by Jane Lythell
‘I’d better take this.’
Flo paused the drama.
‘Don’t be long,’ she murmured as I took the phone into my bedroom, and only then did I click the answer button.
‘Hello, Douglas.’
‘Hello, Liz.’
I was thrown by his calling me. I had planned to call him in my own time, when I felt ready. And I didn’t feel ready, not tonight, not after the last few days I’d had. I searched for something to say to bridge the weeks we hadn’t spoken to each other. All I could come up with was a polite: ‘I was glad to hear that your mum-in-law recovered.’
‘Thanks. It was a close-run thing. So you got my letter.’
‘Yes, I did. On Saturday.’
‘Look, I know this is a bad time but, well, I guess I wanted to know your answer,’ he said.
The words I picked up on were ‘bad time’.
‘How do you know it’s a bad time?’ I said.
‘Oh, I meant all the shenanigans at your station. I hear that Fizzy has had some of her fragrance slapped out of her.’
He was trying to be light-hearted, to make a joke of it, but it jarred badly with me.
‘It is a bit of a bad time,’ I said.
There was an awkward silence from his end.
‘And I’m sorry but I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, for the bad timing and for my big foot,’ he said.
‘It’s OK, it’s just that I’m kind of right in the middle of something with Flo and—’
‘Of course, of course. Shall we talk tomorrow?’
‘I’m at the small claims court tomorrow,’ I said.
I was shutting down the conversation and he got the message.
‘I see. Good luck with that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll wish you good night then.’
‘Good night, Douglas.’
I clicked the phone off. Why had I pushed him away? He had made a throwaway remark. But it showed that he knew what was going on at my work and it had played to all my doubts about him. There would always be awkward moments between us; boundary issues. He was News Nine and I was StoryWorld. If I had a relationship I wanted it to be with someone I could trust, someone I could open up to and share my work problems. And my worries about Flo. It was sad but I knew I could never truly relax with Douglas. I would probably feel thoroughly miserable in the morning for what I’d done but for now I wanted to rejoin Flo on the sofa.
‘No more calls please, Mum,’ she said.
‘You’re right.’
I turned off my mobile and she pressed play.
38
Chalk Farm flat, morning
I was up at seven and felt more chipper than I expected. Taking Ron Osborne on no longer seemed such an ordeal. I didn’t feel devastated about Douglas either; I felt OK. I kicked off the duvet and peered out. The sky was overcast and gloomy and rain was on its way. I’d thought about what I should wear and dressed in my black dress with its white scalloped collar because it was smart but also looked demure. Flo joined me in the kitchen.
‘How are you getting there, Mum?’
‘I’ve got a lift.’
She was buttering toast and she stopped for a moment.
‘With him?’
I knew she meant Douglas.
‘No, it’s someone from work, Henry – you’ve met him though you might not remember him.’
‘I do; the one that fancies you.’
‘Henry? Don’t be silly.’
‘He does. When you were wearing that bead dress he couldn’t stop looking at you.’
He had liked that wonderful 1920s dress. So had I. It had made me feel glamorous on that night.
‘We’re mates, good mates,’ I said.
What I liked about Henry was that I never felt self-conscious with him and we could talk freely. She carried on buttering her toast.
‘And he’s nicer than Douglas,’ she said.
‘You don’t know him; you don’t know either of them.’
That sounded a bit hard. Was she teasing me?
‘Jam or Marmite, darling?’
She took the jam from me.
‘Will you get some crunchy peanut butter next week? It’s my new fave thing.’
I added it to the shopping list I keep in the kitchen. The bell rang and Flo got there before me.
‘Morning, Flo.’
‘Hello, Henry.’
I came up behind her to see Henry dressed in a smart navy coat.
‘Good coat. Makes you look like an Italian football manager,’ I said.
He laughed at that.
‘I’m taking that as a compliment. What a great room,’ he said, looking around. He walked to the French doors, as everyone does when they come in, and looked out at our little garden.
‘Italian football manager? Sounds like you fancy him too,’ Flo said softly to me and I gave her a playful punch.
I joined Henry by our French doors. It had started to rain and fat drops were hitting the ground.
‘These are the doors that are warped, the ones Ron Osborne was supposed to replace.’
He ran his hand down the wood.
‘They’re a nice feature. I can recommend a good carpenter, after you win,’ he said.
‘Wish I had your confidence.’
Flo was doing a last check on her rucksack and had pulled on her woolly hat.
‘I’m off, Mum.’
‘Would you like a lift to school?’ Henry said.
‘Well, I go with Rosie.’
‘We can pick her up too. It’s chucking it down.’
‘OK, ta.’
We ran to his car which was an old Volvo with well-worn seats. Flo got in the back and called Rosie.
‘We’re coming by car to get you in five,’ she said.
The rain was hammering on the roof of his car and Rosie was waiting under the portico of her house as we drew up. She sprinted to the car and jumped in, breathless and giggling.
‘What a storm!’
Henry drove to the gates of their school and parked.
‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘No, wait, girls. You’ll get soaked. I’ve got a big umbrella in the boot.’
He got out and opened the boot. Flo leaned forward and said: ‘He so does fancy you.’
‘Behave!’ I said, but I was smiling.
Henry returned with a huge golfing umbrella in the blue and white stripes of StoryWorld’s logo.
‘Out you get.’
‘Good luck, Mum. Text me as soon as you know.’
He is so tall he stood between them and held the umbrella so that Flo and Rosie could both shelter beneath it. There was a lightning flash which lit up the school sign, followed three seconds later by a rolling crack of thunder. Students were running through the gates, some holding school bags over their heads as the rain pelted down. Lightning flashed again as Henry got back and flung the umbrella into the back of the car. He got out of his coat.
‘Thank you for doing that. That was apocalyptic,’ I said.
He keyed in the postcode of the county court and we set off for Luton. His windscreen wipers were working flat out and we didn’t talk much as he drove us out of London. I looked at his profile as he focused on the road.
The storm had spent itself and the rain became less heavy. I had my folder with all the papers on my lap, my statement and Ron Osborne’s counter claim.
‘I suppose we’ll have to swear on a Bible,’ I said.
‘I guess so.’
I kept looking at my statement.
‘Would it help if you read me his statement and then yours?’ Henry said.
‘I think it might.’
I read them both out loud and it did help. My statement was clear and all I had to do was stick to the truth and not allow myself to get sidetracked or riled by Ron Osborne’s lies.
‘Anyone hearing that will know you’re telling the truth,’ Henry said.
His presence ca
lmed me. I put my folder down as he fiddled with the radio and found BBC 6 Music. ‘I Heard It Through the Grapevine’ came on.
‘Oh I love this,’ I said.
‘Me too.’
We sang along to it and he knew all the words.
‘Annie’s got very fond of Ziggy. She’s been joining them for Sunday lunch,’ he said.
‘I’m happy to know that.’
‘Annie’s got a heart as big as a house. She said Ziggy brings out the mum in her.’
‘And I’m going to get her a permanent job at StoryWorld. But keep that under wraps until I get the piece of paper from Julius. I can’t wait to tell her.’
‘She’s lucky to be in your team.’
The rain had stopped. We approached Luton and drove past the same shops you find on every high street. We passed the county court, an ugly impersonal building, and Henry parked in the next road.
‘Plenty of time for a coffee,’ he said.
We walked to the next block, avoiding the puddles on the pavement, and found a café with its windows steamed up. He pushed the door open and I could smell bacon and toast.
‘I’m sticking to tea,’ I said.
‘Can I treat you to an iced bun?’
‘Oh, go on then.’
It was a spiced iced bun, full of fruit. The icing was generous and the dough soft and it melted in my mouth. Henry had got himself a cheese and pickle roll.
‘I’m eating all the time since I gave up the fags,’ he said.
‘You needn’t worry. As my mum would say, there’s more fat on a chip.’
I swigged my tea.
‘I’m not looking forward to seeing that Ron Osborne again.’
‘He’s a shyster and you’ll make mincemeat of him.’
I used the Ladies before we left and checked my appearance. I combed my hair and thought about putting on lipstick before deciding not to. So often I handle things on my own and I’m used to it, but it had felt good to be driven to court and to know that Henry would be sitting in there with me.
We came out onto a busy road and waited at the lights.
‘Thank you for being here,’ I said.
He put his hand on the base of my back as we walked across the road.
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A Letter from Jane
Acknowledgements
About Jane Lythell
About the StoryWorld Series
Also by Jane Lythell
From the Editor of this Book
An invitation from the Publisher
A Letter from Jane
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Behind Her Back and I hope you enjoyed it.
I wanted to tell you a bit about what inspired me to create the character of Liz Lyon, her daughter Flo and the StoryWorld TV station. Like Liz I was a lone parent and a TV producer working on the live show Good Morning Britain and later in charge of feature programmes at WestCountry Television in Devon.
I struggled to be a lone mum and a TV producer. I remember how hard it was to keep all the balls up in the air. I felt horribly conflicted about competing pressures and sometimes felt that I wasn’t doing either role properly. Feelings of guilt would lurk and pounce on me at two in the morning! Television is an exciting place to work but it is not a family-friendly industry and I left when my daughter Amelia was nine-years-old. I wanted to explore this world and these pressures in Behind Her Back and the earlier Liz Lyon novel Woman of the Hour.
I have seen many novels about women’s family and emotional lives but much less fiction about women’s lives at work. Yet so many issues and moral dilemmas are thrown up by this aspect of our lives. There are power struggles, personality clashes, gossip and intrigue as well as lovely moments of camaraderie, praise and the satisfaction of a job well done.
What happens at work offers such a rich seam to mine and I’m intrigued why there isn’t more fiction about it. I would love to know what you think about the book and about writing about women’s working lives. Let’s start the conversation on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/janelythellbooks/ or you can email me at: [email protected] and I will write back to you within the week.
My warm wishes,
Jane Lythell
Acknowledgements
My warmest thanks to my agent Gaia Banks, the best champion anyone could ask for.
I worked with two brilliant editors on this book, Laura Palmer and Victoria Pepe. Thank you both for your insights, your suggestions and for helping me to make the book better. Thanks also to the wonderful team at Head of Zeus with a special mention to Madeleine O’Shea and Nia Beynon.
A bouquet to Amelia Trevette, my daughter, who put me right on all the fashion aspects in the novel. And thanks to Jan Thompson who gave me an excellent idea for a character trait in Harriet.
I think the book cover, designed by Anna Green, is terrific, and sincere thanks to Liz Hatherell for the meticulous copy edit and to Jon Appleton for the proofreading.
When I was working on the last chapters of Behind Her Back I went on retreat with my best writing buddy Kerry Fisher who gave me loads of encouragement – thank you Kerry.
I want to salute the book bloggers who are passionate about reading and do so much to promote our books. I am also very grateful to readers who find the time to write reviews. Your reviews mean a great deal to me. Thank you all.
Finally, thank you so much Barry Purchese for your loving support and your masterly feedback.
About Jane Lythell
JANE LYTHELL worked as a television producer and commissioning editor for fifteen years. She has been Deputy Director of the BFI and Chief Executive of BAFTA. This is her third novel, and the first title in the StoryWorld series.
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First published in the UK in 2017 by Head of Zeus, Ltd.
Copyright © Jane Lythell 2017
The moral right of Jane Lythell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
9 7 5 3 1 2 4 6 8
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (HB): 9781786690760
ISBN (XTPB): 9781786690777
ISBN (E): 9781786690753
Jacket design: Anna Green
Jacket images:
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Author Photograph: © Manu Palomeque
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