The Show (39 page)

‘Fuck,’ said Gabe. ‘I’m … I can’t believe it. I had no idea.’

‘Why would you?’ said Eddie. ‘The point is, you mustn’t beat yourself up too terribly. These things happen. They shouldn’t, but they do. Have you spoken to Macy since?’

Gabe shook his head. ‘I don’t think Laura would like that much.’

Eddie gave him a meaningful look. ‘Is it Laura’s decision?’

‘I wouldn’t know what to say, anyway,’ said Gabe. ‘In any case, I’ve barely left the farm in weeks.’

‘Well, that has to change,’ Eddie said robustly. ‘The show has to go on, Gabriel, now more than ever.’

‘Must it?’

‘Absolutely. For one thing, you’re under contract.’

‘Contracts have been broken,’ Gabe said darkly.

Eddie shook his head. ‘You’re still a father to those two boys, aren’t you? You’re still a provider?’

Gabe shrugged.

‘If this American deal turns out to be all we hope for and the show gets syndicated, we all stand to make a lot of money,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s Hugh and Luca’s future.’

Gabe hadn’t thought of it like that. Somehow, in his mind, it was the show that had caused all the problems. If it weren’t for the show, he and Laura wouldn’t have rowed, he would never have flown out to LA, never have slept with Macy. Never have
met
Macy. But Eddie was having none of that.

‘Dropping the ball now would be like letting the farm go under,’ he told Gabe. ‘You’d never do that, would you?’

‘No,’ said Gabe with feeling. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘Well, then. You and Macy will have to work together, and Laura will have to deal with it.’

They ordered food and talked about other things for a while, mostly Eddie’s life. Eddie told Gabe how well Milo was doing at the Home Office and how happy he and Annabel were since the revelations in David Carlyle’s book that had nearly destroyed them.

‘I would never have given up politics otherwise; never have stepped away from public life and given our marriage the attention it deserved. And Annabel would never have told me. She’d have lived with this awful shadow over her for the rest of her life. But now it’s all out in the open, I can’t tell you how free we both feel!’

He seemed to mean it. Not for the first time, Gabe marvelled at Eddie’s positivity, his resilience. Prison had been ‘interesting’. Public humiliation ‘a relief’. His wife’s attempted suicide: ‘the wake-up call we both needed’. Gabe wished he could view life’s setbacks with such equanimity. He wondered what it would take to throw Eddie Wellesley off course. An earthquake?

‘It explains so much, you know,’ Eddie went on. ‘Realizing that all this time she was frightened, terrified that the secret would get out. Fear turns us into the very worst versions of ourselves, don’t you think?’

‘Will you never go back to politics?’ Gabe asked.

‘Oh, I’m not sure one can ever say “never”,’ Eddie mused, taking a contemplative sip of his claret. ‘If I did, at least I could be fairly sure that my closet was well and truly empty, skeletons-wise.’

The waiter who arrived to clear their plates away couldn’t have been a day under eighty. Gabe watched with alarm as he tottered away, balancing china and silverware on his frail arms.

‘Should I give him a hand?’ he asked Eddie.

‘Alfred? Good God, no. He’d be mortified,’ Eddie replied.

‘But he looks half blind,’ Gabe protested.

‘Oh, he is! At least half,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘Now listen. You must go and see Macy.’

‘OK,’ Gabe agreed.

‘Between you and me, I spoke to her yesterday and she’s also been making noises about breaking her contract and going home,’ said Eddie. ‘I need you to talk her out of it.’

Gabe’s eyes widened. ‘The show must go on’ was all very well, and Eddie’s arguments about Hugh and Luca’s futures made sense. But convincing Macy to stay on, after everything that had happened? That was something else. He said as much to Eddie.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ Eddie admitted. ‘But I’ve tried myself and I’ve failed. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t sure that walking out on her contract would be a huge, huge mistake. I’m very fond of Macy,’ he added, almost wistfully.

‘So am I,’ said Gabe. He realized as he said it that it was true. ‘OK. I’ll do my best.’

Macy woke at five. She’d barely slept, again. If it went on much longer she would have to go and see the doctor and get something to help her get through the nights.

Padding downstairs to the kitchen, she brewed a pot of fresh coffee and stood sipping the bitter, black liquid as she stared out of the window. Cranbourne House’s garden was overgrown; a vivid green jungle already, thanks to the heavy rains. Most of the early spring flowers had been battered into submission by the winds, but a few flashes of colour persisted, including red campion and marsh marigolds, along with swathes of chickweed, white stars sparkling against the foliage. Macy could make out little of it at first in the faint dawn light. But gradually the sun’s rays began to break through the early morning mist. By the time the sun had fully risen, Macy’s coffee was cold. Looking at the kitchen clock she realized she’d been standing there, frozen, for over an hour.

Frozen.

The word summed up her life. Every instinct told her to go home. To pack a bag and catch the next flight back to LA, never to return. It was over with James. She’d made a mess of everything with Gabe. The rumour was that he and Laura were getting divorced. Not so long ago that news would have delighted Macy, but not now. Gabe wasn’t going to come running into her arms just because his wife had left him. There would be no silver linings, no happy endings.

Nothing but pain. For all of them.

The thought of going back to work on
Valley Farm
was unbearable, and without work, or a wedding to plan, she had no reason to be here, in this grey, miserable, waterlogged country, where it never stopped raining and the tabloid press had turned her into a pariah.

And yet, she was still here.

Why?

She didn’t have the answer herself. Part of it was simply inertia, a profound lack of energy made worse by lack of sleep, a complete loss of appetite and creeping depression. Part of it was her fear of being sued by Channel 5, or even by a vengeful Laura Baxter, if she walked out on her contract. Eddie, in the nicest possible way, had hinted that this was a real risk. Paul Meyer, Macy’s agent, had put it more forcefully. ‘Suck it up, kiddo. I know it’s hard, but this is business. It’s only one more season and this Fox deal is your life raft.’

There was something else keeping her here too. Something emotional, some tie with Fittlescombe and the Swell Valley that Macy couldn’t define herself, but which had curled its way around her heart like bindweed, deadly yet unbreakable.

But something had to give. She couldn’t stay in this house for ever, walled up like Miss Havisham, doing nothing with her life. If she wasn’t going back to work on
Valley Farm
, what
was
she going to do? That was the question.

She showered and dressed and walked into the village for some fresh milk and the morning papers. The
Daily Mail
had written something poisonous about her almost every day since she ‘broke James Craven’s heart’, but Macy couldn’t seem to stop herself buying it. Deciding to walk home the long way, past Furlings – it wasn’t raining for once, so why not? – she passed Max Bingley and Angela Cranley out walking their dog, the arthritic basset hound, Gringo. They greeted her warmly, and asked a few polite questions about the new series and when filming would start. Macy mumbled something noncommittal in response. She loved Max and Angela, but she wasn’t up to small talk.

‘You must come over for supper one night,’ Angela said kindly, before they walked on. ‘Hiding yourself away won’t help, you know,’ she added, nodding towards the copy of the
Mail
under Macy’s arm. ‘They’ll find someone else to torment soon enough. You’ll see.’

It was odd but, instead of lifting her spirits, Angela’s compassion seemed to have the opposite effect. By the time Macy unlatched the garden gate at Cranbourne House, she was on the verge of tears again.

I’ll go and see a doctor tomorrow
, she told herself.
No excuses.

Pushing open the gate, she stopped dead. Looking very much the farmer, in Barbour, wellies and a flat cap, Gabe was sitting on her doorstep.

‘Hullo.’ He smiled. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

Sitting at Macy’s kitchen table ten minutes later, a freshly brewed pot between them, Macy and Gabe looked at each other awkwardly.

‘I’d offer you a cookie but I think I’m out,’ said Macy.

‘They’re called biscuits in England,’ said Gabe.

Macy smiled. ‘What-
ever.
’

It was a relief to get back to their old banter, even if only for a moment.

‘I’m sorry about James.’ Gabe sipped his tea.

‘I’m sorry about Laura.’ Macy sipped hers.

‘Eddie asked me to come.’

Macy’s face fell. ‘Oh.’

‘I would have come anyway,’ Gabe added hastily. ‘I mean, I’ve wanted to. For ages. I should have, I know. I suppose I just … chickened out.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Macy. ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with.’

‘You know, then? About the divorce?’

Macy shrugged. ‘This is Fittlescombe. It’s pretty tough to keep a secret around here.’

‘Yeah.’ Gabe stared into his mug, wondering again how the hell he had come to this point. ‘Anyway. We need to make some decisions about the show.’

Macy nodded. ‘I know. Are you going to do it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gabe. ‘I am. I wasn’t going to, but Eddie talked me into it. Fox will pull out if we do. That’s the bottom line. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Macy. ‘I just don’t know if we can work together. After all this.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Gabe. ‘You and Eddie managed it after your one-night stand.’

Macy’s jaw almost hit the table. ‘He
told
you!’

‘Only a few days ago. Don’t be angry with him. He was trying to make me feel better. I’ve been beating myself up so badly about what happened. But he made me realize, everyone makes mistakes.’

Is that what I am to you?
Macy thought bleakly.
A mistake?

But she managed to hide her feelings, just as she had when her father had left and when her mother had died and at countless other turning points in her life.

What the hell?
she thought.
If Gabe can do this, so can I.

‘I suppose we
do
make a good team,’ she said, raising her eyes over the rim of her mug.

‘Yes we do,’ Gabe beamed back at her. ‘And it’s only for one series. Then we can do this deal, you can go home to America and we’ll all be rolling in it. What do you say?’

‘OK.’ Macy raised her mug of tea to Gabe’s and they clinked in a toast. ‘I’m in if you are, Baxter.’

After Gabe left, Macy sat back down at the table for a long time.

Laura and Gabe were getting a divorce.

She’d been telling herself for days now that this meant nothing. That it didn’t spell hope for her and Gabe, as a couple.

But what if she were wrong?

What if it did mean they had a chance?

Some of the old banter, the old camaraderie, was still there between them. She’d felt it just now. Affection, perhaps even flirtation? Not much perhaps. But it was there.

Another season of
Valley Farm
would mean the better part of a year in England. A year in which she and Gabe would see each other every day.

A year was a long time.

Macy allowed herself a small smile.

Where there’s life, there’s hope
,

Her stomach rumbled loudly. All of a sudden she found she was ravenously hungry.

Perhaps she wouldn’t need to see the doctor tomorrow after all?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Laura waved Luca off at St Stephen’s Church playgroup on the corner of Sydney Street and headed towards the Kings Road for a late breakfast.

It was early June, and already the wet and miserable winter felt like a distant memory. Chelsea sparkled this morning beneath a bright blue sky. The late-flowering cherry trees erupted with rose-pink blossoms, and the colourful window boxes and pretty front gardens made a cheerful contrast to the ubiquitous white stucco façades, as iconic in West London as red pillar boxes and the Union Jack.

It had been a terrible few months, one of the worst times in Laura’s life. But now, at long last, she could see some light at the end of the tunnel. She and Gabe had settled into a civil, even friendly routine as the divorce ground on. On a professional level, they’d both agreed that continuing the show was a financial priority, but that working together day to day was no longer an option. Mike Briarson from Channel 5 had agreed to take over the day-to-day direction of
Valley Farm
’s second season down at Wraggsbottom, with Laura overseeing the writing and editing of scripts and the ongoing negotiations with Fox America from her new base in London. So far the system was working well. Laura trusted Mike, and Gabe and Macy both liked him. It was true that his direction had given a slightly different flavour to the second season, with more unscripted, humorous moments and a bigger focus on village over farm life. But the ratings were fabulous, as big as they had been for last season’s finale. Everyone was happy.

Personally, the transition had been harder, at least for Laura. Hugh and Luca, bless them, had adapted brilliantly and all but instantly to their new London life and schools. Laura had moved out of her godmother’s mansion flat and into a very pretty, bright yellow cottage on the borders of Chelsea and Fulham, near the football ground (much to both boys’ delight). Gabe had the children every other weekend, and regularly popped down during the week to take them to the park after school or out for dinner at Byron Hamburgers, Hugh’s new favourite place on earth. A mate of Gabe’s had given him a permanent, free option to use the spare room of his flat in Onslow Gardens for these trips, which was within walking distance of Laura’s.