So she’d said yes to Jim’s invitation. Telling herself that he was just one of her friends. That there was nothing remotely untoward about going for a drink with a single man after work, not mentioning it to anyone else, and not going to a bar anywhere near work lest someone they knew should see them. Now, with hindsight, it seemed utterly brazen.
Sluttish, even. She might as well have had a placard on her forehead saying UNHAPPILY MARRIED AND TOTALLY AVAILABLE.
That’s probably how Jim saw her.
But was she? Was she really unhappily married?
She just didn’t know anymore. What constituted a happy marriage anyway? She was fairly sure that she and Ed did care about each other. That they still enjoyed each other’s company. But was that enough? Ed never looked into her eyes and told her she was special. Half the time he barely seemed to notice she was there. He came home, buried himself in paperwork, snapped at her, and spent hours furtively tapping e-mails into his BlackBerry as if whoever was at the other end was far more important and interesting than her. Maybe they were. Maybe the person at the other end was special.
So she’d gone out with Jim. And worn her sparkly top—the second outing for it, the first being that disastrous dinner party when she’d worn it and no one had even noticed it or commented on it at all, especially not Ed.
Jim had noticed it right away. He’d told her how nice it was, how it was so nice to see her out of work clothes. Or gym clothes. He smiled when he said that, almost suggestively, but Sal wasn’t sure and so she just moved the conversation on with a smile. She’d been so on edge to start with—simply being in the bar seemed to her to be the logical precursor to a horrible, painful divorce and an admission of failure where her marriage was concerned. But after a couple of vodka tonics, she started to relax a bit, and after a while longer, she began to enjoy herself. Jim was an interesting guy—he used to be a journalist, covering big stories about the side effects of drugs that had been covered up or the damaging impact of the high cost of drugs around the world. Now, he told her sheepishly, he’d jumped to the other side because the money and security were so much better, but he might go back to writing one day. She told him about her doctorate and how she enjoyed regulation because she could understand the scientists, being one of them, but also enjoyed the business and marketing side of things. He said she was the best person by far on the regulation team, that everyone thought so. And she basked in the praise, her whole face lighting up at the thought that people actually rated her.
They’d talked nonstop, actually, with no awkward pauses or hesitations. Until the end of the evening, that is. And then suddenly things got very awkward. Sal said she was going to get a cab. Jim offered to share it with her. There ensued a long discussion about whether or not it was worth sharing a cab when she lived in West Kensington and he lived in Clapham, and eventually he grinned and put her in a cab and said there was another one right behind, even though Sal could see that there wasn’t and that he was just being nice because she was obviously uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a cab, let alone more. And then, just before he closed her cab door, he leant over and kissed her. On the lips.
Until then, Sal had been able to kid herself that this was just a friendly evening. That Jim was a work colleague—hell, they’d been talking about work most of the evening.
That kiss changed everything. On the way home, Sal replayed it a thousand times—sometimes she imagined pulling away in horror and telling Jim that he’d got the wrong idea, that she was married and not interested in anything more than friendship. But a couple of times, she imagined pulling him into the cab, imagined his lips on hers, on her neck, him holding her in his arms with an urgency she hadn’t experienced in years and whispering that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have met her, that she was the only thing he could think about, every minute of every day.
“Hello?” she whispered into the telephone receiver, suddenly terrified that it would be Jim, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t ever given him her landline number. She looked over at Ed and saw to her relief that he was snoring gently.
“Sal? Gareth here. Kate’s friend from work. We need to get over to her place.”
“What? Why?” Relief was flooding through her. She was safe. It wasn’t Jim.
“Do you want the long version or the short version?”
Sal looked at Ed, who might wake up any minute. “The short one.”
“She’s lost her job and Joe’s left her for Penny Pennington.”
“You’re joking!”
“Nope. I heard it from Will, a runner on the show, and he heard it from Adam the cameraman, and he heard it from Penny herself. Apparently she’s shouting it from the rooftops. So look, I’ve got chocolate,” Gareth continued. “But we’ll need more than that.”
Sal’s mind was racing. Joe and Penny? Was everyone having affairs now, even the ones who professed to being in love?
“I’ve got HobNobs,” she said eventually. “And ice cream.”
“Might be a bit early for ice cream.”
“You’re right. Okay, HobNobs and maybe a bottle of something. Where are you now?”
“Outside your house.”
Sal jumped up and looked through her bedroom curtains to see Gareth standing in the middle of the street, his dyed blond hair glowing in the sun. She waved at him, suddenly relieved to have an excuse to get out of the house before Ed woke up. “Give me five minutes.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“You really needn’t have come,” Kate said, grinning as her kitchen counter filled with biscuits, chocolate, milk, bread, and more biscuits.
“Don’t be silly,” Gareth said. “You’re what’s known as a friend in need. Although …” He looked at her closely. “… you don’t seem all that upset. Are you in denial? Have you buried the trauma deep within yourself?”
Kate shook her head. “I’m fine. Really.”
“I still don’t understand,” Sal said, bemused. “Joe and Penny? Of all the people. He was bitching about her at dinner just last week.”
“Love and hate,” Gareth said knowledgeably, turning on the kettle. “They’re very close, you know. And probably he was protesting too much, you know, to disguise his real feelings.”
Sal frowned at him. “Maybe it was a mistake,” she suggested. “I mean, maybe he just got carried away in the moment. It happens, doesn’t it? It doesn’t have to mean anything. …”
Kate shook her head. “I don’t understand it either,” she said with a sigh, “but it wasn’t a mistake. Me and Joe … well, it’s over.”
“Gareth’s right,” Sal said. “You’re in denial or something. You don’t even seem that upset. Just the other day you were talking about marrying this guy.”
“I know.” Kate smiled slightly. “But, you know, I got it wrong. He wasn’t the guy for me. You have to move on, don’t you?”
Sal’s eyes narrowed. “Not this quickly. You move on after spending a weekend listening to Bette Midler and eating ice cream. You don’t just get up and say, Oh well, not to worry. It’s not normal. What aren’t you telling us?”
Kate turned pink. “Nothing!” she said defensively. “There’s nothing I’m not telling you. I’m just… well, I’m just okay.” She took a mug of steaming tea from Gareth and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to focus her mind. She was upset by Joe and Penny. Of course she was. But that all seemed a long time ago now. That was before Tom kissed her.
And now she had no idea what she thought about anything.
“She’s gone mad,” Gareth announced. “Complete basket case.”
“I think you might be right,” Sal said, not at all certain. “So, Kate, have you thought any more about your job situation? What you might do?”
Kate frowned. “I dunno. I’ll think of something.”
“I’ve got the numbers of some producers,” Gareth said, digging a piece of paper out from his back pocket. “D’you want me to call them for you? I could be your people. You need to have
people to be taken seriously.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. “You think if I had people they’d be like you?” she asked, smiling.
Gareth shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The phone rang and they all stared at one another.
“What if it’s Joe?” Gareth asked excitedly.
Kate frowned again. What if it was Tom?
“I’ll get it,” Sal said, picking up the receiver. “Hello? Kate He-therington’s apartment.” She passed the phone to Kate. “It’s someone called Heather.”
Kate frowned. “I don’t know a Heather.” She sighed and took the receiver. “Kate speaking,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“Kate! Hi! It’s Heather here. Heather from Hot Gossip magazine. I just wanted to say all this stuff with Penny and Joe must be really hard. How are you feeling today?”
Kate stared at the phone. “Sorry, do I know you?” she asked, slightly taken aback.
“I heard about last night. Our photographer got a photo of you, all slumped up on the ground. Just awful, and I felt so sorry for you, I just wanted to get your thoughts, really. You know, toward Joe, toward Penny. How long had you two been together? Have you ever gone to LA? I mean, did you think you were going to move to LA with him? Has he shattered your dreams?”
“I… I … I have to go now,” Kate said, quickly putting the receiver down.
Sal raised her eyebrows and Gareth looked at her expectantly.
“Sales call?” Sal asked sympathetically. “I get those all the time. If it isn’t double glazing, it’s credit cards or accident insurance. I mean, does anyone actually buy that stuff over the phone?”
“It was Hot Gossip magazine,” Kate said, still reeling. “They wanted to know if Joe had shattered my dreams of moving to LA.”
“Hot Gossip?” Sal repeated in disbelief, her eyes wide. “Why? I mean, really?”
“Yes, really,” Kate said. “She … she said they’ve got a photograph of me on the ground outside the Bush Bar and Grill.”
“You were on the ground? Oh my God. How dramatic! Did Penny push you? Have you got any bruises?”
Kate looked at Gareth sternly. “I was just pissed off. No one pushed anyone. But I didn’t think they’d photograph me.”
“Why were they photographing anyone?” Sal asked, confused.
Gareth rolled his eyes at her. “Publicity. Come on, Sal, keep up. Penny would get the paparazzi to photograph her getting out of the bath if she thought they’d be interested.” Then he grinned. “Give them an interview,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Make like Princess Di on Panorama and tell the world what a bitch Penny Pennington is.”
Kate shook her head. “No way. There is no way I’m doing an interview. I can’t think of anything worse than being in one of those magazines.”
Gareth bit his lip. “So you’re not keen on being in the papers, either?”
“Of course not.” Kate frowned. “Why?”
“Yeah, the thing is, I wasn’t going to show you this until, you know, I was sure you were feeling strong enough. …” Gareth said awkwardly.
He slowly pulled out a copy of the News of the World.
“I saw it when I was buying the chocolate,” he explained. Opening it up at page sixty-three, he winced as he turned it round to show Kate and Sal.
There, on a columnist’s gossip page, was a slightly out-of-focus photograph of Penny and Joe with a small but clear image of Kate in the background, sitting outside the Bush Bar and Grill with her head in her hands. The caption read, “Daytime dramas: Future: Perfect star Penny Pennington has her mitts on a new man, actor Joe Rogers. But our spies tell us that all isn’t happy on the Future: Perfect set, particularly for Kate Hetherington, interiors stylist, who until recently was Joe’s girlfriend. More like Future: Imperfect for Kate, it seems. But the new couple are Perfectly happy with that!”
Kate stared at the photo and grabbed the paper away from Gareth.
“Oh my God!”
“I know!” Gareth said. “They don’t know you’ve been fired yet. Journalists are so clueless these days …”
Penny triumphantly held up the newspaper to show Joe, then picked up the phone.
“Magda? It’s me. Seen the News of the World? … I know! … Couldn’t be better if we tried. Look, got to go, just wanted to make sure you’d seen it…. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind but I’m not going to be in on Monday…. No, important publicity stuff… Yes, yes, I will, don’t worry. Byeee.”
She made a kissy face at Joe and dialed another number.
“Me. What’ve we got? Uh huh. Yup. Okay. No, I don’t want to do it here—you’ll have to find me another flat. Something interior designed. Yeah. Oh, really? Oh, I think so….” She turned to Joe. “You ski?”
He frowned and shook his head.
“Yup,” Penny said, “skiing’s not a problem. Great! Alright, well, keep me posted.” She put down the phone and turned to Joe, elated.
“OK! is going to do an interview with us in our lovely new home,” she said, licking her lips. “So we need to find a hotel suite that looks suitably glamorous. And Tittle Tattle is going to take us to Verbier for their celebrity holiday pullout special. Hot Gossip magazine is going to run the pics from last night and the story. You and I, Mr. Rogers, we’re hot property!”
Joe looked at her in disbelief. This woman was incredible. In less than twenty-four hours he’d gone from being a no one to half of a celebrity couple. His agent had already been on the phone congratulating him, telling him that he’d have some more auditions lined up for next week. And all he’d had to do was kiss Penny in front of some cameras and tell a couple of journalists that he was in love. Oh, and then, when they’d got home, he’d had to … Actually, he didn’t really want to think about what he’d done back at Penny’s flat. He only had to do it until he’d got some recognition, anyway. Then he’d never have to see Penny’s scrawny body again.
And in the meantime, Penny said he could stay here. In her Chelsea apartment. Man, he’d landed on his feet this time. He was going places. He was going to be someone.
“Okay, just one question,” he said firmly.
Penny smiled. “What?”
“Where’s Verbier?”
24
On Monday morning, Kate woke up at seven thirty with an odd feeling in her stomach. She had no job to go to. No one was expecting her anywhere. And Tom still hadn’t called.
She’d reluctantly gone to bed at midnight the night before, convinced that no sooner would her head hit the pillow than the phone would start to ring and he’d be apologizing for being so busy, wondering if he could come over….
And while she waited, she’d tried to imagine life with Tom as her boyfriend, tried to imagine walking arm in arm with him, having picnics on hot sunny afternoons, going to Paris by Eurostar, floating around Venice on gondolas. It was impossible. She could conjure the pictures with the Tom from the other night, alright; the Tom she’d kissed, the Tom who sent little shivers down her spine every time she thought about him. But as soon as those pictures were safely in her mind, the Tom she knew far better—the cynical, sarcastic, best friend Tom—appeared in her head and sabotaged the pictures, making stupid remarks and taking the piss out of her little fantasies. Cynical Tom wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face floating around Venice on a gondola, she thought. Sarcastic Tom didn’t even believe in love.
Eventually she’d fallen asleep rather like a cat with one ear cocked, waiting to spring into action should the phone ring or the doorbell go. She’d even dreamt that he turned up in the middle of the night. She went to open the front door and found him standing there, wearing a hat pulled down over his face, like Alec’s in Brief Encounter. It was pouring with rain, and he pulled her to him, kissing her firmly on the mouth, and little droplets of rain from his hat cascaded down onto her skin, and the next thing she knew they were in a car driving off to the country without a care in the world.
And then she woke up, and he wasn’t ther
e, and there weren’t any messages on her answer machine. Which was … disappointing. But there would be a good reason for it, she was sure. Anyway, she was fine. It was just a kiss, after all. And it was just Tom.
At seven forty Gareth called to find out if there were any messages she wanted him to relay to Magda and Penny or any stories about fabulous new jobs she wanted him to make up, but, to his evident disappointment, she declined his kind offer.
“You’re sure?” he asked. “I mean, you don’t want Penny thinking she’s won, do you? I could just say you’re on holiday in the Seychelles or something?”
Kate smiled but stayed firm. “Don’t say anything,” she ordered.
“I can’t believe you’re not coming in,” Gareth wailed. “I’m going to have no one to play with anymore. No one to bitch with or anything.”
“I know. I’m a bit sad, too,” Kate said. “But then again, I think in many ways, it might be a good thing. You know, a catalyst.”
“Right,” Gareth said. “Um … catalyst. That’s something to do with cars, isn’t it?”
Kate grinned. “Not exactly. I think maybe it was time I left Future: Perfect, you know? I mean, there are other production companies, right?”
“‘Course there are. I’m going to miss you, though. And as for that Penny… I’m just going to blank her, I’ve decided. Show her she can’t go pushing people around without consequences.”
Kate smiled. “Penny’s got filming today, hasn’t she?” she asked mischievously. “At Sarah Jones’s house? I think she’ll have enough on her plate finishing the painting and decorating without worrying about what I’m up to.”
Gareth consided. “But Phil’ll be doing that, won’t he?”
The Hopeless Romantic's Handbook Page 17