on Christmas Day. Fallopia has suggested we film a typical Wiccan Yule ritual as part of the documentary. Her coven’s based in Cornwall. I’m leaving tomorrow - as soon as we’ve done the Christmas special.’
‘You are joking?’
‘Why would I be joking?’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Tom said, confused rather than angry. ‘After all Beverley is doing for us - after all the effort she’s making to be friends with you again - and you can’t even turn up for Christmas lunch.’
‘Look, I know it’s a bummer, but it’s work and that’s it. There’s a film crew booked. I have to go.’
‘Bollocks. The witches could mock up their Yule ritual on Boxing Day... or in February if necessary. You know as well as I do that nobody would be any the wiser. Come on, you know how much your mother’s looking forward to seeing you - and meeting me. You said yourself she’s been building up to this family reunion for weeks. Naomi, you haven’t seen her for years. How can you let her down?’
‘She let me down long enough,’ Naomi said bitterly. She got up off his lap and walked over to the window.