by Jane Lythell
I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling. It was the lowest I had been for years; lower even than in the build-up to my divorce. My feelings of failure about the breakdown of my marriage then was compounded now by my failure to read a situation properly and the fact that I had exposed myself. The one thing I had hung onto all these years was that I was good at my job and in control at StoryWorld. I had prided myself on my ability to lead a team and to manage the dynamic at work. People think I’m strong but I’m not; I’m weak and afraid. I wondered if I could even go on working at StoryWorld.
I didn’t know it would be so hard to be a lone parent and the main earner or that I would feel so alone. Once I had been a promising and light-hearted student with Fenton and we had a world of infinite possibilities in front of us. Where had it gone? Then the tears came and I curled up in a ball, sobbing with a frightening intensity as if some inner restraining wall had finally been breached. I was swept up in absolute misery at the loss of my hopeful younger self, the death of my father, the end of my marriage and my failure at work. I cried and cried until my throat was sore and my eyes burned and finally I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.
*
I woke around two to the insistent ringing of the landline in the living room. I stumbled out of my room to get it and it was Gerry.
‘Are you all right, darling? Simon said you’re ill.’
‘I’ve been sick.’
My voice came out thin and croaky.
‘Did I wake you up, sweetheart?’
‘I was sleeping, but don’t worry.’
I sat down on a kitchen chair. I was still feeling befuddled from sleep.
‘Will you be in tomorrow?’
‘I think so.’
‘Sounds like you need cheering up. Let’s go out tomorrow night.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Come on, it will do you good. I’ll find us a classic film to watch, maybe at the National Film Theatre. We can go for dinner afterwards.’
‘Maybe that would be nice.’
‘Course it would, darling.’
‘Thanks for calling, Gerry.’
I put the phone down and went back to lying on my bed. I was still in my pyjamas and I hadn’t opened my laptop or looked at a single work email. The crying had worn me out and I lay in a daze. Around three-thirty I heard a key in the lock. It was Janis and I had completely forgotten to tell her I was at home. She was surprised to see me emerge from my bedroom.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I’ve been sick. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, you must let me pay you for today.’
I went to get my wallet.
‘And you remember that Flo is staying with Rosie tomorrow?’ I said.
‘I hadn’t forgotten. See you on Monday and take care of yourself, you look peaky.’
My puffy face and red eyelids could not be ignored. Flo came home shortly afterwards and I tried to behave normally as I made us supper. I will go into work tomorrow and somehow I’ve got to hold it together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chalk Farm flat, 6.45 a.m.
I had a hideous day yesterday but this morning I got up early, determined to pull myself together and put on my work face. I remembered that I was meeting the PR company from Ledley’s food manufacturer. I looked at the outfits hanging in my wardrobe. I was going out with Gerry after work too. I chose a black trouser suit and a bright red shirt to wear under it. I applied my make-up carefully. My eyelids were still slightly swollen. As I took out my lipstick I remembered an article I had once read titled ‘The Healing Power of Lipstick’. I thought it was an inflated claim at the time but actually wearing lipstick does give me a lift.
I tapped on Flo’s door. She was already up and had piled some of her clothes on the bed.
‘I’m off, darling. What time will you be back tomorrow?’
‘Some time in the afternoon, I guess.’
I walked in and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Well, text me when you’re heading back and say hi to Rosie’s mum from me.’
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
As we were going into the morning meeting I overheard Martine saying to Julius that the hospital had called and confirmed that Steven would be coming home that evening. Julius’s face was transformed and he looked happy. I said little at the meeting but as I had been off sick the day before this went unnoticed. I have to find the right moment to make my peace with Julius. And I have to confront Harriet with her lies. But not today; I don’t feel strong enough for either task today.
When I came out Ledley was standing in a huddle with my team watching an angry cat video on Simon’s screen and laughing uproariously. Harriet was there too, back from her course. Ledley had come in to join me for the meeting with the PR team. I stood and waited until the video came to an end. I observed Harriet’s dark knitted dress and her perfectly styled hair. Ever the actor playing a part, I thought; why hadn’t I seen through her before? She turned to me.
‘The law course was good and I learned a lot. Thanks for that,’ she said.
I could barely bring myself to look at her. I gave her a brief nod and spoke to Ziggy.
‘Have our visitors arrived?’
‘Yeah, they’re in reception. Shall I bring them up?’
‘No thanks, we’ll see them downstairs.’
I knew that Harriet was looking at me as we walked away.
‘Are you going to charge them if they want to use the atrium?’ Ledley asked as we walked downstairs.
‘You know I’d love to offer it to them gratis but to be able to do that we need to get something out of it.’
‘Get them to advertise with us,’ he said matter-of-factly.
The two publicists hailed Ledley as a long-lost friend and much air kissing went on between them. He introduced me and then spread his arms wide.
‘It’s a great space, isn’t it?’ he said.
It is impressive when you see the atrium for the first time because of its high glass ceiling and the sweeping staircases on either side. The younger of the two women was like a puppy, immensely enthusiastic and taking lots of photos on her smart phone. The older woman was silver haired but her vocabulary was still rich in superlatives.
‘Oh yes, it’s beyond perfect. I can just see us dressing this as the coolest street party ever. We can have a mega-barbecue along one side.’
She pointed.
‘Awesome idea,’ puppy woman said.
I wondered about the wisdom of creating a summer street party in the middle of winter. But I had been to many a Christmas promotion in July and we could make it work.
‘And the menu ideas from you, of course, Ledley,’ silver woman said.
‘That’s easy. We’ll do chicken legs and wings, barbecue ribs and corn on the cob.’
‘All steeped in Ledley’s marvellous marinade.’
‘And a side dish of my curry potato and some plantain crisps,’ he said.
‘Dude food,’ puppy woman added happily.
‘Let’s have a steel band. They would sound great in here,’ Ledley said.
‘Oh yes, that’s inspired,’ silver woman said.
‘I know a great one; with nine musicians. And Liz says you can have the space for free if you put your ads on StoryWorld.’
‘I’m sure we can look at that,’ silver woman said, looking over at me.
I hadn’t had to say a word.
I went upstairs to my office and it had given me a small lift knowing that I could still get things done because using the atrium had been my idea. I opened my account and there was a pile of emails to work through. I shut the door and got stuck in. All day I toyed with the idea of calling Harriet into my room and confronting her about the screen test. What stopped me was that my rage had not abated in the slightest. I need to detach myself from my emotions in order to talk to her calmly, as a manager should. It would be best to wait till Monday. I kept my door shut all day and the team picked up the message that I did not
want to be disturbed. Not even Simon braved my fortress. He waved to me through the door as he left for the weekend.
I closed my PC down and walked over to my mirror. I was glad now that I had agreed to go out with Gerry and I combed my hair and reapplied lipstick. I was pleased too that Flo was with Rosie.
National Film Theatre, South Bank, 7.15 p.m.
It was a cold raw night but Gerry suggested we walk along the riverside from StoryWorld to the National Film Theatre and I welcomed the chance to be on the move.
‘First things first, how are you feeling?’
‘Better, thanks, and I’m glad to be out. It was a good idea.’
‘Maybe you should look at what you’re eating? You know I’ve lost weight over the last few weeks. I’m sticking to one main meal a day and exercising more.’
‘You look good on it,’ I said, and he did.
We strode along by the river and there was that Friday night feeling in the air. We were glad to get into the warmth of the foyer to queue for our tickets for the screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s Marnie.
‘It was made in 1964, so not quite Golden Age but it’s a cracker,’ he said.
‘I’ve never seen it.’
‘Tippi Hedren is perfect as the icy blonde.’
It was a popular choice and the queue was long. As we waited Gerry told me he had gone to a private show at the White Cube gallery with Amber on Wednesday night. He’s meeting her for a roast on Sunday. She appears to be his new best female friend and that thought made me feel a bit forlorn, as if my role had been usurped.
‘You’re getting out a lot and that’s great,’ I said.
‘I have to get out. I brood when I’m on my own.’
The film was a revelation to me. It opens with Marnie coolly stealing ten thousand dollars from the safe at her workplace. She then changes her identity with ruthless efficiency. You see her in a hotel bedroom packing a complete new wardrobe and washing dark dye out of her hair. She smiles at her reflection in the mirror as her blonde hair is restored. She comes over as super-efficient and super in control with no shade of guilt at what she has done. Here is a woman who has broken all the rules and is prospering in spite of it. Then enter the hero, Mark Rutland, who is attracted to her even though he knows she is a serial thief. There is a lot of talk about him being a hunter who likes to tame wild beasts. He is determined to tame Marnie and he blackmails her into marrying him. Later there’s a tense sex scene where Marnie lies back and endures sex with Mark Rutland and she looks completely blank and cut off.
After the film Gerry asked if I’d be OK with Indian food as he’s now convinced that hot and spicy dishes are what his sluggish constitution needs.
“They do mild dishes but are you sure your poor tum is up to it?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be fine.’
We found an Indian restaurant near Waterloo station with red and gold decor and linen-covered tables. We ordered gin and tonics from the waiter.
‘How hot is your vindaloo?’ Gerry asked him.
‘You like hot food?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘You have to work up to a vindaloo. Maybe a bhuna or a jalfrezi?’
‘How hot is the jalfrezi?’
‘You’ll find it hot, it has chillies in it.’
‘OK, I’ll have the chicken jalfrezi, thank you.’
We ordered a plate of starters to share and I selected two vegetarian dishes as my main.
‘Do you mind if we swerve the poppadums and naans, Liz? If they’re on the table I know I’ll eat them.’
‘Fine by me.’
The starters arrived and we both reached for the onion bhajis.
‘I loved the film but I found the rape scene difficult to watch. I mean, I know sexual dynamics were different then but even so,’ I said.
‘It was controversial even then and Hitchcock was urged to drop it, but he was determined to keep it in.’
‘I suppose a strong authoritative man who rescued a woman from her demons was seen as thrilling?’ I said.
‘He always called the film a Sex Mystery. I read a review written at the time and it described that scene as him “asserting his conjugal rights”.’
‘What a dreadful concept,’ I said.
I’ve sometimes wondered if we could do a film slot with Gerry. He knows so much about cinema and I for one would find it far more interesting than his astrology. I think we watch Gerry more for his attractive personality and his funny asides with Fizzy than for what he says in his forecasts. The waiter brought our main courses. Gerry’s jalfrezi was a hot shade of terracotta red. He looked at it with satisfaction as he tucked a napkin under his chin and asked for a second gin and tonic for us both.
‘Strange thing Amber said to me on Wednesday,’ he said.
I was spooning mattar paneer onto my plate.
‘She hinted that Julius was having difficulty getting it up.’
‘What?’
‘She said there were definite problems in that area, not at the beginning but towards the end of their relationship.’
‘Don’t you think that’s disloyal of her to tell you? Even if it’s true...’
‘But the poor love feels she’s been abandoned by him. She says she wasted three good years on him.’
‘I don’t buy in to that.’
‘Into what?’
‘The idea that you waste time on a relationship,’ I said.
Gerry’s face was starting to glisten with sweat from the hot food. He dabbed at his cheeks and forehead with his napkin.
‘I think I agree with you. However painful it was I wouldn’t wish away my time with Anwar.’
‘Is that good?’
I pointed at his plate.
‘Fiendishly hot and wonderful,’ he said.
It was late when we parted and I got the Tube home. It had been a good evening and I was tempted to get a taxi but there was a direct line from Waterloo to Chalk Farm and I couldn’t justify the expense. The woman sitting opposite me looked grey and exhausted, bundled up in a Puffa coat and wearing stained trainers. I wondered if she was a shift worker on her way home from her labours. Her lids closed and she fell asleep, her head hunched into her coat. I watched her uneasy sleep and it reminded me how privileged I was to have a prestigious well-paid job. We rattled along. Julius would hate that Amber had confided in Gerry, and even more that I had heard the gossip. It had been disloyal of her to share that but now it was colouring my thinking about him, Julius having sexual difficulties. I had assumed he was highly sexed, all part of his lust for power. At Leicester Square a group of young men crowded into the central section of our carriage. They were drunk and shouting some kind of anthem. The weary woman woke up with a start and looked over at the young men with hatred. They were oblivious to her glare. She was invisible to them.
Chalk Farm flat, 1.30 a.m.
I was deeply asleep and my landline had been ringing for a while before I surfaced. I staggered out of bed and grabbed the phone in the living room. It was Flo and she was crying.
‘Mum...’
Her frightened voice jolted me awake.
‘Darling, what is it?’
‘I’m at University College Hospital...’
‘Hospital? Oh my God, you’re hurt!’ Terror surged through me and it felt as if my heart was going to burst. ‘Oh Christ, what happened to you?’
‘Not me. I’m OK, Mum.’
‘You’re OK, what’s happened?’
‘Harriet’s hurt.’
‘Harriet? I don’t understand.’
‘Please don’t be angry.’
‘I won’t be angry. Tell me, darling.’
‘I was at the Cat and Mouse with Paige and this horrible man was leching at me and Harriet came up and...’ She started to cry harder. ‘He punched her, Mum.’
‘What!’
‘He punched her in the face and she fell and she banged her head and it’s all my fault.’ She was crying so hard now that she couldn’t speak.
&nb
sp; I was trying to understand what she was telling me but it was so confusing, so unreal.
‘Is Harriet OK?’
‘The ambulance came. I went in the ambulance with her.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘I don’t know. We’re in A & E. Mum, please come!’
‘I’m coming, darling, I’m coming now.’
I called a taxi, flung on my clothes and was waiting on the pavement as it drew up. Time stretches out when you need to get somewhere and I was willing the driver to go faster, go faster, to run the lights. There was less traffic on the roads at that time and it’s not far from Chalk Farm to the hospital on Euston Road but that journey was an agony of time to endure. I ran through the doors into A & E and saw Flo sitting hunched on a chair watching the entrance doors, her little face a picture of dread. She flew into my arms. She finally surfaced from the longest hug.