Got You Back (21 page)

‘Hold on,’ Katie said. ‘Wasn't it you who said it would be a travesty if he got away scot-free?’

‘I know. But now I'm not so sure. It all feels a bit… I don't know… over the top.’

‘Stephanie, you need to do this for your self-esteem after everything he did to you. And so do I. Besides what would be the point in backing out now?’

‘OK,’ Stephanie said, without enthusiasm, ‘but no more surprises.’

‘I promise,’ Katie said. ‘It's only two weeks. We have to stay strong.’

Stephanie found herself agreeing reluctantly. The truth was that lately she had stopped caring whether or not James got his comeuppance. She just wanted to move on.

Luckily for Stephanie, Natasha was in the mood for giving one of her pep talks when she saw her later that day. It was Meredith's last free time before the event at the weekend so she was in the office trying on shoes to go with the hideous green dress, which she was still insisting on wearing. Because no designer in their right mind would have manufactured anything which remotely matched the nauseating bright green of the dress, Stephanie had reluctantly promised that they would dye Meredith's favourites in time for Sunday. She was trying to steer Meredith away from a beautiful pair of off-white Jimmy Choos, which she didn't have it in her to ruin, and towards a much cheaper high-street pair. Meredith, however, was having none of it and, cramming her blistery feet into the exquisite open-toed sandals, declared that these were the ones she wanted.

‘They're three hundred pounds,’ Natasha said, trying to put her off.

Meredith scowled. ‘Won't they lend them to us? I am a nominee after all.’

Stephanie shook her head, trying not to laugh. She couldn't imagine the conversation she might have to have with the Jimmy Choo press office, offering up Meredith as a walking fat-footed advertisement for their delicate shoes. ‘Not if we dye them, no.’

In the end Meredith, who was always money-conscious and was, Stephanie knew, already resentful of the fee she was having to pay to be styled at all, had plumped for the cheaper option. Stephanie had confirmed with her all the details of the car for Sunday that would bring her to the office to get ready. Ordinarily either Stephanie or
Natasha would have gone to her house, but with three clients to dress the practicalities meant that that wasn't possible.

Once Meredith had left, Stephanie and Natasha flopped down on the sofa and resumed the conversation they had been having before she arrived.

‘The point is,’ Natasha began, as if they had never been interrupted, ‘just because you're feeling a bit better doesn't mean you should lose sight of the original objective.’

‘It just feels really petty suddenly,’ Stephanie said, leaning her head back against the sofa's cushions. ‘The grown-up thing to do would be to tell him I know and that it's all over between us, and then we can separate with dignity. And that's got to be better for Finn, surely.’

‘OK, so you're feeling positive because you've been on a date with someone else…’ Stephanie had finally got up the courage to confide in her friend about Michael. Natasha's response had been to hug her happily.

‘Two dates, actually,’ Stephanie interrupted. ‘But I'll tell you about that in a minute.’

‘Really?’ Natasha's eyes widened. ‘Anyway, so you're feeling positive because you've been on
two
dates with someone else, even though you didn't tell me about the second one till now and I'm supposed to be your best friend, but… you're not assuming you're going to run off and marry Michael,’ she looked at Stephanie enquiringly, ‘or are you?’

Stephanie laughed. ‘Obviously not.’

‘Exactly. So, while you may not care about getting back at James now because you've got Michael as a bit of a
distraction, that doesn't mean you'll feel like that for ever. You have to remember how important it felt to you that you make him suffer like he'd made you suffer. All I'm saying is that it's still important, for your long-term well-being and all that. At least,
I
think it is. There! Speech over.’

‘OK, OK, I'll stick to the plan. Just so long as Katie does. Happy now?’

Natasha nodded. ‘Extremely. Now, tell me about Michael. I can't believe you saw him again and didn't mention it.’

So, Stephanie told her how Michael had called her on Tuesday morning and that they had ended up agreeing to meet up for dinner that evening. He had booked a table at the Wolseley, which was somewhere Stephanie had casually mentioned to him that she had always meant to go but had never got around to. They had talked about real stuff, she told Natasha, a proper grown-up conversation. Michael had opened up about his ex-wife and how she had announced out of the blue that she had been feeling resentful and taken for granted for years and that she wasn't going to put up with it any longer, which meant that he had very strong views on honesty in relationships. Views that coincided exactly with Stephanie's own. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and there was nothing else to report.

‘No kiss goodnight?’

‘I told you,’ Stephanie said defensively. ‘Michael's got principles and so have I. As long as James and I are still together nothing's going to happen. But I am going to see him again next week.’

‘So you've told James about your little dates?’

‘Of course not. He'd go crazy.’

‘So Michael's OK about going out for secret evenings with you behind your husband's back as long as you don't kiss?’

‘What are you saying?’ Stephanie said, irritated. ‘Are you implying I'm doing something wrong after everything James has done to me?’

Natasha cut in, laughing. ‘Calm down! Of course I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong. I'm saying in for a penny… If you're seeing him behind James's back anyway you might as well jump him. What's the difference?’

‘The difference,’ Stephanie said, ‘is that I don't want to be like James. I want to be able to look back and say I behaved impeccably. OK?’

30

It was a weekend that ordinarily James would have dreaded. Stephanie had to be at work all day on Saturday, buying last-minute bits and pieces and making sure her three clients were happy with their manicures and pedicures and whatever else they needed to have done before a big occasion like the BAFTAs and then, of course, she would be out on the big day itself. James had agreed to stay until she returned once her clients were safely in their cars and off to the event, probably at about four o'clock.

He found, when he went to bed the night before, that he was actually looking forward to it. He could take Finn to the zoo — not just past it this time but actually inside. Finn, used to only ever seeing the wallabies and a few other random things that could be viewed for free from the park, would think all his Christmases had come at once. Or they could go on the Eye or maybe to the Tower. Or perhaps, James thought, it would be better to stay at home playing games on the computer or in the garden. Whatever Finn wanted to do.

He had got up early and made Stephanie tea and toast before she had to leave. From the look on her face when he gave it to her, it was obvious that this was an unexpected gesture. He tried to remember the last time he had made her breakfast and, of course, couldn't because it
would have been a long time ago. A time when he had just had Stephanie in his life and no one else.

Finn had declared that the morning was to be spent cleaning out David's cage, then Goldie's tank and Sebastian's litter tray. The meticulous attention to detail that his son showed when he was caring for his animals reminded James of how he had been as a child. ‘You should become a vet,’ he said to Finn, as he laid new straw in the bottom of David's hutch.

‘That's what I'm going to do. Obviously,’ Finn replied, with a serious look on his face, and James had felt as if he'd stumbled on to the set of some kind of schmaltzy Children's Film Foundation film. He felt his eyes brim with tears and had to stop himself hugging his son and ruining the moment.

In the end they had gone to the zoo in the afternoon, with Finn exclaiming over everything from the pygmy shrews to the mountain gorillas and then had dropped in at the surgery in St John's Wood to pet the animals who were being kept in over the weekend. By the time Stephanie got home at about five thirty they were both lying exhausted on the sofa in front of the TV.

‘You have to do it all again tomorrow.’ Stephanie had laughed when she saw him.

They had had dinner and Stephanie had told them about her day and how Santana had still been in bed when the beauty therapist had turned up at her flat at two o'clock, and had refused to get up so the poor girl had had to do her toenails while she lay there with her filthy feet poking out from under the covers. Finn had laughed and said girls were ‘stupid’ and Stephanie had said, ‘But
I'm a girl, does that make me stupid?’ and Finn had said, ‘You're not a girl, you're a mum. There's a difference,’ and James had laughed and laughed, and the evening had passed so quickly that he hadn't once thought about phoning Katie.

Stephanie wanted this weekend to be over. It was the same every year: no matter how much preparation you did, the day itself was always chaos. Natasha, thankfully, was dealing with Santana, who had refused to come to the office to get ready because she was hoping the paparazzi might be outside her house in the afternoon, waiting for her to be picked up. If she left too early they might not know where to find her.

Stephanie was trying to get the ambience right before her other two clients arrived. She liked people to feel relaxed while they were having their hair and makeup done but she couldn't think what kind of music she could put on that would suit both Meredith and Mandee. In the end she plumped for James Morrison, who was both inoffensive but just hip enough, she hoped. She lit a few candles and scattered a few magazines around. Never assume that your clients want to chat was rule number one and she always impressed it on any hair and makeup people she booked for events.

The two makeup and hair designers, as they insisted on being called, arrived promptly at one. They set up their two stations at opposite corners of the room so that Meredith and Mandee could chat or not as they wished. Stephanie ran through the clothes on the rack in the other room, the makeshift changing room. As well as Meredith's
green dress there was one other option Stephanie was keen for her to try on, along with an alternative pair of shoes. Mandee's Agent Provocateur outfit was there but so was a very cute mini-dress from Chloé in case she could be persuaded to change her mind. There was an array of Spanx industrial-force underwear for Meredith to pick from, still in its boxes so that what she didn't choose could be sent back to the shop. Both women had been lent a few pieces of not very impressive jewellery, which Stephanie had sorted through, picking out one suitable item for each.

At one twenty-five she answered a panicked call from Natasha, who was standing on the steps of Santana's apartment block with the makeup girl. They had been ringing the bell for five minutes straight but there was no reply. Stephanie told them just to wait it out. They weren't Santana's babysitters, and if she had decided to go out somewhere the night before and not come home, then that was her problem. Likewise, if she missed her hard-fought-for presenting slot this afternoon, that wasn't their problem either.

Stephanie, meanwhile, managed to get her two charges settled with lattes and some magazines and the soothing sound of two hairdryers. She did a final check through of the clothes in the other room and then sat down on the sofa, thinking she might just close her eyes for a moment. The occasional fragment of conversation broke through from the other room but the heat from the dryers ensured that she dropped off into a deep sleep.

Her alarm rang. No, wait, it was the doorbell. Stephanie sat up with a jolt. Where was she? Someone was calling
from the other room, ‘Do you want me to get that?’ and Stephanie called back, ‘Yes, please,’ before she could even remember who that someone was. OK, she was in the office. Shit, it was BAFTA day. She looked at her watch: three forty. She must have been asleep for an hour. There was a tiny stream of dribble coming from the side of her mouth. She wiped it away. She looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. One side of her face had the imprint of a flock-covered cushion in bold red down her cheek. She rubbed at it furiously. What if any of them had looked in and seen her lying there, dead to the world? God, that was unprofessional. And who was that at the door? She wasn't expecting anyone. She heard a man's voice. Shit. Fuck. Yes, she was. She had asked Michael to come and take some photos.

It had been a moment of madness. She usually took pictures herself for her records, once her clients were all dolled up to go to an event. It was mostly for reference but sometimes she would send them to the designer if the clothes looked particularly good in the hope that they would then offer that client an outfit for free. On Friday, though, she had wanted an excuse to ring Michael — they had arranged to see each other again on Monday night — and so she had asked him if she could hire his services on Sunday for an hour or so, as if that was the most normal thing in the world to be asking. He, of course, had said he would do it for free and now here he was, in her office, and she was looking like death warmed up.

‘Stephanie,’ someone was calling from the other room, ‘there's someone here to see you.’

She wiped the stray mascara from under her eyes and
dragged her fingers through her hair. Oh, well, he would have to see her at her worst some time.

‘Michael, hi,’ she said confidently — or at least as confidently as she could manage — as she went through the door. His face definitely lit up when he saw her, she noted. OK, so maybe she didn't look so bad.

‘This is Michael, our photographer,’ she said to the others in the room. Luckily she had never dressed either Meredith or Mandee before so they wouldn't realize this was an unusual event. One of the makeup girls, Davina or Davinia, everyone had such stupid names these days, was looking at her, confused.

‘I didn't know this was a photo session,’ she said now. ‘I haven't done photographic makeup. I've gone for the natural look. You didn't say anything about this,’ she added accusingly.