Out of the Blue (49 page)

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“He
did,
” she insisted. “It was him.”

“It
wasn’t
him,” I said.

“And I tell you it WAS!”

“Really? Well, where’s your proof?”

“Oh come off it, Faith, I don’t
need
proof. He’s never liked me, so who else could it have been?”

“One of the other three. Because I know
exactly
what Peter said to Ronnie Keats about you. Shall I tell you, Lily? Do you want to know? Now, I can’t remember it verbatim, but it was full of words like ‘huge talent, vision and drive’. Oh, and he mentioned your ‘superb visual imagination’ too, as well as your ‘brilliant editorial skills’. He also praised your ‘enormous intellect’, your ‘well-stocked mind’, and said that you could write ‘like a dream’. He swore me to secrecy as it was confidential, but that’s exactly what he said.” By now Lily looked as transfixed, and confused, as though I was speaking in tongues. “You’ve got it wrong, Lily,” I said quietly. “Peter gave you a glowing report.” She stared at me, too shocked even to blink. Then her eyes opened wider still and she clapped her left hand to her mouth.

“Oh.
Shit,
” she said quietly.

“You’ve been barking up the wrong tree.”

“I—”

“You’ve got ego all over your face.”

“But I…don’t understand,” she whimpered. “I was convinced.”

“You were wrong.”

“But I know Peter doesn’t like me, so why would he say such nice things?”

“Because he wouldn’t let any personal feelings influence his high opinion of your work.”

“But I don’t…understand,” she repeated faintly.

“Well, how very sad that you don’t. You can’t understand that Peter would never lie about your professional ability. I suppose some people would—perhaps
you
would, Lily—but Peter always tells the truth.”

“Oh,” she murmured. She sank onto a chair. “Oh,
shit,
” she said again. By now she looked horrified, almost guilty, as she contemplated her appalling mistake. “But I was
sure
it was him,” she croaked. “I was certain, I was…”

“Obsessed, that’s what you were. But it’s all been based on a delusion, Lily. A misconception, you might say. And now, thanks to you, I’m almost divorced and Andie’s having Peter’s baby.”

“Faith, I—”

“Or rather it’s
my
baby she’s having. Peter and I were going to have another one, Lily, because we’d fallen in love again. I never realized how much I loved Peter until the past few weeks. And now, thanks to you, it’s all lying in ashes and I’m getting my decree absolute in a
week!”
Jennifer Aniston started barking now, as I got more and more worked up. “Andie’s having my BABY,” I repeated, “and I’m going to have to live with this for the rest of my LIFE! So I hope you’re SATISFIED,” I yelled, my throat aching, “because you couldn’t have done me more harm if you’d TRIED!”

“No, but wait—”

“It’s all RUINED…” I said, tears streaming down my face now. “It’s all completely fucked UP…”

“Faith, listen—”

“It’s just so, so
terrible!”
I wept as the floodgates opened and my hands sprang up to my face.

“But there’s something I want to say.”

“I don’t want to HEAR IT!” I screamed. “Don’t ever tell me anything again! Because I’ve had it with you, Lily! I’ve heard ENOUGH!”

“But it’s important!”

“Woof woof!”

“Oh shut up, Jennifer!” I said. “You fat little…GARGOYLE!”

“Faith!” Lily shrieked. “She’s
not
fat!”

“She
is
fat!” I flung back. “She’s FAT! Because all she does is sit on her furry arse all day, stuffing her ugly little muzzle with canapés and fantasizing about
Graham!
”

“My God, Faith, that’s very rude!”

“I don’t care! I put my faith in you, Lily—what a mistake! I put more faith in you than I did in my own husband, and now I’m going to bloody well
pay
.”

“Woof woof!”

“Oh shut up, Jennifer!” Lily snapped as she arose from her seat. “Now, listen to me, Faith.”

“No! I
won’t!
I’m never listening to you
again!
”

“Woof woof!” And now Lily was coming towards me, picking her way in her stockinged feet over the sea of strewn magazines.

“Faith! There’s something…”

“Oh, get lost!” I said. “Just leave me alone, Lily. I don’t want to know! You’re just so awful, Lily—
awful
. You’re so vengeful, and you’re so shallow. And you’re a crashing snob!”

“I am
not
a snob!”

“Yes you
are!
I mean, you won’t even fly Qantas because you think it’s non-U.”

“That’s not fair! But listen to me—”

“And you’re so self-obsessed.
Moi!
—that’s you to a tee. It’s not
Om
,
Om
,
Om
you chant before that shrine of yours, is it—but
Me
,
Me
,
Me!
And as for all that astrological rubbish of yours, what a load of pants. Except that your own star sign suits you, doesn’t it? Because you’re a Scorpio, Lily, and there’s always been a sting in your tail. Because you really
hurt
people. You know that? You cause a lot of unnecessary pain. Yes, Lily, you don’t care how much you damage others, do you, as long as you always come first. And you’re so competitive—
Moi!
should be sponsored by Winalot! I mean, you—” Lily’s face, which had hitherto expressed a blend of contrition and anxiety, suddenly registered utter shock. For as she advanced towards me, she missed the bit of blank carpet she was aiming for and stepped on a magazine. Suddenly she was flipped into the air with a flash of gold knickers before landing, head first, and with a sickening thud, onto the gleaming white marble hearth.

“Christ! Lily!
Lily!
”

“Woof! Woof!” Jennifer Aniston had thrown herself off the sofa and was sniffing Lily’s prostrate form.

“Oh
God!”
I gasped, panic rising in my breast. “Oh God,” I breathed, slapping her hands. “Oh God, Lily,” I repeated impotently, “oh God, Lily—Lily! Please
speak!”
I felt in vain for a pulse, then ran to the phone and dialed 999.

“It’s my friend,” I said, “she’s slipped on a glossy magazine, hit her head and I think—” I could feel my breath coming in ragged little gasps “—think she’s dead.”

The next five minutes were the longest of my life as I waited with Lily’s motionless form. Then at last I heard the approaching siren; then there were blue lights spinning across the walls and ceiling, strobing her lifeless face. As we sped through the backstreets of Chelsea in the ambulance, I could hear the twelve booming bongs of Big Ben. And suddenly, through the darkened windows I saw the fireworks exploding like stars.

“It’s midnight,” said the paramedic. I nodded dumbly and gave him a bleak smile. “Oh well, out with the old and all that,” he added. “May I wish you a Happy New Year!”

January

“Happy New Year,” said a staff nurse to me politely. I gave her a watery smile. Then I looked at Lily, unconscious beside me—she’d been out for nearly three hours.

“Please, God,” I prayed, “let her get better. I’ll do
anything
if you let her get well. I’ll go to Mass on a regular basis, I’ll give all my spare cash to the poor, I’ll even be godmother to Andie’s baby, but please, please
don’t
let her die.” Lily’s life seemed to hang by a thread or, more accurately, by four trailing wires attached to two monitors, which beeped quietly away to one side.

The nurse unhooked Lily’s chart from the end of the bed, then ticked it twice.

“Any change?” I enquired anxiously. Lips pursed, she shook her head. As I gazed at Lily’s dormant face I mentally reviewed the last three hours: our drive to the Chelsea and Westminster, the stretchered dash into A and E, the beams of light shone into Lily’s eyes, the prodding and tapping of knees. The alarming mention of a brain scan, and finally, her move to the Admissions ward on the fourth floor.

By now I was shattered by stress and by wakefulness, and my bladder was fit to burst so I asked the nurse if she’d stay with Lily while I quickly nipped to the loo. I ran down the corridor, then sprinted back, fearful to the point of semi-hysteria that she might die while I was out of the room. As I sped across the pale blue lino, I was aware of the faint aroma of antiseptic and of colorful pictures on the walls, of the sound of distant snoring, and the soft trill of a telephone. And now, as I approached Lily’s curtained-off bed, I could hear the sister’s voice.

“Perrier?” I heard her say. She sounded bemused.

“Ye-es…Perr-i-er…” I heard Lily groan. “Perri-e-r…” she repeated faintly. I ripped the curtains aside.

“Do you want some water, Lily?” the nurse asked. “Is that it?” She tipped some into a beaker and held it to her cracked lips, but still Lily’s eyes remained closed.

“Perr-i-er…” Lily muttered again. “Want…Perr-i-er.”

“Yes, I’m giving you some water, here you are.”

“No,
Perrier,
” she repeated peremptorily. The nurse looked at me and shrugged.

“You’d think ordinary water would do, wouldn’t you? All right, Lily—still or sparkling?”

“No, not water—
Perrier!”
Lily shrieked, and suddenly I knew.

“It’s Laurent Perrier she wants!” I exclaimed. “It’s her favorite brand of champagne. Lily,” I said, grabbing her hand. “Do you want some Laurent Perrier? I’ll go and get some for you if you like. I’ll get you a bottle. I’ll get you a magnum if you’ll only wake up. Lily, Lily—can you hear me?” I added desperately. “It’s Faith. Do you know who I am?” Lily’s eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, blinked twice, then opened wide.

“O-oh!” she groaned as her pupils gradually focused on me, then she raised her left hand to her bandaged head. “O-oh,” she murmured again. She shut her eyes, then suddenly opened them wide, as though startled. “Oh Christ, Faith, I’ve really cocked up.”

“Lily!” I shrieked, clasping her hand. “Oh Lily, thank God you’re all right. I’m sorry I shouted at you,” I added. “It’s my fault you banged your head.”

“No,
I’m
sorry,” she croaked as, assisted by the nurse and by me, she slowly sat up. “It’s all my fault,” she added blearily, “I got everything wrong.”

“But if I hadn’t yelled at you, you wouldn’t have fallen. You slipped on a copy of
Vogue
.”

“
Vogue!”
she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Wouldn’t you know it! I’ll bloody well sue. But Faith, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she added anxiously.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” she insisted. “But the trouble is I can’t remember what it was. All I know is that it’s terribly important, but I—oh! I’ve got it!” she said.

“Honestly, Lily, let’s just forget it, shall we?”

“No,” she said. “You see…”

“I’m really not bothered,” I reiterated. “Honestly, I’m just
so
relieved you’re OK.”

“But it’s about…her,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Madame Ovary.
Andie,
” she explained.

“What about her?” Lily inhaled slowly, then looked at me.

“She isn’t pregnant,” she announced.

“I’m sorry?”

“Andie isn’t pregnant,” she repeated.

“You what?”

“There is no mini-ciabatta in the Aga, darling.”

“There isn’t?” I said faintly. “Oh.” And then, because I was so shocked, I simply said, “Oh,” again. “But how do you know?”

“Because three weeks ago I was at a bash at the Savoy. I went into the Ladies, and there was Andie, trying to get Tampax out of the machine.”

“Ah,” I said weakly, “I see. Well, maybe she was getting them for someone else.”

“Pretty unlikely, I’d say. And she looked slightly embarrassed when she realized that she’d been seen.”

“And are you
sure
it was her?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve never met her, but I know what she looks like. It
was
her,” she insisted.

“And you think she’s not pregnant?” I said faintly.

“Yes. That’s what I was trying to tell you last night.”

“But hang on, Lily,” I said, my heart thumping. “Why the hell didn’t you
tell
me
before?
”

“Why didn’t I tell you before?” she echoed as she gazed mournfully into the distance. “Because I’m a prize bitch, that’s why.”

“You knew about this in mid-December?” She nodded guiltily. “And you said nothing?” She nodded again. “You kept
quiet?
”

“I’m sorry, Faith,” she whispered as she fiddled with her hospital wristband. “I should have said.”

“
Yes!”
I exclaimed hotly. “You
should
.”

“But I kidded myself that it wouldn’t make much difference to you, because I told myself you were with Jos.”

“But Lily, you knew I wasn’t really happy with him.”

“Yes,” she mumbled, “I did.”

“And you knew I wanted to be with Peter.”

“I know,” she stuttered. “It’s true.”

“And you knew that the only reason I couldn’t be with him was because of Andie’s baby.”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “You’re right.”

“Oh, Lily,” I said, “I don’t understand how you could do something so mean and low.” By now her huge brown eyes were brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry, Faith,” she said, grabbing my hand. “But I was so livid with Peter. It was only when you told me about the lovely reference he gave me that I realized my
awful
mistake. So I tried to tell you about Andie, but you wouldn’t listen, and then I had my Freudian slip.”

“So Andie’s not pregnant,” I said again. A wave of euphoria swept over me, and my anger evaporated like steam. “You’re alive!” I exclaimed softly. “And Andie’s not having my baby. So there
is
a God,” I said wonderingly. And then, at last, I burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” said Lily. Her brow was pleated with anxiety and her chin was dimpled with distress. “I’m truly sorry,” she said again as two fat tears coursed down her cheeks. She handed me a tissue, and then took one herself. “You see I was totally convinced about Peter, I was furious, I was…”

“Obsessed.”

“I was filled with loathing for him,” she confessed.

“Lily, you’d been festering.”

“Yes. But you know my career means
everything
to me.”

“So you were determined to punish Peter for an imagined slight, but instead you ended up punishing me. Oh, Lily,” I said miserably. “You’ve done so much harm.”

“Yes,” she sniffed. “I know. I’d do anything to put it right, Faith, but I really don’t know how.”

“I do,” I said suddenly as I pressed another tissue to my eyes. I swallowed my tears, then glanced at the clock, which by now said half past four. “I want you to ring Peter,” I said. “I want you to call him right now and tell him what you’ve just told me.”

“At this time?” she said nervously.

“Yes! It doesn’t matter, he’ll want to know.”

“But I haven’t got my mobile phone.”

“There’s a hospital phone,” I pointed out.

“Oh, all right then,” she sniffed. “Go and get it.” So I wheeled the trolley phone to her bedside, plugged it in, and fed in some ten-pence coins. Then I dialed Peter’s mobile number and passed the handset to Lily. She took a deep breath, then spoke.

“Peter,” she said quietly, “it’s Lily. Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night. But, look, no, no, no, please, please wait—I think there’s something you ought to know…” The conversation took no more than a minute, then she handed the receiver to me.

“Faith,” said Peter, his voice cracking with emotion and fatigue. “Faith?”

“Yes, darling?” I wept.

“I’m coming home. Just give me forty-eight hours.”

* * *

“Happy New Year!” said my local newsagent two days later.

“And an extremely Happy New Year to you!” I replied as I picked up a copy of the
Mail
.

“Got yourself another dog then?” he asked, looking at Jennifer Aniston.

“No, I’m just puppysitting while her mum’s in hospital.”

“Oh dear, I hope it’s not serious,” he added.

“No,” I replied. “It’s not. On the other hand,” I said judiciously, “there’s a chance it might develop into something serious.”

“Will she be in hospital long, then?” he enquired solicitously.

“Just as long as she can,” I replied. The man looked at me quizzically, but I didn’t have time to explain. The fact is Lily’s refusing to leave hospital. I’d guessed the reason why.

“I’ve still got this…headache,” she said to the handsome consultant neurologist, Mr Walker, when I went to see her later. The nurse gave her a suspicious smile.

“Well, we’ve done all the tests, Lily,” Mr Walker replied as he checked her temperature. “All you had was a severe concussion, but now I think you can be discharged.”

“Oh, no,” she said, slightly panic-stricken. “I’m sure I need a little more observation. Can’t I stay one more night?”

“But you’ve already been here three.”

“Oh, please.”

“Well…as you’re in a private bed, I suppose so,” he conceded, “but then tomorrow you’ll have to go home.”

“But what if I have a relapse?” she suggested brightly.

“Lily, you’re going to be fine.”

“But I might have sustained permanent brain damage,” she went on cheerfully.

“That’s very unlikely,” he said.

“Well, can I come back as an out-patient?” she added desperately as he prepared to leave.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“But I’ll need regular check-ups,” she said as he parted the curtains.

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll see you just once more.”

“Perhaps you could examine me over dinner?” she suggested happily. “At my place—it’s just off the King’s Road.”

“Oh,” he said as the penny dropped. “Well, tempting though that is, I’ll have to think about it—medical ethics and all that. By the way,” he went on, indicating the Louis Vuitton canine carrier I’d smuggled in with me at Lily’s request. “I’m sure you know that dogs are not allowed.” She gave him a guilty smile.

“I know,” she said as she unzipped the bag. “But she’s only visiting, aren’t you darling? She’s helping me to get better,” she added as she removed Jennifer, grunting, from her bag.

“My mother has a Shih Tzu,” said Mr Walker suddenly.

“No!” exclaimed Lily, clearly thrilled.

“She’s been shown at Crufts, actually,” he added.

“Really?” she said, incandescent with joy. “I was thinking of entering Jennifer. Her Kennel Club name is Wicked Fantasy—her father was best of breed. But aren’t they just adorable?” she added enthusiastically as Jennifer gave him a goitrous stare.

“Um…yes,” he conceded reluctantly. “If you like that kind of thing. But I don’t think you’ll be entering her this year,” he added judiciously, “because I’m sure you’re aware that she’s pregnant.” Lily’s beautifully manicured hands flew up to her mouth, then she stared, dumbfounded, at her dog.

“My mother used to breed them,” Mr Walker explained. “So I’m pretty sure.” He prodded Jennifer, who obligingly rolled over, and now, as the floor-length curtain of blond hair parted, we could see a distinct swelling round her middle. “She’s due in a month, I’d say. Did you have her covered?” he added.

“Oh yes, she’s got comprehensive life insurance.”

“No, I mean, did you have her mated?” he said.

“No,” said Lily. “I didn’t. Jennifer!” she added sharply. “How could you! You little slut!” She looked at me. “It couldn’t possibly be Graham, could it?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“It must have happened when she got out in December,” she explained, rolling her huge eyes. “She’d gone all the way down the King’s Road. Oh yes, Miss Jennifer Aniston,” she added wagging an admonitory finger, “you clearly went all the way. God knows what they’ll look like,” she went on with an appalled expression on her face. “I doubt Jennifer managed to find herself the canine equivalent of Brad Pitt. Oh God,” she whined, “they’re going to be mongrels.”

“Cross-breeds,” I corrected her crisply. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But they might look hideous,” she said. I maintained a diplomatic silence. “They might be incredibly
ugly
dogs, Faith. On the other hand…” she went on excitedly, seeming to glimpse the possibilities of the situation, “I could put her into the magazine. Yes!” she added eagerly as she reached for her mobile phone. “I can see it now. Jennifer—naked and pregnant, on the cover of
Moi!.
I mean, if Demi Moore can do it, then why shouldn’t Jennifer Aniston? We’ll do it in April, we’ll make the entire issue a dog special—we could call it
Dogue
. I’ll get someone really fab to take the pictures,” she added eagerly as she reached for the phone and dialed. “Hello, Polly? Listen, it’s Lily here. I want you to book me John Swannell.”

“Don’t over-exert yourself,” warned Mr Walker benignly. “I’ll check on you after lunch, OK?”

“Oh yes!” she said with a beatific smile. “You can check on me
any
time. Oh, Faith,” she said as Mr Walker retreated, “don’t you think he’s divine?” I nodded. He was certainly very good-looking, and he seemed rather nice. “And to think,” she went on happily, “that it’s all thanks to my crack on the head that I’ve got to meet that heavenly man! Now, how’s Peter?” she added. “What’s going on there?”