by Niamh Greene
19 April
Mum and Dad are talking again but only because Joe told them last night that he has given up work to follow his dream and I am now the sole breadwinner.
‘I knew you’d understand,’ he said, as they sat open-mouthed at the kitchen table.
‘Why would we understand?’ Dad said, looking dark and murderous.
‘Because you’re following your dream by relocating to Portugal, of course.’
‘We did that when we hit our sixties!’ Dad roared, sending the dog cowering under the table. ‘We spent most of our adult lives in complete misery!’
‘What do you think, Susie?’ Mum asked.
‘Susie is being very supportive,’ Joe said, before I had a chance to answer.
‘Yes.’ I smiled weakly, wondering if the Pinot Grigio was all gone. ‘I’m being very supportive.’
‘Supportive my arse!’ Dad bellowed. ‘How are you going to live?’
‘Susie has an excellent salary,’ Joe told him, ‘and my cookery course will equip me with the skills I need to make a successful business. In five or ten years I’ll probably be turning a profit.’
Felt instantly sick. Tried to hide behind the wine bottle but only succeeded in tipping most of it over my beige linen skirt. Luckily, this distracted everyone from the crisis that is patently at hand.
20 April
Mum and Dad have gone back. Am quite glad – felt so stressed by keeping up façade of devil-may-care that have developed worrying eye tic.
‘This is utter madness, Susie,’ Dad said, hugging me when I dropped them off at Departures, my eye pulsating madly. ‘If you need money let me know.’
Was tempted to ask him to slip me a few thousand euro if he had it handy but tried to look brave instead.
21 April
Have had a terrible shock. My only consolation is that Mum and Dad were not here to witness it. Was leafing through the newspaper when was stopped dead in my tracks by a small photo in the book-review section. I couldn’t mistake the intense eyes staring back at me. It was Lone Father, his chin resting on his hand and his eyelids drooping sexily. Recognized the pose instantly – I’d drooled over it so many times at the mother-and-toddler group last year.
‘Saucy New Writer Takes Book World By Storm!’ the headline screamed. The article read: ‘This sensational début novel is set to be an instant bestseller. The story of a passionate secret relationship between the main character, who is married, and his lover, a dowdy housewife with hidden depths, is based on real events. Be warned – the graphic sex scenes are explosive!’
I quickly shoved the review into the kitchen bin before Joe could see. Am gripped by fear. Surely he can’t be talking about me?
22 April
Have been struck down by another mystery illness. Feel it could be connected in some way with the terrible shock of seeing Lone Father and his come-to-bed eyes in the paper. Spent the morning feeling fluey and miserable at work, battling my way through dozens of letters that Elaine fired across the partition every five minutes. Suspect she is rallying the general public to write to me. In fact, she may be writing most of them herself – some of the handwriting is eerily similar.
Limped home exhausted and found Joe studying textbooks at the kitchen table while Danni and the children watched MTV in the living room. Took him to task that Katie and Jack were watching half-naked girls cavort across the screen but he just nodded and proceeded to ignore me. He is so happy with his cookery course that he’s in a world of his own, these days. Which is probably a good thing. Not sure our marriage would survive if he knew that Lone Father’s tell-all fictionalized autobiography was in the offing.
23 April
Felt sick and dizzy this morning. Think the stress of hiding my deceit from Joe is getting to me – I might start having terrifying panic-attacks (apparently lots of celebs get them so I’ll be in very good company). Called Elaine to say I was practically dying and would not be going into work.
‘I’m sure you are sick,’ she sneered. ‘Got anything to do with your darling friend Angelica, has it?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Try looking at the front page of the Gazette, you fool,’ she snapped, and slammed the phone down.
I stumbled downstairs to get the paper. There, on the front page, was a grainy black-and-white photograph of Angelica, her arms wrapped round a man who looked nothing like her A-list husband.
‘Is Angelica Playing Away From Home?’ the headline asked. The piece went on to say that she had allegedly been using a secret country retreat for illicit liaisons with a mystery man, thought to be her personal trainer. ‘James and Angelica have had their problems,’ a close personal friend was quoted as saying, ‘but this could be the final straw. James has such a fiery temper that he might throw her out and start a custody battle for their only child, Brandon (5).’
There was a tiny photo of Brandon coming out of school, his face blurred out.
I stumbled back to bed to let it all sink in: Angelica had not been using our country house to rebuild her relationship with her husband but to get up to all sorts of sexual antics with her Adonis trainer and God knows who else. She had been lying to me for months. I immediately called her to ask what was going on, but there was no reply so I rang Louise.
‘I never liked her,’ she said.
‘But you’ve never even met her,’ I replied.
‘Yes, but I have a sixth sense for this sort of thing. I always felt she was taking advantage of you and now it turns out she was using your country house for sordid liaisons – it’s all very tacky.’
‘Don’t you think it might be a complete fabrication, though? The paparazzi are always making things up to fill column inches. Sure they have poor TomKat driven demented.’ I really didn’t want to believe the worst.
‘I guess so,’ she said, not sounding convinced. ‘But something’s up – or she would have called you, surely.’
Hung up, confused. There must be an explanation. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason why Angelica seems to have her tongue rammed down her trainer’s throat in the photo – all she has to do is call and tell me what it is.
PS Just in case, I hid the paper from Joe – am sure he would recognize the overgrown garden as ours and that could lead to all sorts of problems: such as me having to explain what they were doing there in the first place.
PPS Just thought – there might be a steamy sex tape of Angelica and her lover on the Internet already, which means our house really will be infamous. Wonder if that would triple its value overnight.
24 April
Went back to work. Elaine spent the day smirking across the partition at me and making whispered comments about common tarts sticking together.
Then Louise called. ‘Any news?’ she asked. ‘Has that slut called you yet?’
‘Em, not yet,’ I said, trying to be circumspect in case Elaine was listening, ‘but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Anyway, I need a model for my breastfeeding-range catalogue,’ she said. ‘I was wondering if you’d do it.’
‘I’m not breastfeeding, though, Louise,’ I said, wondering if she’d lost the plot and if being voted Yummiest Corporate Mummy of the Year had unhinged her.
‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll just shove a baby into your arms – your boobs are big enough to make do.’
Was quite chuffed she thought I was attractive enough to be a catalogue model (and she was right: my boobs are quite perky again) and was fantasizing about getting an enormous pay cheque when she unwittingly dealt a lethal blow to my already nil self-confidence.
‘Of course, I can’t afford to pay you but I’ll give you some samples. Oh, and by the way, we’ll shoot you from the side so don’t worry about your face, OK?’
25 April
Discovered letter from the library under the doormat. Suspect it may have been there for quite some time (at least a month, according to the postmark). It says if I
don’t return the Postman Pat book which Jack borrowed three months ago, they’re going to take legal action. Spent an hour searching for the book everywhere I could think of – even in the hot press where Jack likes to hide assorted stuff – to no avail. Have reconciled myself to spending time behind bars. On the up-side, I may be entitled to free legal aid.
Called random legal firm from the Yellow Pages to see if I have to declare bankruptcy before I can get free representation. Horrible, condescending man told me to stop time-wasting – they were only interested in genuine cases that would make them serious amounts of money.
‘So what you’re saying is that I have to be the victim of some serious and dreadful crime before you’re willing to represent me?’ I said.
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ the lawyer replied. ‘That or a crippling accident. Call me back if you fall off a ladder at work.’
Have decided to try to engineer some sort of serious workplace mishap – something that would make me temporarily immobile would be perfect.
Am looking on the bright side: at least things can’t get any worse.
26 April
Sunday papers full of sleazy allegations about Angelica’s personal trainer. Pages 22–6 of the Gazette were entirely devoted to his voracious sexual appetite and habit of dressing up like Zorro in the bedroom. There were dozens of quotes from ex-girlfriends, all of whom claim he is a passionate tiger in bed.
One, who looked like her massive breasts were trying to escape from her satin top, said, ‘It’s no wonder Angelica fell for him. His mask and boots were soooo sexy, and when he speaks with a lisp it drives me crazy.’ Then she went on to explain that she had met him at the local gym where he used to work and that pelvic-floor exercises had been his speciality.
Tried calling Angelica again to discuss the implications of these allegations but still no reply. I am trying hard to believe that this is all a misunderstanding, but the evidence is starting to stack up. A man who can work wonders with a sagging pelvic floor could be hard to resist.
27 April
My world is falling apart. Lone Father is going to be a guest on Chat with Dee and Fran, which means he will get lots of publicity and his book may actually sell a few copies. Or, worse, become an instant bestseller.
‘Look at this hunk of spunk!’ Elaine squealed excitedly this morning, waving his promotional photo over the partition. ‘I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crisps – do you know what I mean?’
I felt all the colour drain from my face as she explained that he’d be coming in on Friday to discuss steamy details from his début novel and explain why he cannot under any circumstances reveal the identity of his secret married lover.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, when she’d finished. ‘You look a bit funny.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I just haven’t had any chocolate yet today and I need my fix.’
‘Well, get me a Mars Bar when you go,’ she ordered, immediately losing interest in me and swooning over Lone Father again. ‘I need to keep my energy up if I’m going to seduce this hottie!’
Spent all day figuring out how to stop Lone Father appearing on afternoon TV and revealing the sordid details of his secret love trysts with me. Wonder if I could hire a hitman to inflict bodily harm on him – nothing too serious, just a few broken limbs to make sure he misses his slot.
Asked Danni if she knew anyone who could help and now she isn’t speaking to me. ‘I don’t believe you ask thees of me, Susie,’ she snapped, when I suggested that maybe one of her Sicilian mob connections could do me a favour at short notice. ‘I come to Ireland to escape my family’s heritage. You have wounded my sensibilities.’
Joe wants to know why Danni is slamming things about so violently. Told him her period is due to keep him off the scent.
PS Am taking comfort in the fact that Lone Father has vowed never to reveal his married lover’s name. Maybe I will be able to remain anonymous. Also, at the rate my abnormal weight gain is going, I’ll soon be unrecognizable anyway, even to close friends and family.
28 April
Office is abuzz with excitement because Lone Father is due in tomorrow to tape his segment for the show. Elaine persuaded everyone to throw their names into a hat for the chance to sneak on set and watch. ‘Only one person can go,’ she barked, ‘and it’d better be me!’ Then she laughed, throwing her head back and showing off her unnaturally large Adam’s apple.
‘Have you got your name in, Susie?’ someone said, as I hid behind my partition and buried my head in a mound of complaint letters.
‘No, thanks,’ I answered, trying not to throw up. ‘He’s really not my cup of tea.’
‘Not your cup of tea?’ Elaine screeched. ‘I think that should be the other way round, don’t you? Let’s face it, Susie, he’s way out of your league. I’ll put your name in for you – even if you have no chance.’
She scribbled my name on a scrap of paper and threw it in and I watched, horrified, as it was drawn from the hat and people crowded round me to congratulate me on my good fortune. I had won the chance to watch Lone Father reveal all on air.
Katie gave me a special kiss when I came home. ‘I love you more than Danni, Mummy,’ she whispered in my ear, when she met me at the door.
‘Thank you, darling,’ I said, trying to hold back tears of gratitude. I was filled with wonder at the special unbreakable bond between mother and daughter. It was as if she knew I needed encouragement to keep going and had reached deep inside to try to comfort me.
‘Yeah, her bum’s much bigger than yours,’ she said, ‘and yours is GINORMOUS.’
Then she planted another kiss on my cheek and scampered off.
PS News everywhere that Angelica has gone into hiding – possibly in rural Wales. The reports say that there have been unconfirmed sightings of her wearing a zip-up fleece and drinking tea from a chipped builder’s mug in a village café so it can’t possibly be true. Not unless she’s had some sort of breakdown. I know for a fact she wouldn’t touch a fleece with a bargepole and only ever drinks skinny decaffs.
29 April
Spent the morning considering faking my own death to avoid seeing Lone Father. Then I tried to persuade Elaine to go in my place. ‘I’m not feeling too good, Elaine,’ I said. ‘You’d like to go, wouldn’t you?’
She assessed me through slitted eyes. ‘Why would you want me to go?’ she asked, instantly suspicious.
‘You think he’s hot,’ I said, ‘and I’m snowed under.’
‘You’ve never done me a favour before,’ she railed. ‘Why start now?’
‘It’s not a favour, really,’ I back-pedalled. ‘I just don’t want to go.’
‘Well, you’ll have to,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve already committed to another morning meeting. We’re not all consumed with lusting after celebs, you know – some of us actually do some work around here.’
Crept down to watch the taping so as not to arouse her suspicions even more and stood hiding in the set wings, trying not to draw attention to myself. Then I saw him. He strolled in, deep in conversation with his agent. His lover/ muse Marita was trailing behind them, carrying a tote bag and looking tired. They were closely followed by Dee and Fran and their entourage.
I stood shaking against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched him chat suavely with everyone, running his hands through his hair when he made a point, just as he used to do at the mother-and-toddler group. Then he excused himself, saying he had to go to the gents’, and strode purposefully in my direction, a frown of concentration etched on his forehead. In a panic, I fell to my knee and pretended to fiddle with my laces so he wouldn’t spot me, but it was too late.
‘Susie,’ he said, stopping in front of me as I studied the floor and pretended it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Nothing.’ I cursed his unnatural ability to make me quake at the knees. ‘I’m not stalking you or anything. I work here now.’
> ‘Really? That’s interesting.’ His eyes roved across my face and down to my chest area, which was heaving inexplicably. ‘Have you read the book?’
‘No, and I don’t intend to.’ I was furious his presence made me feel so out of control.
‘Why? You know it’s about you.’ He whispered the last bit, leaning forward to brush the hair from my eyes. ‘I’ve missed you, Susie,’ he said softly, his breath hot on my cheek.
‘Well, I haven’t missed you.’ I hoped my heart wasn’t going to explode. ‘You’re a sleaze and if you tell anyone it’s me you’ve been writing about I’ll sue you for every penny you have.’
‘Feisty, feisty,’ he purred. ‘I always did love that about you.’ Then he pushed open the door to the gents’ and disappeared inside.
Turned on my heel, enraged, and bumped straight into Elaine, who was standing directly behind me.
‘Well, well, well.’ She smirked. ‘I knew something was up, but even I couldn’t have imagined this little scenario.’
30 April
My life as I know it is over. Spent yesterday afternoon begging Elaine not to tell anyone that I am the mystery lover in Lone Father’s new book.
‘Why should I keep that little nugget of information to myself?’ She was examining her chipped nail polish under the fluorescent lights. ‘A lot of people would love to know all about it.’
‘He’s lying,’ I said, and quickly changed tack. ‘All the sex bits are made up. We never had sex. We were just friends. I’m a pawn in his sick little publicity game.’
‘Now, Susie,’ she tutted, shaking her head, ‘you’re forgetting that I was witness to the chemistry between you. The air was thick with sexual tension. Sparks were flying. Don’t try telling me that nothing ever happened… But I may be willing to forget about it.’