The Accident (23 page)

The PA makes a little ‘ooh’ sound. ‘How terrible for you. I’ve got a daughter myself. She had to spend some time in Great Ormond Street when she was seven and I was beside myself. Made her day when H and Claire from Steps visited the ward. How old’s your girl?’

‘She’s seven too.’ It’s scary how easy the lie comes out. ‘And such a tomboy. Football’s her life, her dad’s too, they’re massive Chelsea fans, never miss a game. Alex Henri’s her favourite player, he’s on her bedroom wall in pride of place.’

‘She wouldn’t be the first,’ she laughs. ‘Look Sue, can I call you Sue?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well Sue, I probably shouldn’t say this but the truth is Steve isn’t such a big fan of charity requests. They’re good for PR but PR doesn’t pay the bills so he only allows his clients to do high-profile gigs – cancer charities, Sport Relief, Children in Need, that sort of thing. You need to approach Alex independently.’

My heart leaps. ‘But how? I’ve searched the internet and the only phone number I’ve been able to find is Steve’s.’

‘Now listen,’ the PA lowers her voice. ‘I could lose my job if what I’m about to tell you gets out.’

‘I won’t say a word,’ I breathe. ‘I swear.’

‘I would never,
never
normally do this but I’m in a good mood today – my Sean got back from Afghanistan yesterday – and with your daughter being the way she is, well … anyway, if you want to catch Alex I suggest you get yourself along to Greys
nightclub in Chelsea tonight. He normally goes on a Friday. I’m not promising he’ll agree to visit your little girl but he might agree to a signed shirt or a message on your mobile or something. You could play it to her.’

‘I could!’ I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice but not for the reason she might think. ‘What a wonderful idea, thank you so much.’

‘There’s nothing to thank me for. Just promise me one thing, no, two things Sue.’

‘Of course.’

‘Never mention this to anyone and never call this office again.’

‘I won’t. I promise. Thank you so much … sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

She laughs. ‘There’s a reason for that. Goodbye, Sue.’

The disconnect tone buzzes in my ear for a good thirty seconds before I place the phone back in its cradle. If she’s right and Alex Henri
is
in the club tonight how am I going to get to speak to him if he’s in a cordoned-off VIP area? A beautiful fifteen-year-old might be able to bat her eyelashes past security but what about me? What’s a dumpy forty-three-year-old who hasn’t been to a club in over twenty years supposed to do? And, more pressing than that, if I can’t pop out of the house in the afternoon to buy ‘magazines’ without Brian checking up on me, how on earth am I going to convince him that it’s a good idea for me to go out until the early hours of the morning in London?

Wednesday 27th June 1991

James and I are living together. Well, James, his mother and I. I moved in just over a week ago. Jess from work cut my hours
again
(I’m only doing fifteen a week now) and I couldn’t afford the rent on my bedsit any more. I told James I was going to try and get my TEFL job back to make up the shortfall but he insisted I move in with him instead.

‘Think of it as a new start,’ he said. ‘Screw Maggie and her tin pot company. You deserve to be paid for what you do. The spare room’s big enough for your sewing machine table so get set up, get making some sample pieces so you can apply for a proper wardrobe job or set up your own business and I’ll pay the rent and get the food in, don’t worry about that.’

It was almost too perfect a solution, the only fly in the ointment being his mum. She didn’t come down from her room the whole of the first evening I was there and the next morning, when I came down to breakfast with James at 7.30 a.m. there was a list of ‘jobs’ for me to do on the kitchen table. They included grocery shopping, hoovering, toilet scrubbing and weeding and were written in a handwriting I didn’t recognise.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ James said when he saw my raised eyebrows. ‘Her carer’s gone on holiday for a week and you know what she’s like with her arthritis and agoraphobia.’

Arthritis? She’d seemed sprightly enough when she’d stormed out of the room when James and I arrived late for that, now infamous, lunch.

‘Besides,’ he added. ‘You’ve got a lot of time on your hands now your hours have been cut, haven’t you?’

I wanted to remind him that he’d suggested I set up a sewing business in our bedroom but bit my tongue. Helping out was the least I could do considering the fight he’d undoubtedly had to put up to persuade his mother to let me move in and besides, it was only for a week. I could start setting up my business when the carer got back.

By the time James got home from work nine hours later my hands were raw and my forearms were a mess of nettle stings but I’d ticked off every single item on the list
and
had a pot roast happily bubbling away in the oven. He looked delighted and said he knew that his mother and I would get on like a dream if we just gave each other a chance. The truth was I hadn’t seen her all day. I’d heard the landing floor creak at about 9 a.m. as she made her way to the bathroom but, other than that, I hadn’t caught a glimpse of her. By lunchtime I was worried that she might be ill and I knocked on her door to ask if she was okay and whether she’d like some homemade tomato soup and a cheese sandwich. She replied that she was ‘in perfect health, thank you’ and told me to leave the food on a tray outside the door. I did as I was told then went back down the stairs and waited silently in the hall. Five minutes later the bedroom door opened, a pair of slippered feet appeared and the tray was dragged into her room.

James couldn’t keep his hands off me and, as soon as we’d finished dinner (which his mother had in her room again) he dragged me into the bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I squealed as he pulled off my clothes and buried his face in my breasts but was promptly silenced when he slapped a hand over my mouth and held it there.

‘Sssh,’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want Mother to hear us.’

I was just about to reply when he yanked off my knickers and entered me, thrusting so hard I hit my head on the headboard. I gasped in shock and pleasure.

James took his hand off my mouth. ‘Or do we?’ And slammed into me again.

Afterwards, as we lay in each other’s arms, sweat sticking us together, he stroked my hair back from my face.

‘You’ve got no idea how much I missed you, how much I missed having sex with you, when we were apart.’

‘Me too.’ I ran a hand over his broad chest and raked my fingers through the hair.

‘It was torture,’ he kissed the top of my head. ‘Lying in bed alone imagining you naked in your bed and not being able to touch you.’

‘I know.’

‘Did you sleep with anyone else while we were apart?’

I looked him in the eye. To look anywhere else would be dangerous. ‘No.’

‘Really? You didn’t mess around with someone because you were lonely?’

‘No,’ I blocked the image of Steve’s face on my pillow out of my head, ‘of course not.’

‘Kiss someone when you were drunk?’

‘No.’

‘It’s okay,’ he smiled tightly, ‘you can tell me if you did, I won’t be angry. I fucked a couple of people.’

‘What?’ My chest spasmed with pain. I’d never considered that he might sleep with someone else. Not once.

‘I fucked a couple of women.’ He shrugged. ‘No big deal. We weren’t together. Did you?’

Did he mean it? Did he really not care? I looked into his eyes, at the pinprick pupils and the grey iris, flecked with blue. I’d never been able to read him. His eyes were impenetrable.

‘No,’ I lied. ‘I didn’t do anything, not even a kiss. I missed you too much to even think about touching another man.’

His shoulders slumped with relief.

‘I knew it,’ he gathered me into his arms. ‘I knew you were special. I knew Mother was wrong.’ He pulled away and looked at me. ‘I didn’t sleep with anyone either. I was just having a laugh.’

A laugh? I nestled my head into his chest and swallowed back the tears that had sprung up in my eyes. It didn’t feel very funny to me.

Chapter 21

‘A musical?’ Brian raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought you hated musicals. Opera for stupid people you said.’

‘I did not! Those are your words. And I don’t
hate
musicals, I just prefer plays. Anyway this isn’t about me. It’s Jane’s birthday.’

‘And Eric’s got the flu? In May?’

I’m about to protest that there’s an unusual amount of it around at the moment and how Jane’s husband does work in a school where germs are rife, but there’s no need because Brian laughs and says, ‘Sounds like he’s throwing a sickie to me and who can blame him? I’d rather take to my deathbed than go to a musical too.’

‘Jane’s wanted to see the Billy Elliot musical forever,’ I say. ‘It’s one of her favourite films.’

‘There’s a DVD shop down the road, tell her. She can save herself thirty-odd quid a ticket or whatever rip-off prices they charge in the West End these days.’

‘Brian!’ I pretend to chastise him but I can tell by the smile on his face that he’s not going to object to me going to London. It’s incredible how easily he’s bought into my lie. I could be going anywhere, with anyone and I could go with his blessing.

‘Bit late though, isn’t it?’ he glances at the grandfather clock. ‘This show? It’s seven o’clock already and by the time you get to Victoria even if you leave
now
you won’t be there until eight-thirty at the earliest.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I was surprised too. We’re going to have to fly across London in a taxi to make it to the West End for nine o’clock. The show’s on later than normal because one of the cast is appearing on the Jonathan Ross chat show.’

It’s a terrible lie and one that anyone who watches even the smallest amount of television could uncover if they know the first thing about pre-recorded chat shows but, luckily for me, Brian rarely watches TV. Not only does he think it’s ‘brain rot’ but he resents how much non-sustainable electricity it eats up.

‘Right.’ He nods as though he’s bought every word then looks up as I stand up and smooth down my choice of outfit for this evening. It’s the most flattering cocktail dress I own.

‘Good job you got dressed up before I got in,’ he says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Anyone would think you were going to go out regardless of what I said.’

I wait for the smile to let me know he’s joking and, sure enough, it appears. I didn’t assume anything about this evening, not least that Brian would agree to me going but the last few days have passed without incident and I know he’s fond of Jane.

‘Of course it’s fine,’ he says. ‘You’ve been with Charlotte all day. The least you deserve is a bit of fun and a night out.’

‘You have taken your tablet today, haven’t you?’ he adds, glancing at the glass of water on the coffee table beside me.

‘Of course.’

‘And you’re feeling okay? You don’t think you’ll be overwhelmed by the crowded public transport and everything? You haven’t been to London for a while. It’s pretty frenetic these days.’

‘Brian!’ I laugh again. ‘I went to London a couple of months ago. It can’t have changed that much.’

‘True.’ He glances at the clock again. ‘Is Jane coming to get you or would you like me to give you a lift to the station?’

I pick up my handbag, fold my jacket over my arm and slip on my heels. ‘Thanks but the taxi should be here in a couple of minutes.’

Brian picks up his newspaper, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Have a lovely time.’

I cross the room, crouch down by his armchair and kiss him on the forehead. He looks at me in surprise, his blue eyes searching mine.

‘What was that for?’

‘Because I love you.’

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room tick-tick-ticks the seconds away as we look at each other. It feels like the first time we’ve really looked at each other in a very long time.

‘Even after everything that’s happened?’ he asks softly.

‘Despite it.’

He cups the side of my face with his hand and gently strokes my cheekbone with his thumb. ‘I don’t deserve you, Sue.’

I place my hand over his. ‘Yes, you do.’

I can see my reflection in his pupils as his eyes flick back and forth, just the tiniest bit as he gazes at me. I look tired and worried and a million years old. When did that happen? When did I become so old? When did he? Wasn’t it just yesterday that we were walking hand in hand along the banks of the Kifissos talking about the future we’d build together?

‘I love you too,’ Brian whispers. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, Sue. I’d be lost. Quite, quite lost.’

My chest floods with warmth and I press a hand over my heart because it’s almost too much to bear. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Brian.’

‘And there was me thinking you were off to London!’ He laughs heartily. ‘Poor old Billy Elliot. I bet he was really looking forward to seeing you too. You’re such a fickle woman, Susan Jackson.’

I laugh too then cross the room and peer round one of the curtains. I’m pretty sure I just heard a taxi pulling into the driveway. Sure enough a flash of yellow approaches the house and there’s the parp-parp of a horn.

‘Don’t wait up!’ I call as I dash out of the living room. ‘I’ll be back late, don’t forget.’

‘Text me if you get into trouble.’

Into trouble? I turn back to see what he means but he’s got his nose in the newspaper. It was just a throwaway comment.

I really wish I
had
brought Jane with me. That way I wouldn’t feel like such a social leper – a forty-three-year-old woman stood in the queue for one of London’s trendiest nightspots with a bunch of clubbers young enough to be my children. A security guard walks past, pauses to glance at me, then continues on down the line.