by Maeve Haran
As she slipped into bed she caught sight of herself in her dressing gown and slippers, her mug of hot milk in her hand and she was shocked. She looked like her mother. No wonder David never came home.
Then she felt a flash of anger at the unfairness of it. Women felt they had to be attractive to keep men, yet men made no attempt at beauty to keep women. They seemed to think that simply being male was enough. Why didn’t David slip on six different pairs of boxer shorts, trying to decide which made him look the most seductive. The thought cheered her up and she smiled as she delved into her chest of drawers and pulled out an ivory silk nightdress and slipped it on. Then she brushed her hair and sprayed herself with Chanel No 5. Marilyn may have worn it with nothing else but it was freezing tonight. This would have to do. She arranged herself elegantly on the pillows. The hot milk didn’t quite fit the siren image but what the hell.
An hour later, there was still no sign of David and she fell asleep.
‘Liz? Liz, are you listening?’ Claudia the Cow’s voice cut through her misery. ‘Or should I and the Producer just leave you to look out of the window on your own?’
The sarcasm in Claudia’s tone jerked her back to the present. They were discussing a new series on modern marriage which Claudia was Executive Producing. To Liz’s surprise it was both fascinating and cleverly put together. The choice of the outrageous comedienne Wendy Black to front it had been inspired, cutting any sense of worthiness or the cosy ‘Let’s You and Me Discuss Your Problems in Front of Five Million Viewers’ tone that dogged similar programmes. And the decision to interview famous as well as ordinary people about their marriages had come off brilliantly.
Now Claudia was outlining the show’s cleverest stunt: a quiz for viewers to do at home entitled: ‘How To Spot if Your Partner is Having an Affair’.
Idly Liz ticked the boxes on the sheet Claudia had handed her. She was a sucker for all those ‘How To Tell if You’re an Alcoholic’ quizzes they had in women’s magazines and the Sunday supplements.
Is your partner out late more often lately? TICK.
Have you noticed unexplained changes in behaviour? TICK.
Does the phone ring with no one on the other end? My God, that had happened the other night. TICK.
Suddenly Liz felt a freezing panic knot up her stomach and turn her legs to lead. This quiz described David’s behaviour exactly.
Why the hell had she never seen it? Why had she been glad to have time to herself instead of wondering where David was all these nights? She’d never thought of querying his explanations of meetings and problems at the paper. David was having an affair! It couldn’t have been clearer if she’d found them in the missionary position on the floor of the sitting room.
Claudia watched Liz curiously. The blood had rushed from her face and her lips had turned white. Claudia had once seen a car-crash victim in shock and she looked just like Liz. She’d been right then about David and that blonde who’d been after Conrad. Claudia had clearly had a lucky escape.
For a moment she felt sorry for Liz. Pain and betrayal were so clearly written on her face. Wait a minute, Claudia reminded herself, this is Liz Ward. The woman who stole your job. ‘Are you OK, Lizzie,’ she inquired sweetly. ‘Not too close to home I hope?’
‘Are you OK, Lizzie?’ Liz could hear the concern in Ginny’s voice and it was almost too much for her. Ginny had asked her down especially this weekend with Mel and Britt, announcing that she had something important she wanted to tell them.
‘Fine,’ lied Liz. But she wasn’t fine. She was miserable. After that blinding discovery she’d gone home and lain in bed waiting for David.
Should she confront him? Maybe she was making too much of it, imagining things? But her deepest instincts told her she wasn’t. And her instincts were very rarely wrong.
When she finally heard David coming upstairs it was almost midnight and she knew she couldn’t let things go. She had to say something. So she’d asked where he’d been and if anything was the matter. But instead of coming clean and asking her forgiveness, he’d been irritable and evasive. He had simply refused to talk about it.
In the past she’d often wondered why friends of hers let affairs drift. She’d always known that if it was her she would never stand for it. She would have to know one way or the other. She would demand either an admission or denial. And if it turned out to be true, then he could leave. It was that simple.
But now she saw that it wasn’t like that, not like that at all. Because you never actually knew for sure. Men didn’t simply say ‘OK, it’s a fair cop, guv, I’ve been banging my secretary.’ They denied it. Or simply refused to talk about it. And in some insecure part of yourself you were relieved. You gave them the benefit of the doubt. Because you had to. You had so much at stake: love, children, mortgage, status, comfort. Suddenly the house you’d built of brick might turn out to be a house of straw after all. And the thought scared you shitless.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Ginny came and sat on the arm of her chair and looked down at her.
Liz smiled weakly. Gradually she got hold of herself. ‘I’m fine, Ginny, thanks.’
Through the blur of her misery Liz noticed that Ginny had a kind of suppressed excitement about her she’d never seen before.
‘In that case I think it’s time for my announcement.’ She stood up and turned to them all, almost as though she were chairing a meeting. ‘The news is that I’m starting my own business,’ she blurted out excitedly, ‘an employment agency for women who want to work part-time!’
If Ginny hadn’t been so excited she might have been hurt at the look of speechless astonishment on her three friends’ faces. Ginny! The perfect housewife! Queen of all the homebodies! The woman who had singlehandedly turned pickling into an artform!
‘Ginny, that’s great!’ Liz was the first to put her arms round her friend and hug her. ‘How long has all this been brewing?’
Ginny deliberately avoided Britt’s eye. ‘A couple of months. Of course it’ll all be quite small-scale. I’m only planning to do it part-time myself, but it’s a start. I kept reading about how they’re trying to woo women back into the workforce and I realized how many of my friends might be interested provided it was only part-time. So I decided to have a go. My bank manager gave me the go-ahead last week.’
Mel was still looking stunned. ‘Well, aren’t you the dark horse then?’
‘So’ – Britt uncrossed her elegant legs and smiled with only the merest hint of patronage – ‘what are you going to call this brave new venture?’
Ginny turned and looked at her for the first time, taking in the subtle put-down in her tone.
‘I thought’ – Ginny took a sip from her coffee cup and put it down slowly – ‘that I might call it Mrs Tiggy-Winkle’s.’ There was a muffled giggle from Liz and Mel. ‘But then I thought it might sound like a pathetic creature building a nest to escape reality so I rejected it.’ Ginny smiled serenely. ‘You’re the expert on labels, aren’t you, Britt? What do you think of Woman Power?’
Good for you, thought Liz, enjoying the situation so much she forgot her own misery. If Ginny could take control of her life, why couldn’t she? She’d start now this minute. If it was out in the open it wouldn’t seem so terrifying.
‘Seeing as this is an occasion for announcements, I’ve got one too.’ They all looked at her expecting another step up to be announced in the rise and rise of Liz Ward’s meteoric career. But that wasn’t what Liz had to tell them at all. ‘David’s having an affair and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.’
For a fraction of a second Britt choked on her coffee. Ginny glanced in her direction and saw a brown stain spread over the ivory crêpe de Chine of her Calvin Klein shirt. She’d been right then.
‘So,’ Liz continued, feeling the burden of misery somehow lighter already, ‘what should I do? Find out who she is?’
‘You bet,’ Mel encouraged. ‘Go and camp in her garden, slash her tyres! Make her life
a misery!’
Ginny looked at Britt curiously.
‘If I were you’ – Britt tried to hide the coffee stain with her free hand – ‘I’d forget all about it.’ She smiled her sphinxlike smile. ‘David always seems to adore you. I expect you’re imagining it.’
‘Oh no.’ Liz shook her head. Every item on that stupid quiz was etched on her memory. ‘I’m definitely not imagining it.’
As Ginny rattled on about her plans Britt left the delicious quiche on her plate untouched. She was feeling an unaccustomed emotion: guilt. And she didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t her fault that David had wanted to cry on her shoulder for God’s sake! It was Liz’s. She should have seen the warning signs.
Besides, you couldn’t marry someone and then turn into a different person and expect them not to mind. If you moved the goalposts of your relationship, then you had to accept the risk.
Anyway, there was nothing serious between her and David. He just wanted sex and reassurance. It was no big deal. Men did it all the time. Pretty soon he’d run back to Liz and in a year or two she’d be regaling dinner parties about The Affair, and how it had been good for them, really, it had made them sort out their priorities.
He wouldn’t be the first erring husband Britt had sent back to his wife a happier man. It was ridiculous to feel guilty. If they were careful Liz still need never know. But all the same, maybe they’d better cool it.
Ginny took the tray of dirty dishes from Britt and asked her to help with the clearing up. All through lunch she’d been wondering whether she dared say anything. When she’d seen Britt spill her coffee like that she’d decided not to – clearly Britt knew herself that she was up to no good. But now the old, arrogant Britt was back and Ginny couldn’t stand it.
Sometimes she wondered why they put up with Britt. All right, so they’d all met on their very first day up at university, and they’d had fun together in college, but that was years ago. Nowadays Britt could be such a pain. It was true she could be excellent company when she wanted to be, and she certainly had a way of making things happen. There was an electricity and energy about her that drew a lot of people to her. She had the best parties anyone had ever been to – she had clever friends from every walk of life and when she threw them together the effect was always exciting. But were they really friends? More acquaintances really. Britt collected people and phone numbers like Ginny collected material for her patchwork quilts. The only real friends Britt had were Mel, Liz and her. And even for them old times’ sake was beginning to wear alarmingly thin.
‘Britt . . .’ Ginny removed the tray from Britt’s grasp in case she dropped it. ‘When Liz said David was having an affair – it wouldn’t be with you, would it?’
Britt froze for a moment in horror. But she made no real attempt to deny it. ‘How did you know?’
‘I saw the way you looked at each other last time you were here.’
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘It stuck out a mile.’
‘And what’s your friendly advice on the subject? As if I didn’t know. Don’t hurt poor Liz? Poor Liz is the strongest person I know! As a matter of fact the one I’m really worried about is me.’
And with the unpleasant shock of discovery, Britt realized it was true. She was worried about herself. She thought of David and how they’d been spending more and more time together in the last few weeks. She’d had countless affairs and usually she kept it at a couple of nights. Without knowing it she’d got in deeper with David than she’d intended. She’d never meant to steal Liz’s husband permanently – just as David clearly never intended leaving Liz, in fact it irritated her sometimes how devoted he still was to her in hundreds of ways – every way except in bed. That was Britt’s attraction.
Maybe things had gone far enough. It had been nice while it lasted, but it was all beginning to get out of hand. She’d tell him next time they met. She only hoped he wouldn’t go running to Liz for forgiveness. Men were so weak. They couldn’t just keep their mouths shut so no one got hurt. They had to go to Mummy and spill the beans. That way they made sure everyone got hurt.
‘Liz, could you make a meeting next Tuesday afternoon to discuss the budget for Cardboard People?’ Conrad’s breezy charm made her feel uneasy. It meant he was definitely up to something. She knew it. He was planning some stunt for Tuesday and she desperately needed to find out what so she could head it off. This time she wasn’t just fighting for Cardboard People but for her own survival.
She sat down with the columns of figures dancing in front of her trying to see where cuts could be made without wrecking the whole series, but every time she tried to think about electronic graphics or whether they really needed a prop man on 5T to carry two cardboard boxes, her mind kept drifting back to David.
In the last few days he’d been different. He’d started coming home at eight instead of eleven and suddenly he seemed pleased to see her again. Last night he’d even brought her flowers. She’d kissed him as she’d taken them but as she’d put them in water she’d remembered a quote from Mel’s mother. ‘Whenever he buys me flowers I always know the reason why.’ Could she ever trust him again, or, like Mel’s mum, did she have thirty years of suspicion to look forward to?
Liz watched David tickle Daisy and smiled at her squeals of ecstasy as he lifted her on to his shoulders. With one hand he steadied Daisy and with the other folded Jamie’s small hand into his. The autumn sunshine caught Daisy’s blonde curls as she shook her head in delight, making a halo of golden light.
For a moment Liz wished time could freeze this moment as they stood there: a normal happy family having a day out at the Zoo.
Catching her watching them, David smiled at her. And she smiled back. Whatever it had been, it was over. She felt relief flooding through her, as warming as a hot toddy on a winter’s day. The coldness and distance between them had evaporated. It was as though he’d come to some decision. She reached up and kissed him, happiness and love melting away the anxiety of the last few weeks. She could cope with anything: work, Conrad, even Susie going as long as they were happy.
‘Icecream, Mum!’ Jamie skipped in front of her, frisky as a spring lamb, with his extraordinary sensitivity almost seeming to know that everything was all right again. ‘Go on, Mum, let me have a Zoom lolly!’
Liz realized with annoyance that she’d left her bag in the car. David was lifting Daisy on to a slide in the adventure playground next to the gorillas.
‘Have you got any money with you?’
‘My wallet’s in my jacket pocket.’ He pointed to the leather jacket on the bottom of the pushchair.
Humming, she reached for his jacket, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun on her shoulders. She delved into one pocket but the wallet wasn’t there. There were just some coins and a restaurant bill. Idly she looked at it and froze. It was from a bistro called Les Amoureux and it was dated last Tuesday, the one night David had said he had to work late.
She didn’t need stained sheets or compromising photographs to prove David’s infidelity. This was enough. She knew David. Les Amoureux wasn’t the sort of place you talked business. Liz remembered it well. David had taken her there on their very first night out together all those years ago.
She sat down, winded, all the joy knocked out of the day. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt. Just when she’d started to trust him again.
‘Are you OK, Mum?’ Jamie bounded up and put his arms round her. He looked at her anxiously and with the heartless selfishness of childhood demanded, ‘I mean you’re not ill or anything, are you? You’re not going to miss my sack race?’
Jamie’s Sports Day! Of course, that dragon of a teacher had told her how pleased they were that Jamie had got over his nerves and was going to compete. This mess had put everything out of her mind.
‘When is it?’ Liz felt only the slightest sense of foreboding as she ruffled his hair.
‘Tuesday!’ Jamie pretended to be jumping in the sack. ‘At three o’clock!’
Liz wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. That she was doing her best to hold her family together, to make her marriage work, so why; why did she deserve this?
Jamie’s sack race was at three p.m. Fifteen minutes before her meeting with Conrad. And right the other side of London. She was going to have to choose which she went to. Oh, God. What the hell was she going to do?
CHAPTER 13
‘I’m sorry, Liz, but I’m afraid there’s no way Conrad can reschedule tomorrow’s meeting.’ The girl’s tone was sweet sympathy but Liz knew the truth. Conrad’s PA was scorchingly ambitious, groomed to within an inch of her life, and desperate to get a foot on the career ladder. Under the sugar her tone bubbled with resentment that Liz was breaking the rules. How dare you get to the top, it implied, and not be prepared to sacrifice everything? Shame on you.
For a moment Liz sat staring at the trappings of her success. A huge corner office, the most highly prized position in the building. People at Metro would kill for an office like this, with its views fifteen floors down to the river, the ultimate confirmation of status. Offices at Metro were continually being rebuilt to accommodate new programmes and every producer and executive lived in fear of losing a couple of inches to some other producer or executive. Once a gameshow director was moved from a corner office to a view of the car park. Everyone knew he was finished.
She smiled for a moment at her two huge black leather sofas. Having a sofa in your office was seen as an essential sign of power and success in TV. And she had two. Conrad only had one. Did that mean she was twice as powerful and successful as he was? She had to admit that when it came to power games, Conrad was the undoubted winner. Deep down, like most women, she had no taste for them, thought them time-wasting and energy-sapping, and would rather just get on with the job.
But she was beginning to see you couldn’t keep afloat without playing them. So, what had she expected when she asked to change the meeting? That Conrad would say ‘Certainly Liz, let’s reschedule the meeting and get twenty other people to do the same so you can go to your son’s Sports Day?’ For God’s sake, this was the real world. Admen might claim it was the caring, sharing nineties but from where Liz was standing things hadn’t budged an inch.