Lovestruck (25 page)

She froze, straining to listen. Yes, she’d heard a footstep. Her heart beat even faster and a dribble of sweat ran down her front. A burglar. She hadn’t been prepared for this. She looked around for something heavy and saw a copper vase on the table. She picked it up and slowly turned round. From the bedroom, she heard voices. Then laughing.

Oh bollocks. It wasn’t a burglar. It was Christy and some man. The slut. Oh God, and it might be Jake! In her confusion, she put down the vase heavily so it banged on the table. She began creeping back towards the stairs. She was an idiot to have come here. But a male voice behind her shouted: ‘Stop! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Rosie turned, face flaming. And then she gasped.

Standing there, looking just as shocked as she was, was Rupert in grey silk underpants.

Her father-in-law.

Prime Minister Brands Perry’s Tax-avoidance Scheme ‘Morally Dubious
’

The Prime Minister today described the tax affairs of ‘Not on
my
patio’ actor Jake Perry, best known for his role in
Archbishop Grace,
as ‘morally dubious
’.

Breaking off a meeting with German Chancellor Angela Merkel, the Prime Minister told reporters, ‘This is clearly wrong
.’

Perry
,
35
,
is currently starring in
Twelfth Night
in London’s West End, alongside actress Ellie Lewis. The production has received negative reviews. He was recently discovered to be avoiding tax through a legal loophole, despite his vocal criticism of others who behaved in the same way
.

Calls to Perry’s agent have not been returned
.

Rosie ran from the building, too shocked even to say a word to Rupert, or to Christy, who emerged from the bedroom behind him in a silk dressing gown, shouting: ‘What’s going on? Rosie! Rosie! Come back! Come back now!’ She sounded as if she were calling back a naughty dog.

Rosie dashed down the stairs, stumbling over her feet and out into the street. At first she ran, but she quickly, because she was totally unfit, slowed to walking pace. Things were just getting more and more ludicrous. Christy had been having an affair with her husband and now it turned out she was also sleeping with her husband’s father.
Rupert
– reticent Rupert, who wore golfing jumpers and had a passion for jazz – was the mysterious married man. If it wasn’t so grotesque, it would be hilarious.

But then everything recalibrated, like a picture coming into focus.
Mr Perry
. Christy hadn’t been shagging both men, just the father. Relief made Rosie suddenly dizzy. She stopped and leaned against a lamp post. Jake hadn’t been unfaithful to her. Her oldest friend hadn’t been shtupping her husband. But still, still … It was all too weird to compute.

Her phone buzzed and she snatched it, expecting it to be Christy once again on a damage-limitation exercise, but it was Patrizia.

Boys are having a great time, excited about the sleepover. Take care. PS Don’t forget to let me know details of tax scheme. xx

She looked up, blinking, and then turned as she heard running behind her. Aha. Christy, wearing … not pyjamas, surely? Not Christy who never had a hair out of place?

‘Ro!’

‘Are we on dress-down Friday?’ She couldn’t help smiling at what a state she looked. Christy glanced down at her outfit impatiently.

‘I just grabbed whatever I saw. I had to talk to you.’ She stood panting.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Chris?’

Christy stared down at her bedroom slippers. ‘I feel such an idiot. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage for ages to tell you about me and Rupert, and then you had to find out like this.’

‘You lied to me,’ Rosie replied shortly. ‘How long has it been going on for?’

‘Years, on and off. Since your wedding.’

‘
Our wedding?
Jesus, Chris.’

‘I know.’ Christy’s head hung. ‘I’m sorry. I kept trying to end it, but there was just something about him. It’s been agony.’

‘Well, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you
have to finish it properly. Right now. Or you’ll end up my stepmother. In-law.’

They caught each other’s eye and suddenly started laughing and laughing, unable to stop, as all the stresses of the past few days and a flood of memories were released. So many, she thought, wiping away tears of hysteria. She and Christy running together on sports day at the back of the race, singing songs from Bros. Shrieking with cold in the local swimming pool. Paddling canoes along the Bristol Channel on their outward-bound day. Calling up boys from Carlsedge and slamming down the phone when they answered. Reading
J-17
. Worshipping Hugh Grant. Sharing huge bowls of ice cream topped with Ice Magic. Screaming at
Friday the 13th
on DVD. Sneaking peeks at the top-shelf magazines in the corner shop. Dancing to ‘Let’s Talk About Sex’, complete with risqué gestures. Laughing. They’d always laughed so much.

‘I’m not going to be your stepmother-in-law. It’s over.’ Christy said when they finally calmed down. ‘I’ve just told him to get out for good. Seeing your expression was the nail in the coffin.’ She paused and said, ‘But at least Rupert told me about the stupid tax dodge. Yolande had told him. It was how Jake could afford to buy that house with cash –
I
didn’t understand it. I knew he was doing well but not that well. It’s why I was so desperate to get Jake the LA job. I could see it might turn nasty and I wanted him in a safe berth five thousand miles away. Protected. But it didn’t work out.’

Rosie shook her head. ‘It certainly didn’t.’

‘He’ll come out the other side, you know,’ Christy said. ‘He needs to grovel a bit, make it clear he had no idea what he was getting involved with – that his wicked mum pulled the wool over his eyes.’

‘He’ll have to pay back all those taxes he dodged, though.’

‘Afraid so. It’s the only way if he’s going to earn back any of the respect he’s lost. And he’ll have to be whiter than white in future. It’s insane. Everyone tries to dodge taxes, but unfortunately your husband got caught. Well, not that unfortunately – actually he was set up.’

‘Who by?’

‘You haven’t heard?’ The usual I-know-everything look from Christy. Oh well. She’d always be that way. ‘It was Stella, his daft school friend’s po-faced girlfriend.’

‘Bosey’s Stella! No!’

‘She works at the tax office. She became suspicious, she looked at his files, and she grassed him up to the papers.’

‘Does Jake know this?’

‘I haven’t told him yet. Not sure if I should. We can’t prove it.’

‘I wonder if Bosey knows.’

‘I hope so, so he can dump the little cow.’

‘Why do you care so much?’ Rosie asked suddenly. The question had been bothering her for ages, but there’d never been a right time to ask. ‘I know he’s your client and I’m your friend, but you seem so
invested
in us.’

Christy shivered as a chilly wind blew down the street. She wrapped her arms round her thin cotton top, as she shrugged. ‘I just owe you. You were the only one that was kind to me, and kind to Barron – you and your nanna taking him in like that when he had nowhere to go. Never laughing at us, like everyone else. I was so chuffed when I introduced you to Jake and you got it together, when things started going well for you. I could see a way of making all that nastiness in your childhood go away. Giving you the life you’d always wanted.’

‘That I thought I always wanted,’ Rosie contradicted. ‘All those stupid magazines. I didn’t need any of the stuff: the house, the interior decorator. The life I had already was just perfect. Well, not perfect, but good enough.’

‘Your mum was perfect?’

‘She’s not great. In fact, she’s probably the worst mum in the world. But she’s kind of irrelevant. Nanna was the important person. And you.’

‘Oh shut up. You sound like a fucking Hallmark card,’ Christy said, then swallowed and continued: ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. Really sorry I tried to control you like I did. I pushed you and Jake together because I thought he was perfect for you. I pushed his career so he’d have enough money to look after you properly. I was an idiot to try to be so controlling. I should have just let you do what you wanted to do.’

‘But I wanted to be with Jake. You weren’t wrong.’

‘Still …’

‘Listen. I love Jake. Loved him? Love … Oh, I don’t know!’ Rosie cried. ‘The point is you were right. Jake and I were a great team. Jake is a fantastic actor and he deserved to make the big time. It’s not your fault it all went tits up.’

‘Don’t say “went”. Don’t say “loved”. You can fix this.’

‘I don’t know,’ Rosie said. ‘I really don’t.’

‘Oh come on, he made a daft mistake trusting his mum. You know what an idiot she is. Surely you can forgive him that?’

‘It’s not that, it’s deeper. It’s the person he’s become. Probably the person I’ve become too. I just keep thinking we rushed into things too quickly, that we each thought the other person was something they weren’t.’

‘Don’t say that, it’ll make me so sad.’

Rosie couldn’t help smiling. ‘With the greatest respect, Christy, love, it isn’t always about you.’

The hotel where Jake was staying was just off Piccadilly. Christy and Rosie had gone out for a pizza to kill time before the show ended and they could meet there.

‘Good luck,’ Christy had said. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

Rosie had laughed. ‘No thanks. I really think I need to be alone for this.’

So now she was fumbling her way down a dimly lit corridor –
why
did hoteliers always think that finding a hotel room should be a challenge akin to something on
The Crystal Maze
? – trying to find room four-two-nine. Ah, no, not that one – she’d taken a wrong turn. Back again, squeezing past the trolley with all the mini soaps and shampoos on it – would the temptation to stop pinching them never go away? – ah, here it was, right at the end.

She took a deep breath, then knocked.

Jake opened the door, head bowed. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

Their heads weaved awkwardly, noses clashing, as they pecked each other on the cheek. Glumly Jake ushered her in. It was a suite – through an open door, Rosie could
see an unmade bed and a messy room-service tray. She thought her heart was going to break.

‘Sit down,’ he said, nodding at a beige sofa. She sat. ‘How are the boys?’

‘Fine, they’re staying the night at Patrizia’s. They seem pretty oblivious to what’s going on.’

Jake sat in the armchair opposite her, looking down at his hands clasped between his legs. ‘Good.’

There was a long pause, then Rosie blurted out: ‘I don’t think we can carry on like this.’

He said nothing.

‘It’s not about this tax business,’ she continued, her chest hollowed out with sadness. ‘Though that hasn’t helped. It’s about how we’ve been together. We’re not happy any more. Something has to change.’

Still, silence.

‘Please look at me.’ Slowly Jake rose his head so his eyes met hers. He looked agonized. Rosie winced. She squeezed her nails into her palms to stop herself crying.

Jake looked away, then back at her. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked wretchedly.

Rosie felt as if she were underwater. ‘I don’t know.’ Then she gulped. ‘Maybe we need to separate.’

Jake looked astonished. ‘But, Bean, is it really that bad?’

‘I think so.’ She felt as if she were walking on the moon, cut off from reality. ‘We haven’t been happy, not since we moved to the Village. I feel like I don’t know you any more. You’ve been so angry all the time, so preoccupied. You didn’t tell me what was going on, and
I keep reading these articles about you where you’re like a different person. I think we need some space.’ Oh, God! She sounded like a character from
EastEnders
. Next thing she’d be saying ‘Cannaverword?’

Jake was still silent.

‘Are you going to say anything?’

‘What would you like me to say?’ He was emotionless. Flat.

‘What do you want? How do you feel? What do you think?’

‘You’ve already decided,’ he snapped. ‘So what can I say?’

‘I haven’t decided anything. It’s just a suggestion. What do you want?’

‘What I want appears to be irrelevant.’

‘No it isn’t. What do you think? You haven’t been happy either?’

‘No, but it’s not our marriage that’s the problem. It’s my job, all the stress. I knew you didn’t understand.’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I wasn’t about to throw in the towel.’

‘We’re not throwing in the towel. We’re not divorcing.’ The very word made her feel faint. ‘But maybe we need some time alone to … reconsider. We’ve been ships that pass in the night for so long now and—’

‘And the boys?’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosie asked, though she knew very well. She felt sick. This was going to break their hearts.

‘Well, you’re going to want to stay in the house with them, aren’t you?’

She swallowed. ‘I know it’s your house. I know your money bought it.’ She refrained from adding it was money that should have been given to the government. ‘But yes, I think, for now, the boys should stay in their home.’

‘And I’ll take them out at weekends?’ He snorted ruefully. ‘What a fucking cliché.’

‘You can take them out whenever you want,’ Rosie said. She was tingling, as if she were coming to life again. The truth was sinking in. They’d spent months barely speaking and now they were finally communicating again it was to mark the end of their marriage. Like that. Gone. She blinked back tears. She’d put out the separation idea purely as a suggestion, but Jake had immediately embraced it. She wondered what she’d been expecting. Yelling? Heated debate? That they’d talk and then he’d come home with her and in the morning everything would have magically rewound to where they were six months earlier?

Who had she been kidding? She’d failed. Just like her mum, she couldn’t keep a relationship going. She’d always known Jake was too good for her and that it could never last.

‘Maybe we should talk some more,’ she tried, but Jake was shaking his head.

‘Let’s not prolong this. I can stay here for the rest of the play, then I’ll move into somewhere near the
Archbishop
studios. Maybe you could pack a suitcase for me tomorrow and I’ll get Christy to send someone over to pick it up?’

‘OK,’ she said miserably.

‘By the way, what was that bollocks about me having an affair with Christy? I mean, I know I’ve been a bit crap sometimes but I have
never
—’

‘I know.’ She tried to stand, but her legs were jelly. She collapsed back on to the sofa. With a Herculean effort, she forced herself to stand again.

‘So you’ll be in touch?’ she asked, as if he were a work contact.

‘Very soon.’ And then Jake started to cry: huge, shaking sobs ripping through his body. Rosie started to cry too.

He held out his arms. ‘Come here,’ he said and for a moment he was holding her against his chest and they were weeping together. She could hear his heart beating through his shirt, feel the outline of his ribs. It was the first time they’d held each other in ages. He’d lost even more weight. The collapsed-marriage and career-on-the-rocks diet. Never fails. It was so tempting to keep standing there, to comfort each other, to gloss over everything, to say they’d start afresh, but Rosie knew it wasn’t go to be so easy. She forced herself to step backwards.

‘We should probably have some counselling,’ she tried.

She expected arguments, but he nodded dully.

‘
I’ll
sort it out,’ she said. ‘Not Christy.’

There was hammering on the door. ‘Turn down!’ called a maid.

‘I’ll be off then,’ Rosie said. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

At the door she turned. ‘Can’t we make it work?’ she bleated.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘We’ll see.’

She made it to the lift before the tears started up again. She hailed a cab to take her back to the village. A few cars were parked outside the gates and when she waved the tag to make them open automatically, photographers jumped out and started banging on the windows. She ducked her head and ran up the front steps, hands shaking as she opened the door, but no one followed her – it would have been trespass, after all.

The house seemed huger than she’d remembered. The dark staircase echoed with her footsteps as she made her way up to bed. In their room the first thing she spotted was their wedding photo in its silver frame, a gift from Jake’s Aunt Clarissa. They looked so happy, so carefree. What an idiot she’d been then, all lovestruck, unable to believe her luck.

Carefully she picked it up and put it in her top drawer. It didn’t help to remember what they’d once had; it had all been a chimera. With every passing second she was more and more sure that she and Jake could never retrieve that happiness. The hurt had been too much. They’d moved too far away from each other.

This was how it would be, she thought as she climbed under the sheets. Going to sleep alone, every night, forever more. She’d never meet anyone else, she didn’t want to. She’d downsize, and find a three-bedroom flat, ideally with a small garden for the boys. No need for cleaners and gardeners or David Allen Robertsons.

Jake could live close by; she wouldn’t deny him access to his sons. She’d do her best to keep relations between them civil, and she’d let him see the boys whenever he wanted.

The final thought was too much. A fat tear plopped on to Rosie’s pillow, followed by another. Rosie bawled her eyes out.