Don't Tell Eve (25 page)

Jack returned calm but on the offensive. ‘So what about you then?’

‘Me?’

‘You and Eve. You.’ Jack addressed the enormous screen. Jess’s original theory had been that Todd was a gold-digger turned dogsbody, but as he’d got to know him, Jack knew this wasn’t it at all. He also knew Jess had changed her mind.

‘You really want to know?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Okay, here’s the deal. When I met Eve I was a management consultant. Spent my time restructuring companies, working out how they could be more efficient – better – or at least get them in good enough shape to be sold. It was fun – fundamentally it was about finding solutions and I loved the challenge.’

He paused for so long that Jack thought he was going to change the subject, or his mind.

‘It certainly wasn’t about people; I didn’t ever think about people. I went in, I did the work, I left.’ Todd told the screen. ‘I sure wasn’t planning to get married, but then there she was – Eve was different then.’

‘I think quite a lot of guys who get married feel like that, chicks too probably.’

‘No, I mean she’s really changed.’

‘Truly, I think you’re not alone.’

Todd turned to Jack. ‘It was my fault. The point is that I helped her, I saw her as a project.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that.’

‘Man, it’s what I do, I engineer change. The only thing I can say in my defence is that she wanted to be changed.’

‘I don’t get it – why do you say “fault?”’

‘The way she is, it’s my fault.’

‘Nah, that’s not how it works, mate. Everyone is responsible for how they are, they choose who they are. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘Tell me then.’

‘Like I said, she wanted me to change her. When we met she was – how to say it? – bland. Not ugly, hardly dowdy even, just a blank canvas, as they say. She was frightened of her potential, of the possibility of being different, but, at the same time, terrified of staying the same. She wanted to be liberated. She wanted independence and she chose me. She flattered me into thinking I could help her and, frankly, it was a challenge I couldn’t resist.’

‘I don’t —’

‘I was a different person then. It’s hard to believe, but in those days I dressed to be seen, spoke to be noticed. I was convinced of my own infallibility. She wanted that.’

‘You – or that?’

‘Couldn’t have one without the other.’

‘Why marry her though?’ asked Jack, intrigued.

‘Control? Pressure? Convenience? I hardly know anymore.’

‘I can see where this is going.’

‘Can you?’

‘She got resentful eventually, started being difficult …’

‘You’re not so far wrong. She certainly became difficult, but that was because she began to want independence from me, as well as from her past. She wanted to be the person she wanted to be, not the one I wanted her to be. Predictable really.’

‘But how did that lead to you … Well, you know …’ Jack trailed off again.

‘Losing it? It didn’t, not directly. That was because of something else, something I’ve not told anyone; I didn’t even tell the whole truth to those shrinks. Truth is I was
blackmailed – caught in a “compromising” position, as they say, with a colleague – a male colleague – and photographed. Only my blackmailer didn’t ask for money. In order for the photos not to be sent to my wife and my very conservative boss, I was told I had to rewrite my report for the company, Infotainment Ltd, and recommend a solution other than mass redundancies. But I couldn’t do it – there was no other solution. So instead of standing up for myself, I resigned. It was after that I guess I began to unravel. I found myself getting obsessed by things, weird things, like whether the taps had been left on, or whether the soap was facing the same way in the bathroom each morning, I started checking stuff constantly – sometimes it would take me half an hour just to get out of the house. At first I was able to hide it, but you can only push the front door so many times to check it’s locked before it begins to seem odd to anyone watching. I didn’t think six, seven or even ten times were excessive, but Eve did. Apart from that, I couldn’t – didn’t want to – go back to work.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Nothing, I couldn’t do anything for a long time – I didn’t go out, I didn’t see people, I just slept a lot. I lost interest in pretty much everything.’

‘But you’re obviously in okay shape now – what changed?’

‘Eve got fed up and forced me to see a shrink.’

‘Okay, so the shrink helped.’

‘No, not that one, nor the next three.’ Todd picked up his glass. ‘But I kept trying. They offered me drugs – God, so many different drugs – and insisted they were the way forward, but they weren’t. For other people, sure, but not for me.’

‘No, well, I guess it wouldn’t make sense. Not if it was your, your —’ Jack tried to put it sensitively, ‘your sexuality you were struggling with.’ Alex would have been impressed; Jack had got better at this stuff over the years.

‘But that’s just it, it wasn’t my sexuality. Sure, I had to sort out what I felt about that, what I wanted to do, but after endless hours of talking to people who didn’t really understand me, I realised that my sexual orientation wasn’t the source of my depression or the OCD. Eve showed me that. The more she became like I’d been, the more I began to see myself, my old self – and I saw a person who didn’t care about individuals, about real people, just outcomes, results. She admired it but, you know, I began to hate it, hate myself. I began to understand the consequences of what I’d been doing, of what had made me successful.’

Jack had stopped watching the match; his attention was entirely on Todd.

‘I began to understand how powerless I’d made other people feel – and for what? Money, that’s all. I’d always taken the easiest route, separated the figures from the people. When I put the people back into the equation, that was when things got really bad. So I gave everything away – everything, even my clothes. The only things I kept were black.’

‘Like Johnny Cash.’ Jack didn’t resist the urge to sing a few lines.

Todd fought the urge to cringe.

‘But if you didn’t take medication and talking therapy didn’t work, then what did you do? I mean, you really are happier now, aren’t you? You’ve still got the black business going on but I’ve always thought you seemed pretty happy. Not over the top, but content.’

‘Content, yeah, I’m heading in that direction. I decided one day that it wasn’t too late, not for other companies, and other people – that there was something I could do, that I could look at it another way, that the people in the picture needn’t be just, I don’t know, manipulated, they weren’t an obstruction, that they were the picture. After that I had a purpose again, a reason to get out of bed. I guess I used the
situation I was in for inspiration. I should thank the woman with the camera.’

‘Huh, how about that?’ Jack wasn’t sure what else to say. He could have asked what form Todd’s inspiration had taken, but he didn’t – as while he was working out how to phrase the question, a goal was kicked.

Hilary knocked on the door of Phil’s office and walked in without waiting for a response. He wasn’t at his desk. Having just deleted ten increasingly pleading text messages from the actor/ess, he was standing in his usual position in front of the window with an expression that, had it been anyone else, would have been considered pensive.

‘Yes?’ he said over his shoulder, without any indication that he intended to return to his seat and commit to an actual conversation.

‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘Do you indeed?’ Phil’s words expressed more curiosity than his tone.

‘I want to do a deal.’

‘Go on.’

‘You tell me what you know about the dolls – you get a pay rise,’ said Hilary in her distinctive whisper.

Taking his time, Phil turned to face her. ‘Let’s just make this clear: you’re attempting to bribe me?’

‘No. You’ll be providing information that’s important to the company and being rewarded for your loyalty.’

‘Really? Well, that’s entirely different, isn’t it?’

‘You’ll tell me then?’

Phil thought she was paler than usual, and looked tired. She was expertly made up as always, but the paint couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes. He wondered if the doll business could possibly be responsible. What did she think Jess was up to? Or was there something else worrying her? He took his time before responding, wanting her to believe that he was considering where his loyalties lay. ‘So, what are you doing on Thursday night?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Hilary, temporarily flustered. She couldn’t believe he was asking her out – it wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t. Phil had a different agenda. ‘Actually, before we continue, I think we need to talk about money.’

Once they’d done so and Hilary had left, Phil put his feet on his desk, leaned back and shut his eyes. When the phone rang he was trying to remember the name of the genius who’d suggested keeping friends close and enemies closer. The number wasn’t one he recognised. Worried that perhaps it was an author, he considered not answering it, although that would have still meant returning the call at some point. It was simpler to pick up. ‘Yeah?’

‘Phil?’

It was a voice he knew and liked – with just a hint of one too many debauched, boozy, smoky late nights.

‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite author. Maybe not mine technically, but I like to think of you as mine. What can I do for you, Zoë?’

‘I need your help.’

‘Oh, a damsel in distress – my favourite kind.’ He liked the idea of Zoë being in his debt.

‘Phil, I’m serious.’

This was disconcerting. Phil didn’t think Zoë went in for serious. ‘Okay, so what’s up?’

‘It’s Jess.’

‘Ah.’ Now a girlie fight was something he really didn’t want to be involved in directly. He wasn’t adverse to girly fights, the kind that involved jelly or mud wrestling, but the bitchy, whinging kind – they were far too dangerous.

‘She still won’t speak to me.’

‘No, I hear she’s cross.’

‘Don’t be patronising.’

‘I’m not; she is.’

‘I know, I know.’ Zoë could have rung Jack, but he’d have taken Jess’s side. She wanted to talk to someone who was independent, someone unemotional and someone with an investment in her relationship with Jess. Phil was that man.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I don’t know, get her to talk to me. I want to apologise.’

‘Hmm. If you two are speaking, that’s good for me, I guess. If the book succeeds, my bonus will begin to look less mirage-like.’

‘I knew you’d want to help, simply because you’re such a
nice
guy.’

Phil couldn’t believe it. Was that still bothering her? Jesus, women were sensitive – which was, of course, the problem. If Jess wasn’t being so abnormally sensitive, she’d be speaking to Zoë. ‘I’ll tell you what. The dolls are being auctioned on Thursday night, so why don’t you come along? Jess’ll definitely be there and I have no intention of missing it.’

‘Auctioned? Christ, I can’t believe—Well, she’s not talking to me, so how could she tell me? But I’ve helped her with them, for God’s sake! They wouldn’t exist without me! You’d think that she’d have the courtesy to invite—Well, whatever, I can be big about this. And I knew everyone knew about them, so I don’t see why she’s been taking it out on me. Anyway, if I come, she might still ignore me. I’ve sent cards, flowers, I’ve
called her at home, at work, on her mobile. I’ve gone over to her place but there’s been no response. I can’t cope with this treatment much longer.’ Zoë’s voice began to waver. For the first time in years, since she’d discovered her ex-husband getting a blowjob from a ditzy twenty-one-year-old, in their car, in their garage, she was feeling lonely. That particular episode had resulted in two things: a nice settlement and a distrust of men. That is, her house and her sexual habits. Without someone to talk to about her flings – specifically Jess – they lacked meaning.

On top of it all was Chris’s infatuation, which was depressing precisely because he was so romantic, and so not for her. Zoë knew who she wanted but was pretending she didn’t. It was easier that way, and instead she could put her energy into despairing about her relationship with Jess, who was now using Jack as a go-between to discuss the book. And he was under orders to keep the whole thing impersonal. Now Jess’s weird dolls were being auctioned and Zoë hadn’t been asked.

Phil wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded like she was about to cry and he really didn’t want that. In desperation, he tried changing the subject. ‘Why did you tell Oliver, anyway? I mean, you thought I was asleep and I wasn’t, but that’s not your fault – I was pretending to be.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?

‘Why were you pretending to be?’

‘So I could hear what you were saying.’

There was a sound at the other end of the line that could have meant anything. ‘You bastard.’

‘No, not a bastard,’ He corrected himself: ‘Well, not where you’re concerned. I prefer to think of myself as an opportunist.’

‘That’s not very flattering.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But I’d been wanting to get you into bed for ages, long before we met.’

‘Oh.’ Zoë wasn’t sure how to take that confession.

‘What I mean is, it wasn’t simply that you happened to be there and available.’

Zoë understood exactly what he was getting at. ‘So I guess I was the opportunist, in a way.’

‘Now that you mention it, it did sound like it, from what I overheard. Not that I blame you – I’m not an opportunity I would have wanted to miss out on.’

‘I didn’t get the feeling that you were taking it very seriously either.’

‘Did I give that impression?’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘Probably because you did.’

‘Oh.’ It was time to change the subject – this was getting close to awkward.

Phil changed it for her. ‘So, why did you tell Oliver?’

‘I wondered when you’d get to back to that. I told him because I thought it would get him interested in Jess. I didn’t think her “project” would matter so much to her if she had someone to take her mind off it – someone cute, intelligent, articulate —’

‘Yeah, okay, I get the picture. So you were genuinely trying to help her?’

‘Of course.’

‘Does she know this?’

‘I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t believe me. She was focusing on the detail, not the bigger picture. You know, the means not the ends.’

‘Do you mean, what you did, rather than why you did it?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Zoë was beginning to feel much better.

‘It’s obvious. You need to tell her that – and apologise again. And explain that you understand why she’s upset.’ Another
benefit of having upset many women was that Phil did know how to apologise. Sincerity wasn’t his strength but that never seemed to matter. Sorry wasn’t a difficult word, whatever anyone said. The trick was not to mean it. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come with me to the auction?’

‘Don’t you have a girlfriend?’ In Zoë’s book a fling with an attached man was one thing, but she drew the line at involvement, being only too aware of what it felt like to be the wronged party, and she was sure Jess had mentioned an actress.

‘Just someone who is a bit deluded.’

‘Nice.’

‘Christ, we’re back to that again are we?’

‘I didn’t mean it like that but, yeah. Okay, pick me up on the way there – you know where I live.’

‘I do and I’ll be there at five-thirty.’

‘Terrific, see you then.’

‘Yeah,’ said Phil, thinking that this was all beginning to work out quite nicely. Or well. Damn it, nice was a handy word. As Jess wasn’t going to be very pleased with him, it would be useful to have Zoë around as a distraction. In fact, having Zoë around full stop wasn’t such a bad thing.

After putting down the phone, Zoë checked her emails, just in case. Just in case Jess had sent one suggesting they meet up for a drink, for coffee, for dinner, for mutual apologies, hugs, laughter and tears. Anything. There was nothing. She tried sketching, then brainstorming for the book, then she made herself a cup of green tea and stared out the window.

When her assistant returned from her coffee run with yet more flowers from Chris, Zoë came out of her reverie. ‘Oh God, when will he stop? Or call so I can tell him to bloody stop? This is getting ridiculous.’ Zoë waved her hand. ‘Just forward them, with the usual note.’