Persuading Annie (25 page)

Let’s see if she could do better this time.

‘Hello, Samaritans …’ (Impatient, angry, cold.)

She gave Joy a smile as a strong coffee was dumped on her desk. The person on the other end was trying unsuccessfully to get a grip of themselves. They were crying noisily. They were male.

‘Take your time.’ (I’m not listening anyway.
You
think
you’ve
got problems.)

This only seemed to make the crying worse.

‘I’m here now.’ (I’m still here. And getting bored.)

The crying increased in volume.

Eventually, it subsided somewhat.

‘Sometimes it’s hard to start, isn’t it?’ (Go on, hang up on me. You know you want to.)

The crying turned into howling.

Annie closed her eyes, listening to every nuance of pain at the other end of the phone. The caller was now trying to say something. It sounded like ‘Give me a song’. Surely not?

‘I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying.’ (I’m a Samaritan, not a mind reader.)

More crying.

‘Take deep breaths.’ (Take one really deep one.)

‘Shin for a Long!’ said the voice, definitely angry.

She frowned into the phone.

‘Shin for a long?’

‘NO!’ shouted the voice, furious. ‘Cynthia’s GONE!’

Annie kept frowning.

‘Left me,’ continued the voice. ‘I woke up to find a note, a bloody Dear John note,’ and the crying started up again.

Joy yawned loudly from her seat in the corner.

‘Cynthia?’ asked Annie.

Joy stopped yawning.

‘My wife, who do you bloody think? God Annie get a grip! It’s me who’s in trauma, not you!’

How did the caller know her name? Annie was stumped.

‘I woke up early this morning, because my shift starts at eight, thought it was a bit quiet, realised that Cynthia wasn’t in bed, went downstairs, found a bloody note on the kitchen table. She’s taken the boys. Left me for a bloke from work.’ And the crying started again, only this time it was much weaker.

Annie’s jaw dropped. It was Marlon.

‘Oh my God, Marlon, I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh thanks. That’s all right then. I won’t kill myself because although my wife and boys have all LEFT ME, Annie Bleeding-Heart Markham feels sorry for me.’ Big sniff. ‘And there I was thinking my life was over.’

Oh shit, anger. Annie knew what that meant. Big pain.

She let him sniff noisily into the phone. She looked over at Joy.

She suddenly saw Marlon in her mind’s eye, wandering blithely into the office, wearing a stupid scarf, grinning inanely, harassing Joy, who pretended she hated it but lived for every line. Annie knew that the memory of that would
have sustained her in New York. Why did this have to happen now? Couldn’t it have waited a week until she’d gone?

She was only slightly surprised at how quickly her thoughts had turned to self-pity. She really was a crap Samaritan.

‘Come into the office now, Marlon. The kettle’s just boiled.’

Silence.

‘There’s a parcel here for you.’

Nothing.

‘We’ve got chunky Kitkats.’

Cynthia had never let him keep chocolate in the house. Bad example to the boys.

‘Thanks,’ said a muffled voice.

She put the phone down.

Joy stared at her.

‘Cynthia’s left Marlon. He’s in a bad way,’ said Annie to the room, picking up her bag and coat.

Joy’s internal organs jump-started. No jump leads required.

‘I’m just popping out to get chunky Kitkats.’

Joy nodded.

‘Bring me a dozen.’

* * * * *

‘Ooh! Look at that!’ exclaimed Joy in confused awe, holding up a very odd contraption to Marlon and Annie. Unable to tell exactly what it was, she read the blurb that came with it, putting as much exhilaration into her voice as was humanly possible. ‘A Spinal Rack and Neck Stretcher!’ She looked over at them both. They both stared back at her. ‘Wow!’ she said, not altogether unconvincingly.

Marlon was unimpressed. He looked terrible. His eyes
were sunken into his face and his skin had turned a soggy yellow.

Joy put down the contraption and sat next to him. He didn’t seem to see either of them properly. He didn’t eat his chunky Kitkats, though their presence strangely soothed him. Until Joy ate them all.

The three of them just sat for a while, Annie and Joy holding one of his hands each, while he sobbed intermittently. Every now and then he’d say ‘She’s been having an affair for ten months,’ or ‘Even the boys have met him,’ or at one point, ‘I bet he’s got more hair than me.’ Then he turned to Joy and seemed to focus for the first time.

‘Joy, please accept my sincere apologies for playing with your emotions so ungallantly all these years,’ he said gravely, before sniffing.

‘Don’t be silly, Marlon.’

‘It was shameful of me,’ he said, shaking his head.

Joy nodded, as he started crying again.

‘I understand, Marlon,’ she whispered. ‘You’re all right.’

* * * * *

The phone went.

The three of them stared at it.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Annie.

‘No, I’ll get it,’ said Joy.

‘No, I’ll get it,’ said Marlon.

They both looked at him as if he’d just announced he was pregnant.

‘Let’s hope it’s a good’un,’ he said, giving his nose a final blow that by some miracle didn’t blast his head off. ‘I need cheering up.’

‘Hello Samaritans?’ he said, a catch in his voice.

The caller hung up.

He put the phone down slowly.

‘OK,’ he said, pointing to the phone, his voice cracking. ‘Now
that
I take personally.’ And he started to cry again.

* * * * *

As Joy made Marlon a hot sweet tea in the unfamiliar setting of her own kitchen, he suddenly found himself overwhelmed by an awkwardness caused purely by her presence. It hit him what he’d miss most about Cynthia.

Cynthia – who by some fluke had agreed, in another time and life, to share his name, his address and his children, had given him courage. Courage like he’d never known in his life before. Courage to look in the eye the woman he was born to meet. Courage to hold a proper conversation with her. Courage to actually flirt with her.

Now Cynthia was gone, he had no one to close his eyes, kiss passionately and pretend was Joy. He had no one to help him pretend that flirting with Joy was harmless fun instead of walking the precipice between life and death, hope and despair, something he found impossible to do without blushing and getting tongue-tied. With Cynthia gone, he had no safety net against rejection, no daily reminder that it was mad to hope for your dreams to come true.

As Joy placed the drink gently on the table in front of him, he couldn’t even look up at her.

Now that Cynthia was gone, Joy was lost to him.

He started weeping silently again.

* * * * *

It was their last night in London for a while. Victoria lay awake in the dark, her eyes wide open. Charles was taking
off his trousers, jumping as he lost his footing, and placing them hurriedly on the back of the chair. Some change fell out of the pocket and he didn’t bother to pick it up. Now he was undoing his shirt buttons at some speed, humming breathlessly to himself. His shoes banged noisily into the wardrobe door and his underpants slid to the floor at the foot of the bed.

She knew the signs.

Charles wanted sex tonight.

She lay with her back towards him, thinking a silent mantra. Not tonight, not tonight, not tonight.

She didn’t have a headache. It was only sex with Charles that gave her headaches. She just couldn’t face having to lie there pretending. It wasn’t that she didn’t particularly like what was going on, she just couldn’t concentrate when Charles started busily kneading away, like a baker on his first loaf of the day.

Not tonight, not tonight, not tonight, she prayed, closing her eyes firmly.

She stopped breathing, waiting for Charles’s shy, sly touch. Any second now. She just couldn’t face it.

He hurrumphed loudly.

‘ ’Night then,’ he said as he rolled over and promptly fell asleep, a knack that she’d always envied.

Victoria lay there, listening. Was it a trick? Was he playing hard to get?

Nope. He was out cold.

With horrendous clarity, Victoria suddenly realised what was going on.

Charles no longer found her attractive.

A large tear slid down into her ear, causing her to go temporarily deaf.

She was alone in the world.

* * * * *

Charles closed his eyes. He was Nick Faldo, Victoria was his caddie and the boys were in the crowd. He took a perfect swing – thwack! The crowd gasped as one, and the ball flew – like magic – up, up, up into the clear blue sky and …

It was morning.

19

JUST DAYS BEFORE
Annie was to go to New York, she stopped visiting Sophie with the excuse that she had too much pre-trip organising to do. Her forehead now looked much better, and she studied it every morning in the mirror watching it change from smudged aubergine to a subtle blend of sunflower and lilac.

She didn’t seem to be suffering from any signs of shock after the attack apart from extreme weariness. And the recurring image of Jake holding her, tight and breathless in the pitch-black alley was becoming as tiresomely effective as a naff advert. Every fifteen minutes there it was; a perfect, freeze-frame image to remind her how crap real life was.

Bizarrely, at the same time, the incident had given her an inner confidence from knowing that she could protect herself in the worst possible situation. She had bought a mobile phone though, since the attack, now convinced that it was a potential life-saver in emergencies.

She had heard through Victoria, who was popping downstairs to see Sophie at least twice a day, keen to ‘look after’ Sophie, while trying to glean as much pre-wedding gossip as
possible, that Sophie was scared to go out. Jake was having to go out and get her anything she needed apparently, though always when she was being looked after by David.

How sweet, thought Annie. How whirlwind.

Victoria soon gave up visiting Sophie however as she grew more and more peeved when Sophie refused point blank to talk to her about Jake and the wedding.

Every second, Annie waited for the official news of Sophie and Jake’s engagement.

The news could come from anyone – Sophie, Fi or Tony. All of them would think that she, together with Victoria and Charles, would be delighted to hear of a second wedding. She was steeling herself for it every minute of every day. Thank God she was going to New York in three days. Physical distance from Jake was just what she needed. Physical distance from her life would be even better, but you can’t have everything.

* * * * *

‘What will Mummy do without her darling boys?’ Victoria asked Harry and Bertie dramatically when she kissed them goodbye.

‘Shop?’ answered Bertie.

Victoria grinned. ‘That’s my boy,’ she said and felt a speed-bump jolt of excitement in her gut. Fifth Avenue! Madison! Broadway! The opera! Crap TV! Lie-ins! No doo-doos! She might burst with excitement.

The dreaded call didn’t come and Annie found herself leaving England without having to pretend to anyone that she was delighted about Jake’s forthcoming nuptials.

However, this did nothing to make the flight more bearable.

Susannah and their father had forbidden them from going first class and they had had to slum it in business. Annie had tried to persuade them that ‘Cattle class’ was sufficient but was shouted down most unceremoniously. There was cost-cutting and there was torture, Victoria had cried. The safety video came on, and over piped music a soft female voice calmly explained what they should do ‘should the oxygen supply fail’.

‘Pray?’ suggested Victoria to Annie next to her, who had gone an impressive shade of almond white. She hated flights.

Typically, a fitful toddler was seated in the row in front of Victoria, Charles and Annie.

‘Look!’ ordered its desperate mother, after it had cried non-stop for ten minutes. ‘Sweeties!’

The baby looked. It seriously considered the sweeties.

‘Mmmm,’ encouraged its mother emphatically.

The baby seriously considered its mother’s noises. Then it thrust the sweeties into her face and screamed till it went puce.

Victoria made up for all the people who had ever tutted at her when her boys had cried in public. She tutted for England. She almost rubbed her upper gum off.

‘Should they allow babies in business?’ she asked Charles twice very loudly.

‘Yes dear,’ he replied just as loudly, before undoing his seatbelt, kneeling down by the baby’s seat and showing it his Silly Face. It not only shut up the baby, but most of the customers and staff.

Annie looked out of the window and watched the clouds obscure her view of diminishing streets and cars.

When the food arrived, Victoria realised she’d forgotten
to ask ahead for a vegetarian meal. Sod it, she thought, I’m trapped. I’ll have to eat whatever they give me. The feeling of relief was enormous.

It was beef. She turned to Charles.

‘If I get BSE, will you shoot me?’

‘I promise.’

The flight was only seven hours long, and for Charles and Annie, it went very quickly. For Victoria, who chose to watch
The Horse Whisperer
, it felt like ten. Eventually, they arrived at JFK Airport at five in the afternoon. Shirley had arranged for a car to pick them up and take them straight to George’s apartment. Victoria grew more and more excited as they drew nearer. This was more like it; this was where she belonged. Big cars, big buildings, big people. She breathed in the air and felt dizzy with excitement. Here she was at last. The city of high risk, high speed, high cholesterol and low toilet seats. And no children hijacking her sense of self.

As they drove over Queensborough Bridge, the Manhattan skyline hit the horizon. Victoria felt the stirrings of excitement. It was all out there, just out of reach, happening without her. She could hardly wait to get out there and shop. Then the limo turned a sharp right and they were facing a rundown tenement block.