by Sophie King
‘I must go, Mark. ’Bye.’
Zelda watched her closely as she sat down. ‘He sounded persistent. I can’t stand pushy PRs.’
‘Nor me,’ said Caroline firmly.
Should couples stay together for the sake of the children?
Yes. At least, that’s what she’d thought two years ago. Why blow it now?
Before she changed her mind, she picked up the phone. ‘Roger? It’s Caroline.’
Not ‘me’. Not since that time, towards the end of his affair when he had hesitated because he hadn’t known if it was her voice or the other woman’s when she had called.
‘Ben’s working and Georgie’s staying late for another play rehearsal. I wondered if you felt like staying in town for dinner tonight before we go to pick her up.’
No one, thought Caroline, searching for something to say, could accuse her of not trying. Dinner with her husband had seemed like an olive branch at a time when Mark’s voice had sparked off all that guilt. But they had exhausted their usual topics – children, work – and hadn’t even finished the first course. It was an uneasy silence – the silence of an ill-fitting date or an uncomfortable marriage.
My marriage is running on the wrong fuel, she thought suddenly. It would be a good coverline if it wasn’t so painful.
Everyone around her seemed to be chatting, just as she and Mark had during their London lunch and then again in Oxford. What was it that someone had said recently in an interview on Woman’s Hour? That was it. Wordplay to women is what foreplay is to men.
‘Are you tired?’ she asked, watching her husband pick at his chicken curry.
‘Not really.’
Another silence.
‘Are you?’
‘Sort of.’ She explained about the price problem that day but he didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. His work was so different from hers – at least the magazine world was relatively easy to understand but accountancy was a mysterious world of figures.
‘What was yours like?’ He nodded at her prawn soufflé.
‘Quite nice. Yours?’
‘OK. Look, Caroline . . .’
Her heart pounded. She’d learned to dread those words. Two years ago, they had prefaced a confession she had never thought to hear. As Jeff had said, if you lined up all the men in the world, Roger was the last you’d expect to be unfaithful.
‘Yes?’ she whispered.
‘I am tired, actually. More so than I realised. Do you mind if we go home?’
‘Fine.’
Instead of being filled with relief that Roger’s coolness was merely down to tiredness – and perhaps boredom with her company – she felt angry. Why couldn’t he make an effort? A vision of Mark swam into her head and she didn’t try to push it away.
They paid the bill and walked towards the station. ‘By the way,’ said Roger, fishing in his pocket for his season ticket, ‘I’ve got to go away next weekend – another wretched conference. In Leicester, this time.’
There had been conferences before, which he had later confessed had been something different. Yet this time she knew from the way his eyes met hers that he was telling the truth. ‘Next weekend?
You won’t be able to go to the ball, then.’
‘What ball?’
‘I told you ages ago. That charity ball I have to go to, a week on Friday, for the magazine.’
He slipped his ticket into the machine. ‘Sorry, but I can’t get out of it. And before you ask, no, she won’t be there.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Caroline, following him down on the escalator. A youngish man, somewhat the worse for drink, knocked into her as he pushed past but Roger failed to offer her his arm.
‘No, but you thought it.’
They stood in icy silence on the platform. Caroline felt eerily calm. If he wouldn’t go to the ball with her, she’d go on her own, although she didn’t relish the prospect: it was very much a do for couples. She stared at a poster as a breeze ruffled her hair, the railway line began to throb and the tube appeared. Roger got on in front of her, leaving her to fend for herself in the crowd of late commuters with briefcases. It was then that she decided she wouldn’t go alone.
She’d take someone else.
38
Susan had kept Tabitha at home for a few days to make sure she was all right. Their family doctor had checked her over and confirmed that the wrist was only bruised. Even so, Susan followed Tabitha around all day, applying copious amounts of arnica cream.
By tea-time, she was fed up with the phone. Josh had rung twice from work and Steff three times.
‘She’s better,’ she had reassured them. ‘She’s got to be if she can still do her jigsaws.’
At the back of her mind, too, she was wondering about Simon. He had been way out of order . . . but had he mistaken her enthusiasm for the job as ‘leading him on’?
Now, though, she was exhausted. Having Tabitha at home all day without a break made her snappy. Every time she told her off, she’d say, ‘Daddaddad.’ She’d heard about kids playing off one parent against the other but this was the first time Tabitha had done it. She’d send her to school tomorrow, and on Saturday she could go to Josh and Steff as usual. But then what?
From Rainbow to What Mums Know: Someone at work made a pass at me and then fired me when I rebuffed him. Should I report him or accept I’ve been fired? It was only a Saturday job but it was important to me.
It was worth a try. If she’d asked Joy, she’d never have heard the end of it. She’d want to know if Simon was good-looking and whether she secretly fancied him after years of not having it. Joy was frank about sex and had quizzed Susan on more than one occasion about how frustrated she felt.
The following day when Tabitha had gone off on the bus, she checked her messages.
Just one reply.
From Expectent Mum to Rainbow: Wheres your sense of pride? Hes the one who should be ashamed. Get in their on Saturday and make a stink about it.
Funny. She’d always thought Expectent Mum was a bit bonkers even before she knew it was that rather strange girl, Lisa, at the centre. But this time she had voiced the quiet feeling inside Susan. Simon was the one who should be ashamed. She would go in on Saturday, although she might not make a stink. Why should that man deprive her of the first job she’d had for years?
Tabitha had gone off with Josh and Steff, waving her good arm and beaming. Steff in particular had been full of ‘We’ll be carefuls’ and ‘Don’t worrys’. Josh had still been quiet but had said they’d be back by seven p.m. and was that all right? When had he changed? Was it Steff or maturity? If she hadn’t blamed Josh for Tabitha’s condition, would they have been all right?
All these thoughts, and more, pounded through her head as she walked to work – for the exercise – instead of catching the bus. To her amazement, she’d lost half a stone when she’d weighed herself that morning. Whether it was the swimming, the walking or the worry over Tabitha’s arm, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d have time for another swim this afternoon, before Tabitha came home. She could also deliver more of the flyers that she and the other centre parents had had printed to put through people’s doors. They simply had to keep the campaign going.
Cripes. She was at the office already, and she still hadn’t worked out exactly what to say. Should she ask Simon if he really meant it about her being fired? Or should she go above him and complain?
Fiona looked up brightly. ‘Morning, Susan. Glad you’re early. It’s going to be hectic today – we’re one down – and Mike wants you to be in the office.’
Susan took off her coat. ‘One down?’
‘Yup. Simon’s gone. He left a message on the answerphone, can you believe? He was meant to give four weeks’ notice but he said he’s owed holiday and is using his entitlement. Cheek! You can have his desk today. Don’t look so worried. We’ll just get you to take down new-applicant details and book viewings. It’s not difficult.’
It wasn’t. It was surpr
isingly pleasant. Whether it was the relief at not having to face Simon or whether it was because she had a natural manner on the phone, as Fiona told her, she began to enjoy herself. She could sympathise with Mrs Cross, who didn’t want anyone round today because her son was poorly, and managed to convey to the would-be viewer that it might be better to wait until next weekend in case it was catching. She discussed honestly the pros and cons of Sycamore Drive with an applicant who didn’t know the area – good for the local primary but only off-road parking available. And she calmed down an irate woman who was cross with Green & Co because a seemingly enthusiastic viewer had failed to make a second appointment. There wasn’t even time for a lunchtime sandwich but, funnily enough, she didn’t feel hungry.
‘Did Simon say why he was leaving?’ she asked Fiona, at the end of the day.
Fiona rolled her eyes. ‘Domestic reasons, but we all know the truth.’
Susan’s heart quickened. ‘What is it?’
‘He was after Mike’s promotion – you know he was made manager last week? It’s my guess that Simon got the job that was advertised in the paper recently, same level at Haywood and Brown.’
Haywood and Brown were their major competitors, which made sense. What a relief! Now she didn’t have to say anything.
‘Going to the gym?’ asked Fiona, pointing at her kitbag.
‘Swimming, actually, then a driving lesson.’
‘When’s your test?’ asked Fiona, kicking off her shoes and putting on boots.
‘The theory’s next week and then I’ll apply.’ She twisted her hands. ‘I was hoping that if I passed I could do more hours during the week.’
‘You don’t need to be able to drive for that.’
‘Really? Simon said I did.’
Fiona grimaced. ‘Simon said a lot of things. It’s an office-based position, nothing very exciting – answering the phone and making appointments like you did today. We need someone two days a week. Interested?’
‘I’d have to finish at three to be back for my daughter.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Well, she’ll be all right on her own for a bit at that age, won’t she?’
Clearly Simon hadn’t told her about Tabs.
‘I’d rather be back.’
‘Can you stay until three thirty?’
Susan nodded. If she walked home fast, she’d be in time for Tabitha’s bus.
‘OK, then. Start on Tuesday, if you like. Same pay as the weekend, but if it works out, there’s a good career structure.’
Career structure? Susan could have hugged her. ‘That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.’
39
Mark’s hand shook as he opened Caroline’s message:
Diana’s agreed to print correction over price. Will also run photograph of toy as ‘compensation’ in next available issue. Caroline.
Caroline? Just Caroline? Not ‘love’ or even ‘best’? Reaching across the pile of papers on his desk, he dialled her mobile number.
‘You’ve reached Caroline, please leave . . .’ If he did, there’d be no hope left when she didn’t return it. But an email would give her time to think and, hopefully, reply.
Caroline. Thanks for this. See you soon, I hope.
That would have to do. Not too pushy. But enough to say he was there if she wanted him. EFT was not as thrilled by the proposed apology as Mark was. But at least Clive didn’t mention terminating his contract. With any luck, he – or, rather, Caroline – had saved his bacon. Even so, he needed more work to replace the client he’d lost. Mark leafed through his contacts book. He’d do a ring-round until he had to pick up the kids.
‘Cooee, it’s only me!’
Why – why – couldn’t she learn to ring first?
‘Mark, dear, how are you?’ Daphne clasped him to her ample chest. ‘I got back late last night but I wanted to come over to see how you were.’ She held him at arm’s length and examined his face. ‘I’ve spoken to Hilary.’
He disengaged himself gently. ‘I know. We talked afterwards.’
‘She sounded terribly low, poor thing.’
‘I thought she was all right.’
Daphne switched on the kettle. ‘That’s because she’s putting on a brave face. I can’t tell you how hard it is for her, away from you all.’
‘Then she shouldn’t have—’
‘Now now, Mark, please. We’ve been through this before. Tell me about the children. Did they miss me?’
Mark felt tempted to say that she’d only been gone a week. ‘Of course. We all did. Did you have a nice time?’
‘Wonderful. I hadn’t realised how many nice people go on these cut-price cruises. I thought it might be a bit mixed but everyone was so pleasant. And the staff couldn’t do enough for us. Mainly from the Philippines, they were, and so helpful. Perhaps it’s their culture, do you think?’
Mark winced. ‘Maybe.’
Daphne patted her bag. ‘I’ve got all the pictures here. Shall I show you now?’
‘Why not wait for the children to get back? Actually, Daphne, we’ve had a couple of hiccups.’
He told her about the website and she frowned. ‘Computers are such a danger. I’ve said that all along. Just what we need on top of his terrible behaviour. Honestly, I don’t know where he got it from. Hilary was never like that.’
Mark braced himself for the usual diatribe. He would tell her about the educational psychologist later: the website was enough for her to deal with at present. Besides, he hadn’t been able to get through to the man yet. ‘Computers can be helpful if they’re used correctly, Daphne. And someone’s just recommended a new filter, which I’m going to try out. Look, I don’t want to be rude but I’m knee deep in work and I’ve got to collect the kids in an hour.’
‘You carry on, dear. I’ll have a little clean-up and then I’ll fetch the children for you. Goodness, we have got into a bit of a mess, haven’t we? Burnt something in the oven, did you? Smells like gammon.’
‘That was ages ago.’
‘I’ll buy a spray-on oven cleaner on my way to school. And I’d better get the vacuum cleaner out too.’
Mark prickled. ‘I’ve been doing it in the evening.’
Daphne was aghast. ‘But suppose someone visits during the day?’
‘Who?’ He couldn’t help sounding bitter. ‘My wife?’
She patted his shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on Hilary, dear. We don’t always know what we’re doing.’
Sometimes it was easier to agree. ‘Sorry. My mobile again. I’ll take it upstairs, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ Daphne was already scrubbing the sink with a pot of white cream she had taken out of her bag. Clearly, his own cleaning materials weren’t adequate. ‘I’ve got plenty here to keep me busy.’
Only one company, with whom he had a vague connection, asked him to email a detailed proposal. The rest were happy with the PR representation they still had and one or two had gone in-house.
This time last year he’d been in-house too. A regular monthly salary; people to talk to – who didn’t need reminding to wash their hands after using the loo; a proper lunch hour when he could read the paper in the canteen. ‘But you’re a real dad, now,’ said a small voice inside him. ‘Not an absent one.’
True. But he still needed to earn a living.
‘Dad, we’re back!’
Freddy thundered up the stairs and, reluctantly, Mark stopped dialling. ‘Hi!’ He ruffled his son’s hair, which was stiff with whatever stuff kids put on it nowadays.
‘Gerroff, Dad, you’ll mess it up.’
‘How was your day?’
‘OK.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Stuff.’
Mark was getting used to this. The only way to prise out information was to ask for specifics. ‘What was your last lesson?’
‘Maths. We’re doing pubic centimetres.’
‘Don’t you mean cubic centimetres?’<
br />
Freddy grinned. ‘I know but we call them that to annoy the teachers. We started a new game too. It’s called Doorknob.’
Mark listened warily. ‘And what does that involve?’
‘Someone farts and if someone else says, “Doorknob,” before they say, “Safety,” the farter has to touch a doorknob before someone gets them and beats them up,’ explained Florrie, coming in.
Freddy grinned again. ‘Heffer farted on the rugby field this afternoon and the nearest doorknob was back at school. So we chased him down the road and got him.’
Mark winced. ‘Poor Heffer. Any more problems with the other boy?’
The grin disappeared. ‘No.’ He turned to run downstairs.
‘Hang on. You know the rules. Wash your hands and change before tea. And no television until homework’s done and trumpet practice too. The homework bit applies to you too, Florrie. How was your day?’
‘It was shit.’
Florrie banged the door just as Daphne huffed up the stairs in his direction. So much for the sanctity of a study.
‘Those children are impossible, Mark. Absolutely impossible. You should have heard the language in the back of the car. If you ask me, they need to see someone.’
It looked like that was the end of work for today. ‘They’re tired, Daphne.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And, as you rightly pointed out earlier, they’ve got a lot to put up with. You’ve had a long day too, after all that travelling. I’m really grateful for everything but why don’t you go home now? We’ll see you for lunch on Sunday. Sorry – my mobile’s ringing again. Mark Summers speaking. Caroline!’ He glanced at Daphne. ‘How are you?’
Daphne stiffened and began to tidy some papers on his desk. Mark, waving a hand to indicate there was no need, tried to keep his voice neutral. ‘Thanks. That’s really helpful. I’ll check them out.’