Pride, Prejudice and Jasmin Field (23 page)

She let Harry guide her onto a bench by a table, where she sat staring ahead of her.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked.

Jazz shook her head. It was beginning to ache. Eventually she spoke.

‘I’ve messed everything up,’ she whispered and her eyes welled with tears.

‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ Harry said gently. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d never seen her

in this state before.

She nodded sadly as a single tear crept down her cheek. ‘I have,’ she said. More tears started to fall and unblinking, she ignored them. Somehow it felt good confessing all to Harry. ‘I’ve ruined four people’s

lives and my career in one swift move. And I could have avoided it all.’ She fought against a sob that threatened to break into a weep.

‘What’s happened?’ whispered Harry.

Jazz found she couldn’t keep it from him if she’d wanted to — which she didn’t. She looked down at the table and spoke so quietly that Harry had to lean forward and concentrate hard to hear her properly.

‘William Whitby and my sister Josie - the married one — had sex in the loo at the party last week.’

It hurt just to say it. ‘Josie’s husband has found out and they’re getting separated. They’ve got a little boy’ At the thought of Ben she started to sob in earnest. Harry put his hand on her shoulder before thinking better of it. ‘I introduced them to each other,’ she wept. ‘Oh God, I’ve wrecked their family.’ And here she closed her eyes and sobbed silently for a moment.

‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

Jazz shook her head sadly. ‘I haven’t finished.’

‘Sorry.’ He took his hand off her shoulder.

‘Gilbert Valentine, who is now unemployed since his magazine’s sponsor, your aunt Dame Alexandra Marmeduke, pulled her finances, says he’s going to sell the story to the tabloids. He knows that the Daily Echo would be only too delighted to drag me and my family in the mud because I gave my column to the News instead of them.’

Harry frowned intently. ‘He won’t do that, I’m sure. Your family will be fine.’ His voice was so comforting that she almost felt better.

But she shook her head and smiled the saddest, most poignant smile he’d ever seen off stage.

‘Oh, I’m not just thinking of my loved ones,’ she said to him. ‘I’m a journalist, remember? I’ve already thought past that to my own sordid little career. You see, Mr. Noble,’ and here she turned her large,

sad eyes to face him, ‘I’ve based my whole career on three simple things that are to be my downfall. My sister Josie’s perfect marriage, my infallible opinions of others and - ‘ she dropped her head down to her chest in shame, ‘ — my constant censure of those who don’t live up to my ideals.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘The second Gilbert’s article rolls off the presses, my career as a serious columnist is over and my family is a laughing stock. And I brought it all on myself.’

When she next lifted her head and peered out of heavy eyes, Harry was up and pacing.

She started talking half to herself. ‘I should have told the truth about William Whitby. I shouldn’t have kept it quiet. What sort of journalist am I? And now everyone’s going to suffer because of my stupid decision.’

She realised Harry wasn’t listening. Oh God, she thought. He’s worried about the play. He’s going to

need a new Lizzy Bennet. Oh God. And as she watched him, her head aching, her heart leaden, she

knew she would want to kill anyone who played Lizzy opposite his Darcy. And there was only one

good reason for that. The truth hit her like a brick: she was besotted with Harry Noble.

For the first time, it also hit home that he was so completely different to her - so unaware of the people around him, treating everyone with the same unjudgemental indifference, so focused. What had he called it? Substance and integrity. And it had taken until now for her to realise this - now, when she could feel what little power she had once had over him slip through her fingers. He’d never risk getting involved

with her now. It would have been one thing for him to get mixed up with an unknown, but quite another to get involved with a sordid tabloid scandal.

She looked miserably at her hands. The pull to be home was enormous. She couldn’t wait for George to get there.

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to miss the rehearsal,’ she said. ‘And going out with Carrie afterwards. Sorry.’

Harry looked up at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said brusquely, in a tone she’d forgotten.

The next moment, a car horn sounded urgently outside the church door. Jazz got up and went towards it. She stopped at the door.

‘Bye,’ she said.

Harry was following her out. ‘Take care,’ he said simply and watched her get in the car.

She and George didn’t talk on the journey. Jazz spent the entire trip staring miserably out of the window. It was a bright, clear day, but all she could see was how ugly the streets of north-west London were. There was so much rubbish lying in the gutters, so many hideous concrete buildings and so much dirt. Every now and then she’d start weeping quietly.

*

Jeffrey opened the door to his daughters with his only grandson at his side, and the three of them hugged silently in the hallway. Jazz walked into the large kitchen-diner where Josie and Martha sat silently. They were both looking pale and haggard, though there was an air of comfort about them. Jazz didn’t know what to do. What was the protocol for greeting a soon-to-be divorced sister? And a soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law? Would Josie be trying to be cool? Would she be distraught?

She and George stood in the doorway. To her surprise, Josie immediately stood up and came to give

them both a hug. Jazz started crying.

‘Don’t you cry!’ laughed Josie. ‘You’re all as bad as each other.’

‘But it’s all my fault,’ sniffed Jazz.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Josie briskly, and walked her back to the table and sat her down.

Jeffrey was in the corner, making coffee, Ben at his side.

Josie started talking.

‘Michael and I have been going through a bad patch for the past year. We’ve been attending Relate sessions for the last few weeks - every Thursday night when you two have been babysitting.’

Jazz gasped. She couldn’t have got it all more wrong. She squirmed when she remembered the smug column she’d written about how clever Josie and Michael were because they still went out every week together.

‘And then what with the baby coming, we just weren’t ready for it. The fling with William was just a symptom of the cause.’

Jeffrey brought the coffee over and went to play racing cars with Ben.

‘Has Michael had affairs?’ asked Jazz, ready to hate him.

Josie shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. No, it’s nothing as interesting as that,’ she said sadly. ‘I think he just stopped loving me.’ It was hurting less every time she said it.

Martha started pouring everyone coffee.

‘But you always seemed so happy,’ said George.

Josie sighed. ‘Marriage …’ she broke off with a big sigh.

‘Marriage takes work,’ Martha said fiercely, spilling some coffee. ‘And he can’t be bothered.’

‘No, Mum,’ said Josie wearily. ‘There’s nothing there for him to work on any more.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said sharply. ‘That’s exactly when it needs the work. Do you think your father and I always loved each other? Or even always liked each other? That’s exactly when you have to try and

force yourself to love that person, even if you feel you couldn’t care less if they never walked through

the door again. When things are going well, there’s no work to do. You young people haven’t got a clue. There were at least four times when your father and I could easily have split up.’

Martha’s daughters looked at her with startled eyes. They didn’t want to know any more.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ she said angrily. ‘That’s marriage.’

There was an uncomfortable pause.

‘What’s happening now?’ asked Jazz.

Josie lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. ‘Michael’s left home for a while.’ And then she actually laughed when she caught Jazz’s expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I got him to empty the bins first.’

‘How can you be so flippant?’ asked Jazz.

‘To be honest, this is a relief,’ she said so quietly it was almost to herself, an incongruous tear rolling slowly down her cheek. ‘It’s been pure hell to live through, watching him fall out of love with me. It was so much slower than when he fell in love with me.’ She laughed a short bitter laugh. ‘For me, marriage means discovering that men love you most when they know you least. The more they get to know every single part of you, the less passion there is. At the beginning, when they make love to you with their eyes shut, you know it’s because they’re trying to savour the moment. After a few years of marriage, it means they’re trying to pretend it’s not you they’re screwing.’

Martha’s face seemed to go grey.

Jazz couldn’t bear it. ‘Maybe it’s just a bad phase. Maybe he’ll come back.’

Josie shook her head. ‘No. He’s emotionally dead. He’s indifferent. This separation is for him to work

out whether or not he can live without me. And I have a sneaking feeling he’ll be fine. We’ve practically been living separate lives anyway.’

They all played at drinking their coffee.

Jazz hated to bring the subject up, but knew it had to be discussed.

‘What are we going to do about Gilbert Valentine?’ she asked with a tremor. ‘Once the press finds out - particularly the Daily Echo — they’ll have a field day with it.’ Her voice nearly failed her.

Josie and Martha had already discussed it. Martha explained that they thought it would be worth a try for Jazz to work on Mo. Surely Mo could convince Gilbert not to go to the papers? Jazz wasn’t so sure. She was beginning to realise that Mo was the kind to stand by her man, whatever he turned out to be like.

‘And what if that doesn’t work?’ she asked, dreading the answer.

They all looked at each other.

‘We gear ourselves up for the bad press,’ Martha shrugged. ‘Phone the rest of the family, warn them it’s going to happen - George, you phone your agent - and prepare ourselves.’

Jazz didn’t tell them it was impossible to prepare for something like this. When the press decided a family was worth tearing into, they would stop at nothing. It would be hell. And she only had herself to blame.

It was she who had turned her family into a sitting target with her stupid columns about their virtuous lifestyle. It was she who had introduced Josie to that snake William Whitby. And it was she who had made enemies in high places. The thought of her family suffering at the hands of scandal-hungry hacks who weren’t fit to lick their boots wore her down with sorrow. Josie stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and took a deep sigh.

‘Sorry everyone,’ she said softly.

Jazz was filled with shame.

‘No,’ she said clearly. ‘It’s me who should be sorry.’

What would life be like without her career, pondered Jazz. She’d never thought of that before. For the first time she realised just how important her career was to her self-identity. Journalist. It was hardly a respected career. It wasn’t the same as Doctor or Firefighter. But to her that one word had always meant Intelligent, Inquisitive, Interested in Others as well as Financially Independent. And she was going to lose it all in one moment. What did George think of herself as Actor? And, more importantly, how did Josie feel being labelled Housewife? And how would Josie feel when she lost all that — due to Jazz? Come to think of it, what did Purple Glasses think of her label as Props Person? Suddenly a lot of things became clearer. No wonder Purple Glasses tried to make herself seem more important, thought Jazz. She was surrounded by people who genuinely believed that they were worth more than her. How appalling. And she’d been one of the worst offenders. Stall, thought Jazz - not quite ready to relinquish her fighting spirit - Purple Glasses was a twat, and no mistake.

She spent many dark moments over the next few days wondering why she had chosen to make Josie quite so famous. Was it really because it was what her Editor had told her to do? Had she sold her family for an Editor’s brief for her own meaningless career?

She didn’t think so. She had truly believed in Josie. Her younger sister’s lifestyle wasn’t perfect, but at least Josie seemed to have made sense of the world. She’d made sacrifices but she had seemed happy.

The one thing Jazz did know was that, much as she loved her career, she loved her family more. And

she would just have to wait patiently until her career well, until it careered. And then she would be

there for her family while the press hounded them.

She wondered idly what else she’d do with her life. She’d always liked the idea of being a Firefighter.

*

That night, she phoned Mo and they arranged to meet at the flat. Things weren’t looking good.

‘You do realise that if he goes to the tabloids, I won’t be able to talk to you ever again?’ said Jazz, her voice shaking with emotion. If only she’d been nicer about Gilbert, she thought desperately, she’d have held far more sway. But surely Mo would do this for her? And for her family, who had been Mo’s surrogate family during her early twenties when her mother had died? They all went back such a long way. Far further than Mo and Gilbert.

‘I do,’ replied Mo quietly. Her reply stung Jazz. ‘But I just don’t think he has a choice.’

Jazz exploded. ‘Of course he has a choice!’

‘He has his career to think of, Jazz. Surely you understand that.’

‘He doesn’t have to have that kind of career,’ said Jazz.

‘It’s all he knows,’ said Mo. ‘And we need the money now.’

Jazz didn’t answer.

Mo was forced to add, ‘Now that we’re getting married.’

Jazz stared at her.

‘Who to?’ she asked quietly, allowing herself a mad moment of hope.

‘To each other,’ said Mo firmly.

They looked at each other for what seemed like ages.

‘Aren’t you going to wish me congratulations?’ asked Mo sadly.

‘Congratulations,’ said Jazz, and walked out of the kitchen before the tears came.