The Girl On the Page

by John Purcell

  Then tattoo boy entered her mind. She didn’t care that she was now his bitch. As soon as she could, she would excuse herself and find him.

  As she crossed the street to join them, she messaged Josh: Do you have the energy?

  Walking around a rubbish skip, she looked up and read the sign above the door Liam had entered – ‘The Manor’.

  ‘Where the fuck are we?’ she asked no one, glancing down the street and vaguely recognising the high street at its end. She followed the others in.

  The woman behind the counter knew Liam, kissed him on the cheek and led them to the back. Amy smiled at the self-conscious grunge of the place. Pure hipster. They were given a corner table and Kovac asked to see the wine list. They had a drinks list, the woman replied. Did they have champagne? Yes. French? All champagne is French. Then bring two bottles on ice.

  While Kovac was negotiating drinks Gail hovered around the table but didn’t sit. Liam studiously ignored her. She walked off to the bathroom. Amy gave Liam a look that said What the fuck have you done?, stood up quickly and followed.

  The bathroom wasn’t large. Black walls, dimly lit. Gail was standing in front of the mirror staring at herself when Amy walked in.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ Amy said rather forcefully.

  ‘I’m tired of it all. He’s so driven, so busy. I never see him. And when I do, he treats me like he treated his mother. I’m someone he loves and cherishes. He’s all cuddles and affection. He buys me gifts. He sends me off to day spas. He organises shopping trips to Paris. But I want to be his lover, not his mother. And he lies to me just as he lied to his mum. And his lies are so transparent.’

  ‘And you’ve said all this to him?’

  ‘In part, but he doesn’t listen to me. The way he talks to you and listens to you, he never does with me. He listens to your advice. He respects what you have to say. He hasn’t heard a word I’ve said for years.’

  ‘But I only talk to him about our work. There’s more to the world than books.’

  ‘Not to him. He can barely keep his eyes open if I talk about my day, or what I’ve been thinking or doing. We’re going to renovate the house, but I can’t get him to sit still and approve the architect’s plans. We’re going to tour South America, as we’ve never been, but when I try to get him to confirm dates, he won’t. The only thing he wants to talk to me about is babies. He’s obsessed with the idea of starting a family. That’s what started all of this. He thought we were trying for a baby, he thought we’d agreed, but I hadn’t agreed. He never listens to me. He ignored my concerns. He’s ready, so I must be. Then he found my pill. I hadn’t been hiding it. It was in my bedside table drawer. He was so angry. So upset.’

  ‘Do you want a family?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Not yet!’

  ‘Same. I’m in my early thirties; I have plenty of time for all that. I’m still hot, aren’t I?’ said Gail, glancing at herself in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman who always dressed well and as a former beautician knew how to accentuate her qualities. She had put on weight in the last few years but no one could say she wasn’t attractive. Amy thought the weight suited her.

  ‘I’d fuck you.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but he’s marked me out as the mother of his children. I don’t want that role. I certainly don’t want to get stuck down in Surrey raising kids while he’s living it up in London and New York fucking everything in a skirt.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Of course I fucking do!’ There was real fire in her eyes. ‘And he loves me. You should have seen his face when I told him I was leaving. He was distraught. He loves me and only me. I’m certain of it. But right now I’d rather not be loved by him. I’d much rather be his lover than his wife. I’d rather be you, Amy.’

  ‘Why me?’ asked Amy, her heart missing a beat.

  ‘Because you get his respect and his cock.’

  Amy blanched. Her mouth went dry.

  ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t mess with what you have. Without you, where would we be?’

  ‘But . . .’ Amy’s mind was racing to find a neat exit.

  ‘I’ve always known. A wife knows. The man is a terrible liar. You’re good. I’d never have known if you were my only source of information. You can lie to my face without a trace of it anywhere. You amaze me. Totally amoral. But he can’t. He gave you away in the first few days. For a time he was infatuated with you. He was like a teenager. I knew something was wrong because he was fucking me all the time. Like when we were young. But watching you together, I realised you didn’t love him. That was important. You were all business. You knew how to get the best out of him and you milked it, literally.’

  Amy felt the full force of Gail’s assessment of her. Totally amoral, she’d said. Amy’s hasty attempts to rationalise her behaviour stalled. All exits vanished. This was Liam’s wife speaking. Flesh and blood. Not some idea of her. The pain visible now on Gail’s face had been there all along, if only Amy had bothered to notice.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gail,’ she said, resting her hands on the bench and looking at Gail’s reflection in the mirror. She felt nauseous. The shame she had felt all those years ago with Max, the shame she had tried to drown in being shameless, returned.

  Gail held her gaze for a moment. She resented the note of understanding in Amy’s tone.

  ‘There’s no sorry for what you’ve done,’ said Gail. ‘Back then I hated you. I might have stabbed you. You were always so beautiful, so privileged, so smart, so friendly, so white. But I’m done with all that. I am. I’ve had years to get used to you and Liam. It’s just business. You’re collaborators. Without him, you’re nothing and without you, he’s nothing. Of course he was going to fuck you. And you him. He’s gorgeous and brilliant, like you. And the money you two have made. It’s extraordinary. Growing up we never dreamed of having so much money.’ Gail was repeating the story she had told herself every day. The story that kept her upright. ‘But he loves me. Always has and always will. I’m under his skin. I’m home to him. The only one he has. But I won’t be the fat cow looking after the fucking kids. I won’t.’

  There were tears in Gail’s eyes, but none fell.

  ‘I’ve caught you by surprise,’ said Gail, touching Amy’s arm maternally.

  Amy took a deep breath but said nothing. She stood up straight again and caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked as stunned as she felt.

  A young woman entered the small bathroom. She stopped dead on finding Gail and Amy deep in conversation. Then, seeing the empty stall, entered and closed the door.

  Gail leant close to Amy’s ear and whispered, ‘You must have known this would happen. One day. You must have.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ This was all too real for her. She was for flight. She had no fight in her. To fight would be to acknowledge the wrong she had done Gail. To own up to it fully. But she wasn’t that strong. She just wanted to say the words Gail wanted to hear so she could get out of this night in one piece.

  Gail’s voice was trembling when she next spoke. ‘I didn’t mean to say anything tonight. I promised myself I never would. This isn’t about . . .’ Her voice failed her. She paused to breathe in deeply. ‘I’m not jealous anymore. I’m not.’

  Amy wanted so much to believe this. She took Gail’s hand in her own.

  The loo flushed and the woman left as quickly as she had come, making no attempt to get to the sink to wash her hands.

  ‘The strange thing is,’ Gail continued, having recovered herself slightly, ‘even though you’re fucking my husband, you’re one of my closest friends. Really. You shouldn’t be, but you are. I admire you. What you’ve achieved. And I trust you more than almost anyone. Even now. Can you believe that?’

  Amy dropped Gail’s hand and turned her face away. These words stung. She had only ever played at friendship with Gail, in order to mask her deceit. She liked her, but had never considered her a friend.

  How ugl
y everything is, Amy thought. How ugly I am.

  ‘I just wish . . .’ started Gail, before being unable to speak. She caught her breath and tried to hold back the tears, but they fell regardless.

  Amy took her hand again. She felt useless.

  ‘This isn’t about you, Amy. It isn’t. I promise,’ Gail said, losing her fight and sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I don’t hate you,’ she said, between breaths. ‘But it’s hard. I want his children, I do, but I want him to be true to me. I love him so much it hurts. I said to him . . . I said . . . Be true and I will have your babies. Be true.’

  Gail was overcome and turned away.

  Amy walked around and, kissing her wet cheek, hugged her tightly.

  How could it not be about me? Amy thought. I’m the one fucking her husband. Of course it’s about me. I’m a fucking bitch. A fucking bitch.

  *

  When they returned to the table, Liam and Kovac welcomed them back as though they had been gone a few minutes. But the table told another story. The men had ordered a selection of starters and had demolished most of them.

  Amy went to sit beside Liam, but Gail touched her arm gently. As soon as Gail sat down, Liam put his arm around her. Amy poured Gail and herself champagne. They held each other’s gaze as they downed their glass in one. They followed it with another.

  Amy noticed that Gail’s hand was shaking slightly, then noticed the tremor in her own. How many nights had Amy shared with Gail like this assuming her secret was safe? How much pain had she inflicted on her? Day after day, night after night? Liam out with his wife and lover. It was awful. Everything was awful.

  Now she was exposed, the future was a blur. She couldn’t see how the night would end.

  ‘I’m so happy to be sitting with two of London’s most beautiful women,’ said Kovac, in a good-humoured attempt to resurrect the night. Amy wanted to stab him.

  Gail smiled politely, but all light had gone out of her eyes.

  ‘I read your script, Mr Kovac,’ said Amy, in a bid to lead the conversation away from the rocks.

  ‘Call me Goran.’

  ‘I read your script, Goran. It’s good. I’m impressed,’ she lied.

  Kovac couldn’t hide his pleasure. He clapped his hands.

  ‘I am so pleased. I am such a fan of the novels. I have read them all a number of times now. Jack, I mean Liam, was just telling me about the one you’re both writing now.’

  ‘I’m writing. Amy is my editor.’

  ‘Right,’ said Kovac, glancing at Liam and turning back to Amy who sat beside him. ‘It sounds complicated.’

  ‘We’re having difficulty with it,’ said Amy, ‘It’s unusual for Mark Harden to be in love. He’s such a loner. We haven’t really tried romantic elements in the past. Sex, of course, always a bit of sex to break up the endless fighting. But no love.’

  ‘We consciously avoided it until now,’ said Liam. ‘I never liked it when James Bond fell in love. Love weakens a hero. Makes him vulnerable. He shouldn’t be vulnerable.’

  ‘But the story led Liam there. Mark Harden sometimes does his own thing. We’re just spectators,’ Amy heard herself saying, making it up as she went. She was always in control.

  ‘Goran was just extolling the virtues of HBO. He’s convinced that if they pick up the series it will be done right.’

  ‘The violence of the books must be converted to screen as is,’ said Kovac, passionately. ‘No censorship. The sex as it is – raw, brutal and erotic. It has to be unadulterated Jack Cade.’

  ‘It’s what viewers expect these days,’ said Liam.

  ‘How tame does Game of Thrones look now?’ asked Kovac. ‘We have become immune to its sex and violence. It looks like a cartoon now. But how shocking was the red wedding when it aired? We need Mark Harden to be grittier and more realistic than True Detective, more perverse than Hannibal, more erotic than Versailles. Have you seen Bosch?’

  ‘Books are always better than the film or series. It’s a fact,’ said Amy, reaching out under the table and taking Gail’s hand.

  ‘Doesn’t have to be so,’ said Liam. ‘Goran was thinking of doing an eight-part series for each novel. Be true to the books. As far as is possible.’

  Amy smiled indulgently. Liam was kidding himself. Their novels didn’t have enough to them for an eight-part series.

  ‘Did you see what they did to Jack Reacher?’ asked Goran. ‘Not just the Tom Cruise thing. But the story. Lee Child had the story – why not start with Killing Floor? Millions of people had loved that book. Why not make a film of Killing Floor instead of taking elements from a few books?’

  So the night filled up with words. A couple of hours went by. Food came and went, bottles were opened and emptied. Gail sat silent throughout. When at last it was time to go, Liam paid and then led the way out to the car, his arm around Gail’s waist.

  Liam was too drunk to drive, but hopped into the driver’s seat, anyway. They were only going to the flat, not back to Surrey.

  Gail hugged Amy, holding her a little tighter and longer than she would normally.

  Amy felt compelled to say something. She had done so much damage to this woman over the years. When Gail ended the hug, Amy took her hand and whispered a promise into her ear. Gail replied by kissing her then opened the door and sat in the passenger seat beside Liam.

  Kovac, seeing an opportunity, grabbed Amy and gave her a bear hug. With some difficulty she managed to force him into the car. He had wanted to see Amy home, but she was having none of that. She was getting an Uber.

  Josh hadn’t replied to her message. But she would go past his place anyway. It was only midnight. The Aston roared off. She was alone in the street. She had drunk a lot as the men talked and talked. She felt unsteady on her feet. She was looking forward to being manhandled by Josh. Her phone told her the driver was only a few streets away, but it was cold, so she stood rubbing her arms. Her feet were frozen.

  The Uber arrived. Fifteen minutes later she was standing outside Josh’s place. Her confidence had plummeted in the back seat of the car. He hadn’t answered her original message, so she’d messaged again. No answer. She made the Uber wait. She buzzed repeatedly. Again she could hear the buzzer in Josh’s room from the street. She took a few steps back and looked up. His lights were on.

  She buzzed again. And again. She was getting annoyed.

  Finally a woman answered, ‘Go away. He’s not here.’

  In the Uber on her way back to Helen and Malcolm’s place, Amy stared out at the passing streets. Josh’s rejection had sobered her. It reminded her of Max and the tears and the stupor. Josh wasn’t Max. Josh meant nothing. Fuck Josh. She needed a drink. She made the driver stop at an off-licence. She bought a small bottle of vodka and got back in the car. She hated vodka but it warmed her up. It fuelled her anger and her disgust.

  She drank half the bottle. She was grotesque. Gail knew it. Fuck Gail. Liam relied on it. Fuck Liam. Josh was clear about it. Fuck Josh. Both Helen and Malcolm suspected it. Fuck them, too. But it was Max who had first discovered it. The award should go to him. Fucker.

  She messaged Max: Where want to meet? She would see him. She owed it to him. Whatever he wanted she would give him. She read what she had sent. She grimaced. And sent a second: Drunk. :-) Where DO YOU want to meet?

  The car lurched around a corner and Amy’s vision blurred. She felt awful. She was exhausted. Her eyes were heavy. She rested her head against the glass. The movement beyond the window was hypnotic and nauseating.

  ‘We’re here. Hey, we’re here,’ said the driver, reaching around. He had his hand on her knee and was shaking her.

  Amy woke. She’d slumped in the seat. Her dress and coat were lifted. Legs exposed to the hip. The radio was on, the volume down low. ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ was playing. It sounded weird. She sat up.

  The driver’s eyes were gentle. He was speaking softly. ‘Don’t leave anything behind. Have you got everything?’

  She collected her handbag, found her phone
and the bottle then paid the driver. She gave him a big tip. A fifty. He had touched her knee. She could still feel the warmth of his hand. He could have taken her anywhere, done anything to her.

  ‘You’re a nice man,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She took a photo of him with her phone and thanked him again. She was leaning against the car. Unsure if she could walk the ten feet to the door. She slipped off her heels.

  ‘Miss, I have to go.’

  She steered herself towards the steps down to her flat. The Uber drove off. The street was very quiet after the sound of the Uber died away. The soft growl of traffic on a distant motorway the only sound. The pavement was freezing underfoot. Amy negotiated the stairs. Clutching her shoes, phone, bottle and handbag to herself, she gripped the rail tightly with her free hand. The key went in but try as she might she couldn’t get the door open. She shoved it, tried other keys, swore at it. Nothing. She sat on the step and tried to stop her head from spinning. She might have been at the wrong door. That could be it. She picked up her things, stood up and climbed the stairs unsteadily.

  On the pavement she looked at the houses. They all looked identical.

  ‘Amy!’ came a voice in the night. A whispered shout. She spun around. It was coming from the other side of the street. ‘Amy, over here.’

  She walked towards the noise.

  Daniel was standing in the doorway of a house on the opposite side of the street.

  ‘Daniel!’ said Amy, in her normal voice. It sounded very loud.

  ‘Shhh! Come on. What were you doing?’ he asked. He was opening the gate for her.

  ‘Going to bed.’ She passed him and entered Helen and Malcolm’s house.

  ‘That was the wrong house,’ he whispered, closing the door behind them.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We’re standing in the right house.’

  ‘I want to go to bed.’

  ‘I’ll take you down. Have you drunk any water?’

  ‘I don’t like water.’