by Jane Fallon
And Stella has no idea.
19
I get out of there as quickly as I can while still asking all the questions I need to ask (although not the ones I really want to) – number of bedrooms, number of receptions, number of bathrooms, level of clean required (inside cupboards? Take books off bookshelves? Empty drawers? Basement? Attic? Swimming pool? Red room? OK, so I made that last one up, although it wouldn’t surprise me with some of these people). I’m tempted to ask for the full tour so I can check out her bedroom – although I don’t know what I’m expecting to see; a framed photo of Al with a big heart drawn round his face, maybe – but I don’t want to give myself away. Instead I give Ferne the hard sell with much talk of neighbourly discounts and preferential treatment. If it was up to her, I’m pretty sure we’d have a deal even before I’ve done a quote.
I call Angie as soon as I’m back home. I’m shaking as I scroll through to find her number. A part of me feels a kind of thrill that Stella is going to get her comeuppance, but another part – a bigger part – just feels horrified at the scope of Al’s deception.
‘Karma,’ Angie says when I’ve finished telling her the whole story.
‘I know, but … Jesus. Surely the punishment is meant to fit the crime where karma is concerned?’ I’m up on the kitchen counter again, trying to push the window open. It’s stifling in here now the weather has warmed up into an early heatwave. ‘I mean, what’s going to happen to the house? He’s taken that huge loan out against it, so I’m guessing he’ll sell it once he moves out, to pay it back. Wouldn’t he just have rented a flat for him and Ferne otherwise? It’d be way cheaper, surely.’
‘I assume Stella owns half of it,’ Angie’s already told me she’s in Tesco, and I can hear distant clanking and chattering. ‘They’ve been together years, haven’t they?’
‘Hopefully. Her name wasn’t on the papers for the loan, though, was it? Don’t you think that’s odd?’
‘Well, she probably owns half by default …’
‘They’re not married, remember. Oh god, Ange. I don’t know what to do. I wish I didn’t have this information now.’
‘She laughs. ‘You don’t. Not really. Not categorically, anyway.’
‘I’m right, though, aren’t I?’ I say, hoping she’ll say no, there could be a hundred different explanations.
‘By the sound of it, yes.’
Fuck.
I try to concentrate on getting the two new quotes together, but my mind is wandering and I keep making mistakes. Stella might be ghastly. Jealous and vindictive. A Grade-A Mean Girl. But no one deserves this. Whatever this is. I assume Al loves his kids, even if he no longer loves Stella, so surely he wouldn’t turf them out of their home? Maybe he’s planning on letting them all stay there, living their luxurious lives – after all, the rumoured cost of the wedding would keep most normal people going for about twenty years. I tell myself that’s it. He needed to free some cash to set up his bolthole, but he’ll keep on making the huge repayments on the house, somehow find the three and a half million he has to repay by the end of the year, keep on funding all their lifestyles. But then I think about the new bank account, the massive sum transferred over from their joint account, the fact that he’s still going along with the wedding plans as if nothing is wrong, and I know: Stella’s life as she knows it is over. I know I’m being overdramatic. He’s not going to make them live on the streets. And, let’s face it, they’ll probably still have a more pampered life than ninety-nine per cent of the population. But that’s not the point.
Eventually, I give up trying to work. I have one quote finished and I drive round and drop it through the letterbox without ringing the bell. Quite often, this is the last I ever hear from a prospective client, so I try to forget about it as soon as it’s done. I’m a bundle of nervous energy, so I leave the car near Golders Hill Park and stomp round the periphery, past the seemingly random selection of small animals in their enclosures and the donkeys in their field. Even in my agitated state, the sight of pre-school-aged children cooing at the kookaburras and lemurs makes me smile. I circle the whole place twice. By the time I arrive back at the car, sweating slightly, I know what I have to do.
Back home, I ring round all my office clients and remind them about their yearly deep-clean. Two of them book it in for upcoming weekends, so I email all my staff and let them know the dates. Deep-clean weekends are all hands on deck, or, at least, as many as we can muster. Then I force myself to spend an hour trying to drum up new business and manage to get an appointment to go and meet the building services manager at a private doctors’ offices in Marylebone on Friday. It’s a bit outside my preferred area. All my ladies (I remind myself I must stop calling them ladies, now we have Tomas and Paul, but old habits die hard. It’s probably breaking some kind of work practices code. I’ll be carted off by the woke police) live locally – Queen’s Park, Kilburn, Maida Vale – and I know part of what suits a lot of them about the job, apart from the flexibility, is the lack of hours – and cost – added on travelling back and forth. But needs must. I can’t believe I’m going to come out of this with my contract with AJT Music unscathed, however I play it, and none of us can afford to be out of work.
That done, I scroll through the photos I took in Al’s office. Email them to myself just in case I somehow lose them. I’m taking a huge risk. In fact, now I think about it, it’s probably criminal, although I can’t quite work out what the crime is. Snooping? Opening a locked drawer? I ask myself why I’m doing this, but I know what the answer is. Stella may be a cow, but no one deserves to have the rug pulled out from under them like this. No one deserves to have their life changed irrevocably by someone who hasn’t given them the chance to grow a shell to protect themselves. I still don’t fully understand what Al’s up to, or why he doesn’t just leave to be with Ferne, if that’s what he wants, but I do know he’s setting up a new life for himself. And for some reason, he’s stringing Stella along about the wedding while he does it.
Don’t get me wrong, I hardly think Stella’s going to be left destitute. Anyone who hasn’t noticed a million pounds disappearing from their bank account is probably going to do OK without it. But I’m not sure anyone can get over the humiliation, the rejection. If I’m still struggling with David’s out-of-the-blue announcement – and our split was fair and equitable in every way, despite everything – I can’t imagine how I’d feel if he’d added a months-long calculated deception to that. And let’s not forget they have kids. Ghastly, precocious, entitled kids but, underneath the make-up, designer labels and sneers, I assume they’re actual children still. Stella deserves to know what he’s doing. Not so much with Ferne because, let’s face it, she definitely knows what he’s capable of in that department. After all, she was a Ferne herself once. But the other stuff – the dismantling of her fabulous life – that’s a battle she needs to know she’s involved in.
And I’m the only person who can let her know.
I feel sick.
20
I watched Al leave for work twenty minutes ago. The Mini Mes have just been driven off to school by Georgia, the nanny, in the family 4x4. I already know that the drill is for her to return the car to the drive once she’s dropped them off and then leave on foot for the day, until she needs to collect them in the afternoon. I assume Pilar is at home, doing the housework, or preparing meals, but otherwise Stella will be on her own. I need to act quickly because, most days, I see her leave the house at around eleven, dolled up to the nines, for the gym or shopping or whatever it is she does with her time. I also need to do this before I have time to change my mind. In the middle of the night I had the brainwave that I could do it anonymously. Print off all the photos and put them in a plain envelope addressed to Stella. Private and confidential. Light the touch paper and run as fast as I can. For about five minutes I felt relieved, and then I realized she’d just go straight to Al, and he’d know exactly who might have had access to his secret stash. Not only that, but he’d p
robably charm his way out of her thinking anything was wrong. And then he’d make sure that neither of us had a way to find out what else he was up to. Because I was sure there was more. If my gut was right – that he was getting out before the wedding – then he had to have everything set in motion by now.
I had no choice. If I was going to do anything with the information I had, I needed to be there to make sure she took it all in.
I hesitate with my finger on the bell. There’s no turning back once I ring it. Of course, she might see it’s me and tell Pilar not to let me in under any circumstances. In fact, standing here now, I feel as if that’s the most likely outcome. I start to hope for it. I could tell myself I tried. Go back home and have a cup of tea, congratulating myself on my sound moral compass which led me to even attempt to talk to her.
I take in such a deep breath that I start to cough. Put a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. Now my eyes are watering. I rub at them to dry them. Hook my hair behind my ears. Swallow noisily. Then I raise my hand again and ring the doorbell before I can change my mind. It echoes around their cavernous hall like a church organ.
Thankfully, it’s Pilar and not Stella herself who opens the door, so at least it isn’t slammed in my face again. She starts like a rabbit caught in the headlights when she sees it’s me. No doubt she is recalling the dressing-down I assume she got when she let me in the last time. She places her round body in the gap between the door and the frame, as if she thinks I’m going to just barge right in.
‘Stella me está esperando,’ I say confidently, hoping that Google Translate gave me the correct meaning – ‘Stella is expecting me’ and not ‘Stella is pregnant.’ Pilar’s face breaks into a big smile and she starts to babble away at me in Spanish, none of which I understand. I smile and nod and say ‘Sí’ occasionally, because that sounds right, although for all I know I’ve just agreed to marry her son and have her grandkids. Somehow, she drifts backwards into the hall, and I follow, already feeling guilty for deceiving her.
‘Pilar!’ I hear, and it’s as if an icy wind whips down the stairs.
Pilar seems oblivious and gives me a big smile. She says something that sounds like ‘You friend here,’ which might be slightly overstating the situation. I hear Stella inhale impatiently, and then a pair of black pointy high heels appears as she clomps down towards us. I brace myself. She stops dead when she sees me.
‘You,’ she says, managing to imbue the word with a considerable amount of loathing. She flicks a look at Pilar, who, from the expression on her face, seems to have realized that all is not as it seems. Before Stella has a chance to berate her, I jump in and start talking.
‘It’s not Pilar’s fault. I lied to her and said you were expecting me. I just need a few minutes of your time, Stella. I have something I need to say to you and if, after five minutes, you want me to leave, I promise I will, and I won’t ever show up unannounced again.’
‘There’s nothing you have to say that I want to hear,’ she says, and I know she’s not going to give me a chance. ‘And I imagine Gail and Ben might want to reconsider your lease if they knew you were harassing me.’
Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. I ask myself what I’m doing here again. I need to turn this around quickly.
‘I assume you know why Al’s bought a flat in Battersea?’ It’s my best shot. If she knows about it, then all my theories must be wrong. I’m banking on her having no idea. I see it in her face. A flicker of confusion.
‘Of course,’ she says carefully. ‘It’s an investment. And it’s none of your business.’
I don’t believe her. ‘How is it an investment if the money needs to be paid back in a few months? It’s hardly a fixer-upper. I’ve seen photos.’
‘Pilar, go and do something useful,’ she barks at the housekeeper, flapping her hand at her dismissively. I hadn’t even realized she was still standing there. We both watch her go, as if to make sure she really leaves. Not that she could be following most of what we’re saying.
Stella turns back to me, a murderous look on her face. ‘What exactly are you insinuating?’
I need to try and calm her down, get her to listen to what I’m actually saying. ‘Stella, I’m not telling you this because I want to hurt you. I’m getting no joy from it, believe me …’
‘Just spit it out. You have one minute before I kick you out.’
‘I found a few things out. Accidentally. And I think you deserve to know about them. If you don’t already. Which you might …’
‘That we’ve bought a property …?’
‘That Al has. It’s in his name only. He got the cash by taking a loan against this house. And he’s set up a new bank account and transferred a load of money into it from your joint one …’ Surely that’s enough to get her full attention?
‘What the hell are you doing, getting involved in our private business?’ she says, but I can tell I’ve wobbled her. She’s dying to know more, and I need to make sure she decides to find it out from me rather than by running straight to him.
I put my hand out to touch her tanned arm and she flinches and snatches it away. ‘Listen to what I’m telling you. I’ll explain how I know later. But you need to take in what I’m saying. For your sake, and the girls’ …’
This was clearly the wrong thing to say because her nostrils flare. I’ve reawoken the dragon. ‘Get out. How dare you come in here trying to hurt my family because you have a pathetic little unrequited crush on my husband …’
She stomps over to the front door and opens it dramatically. Fuck. I should never have come. Let her wake up one morning and find her perfect life had crumbled around her. Now all I’ve done is created a whole world more trouble for myself. I’ll almost certainly lose AJT Music as a client, possibly my little flat too, once she tells Gail her own warped version of what just happened. And it’s all my own stupid fault. I think about refusing to leave until she’s heard me out, but she’s pulled her mobile from her pocket and she’s probably about to phone the police.
‘Out. Now.’
I edge towards the door. I know I’ve lost.
‘If you want to know more, I have proof. It might be the only way you have to find out the absolute truth, not whatever version Al tells you when you put him on the spot.’
Stella lets out a sharp, over-theatrical laugh. ‘I’m glad you think you know us both so well. Whatever would we do without you?’
‘I have documents,’ I say slightly desperately. ‘Well, photos of documents. Proof, anyway.’
‘I should report you to the police,’ she says. ‘You’ve obviously been snooping where you shouldn’t be …’
‘I didn’t give him that book, Stella.’ I might as well use all the ammunition I have if she’s going to sell me out anyway. ‘I didn’t give it to him, which means someone else did. And I think I know who that someone else is.’ I hadn’t been intending to tell her Ferne’s identity. I was hoping the news about the flat and the bank transfer would be enough. But it’s all I’ve got now. I can see I’ve got her attention because she’s silent for a moment. I know she’s desperate to ask me who it is. Of course she is. I would be too.
‘Leave. Now. I have a panic button here that would summon the police in three minutes …’ She gently rests her fingers on a little white box beside the door. I’m pretty sure she’s not bluffing. Although I’m not convinced about the three minutes – that seems a bit optimistic.
‘It’s OK, I’m going. If you’d rather not know what you’re up against, that’s up to you …’
I leave her with that and walk down the drive, my legs shaking. The door slams behind me.
I think I’ve just made everything worse.
21
Between leaving Stella’s and going to pick Betsy up I sit in front of my computer, trying to concentrate on the quote for Ferne – already a day later than promised – but of course it’s pointless. My mind is racing. I can’t believe how stupid I was to think Stella would listen to me. That
she wouldn’t just kick me out and go straight to Al to demand to know what I was trying to tell her. I sit there like a criminal after a bungled raid, waiting for my punishment to catch me up. When I accidentally delete a column of figures I’ve spent an hour trying to work out I realize it’s time to stop. They’ll have to wait.
I don’t want to bring Betsy anywhere near The Close so, after I pick her up from school, I take her to Regent’s Park and we do her homework sitting on the grass in the sun, surrounded by people walking their dogs, then we walk back up to St John’s Wood High Street and eat delicious bowls of food at The Good Life. I have no appetite, but I can’t really afford to pay for food I then don’t eat, so I just keep telling myself one more forkful, like I used to say to Betsy when she refused to eat her greens. Betsy, thrilled with this break in routine, shovels in the meal she doesn’t even realize is super-healthy and prattles on about the upcoming Easter break. David has managed to take Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off next week, and on Saturday they’re going to stay with his brother and family down in Dorset for a few days. Betsy loves her older cousins with a passion and will be spoilt rotten – and I know it’s absolutely the best place she could be at the moment, away from the toxic atmosphere surrounding my home – but my heart breaks at the thought of the time we could have spent together.
‘Can you come too, Mum?’ she says, spearing a chunk of sweet potato. I actually consider it for a moment. David’s brother, Nick, and his wife, Jules, have always been more friends than in-laws. We used to spend whatever time everyone’s busy lives allowed as a four, or as a seven with all the kids in tow. When David left they sent me a card saying he was a fuckwit and would come to his senses soon. Jules called me and said it was obviously some kind of sad midlife crisis and it would be over before I knew it, if I could bear to wait it out.