Every time she finished a glass of champagne some passing waiter filled it again until Stephanie had absolutely no idea how many she’d had but what she did know was that the room was spinning and that she really needed to drink some water before she either passed out or made a fool of herself or both. Meredith had taken her by surprise when she’d asked to her go to the soap awards as her guest. Natasha would have had a field day going on and on about Stephanie being Meredith’s new girlfriend and what should she wear to the wedding but, of course, Stephanie hadn’t told her about it because she had been avoiding her, which hadn’t been easy, given that they worked in the same office. Stephanie had spent the week working from home or visiting clients in their houses, leaving the occasional curt message on the office answerphone for Natasha, asking her to do something or other.
When Meredith had called, she had thought, What the hell? It wasn’t as if her calendar was bursting with social engagements and she might pick up some new clients (she wasn’t sure how, going up to people randomly and saying, ‘You look awful, have you ever considered using a stylist’ maybe). Besides, Michael was going to be there as one of the official photographers, snapping the happy winners with their trophies, so she could always sit backstage with him and pretend to be his assistant if she felt like it.
She had finally told him last night that she thought he was right – it was time they moved in together.
‘Really?’ Michael had said, his smile taking over his entire face. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘I just have to clear it with Finn,’ Stephanie had said, smiling at his reaction.
‘Of course. And, of course, if he feels it’s too soon, we can wait. Whatever he wants.’
He wanted everything to be exactly right and everyone to be happy. He’d been ecstatic, ordering a bottle of champagne and squeezing her hand. It had felt good to be the person who had made him so happy.
She knew she would have to tell James sooner or later. She suspected he wasn’t going to take it well – he was still clearly harbouring hopes of a reconciliation one day, however much she had made it clear that that was never going to happen. She just needed to pick her moment. God, everything was complex.
Today James was spending the day with Finn while she was supervising Meredith’s hair and makeup. As soon as she had told him about Meredith’s invitation he had said he would love to keep Finn overnight in his new tiny studio flat on Finchley Road. He had finally decided to rent while he waited to find something he could afford to buy and he had found this place in the local paper and moved in a week ago, after agreeing with the landlord that he could skip the first month’s payment if he decorated it from top to bottom and did some minor repairs. Hardly a big job, considering the entire place measured fifteen by seventeen.
The bed, he had told her and Finn, folded back into being a sofa during the day; he had a two-ring cooker, a fridge and a microwave in one corner, with a tiny shower room and toilet off to one side. Small it might be, but now he had given it a lick of paint it was clean and private and it wasn’t the Travel Motel.
James had told Finn that anytime he wanted to stay over he was welcome. He, James, would sleep on an air mattress on the floor, which he had bought specially. Finn had been nagging Stephanie ever since to be allowed to go. She had been unsure whether or not it was a good idea, but when she’d mentioned to James about her plans for the evening and he had offered yet again, she couldn’t help thinking it was the most sensible option. Finn had nearly passed out with excitement.
She took a long drink of fizzy water and immediately her head felt clearer. She looked around for Meredith, who had almost certainly drunk even more than she had while celebrating her unexpected victory. She had made a gracious speech, thanking practically everyone she had ever met, including Stephanie, although she’d thankfully stopped short before she’d got to God. Now she was basking in the insincere compliments being showered on her by producers and directors, who wouldn’t even have seen her for a casting yesterday, let alone hired her. Even Stephanie knew that their promissory notes of future jobs, should she ever leave the soap, were only redeemable for the next few weeks or until another of her cast mates took on the mantle of flavour of the month. But she was glad that Meredith was enjoying her moment in the spotlight.
Stephanie looked at her watch. It was already nearly midnight. The ceremony had gone on interminably and had finally finished at ten to ten. Dinner had followed, with copious amounts of wine. Stephanie had sat between one of the soap’s directors and the wife of an actor who was up for something or other. They had both expressed an interest in using her services and had taken her number so it wasn’t an entirely wasted evening. Michael had come through to say goodbye about an hour ago – he had to go and sort through his pictures, making the best ones available for tomorrow’s morning newspapers. He had asked if she wanted to go with him and she should have said yes, but it had seemed rude to get up and leave when she was only halfway through her rack of lamb. She promised to call him once she was on her way home safely.
Now, though, they were encouraging people to move to the room next door for dancing and, no doubt, more drinking, and she had decided she had had enough. It was hard work making polite conversation with people you didn’t know who probably had no interest in talking to you. She’d had a good time, it had been an experience – if only one that had taught her that events that look glamorous from the outside can often be fairly tedious once you’re in – and she wanted her bed.
She drank another glass of water for good measure and made her way over to where Meredith was holding court to say goodbye. As Stephanie had anticipated she might, Meredith scooped her into her copious bosom and thanked her again for everything, as if Stephanie’s dress sense had won her the award.
‘He’s a nice bloke,’ Meredith said. Michael had photographed Meredith with her trophy and had clearly managed to charm her more this time than he had when they had met previously.
‘He is,’ Stephanie said, hugging her again. ‘I’ve decided to let him move in.’
Meredith smiled. ‘Well, good for you. If you’ve decided that’s the right thing to do then it is. I’m pleased for you both. How’s your husband taking it?’
Stephanie’s face fell. ‘I haven’t told him yet,’ she said. ‘He’s having such a hard time of it at the moment. In fact, oh, God, I don’t even know if I should tell you this …’
Meredith pulled Stephanie down into a chair and thrust another glass of champagne into her hand. ‘What now?’ she said.
And Stephanie found herself telling her the whole story: the plan to get back at James, how it had escalated, and how it had now got out of control. ‘The thing is,’ she found herself saying, ‘I feel guilty. I never meant for it to go this far.’
‘Revenge does strange things to people,’ Meredith said, sounding like an agony aunt even though she was slurring. ‘It can make you feel great or it can make you feel as low as the person you’re exacting it on. Obviously this Katie’s in the former camp.’
‘I guess I’m in the latter. I thought it would make me feel stronger. To be honest, it did for a while.’
‘But now you just feel shitty?’
‘Exactly. You sound like you know from experience.’
Meredith laughed. ‘That person I told you I lived with once. It wasn’t that I realized I’d made a mistake. It was actually that I came home one day and found her in bed with one of our friends.’
Stephanie paused, wine glass halfway to her lips. Had Meredith just said ‘her’? She wanted to throw her arms round her and say, ‘Thank you for confiding in me,’ and then tell her to stop thinking she had to live a lie, that the world was a different place now, but she was worried that she had misheard or that Meredith would be embarrassed if she drew attention to it, so she merely sat and waited for what Meredith had to say next.
‘Anyway, I decided to get her back. She was an actress, too, and I heard she had got a big break, a regular role in a long-running series. I rang the producer, pretending to be her agent, and told them she couldn’t do it. And then I rang her agent, pretending to be someone from the production company, and said they’d changed their minds. I’ve always been good at accents.’
Stephanie laughed. ‘It was ingenious, I’ll give you that.’
‘I know. And for a few months I felt wonderful. Empowered, even. Then, about a year later, I heard she was still out of work and I started to feel bad. Really bad. I’d affected her whole life, her whole career. OK, so she should never have done what she did, but me doing something wrong didn’t make it better. It didn’t take away what she’d done. It just meant there were two of us behaving badly.’
Stephanie sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, the way I see it there are only two things you can do. You either convince Katie she has to stop or you tell James everything, allow him to arm himself against her.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘But first you need to go and sleep on it. Come on, I’ll help you find your coat.’
When Stephanie’s taxi eventually pulled up outside her house she noticed that most of the lights were off and silently cursed James for not thinking how unwelcoming that might be for her, coming home late. She had left him and Finn playing football in the garden with Finn’s overnight bag packed and ready for him to go. James was bringing him back in the morning – not too early, they had agreed, in case Stephanie had a hangover and needed a lie-in. She let herself in and nearly tripped over Finn’s rucksack on the hall floor. On top of it was a note: ‘Stephanie,’ it said, ‘Finn couldn’t settle in the flat. Said he was scared and wanted to go home so I brought him back here. I’m sleeping on the sofa. Sorry. Will leave first thing before you get up. Hope you had a good time. James.’
In the kitchen she found the remains of their dinner – pasta and tomato sauce, one of Finn’s favourites – in a Tupperware container. The dishes and pans were stacked neatly in the dishwasher. Stephanie tiptoed to the living-room door and opened it softly. She could just make out a shape that must be James under a pile of blankets.
Without really knowing what she was doing she slipped off her shoes and walked into the room. She was overwhelmed by the urge to look at him while he was asleep and unaware of what she was doing. She felt as if she didn’t know him any more. He didn’t seem like the same man she had been married to for all those years – but then hadn’t it turned out that she hadn’t really known the man she was married to after all? The man she had been married to was successful, confident and handsome. He would never have grown a beard and worn the same clothes for days on end. He certainly would never have cooked his son homemade pasta and tomato sauce. She preferred this version, this strange man lying asleep on her sofa who took his responsibilities seriously, and whom she couldn’t imagine ever having two women on the go at the same time, so burdened was he with the guilt of what he had done in his past. But then, she mentally cautioned herself, she had never imagined that the old James would have had two women on the go at the same time either. That was the whole point. He had deceived her. She had to remember that this man was capable of massive deception. She didn’t want to hurt him any more, though. Hurting him hadn’t made her feel better as she had thought it would. Meredith was right – now they were just two people who had behaved as badly as each other. What was the point in that?
He looked incredibly peaceful lying there, and Stephanie was seized with the desire to reach out and stroke his forehead, the way she always did with Finn when he was sick. James stirred and the noise shook Stephanie out of her reverie. What am I doing? she thought, and turned round quickly, nearly knocking over a picture frame. I’ve had way too much to drink and I need to go to bed.
James stirred again. ‘Hello,’ he said sleepily.
‘I’m drunk,’ Stephanie said, as if that was any kind of an explanation for why she was standing over him. ‘I was just … looking for something.’
James half sat up, and she was aware that she felt self-conscious with him sitting there bare-chested. ‘Good for you. Did you have a good time?’
‘Yes, great. I should go to bed, though.’
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he said, and she tried to remember the last time he had offered to do that for her late at night. There was no way she could bring herself to tell him she was responsible for everything that had been happening to him.
‘No. Thanks. I really should go to bed.’
‘Night, then,’ he said, pulling the duvet up over himself again.
‘Night.’