by Jane Fallon
"Because they said they'd call me back and my other line's ringing so it must be them."
"I can't hear it."
"Flashing, it's flashing. Ringing's just what you say, isn't it? You'd never say, 'I have to go, my other line's flashing.'"
"Wouldn't you?"
"No, it'd sound stupid, 'My phone's flashing.'"
"If you say so. OK, well, you'd better go, then, don't want to keep the News of the World waiting. Bye, Eleanor."
Oh, shit.
"Bye, I'll call you in a week or so, see how you're getting on."
"Yes, you do that," Leo said without conviction, and put the phone down.
Fuck.
Well, Helen thought, still sitting on the top step, I've well and truly blown that. But then it was well and truly blown anyway, because Sonny wasn't Sonny, handsome young restaurateur with no baggage, he was Leo, son of Matthew, her married boyfriend, and she wasn't Eleanor Whatsherface, PR, she was Helen Williamson, secretary, girlfriend of Leo's married father. So what if Leo had taken offense and probably never wanted to speak to her again? That was for the best. She'd just have to write it off as a meaningless flirtation that never had a chance of going any further. She just wished she hadn't liked him so much. And he hadn't been so good-looking. And funny. And considerate.
She went back to her desk, skipping lunch, and tried to concentrate on coming up with ideas for Laura. Fucking Laura, getting me to do her fucking job for her, she thought.
OK, Sandra Hepburn. Famous for taking her clothes off, would do anything to get in the papers. Literally anything. But it was hard these days to think of anything so extreme that it would guarantee you column inches, because the tabloids were full of young women who had "forgotten" to wear any knickers when they put on their miniskirt and went out and climbed a ladder. Probably the most outrageous stunt Sandra could pull would be to put on a knee-length dress and go to church. Tragedy always sold. If Sandra could pull out a cancerous lump or a dying loved one, that would do it, but Helen had a feeling she'd already sold all of those stories "exclusively" in the past. She could have a liaison. Helen quickly ran through all of Global's male clients to see if any of them was looking for a quick publicity boost. Or one of the women, although the part-time lesbian market had been a bit saturated of late. Come on, Helen said to herself, you're always claiming you have great ideas, where are they? But she couldn't focus on anything except Leo's monotone "Yes, you do that" and the click of the phone cutting off.
She wanted to ring him back and say, "No, you don't understand, I really really really fancy you, but you see, I'm the woman who stole your dad away from your stepmum, so it's all a bit complicated," or "Let's run away together and never tell anyone where we are, especially our families," or even just a pathetic "Can we be friends?", although that would be pointless because, of course, they couldn't.
She jumped as her mobile rang. It had to be him. Maybe he was ringing to say that he knew all about who she really was, but it didn't matter because he was besotted with her anyway, and as soon as she'd resolved the situation with his dad and Sophie, he'd whisk her away for a new life, or even a long weekend. She scrabbled under the papers on her desk to find it. Rachel. Helen decided she couldn't face talking to her friend, so she let it go to answerphone.
"Do you know your phone's ringing?" Jenny said archly from the other side of the office.
"No," said Helen, mobile in hand, mock innocent. "Is it?"
* * *
"Tell me about Leo," she said to Matthew in the car on the way home. His expression clouded.
"What's to tell?" he said miserably. "I know that he despises me for leaving Sophie."
"Why, though?" Helen was genuinely intrigued. "She's not his mother."
"No, but he gets on well with her. When he first met her, he tried to warn her off me, told her I was bound to do the same thing to her as I did to Hannah. And of course, he was proved right. I've barely heard from him in the last few years, mostly I'd hear his news through her."
"You must miss him," Helen said, thinking, I know I do already.
"Every few months he drops in unannounced and stays for dinner."
Helen blanched. "Does he know where you're living now?"
"Oh, yes, I've told him, so, you never know…"
"Lovely," said Helen, feeling sick.
That evening, she fell asleep on the sofa and dreamed that Sandra Hepburn had stripped naked at the opening of Leo's restaurant, Verano, thus giving both herself and Leo some much-needed publicity. Not a bad idea, she thought when she woke up. I'm sure Sandra would be up for it. She fed Norman and sat down on the kitchen floor beside him, scratching him between the ears while he ate.
* * *
Sophie was examining herself in the mirror in a way she had rarely done since she had gotten married, back view, side view, in the harsh light of the bathroom. She wanted Matthew to think she looked good. Not because she cared if he thought she was attractive anymore, she told herself, half convincingly, but because she didn't want him to compare her unfavorably to Helen, she didn't want him to think he'd won the top prize at the raffle.
Leo was coming over to babysit his little sisters, which meant that she would get a chance to ask him about Eleanor. He'd sounded a bit down on the phone and she didn't seem to be doing his PR for him anymore, which Sophie hoped didn't bode badly—in her head, she had already paired off her new friend and her stepson. She wasn't given to matchmaking, especially with family, because it inevitably ended in disaster, but there had been an undeniable spark between them when they met and she'd always hoped Leo would end up with someone she'd get along with. It was a tenuous thing on paper, a relationship with an ex-stepchild, but Sophie had thought of Leo as family for fifteen years and dreaded him meeting a woman who wouldn't understand their bond. Not that Leo had been out with that many women since she'd known him—not for more than a few dates, anyway. He took the whole idea of relationships very seriously, probably as a reaction to his father's complete lack of respect for them.
Suzanne and Claudia were hysterical at the prospect of spending the evening with their older brother and Suzanne had plastered herself in Helen's makeup in order to look more grown-up. Leo did a mock double take when he saw her.
"My, but who's this delightful young lady?" he said in his best Cary Grant voice and Suzanne screeched with laughter and blushed at the same time.
"That's Suzanne, stupid," said Claudia, missing the point.
"So," said Sophie, leading him into the lounge, "what's going on with Eleanor?"
"Nothing."
"I know that look. Remember I'm your mother…sort of. Come on."
Leo sighed. "I kissed her."
"Hold on a minute," Sophie jumped in. "I thought she was just doing PR for the restaurant."
"I kissed her, and then she said she has a boyfriend that she's in the last death throes with. So I said, fine, I'm not about to mess up your relationship. I'll wait for a bit, if it turns out you and he go your separate ways, then maybe we can get together then."
Sophie had gone very quiet. Leo carried on with his story.
"So, she seemed really up for it, then next thing I know she's calling me saying she can't do the job and that's that, basically. What? What are you looking at me like that for?"
"I don't know if I should say this to you, really, but I guess it's best you know the truth…Eleanor hasn't got a boyfriend. Trust me, we talk about those things."
Leo was looking like he'd taken a punch to the stomach.
"So she was just making one up as an excuse. Christ, I feel stupid. I thought she liked me, I thought she was as torn as I was. She certainly didn't pull away straightaway. Fucking hell, why didn't she just say 'Sorry, I'm not interested'? And more to the point, why all the stuff about them being about to split up?"
"I don't know, I'm sure she had her reasons," Sophie said uncertainly.
"Nice friend you've got there," Leo said bitterly. "Anyway, forget it. I just need to
concentrate on the opening right now. Any suggestions?"
"Well, there are hundreds of PR firms to choose from, but…and I know you'll shout me down…why don't you ask your father? You know he'd be thrilled to help you out."
"Why do you care?"
"Because much as I think he's a complete fucking shit right now, he's still my daughters' father, and I'd hate for them to lose touch with him the way you have. He's never going to change, Leo, in a few years he'll dump this Helen for someone even younger—I hope so, anyway, does that make me a bitch?—and he'll keep doing it for as long as he can get away with it, but you shouldn't let it affect your relationship with him. You only get one father and all that bollocks. OK, speech over."
"I'll think about it," Leo said defensively.
* * *
Forty minutes later, Sophie was running late, not having been able to find a parking space in the school playground, which was doubling up as a car park for the night. So when she reached the assembly hall, she was red-faced and breathless, with little beads of sweat running down her forehead. She spotted Matthew holding a place in the queue for Mrs. Mason, Suzanne's form teacher.
"Oh, thank God you're here already," she panted at him.
"You look…"
"What, sweaty? Exhausted? Purple? What?"
"I was going to say nice."
"Oh, right. Good."
Mrs. Mason was a large, unhealthy-looking woman with black-rimmed glasses and breasts that rested heavily on her protruding stomach. She looked like the expression sack of potatoes had been made up with her in mind. Sophie and Matthew edged forward in the queue, both of them struggling to think of a way to start a conversation with the other.
"How are the girls?" Matthew tried.
"Fine, yes, fine," said Sophie, trying to dredge up an interesting anecdote and failing.
They shuffled on a few paces.
"I saw Leo today."
"Really. Is he OK?"
"Yes, he's fine."
This is going well, she thought, although truthfully, compared to many recently separated couples who couldn't even stand to be in the same room as each other, it actually wasn't going too badly.
"How are your family?" she offered up.
"Good, thank you."
Silence.
"Oh…Claudia's very happy about the cat."
"Yes. I can't take the credit, though, that was Helen's idea," he said, and that killed the scintillating conversation stone dead.
* * *
"I'm worried she's putting herself under too much pressure," Mrs. Mason said, leaning forward across the table on her elbows with her big, saggy chest resting behind them like two bags of shopping. "She's only twelve, she needs to balance up her schoolwork with other things. Putting it bluntly, she doesn't seem to have many friends."
"But you must be pleased with her grades?" Matthew looked confused.
"Of course, her test scores were exceptional," Mrs. Mason was saying. "But the development of a child her age isn't all about exam results. Social skills and character are just as important."
"But…," Matthew was blustering, "…she just happens to be good academically. What, is that frowned on, now?"
Sophie felt her exasperation growing. Why couldn't he just listen to what was being said to them? "Matthew, you know you have unrealistic expectations about her. You've never let her forget she once said she wanted to be a doctor."
"What, so this is all my fault? Whatever this is. Personally, I don't see what the problem is…"
Mrs. Mason cut in. "She spends all her break times studying, she never goes out and plays, and to be honest with you, I don't think that's healthy."
Sophie stopped glaring at Matthew and turned her attention to the teacher.
"I didn't know that."
Matthew looked deflated. "What does she do that for?"
"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Sophie was aware that the couple behind were listening in, and felt like she had been publicly unmasked as a bad parent. She thought of all the times she had scoffed smugly when a distraught mother on Jerry Springer claimed not to have known that her child was taking drugs, and she considered turning around and saying, "Stop looking so superior, she's about to tell you your son's on crack next." She knew that Suzanne struggled more than she let on to keep her title as the cleverest, but not that it was a daily obsession, and she felt devastated that she had somehow failed her daughter.
"Because it's got much worse lately. I was going to write to you, if you hadn't come in tonight. I know there are problems at home…"
She paused to allow them to jump in and contradict her, but Sophie and Matthew looked at the floor like two surveyors whose attention had been gripped by a nasty bit of subsidence.
"…and it could be that she's trying to make sure she gets your attention." Mrs. Mason was fixing her look on Matthew.
"Are you a qualified psychiatrist now?" he said childishly.
"Matthew…," Sophie said quietly
"Well, what is this? Am I on trial all of a sudden?"
"You're overreacting, this isn't about you. Mrs. Mason…"
"Leanne."
"…Leanne's got a point. No one's saying it's your fault, it's just the situation we're in…"
"But I'm the one who left, right? I'm the guilty one, because I'm the one who broke up the happy home."
The couple behind were practically leaning forward now, they were straining so hard to hear every detail. Sophie shot them a filthy look, then lowered her voice.
"You're being ridiculous. We both need to think about what to do if Suzanne thinks we're only going to notice she's there if she gets top marks. I've tried to tell you before we put too much pressure on her by constantly going on at her about how clever she is."
"I do, you mean."
Sophie couldn't believe he was capable of being so selfish. Actually, no, she could.
"OK, yes, you do. It's all you ever say about her, 'This is Suzanne, she's the clever one, she's going to be a doctor.' She probably thinks it's the only thing about her that's important."
"Don't you dare make this my fault." Matthew had raised his voice again. "Just because I've left, that doesn't make me a bad father."
Sophie looked around at the man and woman behind, who weren't even attempting to pretend they weren't listening, now.
"Can I help you?" she asked, smiling in a slightly maniacal way. The couple looked away, embarrassed. "No, really," Sophie carried on, "feel free to join in."
"Maybe we should set up a meeting to discuss this more," Mrs. Mason was saying. "In private."
"Good idea," said Sophie, standing up and practically dragging Matthew up with her. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Why don't you follow us out?" she said to the couple behind. "I'd hate for you to miss anything."
They pushed their way through the crowd and out into the playing field, Sophie's face scarlet with embarrassment. When they rounded a corner out of sight of the large windows of the assembly hall, she turned on Matthew, furious.
"How dare you?"
"Oh, I see, this is all my fault…"
"How dare you embarrass me like that in front of all those people…more to the point, all those people who are the parents of Suzanne's friends. And her teacher. And, most important, how dare you make this all about you and not your daughter? Grow up, Matthew. The whole fucking world doesn't revolve round you."
"She was trying to say I'm a bad parent," he spat. "What the fuck does she know? I'd bet my life she's a spinster with only a couple of cats for company."
"This isn't about you!" Sophie realized she was shouting and turned the volume down. "This is so fucking typical, someone's trying to tell us that Suzanne might have a problem and all you can do is think about yourself…"
"Because everyone's trying to make out I'm to blame…"
"SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP."
Matthew was stunned into silence. Sophie carried on.
"OK, so what do you want me to s
ay? Yes, it is all your fault. You've spent years praising her when she does well in exams and telling everyone how clever she is, and then one day you just up and leave us without any warning, and now she thinks it's because she didn't try hard enough. It doesn't take a psychologist to work it out. But it's my fault, too, because I didn't spot how bad it'd got."
"I thought praising her was good. I wanted her to feel proud of herself."
His voice caught, and Sophie realized with unease that he was crying. She softened her voice to a more gentle tone.
"Of course it's good, but isn't the whole point that you have to praise her for the effort, not the results? So if she comes bottom, but she's worked hard, then that's as good as coming top. That's kind of obvious, isn't it?"
Matthew nodded, sniffing hard. Sophie could see tears on his cheeks and had to resist the urge to wipe them away. He was like a child sometimes.
"I thought it just came naturally to her."
"Well, now we know. And to be honest, if it did, then that would be all the more reason to make a fuss of her about something else instead. Praising someone for being naturally clever is like praising them for being pretty. Like praising them for being lucky in the lottery."
"She must hate me. I'm a shit father."
"Oh, Matthew, for God's sake. You know damn well she wants your approval because she adores you. Just start giving her encouragement about something she's rubbish at. Don't mention exams. It'll all be fine. I'll talk to her, too. OK?"