Out of the Blue (50 page)

“He’s coming home tomorrow,” I replied.

“Have you got any luxury lingerie?” she asked anxiously.

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” I said with a smile.

* * *

The following morning I bounded out of bed at three thirty, showered, then squished on my lovely new scent,
C’est La Vie!,
then got to work at four fifteen feeling excited and happy. “Turned out nice,” I said to myself cheerfully as I studied the satellite charts.

“And so we have a
glorious
day ahead of us,” I said ecstatically as I began my eight thirty bulletin.

“What’s she talking about? It’s freezing.”

“The temperature’s rising nicely now.”

“Bollocks—it’s minus two!”

“Although there’s a sixty per cent chance of rain.”

“Eight, seven…”

“But then what’s a bit of water?”

“Six, five…”

“And the point about rain, of course.”

“Two, one…”

“Is that without it we wouldn’t get rainbows, would we?”

“Is she taking hard drugs?”

“So dress up warmly, take a umbrella just in case, and have a wonderful day.”

“Zero.”

“Thanks, Faith,” said Terry as Tatiana simpered beside him on the sofa. “What a sunny soul you are.” I smiled. “And now,” he said, turning to the autocue, “the important, but thorny issue of fluoride in our drinking water. Should local authorities be able to compel water companies to add this controversial chemical to our wombat liberal Clinton face cream…” Terry stopped, then squinted into the camera, confusion written all over his face. “Framework privatization, neuroscience, badger hemlines…birdie…” he tried again, then paused, his eyes searching in vain for some meaning in the bizarre conglomeration of words as they scrolled down the screen. “Breast size,” he continued slowly as he ran a nervous finger round his collar. “Confidential taxpayer commitment, Livingstone pavement hairspray…” I stared at him as he squirmed on the pastel-toned sofa, his face aflame.

“What the fuck’s going on?” I heard Darryl hiss in my earpiece. “What are you up to, Lisa?”

“Pink granny helicopter bucket
Eastenders
…”

“It’s not my fault,” she whined. “The texts seem to have got all mixed up.”

And now, ignoring the mayhem in the gallery, I suddenly looked at Tatiana. She had this funny little smile on her face.

“Oh dear, Terry,” she interjected soothingly. “You seem to be having problems there.”

“Well, I—”

“At your age it’s probably your eyesight,” she said with impudent pseudo-concern. “You really should get it checked out. But now let’s go straight on to the next item, viewers, and a radical new approach to public transport. Joining me now is the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, to talk about new plans for funding the tube. Good morning, Ken,” she said with an ingratiating smile. “Welcome to AM-UK!.”

I ran upstairs to my desk and phoned Sophie.

“Did you see Terry?” I gasped.

“Yes!” she giggled. “What a scream! I
almost
felt sorry for him,” she added. “But have you seen the
Daily Mail?
”

“No. What’s in it?”

“Me!” I grabbed a copy from the planning desk, quickly flicked through it and there was a huge photo of Sophie in a smart trouser suit, beneath the heading “DYKE’S DELIGHT!”
Sophie Walsh, recently sacked from AM-UK! after revelations about her private life, has been bought by the BBC in a deal worth £200,000 a year. At the specific directive of Director General, Greg Dyke, the self-confessed lesbian is to front a new TV version of
The Moral Maze
on BBC1. Critics are already hailing her as Jeremy Paxman’s heir apparent.

“Sophie!” I exclaimed. “You’re a star!”

“You helped me, Faith,” she said.

“No, Terry and Tatiana did that.”

“Yes,” she giggled. “I guess they did. No more psychic grannies,” she said happily. “No more roller-blading cats. No more doctored autocues, and no more three a.m. starts. And at last my sister has finally reported Jos to the Child Support Agency.”

“Hurrah!”

“And how about you, Faith? Are you OK? I thought you looked rather happy just now.” I fiddled with my wedding ring.

“Oh, I’m terribly happy,” I said.

Peter and I hadn’t told the children that he was moving back in. We wanted it to be a surprise. My parents had taken them snow-boarding for a week; when they got back, they’d find him at home. So, on the fifth, I sat in the sitting room with Graham, waiting for Peter to arrive. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, along with the ingredients for a seafood risotto—his favorite dish. Now I signed the heart-strewn card for our wedding anniversary the next day. It was the sixth, the feast of Epiphany, the Christmas decorations would have to come down. We’d had enough bad luck over the past year, I reflected, and I didn’t want to risk any more. So now, while I waited for Peter, I took the fairy off the top of the tree. Then I began to unravel the tinsel and unhooked the spangly baubles and glittering stars. Then suddenly Graham ran barking to the door as we heard the click of a key in the lock.

“Peter!” My arms went round his neck, and his went round my waist. “Peter!” I said as Graham jumped up, whimpering with happiness, to lick his ear. “Oh, Peter!” I said again. He took off his coat, grabbed my hand and led me upstairs.

“Oh, Faith!” he said as our limbs entwined in the candlelit silence of our room. “Oh, Faith,” he murmured again. “Oh, Faith, we nearly threw it away.”

“I know.”

“We got ourselves in such a…mess.”

“Yes,” I said as I stroked his hair, “we did, but we’re all right now.” We lay in bed for half an hour afterwards. Graham had jumped up and was lying blissfully between us, his head resting on his paws.

“I love you,” I said as I stroked his silky ears.

“I love you too,” said Peter.

“Mummy and Daddy
both
love you,” I said. Graham heaved a contented sigh. Now we got dressed and went downstairs and Peter opened the champagne. I started cooking the risotto, and as I stirred the rice we discussed the events of the last few days.

“You have stopped the decree absolute, haven’t you?” he asked me.

“Yes, of course I have. I phoned Rory Cheetham-Stabb’s office two days ago and left a message on his voice-mail.”

“And what happens to the decree nisi?”

“Nothing. But in due course we can just write to the court asking them to dismiss our petition.”

“Oliver’s left Fenton & Friend,” said Peter as he set the table.

“What a relief.”

“It is. Though I seem to have maligned him more than was strictly necessary. I thought that nasty little press campaign was his doing because he’d got wind of my takeover plans. I never guessed it could be Lily, because I knew she’d never do anything which might hurt you.”

“Ah, but she’d persuaded herself that you were the anti-Christ, darling, and that what she was doing was all for my good. She’d kidded herself that I deserved to be liberated from my dull suburban life with you.”

“Well, for a while you were liberated from it.”

“Yes, but then I wanted it back. I like being dull and suburban,” I added as I kissed him, “as long as I can be dull and suburban with you. Do you forgive Lily?” I asked him as I turned up the heat.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I do. She told me that she was truly sorry, so that’s good enough for me.”

“But what about Andie?” I went on as I poured in more stock. “Did she throw things?”

“No. She wasn’t in a position to be nasty, because she knew the game was up.”

“Was she ever really pregnant?”

“No, but she thought she was. She’d missed two periods, so she was firmly convinced she was up the duff. She didn’t actually lie to me about it—it was a phantom pregnancy, I suppose.”

“But I thought she’d done a test?”

“Yes, but she was so excited at the thought of being pregnant, she didn’t read the leaflet properly and got it wrong. And when in December she realized she wasn’t expecting, she couldn’t bring herself to tell me the truth. I would have found out soon enough, so Lily’s disclosure just speeded things up.”

By now the risotto was ready, and we’d had the champagne and were feeling slightly tipsy and very relaxed. Peter washed the salad and made a French dressing and we opened a bottle of good Sancerre. And as we sat in the kitchen, talking and eating, I looked at Peter’s face in the flickering candlelight and thought, I love you
so
much. I’ll never love any man as I love you. I nearly lost you, but now you’re back.

“We’ll move house,” Peter said. “Shall we do that?”

“Yes. Let’s.”

“A fresh start.”

“Mmm.”

“This is our new chapter, Faith. This is our
real
new beginning.”

“And our happy ending.”

“I think it is. Oh Faith, we’re so, so lucky,” he added as he put down his fork. “I mean, my God, I had a narrow escape.”

“You certainly did,” I breathed.

“I didn’t want to have to do the decent thing again,” he exclaimed with a good-natured laugh.

“Sorry?”

“I didn’t want to have to do the decent thing again,” he repeated. “With Andie.”

“What do you mean—
again?”
He looked at me non-comprehendingly.

“Faith, you know perfectly well.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted as I felt my heart contract. “Look, it’s all absolutely fine now, darling, but as you know, I’d done the decent thing once, when I was twenty. I didn’t want to have to do it twice.”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked as I felt blood suffuse my face.

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying.”

“What?”

“Oh Faith,” he said wearily. “We’ve been through so much. Let’s just give each other a break.”

“No,” I insisted as I fiddled with my glass. “You’ve just hinted at something not very…nice.”

“Look, darling,” he said, “we both know that you were pregnant when we got married, but to be honest I couldn’t care less. We made it work, and we’ve been pretty happy, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“I don’t want to leave it at that, because I consider your remark rather unchivalrous.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but the fact is, it’s true.”

“We got married because we were in love, Peter.”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “We did. But the main reason we got married, if you care to remember, was because you were three months gone. Now, please can we change the subject, because my little joke has obviously misfired.”

“So it was a joke, was it?” I said hotly. “Well, as Freud says, ‘There is no such thing as a joke’, Peter, and it’s now crystal clear to me that you’ve held this against me all these years.”

“Well, I obviously wasn’t
planning
on marrying at twenty, Faith, but I wasn’t going to leave you in the lurch.”

“Oh, that’s really
kind
of you,” I said sarcastically. “And I suppose you think I should be grateful?”

“No, I
don’t
think that,” he replied.

“Well, I really don’t like you bringing this up and implying that I trapped you, and that you just did the decent thing, even if you did, because I don’t think it’s necessary to mention it on this day of all days after we’ve had such a hard year, and we were getting back together again and it was all looking so good.”

“It still
is!
”

“But you’re clearly blaming me, just because I didn’t like taking my pill because it made me feel sick. I’ve made my sacrifices too, you know, including not getting my degree, and bringing up the children, and not having much money, and I don’t know why you have to mention it now after all this time.”

“I suppose because Andie’s pseudo-pregnancy brought it all back for me.”

“But I feel very insulted by what you said there, Peter, and I’ve got some very negative feelings coming up. After all, these things happen, don’t they, they happen every day of the year, and I didn’t do it deliberately or anything, but it’s just that I think you’re in the wrong to say something so obviously wounding.”

“Just forget it, will you,” he said as he cleared the plates. “I didn’t realize I’d hit a nerve.”

“Of course you’ve hit a nerve, because here you are accusing me of being sneaky and dishonorable and trying to ensnare you, and maybe, yes—maybe
that’s
why you had your affair, to punish me, because you’d secretly resented it all these years. But as you
well
know, Peter, it takes two to tango and I didn’t exactly have an immaculate conception, and I really don’t like you saying that, because I’ve been through an awful lot too.”

“Well, maybe
you
wanted an affair,” he said. “Or maybe we
both
wanted one.” I stared at him. Then looked away. “Maybe we both wanted a little change,” I heard him say. “Isn’t that what you wanted too, Faith?”

“Yes,” I croaked. “I did. I
did,
” I whispered. “I’d been wondering, for quite a long time, what
if…
?”

“So had I. And we found out. But ‘what if?’ didn’t make us happy, did it?”

“No,” I murmured. “It didn’t.”

“And are we happy now?” My anger had vanished.

“Oh yes,” I said tearfully. “We
are
. I’m so happy,” I added as he drew me to him.

“So am I,” he said. “I’m happy because I have Faith. So please would you stop being cross, darling?” I nodded. “Because we’re together again. We’re together again,” he repeated as his arms went round me. “Not for ever,” he added. I looked at him. “But just on a permanent basis. You know, maybe, in an odd way, Lily did us a favor,” he added as he held me close.

“Yes.” I smiled. “Maybe she did.”

* * *

At three thirty the next morning, the alarm pipped twice and I slipped out of bed; Peter groaned slightly, then rolled over again. It’s as though nothing has changed, I thought as I gazed at his sleeping form. It’s as though the intervening year hasn’t happened, as though it was just a strange dream. Today is our wedding anniversary, I reflected as I showered and dressed. Today we’ve been married for sixteen years. I left the card on my pillow for him to find, then hugged Graham and went down to the waiting cab.