‘You had help, didn’t you?’ she teased.
‘On the contrary,’ rebutted Ralph. ‘There are certain things a wife is entitled to expect her husband to manage on his own. This is one of them.’
‘Well, they’re absolutely perfect. You did a good job.’
Ralph ducked his head modestly. ‘No less than you deserve,’ he said softly and kissed her chastely on the forehead.
‘Yuck, kissing,’ complained Alfie.
It was late evening before they had the chance to be alone and have the conversation they were both dreading. Ralph, playing the dutiful husband, piled the last plates into the dishwasher and then joined Emily in the sitting room in front of the fire. By the time he had opened the wine and poured them both a glass, Emily was crying, tears running down her face and off her chin into her lap.
‘It’s no good is it?’ she said.
‘No,’ replied Ralph gently. She looked up into his face, and was astonished to see tears in his eyes too.
‘We could just keep on like this,’ she suggested desperately. ‘Today’s been all right, hasn’t it?’
‘We can’t,’ said Ralph sitting down and taking Emily’s hand into his. ‘I did think we could for a long time but it’s the one thing I’m not prepared to lie about,’ he explained. ‘I don’t care about appearances anymore, I just want people to be happy. At the moment none of us are happy, not even the children and especially not you. That’s the bit I really can’t bear.’
Emily blinked. For a moment it was like she had the old Ralph back, the one who would do the right thing rather than the easy thing. ‘I could fall in love with you all over again when I hear you talk like that,’ she joked sadly.
‘I’ve never stopped loving you,’ he replied. ‘And that’s why I can’t stand what I’m doing to you, dragging you along in my wake, making you live my life and I know it’s the life you never wanted. I want to let you go, to be yourself again, like you were when I fell for you in the first place.’
‘Could I be like that again?’ asked Emily, like an animal who suddenly notices the cage is open but doesn’t believe that freedom is really possible.
‘Absolutely,’ said Ralph. ‘I fully expect you to be an utter embarrassment to the government – and me personally,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I deserve. And anyway,’ he added, ‘if you do decide to behave like a total liability, the electorate will probably feel quite sorry for me. It’ll do my popularity ratings the world of good.’
Emily gave him a playful shove.
‘How will it all work though?’ she said, barely daring to hope but feeling excitement welling up along with the sadness.
‘Basically, I can’t see that much will change,’ said Ralph purposefully. Clearly he had thought it all through. ‘You will live here with the children. I can either have them join me at the weekends or – if you agree – I can come here.’
‘What about Susie?’ Emily asked.
Ralph denied nothing. She knew he wouldn’t.
‘I hope the children will get to know her,’ he admitted. ‘I hope you will too. She’s a good woman.’
‘She’s been a snotty cow,’ said Emily. ‘But she’s had a hard time,’ she conceded. ‘And she’s better suited to being a Prime Minister’s wife than I am. Plus she desperately wants to be, which is the other big difference between us …’
‘Well, steady on,’ said Ralph with a trace of panic in his voice which amused Emily. ‘I haven’t flipping proposed, or anything … One thing at a time after all.’
‘You do want to marry her I take it,’ pressed Emily.
‘Yes,’ Ralph replied, with new resolve. ‘Eventually, I really think I do.’
‘And does she want you?’ continued Emily. ‘For richer, poorer, sickness, health, opposition and government – the whole steaming package?’
‘She says she does …’ replied Ralph, a smile stealing, unbidden, across his face.
‘Well you’d better ask her then hadn’t you? Before she changes her mind,’ said Emily, sensibly. ‘Anyway, what will the Party make of it, do you suppose?’
‘Frankly, I really don’t care.’
‘You should tell her we’ve discussed this,’ said Emily.
‘I said I would go to her,’ Ralph admitted. ‘Once we had talked, you and me.’
‘You should,’ urged Emily, and this time it felt right that he would go.
The following morning, after a conversation that continued into the small hours, along with tears and laughs over fond memories, and lots of reassuring hugs, Emily woke alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nessa stormed into the coffee shop like the wrath of God. A lesser man would have dived for cover, but Matt regarded her calmly over his double espresso and waved for her to sit down opposite him.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing just sitting there?’ snapped Nessa, with uncharacteristic bluntness – even for her.
‘You asked me to come,’ said Matt reasonably, folding his newspaper and putting it, unhurriedly, down on the table.
‘Only because you’re being such an idiot I simply can’t bear to watch it any more. I’ve got better things to do with my time you know,’ she continued. ‘I’ll have a large skinny latte by the way.’
‘Cake?’
‘Do I look like I need cake?’
‘Yes, you do actually,’ said Matt who was a big believer in its calming effects on irate women.
‘All right then,’ she muttered. ‘If you’re having some.’
By the time Matt returned with the coffee and two large chocolate brownies, Nessa had taken some deep breaths and overcome at least some of the fury which had been rising in her since she’d extracted Matt’s mobile number from Gerald and texted him a summons.
She gave Matt a beady look. He was calm, she granted him that, but she reckoned he would emanate calm in front of a firing squad so that meant nothing.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ she accused.
‘Just as well we’re eating cake then,’ agreed Matt equably.
‘I’m not here for my health, you know.’
‘Nor am I.’
‘I just want you and Emily to get over yourselves and stop making each other so desperately unhappy.’
For the first time, Matt’s composure cracked. ‘I wish …’ he said and then stopped, a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘How is she?’
‘Bloody awful,’ said Nessa, tersely.
He bowed his head.
‘I suppose you’ve heard she and Ralph have split up,’ she added.
‘Of course,’ replied Matt. ‘At least, I have my sources and there’s no mistaking the subtext in the material coming out of the press office over the last couple of weeks …’
‘And you’ve contacted her?’
‘No.’
‘I bloody know you haven’t,’ interrupted Nessa, furious again. ‘She and Ralph finally do the sensible thing, you’re free, Emily’s free, what on earth is the problem?’
‘Well, if you know I haven’t contacted Emily I expect you also know she’s made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want me to,’ said Matt, irritation creeping into his voice.
‘I know nothing of the sort …’
‘You surprise me,’ retorted Matt. ‘You seem to know a mighty large amount about everything else.’ He glared at her, but Nessa, satisfied she had him where she wanted him at last, just waited for him to continue.
‘Look,’ he said with heavy patience, ‘I am relieved she has had the courage to get herself out of that charade of a marriage. I’m happy for her. Truly. The reason I am so happy is because I love her and – yes – of course we all want the best for the people we love,’ he indicated Nessa with a nod. ‘Sadly,’ he continued, ‘my love for Emily is not reciprocated. I believe once it was,’ he paused, and placed his hands flat on the table. ‘I do believe she loved me once, but … I … did some things which I regret. There was,’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘“damage” to her perceptions of
me. A future with Emily is simply not to be. Her choice, not mine.’
Nessa’s eyes softened. ‘Okay, sunshine,’ she said more gently, ‘I think you’d better tell me how you’ve come to that idiotic conclusion so we can sort this mess out once and for all …’
Over the following weeks Emily felt fragile but relieved, as though she – like Alfie – was recuperating from a serious illness. She contented herself with the day to day tasks of putting food on the table at regular intervals and keeping the washing basket from overflowing. The domestic chores had a soothing regularity and she clung to them like a life-raft of sanity.
She was vaguely aware of the delicately worded press campaign which was being managed assiduously in the background. Far from the proactive information management of recent months, the strategy, as she understood it, was for Gerald’s office to bounce back any enquiries about Ralph’s domestic life with platitudes whilst simultaneously promoting his career successes and sneaking Susie into the picture, first as an indispensable aide and gradually, as someone with a more fundamental connection to the PM. This, he maintained, would build Ralph’s perceived success in preparation for the slow realisation amongst the public that the marriage was over and that Susie had shuffled sideways into the limelight in her place. Hopefully it would be so slow and without incident that there would be no front page splash moment where all was revealed. In the meantime, Emily was relieved that the strategy called for her to contribute nothing but simply to disappear into the Sussex backwater, invisible, and waiting to launch her new life like a moth from a chrysalis.
Undoing the mammoth task of moving to London seemed easy in comparison with setting it up. Emily had a tense meeting with the head teacher of the local school again and was amused that the woman was almost entirely unable to hide her smug pleasure that she would have the PM’s children after all, although she did her very best to suggest to Emily that the whole issue was hugely inconvenient.
Emily was in no hurry to have the original contents of the house moved back from London, relishing instead the minimalism and calming lack of clutter, although the children had been quick to insist that their own piles of junk be lovingly packed and transported back to their Sussex bedrooms. She was relieved at this. It meant their visits to see their father were very clearly in the ‘staying away from home’ category.
She was also grateful that Ralph made a huge effort to ensure he had time to spend with them both. In fact, they were spending more quality time with him now than they had in years.
No-one mentioned Susie.
Despite the calm of the domestic routine, Emily was still grateful for the effect of the anti-depressants. Mostly the numbness they induced meant that she could think about Matt’s betrayal – his second, albeit ten years after the first – at an emotional distance. She did find herself wrestling with the way he had jumped into bed with Susie so very soon after repeatedly declaring his love for her. Was it for some devious journalistic advantage? If it was, there was no sign that he had taken it. No, the whole thing made no sense in the context of his other behaviour over the previous few months. It had to have been a deliberate betrayal. She agonised, night after night, replaying every conversation, every gesture for alternative interpretations.
No, it was deliberate betrayal, she repeatedly concluded. Why else had he failed completely to get in contact with her? She had not seen him since the night before the poll, when he took Alfie to hospital and proposed to her again. Weeks later, she had seen him for the very last time in the window of Susie’s flat. The damage was absolute, but Emily couldn’t let it go. There was something missing and if only she could tell what it was, she felt she must surely be able to find some peace and move on.
Matt had been impressed and amused by Nessa. He admired her loyalty and her persistence and – even though he couldn’t be persuaded by her arguments – he was pleased Emily had a loyal friend like Nessa in her life. Without Ralph and the entourage that went with him, he worried that Emily would find herself increasingly isolated. For the millionth time, he wished she would let him do more than worry from afar.
Not having anything else in his social diary, he took little persuading to meet photographer Kevin and his journalist mate, Simon, for a beer.
‘So, it’s the biggest scoop I’ve ever had,’ explained Simon. ‘They’re good lads basically. We were at school together. I knew perfectly well they’d been sent off for Jihadi training last year, although of course they had to deny it. Now they’ve been told to go back out and they’re prepared to take me and Kev along with them. No journalist has ever had this kind of access to the radicalisation process before. It’s gold dust.’
Matt nodded, impressed. ‘So, why are you telling me?’
‘His missus won’t let him go,’ explained Kevin.
Simon nodded, regretfully. ‘It’s the kids. She’s gone a bit funny since we had the last one. Post-natal depression. She needs me here really so I’ve had to rein back on the warzone stuff. Mind you, I need to keep getting the commissions too. It’s not easy being freelance when you’re just starting out and staff jobs are hard to come by …’
Matt nodded.
‘Will you do it?’
He nodded again.
‘I’d better get back home,’ said Simon, looking at his watch. ‘I said I’d take the kids to the park to give her a break … You’re a lucky bastard,’ he added.
‘You’re the lucky one,’ said Matt.
Matt’s editor took a different view.
‘You’re a bloody idiot,’ he announced when Matt told him he would be overseas and, most likely, out of touch for a few months.
‘Why the hell can’t you just settle for the cushy political commentator number like normal people your age?’ he asked, peevishly. ‘Get up late, have lunch with a sycophantic spin doctor, destroy some minister’s career by pointing out what a lowlife he is and still make it home in time to put the kids to bed? Why not just have that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Matt, honestly.
‘Instead, you’re going to travel out to the arse end of nowhere with a rabble of psychotic losers who fancy themselves as Muslim warriors because they’ve been spending too much time playing violent computer games and watching nutters ranting about the infidel on YouTube …’ he trailed off. ‘They’ll probably kidnap you and demand a ransom for God’s sake. I don’t employ you to get abducted and murdered by a bunch of religious zealots.’
‘You don’t,’ agreed Matt. ‘Actually you don’t employ me at all. I’m freelance.’
‘Really?’ said Mike. ‘I was wondering why you weren’t giving me any notice … Anyway, like I said, if you get yourself kidnapped you’re on your own. Doesn’t matter how many weeping women turn up begging us to pay.’
‘No weeping women,’ promised Matt.
‘Thank God,’ said Mike, who had a morbid fear of crying females. ‘Although I’ve got no idea who I’m going to get to cover for you.’
Matt reached into his top pocket for the business card Simon had given him and handed it over. ‘Try this guy,’ he said. ‘He could do with the work.’
‘Is he cheap?’
‘Probably,’ replied Matt, on his way out of the office.
‘Come back in one piece,’ said Mike to the closed door.
Just hours later, Matt was packed and ready to go. He chucked the multi-way adapter into the laptop case and zipped it with finality. He and Kevin weren’t scheduled to fly out until the morning. To pass the time in the interim, they had a date with much alcohol, a large curry and – most likely – a shared bottle of whiskey to see them through the early hours. Where they were going there would be no alcohol. It would be their last drink for months – possibly forever.
‘Well?’ said Nessa interrogatively, as she stirred her coffee.
‘Well what?’ responded Emily.
‘Well, what are you going to do next?’
‘I rather thought I might finish my coffee, possibly have another slice of
toast and then the whole panoramic vista of the day stretches ahead of me, with such exciting treats in store as getting dressed, putting a load of washing on, ordering the groceries – actually perhaps not all of the above. It’s probably not good to have too much excitement in one day …’
It was the bleakest part of winter, with Christmas gone and the first bank holiday several months away. Emily wondered about telling Nessa that January was the month with the highest incidence of suicides. Then she thought better of it. Nessa was pretty sensitive about Emily’s mental state and might take it as a veiled cry for help or something silly.
‘I mean,’ said Nessa heavily, ‘what on earth are you going to do about Matt, you silly girl? I’m quite out of patience with you now, sitting on your bum wallowing in your misery when you need to be sorting out your love life.’
‘How do you know about Matt?’ said Emily, astonished. She knew for a fact she and Nessa had never discussed him before. She hadn’t even met Nessa when she and Matt were together the first time round.
‘Mainly, darling, I’m not an idiot,’ snapped Nessa.
Emily blinked. She had never seen Nessa so uncompromising and stern. Usually she could count on her for gentle moral support and encouragement, not this right royal telling off. ‘I wouldn’t dare suggest you were,’ she said seriously, ‘but I thought Matt was a bit of a secret, that’s all.’
‘Not now, darling, and you seem to be the only person denying it.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said Emily, who genuinely didn’t.
‘I didn’t press you to identify him when we talked before, but since then you seem to be completely ignoring the man’s confession of undying love in the national press and I, for one, would like to know why, given that you and Ralph have managed to perfectly legitimately disentangle yourselves from one another.’
‘We’re not divorced yet,’ said Emily, ‘but if Matt has been writing me love letters for the world to see I’m blowed if I’ve had them.’
‘The article!’ exclaimed Nessa, nearly tearing her hair in frustration. Emily had never seen her so exasperated.
Never Marry a Politician Page 22