Another tear slipped down the side of her nose and ran into her mouth. She dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath. Nope, too late, a sob tried to escape and turned into an unbecoming snort.
Sinking down onto the sofa, she put her head into her hands and howled. Overwhelmed, she didn’t even hear the knock on the door, or Alfie running to answer it before scampering, uninterested in the visitor, back to his game in the garden.
She had just got to the hiccupping stage and was in the middle of blowing her nose so hard her ears popped painfully when she heard the door to the sitting room swing open with its characteristic squeak. She had been meaning to oil it for months.
‘Go outside darling,’ she said brightly, turning away so Alfie or Tash wouldn’t see her face and pretending she was rummaging in the pile of newspapers on the table ‘It’s too lovely a day to waste.’
‘It is a lovely day,’ came his distinctive deep voice. ‘But it doesn’t seem to be making you very happy.’
She froze, her back still to the door. Now Matt was here to witness it, her misery and humiliation was complete.
She didn’t hear him move from the door to her side so, when he put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped violently.
‘Shh,’ he said gently, sitting down beside her, his hands either side of her neck. They were warm and dry, their heat radiating through her thin cotton shirt. He massaged gently, soothingly but the effect on her was far from relaxing. Trembling with the desire to run away or turn and throw her arms around him – she didn’t know which – she stifled a groan and forced herself to stay still. After a minute, she relaxed and slumped back a little, imperceptibly, towards him.
‘He lied,’ she said, at last.
‘I know.’
‘And it was just his bloody secretary. What a cliché.’
‘Actually it was his parliamentary assistant,’ corrected Matt with scrupulous accuracy.
Emily looked at him. ‘Bloody pedant.’
Matt gave a short laugh and handed her his handkerchief. She snorted inelegantly into it. They both looked at it and she decided not to give it back.
‘You told him to tell me,’ she said, but it was a question.
‘I didn’t want him to hurt you. But you – I – I wanted you to know … I’m sorry.’
‘I’m glad I know,’ she said, giving him a wan smile.
‘Good,’ he said, staring intently at her. She became acutely aware of her puffy red face. Her nose must look all pink and shiny. It felt huge.
‘It’s no good,’ he muttered to himself, and gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth against her lips.
He had always been able to make her melt, to turn her body to liquid with lust that she couldn’t ever remember feeling with her husband. Not even in the early days. In the end, it was her blocked nose that forced her to pull away, panting slightly. Even then, she couldn’t resist the temptation to lay her head on his shoulder. His arms slipped around her easily and held her tight. She felt incredibly warm and comfortable there. She had been cold for days, tense and chilled to the bone.
‘I can’t believe you said you would bury the story.’
‘Do you really think I could be that much of a bastard as to publish?’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I only said I wouldn’t publish it.’
He met her eye. ‘I can’t bury this one. It’s a bit bigger than a dodgy press release about a few barking voters.’
‘You mean it’s coming out?’
‘Not yet. But that’s why I came. There’s still stuff rumbling around. Rumours. No-one has the facts, or at least nothing their legal departments will let them run with, but … the genie’s all but out of the bottle. You should be ready.’
Emily nodded.
‘If I could stop it I would,’ he said gently.
She nodded again, and sighed. ‘Wouldn’t stop it being true.’
‘No, but I’d like to save you the intrusion,’ said Matt.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Emily. ‘But that’s my life now. Nothing is above – or below – public scrutiny.’
‘What will you do?’
Emily sighed again wearily, rubbing her face with both hands.
‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Leave him, ruin his reputation, scupper the election, take the children and move in with me,’ he replied. ‘Since you ask,’ he added as she stared at him incredulously.
‘I can’t,’ she said, shocked at how appealing it sounded. ‘I have a duty …’
‘Doesn’t have to be that way! He cheated on you. What’s to stop you bailing out and doing the same?’
‘You know what?’ she mused, ‘if it does come out the chances are the scandal will screw up Ralph’s chances of the PM role, and, much as I hate to admit it,’ she said slowly, ‘that’s an interesting thought …’ She pondered, remembering her recent similar conversation with Nessa. ‘He’d have to resign wouldn’t he? Stand down as party leader … That would be a blessing, for me and the children at least. But for me to actually give that fatal shove? No, I’m not going to do that.’
She was transfixed by the sight of Matt’s hand on her arm as the confusion and emotion boiled up inside her. The affair, Matt’s accusations of her selling herself down the river, the loss of the baby which she had faced without his support …
Suddenly she leapt to her feet and began pacing the room, her fingers digging into her hair as she tried to think clearly.
‘You!’ she said, stopping in front of him. He sat, elbows on knees, dangling his hands between his legs. He was the picture of relaxation which enraged her.
‘You,’ she said again, pointing. ‘You come here and turn everything upside down, telling me things I don’t want to know about Ralph, messing around with me, my feelings, making me want you, telling me to ditch him. You make me just as bad as him. How is it different? I’m as guilty as him because of you …’ She found she was panting. She put her hand to her chest to feel her heart pounding and then dropped it again, feeling silly. Melodrama had never been encouraged in her family, and Ralph had no patience for it, unless it was him – which it usually was.
‘Emily,’ said Matt, reaching towards her. She longed for him to hold her again but he made do with putting his hands firmly on her shoulders. ‘You’re not guilty. As much as I’d like to,’ he closed his eyes for a moment, ‘we haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Not yet,’ she observed, wryly.
He said nothing, but his eyes bored into her face.
‘No,’ she said at last, detaching herself from his grasp. ‘Don’t. You should go.’
‘Will you be okay on your own?’
‘I’ll only be okay on my own,’ she replied, not daring to look at him, for fear her resolve would weaken. ‘If you’re right about the press I won’t have long before I’ve got the party on my back …’
At that moment, the phone rang. Emily didn’t move. How easy it would be, she thought, not to answer. She could take the children, change their name, move to somewhere no-one knew them …
Matt picked up the phone.
‘She’s here,’ he said to whoever was on the other end. ‘Just trying to help,’ he said in reply to the caller’s question. ‘No,’ he continued, ‘I’m not.’ He sounded impatient.
‘It’s your husband,’ he said, handing her the phone. She stood up straighter, wiping her eyes and taking the phone gingerly as if it were a rattlesnake.
‘Hello Ralph,’ she said quietly.
‘Don’t talk to him,’ snapped Ralph in a furious whisper.
‘Hello Emily, how are you?’ she said, sarcastically.
‘What the bloody hell is he doing there anyway?’
‘Shagging me senseless obviously,’ replied Emily. ‘Naturally enough, being given to believe that’s the sort of marriage you and I apparently have.’
‘Don’t be fatuous. Now, we need to make a plan. There are rumblings in the press. They’re starting to ask questions about
me and an affair – not that anyone seems to know it’s Susie, but their blood’s up for sure.’
‘Why don’t we just let them run it then,’ she said wearily. ‘It’s true after all.’
‘Are you mad?’ spluttered Ralph. ‘And have the whole lot crashing down on us four days before polling day? You’d like that, would you?’
‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,’ responded Emily surprising herself and Ralph with a giggle. She realised she was close to hysteria. The thought of just walking away from the whole sorry mess made her feel dizzy, and deliciously irresponsible.
As Ralph banged on, she returned to her daydream about running away. This time she had persuaded Matt to come with them. In her fantasy they were in a little white painted house on the beach. He and the children were playing together on the sand while she looked indulgently on. She was slim, tanned and naturally gorgeous. The children looked altogether happier and also somehow cleaner than in real life. It felt good …
She drifted back to the present as Matt put down the phone for her.
‘They’re coming down here. I should make myself scarce.’
Emily nodded.
‘Ditch the bastard,’ he added softly, and left as quietly as he had come.
Chapter Twelve
A good wife should never let her own feelings or indispositions get in the way of her being the perfect hostess. One should present a pleasant demeanour and gracious hospitality at all times …
FELICITY WAINWRIGHT, 1953
TJ put his hand on Emily’s arm in a silent gesture of solidarity. He took the tray from her hands and led the way into the posh sitting room where Ralph, at home, did his formal receptions.
There, arranged in a tableau around the empty fireplace, were the usual suspects. Ralph was being bullish but avoiding her eye. Gerald was looking embarrassed but stern and purposeful. A colourless secretary had been drafted in to take notes. Clearly she was the replacement for Susie. Emily noted with distant interest that she was plain. Probably one of those terribly clever girls who thought a good Oxbridge degree and a stint as a parliamentary assistant would launch their political career. And perhaps it would, she thought bitterly, if they were prepared to sleep with the boss as well.
TJ offered around tea, coffee and biscuits with quiet diffidence as if he was at a wake.
‘So, anyway,’ Gerald was continuing, ‘other than hoping for an even better story to take the heat off – which we are actively working on, I might say – our only real strategy is to confirm the rumours.’ Ralph nodded, and then did a double take.
‘What do you mean confirm the rumours,’ he blustered, ‘why on earth would we want to do that?’
‘Er, because they’re true?’ hazarded Gerald.
‘But isn’t that what spin is for? Why do we pay you guys—?’
‘You don’t pay them,’ snapped a voice from the corner. ‘We do, and we don’t pay them to lie for you. We’re onto damage limitation now, Ralph. It’s about all we’ve got left.’
Emily looked. There, in the shadows was James, the party Chairman. Emily hadn’t seen him since the news reports announcing Alan’s death. He looked tired, and older than Emily remembered.
‘Hello Emily,’ he said kindly, before continuing in a harsher tone. ‘Frankly, my friend, it’s a bit damned late for Saint Ralph now, the best we can hope for is disclosure, contrition and a bloody great statement of loyalty from your wife which, incidentally, you don’t deserve.’
Emily practically had to sit on her hands to prevent herself launching into a round of applause. Ralph looked wounded but didn’t answer back.
‘So, Gerald,’ added James, ‘do continue.’
Gerald blinked a bit and straightened his tie. ‘Erm, yes, so, the only way forward really is to confirm all the true rumours circulating before they get proved without our input and make us look obstructive. Of course we will be being obstructive as far as we can in not, obviously, providing any further facts – luckily these are pretty thin on the ground, at least at the moment. We just have to hope the whole thing dies of lack of oxygen.’
‘No spin?’ queried Emily.
‘Erm, no, loads of spin,’ Gerald replied with a hint of a smile.
‘Luckily,’ he continued, directing his remarks at James, ‘none of the fishing expeditions we have received from the media seem to know who Ralph was seeing. We expect to be able to keep things that way.’
‘You do?’ said James, doubtfully.
‘Susie is one hundred per cent trustworthy,’ said Ralph with some pride. ‘They’ll get nothing from her.’
‘Yes, well,’ responded James doubtfully, ‘let’s hope not. And we should certainly be keeping the woman very close to us indeed. Bring her under your wing, Gerald. Tell her it’s to help protect her from the distress of press intrusion.’
‘Which of course it is,’ confirmed Gerald, gallantly.
James snorted. ‘I don’t want her out there, able to make contacts,’ he continued. ‘Not this side of polling day anyhow. Can’t say I care much what happens after that.’
‘Won’t Ralph just have to resign though?’ said Emily, genuinely puzzled. Since she’d had a chance to absorb the news she was rather hoping this mysterious leak would solve all her problems by getting Ralph out of the running altogether. She was sorry about his destroyed ambitions, or at least she would have been if he hadn’t been porking his secretary.
‘Well, one might think so initially,’ explained Gerald, ‘but I’ve been looking back at – er – similar scenarios in the past and, surprisingly enough, it seems to be the lying and denials that screw the MP’s career, not the infidelity. Indeed it seems even fathering a love child isn’t beyond the pale.’
Gerald and James both gave Ralph an enquiring look.
‘Certainly not,’ he blustered. ‘Good God, no, Emily,’ he told her earnestly. ‘Absolutely not.’
Despite the sheer awfulness of it all, his face was a picture and she had to suppress the urge to laugh.
‘Surely though,’ she continued, ‘his chances must be damaged.’
‘God yes,’ interjected James again. ‘And the party’s chances with them,’ he added bitterly. ‘But with so little time until polling day, we have no option but to go with him – unfortunately.’
‘What are the odds though?’ she persisted.
‘Hard to tell,’ said Gerald. ‘Obviously we will be able to gauge the public mood once we’ve put our strategy into play. There are so many variables, so many other factors. We’ve just got to give it a go.’
James nodded and Ralph looked chastened.
‘So,’ continued James, turning to Emily, ‘We have no right to ask this of you my dear, but whatever you think of your husband, and whatever your plans for the marriage in the longer term, I would implore you to help us repair the damage and give the party the best chance it can to put together a government. Our only hope now is to rehabilitate Ralph’s image by fielding a loyal wife.’ He raised his mug toward Emily in a gesture of salute. ‘Are you prepared to do it?’ he asked her solemnly.
She could feel Ralph looking directly at her for the first time that evening. Actually all eyes in the room were trained on her.
She wondered if her life was going to flash before her. It didn’t, but her future did. First, there was the future where she and the children were taken away from the life they loved, thrust into the goldfish bowl of public life, and second, the dream of the little white house by the beach, anonymous and free. Matt was there.
She didn’t know how long her mind had been wandering.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. As she spoke a heavy weight lodged itself in her chest. ‘But only until the election,’ she added. Ralph looked stricken. ‘Only until then,’ she said to him quietly. ‘After that, I just don’t know.’
The following morning, Emily woke late with a headache.
She had lain awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling, alone. Ralph had stayed downstairs for a long time af
ter the team had left, but then she had heard him stealing into the spare room, where Matt had slept just days before. How life had changed since then.
Even a long, hot shower failed to remove the deep chill. She moved stiffly, and raising her arms to put up her hair was exhausting. She took care with her make-up, but – even after a gallon of eye drops and a tonne of blusher – the best she could do was to convert the face of a corpse to the face of a corpse gussied up by an undertaker with a heavy hand.
Breakfast was tense. Ralph adopted a hearty tone with the children, but Tash was sullen and Alfie grumpy from all the late nights, waiting for his Daddy to come home. Emily couldn’t eat, but cradled a cup of tea, more for comfort than because she was thirsty.
Gerald and his team had been working hard overnight. They had set up a photo call that morning for half past ten. Statements would also be read and issued. Ralph had been adamant that the event should be held at the house. To her horror, Emily was required not only to offer the photographers a ‘united family shot’, but she had to read a statement which Gerald had drafted for her.
Ralph handed it to her wordlessly. By the time she had reached the end of it, she was paler still. Her jaw was clenched so tightly the pain of it added to her already aching head.
As she had pointed out before going to bed that night, they still needed to break the news to the children. She was grateful the Easter holidays meant Tash, in particular, would not have to run the gauntlet of the children at school as soon as the truth came out. If she was honest, she too was grateful Ralph’s infidelity would not be the gossip fodder of the mothers at the school gates, until after the election. Whatever the outcome, today’s story would hopefully have lost its freshness and intrigue by then.
‘You talk to the children, darling,’ he said nervously. ‘You’re better at that sort of thing.’
‘Don’t call me “darling”,’ she growled. ‘Anyway, better at what “sort of thing”? Parenting?’
He had the grace to look ashamed.
Never Marry a Politician Page 10