Fourplay

by Jane Moore

  “What are you doing?” asked the woman, clearly irritated at having to look up yet again from an article entitled “Are you hot stuff in bed?”

  “Oh nothing, I’m just trying to imagine you with a personality,” said Rosie. “Look, it’s taken me forever to get her here, and I might never persuade her to return. Isn’t there anyone she could speak to who knows about family law, even just for a few minutes?”

  In the middle of this impassioned plea, Jo noticed a middle-aged, well-dressed woman step out of a room at the rear of the rather scruffy office, situated above a hardware store in the High Street.

  “What’s the problem, Leanne?” she said to the receptionist as she walked across the room toward them.

  “This lady wants this lady to see a family law specialist,” said Leanne, gesturing listlessly from Rosie to Jo. “But I’ve explained they have to make an appointment.”

  The woman studied Jo, who was by now wishing she’d never come. Suddenly, this all seemed rather official and scary and she wanted to run home, crawl under the duvet, and pretend that Jeff had never left her. As she was about to make her excuses and leave, she realized the woman was speaking.

  “I have a spare fifteen minutes. Come on in,” she said, gesturing back to the door she had just emerged from.

  “Mrs. Burnett will see you now,” said Leanne, somewhat unnecessarily, fixing them both with a murderous look.

  “I’ll wait out here,” said Rosie to Jo, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another. She picked up an ancient copy of OK! magazine. “Ah, I see Noah has invited us into his lovely Ark,” she joked. Jo smiled, Leanne totally ignored her.

  Jo followed Mrs. Burnett into the rear office. Immediately she felt at home, thanks to the floor to ceiling clutter. Bookshelves were stacked haphazardly with legal reference books, box files, dictionaries and even a few novels. The floor was strewn with papers and files, heaped into separate piles, each with a Post-it note on top.

  “I know where everything is, but no one else does,” smiled Mrs. Burnett, following her gaze.

  Jo felt just as she had in the sixth form after being called in to see the headmistress over her poor maths results. “It’s very nice of you to see me at such short notice Mrs. Burnett.”

  “Call me Hazel.”

  “Well . . . Hazel, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I mean, my situation is really very straightforward compared to some.”

  “Your friend seemed very keen for you to see me.”

  “She would, because she thinks I’m hard done by.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me everything from the beginning and we’ll see if the law feels that way,” said Hazel, smiling warmly.

  Ten minutes later, Jo had done precisely that. The photos. The showdown. Candy. And how she had let Jeff see the children whenever he liked. “I should explain that a large part of the reason why I’m here is because he introduced the children to his new girlfriend when I specifically asked him not to. My friend thinks he’s purposely fucking with me . . . sorry, I mean messing with my head.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse than that in my job.” Hazel fell silent for a moment, turning a Mont Blanc pen over and over in her manicured fingers.

  “Let’s see,” she said finally, putting down the pen and placing her elbows on her cluttered desk. “As your estranged husband is a solicitor, I would suggest there could be some level of hidden agenda here.”

  “Really?” Jo found it hard to accept that, on top of leaving her for a younger woman, Jeff might also still be shafting her in other ways.

  “Yes. Because unless there is a documented separation of some kind, it makes it very easy for him to wander off, check out his new life, and if it doesn’t work out, wander back into the marital home again. If you are seen to willingly take him back after an infidelity, it virtually wipes the slate clean until the next one. If there is a next one of course.”

  Jo let the words sink in for a moment. “So what are we talking about here?” she said slowly. “Are you saying I should be rushing home and changing the locks this afternoon?”

  “Hmm. Well, I certainly wouldn’t let him wander in and out of the family home as if nothing’s changed, so if he’s got a key I’d try and take it back without making a big deal about it.” Hazel looked up from her notes. “You have to decide whether you are fighting a battle to win him back, or to establish a fair deal for you and your children for a future without him.”

  Jo had heard variations of this conclusion from Rosie, but to hear it from an impartial source hammered the point home.

  Hazel continued. “The minute you establish the exact grounds on which your relationship is operating from now on, the nearer you’ll be to sorting everything out once and for all. It sounds like it’s rather in limbo at the moment.” Her words hung in the air.

  “So, let’s take one thing at a time here,” said Jo. “Financially, do you think I’m being ripped off?”

  “Speaking with my legal hat on, yes I do. But there are other factors to be taken into consideration here. If you decide to take him to court over this, it will be on record for your children to learn about at a later date, and you may only emerge from it with a fairly insignificant extra amount.”

  “So what do you suggest I do?” said Jo, feeling unable to grasp all the emotional and circumstantial implications of what was being laid before her.

  “I suggest you go away, focus your thoughts on exactly where you stand with your estranged husband, then come back and see me for another chat. This one has been for free,” said Hazel, smiling at Jo then glancing at the clock on the wall.

  Jo gave the best humble smile she could muster. “Thanks. I’d like to say it’s made things a lot clearer, but as I’m sure you know, these matters are never simple.” She stood up and headed for the door.

  Hazel shook her hand. “Well, you know what they say? Life is something that happens to you while you’re making other plans.”

  As Jo and Rosie walked out, Leanne looked up from that night’s TV schedules. “I hope you realize how lucky you were that Mrs. Burnett was able to see you at such short notice.”

  Jo ignored her and kept walking.

  “If I want any more shit from you, I’ll squeeze your head, OK?” said Rosie, before sprinting down the stairs two at a time.

  “Well?” she said as they fell into step with the throng on the street.

  “It seems you may be right,” said Jo, peering up at the cloudy sky and wondering if it was going to rain.

  “I knew it!” Rosie sounded triumphant and looked it too. “I knew that crafty bastard was pulling a fast one on you.”

  Jo stopped in her tracks and held up a hand. “Hang on, hang on. It’s not that simple. First of all, I have to go home and do some serious thinking.” She started walking again. “Talking to Hazel—that’s Mrs. Burnett’s name, by the way—has made me realize I’ve been burying my head in the sand, hoping all the problems will go away. I have to address them.”

  Hurrying to keep up with her, Rosie prodded her in the arm. “Er, isn’t that what I’ve been saying since time began?”

  “Probably,” said Jo, prodding her back and grinning. “But you’re biased.”

  “You’re damned right I am,” said Rosie indignantly. “So what do you think you’ll do about Jeff?”

  “I’ll double-cross that bridge when I come to it,” she said, feeling buoyed by her little spot of Hazel therapy. “Come on, let’s go home for a cuppa.”

  13

  Is this the doorstep challenge?” said Jo, pretending to look for the cameras.

  Tim took a bow and stepped into the house, muttering, “Don’t mention TV ads to me. What a bloody joke!”

  “Why?” said Jo in genuine surprise. “I’d have thought a part in a Pot Noodle ad was everything you’d ever aspired to? God knows, you eat enough of the bloody things.”

  Tim was already in the kitchen where he opened the fridge, helped himself to a lager, sat do
wn and put his feet up on the table. “I know, but it didn’t turn out quite how I’d imagined.”

  “Go on.” Jo had to get ready for her drink with Sean, but she had a few minutes to spare.

  “Well, when I got there it all looked very professional and they started telling me what I had to do. But it didn’t take me long to realize I hadn’t been given a script. I seemed to have fuck-all to say.”

  “That’s not such a big deal, is it?” Jo shrugged. “As long as we get to see you.”

  “That’s just it. They then led me on set and pointed at this fucking huge Pot Noodle outfit made out of foam rubber with holes for my legs and arms. I had to prance about in that. You don’t even get to see my bloody face!”

  “That’s terrible.” Jo clasped a hand over her mouth, trying to hide her sniggers.

  “It’s alright, I know you’re laughing. Conor pissed himself when I told him. At this rate I’m going to have to start selling furniture for a living. My own.” He took a swig of his beer and stood up. “Anyway, you go and get ready. Where are the kids?”

  “One’s on PlayStation, the other’s bathing, or should I say drowning, her Barbies. They’re back in favor—temporarily at least.”

  Jo headed upstairs to put the finishing touches to her makeup. Following her lunch with Conor and Tim, she was going for the natural look again tonight. After all, it had worked then. And, as any self-respecting woman knows, it took twice as long to apply as any other kind of makeup.

  After much deliberation—although not as much as there would have been before Rosie pared her wardrobe down to the bare essentials—she had laid her chosen outfit on the bed. An old pair of faded Versace jeans, together with a plain white T-shirt and pale blue pashmina. She was aiming to look casual but classy.

  Rosie had rung her three times today to ask what she was wearing, clearly anxious that Jo might have got desperate and torn open one of the charity shop trashbags that were still piled in the corner of the kitchen.

  “I’ll be wearing absolutely bloody nothing if you don’t get off the phone and let me decide,” Jo had said.

  She walked down the three small steps into Thomas’s room to find Tim had taken his place on the PlayStation and was in the middle of decapitating an opponent.

  “Right, I’m off. See you later,” she said, scowling at the screen before giving Thomas a hug.

  “What are you up to?” said Tim, his eyes firmly fixed on the kickboxing session now playing out before him.

  “Oh, just having a drink with a friend.” She knew Tim wasn’t paying attention enough to ask anything more. “I shouldn’t be late.”

  By the time she had driven to Fulham, squeezed her car into a parking space, and walked the quarter of a mile back to the bar, Sean was already waiting. She spotted him through a sea of heads, casually flicking through a copy of Time Out.

  “Sorry I’m a bit late. It’s not easy to park around here.”

  At the sound of her voice, he looked up with the devastating smile that had made such an impression on her the other day. “No probs. I was just catching up on some film reviews. I love going to the cinema, but there’s nothing worse than wasting your time on a terrible film.”

  Jo smiled and sat down in the empty armchair next to him. “Wait until you have kids. You spend your life learning to sleep through films.”

  “I take it you have children, then?”

  During one of many conversations about the separation, her mother had rated the chances of Jo finding happiness with another man as very slim. “You’re a complicated date now,” she’d said. “Most men will run a mile when they find you have children by someone else.”

  So Jo was pleased that Sean had remained in his seat. But she had to admit it felt weird to be having a drink with a man who knew absolutely nothing about her. Not even that she had children.

  “Yes, two. Boy and a girl,” she said, wondering whether thirty seconds into the evening was a bit early to show him the photographs in her purse.

  “More of this in a moment.” He leapt up. “First of all, what’s your favorite drink?”

  “The next one,” she laughed. She was pleased to see he got the joke immediately.

  “I know what you mean. But I need a bit more of a clue on the first date.”

  Date. He’d used the word date. “A small glass of house white will do nicely thanks.”

  He disappeared into the crowd and she sat back to study the clientele in the small, trendy bar with its ocher walls and comfortable furniture. A couple in the far corner were clearly in the middle of a “deep and meaningful,” as Rosie always referred to conversations about relationships. Jo could see the woman was trying desperately not to cry. Bastard, she thought, I’ll bet he’s dumping her, preferring these days to take the anti-men stance.

  In the middle of the room, a twenty-strong group of men and women had taken over several small tables and were dominating the atmosphere with their loud remarks and raucous laughter. A couple of the men were wearing Hackett shirts with the collars turned up, and all the girls were dressed in sporty-style fashions such as fleeces and tracky bottoms. Rugby players and their girlfriends, thought Jo with a wry smile. She loved people-watching and making snap judgments on their relationships and careers. What would I make of Sean and me if I were studying us? she wondered.

  He fought his way back to the table carrying her wine and a pint of draft bitter for himself. “There’s a couple at the bar having the most almighty row,” he said, his eyes shining with the spectacle of it. “I think she’s caught him out being unfaithful.”

  Jo’s smile withered as he said it, but she made a swift recovery. “Really? How do you know?”

  Sean took a slug of beer. “I heard her say, ‘How could you, she’s a dog,’ or something like that. Mind you, I think she’s well rid of the greasy creep. He doesn’t need a haircut, just an oil change. Anyway, bottoms up.” He clinked his glass against hers.

  Jo raised her glass to him then took a sip of her wine. “I love people-watching too,” she said. “Come on, let’s see how good you are. What do you make of that couple over there?”

  She laughed as Sean tried to observe the couple in the corner as nonchalantly as he could, pretending to look at the ceiling then working his way round to where they sat.

  He turned back to Jo several seconds later.

  “Oh, they’re definitely splitting up. I reckon he’s just told her that he needs some space, that she’s far too good for him, and that she should go and find someone who appreciates her more.”

  “Very good!” Jo nodded to the boisterous crowd in the center of the room. “What about them?”

  As Sean studied them, she studied him. He was wearing a pair of beige linen trousers with a white linen shirt that showed off his healthy, golden tan. His shiny, dark blond hair was just long enough to form little kiss curls at the back of his ears, and he had the habit of regularly running his hand through the front to brush it away from his forehead. Jo liked what she saw.

  He turned back to her and rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmmm, I’d say they were a cricket team, or maybe rowing club members, out on a bonding exercise with their wives and girlfriends. How did I do?”

  Jo gave him a broad grin. “Very well indeed. I had them down as rugby players, but same thing really. You’re good at this.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “You can usually always tell sporty types because they have such appalling dress sense.”

  “I take it you’re not sporty, then?” said Jo, although she thought he looked rather fit.

  “No, not at all, I’m horribly lazy,” he said stretching his arms above his head and yawning. “I went jogging once, but by the time I realized I wasn’t fit enough to do it, it was a bloody long walk back.”

  Jo felt herself relax. Whatever happened, she found Sean very good company and knew she was in for a fun evening.

  “So what would you make of us if you were them?” she said, pointing bac
k to the center of the room where one of the sporty types was now drinking a pint of lager in one go while his friends did the slow hand-clap. She couldn’t believe she’d asked such a provocative question, but something told her Sean would rise to the challenge.

  “Well,” he said slowly, with a half smile. “I’d think, there’s a bloke who fancies the woman he’s with like mad and would like to see much more of her.”

  Jo felt a familiar but delicious sensation inside her stomach. The butterflies of attraction, flirtation and uncertainty—that heady mix of emotions that herald the start of a possible new relationship and you wish you could bottle forever. “I see.” She looked straight at him, her eyes flickering with mischief. “And what would you think I was thinking?”

  Sean flopped back in the armchair and let out a short sigh. “Oooh, now that’s a tough one because I don’t know anything about her,” he said. “But at a guess, I’d say she’d recently come out of a long-term relationship and was rather wary of starting something new. She thinks she quite likes his company, but she’d have to go on a few more uncomplicated dates before deciding whether to get more involved.” He stopped suddenly and raised his eyebrows at her, awaiting a response.

  “Very good,” she laughed. “But as I told you I have two children, then it’s a fair assumption they might be the result of a long-term relationship. And as I’m here having a drink with you, then it’s also a fair assumption to think that the relationship might be over.”

  Sean slapped a palm against his forehead. “Dammit, she’s caught me. And there I was thinking she’d be overwhelmed by my psychic powers.”

  “You’d need to do better than that. Nice try though. Another drink?” Jo was beginning to wish she hadn’t brought the car.

  “No, no.” He sprang up. “I invited you out for a drink, so I’m paying for everything.”

  Good-looking, funny, and pays for everything. Pinch me, pinch me.

  When he returned from the bar, Sean was brandishing a plate of prawns with a little pot of mayonnaise dip on the side. “I know you said you didn’t want to eat, but I thought I’d get these for us to pick at.”