by Paul Ilett
She had no idea how much any of it had cost Audrey, but guessed it was thousands. Felicity had spent the previous few hours at a private salon where she had been complimented and pampered and offered champagne while her hair and make-up were all done for her. Audrey had an account there and so there was no discussion about payment. And the exclusive fashion studio in Battersea wasn’t the sort of place to have price tags on the clothes or jewellery. Felicity wondered if this was what life was like for a celebrity. The process she had been through had seemed ridiculously complicated and extravagant, but as she waited for the car to arrive she realised she would have felt ill-prepared for the evening ahead if she had simply bought a dress from a shop and then gotten ready at home by herself. The only thing that was her own that evening was her perfume, Rive Gauche. It wasn’t a scent she wore very often, just when she was nervous and needed something familiar to make her feel that she wasn’t completely alone. It had been her mum’s favourite perfume when Felicity was a little girl, a fragrance that reminded her of cuddles before bedtime or sitting on her mum’s lap if a TV show was a bit frightening.
But with those comfortable memories came a gnawing feeling of guilt. She knew that she owed her mum a letter, something she had been putting off for a long time. She would have to confess the truth about her time at the Daily Ear and some of the unscrupulous individuals she had associated with during that time. Her parents still believed she was working at the Guardian and she had explained her attendance at the awards that evening by claiming she was writing an article for one of its supplements. But she knew they would see her on TV, sitting side by side with the great and powerful Harvey family, and they would quickly realise she had not been telling them the truth. Felicity felt as though she had spent most of the past six months doing little else but telling lies. Deceit didn’t sit comfortably with her and as she prepared for what could be the most important night of her life, she was relieved that the clock was ticking and it would soon all be over.
The car slowed for the final approach to the event and as Sam fiddled with his bow tie he suffered another wave of cold panic as he again remembered what was about to happen. Hundreds of people were lining the street outside the venue, held back by crash barriers and security. They were pushing forward, and cheering, and screaming, and holding out iPhones and taking pictures as famous people arrived, waved and then set sail in the opposite direction, up the red carpet and into TV land. Sam watched them, the people, reaching out to the celebrities with grasping hands and pleading faces. They all seemed desperate to entice at least one of the personalities over, perhaps someone from TOWIE, so they could snap a selfie and upload it. It was as though they believed Facebook, Twitter and Instagram would not survive another second unless graced by a photograph of Mark from Ilford wedged awkwardly against one of the judges from Strictly Come Dancing.
At first sight it could have been any TV event or film premier, but Sam knew it wasn’t. Beyond the excited crowd outside, flashing cameras and the red carpet, he knew no one was going to be tuning in at home to see who won which award. The whole evening was now little more than a vehicle for the grand finale of Project Ear. His poor mother had worked her socks off for months on end to make sure this was the perfect event, but it had been twisted and corrupted and now offered the most unfair opportunity for the Harveys to be destroyed in public once and for all. It wasn’t an award show anymore, not for Sam. It was the reign of terror, with the wealthy and powerful being led to a dirty, brutal and public end in front of a screaming crowd of the great unwashed.
“Stop, Sam, please,” Audrey said quietly, staring at him from the opposite seat. “Leave your bow tie alone.”
“It will all be fine,” Oonagh said, and gently squeezed Sam by the hand. “We’re walking in with our heads held high and that’s exactly how we’ll walk out.”
Sam attempted a brave face but he had spent the journey in various degrees of fear and dread, terrified by very real prospect that Adam Jaymes had his most shameful secret and was about to unzip it in public for all to see. He knew it wouldn’t be done vaguely or kindly or with anything remotely resembling balance. It would be all detail and pictures, and shocked reactions and outraged women’s charities and anti-porn campaigners. And he knew that the most awful part, the most terrible part of all, would be the shame he would bring on his mother and the look on her face when his porn addiction was made public. But with Adam Jaymes’ propensity for surprises, he knew there was still a chance it might be something else or, indeed, someone else. Maybe it would be Estelle and her enormous hands or a dodgy deal of his dad’s.
“I think we’re here,” Oonagh said, and began to gather her floor-length emerald gown ready to exit the car. Audrey was in a sparkling brown trouser suit, something a little less fussy she had chosen mainly for its practical quality, so she could rush around with the event team should she need to. “Remember what Oonagh said,” Audrey reminded them with a smile. “We walk in with our heads held high and, whatever happens, we walk out the same way.” She held his hand tightly and then, as an unexpected show of appreciation and acceptance, she reached over and squeezed Oonagh’s hand too. “We’re the Harvey family,” Audrey said. “Adam Jaymes will not defeat us.”
But as they stepped from the car, Sam discovered his much-treasured public anonymity had been stripped from him. He was immediately recognised and the crowd erupted with the most extraordinary roar, a wall of noise that overwhelmed all his senses and stopped him dead in his tracks. Most of the crowd howled and booed their disapproval, while others screamed with the sheer excitement of being so close to one of the main players of Project Ear. Oonagh had been expecting Sam to reach back into the car to help her and his mother onto the red carpet but she realised he was frozen to the spot. Fearful that the sudden barrage of camera flashes would expose his bewilderment, she quickly climbed from her seat and took her place at his side. This was not time to be a deer in the headlights, a weakling son publicly failing his juggernaut father. And so she gazed lovingly into his empty eyes and pretended they were quietly speaking. She laughed as though he had said something witty, and then caressed his cheek and kissed him on the lips. The kiss stole the show. If possible, the photographic frenzy increased even more as the Harvey heir stood publicly with his new love for the first time. Oonagh gently coaxed Sam back from his frightened place and as she withdrew from their kiss, he smiled at her.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied.
Audrey, an old pro, appeared in front of them and simply smiled and waved and shouted, “Thank you so much for coming to support this wonderful event!” although no one could hear her. She then gently guided Sam and Oonagh towards the red carpet, confident they could make it to the lobby without any further incident. But just as they seemed to be on the home stretch, Audrey was met with such an unexpected sight that she almost tripped over her own feet. There right in front of her, larger than life and loving every second of the attention she was getting, was one of Audrey’s oldest acquaintances, reporting live from the red carpet for Sky News wearing a sparkling gown in her signature purple.
Valerie Pierce was talking directly into the camera, holding her own microphone and doubtlessly using every ounce of her inside knowledge about both the event and the Harvey family. And in that moment everything Audrey had ever secretly thought about Valerie bubbled to the service – treacherous, hypocritical and self-serving Valerie Pierce. She was building a new career and life for herself by helping the media bury the Harveys.
“You absolute fucking bitch,” Audrey hissed, and then tugged Sam and Oonagh by their wrists up the red carpet like an angry mum dragging two screaming toddlers to the dentist.
Valerie caught sight of them just too late, and as she called to them – hoping against hope they would stop for a quick chat – Audrey rushed by with Sam and Oonagh in tow and vanished into the building.
“It doesn’t look like they were keen to speak with you V
alerie. What do you think the Harveys are thinking right now?”
“This, Jeremy, this is exactly what I would have expected of the Harveys. This is the family at its most bold. Standing proudly together, in public, on the very night Adam Jaymes is due to make his final phone call. This is not a family that runs and hides. These people are ruthless and resolute. They will not be bullied into the shadows. This is a very public fight back. Jeremy, fasten your seatbelt. It's going to be a bumpy night.”
“Oh good God, she’s quoting Bette Davis now,” Colin groaned, as his former colleague smiled from the TV fixed to the wall of Fiona’s private hospital room. As hurt as he had been by Valerie’s actions he was, on some level, pleased she had escaped Project Ear virtually unscathed and was now building a new life for herself.
“Bizarre it took her this long to realise who her natural fan base is,” Fiona said, her voice weak and uneven, her blackened eyes barely open. “The number of drag queens I’ve seen dressed as Valerie Pierce ... ”
Colin smiled at his wife. “I think the gay community’s going to need a bit more convincing than a single line from All About Eve,” he said.
“Oh, you haven’t seen her article in the Guardian then?” Fiona asked, and then chuckled to herself as much as her dry throat would allow. “Dad read it to me earlier. It’s all about how her views are softening, how she’s been on a journey, the usual shit.”
Colin was genuinely surprised. He had always considered Valerie’s opinions to be a fixed point in time. They never changed and she was never wrong. But perhaps, he wondered, after stumbling from the Daily Ear cocoon she was now genuinely trying to join a modern society that she had only ever screamed at from the safety of the past. “I’ll be interested to see how that one plays out,” he said.
“Oh, you know these newspaper columnists,” Fiona replied, disapprovingly, “expressing whatever opinion they’re paid to have.”
Colin did not really agree with what Fiona had said but he chose not to start a debate with her and instead just smiled and then clicked the TV off.
“I was watching that,” Fiona said, sounding cross. “I want to see Howard Harvey arrive with his man-wife.” Although she was all bandaged, shiny and swabbed and could barely move, her spirit was unbroken. She was determined to say goodbye to the dreary and quiet person she had become in London and prove she could still be the smartest, funniest person in any room. “Have you seen him, yet?” she asked.
“Yes, the nurse took me earlier. Looks just like his mum.”
“Oh, he’s got my hair and complexion. But, take my word for it, from the waist down he’s every inch his father,” she said and then laughed. It was a deep, dirty laugh that reminded Colin of their first encounter and the flirty conversation that had led so quickly to their sexual encounter in a laundry closet. He couldn’t believe how quickly those nine months had passed, and how quickly he had cocked everything up. He put the remote control back onto the cabinet by Fiona’s bed and then kissed her gently on the forehead, but she groaned with disapproval and tried to move her head to one side, away from him. “Don’t!” she said sternly.
“I’m sorry,” Colin said. At first he was surprised by her rejection but then realised he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him and had momentarily misjudged the situation. “I know you’re angry with me,” he said and Fiona chuckled, but it was an unfriendly sound laced with sarcasm.
“Colin, please do not even think of making some stupid plea for us to work through our issues,” she said, quietly. “And don’t you dare say we owe it to our baby.”
“Please, just hear me out,” he replied. He was positive he could persuade her, if he could just get the words out. Because that’s what he did for a living, persuade people; coax them into doing what he wanted. And he knew, absolutely knew, that if he could just talk at Fiona for a few moments she would agree to take him back and return home to London.
“Colin, look,” Fiona said. The sternness in her voice had waned and was replaced with a troubling tone of pity and sadness. “Our marriage is over. It was over the second Adam Jaymes pulled out those photographs on Newsnight. There is no going back, I promise you. But there is a way forward. A really sensible, practical way forward.”
“No, no, just hear me out.”
“Our marriage is over,” Fiona repeated, more loudly, and then moved her head as much as she could to stare at him directly in the eyes. “I am not going back to London. I’ve moved home and I’m staying here. It’s the best place to raise my baby. I’ll have lots of support, family and friends. People I can trust and rely on.”
It was not a pleasant truth to hear but the moment the words were spoken Colin knew she was right. He knew how miserable her life would be if she returned to London with him. The distress he had caused Fiona by his affair would be nothing compared with a marriage of last-minute cancellations, apologetic texts and half-hearted promises. Colin’s work would always come first. The Daily Ear would always come first. And if Fiona moved back to London with him she would face little more than the lonely reality of raising a child virtually single-handed in a city 400 miles from home. Without a shadow of a doubt the best place for Fiona and their baby was in Edinburgh supported and loved by all of her relatives and friends.
Colin knew what Fiona was offering him; a free pass. She was releasing him from their marriage and letting him off the hook when it came to the day-to-day responsibilities of fatherhood. She was given him exactly what he had always wanted, a son but with none of the strings. And in that moment he allowed his guilt and anxiety to ebb away, replaced with the happy realisation that his life would return to what it had been, before the linen closet. His beautiful wife was handing him back to the Daily Ear, and they would both be better off for it. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m not going to argue with you. Of course you’re right.”
“Good,” she said.
“I just wanted to ask one thing. Well, not ask exactly. Suggest. I wanted to suggest a name.”
“We decided his name months ago,” Fiona responded.
“But things have happened, and I lost someone that meant a lot to me. So I wondered if we might call him Lenny.”
Fiona closed her eyes completely as though unable to bear the sight of her husband, and a slight frown appeared on her brow. “Are you having a fucking laugh? Are you seriously asking me to name my son after Leonard fucking Twigg?”
“It’s just that, well, I thought it would be a nice way to remember him. How important he was to me. He was a great man. I want our son to be a great man.”
Fiona’s lip curled ever so slightly and her disapproval became more pronounced. “You have no idea how much I want to get out of this bed and punch you in the face right now,” she said.
“It was just a suggestion.”
“Seriously. I would get that fucking chair you’re sitting on and use it to beat the fucking shit out of you.”
“OK, OK. Not a good suggestion,” Colin replied, surprised at his wife’s colourful language and wondering if it was a result of the morphine or if she’d just gone native.
She turned away and groaned. “I’m in this bed because of him and that stupid newspaper. I was almost killed because of them. So were my baby and my brother but you’re so busy idolising him you can’t even begin to see what an absolute monster he was.”
“Fiona, the man’s dead. And everything that happened is because of Adam Jaymes,” Colin replied.
“I’m here because of you and Leonard Twigg and all of your awful colleagues at the Daily Ear. That reporter, the one who found me in the coffee shop. The one who chased us and made us crash the car. That might as well have been you. That’s what you do for a living, isn’t it?”
Colin didn’t respond.
“So this is what you are going to do. You’re going to buy me a house, near my parents,” Fiona stated.
“Yes,” Colin replied.
“You will use your contacts to get all charges against my brother dr
opped.”
“Yes.”
“And when you make arrangements to see our son, you will stick to them. You will never cancel, not even once. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Fiona was drifting back to sleep but Colin was grateful for her brief moment of lucidity. Everything was fine. They had a plan, a great plan in fact. He and Fiona had been saved from years of unhappiness and could now continue with the lives they were supposed to lead and possibly even become friends.
“He’s David Timothy,” Fiona whispered, “and he’s going to be a better man than Leonard fucking Twigg.” And then she was asleep.
Colin sat for a while and just stared at her. Beyond the bruises and the bandages he could still recognise the sexy, vivacious and clever woman he had married. But for the first time, she looked like a girl rather than a woman. Her pale, freckled skin seemed to glow under the gentle light from above and her tumbling red hair had been washed and brushed back from her face. The age gap between them had never seemed more pronounced. “David Timothy,” he said, quietly. “Yes, good name.”
A downcast Audrey was sitting at the Harvey table feeling as though her evening had already been ruined. Her fury at seeing Valerie on the red carpet had turned into exasperation as she had failed to track down the producer that she absolutely blamed for the debacle. And now as the lights dipped and the awards ceremony was about to begin, all she could see around her was a thousand people sitting at a hundred other tables, all peering back at her with knowing smiles and eager expressions. Audrey’s bark and bluster was gone and she realised her son was right. The awards were secondary to the main event. “That producer, the stupid woman with the frizzy hair, where is she?” Audrey asked.