Exposé

by Paul Ilett

  Doris had left an indelible impression on Valerie, largely because she proven herself to be the exact opposite of her son. She was gregarious and welcoming and warm, and could natter for ages about the most inane topics but with such enthusiasm and interest as to make the conversation seem riveting. And whilst Twigg was obsessively private, his down-to-earth mother over-shared on every topic imaginable. Valerie remembered Doris telling with great pride how she and Twigg’s father, Jack, had come from the grit and noise of the East End. Jack had left school at 12 to train as a plumber while Doris came from a big, loud family and spent most of her early years cleaning, cooking and caring for younger siblings. But together they had been the perfect combination of ambition and hard work. Jack built his plumbing business into something just short of a success while Doris squirrelled away money for a down payment on a house in a better part of the city. She had decided at a young age that she wasn’t going to spend her life beholden to any landlord and so she and Jack had become the first members of their respective families to own their own home.

  And there in front of Valerie’s parked car was that very house, an unremarkable small terrace on a busy main road. But it was everything Doris had wanted and she had proudly lived there for almost 60 years. Her son was born there and her husband had died there. Doris would likely spend the rest of her life in the house alone and for Valerie that was the most unforgivable part of Twigg’s suicide. She found it hard to believe he would abandon his own mother, no matter how desperate he had felt, and the thought of poor old Doris all alone in that house left Valerie with as much of a sense of anger as loss. Even her natural desire to blame Adam Jaymes had been lessened by her anger at Twigg. She tossed her cigarette onto the road and then took the bouquet from the car and headed up the short path to the front door step. The news of Twigg’s death had come too late for the print edition of the Ear, but the website had been updated with the full story and lots of reaction from shocked staff, politicians and industry peers. Valerie had read the section about Doris being cared for by friends and family and had expected to find the house buzzing with activity, with half a dozen cars parked up on the kerb outside, and the front door ajar to reveal a line of old women in cardigans making tea and sandwiches in the kitchen. But there were no other cars outside, and as she stood at the door, she realised that the house seemed strangely quiet and shut-up.

  She rang the doorbell a number of times, but the noise from the road made it difficult to tell if it was working. After a few more attempts she leant across to the bay window and tapped on the glass, trying to peer through the quaint lace curtains for any signs of movement. But no one answered the door and there was no sign of life from inside.

  “Can I help you, love?” a rasping voice enquired from the other side of Doris’s neatly trimmed privet hedge. Valerie turned and found a thin, elderly woman leaning out of the front door of the neighbouring property. She was wearing a floral housecoat and had a grim and unwelcoming scowl on her lined face. “There’s no one there, you know.”

  “I’m here to see Doris. I just want to see how she is,” Valerie said, lifting her bouquet into view as though it were proof of her credentials. “I thought she would be at home.”

  “And you are?”

  “Valerie. I’m a friend of the family.”

  The woman looked her up and down and seemed magnificently unimpressed with her. “Oh, a friend of the family, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you now?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  The woman stepped from her door, hands pressed into the small of her back, and leaned over the hedge to stare Valerie in the face, as though trying to get a measure of her. After a moment, where it seemed as though she were readjusting her dentures with her tongue, the woman asked, “If you’re such a fucking good friend of the family, how come you didn’t know that Doris is dead?”

  The woman’s comment made absolutely no sense to Valerie. She stared in complete disbelief and, as her mind tried to process the information, she suddenly found herself at a loss for words. The neighbour straightened her back and allowed her scowl to lessen, replaced with a delicate smile that suggested she had won an argument or proven a point. After a few moments Valerie managed to gasp, “Oh no,” but was so weakened by the shock her arm dropped and the tulips slipped from her grasp and landed on the doorstep. “No, no,” she continued. “Oh, it must have been too much for her. Oh goodness, poor Doris. Who found her? Was it you?”

  The neighbour’s smiled vanished and was replaced with a look of confusion. “What are you talking about?” she grumbled. “Found who? Doris? Was it me that found Doris? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Valerie didn’t understand why the neighbour was being so obtuse. Surely it had been a perfectly reasonable question? And so she took a deep, replenishing breath and fixed the neighbour with her famous glare. “Clearly, I did not know that Doris had died. I am now – also clearly, I thought – asking you what happened to her. Is that really so very confusing for you?”

  Her adversary didn’t budge. She continued to look at Valerie with an air of indignation. “I don’t want to say anything to any bloody reporters,” she said, her words laced with anger. “They’ve already made me look an idiot. Or a liar. I’ve seen what they’ve written. That a ‘neighbour’ said all the family was round taking care of Doris. Well, I didn’t say that. No one round here did. I know, because I’ve been banging on doors all morning trying to find the idiot that spoke to them.”

  “I’m not a reporter,” Valerie replied. “I was a good friend of Leonard’s. Now please tell me what happened to Doris.”

  “Cancer,” the neighbour replied, abruptly.

  “Cancer?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Valerie simply couldn’t join the dots between what she knew of Twigg’s mother and what the neighbour was telling her. Was it actually possible that the shock of Leonard’s death had caused such a virulent form of cancer that it had killed poor Doris within just hours? Can grief cause cancer? And if so, why hadn’t the Ear’s health team written about it? They wrote endlessly about anything else that was even vaguely connected with cancer. Once, famously, they’d even linked breast cancer to blinking. “Are you saying that the shock of Leonard’s death gave Doris cancer? And that she died?” Valerie asked, realising as she spoke how ridiculous her question was.

  The neighbour groaned. “Of course not, you silly cow!” she replied. And then the harshness in her voice ebbed away and with a twinge of genuine sadness she explained. “Doris died last year. She had been right as rain. Then she went to see her doctor for a routine check-up and suddenly she’s got cancer. They ran a few tests and gave her six months, but she only lasted two. I’ve never seen anyone go downhill so quickly. Poor Lenny was beside himself. You should have seen the state of him on the day of the funeral. We all tried to support him, but you know what he’s like. What he was like. He was too proud to ask for help.”

  As her shock subsided Valerie suddenly felt very foolish, standing outside Twigg’s empty house hoping to offer a few words of love and support to a woman who had been dead for months.

  “I’ve known Lenny since he was a baby,” the neighbour continued. “We moved in when he was just a couple of months old. He was always a funny little lad. Always serious, putting the world to rights, telling people off. Even the adults. I remember when he was about seven he was stood right where you are now, telling off a policeman for riding his bike on the pavement outside his house. One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. This scrawny little boy in shorts and glasses, waggling his finger at this great big policeman.” The woman’s tone suddenly dipped, as her anger and frustration gave way to grief. “I’m sorry,” she said, heading back to her own front door. “It’s hard to believe all three of them have gone. I guess losing his mum finally got the better of him.”

  Alone on the doorstep again Valerie found herself dipping from one sad thought to the next, the roar of the
busy road little more than a murmur in the background. Twigg had kept it all secret from them, even his own mother’s death. She remembered something from the past year, a few days when Twigg had called in sick with flu or taken leave unexpectedly. She didn’t remember the exact details because it had seemed so trivial at the time. Had that been the time when Doris had passed away? Twigg hadn’t seemed any different, perhaps a little more short-tempered but then he had phases like that. Valerie returned to her car and sat at the wheel, trying to make sense of it all. Twigg’s mother – his beloved mother - had died and he hadn’t shared an ounce of his pain. He hadn’t even shared the news, just quietly taken some time off for the funeral and then returned as though nothing had happened. And then it occurred to her how ridiculous the Ear was going to look when word got out that Twigg’s mother was dead and not being cared for by relatives. It was a small mercy the copy was only online and it could be easily deleted. And so she called Colin to tell him the news.

  If Twigg’s suicide had happened a month earlier, the news would likely have knocked Howard for six. But his trip to New York had been an unmitigated disaster and after ten tense and frustrating days he had returned home without a deal and, worse still, without his wife. For the first time in their eight-year marriage, Howard and Estelle had spent the night apart. And not only apart, but in different countries. With so much going on, Howard couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken to Twigg. It seemed a lifetime ago, especially after his decision to cut all his ties with the Daily Ear and hand it entirely to Sam. It felt as though he wasn’t really a part of those events anymore, like he was watching from a comfortable distance. He had spent a peaceful morning on his terrace, drinking coffee in his bathrobe and trying to glean some enjoyment from his view of Hyde Park. Occasionally, he returned to the sitting room to review some of the television coverage of Twigg’s death or to send Sam a reassuring text. But by midday the coffee had become a brandy and Howard’s mood had become despondent.

  The events in New York were playing over and over in his head and he knew in his heart there was nothing he could have done to change the outcome. The trip should have been routine, the sort of deal Howard would usually have sown up before breakfast, but he had underestimated the impact and reach of Project Ear. He and Estelle had arrived in New York to a hostile reception, with his plans to buy a popular American newspaper chain facing fierce public, political and commercial opposition. It was clear that even his longest and most trusted contacts were keen to keep him at arm’s length, at least for the time being. But Howard knew he had to return to London with a win under his belt, to prove to everybody that he was still in the game. He and his team had worked every angle imaginable to try to salvage something from what appeared a hopeless situation. But, in the end he had returned home empty-handed. Now, alone with a brandy and a view, he realised he had a mountain to climb, the size of which he thought he’d never have to scale again. He had his reputation to rebuild, usurpers to crush, contracts to salvage and a marriage to reassess.

  “Oh Howard, you could at least have put a pair of trousers on for me,” Audrey said as she appeared on the terrace, sounding like a disapproving school mistress. She was dressed in a plain, sombre suit out of respect for Twigg and was carrying a small box of Turkish Delight for Howard as a welcome home present. “I thought you could do with a little cheering up,” she said, and presented him with the box. She then kissed him on the forehead and sat opposite him.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Tea?”

  She shook her head. “I’m just popping in,” she replied. “I’ve left Felicity in the car downstairs. We’ve got lots to do. Besides, she’s been in tears for most of the morning over poor Leonard. Funny, really, to see someone actually crying over him. Particularly a young girl.”

  Howard popped a powdered cube of Turkish Delight into his mouth and shrugged as though not understanding the youth of today. He swallowed and said, “It takes all sorts,” before popping another cube into his mouth. Audrey knew she hadn’t been invited to the apartment to talk about Twigg. As sad as his passing was, she knew Howard had another priority. Several of her New York friends had been quick to pass on the news that Estelle could still be heard clunking around in their Upper East Side penthouse on her own. Howard needed marital advice and wanted to ask his oldest friend what he should do. The fact his oldest friend was also his ex-wife didn’t appear to be an issue for him.

  “So,” Howard eventually said, “I imagine Gunilla or Joan have already told you I left Estelle behind in New York.”

  Audrey smiled sweetly at Howard. She liked that there was no pretence in their relationship and that he could get straight to the point without feeling the need to mollycoddle or explain. “It’s been a difficult couple of weeks, Howard. I’m sure it’s all going to fall back into place.”

  “No, it won’t,” Howard replied, categorically. “I cannot tell you how badly behaved Estelle was. She just didn’t get it. She didn’t understand how important that deal was to me. I spent the whole bloody trip pleading with her to go out and find something to do. She had the whole of New York, thousands of shops and restaurants, art galleries or theatres – but she just refused to go. She said she felt side-lined. So she spent the whole trip huffing and tutting around the penthouse. She interrupted meetings, complained every time she found me working on the laptop and was rude to my team when they phoned in the evening. She ruined everything.”

  Audrey had seen Howard like this many times over the past 40 years, throwing all of his toys out of the pram when he couldn’t get his own way. Even now they were divorced she was still his shoulder to cry on and the person he would seek out to complain about his second wife. But Audrey was wise enough to know she should never take sides or criticise Estelle, because she knew Howard’s marital problems were always short-lived. She would not allow herself to be seduced into criticising his wife, knowing he would remember those criticisms once he and Estelle were reconciled. “Howard, darling, you know Estelle wasn’t to blame for that deal falling through don’t you?” she asked, gently, the question clearly rhetorical.

  Howard knew. Of course he knew. But he had been so angry that he had made Estelle think she was partly responsible. In a heated moment of frustration and disappointment, he packed a suitcase and told her to stay behind. Such was his unbridled fury that, just for once, she did as she was told and let him leave alone. “That’s not the point,” he eventually replied.

  “You two have been married for, what, eight years? And for eight years Estelle has faithfully, although some have suggested obsessively, stayed at your side. She’s travelled with you on every trip. And be honest, Howard, that’s something you used to encourage. I think you got a buzz from turning up at those boring old business events with a pretty young wife hanging on your arm.”

  Howard continued to consume his Turkish Delight without commenting.

  “Darling, business trips are boring when you’re the wife. That’s why I never went. But you and Estelle live your life together every day. And that is as much your choice as it is hers. It’s not fair that you’re blaming her now for wanting to spend time with you.”

  “It’s more than that,” Howard said. “It’s suffocating. Not just the business trips but all the time. I get no peace or privacy. I have a glass of wine and she pulls a face. I sit down to watch a TV show and I have to justify it to her first. I can’t even get dressed on my own. She has to be there, giving me her opinion on whatever suit I’m putting on or whether she thinks I’ve gained weight. It is beyond a fucking joke. And the way she acted in New York was the final straw. Enough is enough.”

  Audrey began to realise there was more to this marital row than she had originally appreciated. It had been a catalyst, an opportunity for all of Howard’s anger with Estelle to bubble to the surface and for him to reflect on whether she was really able to fulfil the role of Mrs Howard Harvey.

  “You never let me down, not once,” he said, unexpectedly. His
eyes were suddenly wide open, glistening, as though pleading for Audrey to reciprocate with an equally affectionate comment. “You were always supportive, always appropriate. You gave me all the time and freedom I needed to chase deals and dreams and ambitions around the world. You understand business and the value of money. When I think of all of those stupid expensive advisers I’ve had over the years, and when push came to shove it was always you I would go to for advice. How could I have ever been so stupid as to let you go?”

  Audrey’s flawless demeanour dissolved and her mouth dropped open with surprise. There was a part of her that hated Howard for what he had just said, for putting her in such a compromising position. As he sat gazing at her with his big sad eyes, Audrey felt a little ashamed of herself. For the first time, Howard had made her feel like the other woman stealing a private moment with someone else’s husband. For the better part of a decade, she had carefully managed a perfect and proper relationship with him and shown great respect for his marriage to Estelle. It had often been hard because even now, in her heart, she still considered Howard to be hers. There were parts of him, of his life, that he still shared only with Audrey. Their history was too great and important to be swept away by something as trivial as a divorce and a second marriage. In many ways for Audrey, the Harvey family had stayed the same. There was Howard, Audrey and Sam. And then there was Estelle, on the outside looking in. Always, always on the outside. But Audrey wasn’t about to use the first sign of trouble to recklessly grab at a chance for a reconciliation. She had no doubt the storm would pass and Howard and Estelle would be together again. And she had no intention of leaving Howard with the impression that she had any other than complete respect for his second wife.