My Sweet Revenge

by Jane Fallon

  ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ the woman says, backing away now. ‘I hope everything will be OK.’

  I give her a little shake of my head as if to say, ‘Too late for that,’ just to make sure she really does leave.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I say to Saskia once the coast is clear.

  She nods her head, wipes the tear away. Gives me a watery smile.

  ‘I’m good, aren’t I? I knew that’d scare her away,’ she says unconvincingly.

  ‘How’s Josh?’ I ask out of nowhere.

  She waves a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, you know.’

  I’m surprised. Usually, she’s at such pains to tell me how deliriously happy her marriage is.

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes! Gosh, yes, it’s fine,’ she says, as if she’s just remembered that that’s the picture she’s supposed to present to me, of all people. ‘It’s just hard, you know, that we can never get time off together, that’s all.’

  I want to ask what his mood is like. If she’s noticed a change in him. If kissing me has left its mark. Obviously, I don’t.

  ‘For fuck’s sake’.

  Robert has returned from his meeting with Josh. Of course, I’ve already had Josh on the phone so I know it didn’t go well. Or, actually, it did, depending on who you’re rooting for.

  It was the first time we’d spoken since our encounter in the park. When he’d texted me to ask if I was free to talk I’d almost said no because I was so worried it might be awkward. Thankfully, the grown-up me had won out because, in fact, Josh was completely Josh-like. Open, friendly, no hint of an edge. It cleared the air without us having to sit down and clear the air.

  I filled him in on my latest meeting with Saskia. ‘She’s rattled,’ I said, and he laughed.

  Robert slams his keys on the table. ‘They might as well make me a fucking kiddy fiddler.’

  ‘Hardly,’ I say. ‘Then you really wouldn’t be able to go out in public.’

  We’re standing in the hallway. Robert had barely got through the door before he blurted out his news. Now he stomps off into the kitchen, and I follow. Of course, I hadn’t thought through that I’d have to deal with his bad mood.

  ‘Hargreaves would never rip anyone off, let alone the elderly.’

  ‘When did the writers ever worry about what was real?’ I switch on the kettle and reach for the coffee jar.

  ‘He did that fundraiser, do you remember, when old Mr Watkins was going to lose his home. And he paid Mary Simmons over the odds for all her old tat because he felt sorry for her after her husband died. I’ve built that whole bloody character on knowing that he had a heart of gold.’

  I almost laugh. I know that Robert takes his acting seriously, but really. To say Hargreaves is two-dimensional would be pushing it. Although, to be fair, if he is, up to this point, one of those dimensions has probably been ‘heart of gold’, the other being ‘a man’.

  He’s slumped on one of the kitchen chairs. I go over and put my hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

  ‘Is it that bad? It might be a good story. You’re always saying there’s nothing to get your teeth into.’

  ‘You know what my fan base is. Old ladies love me. And now I’m going to be a villain. They’ll be baying for my blood. There’ll be a petition to have Hargreaves sent to prison and me written out before you know it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I should complain to the big bosses. That Josh Carpenter hasn’t got a clue. He’s destroying the show.’

  ‘Is this his decision then?’

  ‘Him and the writers. Honestly, they couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery.’

  I sit down next to him, the voice of reason.

  ‘It might be better not to rock the boat. Just see how it pans out for a while.’

  ‘This is the end of my character, that’s the bottom line. One way or another, I’ll get axed next year.’

  ‘Well, if you do, you do. Go out with a bang, that’s what I say.’

  He thumps his fist on the table. ‘And what then?’

  ‘You’ve always known it wasn’t forever. There’s no such thing as job security in acting.’

  He worries at his beard like it’s got fleas.

  ‘They’re destroying the show. They’ve given Saskia some bloody storyline where she has to walk around looking like a beached whale because she can’t have kids or something. I mean, what kind of story is that? They had her fattening herself up in the break. Obviously, I’m not supposed to say anything so …’

  ‘What?’ I say lightly. ‘I shouldn’t go calling up OK! magazine?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘God, I bet she hates that. I get the impression she’s one of those people who are obsessed with how they look. How much weight can you put on in a month? Maybe I won’t even recognize her when I see her again.’

  He makes a grunting noise that could mean anything.

  ‘Imagine the conversation between her and Josh when he had to persuade her into that.’ I laugh. ‘He must be a brave man.’

  ‘He’s a fucking idiot,’ Robert spits, and I remember I’m supposed to be being supportive.

  ‘He certainly sounds like he is. Don’t worry too much, they’ll probably end up sacking him.’

  Later, I text Josh. ‘That went well then.’

  He favours me with a swift reply. ‘Classic. I wish you could have been there.’

  ‘Me too,’ I send back, and, for the briefest moment, I find myself wishing I could be sharing this triumph with Josh face to face. An image of his intense brown eyes jumps into my head. I have no idea where that came from.

  15

  Saskia and I are sitting in the sun. Or, at least, we’re sitting in the heat. The sun is making only an occasional appearance. The weather has turned heavy and oppressive. People walk around sweating, as if they’ve just got out of the shower. There’s the tiniest of breezes from the river, though, and we’re making the most of it.

  She called me while I was at work this morning. She had a day off, she told me (Robert was filming solidly all day. A sequence of scenes in Farmer Giles’ barn, all of the animals conveniently out in the pasture, thus saving the production money. They would dub the odd moo and baaa on later) and she was bored. Did I fancy meeting up?

  So I’ve trekked all the way down to Richmond to meet her at one of the cafés near the bridge. That’s the thing about Saskia. She has some kind of Jedi power that means you end up agreeing to spend hours schlepping halfway across London to somewhere that’s two minutes from her home, even though she’s the one who suddenly wants to meet up out of nowhere. She manages to make everything about her.

  There’s something on her mind, I can tell. We’ve ordered drinks – Diet Coke for me, sugary version for her – and we’re waiting for them to arrive, sitting silently, looking out at the ducks and the boats. Saskia not talking is unusual enough in itself. But there’s something shifty about her. Something I can’t put my finger on.

  ‘So, how’s things?’ I say, stuck for anything more interesting.

  ‘Oh … you know … fine. Still eating for England blah blah.’

  ‘Josh OK?’

  ‘Yep.’

  She turns back to look at the river. The suspense is killing me. I’m about to try and engage her in conversation again when she looks right at me, a worried expression on her face.

  ‘Paula, can I? … I have to tell you something.’

  I feel my heart start pounding. Is she going to tell me she’s sleeping with my husband?

  ‘OK …’

  ‘It’s about Robert. He’s … oh God, please forgive me for telling you …’

  Just get on with it, I want to scream. I know anyway.

  ‘What? Go on.’

  ‘He’s … he’s having an affair.’

  I wait for her to say ‘with me’, but she doesn’t. She just sits there and looks at me, all concern.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m so sor
ry to be the one to break it to you, but I’ve come to really like you and I just couldn’t live with myself knowing and not telling you …’

  Alarms bells are going off in my head. My brain is whirring, trying to take in what she’s saying.

  ‘Who with?’

  This is it. This is where she’ll confess it’s her. She’s just building herself up for it.

  She breathes in slowly.

  ‘Samantha.’

  I look at her, clueless.

  ‘Samantha,’ she repeats. ‘The girl who plays Marilyn.’

  16

  I’m stunned into silence, my mouth hanging open. Could I have got this so wrong?

  ‘Samantha?’

  Saskia nods. ‘It’s been … I’ve known for a while.’

  I think about the way she always questions me about how things are with Robert. Could that be because she was trying to gauge if I knew? To work out if she should say something or not?

  ‘How did you find out?’

  She’s looking anywhere but at me. ‘I walked in on them once.’

  I actually hear myself gasp.

  ‘I’d gone to her dressing room to borrow something, I can’t remember what. The lock is broken on hers so it’s always unlocked – ever since that actor who played Ryan, do you remember him? Anyway, he used to be in there and he locked himself in once and wouldn’t come out. They had to break the door down. ’Roid rage it was, apparently. He didn’t get those muscles from just anywhere …’

  I wait, willing her to get back to the point. She must pick up on my impatience because she shuts up about Ryan and his steroid habit.

  ‘Anyway, there they were on the sofa. It must have been early days, I think, because they were taking such a risk. I suppose most people would knock but it didn’t even occur to me.’

  ‘Were they actually …’

  ‘Pretty much. Anyway, I backed straight out again and they didn’t see me. But a few weeks later he was being really annoying at a party – you know how pompous he can get? So I told him what I’d seen, just to burst his bubble. He denied it at first but he’d had a few drinks and eventually he admitted it was true. I think he regretted it immediately because he begged me not to repeat what he’d said to anyone else. And, of course, I didn’t. And then you and I became friends …’

  ‘You knew when I first met you?’

  She nods. ‘I did. I’m sorry. I wanted to say something to you – I was cheated on in my first marriage and I know how awful it is to find out you’ve been completely deluded – but I didn’t think it was any of my business. And, besides, I’d promised Robert. But then you started saying how well things were going and how he seemed to be a changed man and it started to niggle away at me. Because it’s still going on.’

  That doesn’t explain the text message, though. I try to recall exactly what it said.

  As if she can read my mind, Saskia says, ‘I even covered for him once. When you phoned. Do you remember? He’d left his phone in the green room and when I saw your name I answered because I was afraid if anyone else spoke to you they would go looking for him in his dressing room. I knew they were in there together.’

  It all comes back to me. ‘Jesus! That was too close for comfort last night! WAY too risky! Hope Paula bought it!!! Didn’t feel comfortable having to lie to her face! Love you xxx’

  It’s possible. The ‘Love you’ is a bit over the top, but Saskia is the kind of person who blurts out endearments to waitresses she’s known for five seconds. They don’t mean anything to her.

  It doesn’t make sense to me why Robert would confide in her though. He’s always telling me they don’t get on. So much so that I thought it was a smokescreen.

  ‘Why would he tell you? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  She shrugs. ‘I think – and forgive me if this sounds crass – I think he wanted to make a point that he was attractive to a woman like her. I mean, you’ve seen Samantha – younger, you know. Beautiful. I think he was showing off. He really was quite drunk.’

  ‘Shit,’ I say, and Saskia, thinking I’m upset because I’ve just found out my husband is seeing someone else, puts her hand over mine.

  ‘You deserve much better,’ she says.

  I can’t tell her that what I’m really upset about is that I just kissed her husband.

  Her husband, who wouldn’t even have considered kissing me if I hadn’t just persuaded him that his wife was having an affair.

  I can hardly look at her. I make an excuse about having to get home. I need to process what’s going on.

  ‘The only thing I’d ask,’ she says as we say goodbye, ‘is that you don’t let him find out it came from me. He could make my life a misery at work.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘I’m not just going to storm straight home and accuse him. Not until I can work out a way I could plausibly have found out. I’d never drop you in it.’

  ‘I really am sorry, Paula,’ she says, for the hundredth time. ‘I agonized about whether it was the right thing to do or not.’

  ‘It was. Stop worrying. It’s much better that I know.’

  She hugs me and I hug her back, feeling like the worst person in the world.

  All the way home, I toss it around in my head. Was I so convinced that I was right about Robert and Saskia that I twisted the evidence to fit the prosecution’s thesis? I try to look at it rationally.

  – If she wasn’t trying to probe into the status of our marriage, why did she meet up with me in the first place and then keep on meeting up with me?

  Maybe she genuinely liked me? Maybe it’s hard for her to make new friends because of who she is, so she seized on the opportunity when it came along?

  – If they weren’t having an affair, why would Robert reply to her message telling her they shouldn’t text?

  Because he was afraid she would say something about Samantha and I would see it? Because he was worried about her accidentally giving stuff away? Because he can’t stand her and it was an easy way to get her off his back?

  – If they weren’t meeting up, why were they out at the same times? Why did their moods seem to mirror each other’s?

  Coincidence. That’s all I can think of. That and the fact that I was so keen to see the signs you would probably have read anything into anything so long as it supported your theory.

  When I look at it like this, there’s nothing concrete. Nothing that would convict her. Nothing that would justify me running to her husband and announcing that she was cheating on him. Nothing that would justify me allowing him to think his marriage was over.

  And, of course, it’s all too obvious to me now that there’s more than one woman in Robert’s life whose name begins with an S.

  Shit. By the time I reach home I’ve convinced myself I’m the most loathsome human ever. When I see Robert I almost start offering up apologies for ever doubting him, until I remember he’s just as guilty as he ever was. It’s only Saskia I should apologise to.

  Saskia and Josh.

  I can’t even think about what I’m going to say to Josh yet. He’s going to hate me, and rightly so. Not only have I sown a huge seed of doubt about his marriage, I’ve also encouraged him to do things that could jeopardize his career. I think about how funny I thought we were coming up with Saskia’s weight-gain storyline and I feel sick. What seemed like karma now strikes me as nasty, petty and bitchy, all qualities I despise. Terrifying though the thought is, I have to put this right as soon as I can.

  Robert is droning on about work but I’m only half listening. I’m wondering whether it’s too late for Saskia’s character to suddenly conceive. The weight gain could be explained by her being pregnant. They could stuff padding of ever-increasing proportions up her dress and the real Saskia could lose the pounds that I know are making her so unhappy. I can suggest it to Josh once he’s got over what I have to tell him. If he ever does.

  Something Robert is saying jolts me back to reality.

  ‘What did you just say? Sorry, I w
as miles away.’

  ‘I was saying we got the next batch of scripts. And now they’ve got Hargreaves having a fling with Marilyn! I mean, I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, but he’s always been devoted to Melody. It’s as if they have no idea who he is any more.’

  Oh crap, I’d forgotten about that. Our plan to put Saskia’s nose out of joint. I don’t imagine for a second that Robert is really upset about this storyline. I imagine it’s all his Christmases come at once.

  ‘Isn’t she, like, twenty-two?’ I can’t help myself. Even though I’m preoccupied with the mess I’ve created, I can’t let him get away with that.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What’s her name? The actress who plays Marilyn. Isn’t she really young?’

  ‘Samantha? About that, I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘Because you said it could happen. Her and Hargreaves. And it just seems really unlikely to me, that’s all. It’s not as if he’s meant to be stinking rich or anything. I mean, he’s in his forties and she’s twenty-two …’

  ‘He’s forty-one,’ he interjects and, for the first time this afternoon, I almost laugh.

  ‘Whatever. He’s way too old for her. It’s tacky.’

  ‘It’s not that it’s tacky. Plenty of young women find older men attractive. It’s just that Hargreaves wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s tacky. He’ll look like a dirty old perv.’

  ‘Well, that’s not making me feel any better, thanks.’

  ‘I’m just agreeing with you. It’s a terrible idea. If the old ladies don’t hate you for becoming a conman, they’re going to hate you for chasing after a woman young enough to be your daughter.’

  ‘Him, not me.’

  ‘Of course, that’s what I meant. But we all know they won’t see it that way.’