The Other Half (8 page)

Maggie could see she’d be good at that.

“Well, you’re obviously getting something right,” continued Jamie. “I gather Waterstones is doing better these days. I must admit, I’d hate to lose the chain—I’ve always liked it.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Georgie relaxed visibly at his compliment.

Maggie listened while Jamie drew Georgie out, helping put her at ease among strangers. He can be such good company when he wants to be, she thought proudly. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him.

“Anyway, everyone,” interrupted William, “we’ve got an announcement to make.”

“Ooh, goodie!” Jean clapped her hands. “I love announcements.”

“We’re having another baby!” Liz beamed.

Maggie felt a jolt of both pleasure and envy. “Congratulations! When’s it due?”

“I’m four months.” Liz smoothed down her flowing top to reveal a small bump. “So, just before Christmas.”

“How
wonderful,
” said Jean. She was always far too much in demand to spare time for a child so had never wanted her own. Still, at least she was honest about it, she was invariably happy for others, and Simon didn’t seem to mind.

“Well,” said Liz, turning to Jamie and Maggie, “when are you two going to have another?”

“Actually we’re trying now,” said Maggie. Such an intimate revelation was unusual for her, but these were her dearest friends.

“Oh, how exciting,” said Liz.

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it, darling?” William kissed his wife.

“So, Jamie, looking forward to being a father again?”

“Um,” said Jamie. “All those late nights. Can’t wait.”

“But it’ll be worth it,” Liz prompted.

“I suppose so.”

Maggie glanced at her husband. Was he sounding detached; not as happy at the prospect as she was? She took a sip of wine and galvanized herself. Somehow, being surrounded by her friends gave her the courage to say what she might otherwise have avoided. “I think I’m keener on the idea than Jamie,” she said, hoping he would contradict her. When he didn’t, an awkward silence filled the room. It seemed endless. Maggie was too upset to speak.

Eventually Simon came to her rescue. “Oh, Jamie, I’m sure you’ll come around when it’s born.”

“Remember how much pleasure Nathan gave you when he was tiny,” said Jean. “I’ve never seen a father more in love.”

“True,” admitted Jamie. “I guess I’m a bit fraught at having to deal with it all and a new job. I worry about the money, too. This place cost us an arm and a leg as it is.”

“Oh, goodness!” cried Jean. “Look at you both! Huge house in the country, both of you working—surely you can afford it. Women in council flats have dozens of children on a tenth of your income.”

“And they’re pretty miserable,” said Jamie.

“I’d better get on with the dinner.” Maggie got up, thankful to leave the room.

“Can I lend a hand?” asked Alex.

“Yes.”

In the kitchen Alex held out the tureen while Maggie sloshed in the soup.

“Don’t worry,” he said. He knew her so well she didn’t have to explain how bruised she was feeling. “You always said Jamie’s lousy at stress. He’ll be all right once he’s settled into his new job.”

“Yes, of course he will,” Maggie replied quietly, trying to convince herself. But laying bare her soul was not her way. She changed the subject. “Anyway, what do you think of Georgie?”

10

As Maggie drifted in and out of sleep that night, a faint sadness tinged her dreams. And when she woke fully, the feeling grew heavier, so that a movement to brush away silent tears was her first conscious action of the day. It took a few seconds for her to remember why.

Jamie.

The dinner party had been a great success. She was proud of how the food had turned out, and her guests seemed to get on very well. Jean had drunk too much—nothing new there. The relief of not having to be a dynamic editor on a Saturday night meant she had knocked back a couple of glasses too many and had released her tension in a series of outbursts on unrelated subjects, most of which she knew little about, although she had a strong opinion on them all. Finally she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, court shoes off, normally neat bob splayed on the cushions, snoring while everyone else continued chatting around her.

William had diplomatically dropped the subject of Liz’s pregnancy, using her instead as a foil for amusing tales of their university days with Maggie and Alex.

“Remember that row about M&S food?” he’d reminded Maggie. “How I sent you the container and highlighted the ingredients to prove their meals weren’t full of additives?”

“I do. But I seem to recall what really got me riled was the way you were prepared to spend half your grant on preprepared food—”

“—when half the world was starving,” William had finished for her. “You were quite the activist in those days.”

The real hit, however, had been Alex and Georgie, who had bonded noticeably over a mutual loathing of Martin Amis’s writing, and finally Alex had offered to give Georgie a lift home.

Maggie knew it was churlish, yet she couldn’t help feeling upset when she recalled their chemistry. She’d done a marvelous job of disguising her own feelings and acted the charming host all evening, but underneath she was smarting from Jamie’s remarks. Watching her old boyfriend flirt with another woman had only made her feel worse.

Not that Alex hadn’t been nice to her—he’d taken several opportunities to check she was okay, jumping up from the table before anyone else had the chance to carry out the dirty dishes to grab a moment alone with her in the kitchen. But Maggie was too keen to ensure everyone had a good time to be drawn into discussion, so had deflected his inquiries with a repeated “I’m fine.” Instead she’d numbed the hurt with a couple of extra brandies, which doubtless now had deepened her post-party blues.

Seeking solace from the person who had caused her pain, she reached over to touch Jamie’s hair.

It’s beginning to curl around the nape of his neck, she noticed, and could do with a trim.

He was still asleep, tucked under the crisp white cotton sheets, his back to her, a familiar pose. They both found sleeping too close stifling and claustrophobic; he’d always said it made him hot.

Last night she’d believed that making love might make her feel better, but taking the initiative was not something Maggie felt confident in doing. So she’d said nothing, and now the new basque lay neatly draped over the dressing-table chair—a sad contrast to the way it had been flung on the floor so passionately ten days previously. Over it lay her stockings, still showing traces of the three-dimensional shape they’d borne the night before.

Maybe erotic underwear isn’t my scene after all, she thought.

Eventually, Jamie rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment he looked mystified, then he seemed to realize she was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking away her tears. It sounded heartfelt—as if he was upset to have made her so miserable.

“Shall I make us a cup of tea?” he asked, clearly uncertain how to repair things. This was hardly the closeness Maggie craved, but it was a start.

*   *   *

Later that morning Jamie took Nathan to play soccer.

Perhaps a run might make me feel better, thought Maggie. I fancy a change, and if I run around the edge of the field, I can watch them play.

So she followed Nathan and Jamie to the recreation ground.

“Mum!” shouted Nathan, on seeing her. “Look at me!” He focused on the space between the two jumpers that had been laid out as the goal and kicked with all his might. Jamie obviously sensed it was important for Nathan to score in front of his mother so he dived dramatically the wrong way. The ball rolled past his feet—not fast, but it was a goal all the same.

“Hurray!” whooped Nathan. “Silly billy, Daddy.”

“Ouch,” said Jamie, getting up and rubbing his knees. These days he wasn’t really fit enough to land with the aplomb with which he’d dived.

“Well done!” called Maggie, stopping to jog on the spot and clap. “Silly Daddy.”

Jamie threw the ball down to the far end of the field. Nathan ran after it, and began dribbling back to the goal. “Lampard … neatly picks the ball up from defense,” roused Jamie.

Maggie recognized his mockney as an impression of a passionate commentator from Five Live. “Still Lampard … he feints past Arteta, now shrugs off Diaby. It’s still Lampard. Oh … this is impressive stuff from the man. He’s passed Gibbs, it’s only the keeper to beat now, Lampard … Agggh!” Nathan kicked and missed. “Obviously today he’s on somewhat erratic form.”

Maggie laughed. She loved watching Jamie and Nathan being boys together. As she continued running, her spirits began to lift. She noticed Jamie always allowed Nathan to remain a couple of goals ahead and when Nathan was goal-keeping, Jamie encouraged him to move the jumpers closer together so it was easier for him to save.

Given Jamie’s so competitive, that’s quite a sacrifice, thought Maggie. Nathan is the only person he’ll happily allow to humiliate him.

After six circuits she was ready to return home, but she’d an urge to go back via Georgie’s to see if Alex might have stayed. She ran up to the cottage by the church and a quick scan of the street revealed no sign of his car. So he either made an early morning exit or didn’t stay, she thought.

Georgie was in the garden, bent over pulling up weeds.

“Hiya!” said Maggie, reaching the gate.

“Oh, hi.” Georgie straightened and attempted to scoop her defiant hair back into its clip. “I just phoned you but no one was there.”

“I was out running,” Maggie puffed, “and Jamie and Nathan are playing soccer.”

“Gosh, you are good, going for a run after all that booze! How do you do it?”

“I enjoy it,” explained Maggie truthfully.

“Yes, but being so fit and such a wonderful cook! It’s impressive. Not only are you talented and gorgeous—you’ve a beautiful home and boy too. I’m quite jealous.”

Well I never, thought Maggie. If only Georgie knew how miserable I was earlier.

“Anyway, I was calling to thank you. It was a terrific party.”

“My pleasure. You seemed to get on especially well with Alex.”

“I thought he was lovely,” Georgie gushed. “Nice looking too, in a cheeky sort of way, don’t you think? And, ooh, that voice!”

Perhaps I underestimate his appeal, thought Maggie. “Now you come to mention it, I suppose it is rather nice and deep.”

“I’ll say. In fact, I know I shouldn’t have, but when he dropped me off I asked if I could see him again.”

“Really?” said Maggie, uncharitably pleased that the pass had come from Georgie rather than the other way around. “What did he say?”

“He seemed pretty keen. We’re supposed to be going to see something at the National Film Theatre next week. I said I’d give him a call.”

“That’s great!” Maggie would never have dared to be so bold.

“Yes, isn’t it? He seems a very nice guy.”

“He is. What you see is what you get with Alex. I expect you’ll have a great time. I’d better get back—got to put the lunch on. Let me know all about it.”

“I will.” Georgie grinned. “And thanks again,” she called after her.

When Maggie got home there were three messages on the answering machine, from Georgie, then Fran—apparently she was planning on doing some basic cooking with her class at school and was after some recipes for children—and finally Alex, to thank her for a lovely evening. First Maggie spoke to Fran, then phoned Alex.

“Did you have a nice time, then?” she asked, hoping he would spill the beans.

“
Super
,” he said, then obviously remembered that maybe she hadn’t. “Did you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Maggie brushed his concern aside. “I’ve just been for a run. Feel much better.”

“Really?” Alex sounded sceptical. “I must say you looked as delicious as ever”—Maggie couldn’t help laughing—“and as for the food, you surpassed yourself.
Fantastic
starter, that oyster soup.”

How ironic, she thought. Maybe the aphrodisiac worked on him and Georgie.

After lunch Fran arrived. “Are you okay?” she asked, the moment Maggie opened the front door.

Heavens, thought Maggie, do I look that bad? “Yes. Why?”

“You sounded a bit upset on the phone.”

“Oh, well, I feel better now.”

“Now you do. So you didn’t earlier?”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Maggie, leading her into the kitchen. Jamie and Nathan were in earshot, watching television in the living room. Then the pressure of keeping things to herself got too much. “Jamie doesn’t want another child—he said so at the dinner party last night. In front of everyone—it was awful. Then, when we went to bed, I asked him again, and he said it’s not that he doesn’t want one ever, it’s just he’d rather wait a bit. But, Fran, I’m thirty-nine next month. If we wait much longer—Nathan’s seven in October and, well, I don’t know if I can.”

“Hmm.” Fran filled the kettle as if this were her own home. “It’s the other way around with me and Geoff. He wants one now, I want to wait.”

“Yes, but you’re younger.”

“Not much. Still, isn’t it funny? Even when you’ve got one, it’s not that easy deciding when or if to have a second. All the way through life, it seems everything comes down to timing. And I thought it only affected whether or not you could persuade a chap to settle down. How wrong I was.”

Maggie sighed. “Sometimes I feel as if Jamie and I are a year or two out of sync.”

Fran tried to make light of it. “Perhaps it’s because he’s the same age as me.”

“Maybe.”

“I tell you what you need…”

“What?”

“A little extracurricular. That would take your mind off it.”

“Fran! You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not, entirely. But I think you’re suffering from a severe case of being taken for granted. What you need is attention from another admirer. A bit of flirtation.”

“I couldn’t. Jamie would be so hurt.”

“I’m not suggesting you tell him!” protested Fran. “And I’m not meaning you should even
do
much, just enjoy being fancied by someone else. Here you are, stuck in this house all day on your own while Jamie’s up in town. He probably gets to flirt with hundreds of girls at the office.”