Having It All

by Maeve Haran

  ‘But, Mel, I’m in my dressing gown!’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ Before Liz had a chance to say any more she turned to someone waiting in the corridor. ‘OK, boys, you can come in. Only five minutes, mind!’

  Liz pulled her dressing gown round herself in horror.

  Mel flopped down on the bed beside her. ‘Don’t bother getting dressed’ – she squeezed Liz’s arm encouragingly – ‘it’s only radio!’

  David sat at the back of the hall behind a potted palm and watched Liz on the platform. There were about two hundred people in the audience, mostly women, and about twenty press. Next to the stage a TV camera winked disconcertingly but Liz seemed unfazed by it. But then, of course TV was her business for so long.

  She looked wonderful. Her clothes were just right. She’d thrown away the power suits in favour of a softer, curvier look. Still a suit, he noticed, but fitted instead of mannish, with a silk blouse in a heathery colour with a lace collar. The other woman on the platform wore a shiny suit in a hideous electric blue and a striped shirt with a pussycat bow. David smiled, remembering how Liz had once said that if she ever wore a pussycat bow he was to strangle her with it.

  Despite the occasion she looked relaxed and smiled as she fielded difficult questions, joked with reporters and made her points without a hint of aggression. How could he have ever thought that, just because she wanted a different life, she was turning into his mother?

  Whatever she did Liz would always be her own woman. Here she was, running WomanPower, a highly successful business, and still looking after Jamie and Daisy. The pain of thinking about them was still with him and he forced his thoughts on. She really had found her dream. And it didn’t include him.

  He’d even heard she’d met someone else. A slick rich businessman who looked like a polo player. Was it him who had made her glow? Her eyes shone and there seemed a sheen on her brown freckly skin. She’d got thinner and there was a kind of girlishness about her when she smiled which he’d never noticed before.

  The truth was she was happy.

  He felt a stab of pain so intense he looked down at his press release for a moment and found that he’d crumpled it. He’d been so bloody stupid. He’d wanted them to be SuperCouple, and he’d never questioned what that would do to them or their children. He’d wanted power and success, and he’d wanted sex because it proved that he was powerful. And when he’d finally seen the light it was too late. And the irony was they had more in common now than they’d ever had in their marriage.

  God, what a mess he’d made of his life! And now there was Suzan. Why had he brought her up to Selden Bridge? Because he knew she was in love with him and he needed that reassurance? Because he felt flattered that someone so young and beautiful could fall for him? Britt had given him reassurance and surely he’d learned that it hadn’t been enough.

  But Suzan wasn’t Britt. She was enthusiastic and kind and touching. And she loved him. Maybe it would be for the best if he made a life with her.

  All around him David heard the telltale shuffle of papers and he realized that the conference was about to end. He must get out before she saw him. There was no point skulking here. She didn’t want him back. She had a new life now. And so had he.

  Turning up the collar of his mac, he quietly slipped out of the back row and walked toward the Exit. Just as he approached the revolving doors he had an overwhelming temptation to turn round for one last look.

  But he resisted it. Instead he put his hand on the polished brass handle and began to push. Behind him a half-familiar voice addressed him in a loud stage whisper.

  ‘Hello, stranger. Trying to sneak off without even saying hello?’

  He wheeled round, startled.

  Leaning against a wooden pillar, her eyes alight with wicked enjoyment at his embarrassment, stood Mel.

  CHAPTER 33

  ‘How’re Jamie and Daisy?’

  David negotiated his way through the busy traffic of Leeds with Liz in the passenger seat beside him. To other drivers, he reflected bitterly, they must look like any other married couple on their way home or to the supermarket. Except that they weren’t.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I miss them every day.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I wondered if they might come and stay, now that I’m settled.’

  Settled. With whom? The thought of Suzan flashed into her mind, and sharpened her reply like a knife on a stone.

  ‘They’re too young to travel.’

  ‘I’d come and fetch them.’

  ‘It’s too far. I don’t think it would be practical.’

  ‘Liz, that’s not fair.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is. All right, we’ll talk about it.’ She tried to lighten the sudden tension as they turned left towards the motorway in the thick driving rain which seemed to have come out of nowhere. ‘So how’s life on the Selden Bridge Star?’

  ‘Great. It’s not Fleet Street. But then that’s what I like about it.’ He smiled, not knowing whether she’d understand.

  Liz looked at him curiously. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d left the News?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’ He kept his eyes on the road but she could hear the bitterness in his voice.

  ‘Of course I’m interested. Why did you leave?’

  ‘Oh you know, the usual cliché. Middle-aged man loses his family and discovers traditional values. Decides he doesn’t want to intrude on other people’s privacy. Wants to look for the good in people. Not a healthy attitude for editing a tabloid.’

  ‘And have you discovered traditional values?’ David heard the surprise in Liz’s voice.

  ‘I suppose I must have or I wouldn’t be here. I must be yearning for something solid and respectable.’ He laughed selfconsciously, aware of her scrutiny. ‘It can hardly be the money.’

  Liz watched him as he negotiated the busy rush-hour traffic. He seemed younger and more enthusiastic. Getting away from the dog-eat-dog values of tabloid journalism had done him good. Or maybe it was just fewer late nights and expense-account lunches. Whatever it was, it suited him.

  For a moment he returned her gaze then looked away, embarrassed. ‘Anyway, less about me. How are you? You look wonderful and WomanPower seems to be a big success.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s what you dreamed of. Balancing work and children.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  David looked at her in surprise, going too close to the car in front as he did. Instinctively she put out a restraining hand and touched his on the gear lever. He flinched, and she drew back surprised by the strength of his reaction.

  ‘Why bullshit?’

  ‘Because WomanPower is in a mess. Britt says we need to work full-time, or more than full-time, or hire an outside MD who will.’

  But she realized he wasn’t listening.

  ‘“Britt says”,’ he repeated quietly. ‘I didn’t know Britt and you were friends again. How is she?’

  ‘So so. I don’t think she’s ever really recovered from losing the baby.’

  David almost veered off the road. Hardly even looking behind him he pulled into a layby.

  ‘Oh my God.’ He dipped his head down till it touched the steering wheel. ‘She didn’t tell me she’d lost the baby . . .!’

  As they walked together through the plate-glass doors of the Selden Bridge Star, Liz felt the paper come alive. It had been the same at the Daily News. David’s presence was the spark that made the whole place catch fire.

  Feet were whipped off desks, coffee cups thrown into the bin, phone calls that had been put off all morning suddenly made, and copies of the Sporting Life hastily shoved in drawers.

  She followed David into his office marvelling that he could answer eight questions at once and appeared to be carrying the paper’s intricate page layout, right down to the last column inch, around in his head.

  All over the walls of his office, displayed with as much pride as if they were t
he front page of the Sun or the Daily Mail, were copies of the paper itself. Just as at the News, David had his own screen and computer so that he could re-write the headlines, to the irritation of the subs, right up to the moment the paper went to bed.

  And on his desk was only one personal possession: the silver framed photograph of Jamie and Daisy. Liz picked it up and smiled. It was amazing how they’d changed in so short a time.

  ‘So’ – David sat down in the black leather chair she’d given him on his elevation to editor of the News – ‘I hear you could be a rich woman soon.’

  Liz looked up, startled, from studying the photograph. How did he know she was going to marry Nick? She hadn’t even told him yet.

  David took his mac off and threw it on a chair. He hadn’t changed in one respect anyway.

  ‘I hear Ross Slater wants to buy WomanPower. Are you going to sell it to him?’

  God Almighty. Slater hadn’t even made a bid and already David knew about it. ‘I don’t know. Do you think we should?’

  ‘That depends on how badly you want to get rich.’ He picked up a paperweight and tossed it from one hand to the other. ‘And how much WomanPower means to you.’

  ‘A lot. We’ve built it up from scratch. It’s not just any old company, David, it’s unique!’

  ‘So why are you even considering selling to a shark like Slater?’

  ‘We’ve got to do something. We just can’t handle it any more. It’s getting too big for us. I’m already working harder than I want. And it nearly broke up Ginny’s marriage.’ Liz stood up and looked out of the window at the grey millstone grit of the landscape. ‘Britt thinks that if Slater makes a bid he’ll let us stay on as part-time directors. Naturally that’s very tempting. WomanPower would be managed properly but we’d still be involved. Maybe it’s the best solution.’

  David slammed down the paperweight. ‘You clearly don’t know Ross Slater. He’s a businessman, Lizzie, not a social worker. He won’t want you round his neck arguing for flexi-time or free school holidays for your precious women no matter what he promises to get you to sell.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about Ross Slater.’

  David got up and leaned on his chair. ‘That’s right. I do. When I was a young reporter in Bradford an old man came in to see me. He’d taken forty years to build up a company and he’d just sold it to Ross Slater. He hadn’t even been sure he wanted to sell, but Slater talked him round, offered him a seat on the Board, wanted his advice, told him he couldn’t buy experience like his.’ David laughed bitterly and closed his eyes for a moment at the memory. ‘Within six months he’d been elbowed out of his own company. That’s when he came to see me. But there was nothing I could do. I nipped Slater’s heels a bit and asked him a few embarrassing questions, but that was it. It was all perfectly legal. The old man was broken-hearted. A year later he was dead.’

  Liz leaned closer, moved by David’s anger. After all this time with Nick’s laid-back responses it was like suddenly eating salted butter after months of low-fat spread. ‘You liked him didn’t you, this old man?’

  David shrugged. ‘Yes I liked him. He was a splendid old boy. Sharp as a whistle on a cold morning. He even left me some shares. I’ve still got them somewhere. He was worth more than a million when he died and he never enjoyed a penny of it.’

  Liz resisted a temptationto touch his hand again. He sounded so angry at the memory of the old man being taken advantage of. Just like the old David. The David she’d married.

  As though he sensed a softening in her, he walked round and sat on the desk in front of her, looking down. ‘Liz, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Britt and the baby. And most of all I’m sorry about screwing up you and the kids. I must have caused you so much pain. God I’ve regretted it so many times . . .’

  She heard the catch in his voice. It was the first time he had ever apologized so directly and Liz looked into his eyes and knew that this time he meant it. She gave in to temptation and took his hand.

  Outside the glass partition walls Liz saw someone watching, and she had the curious sensation that this person was monitoring them like a human Geiger counter for dangerous levels of intimacy.

  Seconds later the door opened and the girl who’d brought Jamie and Daisy’s presents burst into the room.

  She wore a short black dress that clung like a swim-suit, huge arrowhead earrings that wouldn’t have shamed a Viking bride, thick black tights and Doctor Marten shoes. She looked outrageous and rebellious and very, very sexy. And just looking at her made Liz feel old.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt. It’s the libel lawyers on the phone, Dave, about the M&X piece. They’re going mad.’ She shot Liz a look of pity that she, poor fool, would never be part of this exciting, glamorous world of newspaper deadlines and libel lawyers. Liz tried not to smile.

  Dave. In twelve years together she had not once called him Dave. And those four letters seemed to exclude her from his new life more completely than mere distance, or new ventures in which she had no part.

  And then she noticed Suzan’s look of unbridled admiration and saw David catch it with his eyes and smile in acknowledgement. So that was the way things were. She’d been right all along.

  ‘Excuse us, would you a moment, Suzan.’ Liz led the girl firmly to the glass door and closed it. ‘I won’t need much of the editor’s precious time.’

  She turned to David who had stopped, startled, in the middle of searching for his notes.

  ‘Just one last thing before you rush off, David.’ Liz reached for her coat and began to put it on. ‘Did I mention that I want a divorce?’

  ‘Liz! Thank God. You’re just in time. The train leaves in twenty minutes!’

  In a daze Liz turned away from the red velvet Reception desk, which would have looked more at home in a New Orleans brothel, and stared at Mel who was suited and coated and stood in the middle of an enormous pile of luggage. Liz recognized her own suitcases.

  ‘Why have you packed? I thought we had another session this afternoon?’

  ‘We did.’ Mel took her room key out of her hand and gave it back to the receptionist. ‘I’ve just cancelled it. And the session tomorrow in Newcastle. We’re going home.’

  Suddenly Liz was hit with an awful premonition. ‘It’s not the children, is it? There hasn’t been an accident?’ The afternoon when Jamie had been knocked down flooded back to her with terrible clarity. In her new life she was supposed to be there for them. And where was she? In bloody Leeds, three hundred miles away!

  ‘Calm down. Nothing’s happened to Jamie and Daisy.’ Mel led her away firmly, raising her eyes to heaven. Maternal guilt. Jesus, who needed it! Liz took a couple of days off and expected God to punish her for her outrageous selfishness! ‘There hasn’t been any accident. Unless you call Ross Slater making a bid for WomanPower an accident.’

  Mel’s words were like cold water thrown in her face. It had happened. It had actually happened.

  In the taxi she looked out of the window at the grey streets and was glad she was going home. Home to Jamie and Daisy. Home to Nick. Home to Crossways at the beginning of autumn. There would be honeysuckle still scenting the garden and blackberries on the hedges in the lane round the cottage.

  She thought for a moment of David and how she hadn’t been able to resist stealing a look at his face as she closed the glass door of his office. What had she expected to find? Pleading eyes? A last-ditch attempt to catch her and make her change her mind?

  Instead his face had been empty, expressionless. And she had noticed that Suzan’s eyes were locked on his. Suzan knew better than to smile. She knew the game wasn’t won yet. But it soon would be. She was a smart girl. She would probably talk him into a white wedding.

  She must stop thinking about it. David was the past. Nick was the future. She got up and edged her way out of the crowded carriage to the Buffet Car. WomanPower couldn’t afford First Class – yet.

  Behind the counter the barman, who looked as though he’d consumed more
miniatures of Haig and Gordons than he’d sold, swayed to and fro in the opposite direction from the motion of the train, moving the dirt around a glass with a filthy cloth.

  ‘Can I get you something, miss?’

  Liz smiled at him for the miss, and pointed to the quarter bottles of champagne. They would probably be warm and wildly expensive but she needed to do something to mark this turning point in her life. She was going to be divorced.

  ‘How many of those have you got?’

  He handed over seven. ‘Having a party?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  They were surprisingly cold and the barman, delighted with a change from the usual halves of lager entered into the spirit of things and produced an ice bucket and an ancient packet of peanuts.

  Avoiding the curious glances from businessmen clearly wondering if she were a lady of dubious origins out on a Have-It-Away day, Liz eased herself back to the carriage. Buying champagne from British Rail by the quarter bottle was like lighting a cigarette with a fiver, but what the hell. She was going home and she was probably about to be offered a very large sum of money. And Nick would be waiting for her.

  As she opened the carriage she remembered Nick’s advice. ‘Sell,’ he’d said, it would be a dream come true. You wouldn’t have to work. And David had recommended exactly the opposite. Which of them was right?

  She laid the glasses and the champagne bucket down on the table and began opening one.

  ‘What are we celebrating? No, don’t tell me. A reconciliation? I knew if you two spent five minutes together we’d be talking second honeymoons.’ Mel knew this was a longshot but thought she’d have a plug all the same. ‘So, what’s the toast?’

  Liz poured two glasses and handed one to Mel.

  ‘To my impending divorce!’

  ‘So David agreed?’ Mel tried to sound enthusiastic. The guy was crazy.

  ‘Not yet. But he will.’