Prime Time (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

I had a brief text from Roger telling me he'd “done it”; that Hannah had been very upset but he was holding firm.

Thank God for that, I thought, as I swung my gym bag over my shoulder and left the changing room, looking sideways into the large mirror to check my newly-toned arms.

I was definitely beginning to see a difference all over now. My upper arms had the beginnings of a shape to them – even my stomach didn't wobble as much as it had done. I'd been on the treadmill for half an hour, spent 45 minutes on the cross-trainer – Clara had been right, it was just a case of building up and with the right music I could keep going almost indefinitely now – done some weights and a few squats on the power plate to finish off.

Clara herself was “on earlies” that week so I wasn't able to have an in-depth analysis with her of pounds lost and muscle tone gained – nor could I borrow the tape measure she carried in her handbag to check on the progress of our midriffs, but I felt firmer and my tracksuit bottoms were looser than they had been.

I walked through reception, waving to the girl behind the desk and feeling pretty pleased with myself, loving the thought of Cal seeing how I'd changed even more in the last two weeks. I paused in the car park to send Clara a text update – I missed having her to compare notes with.

So I was quite pleased to find Charlotte on my doorstep when I got back. Even though she'd be bored in seconds, at least it was someone to show off my triceps to.

‘You not at work today?' I asked cheerily, as I stuck my key in the lock, noticing that my friend had on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt, and sported a distinct lack of make-up.

‘No,' she said shortly.

‘Are you OK?' I looked at her more carefully. Her blonde curls were scraped back into a scrunchie. She looked tired, her eyes small. She might even have been crying.

‘No,' she said again.

‘What's the matter?' I asked carefully, as I threw my jacket over the newel post and walked ahead of her down the hall to the kitchen, dreading looking at her. Surely that bloody Hannah hadn't phoned her and told her all, just as Roger had finally done the decent thing.

I filled the kettle and got mugs out of the cupboard. When I turned round, Charlotte hadn't sat down at the table as she usually would, but was just standing looking at me. ‘What's the matter?' I said again.

Charlotte stared at me. ‘It seems Roger's been seeing someone else.'

I swallowed, feeling awful. ‘No. Really?' I squeaked. ‘Are you sure?' Even to me it sounded unconvincing.

‘Yes I'm quite sure.' Charlotte had a strange expression on her face I'd never seen before. ‘Becky saw you.'

‘What?' My mind was racing. What had Becky seen? Me talking to Roger? But she wouldn't have known what we were talking about.

‘What do you mean?' I asked stupidly.

‘Becky saw Roger – her father – hidden away down the town with you. Holding hands.'

‘No!'

‘Yes – she saw you, Laura. She's been worrying about it for two days. I found her crying this morning. She hasn't gone to school – she's at home crying now. And I hate you for that even more than I hate you for going behind my back and having an affair with my husband!'

I had a horrible nauseous feeling in my solar plexus. My heart was thumping in my chest.

‘
No
, Charlotte, listen, you've got it all wrong. I'm not having an affair with Roger. Charlotte, I wouldn't – how can you think that?' My hands were shaking.

‘Oh quite easily, really,' said Charlotte, still in the same flat, remote voice. ‘It's all making sense now. I noticed you couldn't take your eyes off him at his bloody boring drinks do that you were so keen to come to. Why was that then? So you could be close to him? Oh yes, it's all falling into place. The way you've been whispering together, the way you've been behaving as though you have a secret, the way you've been losing weight and dolling yourself up like a teenager.' She looked at me with disdain. ‘I thought you were having a mid-life crisis, trying to make yourself feel better about Daniel. I didn't know you were just after my husband.'

‘I wasn't! I'm not.'

‘And the really stupid thing is that, as you know, I'd convinced myself that
he
was having one too. So I'd stopped worrying about him disappearing off and being funny about his phone and buying new shirts. And all the time, he was doing it all for you. I bet you were both having a good laugh at me, weren't you?'

‘No, no, no. Charlotte, please believe me – you've got this all wrong.'

‘Have I?' she said furiously. ‘What were you doing holding hands then? Why were you in a bar in town together?'

‘We weren't holding hands – we were just talking.'

‘So my daughter is a liar?'

‘No, of course not. I think I put my hand on his – you know, for emphasis – and Becky must have seen me do it and got the wrong idea. Honestly Charlotte, we were just talking …'

‘What about? And why, if you had such pressing things to say to my husband, didn't you come round to our house to talk to him. Openly – in front of me?'

My heart was pounding even harder now. Roger had promised me it was over – that he'd told Hannah and would get everything back to normal. I couldn't drop him in it now. I looked frantically at Charlotte. She looked utterly miserable, her eyes full of pain and confusion.

I took a deep breath. ‘We were talking about you.'

Charlotte continued to look at me.

‘Look,' I said in a rush. ‘You're not supposed to know about it but he's taking you away on a special weekend. Somewhere lovely. And I –' I took another deep breath, my brain in overdrive, desperately trying to come up with something plausible. ‘I am having the children.'

Charlotte looked at me in disbelief. ‘Now I know you're lying,' she said coldly. ‘Roger has never taken me anywhere as a surprise in 24 years. Why start now? He doesn't do that stuff. It would never occur to him.'

‘It was my idea,' I said desperately. ‘You know that night when you came in and we were talking and you said what are you two looking so intense about?'

‘Yes,' said Charlotte sourly. ‘I know now, don't I?'

‘No, no, you don't. He'd had a bit to drink and he was saying how much he loved you and how he knew he didn't really do enough to show it, and I said, because I was drunk too, and I was feeling all emotional, you know –'

I looked at her appealingly; she stared stonily back. ‘I said he should show it because it was awful when my marriage ended and a strong marriage like yours should be nurtured and appreciated.'

I stopped and took another deep breath. ‘I said you should do something special. And then a few days later, I saw this ad for a romantic weekend away and I thought he could take you on it, so I phoned and said would he meet me and I suggested it and said I'd stay at your house and look after Benson and all the children.' I stopped, feeling close to tears.

‘Where?' Charlotte was still glaring.

‘Paris,' I improvised.

‘And when is it?'

‘I'm not entirely sure – he went off to book it. Um – end of the month, I think.'

I could see Charlotte was weakening and I felt a mixture of relief and a horrible, sickening guilt that I was still lying to her. I turned away, suddenly unable to meet her eyes and started spooning coffee into mugs. ‘He was going to let me know when it was confirmed.'

I spun round, in sudden panic. ‘You haven't said anything to him yet, have you?'

Charlotte sounded sad. ‘No. He'd already gone to work when Becky told me. I thought I'd come here first and find out what was going on. Kick him out later.'

‘Don't do that!' I tried to laugh. ‘This really is all a terrible mistake.' I poured water and opened the fridge for milk, my heart still hammering. Charlotte had at least sat down now. I put a mug in front of her and sat down too.

‘I'm really sorry – it's all my fault. I should have just talked to him about it on the phone. I only suggested we meet because it seemed easier. I never meant to cause all this. Never thought for a moment anyone would think …'

I knew I was gabbling but didn't seem able to stop. ‘I think he squeezed my hand when he said thank you, that's all. I'm so sorry Becky is upset. It never occurred to me that anyone would see us And even if they did, I never dreamt you'd think …' I put my hand on her arm. ‘I'm so sorry.'

Charlotte looked at me miserably. ‘I want to believe you but it doesn't feel right.'

I dragged up a smile, knowing it sat half-heartedly on my treacherous face. ‘It's true. Look, please don't say anything to Roger because it's a surprise and he said himself that he's never given you a surprise before and he really wants to see your expression when he shows you the tickets.'

My insides contracted painfully at the now-fluent lies that were tumbling out of my mouth to my oldest, dearest friend.

Charlotte put her head in her hands. ‘I don't know,' she muttered.

‘Charlotte,' I said, desperately, feeling close to crying. ‘How could you think I would do anything with Roger? I mean, I love Roger but he's like a sort of brother or how I imagine a brother could be – not like Anthony, of course, who's a bit of a dick. And he's
your
husband. Charlotte, I wouldn't, I couldn't …'

Charlotte raised her head. There were tears in her eyes too.

‘Jesus Christ,' she said.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Never mind the Atkins, the Dukan or the GI Index, if you want to lose weight, have a trauma.

Until I knew Roger had booked a weekend in Paris and safely presented the tickets to Charlotte, I could barely sleep or eat, so big was the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

I hated the fact that there would now be this huge, unspoken issue between me and my best friend. Things could never be the same again. She might think everything was OK but I would always know I hadn't told her the truth and neither had Roger, and we were complicit in that. It felt like betrayal.

As I said to Roger, there are many more ways of being unfaithful than getting in the sack.

Charlotte had been sheepish the next time I saw her and I'd felt even worse.

‘I'm really sorry I thought that,' she said. ‘I don't know what came over me.'

‘It's OK,' I said, feeling as guilty as hell because her instincts were right even if she'd got the wrong woman. I remembered saying it myself after Daniel – the worst bit of the whole business was the way he'd let me think I was paranoid. I didn't want that for Charlotte.

‘I want you to tell her,' I'd said to Roger when he'd phoned to say the weekend was sorted. ‘I want you to pick your moment and tell her that you're sorry if you've been a bit odd lately but there was a girl at work coming on to you and you were worrying about it. That you've now told her it has to stop.

‘Quite aside from the moral aspect,' I added, ‘it would be a good safety blanket. Suppose Hannah does one of her heavy breathing acts down the phone again?'

I noticed he no longer tried to deny that it had been her who'd been making the anonymous phone calls.

‘I'm so sorry Becky was upset,' I said to Charlotte now. ‘I hate the thought of her in tears because of me.'

‘Oh, she's hormonal,' Charlotte said, trying to make light of it and failing. ‘She's always in tears about something.'

I gave her a hug. ‘I love you,' I said, a lump in my own throat. ‘I wouldn't do anything, ever, to hurt you.'

Charlotte hugged me back hard and then pushed me away. ‘Don't start me off too.'

I wouldn't have chosen the method but the extra, unexpected weight loss from two days of not eating was handy. The final shoot was in ten days' time, just after Charlotte's weekend away, and Cal was hoping there would be a real visible difference in me they could capture on film. I was spending every spare minute at the gym and trying to live on cheese and tomatoes. I was also trying not to dwell on the fact that we were going to be staying in the hotel overnight …

Cal had phoned several times since I'd seen him, with arrangements for the final session and once, he said, just to see how I was. It was probably, in fact, to check I hadn't been detained under the Mental Health Act, since he'd managed to catch me the time before, still shrieking manically at Stanley while picking up the phone. ‘Sorry,' I said, shamefaced, ‘hormones are raging.'

He gave a low, sexy chuckle. ‘That's OK – I wouldn't mind getting you on film doing that,' he joked. ‘Just to show your human side – viewers like a bit of raw female passion.'

The words had sent a jolt through me. ‘You've got to be joking,' I'd said hastily, thinking it would probably rather suit me as well …

‘So are you up for it, Laura?'

‘Sorry?' I came back to the present to find Clara speaking to me. It was Sunday morning and we were having an après-gym juice with Alfie and Andrew but I had no idea what she was talking about. She winked. ‘That's if you've got any energy left after all these hot dates with your toy boy.'

A slightly odd expression crossed Andrew's face. A kind of disapproval or distaste. I flushed, anxiously hoping he wouldn't say anything to Stanley and then pulled myself up short. Of course he wouldn't – he was a teacher and would be responsible and ethical. Anything said to him in the gym was confidential, surely.

‘He's not my toy boy,' I said quickly.

‘Come off it,' smirked Clara. ‘I saw you together the other night, remember. And I must say I don't blame you one bit …'

‘Anyway,' said Alfie. ‘Are we a team?' He'd lost even more weight now and was really beginning to look good – his face was more chiselled and his eyes seemed bluer than ever.

‘I'm game,' said Andrew.

‘What do we have to do again?' asked Clara.

Alfie looked at the paper in his hand. ‘A 1km row, 2km run on the treadmill, 1km on the cross-trainer, 50 lengths of the pool, 2km on the bike and 50 press ups. Mixed teams of four – fastest times win.'

‘Press-ups?' I groaned. ‘Can barely do five of the bloody things, let alone fifty.'

‘It will be a challenge,' said Andrew firmly. He patted his middle. ‘Right – when can we all get together for a team training session? I for one need some incentive to carry on – it's only seeing your three bright, cheery faces that keeps me going.'

‘He's lovely, isn't he?' said Clara fondly, after Andrew had taken all our mobile numbers and promised to text us our team training schedule. ‘You can always tell a teacher,' said Clara. ‘And he's quite yummy in his way, isn't he?'

‘He's married.' My voice was sharper than I'd meant it to be.

‘Aren't they always?' Clara smiled.

‘I'm not,' said Alfie.

‘Well I don't know why,' said Clara, grinning now, ‘'cos you're yummy too!'

‘I've always been a bit too much to handle,' he quipped back.

‘How much have you lost now?' I asked him. ‘You look really different.'

‘I'm down four and a half stone,' he said proudly.

‘Christ, I wish I was,' said Clara gloomily. ‘I'm supposed to be meeting Vicky tonight but I'm going to have to cancel. She's bound to ask if I can get into the dress yet – and last time I sort of implied it was just a bit tight. The truth is that I still can't get the zip up; it's nearly there but still not all the way, and even if I could fasten it, it would look terrible – I bulge out of it everywhere.' She looked at us both in despair. ‘It's just too small.'

Alfie patted her arm. ‘I think you look terrific as you are,' he said loyally.

‘Can you really not get it taken out?' I asked.

Clara shrugged. ‘I don't think so – I've looked at the seams. And they'd never match the fabric if they tried to put panels in and Vicky would notice, and God help us all if it didn't match everyone else's exactly, and oh my God, the wedding's in 13 days. I'm going to have to be on hot water and enemas from now on to have a fighting chance of even getting it on properly. I'll still look like a barrage balloon.'

‘Can't you just tell her?' I said. ‘Can't you be a maid of honour instead and wear something different?'

Clara shook her head. ‘I shouldn't think so. When Vicky has a vision, that's it. Just the thought of seeing her makes me just want to go home, hide under the duvet, and eat chips.'

And she's your best friend
, I said silently, suddenly suffused with emotion at the thought of Charlotte, who was mine. I'd never be in that situation with her – we had a real closeness, a bond, and I was now appreciating how rare and special it was.

Bloody Roger for jeopardising it. Bloody Hannah. Bloody hell.

What have I done?

‘Thanks for all you've done.' Charlotte hugged me as Roger put their luggage into the boot. ‘I've left you lots of food and lists of what the kids are doing and the Aga is stoked right up – you should be OK.'

‘We're only going for the weekend,' said Roger, ‘and we really must hurry or we'll miss the ferry.'

I thought he looked anxious and I knew it wasn't just about getting to Dover on time.

‘She keeps texting,' he'd said worriedly, while Charlotte was upstairs. ‘She says she needs to see me and talk to me or she doesn't know what she'll do. Says she's desperate. I haven't answered the last three, but I feel terrible – suppose she kills herself?'

‘She won't,' I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘I know it's hard but she'll get over it and meet someone else. But for God's sake, tell Charlotte – you don't have to go into every last detail. Just say a girl at the office is getting a bit disturbed about you. Just to prepare her – in case she comes home to find Benson simmering gently on the hob! Oh my God, I'm sorry,' I said, clapping my hand to my mouth as Roger looked stricken. ‘Really bad, tasteless joke, I'm sorry. Didn't mean it. Look, it will be OK and if she keeps on, just turn your phone off.'

Roger shook his head. ‘Can't do that – not until the end of the day anyway – I'm expecting work to call. I'll just ignore her. Or shall I text her once more and say I'm sorry but I can't see her?'

‘No – I don't think –' I stopped as Charlotte came into the room.

‘Got everything?' I smiled brightly. ‘Don't worry about a thing here.'

Stanley hadn't been over-enthusiastic about the idea of a whole weekend at Becky's but it made sense to uproot one child rather than two. Especially as there was also Benson to consider and Becky had an inset day today and would be bored left to her own devices in my house.

Also I'd need entertainment for both boys, and Charlotte's house was where the PlayStation was, which clinched it. So I'd loaded Boris's dishes with food and asked Rosie, my next-door neighbour, to come in and out and had brought my laptop and anything else I might need to last me till Monday.

Though as I said to Stanley, who seemed to have packed an inordinate amount of goodness-knows-what for three nights, we only lived two miles away – we could always pop back.

When Charlotte and Roger had driven off, I left Becky, still in her dressing gown, sprawled on the sofa in front of Jeremy Kyle, made a coffee and set my laptop up on the kitchen table. With no distractions to hand, I was hoping to finish the current brochure copy – patio heaters and braziers one can't live without – and start tackling a video script Mike had given me to “polish up”, which I knew from experience might be a lengthy process.

After an hour or so, I thought I'd better check how Becky was doing. She'd moved on to
My American Dream
– a vile-looking programme about 16-year-old girls in Florida who had nose and boob jobs and their own life coaches – and looked set in for the day.

‘Do you want a cup of tea or something, Bex?'

She nodded at me. ‘Toast?' she asked hopefully.

‘Sure.'

Oh God, how much I could do with some toast myself. With Marmite, or peanut butter, or maybe both. I went back to the kitchen and sawed at the large brown loaf Charlotte had left. Maybe just a tiny end bit for me – it was a four-slice toaster after all. Shame to waste all that power …

It had just popped up when the phone rang and Becky wandered into the room. ‘I'll get it,' she said, fishing the handset out of Benson's bed.

I got plates from the cupboard and started buttering.

‘No, sorry she's not here,' Becky was saying. ‘No – he's not here either – they've gone away. Yes. Paris. No, on the ferry – Mum doesn't like tunnels. About an hour ago. No, I'm sorry I don't know. Um, yes, of course, just a minute –'

As I heard her start to give out Charlotte's mobile number, a sudden alarm bell rang. I threw down the butter knife.

‘Becky!'

She had wandered into the hallway with the phone against her cheek, still talking. ‘OK. Bye.'

‘Who was that?'

Becky shrugged. ‘Don't know. Someone for Mum – said she needed to talk to her.'

‘Did she give a name?'

‘No.'

‘Here, let me have that a moment.' I took the phone from her and dialled 1471. Number withheld.

‘What did she sound like?' I asked, trying to sound calm.

Becky shrugged again.' Dunno. Normal.'

Which was precisely what she wasn't if it was Hannah, which I suddenly felt sure it was. It was all those questions. Oh God, what if it was her and she was about to phone Charlotte before Roger had a chance to break the news?

Suppose she drove to Dover and declared her undying love in the middle of Departures. Informed the whole queue at passport control that Roger had been within a condom's reach of having her? Oh my God, again.

I wondered what to do. If I texted Roger he might ignore it – he'd think it was Hannah and wouldn't want to start reading texts in front of Charlotte. I'd have to phone him – then he'd answer in case it was work. But then he might look at the display and say, ‘Oh, it's Laura phoning,' and put me onto Charlotte and then Charlotte would wonder why I was phoning him and not her and we'd be back to square one.

My head whirled.

I could phone from their home line so he thought it was Becky. But no – same problem. He might hand it to Charlotte if he was driving or in the middle of sorting the tickets or something.

In the end, I took a deep breath and withheld the number. It rang and rang and then went to voicemail. Shit – he must think it's Hannah.

I'd just have to risk it – if Charlotte answered, I'd have to pretend it was to do with the hotel booking or something – say there'd been a call about it. Christ, how I hated all this subterfuge. With stomach churning, I dialled again, letting my number show. Roger answered immediately. There was a lot of background noise, with people talking and some sort of announcement coming over a Tannoy. I spoke as quickly as I could.

‘Roger, it's me but pretend it's work. I think Hannah might have phoned here – a woman called and asked Becky a lot of questions. She knows where you are now and Bex gave her Charlotte's mobile number. You must tell Charlotte at once – in case she turns up there or phones her.'

Roger answered briskly. ‘OK, got that – thank you for calling. We're just about to sail but I'll deal with it later.'