by Shari Low
And it goes without saying that I checked his pockets before I took his suits to the dry-cleaners, but that’s not suspicion, it’s just loss prevention.
‘So…Mandy?’ Short, simple, and if you listened really clearly you could hear the slightest hint of aggressive undertones.
‘Oh, one of the mothers who goes to the beach during the week. She decided to have a barbecue there today and we were invited.’
My danger radar was flashing like a strobe light. I could be wrong, but as far as I had ascertained, there was one crowd of women who went there during the week–all nannies, mums and grans–and a very different crowd who went at weekends. Today was Sunday, so why would one of the weekday mums make the effort to go on an extra day? Unless…Oh, I was writing too much–my imagination was on overdrive. I surreptitiously took a deep breath and shook off my cloak of doom. It was bound to be completely innocent. I’m sure there was a very simple explanation. And maybe Mandy was the one in her late fifties who was no stranger to KFC. I wouldn’t even dignify this train of thought with any further discussion. None. It ended right there. Definitely.
‘So is she the older lady who goes most days?’ I asked casually.
‘Erm, no. She’s probably about late thirties.’
‘Black hair?’
‘No, blonde.’
‘Married?’
‘Single.’
‘Little girl?’
‘No, boy.’ The feeling of fear was rising in my stomach and threatening to choke me. Dear God, if I never, ever ask you for anything again, please make his name be anything but Zac.
‘Oh, the little boy called Joshua?’ I asked.
‘No, Zac.’
Zac. An obnoxious little brat who had scudded Benny with a fishing pole on our first day there. The one whose mother made armed robbers seem fairly inoffensive. And Charlize Theron look plain.
Sob. And now she was contriving to have romantic little tête-à-têtes with my husband.
‘And the reason for her barbecue was…?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t her barbecue,’ he corrected me. ‘Most of the women who go during the week were there too. Apparently they do this every now and then just for the social aspects. And because I’d been telling them you were working so hard they invited us too. It was great. The boys just love all their little pals down there now–they’re going to be so upset when we leave.’
With that, he climbed up and wrapped a towel around himself. ‘Anyway, better go and check my mail before you need to go back into the office. The kids won’t need dinner–they ate late at the barbecue. And they each had two pieces of Mandy’s banana bread.’
Off he went in the direction of the house, leaving my emotions on spin cycle, setting: high.
Emotion one: The jealousy that had subsided with the explanation that it was a barbecue en masse had peaked again with the news that the cow baked bread. I mean, please!
Emotion two: Gratitude–I still appreciated how Mark was helping me out.
Emotion three: Admiration. He seemed to have really got to grips with having the kids all day and was suddenly acting more chilled-out than I’d seen him in years. He was even integrating with strangers. And cows.
Emotion four: Surprise. We’d actually just had something approaching a fairly normal conversation between a married couple.
Emotion five: Dread. Complete and utter dread. He’d said those three little words.
When. We. Leave.
I knew I was going to have to confront that particular little demon at some point, but I’d been fairly successfully managing to avoid it so far.
Sure, I knew none of this life was real. This wasn’t our home, or our cars, or our neighbourhood. Mac wasn’t at preschool and Benny wasn’t at nursery so we were living in a little blur of holiday fever. Mark wasn’t trudging off to work every day so he was starting to emerge from his normal zombie-like state. Eliza wasn’t mine. Although she would be when I drugged her, kidnapped her, then brainwashed her into thinking she must never again leave my side.
And I was Carly Cooper, skint, average author and naff columnist; not Carly Cooper, Hollywood screenwriter and woman of means.
Every single aspect of our current lives was an illusion, and definitely temporary. Mark was due to leave on Wednesday. That was only three days from now. Eliza had offered to look after the boys from then until I got the screenplay finished and delivered to Lee Stavorski six days later, but I couldn’t possibly take advantage of all her time like that. I’d thought perhaps if she could watch them in the mornings then I could take over in the afternoons and then work again when they were in bed at night. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was manageable as long as I got the majority of the work done while Mark was still here. Three more days. Three more days with my husband here. Which meant three more days until Sam came home. Nine days until I met Lee Stavorski again. And nine days until I learned my fate. In less than ten days’ time my whole life could change beyond recognition. I could get a deal and thus a new life would be handed to me on a plate. I could get no deal–cue sound of plate smashing. I could go home. I could stay here. That might possibly lead to divorce, or it might not. I could possibly work out how I felt about Sam. I could decide to forget him and open my life up to completely new experiences. I could have a go at persuading Jojo to have a lipstick-lesbian affair with me. If I could find my make-up bag.
Or I could just admit defeat and slide back into my old life of suburban mediocrity. Good points: For one, I’d be back in the Wonderbra-adorned bosoms of my friends and would no longer be missing them desperately. Bad points: Too many to mention.
I shuddered–bugger it, my pals would visit. I’d rather chew my own nipples than go back. I’d had a taste of something so much more amazing and I wanted it so badly. Pandora’s box hadn’t just been opened, it had been cracked in half and then fed through a chipper.
A gush of water landed on me as the boys ventured over to my side of the pool again. I knew it was impossible, but they looked like they’d grown dramatically in the month that they’d been here. And despite being dipped in a vat of factor 50 ten times every day, they had a slight tint to their skin that made them look even more adorable. I didn’t want to take them away from all this. LA wasn’t the Promised Land–it had as many downsides as anywhere else–but this little nook of perfection that we lived in was such a great environment for them.
And if nothing else, the last month had convinced me, without one iota of a doubt, that I wanted to live somewhere sunny. So if it wasn’t going to be LA then I’d have to find somewhere else that offered an outdoor life for them.
Of course, this was all just a pipe dream because without some kind of financial miracle we were back to domestic drudgery.
Actually, there was another way…Sam.
‘Mum, what does extinct mean?’ shouted the Green Goblin as he and Benny/Mac/Confused waded towards me.
‘Why? Where did you hear that?’ I replied, grateful to be called back to the real world.
They were almost at my feet by now. ‘Mandy told us. When she gave me Rex she said that dinosaurs were extinct.’
My blood began to simmer–Gas Mark 5, leave for twenty minutes until uncontrollable jealousy boils over.
‘Extinct means that there aren’t any around any more–they’re all dead.’
‘How did they all die?’ B/M/C asked, his eyes like saucers.
I motioned to them to come closer. They crept in, their intrigue almost tangible.
‘If I tell you, do you promise to tell Mandy?’ I stage-whispered.
They both nodded.
‘You promise?’ I repeated. ‘You’ll tell her the minute you get to the beach tomorrow?’
More nods.
‘Okay, this is what happened. Once upon a time, there were only three dinosaurs left in the whole wide world. A mummy dinosaur, a daddy dinosaur and another lady dinosaur.’
Their mouths were wide open in anticipation.
‘And then the very nau
ghty lady dinosaur stole the daddy dinosaur, so the mummy dinosaur thumped her. Then the lady dinosaur ran away and the mummy dinosaur and the daddy dinosaur didn’t make any more babies so no more dinosaurs were born.’
‘Wow,’ gasped Green.
‘Did you get all that?’ I checked.
They nodded furiously. ‘The lady dinosaur stole the daddy dinosaur so the mummy dinosaur thumped her,’ repeated Mac. I mean Green.
Christian names aside, how well did I know my son–he only ever remembered the beginning of any story.
‘I bet Mandy would love to hear that story,’ I reminded him.
‘I’ll tell her, Mum, I promise.’
CARLY CALLING…
Carol to Carly:
Cal misd me so he’s flown ovr here–we’re goin 2 hav 2nd honeymoon. Ur brothr is amazing!
Carly:
bog off, u smug boot.
Carol:
So glad that u r sharing in my happiness…
Carly:
Hope u get cystitis.
Carol:
Aw, knife thro heart. But I kno ur havin hard time so I wont rub it in. Did I tell you he brought me diamond eternity ring and swore undying love?
Carly:
I’ve nevr likd u. Pls don’t contact me again til ur life is in toilet and I can gloat. Thank u.
Step Fifteen
‘Mandy sent this banana bread home for you. She baked it herself,’ Mark said when they returned from the beach on Tuesday night. He handed it over to me and I plonked it down on the kitchen worktop.
‘Oh, how sweet of her,’ I enthused. ‘I love banana bread. The people here are just so friendly.’
‘You know, I’ve found the very same thing,’ he agreed.
‘Oh, I bet you have, honey,’ I said, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek. I suddenly caught myself. Jesus, when had we started pecking? Pecking was what your granny did to you at Christmas, leaving a trail of Avon scarlet lipstick that didn’t come off until Boxing Day. Or was that just mine?
‘I’m just going into the office–won’t be long,’ he announced.
Mac and Benny had climbed up at the breakfast bar, which had probably required the entire annual marble output of a small Italian quarry to produce.
‘Boys, did you tell Mandy the dinosaur story?’ I whispered.
They nodded.
‘Yesterday, like you told us,’ Mac confirmed.
Ah, explained a lot. As soon as their backs were turned I slipped the banana bread into the waste disposal. I was willing to bet my one pair of designer jeans that she’d spat in that while she was making it. Oh, she was playing dirty, I just knew it.
‘Guys, listen, tonight is Dad’s last night, so what do you say we treat him to our very, very favourite thing.’
‘Pizza!’ they shouted in unison, with beaming grins that made them look like the precocious kids on the adverts for diarrhoea medication that seemed to run on American television on a perpetual basis.
I raided one of the drawers for the pizza menu and called in an order. Mark appeared at my back as I hung up the phone.
‘So what’s for tea tonight then?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ I replied huskily as I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was his last night–I was going for ten out of ten for effort. ‘I thought that since it was your last night, me and the boys would treat you to some pizza.’
I reached up to kiss him–and we’re talking a full-scale, sink-plunging snog–when he whipped his head around to face the boys, and instead of lip-locking passion I got ear-wax inhalation.
‘My last night?’ he asked the boys, his eyebrows raised. Oh, this wasn’t good. We all knew that my eyebrows were the main disciplinary force in this family–for Mark to put his into action meant a serious misdemeanour had been committed.
Both the boys had their heads bowed and were slinking down off their seats, imitating the general demeanour of a serial killer who had been caught with suspicious-looking chops in the fridge.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, baffled.
‘Run for it,’ Mac shouted to Benny before they took off like said serial killer was behind them.
The minute they disappeared out of sight, Mark burst into fits of giggles. Giggles. And outside there was a blue moon, it was raining frogs and Elvis was cleaning the pool.
‘What?’ I spluttered. The giggles were infectious and I was having one of those bizarre moments where you’re in fits of laughter but you’ve absolutely no idea what the joke is.
‘This isn’t my last night.’
‘It isn’t?’ The shock killed the laughter. So what did that mean? He’d decided to stay? He’d decided that we were all going to stay here and take our chances in the Tinseltown crapshoot?
‘I’ve postponed my flight…’
Okay, so it wasn’t cancelled. But postponed was good. Postponed was great. Another month or so here should give me time to make some kind of progress on the career front.
‘…until Sunday…’
Sunday? He’d postponed the flight for a whole four days.
‘…and I’d already told the boys so they knew fine well that tonight wasn’t my last night–they just lied for the pizza, little buggers.’
Why was he still laughing? Could he not see that the four presidents carved into the rock at Mount Rushmore had more expression on their faces than I did at that very moment?
My face was a frozen, immobile mask. I was Melanie bloody Griffith after a Botox top-up.
‘So why postpone the flight? Why Sunday?’ I interrupted his little bout of isolated hilarity-for-one.
‘Because I thought you could do with another couple of days to focus on your script. But work-wise I could only swing the rest of the week. The partners are already grumbling that I’ve been away for so long.’ He reached into the fridge and took out a beer. ‘Honestly, Carly, there’s shitloads of stuff piling up–I’m going to be working round the clock for the next month. Still, at least we’ll be back to some semblance of normality by then.’
‘What do you mean?’
This was bizarre. Mark was chatting like this was a casual, everyday conversation, whereas I had all the levity of lead. He was being so completely matter-of-fact.
‘Because if you’re coming home next Wednesday…’
What? At what point had I said that I was coming home next Wednesday?
‘…then we’ll be back into our old routine within a few weeks. I tell you something, though, I’m definitely going to make some changes.’
Okay, I’m listening. Did they involve radical lifestyle alterations and long-distance haulage?
‘I’m definitely, definitely not working on Saturdays any more. At least, unless it’s absolutely necessary–which it will be until I clear my backlog. But after that weekends are going to be strictly family time.’
I momentarily wondered if there was a way that I could get Mandy’s skanky banana bread out of the waste disposal and ram it down his throat.
‘Mark, stop! Just stop!’
He spun around, taken aback by the vehemence in my tone.
‘Mark, what makes you think I’m coming home next Wednesday?’
He looked stunned. ‘Because…because that’s when your return ticket is booked for! And because you’ll have had your meeting by then and you’ll know the result of that.’
‘Mark, tickets can be changed. I booked the return date before I even got here, but things are different now. I’ve made progress! What if they offer to buy my book? And my script? You expect me to just get on a plane and come straight home?’
The temperature in the room had just plummeted by about twenty degrees. Freak LA weather conditions.
‘Carly, you may not have noticed, but this is the technological age. You could write the rest of the script at home. If you were commissioned to do more work, you could do that at home too. That’s why email was invented.’ His voice was absolutely calm, absolutely cool.
I, on the other hand, felt like
I was in a sauna in the Arctic–a chilly atmosphere, but I was sweating like a stuck pig and just as happy.
‘Mark, I don’t want to go home next Wednesday. If you ever bloody spoke to me you’d know that I don’t want to go home. At all. I want to stay. I want this–this life! Or at least to give it a damn good go. I don’t want to come back next week, next month or maybe even next bloody year!’
He looked like I’d slapped him. Then, after an interminable silence, during which I had to grind my teeth together not to barrage him with all the reasons that he was being a total twat, he spoke.
‘Carly, you are living in a dream world.’
‘I know! And I bloody like it here.’
‘Carly, how can we live in LA? Huh? Come on then, Miss I Want to Live in Hollywood–give me your grand master-plan!’
There was a slight problem with that request–i.e. distinct lack of plan, grand master or otherwise.
‘I haven’t fully worked it out yet,’ I declared defiantly.
‘Well, there’s a surprise. Carly, there is no plan! If you stay here you have no guaranteed income. None. And I can’t come and work here because, although it might have escaped your notice, I’m a lawyer. I practise British law. British law that’s been totally and completely bloody irrelevant in America since the fourth of July 1776.’ I hated that he did that. I hated that he could summon up historical facts and throw them into arguments whenever it suited him. Only the other day he had the language skills of Benny, and now he was suddenly Mr Eloquent 2007. And he was still speaking…
‘Thus I couldn’t get a job, we couldn’t support our family, and last time I checked they did not allow you to live here for free. And don’t even get me started on immigration requirements, but I will point out that your tourist visa only lasts for three months.’
‘But if I worked for a studio they could help me get one for longer. That’s what happened to Sam.’