‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Meg said afterwards. ‘He’s just good at his job. You say it yourself about people in the media. You chat people up for a living.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but we use our superpowers for good, to put guests at their ease, it’s to make sure they sound great on the radio. He just wants into your knickers.’
There it was. The suggestion of sex for lust’s sake. Nothing to do with samples, plastic cups or microscopes. Meg always baulked when I brought it up in any way. It was as if I were forcing her to confront what we used to have. It had been good, we’d both liked it, surely she wanted that feeling back again?
Her face reddened, she averted her eyes, then brought them back to my face, realising what she’d done. Maybe she’d given too much away.
‘He’s a professional, Pete. He makes me laugh and he understands how I feel. Is that so bad?’
‘Of course it’s not,’ I replied, grasping for the words to express what I meant. I should have told her that I was jealous of him. I could feel her slipping away from me and I felt powerless to stop it. I loved her more than anything or anybody on the planet, but I seemed to be so far away from her at that time. I desperately wanted to hold her, kiss her, make love to her like we did when we first met, so that we could feel that frisson of excitement and possibility in the air.
All I could do was to force out a non-committal grunt and head upstairs to pack my case. It wasn’t how I wanted it to go, but that’s how it happened. My contribution to the welfare of our relationship was a grunt.
What would Martin Travis have said?
‘Perhaps you could articulate that more specifically, Peter. Try to say it without the anger.’
I couldn’t believe that I was now hearing Martin Jarvis in my internal dialogue. But he probably had a point. I walked downstairs quietly and moved gently towards Meg who was standing by the window, deep in her own thoughts.
‘I love you, Meggy. I’m sorry.’
She moved in closer and pulled me in tight. It was perfect. We stood like that for what seemed like ages, for a moment recapturing what we’d once had. Total silence, just holding each other. I’m so pleased I did that. I have Martin Travis to thank for letting me experience that closeness with my beautiful wife one last time.
Meg had a final gift to offer me, which I didn’t discover until afterwards, but knowing that just made everything that happened even sadder.
Looking back on it, I don’t know if it was anybody’s fault in particular. We all had some blame in this, and nobody walked away unscathed. I knew that what I was going to do was wrong from the moment I first smiled at Ellie. Yet I told myself all along that it would be okay, I was in control, I could stop at any time. It was just a bit of fun. I loved Meg, I’d never do anything to hurt her.
I think it was probably too late even then. I wonder if we both realised it as we stood there hugging as if we were never going to hold each other again like that. Did we know it was over? How could we have known?
Meg must have already hatched her plan for the weekend, and I hadn’t even met Ellie at that stage. How could we possibly have sensed what was waiting for us?
Something was in the air that day, that’s for sure. Who knows what it was, but I felt it, and I’m convinced that Meg did. Beautiful Meg. I’m so sorry for what I put you through. If I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat.
Chapter Two
I was soon on my way to Newcastle, and a weekend of whatever it was Diane wanted us to discuss. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind to spend time with other people. Martin had put me in a bad mood, but at least my moment with Meg had set me off on a more even keel. I was beginning to think that some special time with Meg on my birthday might have been the better option after all. She’d certainly made an effort to reach out to me before I left.
As I drove towards Newcastle, in the silence of my car I considered coming up with a mystery illness or a sudden migraine. Would Diane fall for it? I’d already made the fatal error of telling her that it was my fortieth, I should have kept quiet about that one.
I was committed to the weekend, even though my mind was half at home still. I was conflicted. Once upon a time, the prospect of a weekend alone with lovely Meg would have been glorious. Now our separation gave me a break from the same old conversations, the painful routines and the incessant marital introspection.
Martin Travis and Dr Richard Kirk had cast a long shadow over our lives. I wanted them exorcised, but Meg saw both as a positive influence. We’d done fine without them for nine years, and I was certain as I weaved in and out of the lanes on the dual carriageway that we’d figure out a solution. Together.
My thoughts were interrupted by a call on my mobile phone. I hadn’t quite managed to go hands free at that time, my car was a bit too old to have all the bits and pieces that it needed to link to Bluetooth. I glanced down at my phone on the passenger seat, screening for a call from Meg or anybody else who might be important. I glanced from phone to road and back again, making a feeble attempt to compensate for my distracted driving.
It was Jem, my friend from work. Probably nothing of importance, just catching up for a gossip. He’d want to know how the marriage guidance was going. Jem had recently split from his own wife. They’d done a bit of counselling, passing Go without collecting their £200, and heading straight for jail. Or court, as it was away from the Monopoly board. The split was new, sudden, unexpected and ugly. Jem was in a very dark place.
He wouldn’t tell me what had happened. I pieced it together as best I could. Jem couldn’t keep his eyes – or his hands – off the young reporters who flowed in and out of the office via a never-ending post-university conveyor belt. They were future starlets destined for TV and radio careers, straight out of media courses and wet behind the ears.
I’ll admit that this was a constant source of temptation before I met Meg. These bright-eyed, beautiful young women would be eager for any bit of advice that could accelerate them up the greasy pole towards presenting shows and getting on TV. It didn’t seem to bother them that I was some ageing journalist stuck in the regional pool until retirement or redundancy beckoned. Or, more likely, a heart attack at my desk. They were so upfront about it too. I’m not sure what they thought I could do for them. I will admit, though, there were times when I tucked into the buffet, but when Meg came along I lost interest completely, they just seemed like young girls to me. But Jem could never resist, in spite of having a beautiful wife and five wonderful kids.
When I was a child at secondary school, we used to have an RE teacher who sold us posters for our bedroom walls. I had one that showed four cows, each one with its neck thrust through the fence of the next field eating its neighbour’s grass. The caption was: The grass is always greener.
That’s what Jem reminded me of. He had everything that Meg and I wanted – well, everything that Meg wanted and I wasn’t fussed about it either way. Yet he couldn’t help sticking his neck through the barbed wire and munching the grass in the next field. That poster was made for people like him. Within the next twenty-four hours it would take on a whole new relevance to me.
I assumed that Jem had been caught in the act by Sally, his wife. His wife of twenty years, I should add, and partner of who knows how long? They met at university, married young and started a family in their thirties. The kids were still young, they were all of school age, and it was very destructive for everybody.
Jem had indulged in indiscretions in the past, but they were always brief and both parties involved seemed to know the lie of the land. They appeared to be casual flings between an older producer who was married and a young journalist who thought that she could move on her career by sleeping with someone in a senior position.
I often wondered how long these women would have to work in the organisation to realise how low down the food chain we were. Still, it was a pretence that Jem was happy to maintain and, until he got caught, it didn’t seem to harm anyone.
&nb
sp; When the crash came for Jem, it was sudden and final. I had been surprised that Sally took it so far since it was only a casual office fling. All those years of marriage, the kids and the long journey they’d travelled together, and she just seemed to throw in the towel. I didn’t know Sally well, she tended to stay away from our broadcasters’ nights out. Media people can seem very confident and overbearing at times, and social occasions are not a good place for partners who prefer a quiet night in.
Meg always loved work nights out, she threw herself right into them.
‘How exciting do you think a probation service night out gets?’ she’d laugh. ‘Imagine talking about no-hopers all night ... and that’s just the staff!’
Meg always made me laugh. Correction, she used to make me laugh. We’d howl at some of the things the young idiots got caught with when they were shoplifting in local stores. What made them pinch that stuff? One got caught with three tubes of AnusSooth cream in his inside pocket, yet he’d got over a tenner on him at the time. And for the privilege he got to pay for his crimes with fifty hours of community service.
‘Let’s hope whatever they asked him to do involved lots of sitting, at least he’d got the cream for it!’
God, I’d laughed when she said that. It wasn’t that funny, but when you’re in love and feeling connected you’ll laugh at anything and everything. When did the laughing stop? I can’t even remember now.
So Jem was a fool. I loved the guy, I really did, but imagine throwing all that away? How do you recover your life after you mess it up like he did?
Sally was a real Rottweiler going for him like that, though. She wouldn’t listen to any of his pleas for mediation, conciliation and all the other things that keep you away from the more costly services offered by the legal profession. She went straight for the kill. The couples counselling was brief and perfunctory from her point of view. She threw him out of the house for starters. Stopped him seeing the kids for a while. That was harsh.
Jem moved into one of those clichéd flats that estranged dads always end up in while the money is being sorted out. Filled with the terminally unemployed. I felt sorry for him, talk about being a poster boy for keeping it in your trousers.
I couldn’t understand why Sally would be so extreme when it was just a stupid fling with some naive young reporter. It wasn’t going anywhere, it was no threat to the marriage. I didn’t condone it, of course I didn’t. Jem needed to spend some time out in the cold, he had to understand that he’d been caught and that it must never happen again. But Sally wanted blood. She needed to see a dead body.
She got her decree nisi in the quickest time possible. Jem didn’t fight it, she had him over a barrel with the kids. She took the house and left him to fend for himself. It served him right, I know that. But it was as if she wanted him gone, there didn’t seem to be any sadness there. Just anger, hate and a desire for revenge. It was shocking, watching it on the sidelines.
I know she had loved Jem up to the point she found out what he was up to. How can love take a 180 degree turn like that, even though Jem had cheated on her? Sally wanted the relationship over, there was no going back.
He wouldn’t divulge which of the trainees it was, he’d clam up whenever I pushed him on the matter. I’d get the occasional snippet from him such as ‘This was different, Pete,’ or ‘It’s too painful to talk about,’ and he’d move the conversation onto other topics.
Knowing what I know now, I wish to God that I’d pushed him more. I could have helped Meg if I had.
I’d seen a real decline in the quality of hotel accommodation that we were allowed to use in recent years. When I was a cub reporter, you could get a great night-out in London all covered by expenses. You could even travel first class on the train. Human resources had put a stop to that a long time ago. That’s why I was now standing outside the OverNight Inn bracing myself for what I might find inside. Diane had vowed to make better use of the radio station’s budget, so she’d sorted out a block-booking deal. Actually, Jem had copped for that job, he’d made the bookings on Diane’s behalf. Fifty pounds per person per night.
I walked into the hotel under a brightly coloured sign proudly boasting their ‘Snug-at-Night Guarantee’. I checked my phone before I walked into reception – I could see there was a bit of a queue there. There was a voice message from Jem, just a quick one.
‘Hi Pete, I’ve cried off travelling over tonight, I’ll be there sometime tomorrow. Diane knows, got some Sally business to take care of. See you Saturday. Mine’s a pint.’
He sounded tense and distracted. Crafty git. He’d played the marital crisis card with Diane. It outflanks a fortieth birthday every time. Good on him, he’d escape a day of ‘brakes-off thinking’. That phrase made me want to scream. Diane must have picked it up from one of her self-development podcasts, everything had been ‘brakes off’ for the past week.
Nothing from Meg. I was a bit disappointed about that. I’d hoped that she would pick up on our moment before I left, maybe with a follow-up message or something like that. An indication that she gave a shit. The cupboard was bare. For an instant I toyed with sending her a text. Maybe I should set the example I wanted her to follow, perhaps she’d pick up on my lead? To my shame, I got distracted by a Facebook post instead: Click here to see what this man can make with 100 pipe-cleaners. You won’t BELIEVE picture number 3!
If I had sent that text, it would have been one of the last messages that got through to Meg before everything began to unravel. But I’d completely forgotten about Meg by the time I’d scrolled through the slideshow of images on my phone. I had to agree, I didn’t believe what I saw in picture 3, it was amazing. So when Jenny Cox welcomed me to the OverNight Inn in Newcastle’s city centre, I was totally distracted.
‘Welcome to the OverNight Inn, Newcastle City, we guarantee that you’ll be snug at night the whole night through. How may I help you?’
Poor old Jenny. She’d worked through a line of nine guests before me and she’d had to run through her corporate patter every time. I liked her immediately. She was young and full of enthusiasm. If anybody could deliver those turgid corporate lines with any degree of commitment, it was Jenny. She had one of those eager bright faces that make you want to feel the same zest for life that you had yourself at that age. That positivity and sense of hope for the future.
She’d been reading a thick paperback book, which was resting face down on the counter.
‘Little Dorrit, that’s quite a read. Is it a long shift?’ I asked her, smiling.
‘Yes, I’m doing an Open University degree, can’t afford to go to proper uni, so I work here and study whenever I’m working nights.’
‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. You’ll get a real degree, just like everybody else, and you’re cannier than the rest because you won’t have as much debt. Good on you, Jenny.’
She seemed genuinely touched by that. I suppose most people didn’t particularly care what she was reading or even if she had any hopes and dreams.
‘That’s a really kind thing to say, thank you, Mr ...’ Jenny checked back at her PC screen. ‘Thank you, Mr Bailey.
‘Enjoy your stay at the OverNight Inn, Newcastle City, if at any time you find that you’re not snug at night the whole night through, I’ll be here to help. I hope you enjoy your stay!’
‘Thank you, Jenny,’ I replied politely. ‘You’ve been a great help. Which way is my room?’
‘Through the door, turn right, then it’s keep right all along the corridor to the end. I’ve given you one of the best rooms, it’s away from the main doors and at the empty end of the car park.’
I began the fire-door-and-wheeled-suitcase dance that all hotel dwellers must endure. Push the fire door, place foot to hold it open, roll case through the door, step forward, release foot. Repeat four times. Jenny had certainly given me a quiet location, but it felt like an assault course getting my gear to the end of that long row of doors.
Eventually I got there
. Room 123. The numbering made no sense to me whatsoever, but so long as I remembered it was right and right I’d be able to manage, even if I got a bit merry in the evenings.
I barely noticed it as I stepped up to my room, it didn’t seem significant then. Why would it? I assumed that the cleaners were still working in the bedrooms of the late departures.
The door to the room next to mine was slightly open. It was hardly noticeable, there was no great gap. It just hadn’t completely closed. Maybe somebody was crossing over to a friend or a family member in the room opposite, probably getting fed up with having to insert a key card every time. I’d had the same problem myself when travelling in groups. You can really learn to hate fire doors sometimes.
I ignored it, it was one of the thousands of negligible things that flash in and out of your mind every day. Navy blue carpet with purple dots along the corridor. Stickers on doors saying No Smoking Room, one torn at Room 114. Big scratch on the woodwork of the second fire door along my corridor. Door slightly open at the room next to mine.
The open door registered in my mind, then faded into the background, only to be replaced by some other insignificant piece of information moments later.
But it wasn’t insignificant. Later he’d be in there. Waiting. Watching. Listening. Ready to start the events that would screw up our lives forever.
Physical attraction is such a weird thing.
For instance, Jenny on the reception desk was a lovely person: strikingly attractive, glowing, amiable. But I didn’t fancy her. There was no reason why not, it was just that she wasn’t my type.
Meg, however, was burned into my soul from the minute I saw her. I loved her before I even knew her, my attraction to her was so complete and absolute that I really did believe that it was unassailable. Until Ellie walked into the room.
Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set Page 2