Fourplay

by Jane Moore

  Bloody hell, thought Jo. Never mind Thomas and Sophie, I could get used to this sort of treatment as well.

  They followed Martin through the backstage area, past all the racks of stage clothes that were labeled with the individual names of the band members.

  “Man, look at this,” said Sophie to Thomas, and Jo found herself wondering at what point her children had turned into miniature hippies.

  As they approached a small door in the far corner, Martin dug in his pocket and pulled out four shiny laminates with the words “Britney Spears: Access All Areas” written across them.

  “We’ll just nip into the VIP bar for a quick drink before the concert. I warn you there are seven hundred support bands who all look and sound exactly the same,” said Martin, wincing at Jo. “I’ll be in my meeting, but there’s nothing to stop you going and watching them.”

  “Thanks. Did you get the seats with a restricted view that I asked for?” Again, her attempt at a joke seemed to fly straight over Martin’s head. Either that, or he didn’t think it was the slightest bit funny.

  They walked into the bar and immediately he was enveloped by a group of people calling his name and shaking his hand. Anxious not to be a millstone around his neck, Jo steered Thomas and Sophie into a clear corner of the room and told them to wait there while she queued at the free bar for some drinks.

  “I didn’t realize you’d wandered off.” It was Martin. “I was going to introduce you to some of my colleagues.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” said Jo, praying he wouldn’t. “We’ll be fine keeping out of the way. It was very nice of you to invite us in the first place. I don’t expect you to look after us as well.” She took the two orange juices being handed over by the barman.

  “Give those drinks to the children and come and meet them now,” said Martin, clearly not going to be dissuaded.

  Jo sighed and followed him across the room to the same group of people who had greeted Martin when he first arrived.

  “This is Jo, everyone,” said Martin. “This is Betty, Frank, Ray and Tony.”

  I’ll bet they’re all thinking, “Who the bloody hell’s this?” thought Jo, as she smiled sweetly and shook hands with them. Their curious expressions certainly suggested that.

  A tall gray-haired man called out to Martin, who muttered, “Excuse me a minute,” and left Jo standing alone with the group, who didn’t waste any time in interrogating her.

  “So how did you meet Martin then?” said Betty, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “I work for him.”

  “Oh? Doing what?”

  “I’m doing the interior design on his new house.” Jo gave a firm smile as if to indicate that was all she wanted to say on the subject, but Betty seemed to be on a roll.

  “I see. So how come you’re here?”

  What a rude woman! Jo suspected Betty’s nosiness was rooted in jealousy, either because there was a history between her and Martin or her feelings were unrequited. Either way, she wasn’t having it.

  “I really don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?” She gave a quick, thin smile, and walked back to where the children were sitting, uncharacteristically quietly, where she’d left them.

  “The opening acts are about to start!” boomed a young man through the bar door. Everyone in the room just carried on drinking and talking.

  “Come on you two, let’s go to our seats,” said Jo, gesturing to Thomas and Sophie to stand up.

  As if by magic, Martin appeared at her side. “Where are you going?”

  “To see the bands,” she said with a note of surprise. “After all, that’s what we’re here for isn’t it?”

  He looked doubtful. “Well, why don’t you get the children settled and then come back here for a drink.”

  Jo shook her head. “No, they’re too young to be left in such a crowd on their own. I’ll stay with them.”

  “Oh, OK.” He looked disappointed. “I’m still waiting for the European guy to arrive, so I’ll wait here then probably sneak in when Britney is on.”

  Jo endured an interminable hour and a quarter of various teenagers wearing wraparound microphones, doing jerky dance routines, and warbling dozens of songs that were indistinguishable from each other. It was parent hell.

  Martin materialized about two minutes before the main act. “Have I missed anything?” he inquired.

  “Hardly. They don’t write good tunes anymore,” Jo shouted above the noise. “God, it’s official. I have turned into my own mother.”

  Conversation was impossible, so they sat side by side in silence while Thomas and Sophie leapt up and down, clapping their hands in time with the eternally smiley and energetic Britney Spears. Martin had the running order in his hand, and he and Jo mentally ticked off each song, counting down to the encore when thousands of pieces of silver paper showered down from the ceiling and stuck in everyone’s hair.

  “Come on! Let’s beat the rush,” said Martin, grabbing her elbow.

  Jo gestured to Thomas and Sophie to follow, and the four of them headed back to the VIP bar just moments before the crowds started pouring out of the arena.

  “That was soooo brilliant!” enthused Thomas, his face pink from excitement.

  Martin ruffled his hair. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. I can get tickets for pretty much anything, so let me know if you want to go to anything else.”

  Again, Jo was irritated by him making the offer before checking with her. Her children couldn’t be bought, she thought, then changed her mind as she watched Thomas and Sophie crawling all over him.

  “Did your meeting go OK?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “He didn’t show,” said Martin. “It looks like I might have to fly out to Madrid to see him instead.”

  It fleetingly crossed Jo’s mind that there had never been a meeting in the first place, but she dismissed it almost instantly. After all, she thought, if he wanted to get me out on a date he would hardly have chosen a Britney Spears concert as the ideal event. If anything, it would break up a relationship. Then she remembered Rosie’s suggestion that he was inveigling his way in through the children. That certainly made more sense given his promises of Arsenal matches and other concert tickets. But then again, maybe he was just being kind. Jo decided the only way to really know his intentions would be to see whether he pounced on her at any stage or asked her out on a proper one-on-one date. She hoped he didn’t, as her refusal might cause an awkwardness between them and there was still several months’ work left to do on the house.

  “Ah, here she is.” Martin’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Who?” said Thomas, following Martin’s gaze across the room.

  “Britney. It’s the meet and greet bit now. Come on, I’ll introduce you both.”

  He grabbed Thomas and Sophie by the hand and headed toward the singer. They returned five minutes later, the children clutching signed photographs in their hands.

  “She signed this for us and we had our photograph taken with her as well,” babbled Sophie, her eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy.

  “I’ll get a copy of the picture over to you on Monday,” smiled Martin. “Now as it’s quite late and we’ve got a bit of a journey home, I suggest we head off.”

  Within ten minutes of leaving, both Thomas and Sophie had fallen asleep, their heads resting on each of Jo’s shoulders.

  “Thanks for organizing all this Martin,” she whispered. “They really did have a fantastic time.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” he smiled. “Actually, it’s been nice for me to bring someone along who still gets excited by these things. I’m afraid I’ve become a little jaded about it.”

  They lapsed into silence, and for the rest of the journey Jo studied the back of Martin’s head and wondered what made him tick. He was certainly powerful and successful in business, but she got the impression his personal life was less than satisfactory and he was now hankering after the family set-up all his contemporaries
had developed years ago. She had a few female friends like that too. Unlike Jo who’d had Thomas and Sophie in her twenties and struggled to juggle motherhood with work and marriage, they had opted to be single-minded about their careers throughout their twenties and early thirties. Now suddenly, when they hankered after marriage and children, they were finding it difficult to meet men who weren’t already married or had enough emotional problems to keep a convention of therapists going for a week. A couple of them had decided to get pregnant without a man, well without a man after the conception at least, but were struggling to conceive. So while there were times when Jo envied them as they jetted off for their child-free Caribbean holidays, there were also many times when she almost felt superior because she’d successfully achieved a family life. Well, until recently anyway.

  It was 11:30 P.M. by the time they arrived back at the house. Gently, she nudged the children awake. Martin got out of the car and carried Sophie to the front porch while Jo fumbled for her key. The children murmured a sleepy, “Thank you Martin,” and trudged inside.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Jo, standing on the doorstep. She hoped to God he wasn’t going to pounce.

  “Anytime.” He took a step forward and her stomach turned with apprehension. “I’m not going to bite you, Jo.”

  She looked down to see his arm extended for a handshake, and suddenly felt incredibly stupid. She shook it.

  “We’ll speak soon about the house, no doubt,” he said, turning back toward the gate.

  “Indeed,” she said, thinking of Sean. “And thanks again for a lovely evening.” She closed the door and leaned with her back to it until she heard the car pull away.

  “You vain, silly little cow,” she muttered aloud. “He’s not the slightest bit interested in you.”

  19

  quietly between meetings with floor fitters and curtain makers, but on Friday afternoon, Jo had a meeting of a far more personal nature—a second visit to Hazel Burnett to say she wanted to press ahead with the divorce.

  “Are you absolutely sure?” asked Hazel, peering over the top of her glasses.

  “No, not absolutely,” sighed Jo, nervously picking at the chipped nail varnish on her thumb. “But I’m pretty sure, and I have to make some sort of decision to enable me to move on with my life. I’m not very good at being in limbo.”

  Hazel leaned forward with an earnest look. “You do realize that putting it all on an official footing might set you back a bit? You know, in terms of the friendly understanding you seem to have with your husband at the moment?”

  “That’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I rang him last night to say he and his girlfriend could have the children on Saturday, so he certainly can’t complain that I’m being unreasonable.”

  Hazel tilted her head to one side. “Why the change of heart about her?”

  “I’m just tired of fighting about it, I guess.” She stared out of the window. “Also, I’ve stopped caring so much about it. She won’t replace me in my children’s lives, and that’s what matters to me, really.”

  “Well, this all sounds very healthy,” said Hazel cheerfully. “You’ve clearly gone into the acceptance stage, so it’s onward and upward from now on.”

  “You sound like a therapist!” laughed Jo.

  Thinking about it as she waited for Jeff to arrive on Saturday morning, she had to admit she felt bolstered by the meeting. It was nice to know that someone who spent all day dealing with people’s divorces felt that she, Jo Miles, was handling her situation in a mature and reasonable way. There had been times when it was bloody hard, she thought, but at least I’ve managed to hang on to my dignity while my husband was behaving like a prize shit.

  As usual, at 9:30 on Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. Despite knowing their father was there, both Thomas and Sophie carried on playing their board game Tummy Ache.

  “Are they ready to go straight away?” said Jeff, looking slightly flustered. “Candy’s waiting in the car.”

  “Come on, you two! Dad’s here and wants to go now,” shouted Jo over her shoulder. She turned back and studied the vision on her doorstep. Jeff was dressed in combat trousers, a tight T-shirt, trainers, and an elasticated beaded necklace. The midlife crisis look.

  “So what are your plans?” she asked.

  “There’s a puppet theater on down at the South Bank, so we thought we’d take them to that, then get some lunch,” said Jeff, checking the Tag Heuer watch that had incriminated him in the photographs all those months ago.

  We. Jo mulled over the realization that while that innocuous little word used to apply to her and Jeff, it now referred to him and Candy. To her surprise, it didn’t bother her too much.

  “We’ll get them back by six,” added Jeff. Though Jo had agreed they could socialize with Candy, she had drawn the line at the children staying the night.

  “Hi Dad,” said Sophie, listlessly walking down the hallway with Thomas following closely behind. “Where are we going?”

  “To a puppet theater,” he smiled.

  “We went to see Britney Spears this week with Mummy and Martin,” said Thomas, his face lighting up at the memory. “And we met her backstage.”

  “Mummy and Martin, eh?” said Jeff, looking straight at Jo who laughed nervously. “And who might Martin be?”

  “He’s a business client,” she shrugged. “He’s the one I’m doing up that house for in Chelsea.”

  “I see.” Jeff didn’t look at all convinced. “Anyway, come on, you two. Candy’s waiting.”

  Jo kissed the children goodbye and stood on the doorstep smiling benignly until they’d gone through the wooden gate at the end of the path.

  She closed the door and sprinted up two stairs at a time with the speed and agility of a mountain goat. She crept up to the bay window in her bedroom and peered out from behind a curtain. Jeff and the children were just crossing the road to his black BMW that was parked a little further down the street. Jo could see Candy was sitting in the front seat. As the children approached, she got out of the car, smiling, and bent down to give each of them a peck on the cheek. She was wearing a fuchsia pink pair of jeans, a black vest top with sequined neck detail, and black stiletto sandals. Very gangster’s moll, thought Jo. Again, she was relieved to find she felt absolutely nothing as she watched Candy lean into the back seat of the car and check the children’s seatbelts.

  “From now on, you two, you can have the children every weekend if you like,” she said aloud. “This new arrangement means I get far more time to myself than I ever did when I was married. Speaking of which . . .”

  She remembered she had a delicious day lined up with Rosie. Shopping along the Kings Road, punctuated by a light lunch and possibly a glass of champagne or seven.

  An hour later, she stepped off the bus and walked toward the little coffee house where she’d arranged to meet Rosie. Much as she loved her children, she felt an exhilarating sense of freedom at the thought of a whole day being able to do her own thing. She even toyed with the idea that, if she’d let the children stay the night at Jeff’s, she would have had the evening to herself too. Maybe another time.

  “You look nice,” said Rosie, who was sitting up at the window bar as she walked in.

  “Thanks. I thought I’d surgically remove my ubiquitous T-shirt and jeans and dress up a bit,” said Jo, who was wearing a floral, capped-sleeve dress she’d bought last summer.

  “So how was the old drunk this morning?” said Rosie. She handed Jo an orange juice she’d bought her earlier.

  “Quite bearable actually.” She removed her coat. “The Cliché was in the car so I ran upstairs and peeped out of the window.”

  Rosie smirked. “And how was the vacuum with nipples?”

  “Looking frightfully sequined but annoyingly slim, actually,” sighed Jo. “But in all honesty, I didn’t give a shit.”

  “Attagirl,” said Rosie, clinking her glass against Jo’s. “Now, let’s spend some money.”

  For once, Jo actuall
y had some to spend thanks to the first payment from Martin arriving two days earlier. She had no intention of spending it all, but she did want to get something special for her date the following Friday.

  “So what look do you think I should go for with Sean?” she said. “Virginal maybe? Sluttish?”

  “No, we both know you’re a total slut,” teased Rosie, “but we don’t want him to know that just yet. I suggest we start with the basics.”

  She grabbed Jo’s arm and dragged her into a rather expensive-looking underwear shop.

  “Why are we in here?” hissed Jo, shooting a nervous glance at the rather snooty assistant behind the counter.

  “Because I’ve seen your underwear drawer and it’s a disgrace,” replied Rosie, flicking through hangers of bra and knicker sets. She shook her head as the assistant descended and asked if she required help.

  Jo looked horrified. “Believe me, it won’t go that far.”

  “Believe me, the heady combination of alcohol and the fact that you haven’t had sex in nigh on six months means that there’s every chance it will,” said Rosie, a touch too loudly. “So why not be prepared? If you return home with it all untouched by human hand, there’s always another time.” She shoved Jo toward the changing room and thrust a selection of underwear into her hand.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” said Rosie as the assistant hovered into view again. “Christ, how many times do I have to flush before she goes away?” she hissed to Jo.

  Two minutes later she popped her head back round the curtain. “That is the dog’s bollocks,” she enthused. “God, I wish I had your figure.”

  Jo was wearing a black lace balconette bra and matching briefs, and she had to admit it made her look very bulging in all the right places for a change.

  “OK, I’ll get this,” she said reluctantly. “But nothing else. You can put all these back.”

  By the time they sat down for lunch at 1 P.M., her friend had persuaded her to buy seventy-five dollars worth of Mac makeup, a clinging pencil skirt and matching top, and an eye-catching, long pink skirt with a frill at the bottom. She had also strong-armed her into making a hairdressing appointment for highlights.