I left work early that evening, keen to get home and tell Natasha about the call. ‘Hi, love,’ I said, kissing her lightly on the lips as I entered the living room. ‘I’ve got some really exciting news for you. You’ll never guess what.’
‘What? No, don’t tell me,’ Natasha said, taking my coat from me and hanging it in the cloakroom. ‘Bennett has risen from the dead and taken over as head of the firm?’
‘No,’ I replied, ‘even more amazing than that.’
‘Go on then,’ said Natasha, gently brushing Matthew away as he tried to fly one of his planes between our legs, ‘amaze me!’
‘Buddy’s offered me a job,’ I said, watching my wife’s face closely to gauge her reaction, ‘in LA. Executive Vice-President of Production Finance. Half a million dollars a year, plus bonus, healthcare, car. The whole nine yards, as we’d say if we were living out there. It could be a new start for us, a whole new way of life.’
Natasha’s expression had remained pretty rigid as I’d been saying all this but now it reconfigured itself into a quizzical grimace. ‘Why do we need a new start or a new life? What’s wrong with what we’ve got here?’
‘Nothing,’ I replied, ‘but wouldn’t it be a fantastic opportunity. Think of all that sunshine, cruising along Sunset Strip in a top-of-the-range convertible, the kids going to a school like in Beverly Hills 90210. More money than we’d know how to spend in the shops on Rodeo Drive …’
‘Drugs, knife crime, gangs, guns …’
‘Not where we’d be living, love. We’d be in some fantastic villa high up in the Hollywood Hills, looking down on all that from our hot tub on the terrace. How would you like that, guys?’ I said directly to the children. ‘Living in America for a while? Swimming in our own pool every day after school?’
‘Yay!’ yelled Helen and Matthew simultaneously, already starting to sound like American kids.
‘Don’t bring them into it,’ said Natasha, ‘not yet. Not until we’ve had a proper chat about it. I’m sure I could be persuaded, but it’s a hell of a move to think about. What about all our friends over here, and my mother?’
‘We’d make new friends out there. And we could hire you a new mother. We could pay Meryl Streep to pop round once a fortnight and kvetch at us for a couple of hours. You wouldn’t notice the difference after a while. And Buddy promised me he would personally spray us with cold water every day so we wouldn’t miss the London weather.’
Natasha smiled and I sensed she might be starting to warm to the idea. ‘I know,’ I said, ‘why don’t I pop out and buy us a huge Chinese meal to celebrate. Even if we decide not to go, it’s nice to be asked, isn’t it?’
‘OK, love,’ said my wife, ‘you do that. I’ll tidy up in here. Are you OK if I chuck all these papers into the recycling?’
‘Of course I am. And make the most of it – a couple of months from now, we’ll have a maid to do all that for us!’
I left Natasha sorting through a pile of papers and magazines, deciding which ones were ready for pulping and which could decorate our living room for another couple of weeks. I drove the short distance to the Chinese takeaway and spent a small fortune ordering all of our favourites: half an aromatic crispy duck, sesame prawn toast, pancake rolls, prawn crackers and spare ribs for starters, followed by far too many main courses for the four of us to get through. As I waited for my order to be delivered, I imagined what I would say to Bill Davis when I handed in my notice. To lose one Head of Entertainment and Media might be unfortunate; losing two in a matter of months would definitely be considered careless. That would give him and that blood-sucking Welsh ghoul Dai Wainwright something to think about!
I collected my order and walked back to the car, whistling ‘I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy’. If I hadn’t been carrying two overloaded plastic bagsful of monosodium glutamate, I would have attempted one of those hitch kicks that Jimmy Cagney used to do, clicking my heels together in mid-air to demonstrate my new-found happiness to the watching world. All the anxiety of the past few months had been lifted, leaving me feeling more content and at ease than I could remember.
Of course, moving to LA and working for Buddy carried with it the risk that I might bump into Olivia – and even that, at some point, the whole sorry story might come out – but, having survived this long, that didn’t seem too likely. Buddy had told me that, thanks to a potent combination of therapy and cod-religion, Olivia was recovering well from her traumatic experience at the funeral. He was pretty confident that she would soon be able to start working on the sequel to Nothing Happened. She never mentioned Joseph Bennett and considered that chapter of her life closed. LA was a big place and it wouldn’t be too difficult to ensure that our paths never crossed. After all, she was talent and I was just a money-man. A backroom boy. An ordinary joe.
As I drove slowly home through the busy early-evening streets, I made myself a solemn vow: never again would I look at another woman – not even on the cinema screen. From that day forward, I pledged, my dreams and fantasies would feature only my wife: Natasha with her skirt blowing up around her waist as she stood on a subway ventilation grate; Natasha emerging from the surf in a skimpy leather bikini; Natasha floating out of control in her spacecraft as her clothes fell away from her.
To my amazement – it really was my lucky day – I found a parking space right in front of our house, carefully balanced the bags of food on my thigh as I pressed a button on the key fob to lock the car and walked down my front path, bursting with a renewed exuberance and joy. I still felt guilty about what had happened to Bennett – and to Olivia, too – but my priority now was to make sure that nobody else suffered because of my stupid, selfish actions. I had done something unforgivable and wrong and had had to dodge a fusillade of bullets, but now it felt like everything would work out for the best. Tomorrow would be another day. Life could still be wonderful. As wonderful as in the movies.
I rang the doorbell with my shoulder and waited for the door to open. I would let the comforting warmth of our meal thaw Natasha a little more before I returned to my campaign of persuasion, I decided. LA was famous for its Chinese food – just imagine the banquets we would enjoy over there!
The door opened and I looked into the eyes of my wife standing at the entrance to our home. Not the smiling, welcoming eyes I had been expecting, but red-rimmed, crying eyes – eyes filled with accusation, enmity and fear. I heard the snuffling of a distraught child and looked down to see Helen hugging one of her mother’s legs while Matthew gripped the other, his hands wearing what looked at first glance like glove puppets but on closer inspection I realised were a pair of black socks. Black socks with a picture of Mr Silly and the motto ‘Have a Silly Saturday’ embroidered in red cotton upon them. Slowly, I looked back up, forcing myself to take Natasha’s stare.
‘You bastard,’ said my wife, holding up a finger stained black with ink, ‘you lousy, cheating bastard.’