That James accepted her offer on the surgery so quickly took Katie completely by surprise. She had expected him to hold out for more money or even to turn her down flat so that he wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of having to deal with her. She couldn’t wait to get on the phone to Stephanie and tell her.
‘Great,’ Stephanie said, when she had broken the news. ‘Well done.’
Stephanie didn’t sound as delighted as Katie had anticipated, and then it hit her why that might be. ‘Oh, God, Stephanie, I hope you don’t think I’m doing this to try and screw you out of money as well. Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that. Do you want me to go back and up my offer? I will, if you want me to.’ She felt genuinely upset that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that James getting a knock-down price for the surgery would have an effect on Stephanie too once they got round to sorting out a divorce settlement. She would never have wanted Stephanie to suffer any more than she already had.
‘It’s not that,’ Stephanie said. ‘That hadn’t even occurred to me. It’s just … I don’t know … I’m feeling a bit sorry for him at the moment –’
Katie couldn’t help but jump in before Stephanie had had a chance to finish her sentence. ‘Sorry for him? After what he’s done? Come on …’
And then Stephanie told her how down he had been when she’d last seen him and how he was still living in a motel, and some story about a dog dying, which, even though Katie loved dogs, seemed vaguely comical. It all seemed fairly trivial. The man wasn’t dying of cancer or on Death Row, he was just feeling a little bit sorry for himself because he’d made his own bed (well, two beds to be fair) and now he was having to lie in it (them). Stephanie had mentioned that the dog had belonged to a Tory councillor, and Katie had laughed and said that must have been James’s worst nightmare, a potential falling-out with such a pillar of the community, but Stephanie had said he didn’t seem to care about that kind of thing any more: he was just upset that he had made such a terrible mistake and, anyway, as far as Charles Sullivan knew, Bertie had died of natural causes.
‘God,’ Katie heard herself say, ‘if I found out something like that had happened to Stanley I’d go ballistic.’
As soon as she had told Katie about the dog Stephanie knew she shouldn’t have. There had been a hint of excitement in Katie’s voice when she had said goodbye and Stephanie felt as if she had loaded the gun and then handed it over. She thought about calling Katie back and saying, ‘Forget what I just told you, I made it up,’ or even going straight to the point and asking her not to do anything rash, but she felt like that would fan the flames. She would just have to hope that the excitement of the new premises and the satisfaction of the small victory she had won would take the edge off Katie’s desire for revenge.
She was spending the day shopping with Meredith for the upcoming soap awards. Meredith had been nominated in the best actress category specifically for a harrowing episode in which she’d learned that the man she was about to marry already had a wife and three children, who had conveniently just moved into the same area. She was up against an actress whose character had died a prolonged death from cancer (which she had been winning the battle against by all accounts, until she had asked the producers for a substantial salary increase) and another whose alter ego had recently been jailed for drug-running. There was no doubt about it, she had confided to Stephanie, death always won out at awards because the judges knew that this would be the last chance they would get to fawn over the genius of that particular actor. But, spurred on by her triumph at the BAFTAs, she was intending to go along and knock them dead in an outfit, the design of which she was happy to leave entirely to Stephanie.
Currently they were in Ronit Zilkha, Meredith in the changing room trying on one enormous creation after another while Stephanie paced outside like an expectant father. She was dreading the fact that it was nearly lunchtime and she had no doubt that she would be expected to indulge Meredith in at least two courses in the restaurant at Harvey Nichols. She was quite fond of Meredith, these days – it was easy to feel benign towards someone who followed your instructions blindly – but they didn’t have much to talk about. Besides, she wanted time on her own to think about the bombshell Michael had dropped on her this morning.
Meredith, however, was having none of it, and at a quarter to two they finally sat down to starters of scallops and butternut-squash soup, and Stephanie scoured her brain for something to talk about. Luckily Meredith blathered on for a while about some new storyline she was involved in and how unfair it was that some of the cast had been granted permission to take a break from filming for the lucrative panto season while others – herself included – had been refused. Stephanie tried to look sympathetic about the fact that Meredith would spend the next winter only making four thousand pounds a week instead of ten, but it wasn’t easy. After that the conversation ground to a halt and Stephanie, desperate to fill the silence, found herself saying, ‘So, my boyfriend wants us to move in together.’
‘Wow,’ Meredith said, putting down her fork. ‘That didn’t take long.’
‘Nearly three months,’ Stephanie said. ‘Is it too soon? I think it might be too soon.’ Why was she talking to Meredith about this? she thought. Mrs In-the-closet-lesbian. Probably never had a relationship in her life.
‘That depends. I once moved in with someone after a week.’
Stephanie nearly choked. She resisted the urge to voice the question she was dying to ask.
Meredith was still talking: ‘To be honest, it was a stupid thing to do, though. I moved out again a month later.’
Stephanie laughed. ‘Well, that helps me a lot.’
‘I think that if you’re worried it’s too soon then it’s too soon.’
‘That’s what I think.’
If she was honest, she didn’t know what she thought. Michael had mentioned it over breakfast as if he was discussing a new kind of cereal or the state of the Dow Jones. It had come so out of nowhere that at first she’d laughed and then he’d said that he was deadly serious, and that it was crazy for them to keep two separate homes when they spent so much time together. Besides, he was serious about this relationship and he wanted to move it on to a stronger footing. It would make most sense, he’d said, if he sold his place and then, if she wanted, he could use the money to buy a half-share in her house. He knew she wouldn’t want to move.
Stephanie’s first thought had been Finn. He and Michael got along fine, although they didn’t share much common ground and, when it got right down to it, Michael wasn’t and would never be his father. And then she thought about how she felt, and how she felt was blank. She had a feeling she should have been elated. It was the promise of a whole new life with a kind, decent man, who clearly adored her. There was no chance that Michael was ever going to set up a secret life somewhere else, sneaking off to the countryside and some other poor woman he’d conned into loving him every few days. He was smart and he was talented. There was just a lingering anxiety, hovering somewhere on the periphery of her brain, that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘Well,’ Meredith continued, ‘you either tell him you want to wait a bit or else you do a trial run. Move in together for a couple of weeks and then decide. But don’t go promising him it’s permanent before you’re sure.’
Stephanie sighed. ‘You’re right, I know you are. But, if I’m being honest, I’m scared. What if I say no and then he never asks again?’ Why was she telling Meredith all this? She really had no idea.
Meredith snorted. ‘What – and then you stay as you are, just you and Finn? Is that really so bad? Come on, Stephanie, don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those women who’d rather live with Fred West than be on their own?’
Stephanie laughed. ‘Of course not. Although he did have nice hair.’
‘If he’s really into you, he’ll still want to move in in six months’ time. And if he doesn’t, it proves you were right to wait, don’t you think?’
‘I know that makes sense.’ Stephanie ran her hand over her eyes. ‘I guess I just don’t understand why I’m not jumping up and down. I mean, who’d have thought six months ago that I’d meet someone else so quickly? Someone who’s attractive and kind and smart and who loves me …’ She tailed off, not knowing what else to say.
‘But?’ Meredith said, raising an eyebrow.
Stephanie looked at her quizzically.
Meredith continued: ‘There was a “but” coming.’
‘But … I don’t know. But … he’s a bit … he’s not … He likes jazz and talking about world cinema. All his friends are artists and photographers and musicians. Or, at least, they’re trying to be. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, except that they take it all so seriously. And so does he.’ She had no idea if Meredith understood what she was going on about. She barely understood it herself. ‘I think that’s what my “but” was – “But he’s a bit too cool for his own good.”’
Meredith nodded. ‘He sounds …’
‘Dull? He’s not dull, he’s really not, he’s just a bit … serious.’
‘I was actually going to say that he sounds interesting. I’m just not sure he sounds very you, if you know what I mean. Sorry if that’s presumptuous.’
Stephanie sighed. ‘Sometimes I do wish he’d lighten up a bit.’
‘Well, if you really insist on taking the advice of an embittered old spinster who’s never lived with anyone herself except for four weeks in 1989 then here’s what I think …’ Meredith, ever the actress, paused as if for effect. ‘Do nothing. There’s no rush. You can’t lose anything by waiting, except for a bit of sleep, maybe.’
‘Is that the only piece of advice anyone ever gives? Do nothing?’
‘I’m naturally lazy. Doing nothing always seems like the best answer to me.’
Stephanie smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Meredith, I appreciate you listening.’
‘She’s right, of course,’ Natasha said smugly. ‘Although why you’d be asking that dried-up old misery for advice when you could have asked me I don’t know.’
‘Well, she said exactly the same as you would have said, so what’s the difference? Besides, I like her.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since she decided I was a genius. Actually, she’s been very sweet lately.’
Natasha snorted. ‘You’ll be going out on a date with her next. No wonder she’s trying to put you off Michael, she thinks she’s in with a shot.’
‘OK, let’s move on from the 1970s.’
‘Just tell me this,’ Natasha said, suddenly serious. ‘When was the last time you made him laugh?’
‘He laughs.’ Stephanie was indignant. ‘What do you mean? I thought you liked him. He likes you.’
‘I do like him, he’s smart and thoughtful. He’s just not exactly hilarious to be around, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘I like being with him. He’s kind and clever and an adult. Plus he’s never going to mess me around.’
‘Great. And I can understand why that seems like the most important thing at the moment but … it doesn’t mean you should make it permanent, that’s all. Not until you’re sure at least and you’re clearly not sure at the moment.’
Stephanie sat down heavily on the sofa. She suddenly felt miserable. Overwhelmed by a wave of uncharacteristic self-pity, she burst into tears.
Natasha looked horrified. ‘I wasn’t having a go! Oh, God, sorry, Steph.’
Stephanie rarely cried and, consequently, whenever she did it was as if everything she had been bottling up since the last time saw an opportunity and came flooding out and then she couldn’t stop. Now she tried to say, ‘No, it’s nothing to do with what you just said,’ but it was too hard to speak and cry at the same time and the crying won out. She shook her head in the hope that Natasha would know what she meant. Whether she did or not, Natasha came and sat beside her and patted her leg helplessly. Stephanie knew she must be making her uneasy – she didn’t think that in all their years of friendship Natasha had ever seen her cry – but she had no way of stopping. She didn’t even know what she was crying about, just that she felt empty and hopeless and as if her whole life had gone to shit.
‘It’s good for you to let it all out,’ Natasha was saying. ‘You always put a brave face on everything. It’s just not … natural. Look at you. Most people would have fallen apart after what happened to you but you barely missed a breath. It’s not healthy.’
‘What do you mean? I was trying to hold it together. I thought that was the right thing to do.’
‘It’s not a criticism, Steph. I’m just saying that no one could go through what you’ve just gone through without breaking down at some point. It’s just taken you longer than most, that’s all. It’s a good thing. If I didn’t hate everything and anything New Age I’d be saying things like “You can’t start to heal until you’ve allowed yourself to break completely.” But obviously I’m never going to say that so I’m just going to say that all those things, like getting your revenge on James –’
‘Which you said was a good thing.’
‘– which I said was a good thing – and Michael were like self-preservation. They helped you get through the worst of it. They gave you something to focus on. They helped put off the moment when you really took in what had happened till now, till you were strong enough to deal with it. And now that you’ve got it all out of your system, you can move on, that’s all.’
‘Me and Michael are fine, OK?’ Stephanie said defensively. ‘I know you don’t like him but that’s your problem.’ She ignored Natasha’s protestations. ‘You never liked James and now you don’t like Michael.’
She knew as soon as she said it that it was a childish thing to say. The truth was that Natasha had been right to be wary of James: she had only ever had Stephanie’s best interests at heart. And if Stephanie had let herself dwell on it she would have known that she would have to agree that there was something in what Natasha had said about her relationship with Michael that was right too. But she wasn’t about to let herself dwell on it.
‘I’m going to let him move in,’ she said, somewhat petulantly. ‘He’s right – we’re good together.’
‘Well, if that’s what you want to do, then good for you,’ Natasha said. ‘I only wanted to make sure you were certain. I really am pleased for you, if it makes you happy.’ She held out her arms to give Stephanie a hug but Stephanie was having none of it. She was sick of Natasha telling her what was right and what was wrong, what to do. She conveniently forgot that it was always she who pressed Natasha for advice, that Natasha was the person she called at one or two in the morning when she didn’t know what to do, that Natasha would always drop everything and listen to her moaning on whenever she had a problem.
Stephanie stood up and reached for her coat. ‘I have to go,’ she said coldly, and left without saying goodbye.