STEPHANIE FOLLOWED MADELEINE OUTSIDE. She wanted to make sure Troy had gone. She wanted some reassurance on what to do if he hadn’t. She was relieved to find Madeleine alone, smoking a cigarette.
“Hot in there.” She shook the mobile phone in her hand. “And this bloody thing won’t work either. Is yours any good?”
“No.”
“They must have a mast down or something. I’ll have to use the club one – better check on that silly girl.”
“OK.” Stephanie would need to phone too. She had to tip Millie off before they left. There’d probably be a signal up the road but Hettie still had her mobile. (She wouldn’t own one herself, citing the dangers of radiation and the expense, but was quite happy to commandeer anyone else’s on the rare occasions she was separated from her children for more than three minutes.)
“I’ll see you later then.” Madeleine disappeared inside.
Stephanie looked at her watch. She could use the club phone herself and order a taxi for later. The shock of seeing Troy had sobered her up but she’d still drunk too much to drive. Shame Hettie couldn’t get herself back behind the wheel – she’d been on orange juice all night. Then she saw the figure running across the car park and her stomach jolted all over again.
Samantha was white.
“Oh Stephanie,” she was gasping for breath. “Where’s Madeleine?”
“She’s just –” Stephanie half-turned but Madeleine, with her usual radar, had reappeared beside them.
“What the hell are you doing here? Who’s covering the phones?”
“I had to come – the club was engaged and your mobile’s switched off.”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s the bloody signals. It’s going to take you half an hour to get back – go now!”
“No, I can’t” Samantha looked as if she might cry. “It’s Patsy – she’s got a big problem.”
Madeleine marched her away from the open doors of the squash club into the darkness of the car park. “What?”
Stephanie saw Samantha’s chin tremble. “It’s her boyfriend.”
“Yes?” Madeleine gave the girl a small shake. “What’s important enough for you to have left the office and abandoned our clients? To come bursting in here and risk our security. Hey? Tell me!”
Samantha gave a small sob. “I think he might be dead.”
Stephanie clapped a hand to her mouth.
Madeleine was quite still. “What?” she said icily.
“She phoned from the hotel and –”
“Not the La Ruche!”
Samantha nodded.
“Shit!” Madeleine’s jaw was set.
Samantha’s voice broke. “She said he was having a heart attack.”
“What did you say?”
“I called an ambulance.”
“What??”
Stephanie had never seen Madeleine lose her cool before.
“You did what?” She began to run across the car park. “You silly little idiot. Come on!” She back to Stephanie, “You too!”
“But George…”
“I need you!”
* * *
Back in the office, Madeleine’s eyes bore into Samantha as she sat sniffing. “Luckily for you the hotel assumed it was a hoax anyway. At least you didn’t give the bloody room number.”
Samantha blew her nose. “I didn’t know it.”
Stephanie watched the hard line of Madeleine’s face and remembered the softness of Patsy’s when she’d said she was in love. This was just a problem to Madeleine. Another cock-up to be solved.
“But why couldn’t he just go in the ambulance?” she asked her. “Why are you doing all this?”
Madeleine pulled out another cigarette. “Because, our man is that dickhead Andrew Carlisle that’s why! You know,” she said tartly as Stephanie shook her head, “Andrew of Andrew and we-have-always-been-totally-faithful Harriet on that nauseating programme. Can you imagine the field day the tabloids will have if they find him on top of Patsy!!” She lit up.
Stephanie felt her mouth open.
“I’m pretty sure they’re on to them already as it is. What about that joke of a vicar’s wife character we had round here the other day? Do they think I’m bloody stupid?”
Stephanie stared at her. She had never seen Madeleine so agitated. She’d driven here like a maniac. Madeleine picked up the phone and stabbed at the keys. “God knows how long they’ve had wind of this. God knows what Patsy’s told him. She seems to have lost every last brain cell she ever had.”
She slammed the receiver down and pulled the ashtray towards her. “Bloody engaged now! And it’s going to completely screw up relations with the La Ruche – you would not believe who uses that place. If they think PAs is behind a security breach then I’ll lose it as a venue and we make a lot of money there.”
Stephanie was shocked. “Suppose he dies?”
“As long as he doesn’t drop this whole operation in the shit I don’t much care.” She dialled again.
“That’s a dreadful thing…” Stephanie was silenced by the curt wave of Madeleine’s hand.
“Hannah? Got a medical for you at La Ruche. Might be a coronary.”
Madeleine’s voice hardened. “I don’t care if you are on call. That’s the deal. And if this place gets blown apart we won’t be here for you next time you’re off duty.”
Stephanie looked at her watch again. It was twenty to twelve. She’d tried to phone George at the squash club but the line was constantly engaged. His mobile would be in weekend mode – switched off and at home.
“What are they all going to think?” she’d asked Madeleine in exasperation, hoping she would be dismissed, but Madeleine was still talking rapidly into the phone, issuing instructions. Whoever Hannah was, she had to revive Patsy’s bloke and get him the hell out of the hotel. The whole process appeared to involve a string of other people too. Every now and again Madeleine would bark a name at Stephanie for her to find on the database. As she typed the elaborate code next to the names into another programme, phone numbers came up that she had to relay to Madeleine. She was doing it as fast as she could but all stages were password protected and it wasn’t a quick process.
“Come on!” Madeleine’s red nails clattered on the desk top. She whipped round as Jo appeared at the door. “Have we still got an undertaker on the books?”
Jo frowned. “Think she got divorced.”
“Well find a nurse. Or that matron of the old people’s home – she must know what to do with stiffs.”
Madeleine looked coldly at Stephanie who had gasped. “Just in case! We’ll try and save him first! And let Jo get on the computer now – she knows what she’s doing. Go and make some coffee or something.” Stephanie got up, wondering how you became the sort of person to say “make it your bloody self”.
“I need to get home.” She still hadn’t reached George. The club phone was still busy. Her own mobile went straight to divert. Still in Hettie’s handbag no doubt.
“You won’t get a cab at this time. I’ll drive you in a minute.” The office phone rang again and Madeleine grabbed it. An odd expression crossed her face.
“It’s OK. I’ve got a doctor – she’ll be there soon.”
She listened for a few more seconds, looking troubled as she replaced the receiver. She turned to Jo in disbelief. “Patsy’s crying,” she said.
It was almost 1 a.m when Madeleine dropped Stephanie off. She seemed tired and dispirited. “I’ve never known Patsy like this before,” she said. “And there wasn’t even anything wrong with him. Hannah said it was indigestion and a bloody panic attack!” Madeleine snorted with derision. “She says it happens all the time – these blokes get a bit of heartburn, convince themselves they’re dying and hyperventilate till they pass out! And to think I dragged Hannah out of Intensive Care for that. Looks like Patsy panicked herself!” Madeleine made it sound like something to be deeply ashamed of.
“What am I going to tell George?” Stephanie asked for the third time. The answer phone had been on each time she’d called home. For once, Madeleine seemed to have no ready solution. As far as Stephanie knew she’d made no attempt to contact Ken at all. “Tell him we had a problem at the office.” she said vaguely.
“At night?” Stephanie asked. “What sort of problem?”
Madeleine stared out through the windscreen. “I suppose I’m going to have Monica on the phone ranting about her precious god-daughter being out of a job.”
“You were a bit hard on her.” Stephanie said. Madeleine had piled Samantha’s bag and jacket into her arms and propelled her out through the door.
“She deserved it!” Madeleine sat up straight, her voice snappy and decisive once more. “Tell George you’re sorry there was no time to let him know but our top client’s system crashed. Say we hold back-up files of their data base and we had to access it for them urgently. Say I’m branching out into disaster recovery – twenty-four hour.” She laughed. “Bloody good term for it, eh!”
Stephanie opened the car door and looked at Madeleine.
“I don’t think I can work for you any more.”
One of the kitchen lights had been left on. Stephanie’s handbag had been left in the middle of the table, her mobile phone beside it. She grabbed it in alarm but there were no missed calls. One text from Millie. Hope u ok. Call me
She crept up the stairs. The spare room bedroom door was shut and then she saw that so was her own. A sense of dread came over her. One of her sick certainties. Even when there were people staying – even with Hettie and the kids in the house, George would only push it to. Stephanie turned the handle, knowing.
George was lying on his back with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t turn his head as she came in.
“Hello.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did you get my message on the answer-phone?” George did not move.
“One of Madeleine’s clients – one of the big ones – it was a computer crash or something, we had to get all their info off our computer – you know, back-ups.” She stopped, frightened by his silence. Her stomach was hurting again.
“I know where you’ve been.” He was still looking at the ceiling.
“I’ve been with Madeleine – she’s just dropped me off.”
George shook his head, his expression one of contempt.
“George, really! I’ve just got out of her car. Ask her!” she added desperately.
He sat up, looking at her now, seeming almost embarrassed for her. “He rang,” he said.
“Who?” She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing had prepared her for this.
“Troy, of course.” George’s voice was even, reasonable. “Your boyfriend.”
“He’s not…” She was trembling all over, her stomach filled with stabbing pains of anxiety.
George rolled over on to his side, away from her.
“Just go away.”
“How could you?” Hettie filled the kitchen doorway in her dressing-gown. “They brought out a beautiful cake for George at midnight, lit candles, sang Happy Birthday and everything.”
Ken had shown her the cake. Courtesy of Mrs P it was a fondant cream creation sporting a lopsided squash racquet and ball in lime-green icing with five candles. Mercifully she’d stopped short of a giant prawn peering round one of them.
“George doesn’t care about things like that,” Stephanie said, cradling her teacup, sick with shame. She imagined his controlled features as the DJ bellowed his name, as they all burst into song and waited for him to blow out the candles.
God, it was his birthday now. The kids would be getting up in a few hours, bringing him presents and cards.
“It’ll be your big one next,” said Hettie spitefully. “Big Four-O. How would you feel if George disappeared off with another woman when you were celebrating?”
“I did not disappear off with anyone,” Stephanie said furiously. “Except Madeleine. We had a crisis in the office.”
“Yes, well that’s not what Troy’s wife thought.”
“What?”
“After the phone kept ringing and there was no one there when George answered, he phoned the number back. And she answered. She’d got his mobile. Said Troy had been out for hours and then come in drunk.”
“He wasn’t with me.”
“George won’t believe that. She knew all about you. He’d told her everything. Just before he passed out.”
Stephanie put her head in her hands. Christ. Typical! How well she remembered those drunken remorseful confessionals. “What did Troy tell her?” And what did Tanith tell George?
“I don’t know.” Hettie filled the kettle. “He just went upstairs.”
“Oh God,” Stephanie covered her face with her hands. Tears trickled down her palms. She felt utterly empty.
Hettie was crashing about as usual. Opening cupboards, chinking spoons.
“Life’s supposed to begin at forty – looks like you’ve just finished yours.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” said Stephanie tightly. Why was Hettie being so awful? “I remember that every time I look in the mirror and see my skin.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your skin. It’s good skin. It’s good thirty-nine-year-old skin! Why are you always moaning about your age?”
“Because thirty-nine is nearly forty and forty feels like over-the-hill. I can’t handle it. I suppose I could if everything else was right, but it isn’t. Remember Clara? She threw that huge lavish party, wore that badge: Pleased to be Forty. And why wouldn’t she be – successful career, a man who adored her and thought she was beautiful…”
“For Christ’s sake!” The words exploded out of Hettie. “It seems you’ve got two men who love you and think you’re beautiful! What else do you damn well want? Is this what it’s all about? Your age?”
“I don’t know.”
Maybe it was. Or maybe she’d just wanted someone to tell her they thought her beautiful. Someone to show it. Or perhaps she’d just been chasing her past self. Wanting upstanding breasts and a high-cheeked bottom.
Stephanie felt the tears prickle at the back of her eyes again. “I suppose – yes – I wanted to be young again.”
Hettie banged her empty coffee mug down against the kitchen tiles. “Well you can’t be!” she said.
Stephanie closed the bedroom door behind her. George had his eyes closed but she knew he was awake.
“Happy Birthday!” she said quietly.
George gave a bitter sigh.
“I’m going to take Hettie and the children home,” she said. “And collect Charlotte. Then they’ll want to give you your presents.”
He didn’t reply.
“Then later can we talk? I need to explain.”
His eyes snapped open and he sat up. “I’ve had it all explained,” he said, pushing back the duvet, crossing the room, putting on his dressing gown. “I’ve had it all explained to me perfectly.”
He swung round, speaking in a high, whining artificial voice. “How could I ever give you up, Troy? You make my heart sing!”
Christ! She couldn’t even remember saying that. How could he have repeated it? God, what else did he say? Her stomach went into a spasm of fear. George was a George she had never seen before, sneering, pointing, voice laced with the worst sort of contempt.
“It’s touching, isn’t it? Is that what he does for you? Makes your heart sing?”
It seemed – despite George’s jabbing finger, the malice in his eyes – a moment for honesty.
“He did,” she confessed, “but not any more.” Stephanie swallowed. “It was just a moment of madness. I just wanted–” she said, her voice breaking, “– to feel–” she stopped. She’d been going to repeat “young again” but it wasn’t really that, whatever she’d said downstairs. Suddenly it seemed crucial that George should understand. “I just wanted to still be me. The me I used to be.”
George slammed his fist against the wardrobe. “I suppose you’ve been seeing him for years, haven’t you? Got the bills paid, the nice house, the kids, had that useless hippy on the side. Bet you’ve both been laughing at me, haven’t you? Stupid trusting George. No wonder you don’t want to sleep with me. No wonder you’re tired. Too busy screwing him all day when I’m at work!”
“No, no.” She was shaking her head. She felt dizzy, sick. “He just turned up a few weeks ago – his mother died. Troy was upset…”
George strode across the room, stopping inches from her face. For a horrible moment she thought he was going to hit her.
“I don’t want to hear about his sodding mother,” he spat. “Or how you comforted him. Go and live with him. Get out of here.”
She was shaking badly. She held on to the edge of the door.
“The children…”
“Just get out.”
When Stephanie came on to the landing Charlotte was standing in her bedroom doorway crying.
“Charlotte! What’s happened? How did you get back?”
Charlotte looked at her mother in anguish. “I hate you. Why have you done this? Poor Daddy. It’s disgusting.”
“I haven’t done anything – it’s all a misunderstanding.”
“You’ve got a boyfriend,” Charlotte’s voice rose to a wail. “I heard you. I heard you both.” She burst into noisy sobs and Stephanie led her back into the room and sat down on the bed beside her, wrapping her arms around her in a way Charlotte hadn’t allowed for a long time.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, stroking her daughter’s hair, filled with a hot shame. “He’s an old friend and it’s all got a bit complicated. I’ll explain to Daddy when he’s calmed down. There’s nothing to worry about.” Charlotte still had her head on her shoulder. Her voice was muffled.
“Are you going to get a divorce?”
“No!” Stephanie squeezed her tighter. “Of course not. I love Dad, you know I do.” She was trying not to cry herself now. How could she have done this to them? To George who had always looked after her. To her children. “Where’s Toby?” she asked.
“Downstairs watching a video.”
“Did he hear anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t tell him. I don’t want him upset too.”
“OK.” Charlotte sniffed. “I won’t. And Mum,” she raised her face as Stephanie kissed the top of her head. “You won’t really go, will you?”
Hettie’s bags were in the hall. She was sitting on the sofa, Joshua on her lap, Erica and Toby on the floor at her feet, gazing at the TV screen.
Stephanie bent and kissed Toby’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon, darling. Daddy and Charlotte are upstairs.”
He stood up. “I want to come with you.”
Hettie was silent as they all got into the car. Stephanie helped strap the children into place, letting Toby sit in the front. He grinned at this breach of the rules. Hettie sniffed.
Nobody spoke much. Hettie had a rather forced exchange with Erica about why Daddy wouldn’t be home – lots of emphasis on how hard he worked and how lucky they all were as a result – and flashed eyes at Stephanie in the rear-view mirror. There followed a rather desultory game of I-Spy which Erica insisted on winning even though she didn’t guess anything right and which Toby studiously ignored. The fifteen mile journey seemed to take for ever.
When they arrived, Hettie sent Erica indoors. “Go and show Toby your new Tweenies DVD.”
Toby did the predicted nose-wrinkle. “I don’t like Tweenies,” he said, “they’re babyish.”
“Just go anyway,” said Hettie testily.
“Please darling,” Stephanie touched his arm.
“O – K” He sighed and disappeared down the hall. Hettie heaved Joshua onto her other shoulder, walked back down the path a little way.
“You want to hold on to George,” Hettie’s voice was trembling. “He’s a good man.”
Stephanie swallowed. “Don’t you think I realise, Hettie? Don’t you think I feel absolutely dreadful? I never meant any of this to happen.”
“That’s what they always say,” said Hettie heatedly. “But that doesn’t help those left behind hurting, does it? Doesn’t make it any easier to know you’re second best – that your partner would rather jump into bed with someone else – anyone else other than you.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Have you any idea how that feels, Steph?”
“Yes, sort of. I can imagine.”
“Well you should do with Troy! He slept with enough other women when he was supposed to be with you!”
“He didn’t…”
“He did. I knew it. Rose knew it.”
“Lucinda a couple of times. He told me.”
“Not just Lucinda. There were others.” Hettie spoke scornfully. “Why do you think Rose wanted you to throw him out? Just because you had an overdraft? She went round there and found him at it while you were at work. Some girl he’d picked up at a party.” Hettie’s voice was shrill now. “Think about it Steph – in your bed…”
“Stop it!” Steph covered her face with her hands.
“Well you’re just as bad as Troy ever was. You, Troy, Jack – selfish all of you.”
“What’s Jack done?” Stephanie looked up at Hettie’s face which was working in pain.
“Can’t you guess? He didn’t mean it either. Just a girl at a conference. Too much to drink, not his fault of course.”
Stephanie handed her a tissue. Hettie looked up at the sky, swallowing. “‘It just happened,’ he said. How can something just happen? Things don’t just happen – people make them happen. Nothing ever just happens between me and Jack at home.”
Her face streamed with tears and Joshua woke and began to wail. Stephanie gently took the baby from her, rocking him against her while she patted Hettie’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Toby was suddenly at her side, looking up into her face and she turned it away, afraid to lean down and hug him in case she gave way altogether. She rubbed his hair instead. “Everything’s fine. We’re all tired, that’s all.”
She walked back up the path when she’d got Toby in the car.
Joshua was still crying. “He’s hungry,” said Hettie.
“What did you do?” Stephanie asked.
“Do? What was there to do? I’ve got two children. He’s my husband. I love him. He’s promised it will never happen again. I have to believe that. But…” Her eyes were boring into Stephanie’s and she felt her face colour. “However much you mend it, you don’t forget.”
Stephanie put an arm around her. For a moment Hettie resisted then leant forward in an awkward embrace. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”