My Sweet Revenge

by Jane Fallon

  ‘It’s Sam Smith,’ she says, and then she laughs. ‘Not that Sam Smith. Samantha. From work.’

  There’s no hint in her voice that she’s committed the ultimate faux pas.

  ‘I was just going to talk to him about this stupid scene we’re filming tomorrow. I can’t get my head around it.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘I’ll ask him to call you.’ I just want to get off the phone before I say something I’ll regret, but Samantha’s still chatting.

  ‘It’s this ridiculous storyline we’ve got going on. Has he told you about it? Hargreaves and Marilyn?’

  She may as well add the word ‘eew’. This doesn’t sound like a woman who secretly has the hots for him.

  ‘I mean, the age gap is ridiculous. It’s like she’s going out with her dad. Not … I don’t mean Robert’s old or anything … or that he’s not attractive … oh God, sorry, that all came out wrong. It’s just … there’s never been any hint of it before and it feels a bit unlikely, you know. We both think so.’

  I’m more than a bit confused. ‘That’s Farmer Giles for you.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Anyway, sorry, Paula, I don’t want to disturb you …’

  I can hear Robert heading this way.

  ‘It’s fine, hold on, he’s coming.’

  ‘Nice to talk to you, by the way,’ she’s saying as I hold the phone out to him. I want to be able to gauge every detail of his reaction. There’s a tiny flicker when he clocks that the phone I’m holding is his.

  ‘It’s Samantha.’

  Anything? If I’m being absolutely truthful, if I was in court and told I had to name one emotion that he couldn’t one hundred per cent keep in check at the moment I said that name, I would have to say relief.

  ‘Oh. Thanks,’ he says, as he takes the mobile. I wait for him to leave the room, for any hint of tension in his voice, but instead he settles down on a bar stool next to me.

  ‘Hi, Sam,’ he says in a matey voice. ‘No, no, it’s fine …’

  He laughs at something she says. ‘I haven’t even looked at it yet. Hold on.’

  He rummages about in the sides he’s brought home from work. Finds the offending scene, scans it.

  ‘Jesus. I see what you mean …’

  I tune out then, hijacked by my thoughts. If I’d walked in on this conversation without him realizing I was there, there would have been no doubt in my mind that he was just talking to a friend or colleague. Is he really this good? Is she?

  ‘She’s a nice kid,’ he says when their conversation is over. ‘Bloody awful actress, though.’ He laughs and I laugh with him. But does that answer my question? Would Samantha be incapable of convincing me there was no hidden agenda in her call to Robert? Or is it just that she doesn’t care? That she’s the kind of person who wouldn’t be fazed by their lover’s wife answering the phone because she couldn’t give a shit about her or their marriage?

  When I can get away I call Saskia.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Hi. Have you got a moment?’

  ‘It’s Amanda,’ I hear her say to whoever she’s with. I assume it’s Josh. I picture them there, sharing a glass of wine. Maybe sitting in their beautiful garden, now the weather’s cleared up again. I’m touched that she’s still honouring my request to keep our friendship a secret. Christ knows what Josh would think was going on if he knew I was phoning her now.

  There’s a pause and then she says, ‘Hi, sorry, I’ve come upstairs to the bedroom. Everything OK?’

  ‘The weirdest thing just happened.’

  I relate the whole story. How open and friendly Samantha sounded. How their conversation seemed completely natural.

  ‘You couldn’t have been mistaken, could you? I mean, obviously, you saw him with someone, but could it have been someone else? Someone who looks like her maybe?’

  ‘Sorry, Paula, it was definitely her.’

  Maybe I’m just gullible. ‘She sounded so genuine.’

  ‘She’d probably been practising. I mean … if she was going to risk calling him at home …’

  Now I feel like an idiot. I imagine Robert and Samantha laughing about how they got one over on me. ‘Oh well, it doesn’t make any difference anyway, I suppose. The fact is that he’s seeing someone, not who it is.’

  ‘Atta girl.’

  ‘I can’t wait for this all to be over. I can’t wait to start a new life all on my own.’

  ‘Then kick him out now,’ she says.

  ‘You know I can’t. Or he’s won.’

  ‘Then we need to get on with trying to split them up,’ Saskia says, and I feel so grateful that I have an ally. ‘The sooner that happens, the sooner you’ll be free of him for good.’

  By the time I finish speaking to her I feel much better. Because Saskia saw it with her own eyes, there’s no doubt that it’s Samantha Robert is seeing. Regardless of how pleasant she seemed on the phone just now, I know it’s all make-believe. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked by how easily Robert slipped into having a friendly worky chat with her. It makes me think his conscience hasn’t been pricked at all despite how well we’ve been getting on. It makes me think I’ve got a much harder battle on my hands than I thought.

  25

  Robert is due to be away for two nights, filming scenes in Oxfordshire. When he’s not around I flick through the schedule for the week. The first day, he’s only in a couple of scenes, one with David, one with Samantha. The rest of the time is taken up with two-handers between David and Saskia. That means the four of them will stay up there the night before to be ready for the crack of dawn on filming day.

  Day two is more David/Robert and then stuff between other cast members, who I have no interest in. So Robert and David will stay for a second night, along with a few additions, and Saskia and Samantha will make their way home after the first day’s filming is completed. At a rough guess, Robert will be home late Tuesday afternoon

  I text Saskia and ask her if she’d like to come over to the flat on Monday evening, once she gets back to London. I wait for her to suggest I go to hers – Josh, I assume, will be away till the following day – or somewhere near hers, but to my surprise she agrees to trek across town to meet me, for once. Georgia has gone off again – working in the parking field of some festival or other with Eliza, doing a twelve-hour shift in exchange for a pittance and a pair of free tickets to the next two days – so I know we’ll have the place to ourselves.

  Chas puts me through my paces after work.

  ‘Look at those guns,’ he shouts when I push a pair of weights above my head. I look in the mirror that covers one whole wall of the gym – the one I usually avoid looking at – and I can see the tiniest hint of muscle under all the soft squishy stuff.

  ‘Pea-shooters maybe,’ I say, laughing at his enthusiasm. ‘Or water pistols, at a push.’

  ‘You can get some very big water pistols. Be proud of those things,’ he says when I heave the dumb-bells up again. ‘You’ve earned them.’

  ‘Did you just buy a dictionary of clichés? Or How to Give Positive Affirmation in Ten Easy Lessons?’

  ‘I’m naturally upbeat,’ he says. ‘It’s a big part of my charm.’

  Saskia arrives, bearing a bottle of wine. She looks tired. Even though she has been allowed to ease off the weight gain, it’s still a shock to see her rounder contours. She’s replaced her usual skin-tight clothes for a more flowy T-shirt and pale pink pedal pushers. She looks great.

  ‘Hey!’

  We hug and she follows me inside, looking around. I’m glad I made the effort to tidy up before she got here.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she says, peering into the lived-in living room as we pass it on the way to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s small,’ I say, and I chastise myself for making apologies. I love our flat. It’s shabby but it suits us perfectly. Or, at least, I’ve always thought so. I’ve never understood the need to move somewhere flashier just because you can. I’m already worrying about whether Robert will let me
stay here once we separate, because I can’t imagine living anywhere else. ‘We’ve been here for years and we just never got around to scaling up. Even though Robert thinks we should have years ago.’

  ‘Don’t ever scale up,’ she says, laughing. ‘It just means more maintenance, more things to go wrong. I spend half my life waiting in for people to come and fix things.’

  ‘OK, good, I’ll bear that in mind when I win the lottery.’

  As if she can read my mind, she says, ‘Are you going to stay here when … you know?’

  ‘I hope so. He knows how much I love it. It’s been Georgia’s home her whole life. And I doubt Samantha’s going to want to move in here anyway. Where does she live now?’

  I put two large glasses down in front of Saskia and she fusses about opening the wine.

  ‘Oh. I’m not sure. For some reason, I think she still lives with her mum.’

  I take one of the now full glasses and down a large swig. ‘Jesus. And don’t tell me, her mum’s my age.’

  ‘Hardly. Not that I’ve met her.’

  We sit by the open patio doors, looking down on to the tiny communal garden below.

  ‘So, how’s things? She was there last night, right? At the hotel.’

  ‘She was. Oh, so guess what? I found something out.’ She pauses for a reaction.

  ‘What? Tell me.’

  ‘We were stuck in Make-up at the same time so I earwigged on her conversation. Those make-up artists are like therapists, honestly. Or priests. People seem to feel they can tell them all their darkest secrets. I think it’s because you’re sat there for hours and you’ve got to talk about something …’

  I have to stop myself from telling her to get to the point. I know by now that Saskia moves at her own pace when it comes to telling stories.

  ‘… anyway, she was talking about her boyfriend – by whom I assume she means Robert. I certainly haven’t ever heard her mention anyone else – and she was saying she’s desperate for a baby …’

  She sits back and looks at me triumphantly. I’m hit with a wave of nausea. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Robert might want more children. Of course he will. He’s still young. But now? Already? Before he’s even walked out the door?

  ‘Shit,’ is all I can come up with.

  ‘Sorry. Oh God, has that upset you? It has, hasn’t it? I just thought it might be a good weapon somehow. I mean, there’s no way Robert is going to want another baby, I would have thought. Not at this stage. And she was saying that he – her boyfriend – wasn’t keen. It sounded as if she was thinking about just going ahead and letting it happen …’

  ‘Jesus, really?’

  ‘Anyway, I just thought it might be useful intel. It would frighten the life out of him, I imagine.’

  She’s right. Robert would hate the idea of Samantha getting pregnant behind his back. I have no idea how I can use it to my advantage, though.

  ‘I thought I could drop it into the conversation somehow,’ Saskia is saying. ‘Just that I overheard Samantha saying she’s plotting to “accidentally” get knocked up. That’s got to sow a seed of doubt, surely.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. I don’t want to ask you to get any more involved, though …’

  She shrugs. ‘What do I care? It’ll actually be quite entertaining to see the look on his face. After everything he’s done to you …’

  I top up our glasses. I can hear the theme tune from Coronation Street blasting out from one of the other flats.

  ‘Why do the two of you dislike each other so much?’

  I’ve always thought I understood Robert’s irritation with Saskia – her lateness and her diva-ish behaviour – but who knows now if any of that is true? Josh certainly never spoke about her in that way.

  She gives me a wry smile. ’Oh, I don’t know that we do. We just don’t get on particularly. There’s a difference. Well, unless he’s told you something else. Maybe he hates me, haha!’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious, that’s all.’

  She thinks for a moment. ‘Two big egos fighting for attention. Something like that anyway.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘I think Robbie and I both like to be the centre of attention. Although, to be fair, most actors do, in my experience.’

  ‘You sound like Alice. His sister. She’s the only one who ever calls him Robbie.’

  ‘Did I call him Robbie? I didn’t even notice. That’s because I have a friend called Robbie who would think I’d gone insane if I called him Robert. I don’t think I’ve ever called your Robert it before …’

  She picks up her glass, takes a sip. We sit there in silence for a moment. Well, silence and the sound of Steve McDonald’s voice cutting through the air. I feel as if we’ve talked about me and my problems enough.

  ‘How are you, anyway?’

  ‘Good. I mean, I’m fine. I hate it when people say “I’m good.” It doesn’t really make any sense and it sounds so American, don’t you think? And then I go and start saying it myself, haha!’

  And they’re off. I let her ramble on for a bit. I’m staggered by the idea that Samantha might deliberately get pregnant without even discussing it with Robert. That she would be prepared to trap him in that way. It actually makes me feel sorry for him, although it would definitely be one way for him to learn the perils of dating someone young enough to still think playing games with people’s lives is acceptable. When I realize Saskia has ground to a halt, I have no idea what she was saying.

  ‘Sorry, what did you just say?’

  ‘I was just talking about Josh. He wants us to go to Barcelona for the weekend for our anniversary. It’s where we went on our first holiday together.’

  She rolls her eyes at me.

  ‘What’s up with Barcelona? Barcelona’s lovely.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I don’t know why he wants to go away at all. I mean, it’s nine years, it’s not as if it’s anything special.’

  I think how much I would have loved it once if Robert had been the type of person to want to whisk me away for a romantic weekend. It’s as if she reads my mind because she says:

  ‘I know that sounds horribly ungrateful. I’m just knackered, that’s all. I’d rather go out for a nice meal but he’s making a big fuss about wanting to spoil me.’

  Of course he is. It’s his way of saying sorry. Not that Saskia knows he has anything to be sorry for.

  I think of his kind eyes. His habit of running his hand over his head. The way he looked at me before he kissed me.

  ‘I’d let him do it,’ I say, reaching for the wine bottle. ‘If it means that much to him.’

  26

  Saskia

  I probably shouldn’t have said anything to Paula, but the truth is, Josh is being annoyingly lovey-dovey at the moment. Not like that, but asking me if I’m OK every five minutes and bringing me cups of coffee in bed when I’m trying to have a lie-in. I know, I know. Most spouses would kill to be married to someone who was still attentive after eight – nearly nine – years, but I could do without it. It’s getting on my nerves.

  That’s the thing when you know someone just flat-out adores you. It makes you want to test it. To kick out and see how they react. What would be their breaking point? Well, I imagine finding out about me and Robbie would have been Josh’s. A small dalliance, a one-off with someone he didn’t know, he would probably get over in time. A full-blown two-year love affair with someone he can’t stand, I very much doubt.

  So, that was weird, being in Robbie’s – dear God, I called him Robbie in front of Paula! You idiot, Saskia! – home with him having no idea I was there. It was the first time – he never felt comfortable taking me there because of his daughter, blah blah. We were both taking a risk with our partners but Georgia was a risk he wouldn’t even consider. So I jumped at the chance when Paula invited me. I couldn’t wait to get a look at it. Even though all I really wanted to do was enjoy having the house to myself for once.

&n
bsp; It’s smaller than I imagined. Hardly where you’d expect a big-shot TV star to live. Big old block. Their flat is on the fifth floor (thankfully, there’s a lift, haha!), overlooking a sort of small communal garden out the back. Probably six rooms in total, including the bathroom. Sunny aspect. Original-looking parquet floors.

  But that’s enough of the estate-agent spiel. I always find it fascinating (and sometimes a bit off-putting) how everyone’s home smells different. It’s as if each household creates their own fragrance unique to them. On first impression, Robbie and Paula’s place smelled of laundry, girly bath products, a residue of some kind of garlicky something she must have eaten the night before, and the tiniest hint of underlying damp. All in all, not too bad.

  I can’t even describe how weird it was seeing Robbie’s things in this context. Odd bits and pieces that were so familiar to me, in amongst evidence of the whole other life he has that doesn’t include me. I managed to have a good look around on the two occasions I visited the loo, which was conveniently situated next door to their bedroom. There was a pile of clean washing on the bed (hence the laundry smell) and I recognized items I know so well in its jumble. Largish, dark wood-framed bed against the wall, white bed linen with a cheerful poppy-motif duvet cover. Wardrobes built in along one side. It was obvious which side of the bed was his. Just the copy of the latest John le Carré alone was enough to give it away. I couldn’t help myself, I pulled open the top door of his bedside table and had a quick look. The usual mess of bits and pieces – cold medicine, ear plugs, coins. For some reason, it made me a bit sad. It was so mundane. That’s the thing Robbie and I never got to share, the mundane. The everyday detritus that makes up a life.

  On my second visit I had a trawl through the bathroom cabinet, but there was nothing illuminating beyond a box of Just For Men. Ha! And there was me thinking he was all natural!

  It was hard to picture him there, I’m not going to lie. It made him seem smaller, somehow. I remember when I was a teenager and going out with a boy I had had a crush on for months. It was all going really well. All my friends were envious. I thought he was about the coolest creature I had ever encountered, until he invited me home for the first time. One glimpse of his room with the faded flowery wallpaper that his parents obviously wouldn’t allow him to change under his posters, the mess of dirty socks and underwear, his potions to ward against acne on the little desk, and I could never look at him the same way again. Never mind that my own bedroom still had Five Star on the wall and my fluffy cartoon-character slippers nestled on the floor next to my old dolls’ house. He diminished before my eyes. Thankfully, the same didn’t happen with Robbie. Rather, I had an overwhelming feeling that I wanted to rescue him from it all.