What She Wants (10 page)

estate beside a hundred other families, but not when you’re in the middle of nowhere and you’re not working.’ There, she’d said it. Hope didn’t react for a moment. ‘I can learn,’ she said finally. ‘Anyhow, I’m going to be with Matt and the children, that’s what I’m doing this for.’ ‘But what about you?’ Sam said earnestly. ‘It is for me,’ Hope repeated. ‘Haven’t you been listening, Sam? It’s for them, for me, for all of us.’ She’d have loved to have told Sam about how terrified she’d been when she thought Matt was having an affair but Sam was brittle and sharp today. Hope was convinced her sister would briskly tell her that gratitude because her husband wasn’t cheating on her was no reason for upping sticks to live in another country. Sam would have loved to have told Hope that she was feeling miserable, middle-aged and somehow unfulfilled despite her fabulous new job. But Hope had enough problems of her own to cope with without hearing Sam’s. Ever since Hope’s wedding day, Sam had been convinced that Matt was trouble. He made all the decisions and he was far too good looking to be trusted. But then, Sam never trusted any man. Millie threw herself delightedly at Auntie Sam as soon as they arrived home. ‘Auntie Sam!’ she squealed, before realizing that there had been more to her mother’s trip than buying groceries. Her bottom lip wobbled ominously. ‘Auntie Sam wanted to surprise you, darling,’ Hope said brightly. ‘A nice surprise, I hope,’ Sam said gravely. ‘Won’t you say hello to me?’ she said to Toby. He gave her a small hug and showed her his toy train. ‘Look Auntie Ham.’ He never could say Sam. ‘Hello,’ said Matt guardedly, appearing from the kitchen. ‘Hello you,’ she replied, just as guardedly. If Sam and Matt did not get on, it wasn’t because they

were so different. It was because they were so alike. Both were strong-minded, a bit bossy and capable of being jealous. Neither seemed happy about the presence of anyone else important in Hope’s life. Their rivalry was a source of anxiety for Hope, although neither Sam nor Matt seemed bothered by it. ‘So what brings you here, or can I guess?’ Matt said sarcastically. Hope glared at him. ‘Sam’s only here until tomorrow lunchtime so let’s have a nice weekend, shall we?’ she said in the voice she used when she was trying to get Millie to eat broccoli. It wasn’t the best weekend ever. Sam was furious with Matt because of what she thought of as his ‘crazy plan’. Matt was furious with Sam for daring to put a spanner in the works and on Saturday night when he and Hope were getting ready for bed, he said he hated the way her sister barged in and tried to tell people what to do. ‘She’s the most bossy woman I’ve ever met in my life,’ he snapped, walking round their bedroom somehow managing not to look ridiculous in socks and a shirt. As Sam had said practically the same thing about Matt only hours before, Hope just gritted her teeth and prayed that she’d be able to survive the rest of the weekend. Normally she loved it when Sam visited. They spent lots of time on their own, going for walks and talking. But after that first morning, Matt seemed to be there all the time, as if he didn’t want to give Sam the opportunity to put her sister off the trip to Ireland. He nagged Hope about Sam who, in turn, nagged Hope about Matt. Like piggy in the middle, Hope felt weighed down by their disapproval and broke out her secret supply of dark chocolate soft centres to comfort herself. She couldn’t bear to upset either darling Sam or her beloved Matt, so she did her best to stay out of it and spent her time saying ‘more tea anyone?’ or ‘look at what Millie’s up to,’ in a cheery manner every time the other pair began to argue.

They were all relieved when Sunday afternoon came and Hope drove Sam to get the train. ‘I’m sorry we were all a bit tense over the weekend,’ Sam said as they stood in the station. ‘Don’t be silly, it was great,’ lied Hope, who hated acknowledging that things were ever less than perfect. ‘Will you try and get to London to see me before you go?’ ‘I hope so.’ Hope’s eyes filled with tears. ‘And we can have a proper visit.’ They hugged each other and then Sam turned and walked away, elegant in her shearling coat and buttermilk cashmere wrap, her pale hair gleaming as she walked. She waved as she got on the train. Hope fought a losing battle not to cry as she watched her sister disappear into the carriage. She wished she saw Sam more often; she wished Sam and Matt didn’t fight so much; she wished … she didn’t know what she wished any more.

On the train back, Sam thought about Karl. She tried not to think about him these days. Karl. Even his name sent a shiver of remembered pleasure rippling through her. She’d met him at a sales conference in Brussels and they’d hit it off immediately. In fact, a lot of the record company women had liked the idea of hitting it off with the tall, blond Swede but he’d had eyes only for Sam. They’d delicately side-stepped around each other for the entire week, talking about their respective jobs (Karl was with the international office and travelled a lot) and sitting beside each other at dinner, but nothing more. It was only afterwards, when Karl arrived in London for two months, that they began to see each other properly. He had the use of a company apartment in the Barbican but he spent most of his free time with Sam, curled up in her bed in the old mansion flat she lived in then. They did things like HaagenDazs couples did in adverts: feeding each other take away

food in bed, drinking wine while dressed in knickers and Tshirts, lounging around with the newspapers and watching old movies on late night TV. In spite of his cool, measured demeanour, Karl had been impetuous and deeply romantic at heart. He saw their future together and begged Sam to follow him to Paris where he was going to be based for at least two years. Something in Sam had recoiled at the idea. Give up her job to follow Karl, to be his girlfriend, his companion, a hanger on instead of a mover and a shaker? No way. He’d pleaded with her, pointed out that with her skills and experience she’d get a job in a shot, a better job, perhaps. But Sam was having none of it. She wasn’t going to be anybody’s accessory, their significant other instead of a person in her own right. She’d always wanted to stand on her own two feet and she wasn’t about to change the habit of a lifetime. It had taken a week of arguments before Karl had realized she meant what she said. That had been two years ago. Last she’d heard, he’d married a French woman who worked in the couture business. Now there was a job with little possibility for relocation. Let him try and move her to his next posting. A woman with a toddler got on the train and sat opposite Sam, the woman pale and makeupless, the toddler rosy cheeked and up to mischief. ‘Sit Lily, don’t mess, please,’ begged the mother. ‘It’s only for half an hour. We’ll get into trouble with Mr Train Driver if we don’t behave.’ She produced several books for Lily to read. ‘Juice!’ demanded Lily loudly, clearly not bothered by idle threats about Mr Train Driver. To prove her point, she shoved the books out of her way and stared big-eyed at Sam. She was just like Millie, Sam thought with amusement, utterly sure of herself and determined to get what she wanted. How had poor insecure Hope ever produced such a confident child?

The woman extracted a carton of juice from a huge shoulder bag, the same sort of bag Hope always seemed to drag around with her, Sam noticed. Mothers were all lopsided from schlepping round giant shoulder bags that contained everything from toddler outfits to entire meals with plenty of toys, books and bumper boxes of baby wipes thrown in for good measure. Sam looked out of the window and tried not to notice Lily staring at her while sucking on her juice straw. The more Sam gazed out of the window, the more Lily leaned towards her, standing up on the seat beside her mother and leaning over the table until she was lying on it. Her big eyes were fixed on Sam, willing this new grown up person to look at her, intent on being noticed. ‘Lily!’ warned her mother. Lily moved back a fraction and stopped sucking on her straw. She inadvertently squeezed the carton and an arc of juice sailed up in the air like a fountain and then down onto Sam’s beige shearling coat. ‘I’m so sorry,’ said the child’s mother with a deep weariness. Sam, thinking of Hope dragging Millie and Toby around, desperately hoping they wouldn’t cover other people with orange juice or smears of chocolate, shook her head. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘It needed to be cleaned anyway.’ The woman shot her a look of such gratitude that Sam was pleased she’d been polite. Once, she’d have snapped about people not being able to control their children in public. It must be age creeping up on her. She was getting mellow now that she was on the brink of forty. Forty. She shuddered. It sounded so old. Karl would never fall for her if she met him now, she thought ruefully. It was odd thinking about him: he never crossed her mind most of the time. She didn’t miss him per se, just the experience of being with somebody. That was nice; cuddling up in bed with a man, having someone to share the day with, someone to occasionally buy coffee or milk when she forgot.

She liked that side of things but not all the other hassle that went with it. All that crap they were forever talking about in women’s magazines or at women-only dinners: maintaining relationships, worrying about whether he felt happy or not, trying to keep the spice in your sex life … sheer hell. Sam couldn’t see why women were supposed to do all the hard work. Men carried on doing whatever they felt like while women did questionnaires to see if He was happy or if He would stray or if He needed to talk more. Why the hell bother? Sam thought. Let Him worry about Himself, she wouldn’t. What she needed was a virtual boyfriend: a sophisticated robot who could cuddle her, make love to her and ask her about her day at work, and who shut up when she was tired and who never said things like ‘I’ve been thinking about our future and I want to take up this job offer on Mars …’ She grinned to herself. How weird that nobody had ever thought of it before. A virtual boyfriend would be perfect for millions of women. No emotional hassle but all the physical advantages. Lily smiled engagingly at her. Sam smiled back. ‘Sweet, isn’t she?’ she said. ‘When she’s asleep,’ Lily’s mother said with feeling.

Back in London, Sam picked up some groceries from the nearest shop and cooked herself some vegetable pasta with organic pesto sauce. Stir-frying vegetables, boiling pasta and adding a sauce and some parmesan shavings was the nearest thing to cooking that Sam ever got. She piled it all onto a large white plate and sat down at the table with her favourite Nina Simone CD playing softly in the background and the Sunday papers spread out in front of her. But strangely, she didn’t feel hungry. Normally, she adored pasta and hoovered up anything with pesto sauce on it but tonight her appetite had deserted her. After a while, she gave up and shoved the almost untouched plate away from her. If she wasn’t hungry, it was

her body’s way of telling her she didn’t need any more food. Anyway, after two days with Hope shovelling down Sally Lunns, she could hardly expect to be hungry.

On Monday before lunch, Steve held a top level meeting where the subject was company cutbacks. Ten senior executives sat around the glossy boardroom table and focussed on their departments. All present looked outwardly unconcerned but quivered inside their designer jeans and hoped they personally weren’t for the high jump. All except Sam. She was fed up with quivering at things Steve Parris or anybody else said. She’d had a hellish morning and didn’t care a fiddler’s toss if she was fired at that precise moment, not least because she’d just signed a three-year contract. She’d spent the entire morning on the phone to Density’s manager who was explaining all the things that his charges wouldn’t do to promote their album. So far, the ‘wouldn’t do’ list included talking to any interviewer who hadn’t been at one of their live gigs and doing any breakfast television or any other media the band described as ‘… facile and cretinous …’. They didn’t want to pose for any photos on the basis that they liked the publicity ones and couldn’t go through all that hassle again of having make-up applied and having to look moody for hours. And they were not, absolutely not, letting any tabloid journalist near them. Sam had tried pointing out that this little list would make the record company’s job extremely difficult but the manager was having none of it. ‘Steve Parris said we could have what we wanted,’ he hissed down the phone. ‘This is what we want.’ With that, he hung up. Because she didn’t want any blood spilled just yet in relation to Density, Sam hadn’t rung him back and threatened the manager with a do-it-yourself vasectomy. But she was tempted to. Now she sat at the meeting and caught a sympathetic glance from the publicity director, who had heard all about Density’s can’t-do list. In Sam’s first weeks

at Titus, the LGBK publicity director, a tall black American woman named Karen Storin, had been the friendliest of all her new colleagues. ‘Welcome to Steve’s elite club,’ Karen had joked quietly the first time they’d met. ‘Elite club?’ inquired Sam. ‘The women execs club,’ Karen explained. ‘Steve’s not big on female empowerment.’ ‘You mean I’m here because I’m a woman and you’re here because you’re a black woman?’ Sam joked. Karen grinned. ‘We’re here in spite of those facts - and because we’re damn good.’ Sam knew there was another reason she was there: because the European President had put his foot down. ‘OK?’ Sam asked Karen now, hiding a smile because they’d just had a variation of this conversation minutes before on the way to the meeting, safe in the knowledge that they could talk freely before they reached the boardroom where Steve’s earwigging second-in-command would be listening. Karen was handling Density’s publicity schedule and was encountering the same problems Sam had. ‘Everything’s under control. The schedule for Density is working out just fine,’ Karen said gravely, which was a million miles away from what she’d said originally. Then, she’d been in a rage. ‘I’ve just been on the phone to their manager and I have never dealt with anyone like him in my life. If I didn’t know he was working with them, I’d swear he was trying to sabotage them. They refuse to do anything I ask. Do they want the album to flop?’ she’d hissed at Sam. ‘How about you?’ she said now to Sam across the board room table. Sam smiled: ‘Utterly under control too,’ she said deadpan, as if moments before she hadn’t told Karen that the Density manager was ruining her entire week. Maintaining the facade that everything in your label was hunky dory was vitally important when you worked under Steve Parris.