I don’t know whether something has happened to make the production run more smoothly, or whether Robert’s character isn’t being used as much as he used to be, but the days of filming running over seem to be gone, at least for now. Or, what I should say is he isn’t coming home late at the moment. I never really believed it was filming that made him stay back two hours several times a week. Maybe it’s because Georgia’s home – not that she’s really home even when she’s home, if you know what I mean – and he wants to spend as much time with her as he can. Either way, he’s around a lot more in the evenings.
Georgia is planning her birthday. She wants a party but she doesn’t want it at the flat. (Thank God; I had been worrying about how to square it with the neighbours for weeks. Let alone the pressure there would have been to invite them.) We’ve left it a bit late so, right now, I’m desperately phoning around trying to book a venue that says ‘cool’ but doesn’t cost the earth. Robert is in the shower.
I’ve tried three clubs (hopeless), two pubs (no large-enough space) and four restaurants (too short notice). I’m scrolling through half-heartedly on my laptop when I hear a phone ringing. I know it’s not mine because it’s sitting right in front of me, dark and silent. So it can only be Robert’s, because Georgia is out, and anyway, her ring tone is always a song – last count ‘Hotline Bling’.
I track down the noise to a jacket slung across one of the kitchen chairs. It was raining when he left for the studio this morning so he slung it on over his T-shirt. It’s so rare that he leaves his phone unguarded that I can’t help myself. I’m in the pocket like a Jack Russell down a rat hole. I check the caller ID: Sam S.
Samantha.
Really? She’s calling him when she must have a good idea he’s at home? I’m so angry about the out-and-out rudeness of it, the fact that she doesn’t give a shit about whether he’s with his wife and daughter, that before I know what I’m doing I’ve answered.
‘Robert’s phone,’ I say, in a tone I could only describe as hostile. I take a long breath to try to calm myself down. Never show the enemy your cards.
‘Oh, is that Paula?’ I recognize her voice from having seen her on the show. She sounds stupidly young and perky.
‘It is. He’s in the shower, I’m afraid. Can I give him a message?’ I know I sound like an officious secretary but it’s the best I can do at the moment.
‘It’s Sam Smith,’ she says, and then she laughs. ‘Not that Sam Smith. Samantha. From work.’
There’s no hint in her voice that she’s committed the ultimate faux pas.
‘I was just going to talk to him about this stupid scene we’re filming tomorrow. I can’t get my head around it.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘I’ll ask him to call you.’ I just want to get off the phone before I say something I’ll regret, but Samantha’s still chatting.
‘It’s this ridiculous storyline we’ve got going on. Has he told you about it? Hargreaves and Marilyn?’
She may as well add the word ‘eew’. This doesn’t sound like a woman who secretly has the hots for him.
‘I mean, the age gap is ridiculous. It’s like she’s going out with her dad. Not … I don’t mean Robert’s old or anything … or that he’s not attractive … oh God, sorry, that all came out wrong. It’s just … there’s never been any hint of it before and it feels a bit unlikely, you know. We both think so.’
I’m more than a bit confused. ‘That’s Farmer Giles for you.’
‘Tell me about it. Anyway, sorry, Paula, I don’t want to disturb you …’
I can hear Robert heading this way.
‘It’s fine, hold on, he’s coming.’
‘Nice to talk to you, by the way,’ she’s saying as I hold the phone out to him. I want to be able to gauge every detail of his reaction. There’s a tiny flicker when he clocks that the phone I’m holding is his.
‘It’s Samantha.’
Anything? If I’m being absolutely truthful, if I was in court and told I had to name one emotion that he couldn’t one hundred per cent keep in check at the moment I said that name, I would have to say relief.
‘Oh. Thanks,’ he says, as he takes the mobile. I wait for him to leave the room, for any hint of tension in his voice, but instead he settles down on a bar stool next to me.
‘Hi, Sam,’ he says in a matey voice. ‘No, no, it’s fine …’
He laughs at something she says. ‘I haven’t even looked at it yet. Hold on.’
He rummages about in the sides he’s brought home from work. Finds the offending scene, scans it.
‘Jesus. I see what you mean …’
I tune out then, hijacked by my thoughts. If I’d walked in on this conversation without him realizing I was there, there would have been no doubt in my mind that he was just talking to a friend or colleague. Is he really this good? Is she?
‘She’s a nice kid,’ he says when their conversation is over. ‘Bloody awful actress, though.’ He laughs and I laugh with him. But does that answer my question? Would Samantha be incapable of convincing me there was no hidden agenda in her call to Robert? Or is it just that she doesn’t care? That she’s the kind of person who wouldn’t be fazed by their lover’s wife answering the phone because she couldn’t give a shit about her or their marriage?
When I can get away I call Saskia.
‘Hey!’
‘Hi. Have you got a moment?’
‘It’s Amanda,’ I hear her say to whoever she’s with. I assume it’s Josh. I picture them there, sharing a glass of wine. Maybe sitting in their beautiful garden, now the weather’s cleared up again. I’m touched that she’s still honouring my request to keep our friendship a secret. Christ knows what Josh would think was going on if he knew I was phoning her now.
There’s a pause and then she says, ‘Hi, sorry, I’ve come upstairs to the bedroom. Everything OK?’
‘The weirdest thing just happened.’
I relate the whole story. How open and friendly Samantha sounded. How their conversation seemed completely natural.
‘You couldn’t have been mistaken, could you? I mean, obviously, you saw him with someone, but could it have been someone else? Someone who looks like her maybe?’
‘Sorry, Paula, it was definitely her.’
Maybe I’m just gullible. ‘She sounded so genuine.’
‘She’d probably been practising. I mean … if she was going to risk calling him at home …’
Now I feel like an idiot. I imagine Robert and Samantha laughing about how they got one over on me. ‘Oh well, it doesn’t make any difference anyway, I suppose. The fact is that he’s seeing someone, not who it is.’
‘Atta girl.’
‘I can’t wait for this all to be over. I can’t wait to start a new life all on my own.’
‘Then kick him out now,’ she says.
‘You know I can’t. Or he’s won.’
‘Then we need to get on with trying to split them up,’ Saskia says, and I feel so grateful that I have an ally. ‘The sooner that happens, the sooner you’ll be free of him for good.’
By the time I finish speaking to her I feel much better. Because Saskia saw it with her own eyes, there’s no doubt that it’s Samantha Robert is seeing. Regardless of how pleasant she seemed on the phone just now, I know it’s all make-believe. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked by how easily Robert slipped into having a friendly worky chat with her. It makes me think his conscience hasn’t been pricked at all despite how well we’ve been getting on. It makes me think I’ve got a much harder battle on my hands than I thought.