As a rule, I would never answer my phone to an unknown number, but after the fifth or sixth call I picked it up. I wondered if my mother had finally done it.
To my surprise, it was Lauren Pearce. She got my number from Rebecca. She asked if she could come to see me. I said yes, of course, albeit slightly nervously. I’m not really looking to be anyone’s support system right now, not when I am hoping to improve so many aspects of my own life. Nonetheless, I said that she could ‘pop round’. I have vacuumed the floors and boiled the kettle. She arrives exactly on time at eleven a.m.
‘Hello,’ I say, as I open the door. She looks pale, and gaunt. She is wearing a big cardigan and her arms are wrapped around herself as if she is cold, despite it being quite warm outside. I let her in immediately.
‘I don’t think anyone followed me,’ she says, like she is on the run. ‘I snuck out the back of my dad’s house and called an Uber from down the street. There are paps everywhere, but no one saw me.’
‘I’m sure that can’t be easy. Can I make you a drink, the kettle’s just boiled?’
‘Just water, please.’
The house feels very silent when I go into the kitchen to get the drinks. It’s quite bizarre having a celebrity in the living room. Especially when the world outside is looking for her.
‘Please, take a seat,’ I say, coming back in.
‘Thanks. Your place is lovely. You’ve got great style,’ she says, looking around at the many things I have gathered over the years, to make my cave a place where I am happy to stay.
‘Thanks, I am very proud of my home.’ I don’t have many guests. It’s quite nice to have my good taste acknowledged.
‘I wanted to say thank you. For what you did for me that day. For talking to me, and … and for exposing yourself to me the way you did. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ I say, fighting my learned behaviour of shutting down a conversation that makes me feel self-conscious. She saw my body. There is no need to push her away now. I saved her life. At least in this situation I should allow my accomplishment to eclipse my humiliation.
‘Well, you can add saving someone’s life to the list of things you do well. I mean it, thank you. I was a mess that day. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
‘Or maybe you were,’ I say, controversially.
‘What?’
‘I mean, surely in the moment you decide to kill yourself you are thinking most clearly of all. You know something is destroying you, you know you can’t cope. The direction of your thought process is entirely focused. I think it’s OK to admit that you knew what you wanted to do in that moment.’
‘I did. But what I’ve realised since is that I wasn’t doing it to get me away from anything, it was just to hurt other people as much as I could. I wanted Gavin and my mother to have to live with it forever. Which is not the right reason. Not that there are any right reasons. Anyway, you made me realise that finding a way to cope with everything is better than not coping, so thank you.’
‘It’s OK. Really, I’m just glad it ended the way it did. I mean, I’m glad you’re OK, I realise things didn’t go exactly to plan for your special day.’
‘No, they didn’t. God, every time I think about them together my skin crawls.’
‘Yes, it’s really difficult to comprehend, I’m sure. That’s not the role you think your mother will play on your wedding day. I can relate to that.’
‘You’re married?’
‘I was. It ended very soon after the wedding, unfortunately.’
‘What happened?’ she asks, sipping her water. I wouldn’t normally offer this information, but I suppose Lauren Pearce and I have terrible wedding days in common. I don’t have many other friends who appreciate how it feels.
‘In his speech, my husband made numerous jokes about my body hair, and I felt very let down by it.’
‘Oh. Why was he so cruel?’ she asks, a look in her eye suggesting she knows all about cruel men. I don’t like it – Liam is nothing like Gavin.
‘No, he wasn’t being cruel. He thought he was being funny. It was very ill-judged.’
‘OK, so why did you leave him?’ she asks, a little confused.
‘Because of the jokes,’ I clarify. ‘You should have heard him. He said he was happy to be marrying me because he loved cats but was allergic to them. Oh, and another one was, he said that my particular breed of woman is almost extinct because most women remove their body hair. He made some wisecracks about how spotting one like me in the wild, catching it and domesticating it was no easy task, but that when you get one they’re actually easy to tame. He basically compared me to an animal in front of all of my friends and his entire family. And my mother, which was maybe the most painful thing of all.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my mother is also not a good person. She’s been cruel to me my entire life, she mocks my condition, calls me names. I didn’t need the love of my life giving her more ammunition.’
Lauren looks confused.
‘He compared you to a cat, but said he loved cats? Don’t you think that, just in a very odd way, he was letting you know how much he loved you?’
‘He made fun of me, Lauren. He outed my condition. I wasn’t ready for that.’
‘Well, what did he say afterwards?’
‘He said he just wanted everyone to know that he accepted me.’ I roll my eyes. Playing along with what I have always told myself, that Liam is terrible for what he did. But saying it out loud to someone whose husband was caught bonking her mother on her wedding day, suddenly I am questioning the level of the crime.
‘Look, I’m sure you had all sorts of reasons to break up with your husband. But are you sure this isn’t really about you and your mother?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, you said he made you cross because he gave her more ammunition? It sounds like the real problem you have is with her.’
I allow silence to fall while my mind reassesses itself and I question nearly everything I have told myself to believe about my wedding day. Lauren must sense that she has said something I am struggling with.
‘I bet you looked beautiful on your wedding day,’ she says, trying to snap me out of my thoughts. ‘Can I see pictures?’
‘No, I’m not the kind of person to share pictures of myself.’
‘Oh come on, I bet your dress was amazing. I love your style. It’s so dramatic, I could never pull anything off like what you wear.’
I imagine Lauren in one of my dresses. She’s right, it wouldn’t work on most people. I am proud of my unique style.
‘Wait here,’ I tell her. A few moments later, I am back with my laptop. I open the file, ‘MENSTRUAL DIARY’, then show her the screen.
‘So this is us moments after we said “I do” before the speeches. A little moment in time when I felt truly happy.’
‘Ahhh, I can see it on your face. You look glowing.’
I don’t tell her I added the glow in post.
‘And look at this one, your body looks amazing.’ She is pointing at a photo in which I gave myself slightly wider hips.
‘Wow and look at your smile there …’
I snap my computer shut.
‘OK, I can’t do this,’ I say, bluntly.
‘Can’t do what?’ Lauren asks, nervously.
‘I can’t pretend that is me. I’m sitting in front of you, you can see the truth. I’m sorry, I know you have photos of yourself manipulated, and I know I’m the one who does it, but I can’t do it to myself, I’m sorry.’
I get up and leave the room. I am aware she must feel uncomfortable so I am as quick as I can be. I come back in holding the shoe box.
‘These are the originals.’ I sit next to Lauren and open the box of photos for the first time in years. ‘Look, this is what I actually looked like. Pale, gaunt, too thin, too …’
‘Ruby, stop. You look beautiful. Look at you there, look how happy you look,’ she says, picking up a photo of me taken as I walked into the wedding breakfast, holding Liam’s hand. I am smiling from ear to ear, Liam too. If you focus on my happiness, you really don’t notice my body.
‘Who is this?’ Lauren says, picking up a picture of my mother and me. She is in a wheelchair, wearing a black dress. I am standing next to her. I have managed to create a pained smile, my mother is looking off camera. The photo speaks volumes and about how I was feeling. Agonised. Hateful.
‘It’s my mother,’ I tell Lauren. She looks at the photo for a while.
‘You don’t look like her,’ Lauren says.
‘Thank goodness,’ I say.
‘Yeah, she’s a real minger.’
‘Yeah, she really is,’ I laugh. I haven’t heard the word ‘minger’ since I was called it in school. I put all the photos back in the box and put the lid on.
‘You don’t need to do anything to those photos, Ruby, they’re perfect as they are. They are your truth.’
‘I could say the same about you,’ I say. She smiles and nods, as if accepting my words.
‘So have you spoken to Gavin?’ I ask.
‘No, not personally. Our, I mean, his PR wrote to me asking me to do a post. Threatening me, saying if I didn’t say something myself, she would be forced to write a quote for me. Apparently, Gavin said he’d pay me three million if I said the reason for the wedding not going ahead was because I backed out due to my own “problems”. She said they didn’t mind what I said my problems were. I ignored her, the bitch. He can think again if I’m going to get paid off to save his reputation.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m learning that I don’t really exist publicly without him. Three brands have pulled out of working with me off the back of my “mental health”. They say they have ceased to work with me while I work out my problems. Meanwhile Gavin continues to pull in millions and be everyone’s hero and Mr Nice Guy.’
‘That’s really terrible. I’m so sorry it’s turned out that way. What about your mum?’
‘I have no plans to speak to her again. I think I’ve been looking for the right excuse to cut her out, and she just offered it to me on a plate.’
‘It must be liberating. My mother has a hold on me like a dragnet. I’ve never had the confidence to cut it loose. You’re being very mature about it all. I’m sure I’d be plotting some sweet revenge.’
‘Oh, I would if there was a way. But what am I going to do, send him a photo of me with someone else? He wouldn’t care anyway.’
An idea crosses my mind that I brush away quickly. It’s a ridiculous thought. Not possible. She notices that I am thinking.
‘What?’
‘Oh nothing,’ I say. ‘Silly idea. Would never work …’
‘Come on, what is it?’ she presses.
It’s ridiculous. But, if I pulled it off …
‘You need him to stop making people think it’s all your fault, right? You need some currency, basically?’
‘Go on …’
‘Beth and Risky, they saw what happened? With Gavin and your mum?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did your mum or Gavin see them?’
‘No, not at the time. We confronted Mum later.’
‘So hypothetically, could Risky or Beth have taken a photo when they saw them having sex?’ Getting a little excited at the thought of this.
‘God, why would they do that? That would be so weird,’ Lauren says, and of course she is right.
‘Yes, but it could have happened, right?’ I ask, needing this to be very clear.
‘Yes, I suppose so. One of them could have taken a photo if they were total perverts.’
‘How damaging would it be for him and his business to know about his infidelity?’ I ask, fully invested.
‘Pretty bad. I mean, it would embarrass him a lot, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t want it.’
‘OK, then I think I have an idea. Let me get you some more water, and I’ll explain,’ I say, disappearing into the kitchen.
I have to say, I really am a genius sometimes.
Risky and I were having a cup of tea when Lauren called.
‘Beth, hi it’s Lauren. You know you asked if there was anything else you could do for me? Well there is. If I come and get you in an hour, can you and Risky take the afternoon off to come and help me with something?’
I asked her what it was, but she wouldn’t say. I agreed, of course, and she is due to arrive any minute. Risky and I have been speculating as to what it might be.
‘Maybe she wants us to go and clear out her closets at their house?’ Risky suggested, but why would she ask us that? I thought maybe she wanted us to draft a quote for the press. But she really wouldn’t need to come and ‘get us’ for that. Risky’s final idea is that she wants us to all go away for a spa break together. I warned her not to get too excited about that idea.
When Lauren comes into the office, she is accompanied by the woman who saved Lauren from her suicide attempt, whose name, I now learn, is Ruby. She’s quite an intimidating looking person. Very thin, and of course I know what lies beneath her clothes.
Tommy is asleep in his bouncer. Lauren coos over him for a minute or two, before getting to business.
‘We’ve had an idea,’ she says, taking a seat. ‘It will involve absolute confidentiality from you. No NDAs, just a promise. If we do this, only the four of us can ever know it happened, OK?’
Oh shit, she wants us to help her murder Gavin?
Risky just keeps nodding. She is Team Lauren all the way, and happy to throw herself into the ring, but I demand to know a little bit more. Ruby helps Lauren explain.
‘Lauren tells me that you both saw Gavin and Mayra … at it?’
We both confirm that we did. This is such a weird conversation.
‘Right, how vividly do you remember it?’ she asks.
‘Like it is right in front of me now,’ Risky says.
‘Yup, me too. Kind of hard to forget,’ I add.
Lauren looks pleased. Which is strange when you think we are talking about seeing her fiancé have sex with her mother.
‘OK,’ continues Ruby. ‘We’re going to create a photograph of exactly what you saw, using photos that Rebecca took of Mayra and Gavin.’
‘FUCK A DUCK!’ Risky screeches, air punching and jumping for joy. ‘Shit, sorry,’ she says, referring to potentially waking Tommy up. Luckily she didn’t. ‘Brilliant. Yes, yes I’m in,’ she yelps, like her favourite team just scored. Maybe they did. I take the more professional route.
‘Isn’t that illegal?’ I ask gently, not wanting to be a party pooper.
‘Yes, but also it did happen, right?’ Lauren asks, looking at us and possibly thinking, Shit, imagine if they just made this whole thing up.
‘It absolutely happened,’ I tell her.
‘Right then, how would Mayra or Gavin know that you didn’t take a photo? You could have, couldn’t you?’
‘Yup, they had no idea we were there,’ Risky says. I’m not going to win if I try to get out of this, I can tell that already.
‘Great,’ Ruby says. ‘Then all we have to do is go to the venue, you show me the room and the exact spot you saw them doing it, what they were doing and how. I’ll take more photos, then manipulate them together, creating a seamless image of them in all their glory.’
‘Glory?’ Lauren says, not liking that.
‘Sorry, how about shameful glory?’ Ruby says, correcting herself. Lauren seems happier.
‘Do you think you can do that?’ Risky asks Ruby.
‘A hundred per cent, if you’ll tell me what you saw. Are you in?’
Again, Risky puts up no resistance.
‘I’ll pay you,’ Lauren says, sweetening the deal even more. ‘Five grand, each, for your help. I realise this is asking a lot.’
Risky might as well lie on the floor and start masturbating. She is all over this.
Ruby has stiffened a little. ‘Ten grand for me, I think, don’t you? I am the artist.’
‘Wow, OK. For you ten grand. I am paying for your silence. Everyone in?’ Lauren asks, looking much more excited than offended.
‘Well, that’s way more exciting than signing more of those NDAs,’ I say. ‘What will you do with the picture?’ I ask Lauren.
‘I’ll use it to get Gavin to stop making me out to be a fucking lunatic, that’s what. I’ll threaten him with it. Say I’ll post it if he doesn’t stop. His image is everything to him, he won’t be able to cope with that. All I want him to do is clear my name, that’s it.’
‘OK, I’m in,’ I say. That money will mean I can take even more time off to be with Tommy.
‘Me too,’ confirms Risky.
‘Great, let’s just get it done,’ Lauren says, ordering an Uber. The four of us head back to the venue, Tommy strapped to my chest in the carrier like my little partner in crime.
‘OK, which room was it?’ I ask them, as we all make our way down the corridor like the kids from Scooby-Doo.
‘In here,’ Risky says, opening a door that leads into a library-type room. ‘They were over there,’ she adds, and I am pleased that the table they were leaning against is in front of a window. That will allow me to use the intensity of natural light to blur the minute details of the parts of the photo that I have to create. Like Mayra’s thighs, for example. I don’t have any photographs of her with her trousers down, obviously. I will have to improvise.
‘Right, who wants to be Gavin, and who wants to be Mayra?’ I ask the group.
‘I might sit this one out, if that’s OK?’ Lauren asks.
‘But I really need either Beth or Risky to stand by the door so that they can confirm what we’re creating is as realistic and close to what they saw as possible. OK? I’m sorry Lauren, but would you like to be your mother or Gavin?’
‘My mother then,’ she says, reluctantly.
‘Great. And Beth, Risky, which one of you would like to be Gavin, and which one of you would like to help me create the scene?’
‘Well, I saw it for longest,’ says Risky.
‘OK Beth, that means you’re Gavin,’ I say.
‘This feels weird,’ Beth says, her baby in a carrier on her chest. And she is right, it is so weird. But I am also excited to do it. This is like the ultimate assignment for what I do. Recreating the actual truth, rather than trying to create a truth that never existed in the first place, but to a standard where everyone thinks it’s real. Morally this sits much more comfortably than my usual work.
Beth gives the baby to Risky, who bobs up and down with him and seems quite happy.
‘OK, you bend over,’ says Beth to Lauren, as they assume the position of Gavin and Mayra. Beth presses her pelvis into Lauren’s bottom, and I start taking photos.
‘Lift your feet slightly off the ground, Lauren,’ Risky directs. ‘And Beth, a straighter back.’
‘Is this really necessary?’ Beth asks, obviously struggling with her role.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I need to capture where your bodies are in the room, so I can lay Gavin and Mayra over the top. Please, I realise this is excruciating, but bear with me. Risky, how’s it looking?’
‘Great, Lauren should tilt her head in this direction a bit. And Beth, put your hands on her bottom, like you’re guiding it forward and back. You know? Really shagging her?’
‘Simulating sex with my client in front of my baby. Winning at parenting?’ she says, getting into character as much as she can.
‘I won’t let him see, boss. Don’t worry,’ Risky says, making funny faces at the baby.
Beth does as she is told and pretends to have sex with Lauren.
‘How much longer?’ Lauren asks. ‘I haven’t had this much sex in years, I might need a nap.’
‘Hashtag Marriage,’ Beth says, breaking the camel’s back and causing us all to lose ourselves in fits of insuppressible laughter. I struggle to catch my breath, wondering if my tiny frame can even sustain this level of hilarity. It’s been forever since it had to try. I hold onto a chair for support. Beth is wiping tears from her cheeks as she tries to level her breath. Lauren is slumped onto a chair, her hands on her belly, guffawing like the exact opposite to how a jilted bride should be feeling. I sense relief from her. Maybe even some hope in the solidarity of her new friends. I have to say, I feel that too.
‘OK, come on. Just a few more pictures. I want to make sure I have what I need,’ I say, urging my models back into position. Soon enough, I’m ready.
There was something I envied about Lauren today. Reclaiming her power. Not accepting the position Gavin had put her in. Doing what she could to put herself on top. I know there is a large question mark as to whether what we did today was OK or not. But Ruby was right, we haven’t lied, we only created a visual of the truth that all we know is real.
The truth is what I have to deal with in my own life. The truth about what I did, and why I did it. A lot has become clear to me over the past week. Understanding things about myself, and the way that people behave when they are not happy. To say the words may be hard but living with them trapped inside of you is worse. I don’t want to be trapped. I don’t want Tommy to be raised by a domestically frustrated woman. I don’t love my husband anymore. That isn’t my fault. That is my truth. It’s time I dealt with it.
When I get home, Michael is watching TV. Since he went back to work he has given up with the cooking. It’s down to me again to make sure the fridge is full, and the meals are prepared. That Tommy is taken care of. That the household runs smoothly.
‘I’m going to bath Tommy and get him down,’ I tell him. He gets up and takes Tommy from me, cuddling him and kissing him.
‘Hey little man,’ he says. I know he misses him now he’s back at work. Maybe now he will understand how hard it was for me for the past few months. I take Tommy upstairs. I bathe him. I feed him. I kiss him and I tell him, no matter what happens, he will always be loved by both of us. I put him into his bed, and I prepare myself for the things I have to say.
‘Michael, can we talk?’ I sit next to him on the sofa. He turns the TV off, making the fair assumption that it’s about something serious.
‘Before I say what I’m going to say it’s really important to me that you understand that I’m not crazy.’
‘What? Who said you were crazy?’
‘You, Michael. You’ve been trying to make me feel like I’m crazy for years.’
He shuffles and looks ready to jump onto the defence. I don’t let it stop me, not this time.
‘Over the course of our relationship, you’ve become less and less interested in sex,’ I say, looking him in the eye.
‘Fucking hell, Beth. This again? Really? I’ve been working all day …’ he says, standing up. Ready to make me out to be crazy, or desperate, or obsessed with some filth I should be ashamed of.
‘So have I,’ I remind him. ‘I’ve been working all day, taking care of Tommy, and thinking about us. All day. Sit down.’ I wait for him to oblige. ‘You’ve become less and less interested in sex. That’s OK, I somehow think that we could work that out. We could find out why it was happening and find a solution together. I’d have done whatever it took. But rather than do that, you chose to accuse me of being demented, fat, perverted. You’ve done what you can to make out like I’m the one with the problem, not you. You were content to masturbate to hardcore porn but made me out to be a lunatic for wanting sex with my husband. Your double standard is unbearable. Your treatment of me has been so damaging that you gave me a problem, a big one. Not about my weight, like you hoped. I am very comfortable with the way that I look. But you did make me obsessed with sex.’
He rolls his eyes. I don’t care. I’m saying this.
‘I became so obsessed with sex that I went looking for it. I hid behind trees in parks and watched strangers do it, I scanned the Internet looking at porn, the filthier the better.’
He stands up again. ‘OK Beth, I do not need to hear this,’ he says, using anger to try to silence me. A tactic I am very familiar with.
‘Oh yes you do. Sit down!’
He does as he is told.
‘I slept with someone else, Michael. Last week. I felt so lonely, so rejected, so unattractive and so desperate, that I slept with someone else.’
‘You cheated on me?’
‘Yes, I did. I cheated on you. And I’m not proud of that, but I also know exactly why I did it. And if you don’t take some responsibility for it, then that’s not fair.’
‘Fucking hell Beth, if you were a man telling me this you’d be a dirty cheat. Simple. You think I’m going to go easy on you because you’re a woman?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t expect you to go easy on me at all. And so we’re clear, I am not going easy on myself either. I had sex with someone else and I know I will suffer the consequences of that. I just want you to understand that you’re also to blame. You know that’s true.’
‘You cheated on me,’ he shouts, his face getting redder. I know this hurts him; he was a good husband in many ways.
‘I did. But it’s not about sex, it’s about how you made me feel,’ I say, standing firm.
‘How I made you feel?’
‘Yes Michael. When you slowly chip away at someone they will break. I broke, and now we are broken.’
‘My mother was right, you’re a slut.’
‘A slut?’ I say, calmly.
‘Yes,’ he says.
And that is that. The moment our marriage ends. I mean, it ended a long time before this, but this is the moment I fall into it. Like leaving Michael is a warm hug, and staying with him would be like sharp fingernails scratching constantly on my soul. All the names, the digs, they just fade away. I don’t need to please my husband anymore. I don’t need to beg him to see me. I just want to enjoy being a woman.
‘Michael, I’m leaving you.’
‘Oh, you are? Actually no, I’m leaving you.’
‘No Michael, I am absolutely leaving you. I’m leaving you because you checked out of this relationship and married me with false promises. You have no right to deny me intimacy for my entire life, just because it’s not important to you. It’s important to me, and I deserve it.’
‘I’ll take Tommy,’ he says, his chest puffing up.
‘No, you won’t,’ I tell him. I haven’t felt this calm, this right in my own skin, in my own thoughts for so many years. ‘You know that isn’t best for Tommy. And you know I won’t let that happen.’
He paces more, silent now. Other than the air that he pushes through his nostrils.
‘I think you should go and stay with your mum, while we work this out. You can see Tommy anytime. I’ll never take him away from you. But this marriage is over.’
As if lightning strikes him, he falls to his knees. His head pressing into my lap.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ he says, hurting my thighs in his hands as he squeezes them. I open his fingers with mine.
‘Come on, get off. OFF.’ I hold his face in my hands. ‘You are a good man, a good dad and a good husband in many ways. And I did love you. But you know this can’t carry on, don’t you?’
Weeping, he nods.
‘Go and get some things and go to your mum’s. Don’t get there too late. She’ll want to bitch about me for hours and if you don’t go now, she’ll have you up all night. OK?’
‘OK.’
He goes upstairs and appears a few minutes later with a bag.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow to get more things.’
‘OK. And we can work out a plan with Tommy.’
I open the front door and he leaves. When he’s gone, I fall against it. Relief overpowering any other emotion. I did it. I got myself back.
I run upstairs and gently lift Tommy out of his cot. I lay him next to me on my bed. Me and my baby. I fall asleep next to him.
This is how it should be.