by Jane Fallon
"But it's still my fault, don't you see…It's because she hates me so much. She wanted Sandra to fuck up so I'd look bad."
"Stop making this all about you. Of course she did it to get at you, but Sandra's my client, so she's made me look bad as well, and she's not going to get away with it. I phoned you for a moan about her, not to tell you off."
The relief which washed over Helen was almost tangible. She sat down at the kitchen table and forced herself to breathe normally.
"So, what are you going to do?"
Laura breathed in sharply.
"Well, if I find out she invited Sandra, then I'm going to take it up with the other directors. Global can't trust someone who behaves like that."
* * *
Almost as soon as Helen hung up, her mobile rang again. Sandra. Thankfully, the caller ID had told her this, because otherwise she never would have guessed from the high-pitched wail that came at her down the phone. It was like being called by a distraught dolphin.
"You've seen the papers, then?"
She thought she heard Sandra say the words "my minge" amid the crying. Part of her wanted to tell Sandra off for being so fucking stupid; why did she accept the invitation, knowing that there would be paparazzi there and that she had a positive story waiting to go into the papers? And if she had to go, why couldn't she stay sober (silly question) or at least put some knickers on? She was her own worst enemy, but truthfully, she was too stupid and desperate to know any better. Jenny wasn't.
"Sandra, calm down."
"Eeeeee," a noise came back like Flipper trying to alert her to someone in danger.
"Listen, just lie low today. Don't answer your phone unless you know who it is. Don't go out, OK? There's still a couple of weeks till the nominations are announced, we'll think of something," she said, knowing there was absolutely no chance.
She took the sound which followed as an agreement.
"Sandra, who invited you last night? I mean, I didn't know you were going to be there."
It was Jenny. Helen managed to decipher enough to establish that Jenny had called Sandra, just after her return from Kos, and told her that Laura thought it would be a good idea if she showed her face at the launch. What's more, Jenny had refilled her glass several times and persuaded her out of leaving when Sandra had had a pang of responsibility at around nine o'clock. That was the last thing she remembered. The waiter—for he had indeed turned out to be one of Leo's employees—had thankfully slept on the couch, and had been very attentive this morning, bringing her Resolve and making her a fry-up. He hadn't seemed offended at all when she had asked him who the fuck he was.
"Look, you never know…" Helen knew she didn't sound convincing. "…one of the Sundays might still run the Kos piece, and then we'll capitalize on it like mad. Don't feel too bad, OK?"
Helen was desperate to run straight into the bedroom and crow to Matthew that it was his precious assistant who had fucked the whole evening up, but she knew he'd just think she was being hysterical. Anyway, better to leave it to Laura to deliver the bad news, let the grown-ups fight it out.
28
MATTHEW WAS FEELING UTTERLY AT HOME, drinking tea in Sophie's big welcoming kitchen. This is modern living, he thought. This is being an adult. Sitting, having a civilized conversation with your ex-wife before spending the afternoon with your children. He took a big sip, contented. OK, so things were a bit rocky with Helen, but it was just one of those phases relationships have. She was going through a tough time adjusting, having to get used to being painted a marriage wrecker, losing her job, nervous about her new one. It'd calm down.
"I want to see Norman," Claudia demanded when he was saying good-bye.
"Well, come over to the flat next week." Matthew looked over at Sophie for approval and she nodded. "I'm sure Helen'd love that."
"I don't want to see Helen. I just want to see Norman. You said he was my cat and if he's my cat what's the point if I can't see him?"
"How about I run you over there now, you can play with him for ten minutes, then I'll bring you back. How's that sound?"
"Can I, Mum? Please?"
"Go on, then. Really, only ten minutes, though, Matthew, before you bring her back again, she's got school tomorrow." She looked at her other daughter.
"Do you want to go, Suzanne?"
Suzanne had warmed to Helen more than Claudia, but she was in no rush to see any more of her than necessity dictated. However, she would never pass up the chance to spend ten more minutes with her father. She weighed it up.
"OK."
"Ten minutes," Sophie called after them as they left.
* * *
Helen was lounging in the bath, face mask on, contemplating her last week at work. She wondered if anyone would buy her a leaving gift—unlikely, she thought, under the circumstances. The Sunday papers had, of course, all failed to pick up on the "Sandra Hepburn—Model" story and, indeed, most of them had reprinted the spaniel picture, but having reported back to Laura about her conversation with Sandra, she knew that Jenny was in for a shit week, and that gave her a warm feeling. She ducked her head under the water to wash the mask off as she heard the front door open. When she emerged, she could hear the unmistakable voice of Claudia saying, "Oh, good, she's not here," as she ran around the flat, presumably in pursuit of Norman. She hauled herself out of the bath miserably, wrapped a towel around herself, and stuck her head out into the hall, pretending not to have heard Claudia's remark.
"Oh, hi. I wondered who that was. Hi, girls, this is a nice surprise."
Claudia, who was brushing the cat furiously in a way that implied he had been neglected since her last visit, ignored her. Clearly, now that she got to spend her Sundays at home, seeing her father on her own territory, she no longer felt she had to bother.
"Great. Well, shall I put the kettle on?"
"We're only staying a few minutes so Claude can see the cat. I'm just going to have a shower, then I'm running her back again."
Helen could see that Matthew was willing her to be nice, but she wanted to grab onto his leg and plead with him not to leave her alone with the children. They scared her, these girls.
* * *
"You ought to be a vet." Helen was watching Claudia expertly clipping Norman's claws, although he was so placid he probably would have let next door's rottweiler do it. Claudia kept her head down, ignoring the remark, seemingly intent on her task. Suzanne gazed at her fingernails, impassive as ever. Helen felt an unexpected jolt of guilt—it wasn't right that they had had to get caught up in her and Matthew's mess. She didn't know why she'd been surprised that they hated her—of course they did, she'd broken up their family. She could hear Matthew singing cheerfully over the noise of the shower, clearly in no real hurry. She took a deep breath.
"Listen, girls. I might not get another chance to say this, but I want you to know I'm really sorry. For everything. For what I've done to you and what I've done to your mum." She looked up and saw that Suzanne was looking back at her and even Claudia had momentarily stopped what she was doing, although when she saw that Helen had noticed, she turned quickly back to the cat.
"I'm not proud of myself," Helen continued, her voice cracking nervously. "And neither is your dad. But I want you to know it was more my fault than his. I pushed him into leaving home and I really shouldn't have done that. I know he misses you like crazy. All of you."
Helen had never seen herself as someone who would fall on her sword, but it felt good. So what if she was reinforcing the stereotype that women were all evil temptresses and men were hapless martyrs to their hormones, it would ease Matthew's passage back into the family and that had to be a good thing.
"I don't think I can compete with that, to be honest."
"What do you mean?" Claudia was eyeing her suspiciously.
"Nothing, really. I just wanted you to know that your dad really loves you both, and that I think everything'll be OK in the end."
"How?" Suzanne sounded hopeful.
&nb
sp; "Erm…" This was starting to get awkward. She couldn't tell them her plans, obviously, and she certainly didn't want them to start asking their father what was going on. In the other room, she could hear Matthew's mobile ring and him answering it.
"Things have a way of working out, that's all I meant."
"OK," Suzanne said trustingly, half smiling at her.
"And there's nothing wrong with wanting to be a beautician. It's a good job. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise," Helen added for good measure, just as Matthew came in, holding his phone and looking pale.
"It's my mother," he said quietly. "She's had a heart attack."
* * *
Matthew had looked so lost and devastated that her heart had gone out to him and she'd gone over and put her arms around him, rubbing his back. She had no doubt that his mother was a hateful old harridan, the same as—in fact, the reason for—the rest of his family, but she was still his mother and he was still her only son. Within minutes, he had packed an overnight bag and called his answerphone at work to leave a message for Jenny that he probably wouldn't be in for a couple of days.
"You will come with me, won't you?" He looked at her pleadingly.
She weighed it up quickly. Verano had opened for its first night of proper business last night, so there was no way Leo would be making a mercy dash to his grandmother's side. And anyway, Sophie had told her he wasn't that fond of Matthew's family (what good taste, Helen thought). Sophie had the girls, who had to be at school tomorrow and she, too, had never been overly keen on her mother-in-law so, Helen figured, she was safe to go and, even though she was dreading it, she was pleased that she could give Matthew a bit of support. It might make up for her no-show on Friday night and ease the atmosphere between them, at least.
"Of course I will." She stroked his arm and he looked so grateful she thought he might cry.
"I'll just have to drop the girls back."
Shit, Claudia and Suzanne, of course. It would be fine, it was dark, she'd wait in the car, there would be no way Sophie would spot her. Matthew went out into the hall to bully Claudia—who was still holding the cat in her arms—into her coat. Helen wrapped a big scarf around her neck and halfway up her face, and then pulled a mohair cloche hat low down on her head. Thank God it was February.
"You look like a spy," Matthew said teasingly when she met him at the front door.
"It's cold out there."
* * *
Sophie's—and Matthew's, on paper—house was, as Helen knew only too well, a mere ten minute drive away. It was as beautiful as she remembered it, lights burning in the windows behind colored drapes, giving it a doll's house look. Matthew indicated to turn in to the small drive at the front.
"No! Don't," Helen almost shouted. "I don't think I should go in there. Park it up on the street."
She could practically hear Claudia rolling her eyes, but Matthew did as he was told and pulled over directly opposite the house.
"Bye, girls," Helen said cheerfully.
"Bye," Claudia grunted, the first time she'd ever bothered to say it. Usually she figured that the end of the visit meant she could forget about having to be polite for another week or so.
"Bye, Helen." Suzanne leaned over the front seat and gave Helen something which may have been a hug. Helen patted her arm affectionately. It felt like a major victory. Forget the war—she was happy just to have won this tiny battle. Nelson would have been fucked if his opposition had been two sulky adolescent girls. She watched as Matthew took Claudia's hand and crossed the road, going up to the front door to tell Sophie what had happened. She sat slumped down in her seat, her view partially obscured by a tree on the other side of the road. It was all over in a couple of minutes—Sophie didn't even look over and Matthew was on his way back down the drive.
"Helen's in the car," Claudia told her mother as she was closing the front door.
"Is she?" Sophie was seized by curiosity. She pulled the door open before it had fully shut and took a couple of steps out into the drive, peering into the darkness. She just caught sight of Matthew's taillights as he pulled away.
"Shit, I wanted to see what she looked like."
"She looks a bit like you," Claudia called over her shoulder as she ran up the stairs.
* * *
Matthew and Helen arrived in Bath about two and a half hours later and headed straight for the Malmsbury Private Hospital, where Amanda and Louisa were already sitting beside their mother's bed. Sheila was unconscious, hooked up to a ventilator and wired to a selection of machines that beeped at different intervals. Oh, shit, she's going to die, Helen thought, looking at the pale, waxy-skinned elderly woman in the bed who, she thought, resembled a velociraptor. This was real—one of those major events that defined adulthood. It made her relationship troubles seem inconsequential, and she knew she had become ridiculously self-involved.
She took a deep breath, wanting to be able to keep it together for Matthew's sake. He had fallen on his sisters tearfully, then sat in the chair closest to his mother's head and was holding her hand. Helen hung back awkwardly in the doorway. Neither Amanda nor Louisa had acknowledged her presence and Matthew was understandably too preoccupied to worry about her. She stood for what seemed like an age and then decided to go and find the cafeteria and get some coffees.
Once there, the best thing to do seemed to be to sit at a table in the corner drinking hers and letting the family have some private time. The cafeteria was overflowing with people who, it seemed to Helen, looked alternately shell-shocked or relieved, whose loved ones were worse or better than they had feared. She drank her coffee slowly, stirring the plastic spoon around and around to kill time. After twenty minutes, she had stretched it out for as long as she could, so she queued up again and bought three more cups to take upstairs. She panicked a bit around the sugar and then stuffed six sachets into the pocket of her jeans, along with six little milk cartons and three stirrers.
When she stepped out of the lift on the second floor, she knew that something was wrong because Matthew, Amanda, and Louisa were huddled in the corridor and doctors were running in and out of Sheila's room. Helen hovered awkwardly with her coffees, unsure whether or not to ask what was happening. Then one of the cardboard cups started to burn through her hand. She looked around hurriedly for somewhere to put them down and then the other hand began to burn and she bent quickly to try to set them down on the floor, but the pain made her flinch and she dropped all three from about waist height, splattering hot coffee across the polished floor.
"Shit. Fuck. Sorry."
Matthew, Amanda, and Louisa all turned to look at her in silence. Helen was on the floor now, dabbing at the liquid with an inadequate tissue, and was about to apologize again when one of the doctors came out of Sheila's room, walking this time, and they all turned their attention to him. The kindly looking doctor escorted them down the corridor a few paces as if to say, "Let's move away from the madwoman." The whole scene played out in front of her like a silent film, and it was obvious what the story was. Louisa buckled and clasped on to Matthew's arm for support. He put his arms around her and their other sister, drawing them close to him. The doctor touched each of them gently on the arm and walked away, on to his next patient.
Helen didn't know what to do with herself; there was something about other people's grief that was so exposing, so personal that she felt she shouldn't be looking, but she was also rooted to the spot by concern for Matthew. She considered going over and joining their group hug, but she knew she wouldn't be welcome. The decision was made for her, finally, when the trio, without so much as a glance in her direction, shuffled into the small side room to say their good-byes. Helen was left standing in the empty corridor, with no option but to wait it out and see what was expected of her.
Half an hour later, they were saying good-bye in the car park.
"I'll call you about the arrangements," Amanda said to Matthew as she kissed him on the cheek.
"Bye," Helen shouted over,
but no reply came.
* * *
Jenny was being hauled over the coals. Helen could tell this, even though Laura's door was shut and she couldn't hear what was being said. The body language said it all—Laura was sitting bolt upright at her desk, leaning forward, all but wagging her finger. Jenny was slouched in a chair opposite. Matthew wasn't in there—although he had come to work despite his bereavement—and Helen guessed that Laura was making it clear to Jenny that her punishment would be severe without actually telling her exactly what it would be. Sadly, there was no way she could sack Matthew's P.A. without his agreement.
Matthew had sat up late into the night, crying occasionally but mostly staring into the distance, and Helen had stayed with him, although she knew there wasn't anything she could do to make him feel any better. This morning, he was stoic again and into brusque work mode. Helen knew the issue of the funeral was looming, but she couldn't face raising it herself yet. She needed to come up with a plan.
Ten minutes later, Jenny emerged from Laura's office, slightly pink around the eyelids but staring defiantly at Helen as if to say, "I know you're loving this, but I'm not going to let them get to me." Helen knew it was a bluff—what Jenny had done was too serious not to merit proper repercussions. She had effectively ruined two campaigns for two paying clients who had put their faith in Global. OK, so Leo had been given a cut-rate price but that wasn't the point, and anyway he was Matthew's son, and Helen knew that that fact alone was going to make him treat her actions seriously. As for Sandra—poor Sandra had blown any chance she had of redemption in the eyes of the public. There was no chance of that nomination now: she had reached her sixteenth minute and there was nothing she could do about it. There was an argument to say that this was her own fault, that had Jenny not invited her, she would have gone out somewhere else and gotten drunk and made a fool of herself. But the point was, she hadn't. Jenny had told her that Laura wanted her there, had plied her with drink, had failed to provide her with an exit plan, and had left her to hang herself in public. Helen smirked back at Jenny. Got you.