by Isabel Wolff
‘I’ve just been going through the guest list for the Craig Davie show on Tuesday night. There’ll be a big crowd. You will be there won’t you, Laura?’
I suddenly realized that now, thanks to Hope, I wouldn’t be. I wondered about asking her if I could do my sleuthing on Thursday instead, but it seemed callous. Now I felt doubly annoyed. I didn’t want to snoop on Mike—nor did I want to miss Luke’s show.
‘You will be there, won’t you?’ Luke repeated as he picked up his jacket.
I couldn’t explain why I probably wouldn’t be. ‘Of course I will,’ I said.
Luke set the alarm and double locked the door, then we wandered back to his house in the early evening sunshine, past front gardens filled with shocks of golden forsythia, and clumps of nodding daffodils, and bushy, glossy camellias already displaying their fat blooms. And we were just having a drink on his tiny terrace, beneath his flowering cherry, which was encrusted with pink petals which were lifting off in the light breeze and drifting down over us like confetti, I was happy to think, when the phone rang.
‘Ooh—who can that be?’ I said.
It was Magda, of course. But then it was never not Magda. Luke spoke to her patiently and, it seemed, at inordinate length, while I sat there twiddling my thumbs. For once, amazingly, she wasn’t phoning to berate him, but to seek sympathy. It seemed the charity ball had not gone well. Steve was being offhand. She was anxious. What was Luke’s view? Did he think Steve might be cooling off? I found it amusing to see Luke cast, for once, in the role of agony aunt rather than whipping boy.
‘I’m sure it’s not anythink I’ve done,’ I heard her moan on the speakerphone. ‘DOWN YOGI! OFF the sofa! OFF, OFF, OFF!!!!’
Luke grimaced. ‘No Magda—I’m sure it’s not you…You’re a very nice person Magda. Yes…Of course you are. You’re a wonderful person…I see. You had a little difference of opinion with one of his clients did you…?’ Luke grimaced at me. ‘Well of course you were entitled to your view…Yes, Steve should be more understanding…Hmm…I think he’s being intolerant too. Yes, Magda, he’s very lucky to have you…’
‘Especially as he’s got baggage,’ she whined. ‘I mean, there he is with this awful ex-wife—she’s so nasty to him.’
‘Really?’ Luke said, while I rolled my eyes.
‘She’s absolutely horrrrendous. She’s just jealous of me of course.’
‘Of course she is,’ said Luke. ‘Because you’re probably much more attractive than she is.’
‘Well, yes, actually, I think I am. I’ve seen photos and she’s got this…squint. NO HEIDI! OFF THE MANTELPIECE!!! AT ONCE YOUNG LADY!! Bad goat! Ba-aa-aa-d! But she’s constantly on the phone to him about the alimony, or complainink about her new husband—he’s just lost his job—that’s not the husband she married after she left Steve, by the way—that was Pete—this is Jake, he’s the one she married after she left Pete because that marriage didn’t last long.’
‘I see,’ said Luke uncertainly.
‘So she’s upset, because he was earnink loads in the City—Jake, that is, not Pete—Pete was a teacher—and they’vegot big problems with their teenage son, Patrick—that’s Steve’s son, by the way. He was caught with some cannabis—Patrick, that is, not Steve—and he’s been expelled. But they’re going to appeal so that he can take his GCSE’s in May—he’s sittink eleven so he’s quite a clever boy. Anyway, Steve is very upset about that, and then he’s worried about his mother because she’s gettink married again next month to her toyboy—he’s only sixty-two and she’s seventy-three. Maybe that’s why Steve’s so distracted at the moment…’ Magda’s voice trailed away.
And I was just sitting there thinking about the fact that in dating Luke, I was also dating Magda, and Magda’s boyfriend, and his ex-wife, and his mother, and his ex-ex wife and her discarded husbands and assorted progeny. All these people, who I had never met, and who I probably never would meet—except, possibly, it suddenly occurred to me, morbidly, years hence, at Magda’s funeral (unless I’d murdered her, in which case I would not be expected to attend)—all these unknown people—not to mention five vertically challenged goats—were now in my orbit, circling obliquely round me, making me feel dizzy and disturbed.
‘Steve just doesn’t seem…happy,’ I heard her say. ‘But then I’ve been rather tense myself, what with all this newspaper coverage there’s been about you and, and, and…’
‘Laura,’ Luke said helpfully.
‘So actually, Luke, I blame you for our problems, because if you weren’t seeink this, this, this…Laura…then my relationship with Steve would be fine.’
‘I don’t really think that’s fair, Magda,’ Luke said sweetly. He was rotating his index finger by his right temple.
‘And on that front, I was goink to tell you that this journalist phoned me today, after that piece about you and, and…her was in the papers. And he asked me how I felt about it, and when were we gettink divorced and I said I really didn’t know. But I was feelink miserable about Steve, and I must have had a bit too much to drink at the ball because I had this terrrrible headache so I just said, “Look, I’m feelink a bit upset at the moment. No comment.” So I’m certainly not givink the newspapers any ammunition, even if you are.’
TV LAURA STOLE MY HUSBAND! announced the Daily Post the next morning. EXCLUSIVE! ABANDONED WIFE OPENS HER HEART! There was a large photo of Magda, in her dressing gown, watering her tulips, captioned Distraught Wife’s Tears of Betrayal. She’d obviously had no idea she was being snapped.
The wife of Luke North, the quiz contestant lover of tragic Laura Quick, spoke out from her modest home in Chiswick about the emotional devastation she’s suffered since her husband left her for the troubled presenter of Whadda Ya Know?!! ‘No, we’re not divorced…’ a clearly distressed Mrs North confirmed. What did she think about her husband’s relationship? ‘I’m a bit upset,’ she said with quiet, understated courage. Asked what she thought of her rival, Mrs North blinked back her tears, and, with dignified restraint, said, simply, ‘No comment’. There was a world of meaning in those two little words…
There was a hideous photo of me, taken last night, talking to Hope on my mobile, captioned, Feeling the pressure—anguished Laura arranges assignation; next to it was one of Luke kissing me as I arrived at the gallery—Kiss me Quick—and beneath, a smaller one of Sweetie and Yogi captioned Kids devastated.
I was so shocked, I almost walked out of the newsagent’s without paying. Then I ran home and read it all, speechless with rage.
‘I’ve just seen it,’ Luke said from his car. ‘I saw it at the garage.’ He was going to Majestic to get the wine for the private view.
‘I haven’t stolen anyone’s husband—I’ll sue these bloody people—and I’d sue Magda too, if I didn’t know you‘d end up footing the bill.’ I could hear the tick-tock of his indicator.
‘There’s no point—even if you had the half a million it would cost—because that is what Magda said. They’ve actually quoted her accurately but given it a completely different context to twist the meaning.’
I heard his car slow up.
‘So she’s furious too, I presume.’
‘No—she’s thrilled.’
‘Why? It makes her out to be a complete victim.’
‘Strangely, she doesn’t mind. She does like to think of herself as having been “abandoned” by me, even though she was the one who left. I asked her whether she’d send them a solicitor’s letter so that they’d print an apology and she said she has no intention of denying their story.’
‘Do you think she did it deliberately?’
‘No.’ I heard him pull up the handbrake. ‘She’s not that subtle.’
‘Right. Well, that’s my day ruined. It’s now, officially, No-Good Friday. And what’s happening with the rest of yours?’
‘I’ve got to take the wine back to the gallery, then I’ve got to collect the catalogues from the printers before two. At three Jessica’s being dropped off, a
nd I’ve got her this evening…’
‘Oh. You didn’t tell me that. I assumed I’d be seeing you.’
‘I’m sorry, but Magda’s out tonight, so I said I’d have Jess.’
‘What about tomorrow? Will I see you then?’
‘Well, it’s a bit difficult, because I’m taking Jessica down to my parents.’
‘Really? What about the evening then?’
‘Well Jessica’s staying, as normal, and then on Sunday we’ll be over at Magda’s.’
‘How lovely for you,‘ I said bitterly. ‘I’m so glad!’
‘Well there’ll be an Easter egg hunt and Jessica said she wants to be with us both—it’s perfectly understandable as it’s Easter Sunday. Please don’t be cross with me, Laura, I can’t bear it.’
‘Well what about Sunday evening then?’
‘I’ll try…’
‘Or Monday?’
There was a pause. ‘Well…on Monday we’re actually going to Magda’s mother’s.’
‘Oh! Wonderful! So you’ve left me completely high and dry! All weekend! Bloody marvellous!‘
‘Well…it’s so difficult when you’ve got children. I’m really sorry Laura. I promise I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Why couldn’t I at least have gone with you to your parents? I’d love to have seen them again, and maybe they’d have liked to see me.’
‘Of course they would—they’ve said that—they always liked you. But Magda would have gone mad if she’d found out that I’d taken you there with Jess. I couldn’t risk it.’
‘Gone mad? She already is. In any case you could have just said, “Sorry, Magda, but, as a single man, I’m at liberty to incorporate my girlfriend into my weekend arrangements if I wish to.”‘
‘Yes. I could have done, and I know I should have done—and in future, I promise I will. But I’m not going to do that just yet…’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m taking Jessica to Venice for the May bank holiday weekend.’
‘Oh. You didn’t tell me.’
‘I’ve only just decided. One of my artists is getting married there and I’m invited and I thought it would be lovely to go with Jess, and Magda’s agreed to it in principle, which amazed me, so I don’t want to rock the boat. I’m treading on eggshells here, Laura.’
‘Yes,’ I said crossly. ‘And you’re breaking them.’
I was furious with Luke, and also with myself for not having discussed the weekend with him in advance. I hadn’t realized that he’d be unable to see me, and I’d got nothing else planned. Hope and Felicity were both away, and my parents were incredibly busy because Easter is the start of the tourist season, and in any case they needed all the beds. I’d simply have to occupy myself, I realized. Swim. Read. There were things to sort out in the flat—I’d neglected it since meeting Luke again. So on Saturday I spent a couple of hours in Holmes Place, ploughing up and down the pool. I went to the market and bought lots of plants. I did the small back garden—pruning and planting—then I tidied the front. And I was just standing in the bay window, putting young red and pink geraniums in the window boxes, when I saw a woman with a black and white Great Dane climb the front steps, and ring Cynthia’s bell. Half an hour later, as I was putting out the rubbish, they reappeared, followed by Cynthia, elegantly dressed as usual, smiling benignly.
‘Let me know how you get on,’ she called to them from the door. ‘We can always do a follow-up if you need it.’
‘I don’t think we will,’ the woman beamed, ‘but thank you, Cynthia. I feel so much better now. Come on, Dinky.’
Cynthia waved them off as the dog loped down the street.
‘Another satisfied customer?’ I said pleasantly.
‘Yes. She’d come up from Godalming. She was desperate to see me.’ I could smell the sweet scent of Cynthia’s Magie
Noire. ‘I was able to charge a bit more as it’s Easter Saturday.’
‘Nice of you to let her bring her dog.’
Cynthia looked puzzled. ‘Oh, no—the dog is the customer or, rather, client.’
‘Really?’
‘I’ve been diversifying, you see.’
‘Into what?’
‘Psychic healing for pets. I realized that I wasn’t making full use of my ability to connect mentally with animals; so I’ve just done a two-day course in Advanced Interspecies Communication. You can’t imagine how useful it was.’
‘No. I can’t.’
‘I put it on my website on Monday and, to my amazement, I’ve already had four bookings—two for today—so that should help keep the wolf from the door or, rather, get the wolf through the door. I’ve just had a very good session with Dinky. I was able to tune into her thought waves and identify the problem.’
‘Which…was?‘
‘Well…I shouldn’t really tell you. Client confidentiality and all that…’
‘Oh. Of course.’
‘But…’ She lowered her voice. ‘She was worried about her biological clock—she almost five so it’s understandable—but her owner just wasn’t picking up on it, with the result that Dinky was miserable. She told me she couldn’t bear to see puppies. But hopefully a nice boyfriend will be found for her and she won’t lose her chance to be a mum. Because that would be a terrible shame. You must never let that happen to you, Laura,’ she added. ‘You should have a baby.’ She peered at me. ‘Shouldn’t you?’
The infernal cheek! And I was about to tell Cynthia to keep her impertinent pronouncements to herself when I saw Mrs Singh from next door coming down her steps. She leaned over the wall, then laid her hand on my arm, her face, as usual, a mask of sincere, if slightly horrible, sympathy.
‘I’m afraid I saw the piece about you in the newspaper yesterday, Laura.’ My heart sank. ‘But…’ She inclined her head. ‘I just wanted you to know that I didn’t believe a word of it. Not a word,’ she added benignly.
‘I’m glad you didn’t, because it wasn’t true.’
‘I know you would never steal another woman’s husband.’
‘Thank you Mrs Singh.’
‘I know I don’t have to worry about Arjun.’
‘You don’t.’
‘I never believe what I read in the papers,’ said Cynthia. ‘Because I know only too well what journalists are like. They are dishonest, dishonourable, deceitful, duplicitous…scum-bags!’
‘Well, the tabloid journalists certainly are,’ I concurred.
‘No—all of them! They’re all like that! Take it from me—they are all completely mendacious, misleading, morally bankrupt…bastards!‘ She was so angry that the sinews on her throat jutted out like flying buttresses. ‘Anyway…’ She breathed in deeply through her nose. ‘I have a troubled guinea pig coming in half an hour so I mustn’t upset myself.’
As I followed Cynthia up the front steps I wondered why she should she be quite so bilious about journalists—perhaps she’d had some bad press when she was an actress. But that was a very long time ago. As she slammed her front door, I dismissed her outburst from my mind, deciding that she was simply eccentric, and carried on with my spring clean.
Now that I’d got the garden organized I tidied up inside. I had sorted out Nick’s things in February but hadn’t been through my own. So I opened the wardrobe and decided to take to Oxfam anything I hadn’t worn since he’d left. And I was just standing on a stool to pull the things out of the top shelf when I noticed a cardboard box on the top of the wardrobe, right at the back, pushed against the wall. I pulled it towards me and lifted it down. It wasn’t heavy, as it only contained one thing—an expensive-looking blue and white striped carrier bag. My heart turned over. I’d forgotten that it was there. Inside were two things which I could no longer bear to look at: a well thumbed copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting and, sheathed in tissue, the white babygro, patterned with tiny teddy bears, that I’d been unable to resist—or to dispose of.
You should have a baby, Laura…
Yes, I thought bitt
erly I should. I should have a baby—or, rather, I should have had one.
For once, Cynthia was right.
By Sunday afternoon I was climbing the walls. I’d scoured all the papers—to my relief there was nothing more about me—I watched the boat race in a bored sort of way, then I went for a long walk in Holland Park, lingering in the knot garden, which was cross-hatched with rows of pink and purple tulips. Then I decided I might as well go in to work. I could just sit there in silence and solitude, compiling questions for the second series—Dylan and I were behind. I have a key, so I let myself in. I sat at my desk, totally absorbed. It was the perfect distraction.
What sea is 1300 foot below sea level? (The Dead Sea.) What is bouillabaisse made from? (Fish.) At what stage of gestation can the heartbeat of a human embryo be detected? (Five weeks.) How do you express zero in Roman numerals? (You can’t.) Why has Luke abandoned me for the entire weekend? (Because he’s scared of Magda.) What is the chemical formula for carbon monoxide? (CO.) What is the golden rule when dating someone with kids? (Remember that you will always come last.)
To my surprise, I heard the front door squeak open.
‘Hi,’ said Tom wonderingly. ‘What are you doing here?’ I felt myself blush, as though I’d been caught raiding the stationery cupboard. ‘It’s Easter Day—I thought you had…plans.’
‘Well…’ I shrugged. ‘Nothing firm…and Dylan and I need to stock up on questions for the second series so I thought I’d come in and make a start.’ He nodded sceptically as he took off his jacket. ‘How about you?’ I asked.
‘Oh…I’ve got so much to do. I’ve got accounts to check—the April 5th deadline’s looming—then I’ve got to rewrite the Lenin proposal for BBC Four, plus I want to think about Cannes—the Mip festival’s in a fortnight.’
‘And you’re definitely going?’
‘You bet I am—I want to sell foreign rights for the quiz.’
‘Has there been much interest?’
‘Yes, from the States, France and Germany—but I want to do any deals face to face.’
I fiddled with my pen. It was one of Nick’s SudanEase biros. A Little Goes A Long Way was stamped on it. ‘Anyway,’ Tom went on, ‘I’ve got things like that to do, and today’s the perfect opportunity.’