by Fern Britton
‘Have some bread and cheese to soak it up.’ Christie half filled the glass and passed it across the table, then took a plate from the dresser for her. ‘How were things at the farm?’
‘Farm?’ Maureen seemed confused for a second, then light dawned. ‘Oh, you mean Richard’s? I only stopped there for a minute. He introduced me to Marianne. Charming woman.’ A wily expression crossed her face. ‘Do you know her?’
‘No. Never heard of her.’ Christie had started clearing the table, deliberately avoiding her mother’s eye. ‘But he’s got loads of friends I haven’t met.’ Shielded from Maureen’s gaze by the door of the fridge as she put the pickles away, she checked herself from rising to anything her mother said. But she was shocked by how shaken she felt at the news. There was probably a perfectly innocent explanation. Richard would hardly have started seeing someone else so soon – would he? Then another thought occurred to her – could he have been looking for an excuse to break up with her, when she had obligingly presented him with one on a plate? Surely not. Now that was paranoia.
But Maureen hadn’t finished. ‘She looked a bit more than a friend to me. Very at home, she was.’ She left no doubt about the implication. ‘If you’re going to get him back, Christine, I suggest you get on with it.’
‘Mum, you know I can’t.’ Christie spoke slowly, willing herself to be patient. She scraped the Brie back into its paper and wrapped it up. ‘He’s made up his mind. Until Libby is better, my hands are tied.’
‘She’s only a child, Christine,’ Maureen objected. ‘Surely what you say goes.’
‘Doesn’t seem to work the way it did in your day, Mum.’ Christie could remember how she and Mel had jumped into line without question at the slightest word from their mother or father. Discipline had been their watchword. If only life could be as easy now, she reflected, longing for children who leaped to her bidding. ‘She wants things back the way they were before. But that’s not going to happen. Nick’s dead, and I’m not going to give up my new life, however much she may want me to. Apart from repairing the roof over our head, the show’s given me a kind of escape route. When I’m there, I become the capable, intelligent – well, reasonably – and amusing woman that I’d almost forgotten existed.’ She could see that Maureen was fidgeting, uncomfortable hearing views with which she found it hard to sympathise. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Mum. Of course family comes first – but being my own person, insulated from all this for a few hours every day, has been a revelation. Just as being with Richard was. I hoped I could have both but it’s not going to happen. I’m stuck with Libby, and I guess she’s made the choice for me, whether I like it or not.’
A small cough in the doorway made them whip round. Neither woman had heard the noise of the front door or of Libby coming in. The three stared at each other until, with a whimper of distress, Libby rushed towards the stairs.
‘Libby, come back,’ Christie shouted after her. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’
A door upstairs slammed.
Maureen got up to follow her, but Christie grabbed her arm. ‘Leave her, Mum.’
‘But can’t you see how much she’s hurting?’
‘Yes, of course I can. I see it every bloody day. But I know that whatever we say doesn’t get through to her. Especially not when she’s feeling angry. God knows, I’ve tried. And, actually, she’s hurt me too.’
‘But, Christine, you have to keep on trying. You know that. You must never give up on your children.’
Christie sat down, putting her head in her hands. She felt terrible that Libby should have overheard what she had said, but it was the truth. She had meant it exactly the way it sounded. Oh, why was this all so impossible? What was she doing wrong? She felt Maureen’s hand on her back, moving in circles, soothing her as if she was a child again. She heard her quietly humming ‘Greensleeves’, just as she had done when something went wrong in her childhood. All her mother wanted was to see her broken family mended. Once again she wished for the key that, if turned, would make everything better. If only one of them could find it.
*
She didn’t get a chance to speak to Libby. An impromptu sleep-over at Sophie’s had been arranged. Fred was staying with Olly, and Maureen had taken Mel to the station so she could get home in time for a hot date with Jean-Pierre, so Christie had the evening to herself. With a nagging headache, courtesy of too much lunchtime wine, she made herself a coffee. Then she went through to the sitting room and curled up in a chair with Gone Too Soon, glad of the chance to see what, if anything, she would learn about Ben Chapman and Julia. She quickly became absorbed in what was a surprisingly thorough and well-written account of Ben’s rise to TV stardom.
Although she was most interested in the later years when Ben was involved with Julia, she flicked through the early chapters and learned that he had come from a modest northern background. After getting his 2:1 in classical civilisation and politics at Leeds University, he had moved to London where he was one of the lucky few accepted onto TV7’s graduate training scheme. Given the chance to work in various departments, he had eventually settled in News until he was given his break: presenting Good Evening Britain. Christie was just about to settle into the chapter about how he had hooked up with Julia when the phone rang. She put the book and her mug on the floor, noticing how threadbare the rug had become – another thing to attend to once the room had been painted – then picked up.
‘Hi, my love. Frank here. I’m at a loose end and thought I’d call.’ He sounded extremely chirpy for a lonely Saturday night. ‘Haven’t seen much of you this week – except in the press. Are you OK?’
What a friend he was, Christie thought. He knew just the moment to call and offer support. ‘I’m doing my best to keep a low profile, that’s why,’ she explained. ‘God knows who’s coming up with them but those stories are causing havoc here.’
‘I’m all ears.’ The sympathetic sound of his voice was all Christie needed, and for the second time that day, she found herself pouring out her heart about Richard and Libby. When she’d finished, Frank gave a long sigh.
‘As soon as I sort you out, you mess up again. Phone the man, for God’s sake.’
‘Frank, you don’t know him. It won’t make any difference.’ She rearranged herself so that she sat sideways with her legs hanging over the side of the chair.
He tutted. ‘Sounds as if he’s just as stubborn as you.’
‘Perhaps you’re right – perhaps I don’t know him as well as I think. That’s what Mum and Mel think I should do too.’
‘Well, get on and do it, then. I was right last time, wasn’t I?’
Like Mel, Frank was always so confident, so sure that his advice was on the money.
‘OK, OK. I give in.’ Perhaps she should be more pro active and not assume Richard’s mind was as closed as she thought. Waiting for the situation to change was hardly putting up a fight. By the time she hung up, she was convinced. She would phone him, persuade him to come over and they would sort out their relationship once and for all. However hurt Libby was, she couldn’t be allowed to ruin what they had. One day she would leave home, her life ahead of her, and Christie didn’t want to be left alone having missed her second chance. Besides, if she didn’t make a move now, she might be giving Marianne, whoever she was, a welcome opportunity to make herself even more at home. And Christie would never hear the end of it from Maureen.
Excited at having made up her mind to act, she got up and walked into the kitchen and back, silently rehearsing what she would say. She had to be careful not to plead or coerce but to be reasonable and to remind him of what he was missing. Failure to convince him that she was right was not an option. Finally, clear in her mind about how she would persuade him that Libby should not be the reason for him to back off, she sat back in her chair and lifted the phone again. She listened to the purr of the dial-ling tone for a moment, then held the receiver away from her ear and pressed the numbers that she knew by heart, each beep breaking
the night silence. She closed her eyes, aware of her chest rising and falling with each deliberately deep, calming breath, and waited for Richard to pick up. She imagined the phone on the wall in his kitchen, the sound bringing him from wherever he was in the house, his footsteps on the stone flags. He would get there in a moment. She waited for his voice.
But the phone rang and rang. No one picked up, not even the voicemail system.
Chapter 27
Christie was running late. She had kept Tony waiting as she delayed in her study, making some last-minute notes, and then they had sat in the slow-moving motor-way traffic unable to make up the lost time. She ignored the newspapers on the seat beside her and stared out of the window, sipping her coffee, thinking not of the lunch she was going to be late for but of the interview lined up for that evening’s show.
Three days earlier, at an editorial meeting, the producer and programme editor had announced that, from today and for the next three days, they would all be expected to have their security passes ready for inspection at all times. No personal guests would be allowed into the studio and the information they were about to receive was to be kept embargoed. The prime minister, the Right Honourable Teresa Billington, had agreed to an exclusive half-hour interview on the Thursday show – a huge broadcasting coup. That was the day she was due to give a speech in the House concerning the latest government review of the NHS. She was expected to announce the planned withdrawal of government funding. ‘Abuse’ of the system had gone on long enough. In future, the public would be expected to take out private medical insurance in the same way they did for their cars or their cats. The airwaves were already fizzing in anticipation. But it would be Good Evening Britain that aired the only live one-toone interview the PM was prepared to give on the subject.
‘This, darling, is a career-maker,’ pronounced Julia, when she heard. She had called Christie from LA, late on Monday night. ‘Get it right, and you’re made. It’s obvious that you’ve been chosen because her advisers see you and Sam as being the sort of soft interviewers who won’t dislodge her from her comfort zone.’ Christie had bristled at the insult, but let Julia carry on. ‘You have to prove them wrong. She might expect to bamboozle you and the audience, but you’ve got to surprise her. Do your research. Get the figures.’
Since that conversation, Christie had been in a state of barely controlled panic. She had done as much research as she could, read the relevant chapters in a recent joint biography of the PM and her husband, trying to establish her weak spots and the best way to manoeuvre her into a position where she would have to answer key questions without being able to fall back on the usual political flannel. She and Sam were both chuffed to have the chance to show their mettle and, between them, had gathered the statistics they needed, plus a surprise guest: a former NHS manager who was more than ready to argue against the PM’s new strategy.
Christie had thought of nothing else for the past three days, ever since the PM’s appearance in the TV7 studio had been confirmed. The prospect of the interview had focused her thoughts and occupied what little spare time she had, so – despite Frank’s nagging – she had yet to try calling Richard again. She hadn’t dared confess that, after her first attempt, she had lost her nerve and was relieved to have something else to occupy her, something that she could use as an excuse.
Right now, she’d rather be in the studio, preparing for the show, instead of heading towards a restaurant to have lunch with Lily. But, she reminded herself, she mustn’t forget the reason for their meeting. This was important to her too. She could have talked to Lily over the phone but had decided that face-to-face was more likely to get results. She mustn’t leave without having persuaded Lily to help her.
At last, Tony pulled up in front of Gianni’s. Christie hopped out of the car and rushed through the door of the restaurant into the warmth, checking her watch at the same time – twenty minutes late. She looked for Lily among the row of tables for two on her right. She was nowhere to be seen. Greeted by the maître d’, Christie was shown past the long bar into a large airy room at the back of the restaurant, safe from the eyes of curious passers-by. Lily was sitting at a table in the corner, beside a large window that overlooked an outside courtyard, tapping rapidly on her BlackBerry. She looked up as Christie approached. Her face broke into a wide smile, and she stood up to greet her.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Christie apologised, handing her coat to the maître d’ before sitting down.
‘No problem.’ Lily poured them both some water. ‘It gave me a chance to catch up with my emails. Everything’s manic with Julia in LA. She emails every day with a long list of things that need doing and then phones in to check that I’ve done them all.’
Now she was sitting opposite her, Christie could see what she hadn’t from a distance. Lily was pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes. That and the way she kept glancing downwards was enough to suggest that she was both anxious and exhausted. ‘What’s she up to out there, anyway?’ she asked. ‘I hadn’t even realised she was going until she called me at the weekend.’
‘Just her annual trip to see Nathan Brookstein. He’s the talent agent who looks after our clients out there. She catches up with him and with her contacts at the TV and film studios too.’ Lily’s gaze flicked towards a man laughing loudly at a nearby table.
‘Leaving you in charge?’ Christie hadn’t meant to sound quite so surprised, although Lily appeared not to notice.
‘Yup. Well, with Lenny, of course. We manage together.’ She beamed, delighted to be trusted with the added responsibility.
When the food arrived, Christie changed the subject and began to ask Lily about herself. She guessed that working with Julia was Lily’s way of saying to the world, ‘Hey, look at me. I’m going to make it on my own.’ Otherwise, why would a bright girl, who could probably do well in anything else she chose, want to throw herself into what was such a cut-throat business? She couldn’t help wondering where Libby’s choices would take her and whether she’d object when the time came.
They were reaching the end of their meal when Lily looked down at her coffee cup, and began to fiddle with a teaspoon, clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. ‘I’ve seen the magazines,’ she began, ‘and I’m sorry you’re being treated so unfairly. I know half of it’s untrue, but I don’t believe—’
‘Half of it?’ Christie groaned. ‘All of it, you mean. Thank God no one at TV7 seems to be taking any of the reports about my “depression” seriously. I wish Julia could talk to the editors and get them to lay off.’
‘But she talks to them all the time,’ protested Lily. ‘Half my day’s spent fielding calls from the press, putting through the right editor at the right time so Julia can play both ends against the middle.’
‘But I thought she only spoke to them when she had to, especially after Ben’s death.’
‘No,’ Lily said, adamant. ‘After all, that’s her job, publicising and protecting her clients. Her contacts are amazing.’
‘How odd.’ Of course, what Lily had said made sense, but if Julia was that well connected, why hadn’t she used her influence to protect her? ‘I wouldn’t mind so much for myself,’ Christie continued. ‘It all goes with the territory, I understand that – but no one takes into account how it affects the children.’
‘The children?’ Her puzzled expression suggested that Lily had never made the leap from reading whatever was reported about a client to thinking of how might affect anyone close to them.
‘It’s hard enough having your mum become a public figure,’ explained Christie, ‘but to have your friends at school gossiping in the playground about her sex life, her fashion sense or her boob job – or whatever else they dream up – is hellish for them. Imagine.’
‘God, yes. I’d never thought.’ Lily looked dismayed.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not much fun dealing with the fallout, I can tell you. I guess the answer is that I shouldn’t have taken the job in the first place
if I can’t stand the heat. But getting offered Good Evening Britain seemed such a break that I didn’t think about the long-term. And now it’s too late. But I haven’t dragged you here to talk about that.’ She smiled as Lily began to protest that she’d wanted to come, no question of being dragged. ‘I want to ask you a favour.’
Lily looked pleased to be asked. ‘I’ll help if I can.’
‘It’s nothing much, just that I haven’t kept thorough enough records for my new accountant.’ How odd to be referring to Ted like that. ‘I know Julia doesn’t like being bothered with this sort of stuff, so I wondered if you’d send me a record of what I’ve earned to date. It would make my life so much easier.’
‘Well . . . I don’t know.’ Lily looked dubious. ‘Lenny keeps a very tight grip on finance. I suppose I could ask him, though.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Christie entreated. ‘I’d prefer neither of them knew how really hopeless I am. That’s why I’m asking you.’
Flattered at being taken into Christie’s confidence, Lily thought for a moment. ‘All right. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.’
*
By the time Christie reached the studio, she had put all thoughts of her lunch and Lily to the back of her mind. The pre-briefing meeting went quickly since the main item on the programme was the interview with the PM. Apart from a brief look at the main headlines of the day, the entire show was to be dedicated to her interview, although at the end they would bring in the NHS manager and open up the phone lines and emails for the viewers to put their questions. The PM would have the final word after a cracking call from a GP with a terminally ill wife during which she was expected to be sympathetic but to hold the party line: ‘The nanny state is dead.’
Christie had just settled down to concentrate on the notes for her final script when her mobile rang. She fished it out of her bag, irritated to see that Maureen was calling. Her mother knew how important it was to her that today went without interruption. Her finger hovered over the ‘reject’ button, but she thought better of it and took the call.