Strictly Love (19 page)

‘What do you mean?’ Emily sounded subdued.

‘Have you seen the papers today? Thanks to your lot I'm splashed all over the Sundays.’

‘Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry,’ Emily said. It sounded genuine, and,
for a moment, Mark softened. But then he looked back down at the paper. Even if Emily had had nothing to do with it, the people she worked for had. She, too, was guilty by association.

‘I'll believe that when you tell me you're not taking this case,’ said Mark.

There was a pause and what could have been a sob.

‘Mark, you know I don't want to do this,’ said Emily, ‘but I don't have a choice.’

‘Everyone has a choice,’ said Mark. ‘It's whether you make the right one or not.’

‘You're so bloody black and white,’ said Emily. ‘Don't you ever live in shades of grey?’

‘Not when my job's on the line,’ Mark replied. ‘Which, thanks to this case, it is.’

‘And mine's on the line if I don't take the case,’ said Emily. ‘Can't you see how hard that is?’

‘You could get another job if you wanted to,’ Mark argued.

‘And you could understand my position if you wanted to,’ said Emily.

Mark stood for a minute holding the phone in his hand, with the feeling that what happened next would be irrevocable.

‘You know I can't do that,’ he said, the rage suddenly draining away, leaving him with a painful sadness.

‘And neither can I,’ said Emily. ‘I'm sorry.’

She put the phone down but Mark held on to his end, unwilling to break the connection. He leaned back against the wall, unable to comprehend the gulf that had grown between them so quickly, and wondering if he would ever see a way to bridge it.

Chapter Twenty-four

 

‘Marky, babe, was that you I saw in the papers last week?’

Mark groaned. He might have known that Spike Sutcliffe, his erstwhile friend from dental school, would have read about him in the tabloids. Spike had never been one for reading the broadsheets.

‘Don't,’ said Mark. ‘I rue the day I ever set eyes on Jasmine Symonds.’

‘So she's not a good lay then?’ asked Spike.

‘Do shut up,’ said Mark. ‘Are you ringing to remind me about Gorgeous Gus's stag weekend?’

Gorgeous Gus had borne the brunt of most of the mickey-taking in Mark's student days. He was a grade-A student who was also incredibly good looking, hence his epithet. Everyone should have hated him, but, annoyingly, Gus was also a good laugh, and a decent sport about the ribbing. Remarkably, he had escaped the marriage market so far, but now it was his turn to walk up the aisle, and some time back Spike had rung Mark to ensure that he joined in the fun. ‘It will be a good reason to get the old gang back together,’ he'd said, and at the time Mark had agreed. Now, with the current chaos, Mark was looking forward to a complete break from everything.

‘You can still make it, can't you?’ Spike reeled off a list of the other attendees. It seemed like most of Mark's year were going to be there. ‘We're going kart racing in the morning and then we'll paint the town red that night.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Mark. ‘I've arranged that Sam will have the kids this weekend. I have to say I am really looking forward to it.’

‘Do you think it's a good idea to keep this party a surprise from Charlie?’

Katie's mum had called round unexpectedly to find Katie compiling lists and sorting out invitations. Katie was furious. Mum never just popped in, so why was she here now? Katie had barely had time to sweep up the mass of Molly's toys that were littering the lounge floor. She hated being wrong-footed. Why hadn't her mum rung first? And now she was sitting opining about things she knew nothing about, and getting dangerously close to topics Katie would have preferred to ignore.

‘Of course,’ said Katie. ‘I'm sure he'll be delighted. From what Marilyn tells me half the Caldwell clan will be there, and I've managed to track down most of his school and university friends. I think it will be just what he needs. He works so hard.’

‘Yes, doesn't he,’ said her mum drily.

‘What's that supposed to mean?’ Katie was well versed in her mother's subtleties. She knew her mother hadn't called round accidentally. There was a reason for this visit.

‘Nothing,’ said her mum. ‘I'm just wondering if Charlie always has to work quite as hard as he says.’

‘Of course he does,’ said Katie. ‘Whatever gave you the idea he didn't?’

‘It's only that I ran into him the other week up in town.’ Her mum looked distinctly uncomfortable.

‘And?’ said Katie. ‘Charlie works in town.’

‘Well, it was the night you'd asked me to babysit because Charlie was working late and you were dancing and I couldn't,’ said Mum. ‘I was on my way back from a meeting and I saw Charlie. And it looked very much to me as if he were heading for the pub.’

Katie felt herself go cold all over. She remembered the night in question. Charlie had sprung an I‘m-sorry-I-have-to-work-late on her. It was just before the weekend away, and Katie had felt so guilty about going away she'd said nothing about it. Her mum had been unable to babysit so she'd cried off.

‘So?’ asked Katie. ‘Part of Charlie's job is to entertain clients.’

‘If you say so.’ Katie could hear the scepticism in her mother's voice and she understood where it was coming from. And the thing was, Charlie had told her that his meeting had only finished at nine. If he had lied about that, what else was he lying about?

Katie swallowed hard, and tried to portray a nonchalance she didn't really feel.

‘They had a dinner early in the evening that night. Charlie told me all about it.’

‘Right.’ Her mother looked unconvinced. ‘Only you would tell me, wouldn't you, if there was anything wrong?’

‘There's nothing wrong,’ Katie said firmly. ‘And Charlie is going to have the best birthday ever. I'm going to make sure of that.’

‘Well, if you're sure …’

‘Sure,’ said Katie. ‘Everything is fine. Now why don't you play with Molly while I sort us out a cup of tea?’

Katie walked into the kitchen but her head was spinning. Charlie had lied to her. But why?

Emily was feeling a distinct sense of relief. Mark's court case had been adjourned, which meant, for the moment at least, she didn't need to think about it, or him. Perhaps she could have enough breathing space to extricate herself from this mess, by trying to sort out her finances enough so she could look at getting another job. It wasn't just Jasmine's case that had got her down, it was most of the work she had to do. The majority of her clients were people who were in the public eye for nothing more important than being in a soap, or having once appeared on the
X Factor
. They were constantly unhappy with their lot, and suing papers
for scurrilous stories on the one hand, while on the other rushing out and making sure their faces were constantly photographed. Either that or they were being charged with possession of drugs, or of drink driving, or of happy-slapping. It was all so tawdry and tedious. And the more Emily worked on these cases, the more she felt she was struggling in primeval slime. Interviewing Jasmine had been a case in point.

‘You are going to get ‘im for me, aren't you?’ she'd said. Emily had made her go through her statement again, and elicited the welcome information that Mark had actually warned her that the tooth would have to come out eventually (a fact borne out by the case notes that Mark's frosty-sounding case manager had sent her), but she was sticking to the rest of the story like glue.

‘It ‘ad to be Mr Davies,’ she said. ‘He was the only one wot knew. He's ruined my life,
and
he threatened me.’

‘What? When?’ Emily looked up in alarm at this.

‘We went round to tell him what's what, didn't we?’ Jasmine's spiteful mother, Kayla, who had tagged along with her, said. She spat venom with every breath, and Emily felt polluted by her presence.

‘Well, that was rather foolish,’ Emily replied, drawing a deep breath. Reading between the lines, she'd bet anything it was Jasmine and Kayla who'd done the threatening. ‘Presumably you have witnesses to Mr Davies’ behaviour? Would you like to register a formal complaint about that too?’

‘Oh no, no.’ Jasmine obviously realised the implications of what she'd said and backtracked wildly. ‘Just make sure we get him for the confidingly thing,’ she said, and Emily had had to promise she would.

How on earth had she got herself into this mess? Working on cases like this? When Emily started out it had been so different. She'd wanted to work on compensation cases, certainly, but the ones she'd wanted to do had involved people whose lives had been blighted by tragedy because of reckless firms who'd played
fast and loose with safety considerations, or those where someone in charge had failed in a duty of care and as a result ordinary people had been hurt. It was people like her dad she'd wanted to help. And now here she was, helping people like Jasmine. She didn't blame Mark for hating her. Self-loathing was fairly high on her own agenda right now.

She hadn't seen or spoken to Mark since their last conversation. Emily had dropped dancing – there was no point now. The only reason for going had been Mark.

And despite her best efforts, she couldn't stop thinking about him. She'd chosen the job, not the boyfriend, but Emily wasn't convinced she'd made the right choice, and more than anything she wished she could turn the clock back.

Work like you don't have to
.

Work, it seemed, was all that she had left.

‘You come here often?’

Rob was at the gym. It seemed the only thing to do on a Saturday morning which he would otherwise have spent alone. Mark had gone off the night before on his stag weekend, and, unusually, Rob hadn't felt like going to the pub.

So he'd woken up early and decided that it was time he took his life in hand. He would go to the gym and start on an intensive exercise programme, aimed at reducing his pot belly and restoring him to all his Adonis-like glory. The women would be back falling at his feet, and he could forget all about Katie Caldwell. He decided to start with the woman next to him on the running machine. She wasn't exactly slim, but not too fat either. She was currently red-faced and panting beside him.

She didn't hear him at first, and then turned off her iPod.

‘What did you say?’ she asked above the thumping beat that reverberated round the gym.

‘I asked if you come here often?’ said Rob. He was having trouble with his own running machine, which didn't seem to
want to speed up by the required amount. He wanted to impress this woman by showing her how easily he could pace his running. She didn't look all that impressed. In fact, she looked him up and down with the eyes of one who has just walked on a slug.

‘It's none of your business,’ she said, ‘but if you really must know, I come here twice a week, with my husband.’

She gave him a withering glance and got off her machine, walking away in disgust.

At that moment Rob's machine decided it was going to speed things up, but he wasn't prepared for it and he shot backwards, landing on the floor with an ignominious thud. It was at that point that he decided maybe chatting up women in the gym wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

After an hour and a half, during which Rob felt he'd used muscles he'd forgotten he had, Rob decided to call it a day and headed into town for some retail therapy. Not that he was all that keen on shopping, but it was something to do.

As he was coming out of WH Smiths, armed with fags and this week's copy of
Loaded
, he ran into Katie. She was with the kids, but there was no sign of the husband. Katie blushed when she saw him.

‘Hi,’ he said, ridiculously nervous.

‘Hi,’ said Katie.

‘What are you up to?’ Rob enquired, then kicked himself for asking such a daft question.

‘Shopping,’ said Katie. ‘It's Charlie's fortieth soon. We're looking for a present for him.’

Lucky, lucky Charlie.

‘Mummy's having a party for Daddy,’ the older of Katie's boys piped up.

‘But it's a secret,’ added the younger one.

‘Which means you aren't to tell anyone,’ said Katie. ‘Not even Rob.’

‘Sounds fun,’ said Rob, wishing he didn't feel such a horrible
sensation of jealousy. It was an unusual emotion for him to feel, and not one he particularly liked.

Katie pulled a face.

‘Actually, I'm rather wishing I hadn't started on this,’ she said. ‘There's so much to do, and I keep having to come up with all these lies. It's a nightmare.’

She looked flustered as she said this, and Rob was transported back to the moment by the river. How he wished he could sweep her up in his arms, but seeing her here, with her kids, in a purely domestic setting, he realised how wrong that would be. Katie was right, they couldn't be together. He couldn't be the reason why these kids became a statistic.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Best go. Things to do and all that.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Katie. Had he imagined it, or was there the tiniest hint of regret? He hoped so, but couldn't afford the luxury of thinking that way. The sooner he got Katie out of his system, the better.

‘Katie,’ he said as she turned to leave.

‘Yes?’

‘About before.’ Rob felt stupider than he ever had.

Katie looked embarrassed. ‘What about it?’

‘I'm really sorry,’ said Rob, ‘it shouldn't have happened. Can you forgive me?’

‘Consider it done,’ said Katie. ‘Now, really, I must go.’

But she lingered briefly, casting him a look that tore at his heart. Because suddenly he knew that she was pretending. Pretending to herself. Pretending to him. What had happened by the stream wasn't one way. Katie clearly felt the same way he did. And he couldn't do a single thing about it.

Chapter Twenty-five

 

Robbie Williams was singing from the jukebox about the need to feel real love, as Mark got a round in. It had been a great day. They'd had a lot of fun at go-karting, at which it turned out Mark was rather good. Not good enough to beat Gorgeous Gus, of course, who naturally shone as he shone at everything else, but Mark had won a couple of races, which had been absurdly good for his fractured ego.

Now, as he carefully carried five pints to the table where his mates were sitting, he reflected that, like Robbie, he wasn't at all sure he understood the road he'd been given. But for the first time in ages, he'd come out and had a good laugh. The events of the last few weeks seemed to have happened in another lifetime. And though he missed Emily with an ache that pierced him right through, he knew he'd get over her eventually. He had to.

Just as he got to the table, someone brushed past him, causing his drink to go flying.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said the stranger, a funny-looking little man with the most protuberant eyes Mark had ever seen. He looked like a little blinking owl. Mark felt sure he'd seen the man somewhere before. ‘Can I get you another?’

‘No, you're all right, mate,’ said Mark. ‘I've probably had enough anyway.’

He sat down with the others and joined in the merciless ribbing of Gus, all part and parcel of the ritual humiliation that was a
stag night. Mark was only glad that he'd already been through the experience. Even if he were to marry again, he doubted he'd go for this a second time.

‘So where are we off to after here?’ Mark asked.

‘A-ha,’ said Spike, ‘that's a secret. Gus isn't to know. We might have to blindfold him to take him there.’

‘Right, so we're going to a lap-dancing club then,’ said Mark. Earlier on Gus had said the only way to get him into one of those kinds of places would be if he were dragged in blindfold. Gus had managed to get to the tender age of thirty-five and still retain a degree of innocence. God only knew how, as none of his mates were exactly squeaky clean. Added to which, the wife-to-be was fiercely feminist and definitely would Not Approve, so Spike had told Mark gleefully. Which was red rag to a bull for him. The more trouble he could cause, the more he was likely to try.

‘I've got this as well.’ Spike produced a blow-up doll. ‘Meet Mary. Before the end of the night, she's going to make Gus a very happy man.’

Mark roared with laughter and decided that another drink was on the cards after all.

Yes, undoubtedly, it was good to be here. And just what he needed.

Katie was in Charlie's office riffling about, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Or what she would do when she found it. So far she had found nothing to incriminate him. There were no dodgy emails to women abroad – if he had a mistress, Katie felt sure she must be in Amsterdam – and no incriminating visa stubs.

Perhaps she was barking up the wrong tree. Maybe it wasn't a woman he was hiding, but something else. Was it possible he'd got into drugs? It seemed unlikely, but maybe the atmosphere in Amsterdam had loosened him up a bit. She searched through
his drawers for evidence of small packets of white powder, before giving up in disgust. What was she
doing
? Maybe Charlie was hiding something from her, but this wasn't the way to find out. He was her husband. She should just come straight out with it and ask him when he got home.

She shut his desk drawer and got up to go downstairs, when she heard a cab pull up outside. Shit. Charlie must be back early. She slid out of his office and ran down the stairs, ready to greet him as he came through the door.

‘Charlie, you're home, how lovely.’ Katie hoped she didn't look obviously flustered. She'd thought Charlie would be back later that afternoon, and had left her lists of what to order for the party (if she was allowed to have her own way, that was, and not be obliged to use the exorbitant catering firm Marilyn was after), the invitation list, the number to ring for the cake, etc., all out on the dining-room table.

Charlie gave her a quick kiss and headed straight up to the office, so Katie quickly rushed into the dining room, gathered everything together and put it away. It made her feel secretive, sly somehow. That, coupled with her unexpected meeting with Rob, had left Katie feeling out of sorts. It had been so nice to see him again, and had made her realise how much she'd missed him in the last couple of weeks. Missed him, she realised, more than she missed Charlie when he was away.

Her mum was right. This party was probably going to be a disaster. Katie's husband was becoming ever more a stranger; they passed each other like ghosts in the house they shared. Nine times out of ten Charlie ended up crashing out on the sofa in his office. This wasn't a marriage, it was a house-share.

No, no, no. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Katie had worked so hard to try to hold it together. All it needed was some more effort on her part. Charlie was away such a lot, they had just forgotten how it was to be part of a couple, and if Charlie had lost the art of being part of a family, then it was up to her to help him recover it.

She realised when he'd walked in she hadn't even kissed Charlie. He'd been away for a whole week and she had barely acknowledged him. No wonder he was distant with her. Leaving Molly in her buggy, where she was fast asleep, and the boys watching television, Katie went upstairs and put her arms around Charlie, kissing him on the cheek.

‘Welcome home,’ she said. ‘Do you fancy a fry-up for lunch?’

‘Sounds great,’ said Charlie, disentangling himself from her grasp, ‘but I've just got to sort this thing out on the computer. I'll be down in a sec.’

Katie bit back her disappointment. But what had she expected, really? Charlie had been shrugging off her advances for months now.

Charlie looked up as if sensing her disappointment.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Lunch would be lovely. Then maybe I can take the boys to the cinema this afternoon.’

That was better. Katie smiled.

‘Great,’ she said. ‘I'm sure they'd love it.’

All that they needed was more time. If they could only spend a bit more time together, everything would be fine, she was sure of it.

The evening was going with a swing. After the pub and a dodgy curry, Spike had got his wish and they had managed to inveigle Gus into a lap-dancing club. Mark had enjoyed the novelty of it to begin with – what red-blooded male wouldn't? But after a while, watching middle-aged blokes stuffing pound notes down the underwear of scantily clad women just seemed a bit seedy, and, well, to be quite frank, tedious. Mark looked at his watch. Midnight. It was yonks since he'd been out on the razzle for a whole day like this. His body wasn't up to it any more, so he'd been pacing himself. He retired to the bar, fully intending to make this his last one and then wander back to the Holiday Inn where they were staying.

‘Stag night?’ A chap at the bar nodded at him. It was the man Mark had bumped into earlier.

‘How did you guess?’ Mark said with amusement, as he watched Spike trying to force Gus into a rather rude position with Mary.

‘Not yours, I take it?’

‘No,’ said Mark. ‘Thank God. Been there, done that. Paying the alimony.’

‘Ah, women,’ said his new friend, ‘can't live with 'em …’

‘Can't live with ‘em,’ finished Mark. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I don't think so,’ said his companion. ‘But here, let me buy you a drink.’

Mark looked around the room and suddenly felt a maudlin surge of self-pity. If only things had worked out with Emily, he might be thinking about marrying again himself, or at least moving in with her. Now he was back to square one, destined to live a lonely bachelor life. Before long Mark was telling his new friend all about it. It was good to pour out his troubles to a complete stranger. Cathartic.

Time seemed to take on a different dimension, and suddenly Mark realised he had lost a great chunk of it. He was no longer by the bar, which now looked very far away, as if he was standing in the wrong end of a long tunnel. He realised belatedly he was actually standing in the middle of the dance floor with his trousers round his ankles, while Spike was leading the cry of, ‘Get them off, get them off.’

Mark fought rather pathetically to avoid the debagging. But he couldn't delay the inevitable. It had been a standing joke in his student days that once he'd had a drink or three, he was putty in his mates’ hands. And that he had a tendency to strip. On previous occasions Spike had left him tied up naked outside their hall of residence, and had once locked him out of their shared student flat and pelted him with flour and eggs.

Mark tried to focus his thoughts but they swam away from
him. Funny, he didn't think he'd had that much to drink, but now the room was spinning round and round …

He came to in a dark corridor. Something lay next to him. Something hard and plastic. He shivered. Why was he so cold? His head was pounding and he felt dizzy and sick.

‘Smile, you're on candid camera!’ A flash of light, the sight of two protuberant eyes staring down at him and a peal of unkind laughter rang in his ears, before footsteps disappeared down the corridor.

Mark sat up blearily. What had just happened to him? He was stark naked, and lying next to him, staring at him unblinkingly, was Mary.

Emily had been away for the weekend too. The thought of one more weekend in her lonely house had been enough to drive her out of it. It had been far too long since she'd made the trip home to Swansea. Her mum was lonely, she knew as much from their frequent conversations, but Emily had been guiltily putting off going to see her. The house hadn't felt the same since her dad had died. The chair he'd sat in for the past fifteen years, eking out what was left of his miserable existence, seemed to reproach her with its emptiness. Look, it seemed to say, I expected more of you than this, when are you going to stand up for the things you believe in?

But her mum was glad to see her, and so pathetically proud of Emily's flash life in London, as she liked to tell everyone, that Emily felt guiltier than ever. It must be nice to look at the world in the simplistic way Emily's mum did, to see the gleaming surfaces and not the grit and grime underneath.

It was only Sarah, who invited them both round for Sunday lunch, who saw through her.

‘I see that Jasmine is in the papers again,’ she said, serving out the Sunday roast, disapproval written all over her face.

‘So what if she is,’ Emily said defensively, though she knew she had no right to defend the indefensible.

‘Isn't your firm defending her?’ Sarah wheedled away.

‘Yes,’ said Emily.

‘Don't you have more important things to do than sue some poor sod of a dentist who most likely hasn't done anything wrong. Honest to God, no one will go into public services if we carry on like this.’

This was a well-worn theme with Sarah, an NHS nurse whose Welsh lilt always seemed to get stronger whenever Emily came home, as if to berate her sister for abandoning her working-class roots. Sarah always managed to make Emily feel like a heel.

‘Someone has to do it,’ said Emily, blushing.

‘Well, that someone doesn't need to be you, does it?’ Sarah retorted.

‘Don't be so hard on your sister,’ said their mother. ‘Now, come on and tell us all about those celebrities you keep meeting.’

But afterwards in the kitchen, Sarah took Emily aside and said, ‘Did Mam tell you about her scratch cards?’

‘Oh, not again,’ said Emily heavily. ‘How much does she owe this time?’

‘I'm not sure,’ said Sarah, ‘but I think it's a couple of thousand.’

Emily groaned. ‘I can't do the whole amount, but I can do some of it, and give her some more next month.’

It always came to this. Sarah hated what Emily did, but always turned to her younger sister when the family finances needed sorting out. And Emily, always guilty of not being around enough for her mother, had no option but to sign the cheque. There was no way she could leave her job right now. Not when her mum owed all this money. It was no use trying to talk to her either. Every single time Emily had tried it, her mum had promised she wouldn't do it again, and before Emily knew it they were back to square one. It was worse than dealing with a child.

As a result of her weekend away, Emily got to work late on Monday morning. She wasn't sleeping at all well, and had tossed and turned half the night. In the frantic space when she had
slept, her dreams were half-remembered, anxious, and seemed to involve her wandering down corridors searching hopelessly for Mark.

A huge guffaw greeted her appearance. John and several of her other colleagues were gathered round a desk looking at the morning papers.

‘You're going to have a load of fun with your new case,’ said John.

‘Why?’ asked Emily.

‘Haven't you seen the papers?’

‘Not this morning,’ Emily replied. ‘Why? What's there to see?’

‘Only this,’ said John.

He handed her a copy of the
Sun
. Emily's hands shook as she saw the picture on the front. Under a headline of ‘
JASMINE DENTIST IN DEBAUCHED ORGY’
was a picture of Mark, stark bollock naked (only those bits were considerately covered up with a picture of a dental mask, this being, of course, a family newspaper) lying next to what looked like a blow-up doll.