‘Ah, don’t give me all this “my youth” stuff again. You’re hardly ready for a Zimmer frame.’
‘I think I aged about a trillion years tonight.’ She finished her wine and refilled the glass from the bottle in front of them. ‘Thank God tomorrow’s my day off. I’d better check the daytime TV schedules and start to organize my life round them; develop a crush on Jeremy Kyle.’
‘You won’t lose your job over this!’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Another big gulp. ‘Luke will for sure. They’ve had the knives out for him for a while now.’ She thought about Luke. He still hadn’t returned any of her calls, but he was probably in bed by now. He’d as good as said he was leaving Poppy for her. They’d talk in the morning, she decided. Right now she’d enjoy herself with Jake and hope, rather unrealistically, that news of their flirtatious late-night drink would get back to the man she loved, further fuelling his passion.
‘It’ll be a shame if Luke gets the sack,’ Jake said. ‘I like him. We had some good laughs in Guatemala though he is a bit of a liability, isn’t he? I mean, I see where all that cad stuff comes from.’
Thea looked at him sharply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, he was leching all over one of the interpreters and flirting with everyone in sight. We were all having a bit of a laugh about it. He was trying to be subtle, but he wasn’t subtle enough.’ Jake glanced at Thea. ‘Are you OK?’
Thea felt as if cement was solidifying in her limbs. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘You sure?’ He leant forward and took her hand in his. She snatched it away. ‘Listen, I know tonight’s been a disaster in some ways, but think of all the publicity the programme will get as a result. No one’s going to blame you. It’ll just mean even more bad press for Minnie.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with tonight’s show,’ said Thea. ‘I just… I just don’t feel very well.’
Jake’s face creased in concern. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’
‘You can get me another bottle of wine.’
‘Is that a good idea if you’re feeling ill?’
‘Oh don’t be such a granny,’ she snapped.
Jake stood up. ‘Look, Thea, I’m sorry if you don’t feel well. But I’m not going to stick around to have my head bitten off. If you need a friend, great. If you want to be alone, that’s fine too.’
She could almost hear the gears crunching in her head, as she computed it all. Luke had been leching over everyone in Guatemala. Luke was never going to change. He’d said those things tonight because… well, because he could. But he didn’t mean them. He never would. In the words of the poet Roxette, it must have been love. But now it was over. Sod Luke Norton. As her thoughts juddered to a disillusioned halt, she did a mental hand-break turn.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m a bitch. Please sit down.’
‘OK,’ Jake looked firm, ‘but only if you promise to behave.’
‘I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best.’
She took a gulp of wine. She smiled at Jake. He smiled back. Hey, he was eight years younger than her. Hey, he was short. Hey, he was a charity worker. Hey, she should know better. But…
She leant forward. ‘Let’s not get another bottle here. Why don’t we have a nightcap at mine?’
41
Poppy couldn’t sleep. Even though it was a balmy summer night, it was cold in Toby’s flat and she pulled the bedclothes over her naked body, teeth chattering, an unpleasant metallic taste in her mouth. Her head was beginning to throb as if it was pressed under a huge weight like a wild flower. Beside her Toby lay, snuffling faintly, one hand thrown back over his head. After they’d had sex, he’d swallowed a little blue pill. ‘It’ll help bring me down,’ he said. ‘Want one?’ But Poppy had refused. Mistake, she thought now, peering at her watch in the half light. Nearly three.
Lying back, images of the past few hours ran through her head like a bad music video. She and Toby coming out of the party, where some flashbulbs went off in her face. Hailing a cab, heading to Whitechapel where he lived, kissing madly in the back. Stumbling up the stairs to his flat, which wasn’t the white loft space she’d envisaged but a floor of a tiny terraced house, furnished by Ikea. A lot more kissing on the sofa. Poppy squirmed in a mixture of joy and agony as she recalled those kisses, soft ones on her lips, firm ones on the tops of her thighs, hungry ones on her breasts. Somehow, they’d stumbled into the bedroom, where Toby had waved vaguely at the clothes scattered on the floor and the unmade bed, before he pushed her down on it and…
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Actually, it hadn’t been that good. Inexperienced as she was, even Poppy knew that. It had been a bit perfunctory and Toby had come before she was even remotely ready. Even more than last time, Poppy felt guilty about Luke. But he treated me so badly, she justified herself to Migsy, as she watched the shadow of Toby’s body moving on top of her on the ceiling. He was never around. We had nothing in common. Basically, I married too young. And I was so unhappy, though I never told anyone. Of course I have no regrets because I have Clara. But Toby is my soul mate. We were meant to be together…
Anxiously, she curled into him. In his sleep, he rolled towards her and cupped her bottom with his hand. She lay awake for hours, listening to the water pipes announcing morning. As the sun gushed in through the curtains, she pushed herself up on her elbow and traced Toby’s eagle-beak profile with her finger. He stirred again; she froze. She listened, as his breathing, which had been slow and rhythmical, grew shorter and sharper. Poppy began to suspect that Toby was not asleep any more, that he was faking it. Hurriedly, she rolled on to her side. If he didn’t want to talk to her just yet, then she wasn’t going to spoil things. She shut her eyes and willed sleep to come.
‘Hi.’
Instantly, she flipped over. ‘Hi!’
He shook his head slightly and winced, regretting it, then suddenly sat up. ‘Shit, it’s nearly eight. I need to get going. Do you want to have a shower?’
‘No, no. You go first.’
‘No, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I insist.’
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Poppy showered feeling a bit shaky. Why did he sound so cold? She lathered her body in his Clarins shower gel, admiring his taste – far nicer than Luke’s boring old Imperial Leather – then wrapped herself in a towel, dressed and made her way into the dining area, where he was standing up eating cornflakes from a bowl. A cupboard was open behind him, revealing three cans of chopped tomatoes, two tubes of Berocca, a packet of penne and a tube of Pringles. By the kettle was a variety of teas: rosehip, Earl Grey, peppermint, echinacea. For a second, Poppy felt all gooey. There was something about a man’s choice of groceries that made him somehow vulnerable. She wouldn’t have taken Toby for a tea man and it made her want to throw her arms round him, but the look on his face made it quite clear that wasn’t an option.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’ he said unwillingly. Poppy knew it was time to get out of there.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, ignoring her loudly rumbling tummy. ‘Better be going. See how my little girl is.’
‘Christ. I’d forgotten you had a child.’ He rubbed his eyes blearily. ‘How old is she?’
‘Just turned two.’
‘Nice.’ He smiled weakly and headed towards the door. ‘I could call you a cab,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘If you want to get the Tube, turn right then second left and you’ll see it.’
‘I’ll get the Tube,’ Poppy said hastily.
It was only a couple of weeks since she’d returned from Meena’s in her party clothes. Then it had felt glamorous in an Amy Winehouse kind of way; this time it just felt cheap and shabby. Poppy didn’t know how Meena could do this all the time. The happiness she’d felt last night at being wanted again was rapidly being replaced by renewed guilt that she had actually been unfaithful to her husband.
But I was so miserable, she kept repeating to herself, but somehow that excuse didn’t work. As she appro
ached her front gate she was snatched from her thoughts by the sight of a group of men in anoraks. Some were smoking, some were talking into phones, some were chatting. As she approached, they all jumped to attention, pointing their cameras at her.
‘Oi, Poppy!’ They shouted over the guillotine snapping of the cameras. ‘Hey, bimbo!’ ‘Where have you been?’ ‘How’s your stupid cunt of a husband?’
‘Sorry?’ Poppy tried to push through them, but the flashes were in her face, bang, bang, bang, blinding her. ‘Go away!’ she snapped, surprisingly ferociously, fumbling in her bag for her keys, which slipped between her fingers on to the pavement. She bent down to retrieve them.
‘Hey! There’s a ladder in her tights!’
Neighbours’ heads appeared at windows. Passers-by stopped and stared. Somehow Poppy managed to get her key into the lock and almost fell into the hallway and Luke’s arms.
‘Oh. So you’re home at last?’
‘Sorry!’ she said, taken aback at his furious face. ‘I texted you. I had to stay at Meena’s. She was sick. I was worried about her.’
‘And what about me? Why didn’t you call me? I’ve left about ten messages.’
Despite his tone, Poppy felt a glow of vindication. So he’d missed her. Now he knew what it felt like.
‘What about you?’ Then she remembered. ‘Oh, yes. How did the Minnie interview go?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No. I was going to catch it on Sky Plus. Shall I watch it now?’
‘It was a bloody disaster,’ Luke said. ‘A disaster not helped by you telling the world how we’d already had one bloody disaster in Scotland.’
‘What do you mean?’ Actually Poppy suddenly had a very good idea what he meant. Shit. Perhaps she’d told Migsy too much again.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Luke shouted. ‘First Hannah betraying me in print. Now you. What is it? What is it with my wives?’
‘I didn’t betray you. What do you mean?’
He brandished a copy of Wicked at her. “‘My husband went to Scotland to interview Minnie but she wouldn’t talk to him.” Why didn’t you tell me, Poppy? That was confidential. I’m in big, big trouble now. I’ve been suspended.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’ll almost certainly be sacked.’ He smote his chest, like a bad actor performing a Shakespearean soliloquy. ‘What have you done?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Poppy, taking her phone out of her bag and plugging it in to its charger. Immediately, it began ringing.
‘That’ll be all my messages,’ Luke said, as Poppy held it to her ear. She expected it to be her husband’s berating tones, but instead she got Barbara’s throaty voice.
‘Poppy.’ She laughed like a braying donkey. ‘Well, what a storm you and your husband have stirred up. The phones haven’t stopped ringing all morning. Call me, babe. This is going to lead to big things.’
The doorbell dringed again.
‘I’ve had enough!’ Luke yelled. ‘I’m going to disconnect it.’
An hour later, everything had become clear. With Luke in bed, eyemask on and earplugs in, Poppy had watched the recording. She’d also talked to an amused Meena, a delighted Barbara and an ecstatic Migsy.
‘I have to tell you, Poppy, everyone at Wicked’s thrilled. I knew you’d make a great columnist, but we could never have foreseen this. We’re going to give you two pages next week. How’s Luke reacting to the whole scandal?’
‘Um. I’m not sure I should go into details.’
‘But you have to! Our readers will be dying to know. I imagine he’s a bit embarrassed, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is. And cross. He’s been suspended.’
‘Oh, poor man. But Minnie was being very difficult, wasn’t she?’
‘Oh yes, she’s a nightmare,’ Poppy agreed.
They talked on in this vein for a few more minutes.
‘Who was that?’ snapped Luke from the doorway as she hung up. Poppy jumped like a cricket.
‘Just the magazine wanting to know how I was getting on.’
‘You’re not still doing that column for them, are you?’
His tone made something explode in Poppy’s head.
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‘Yes, I am! Why the hell shouldn’t I?’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘Luke, I’m sorry. I told them some things about Minnie, but I didn’t think they’d print them. It was stupid of me, but it won’t happen again.’
‘Why couldn’t you get a proper job?’
‘I didn’t know what else I could do.’ Her throat was burning, she felt an embarrassing lump of snot about to dribble out of her nose. ‘This is the way I am. I never pretended to be anything else. I’m not a genius. I don’t have any qualifications. I’m not a thrusting businesswoman. I don’t bake great cakes like Hannah. I’m not clever like Thea and Roxanne and those other women in your office. I’m just me. Poppy. If you didn’t like it, you shouldn’t have married me.’
‘I didn’t want to marry you,’ Luke shouted. ‘I only did it because… well, because you were pregnant and I’d made a mess of my real life and I thought I should. But as soon as we did it I knew I’d made a mistake.’
And there it was. The long-unspoken, avoided truth.
‘I see,’ Poppy said slowly into the cavernous silence that followed.
Luke ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I did want to marry you, it was just… well, it wasn’t ideal.’
‘I suppose not,’ Poppy said. She turned on her heel and went upstairs. In the bedroom, she sat on the bed, just staring at the wall, too numb to fully come to terms with what she’d always known at some level.
Luke doesn’t love me. Well, never mind. Toby does. Luke doesn’t love me. Well, never mind…
She wished she could be surer about the Toby bit. Her phone rang. This would be him now! ‘Hello?’ she said nervously.
‘Darling, it’s me.’
‘Oh, hi, Mum.’
‘Luke’s in trouble isn’t he?’ Before Poppy could reply, Louise continued. ‘And I am so upset. I’ve just found out Jean-Claude was in town and he didn’t call me.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I knew he was coming to London and I waited for his call, but nothing, even though I must have left at least five messages on his mobile. And then I tried his hotel and they said he’d checked out that morning, the bastard! Men, Poppy! They’re all the bloody same.’
‘I…’
‘I feel so let down. I was sure this one was different.’
Luke stuck his head around the door.
‘Mum, I’m really sorry, but if he behaved like that, you’ve got to think he wasn’t worthy of you.’ Poppy had said it all a trillion times before. ‘Listen, I have to go. Luke needs me.’
‘The idiot. Swearing on live television. What’s going to become of you now, Poppy?’
‘I have to go. We’ll speak later.’ Poppy hung up. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve had a call from work. They want me to go in.’
‘Oh. Is that good or bad news?’
‘Take a wild guess.’
Even after the conversation they’d just had, Poppy still couldn’t help but feel for him. She held out her arms.
‘Honey, come here. It will all be all right.’
‘It bloody won’t,’ Luke said, not moving. He paused for a moment. ‘I’ll be back later,’ he said, then turned and left the room.
So that was how it was. Poppy breathed deeply, trying to comprehend her new situation. Had Luke really told her it was all over? Did she care? Poppy wasn’t sure. It was almost as if she could feel a shell growing round her heart, the shell she’d long yearned to acquire, to protect her from the outside world.
Through the window she could hear the photographers jostling and laughing. Suddenly she couldn’t take the claustrophobia any more. She opened her bedside drawer and started leafing through the pile of invitations. Then she picked up her phone.
42
Luke knew how the conversation was going to go. But that didn’t make it any more bearable.
‘I’m sorry,’ Roxanne said. ‘I wish it could be different. But the board of governors and I met this morning and we all agree it’s too many things. First the swearing on air before the watershed, then your wife’s article, then the Bishop of Bellchester stuff. Add that to your ex-wife’s column and it’s all just too much for the channel. You’ll receive a very generous settlement, Luke, and we’ll tell the world it was mutual.’
‘They’ll know it wasn’t.’
‘That won’t be our fault.’ She stood up, holding out a slender hand. ‘You’ve been a wonderful anchorman, Luke. I hope we can all retain fond memories of the times we spent together.’
He could barely remember how he left the building, only that he was escorted by security and ushered to a waiting car.
‘Where to, sir?’ asked the driver.
Luke couldn’t think. After their frank exchange, he simply couldn’t face going home to Poppy and the paparazzi. He thought of Hannah. Whenever he’d had hiccups in the past, she’d always been there for him with a slice of home-baked cake, a drink and usually a fine blow job. What had he been thinking of to throw all that away?
He took his phone out of his pocket and before he could stop himself dialled her number.
‘Hello. This is Hannah. I’m away, horse riding in India this week. Back on Monday. Leave me a message…’
Luke hung up. Who could he possibly turn to? He needed a friend. Then he remembered. God, only last night he’d been promising her some kind of future; he’d been so bloody nervous. Well, she’d still be there for him this morning. He scrolled down his list of contacts, until he reached the Ts.
In Stockwell, Thea, in pyjamas, was sitting at her kitchen table, spooning jam on to a croissant. She and Jake had spent all morning in bed. They’d had sex three times. It had been good. It had been very good. Lovely, in fact, which was the kind of word Thea usually used to describe a Laura Ashley tissue box given to her by Aunt Morna at Christmas. Jake had told her again and again how gorgeous she was, how much he had the hots for her and, strangely, she believed him. Even now when it felt as if a troupe of tap-dancing mice had decided to perform Chicago inside her head, she still felt bizarrely cheery.
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