Just this thought alone sends me off into another spiral of worry. Jesus Christ, is it possible? Can this nightmare really be happening to me? Where there was one single photographer outside my house earlier, now it seems there’s a posse of the bastards at the gate outside, all weighed down with telescopic lenses the approximate width of my thigh. This, in spite of the fact that we’ve closed every curtain in the entire house, so none of the bastards can get a long shot of me lying prostrate on the kitchen sofa downstairs. Like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, minus the T.B.
For God’s sake, I think, suddenly furious, I live in a nice, safe house with an alarm system and a front door with deadbolts on it and matching bay trees beside it, on a road with Neighbourhood Watch; surely this is somebody else’s life and not mine? I’m not a drug baron, or a bankrupt property developer who owes billions. Just a newspaper editor who messed up, that’s all.
But as I sit mutely on the sofa in the family room at home, with a warm blanket wrapped around me like a car crash survivor, a hot mug of tea in front of me that the very sight of is making me sick, the tiny part of my brain that can still function through the haze is telling me loud and clear that yes, this is real. This is actually happening. To you. Right now. And by the looks of things, it’s not going to go away anytime soon.
Jake is by my side, hadn’t left my side, never leaves, and his warm, protective arm around my shoulders is probably the one single thing I’m capable of feeling now, given the state I’m in. Helen’s here too, of course, as well as a lovely, concerned guy called Ben Casey. He seems as sick with worry as I am myself and in the useless, inert state I’m in, I’m genuinely grateful to have him here. He’d introduced himself earlier as Jake’s parole officer and has been hugely helpful all day; even drove Jake and me back here from the office, as God knows, I’d have been a danger to anyone behind a wheel.
And Lily is safe and happy in her little friend Rose’s house, playing in her Wendy house and having great fun and games putting make-up on each other. I called her earlier to wish her goodnight and to tell her I’d be picking her up first thing tomorrow, forcing my voice into its highest and happiest register, so she wouldn’t suspect that Mama was on the brink of tears. One good thing to report though, as ever, her little voice acted like a soothing tonic on me and I knew she was having a ball for herself when she said, ‘Not too early in the morning Mama, me and Wose want to have pancakes for bweakfast!’
And now hours must have passed and I’m still sitting on the kitchen sofa, with a hot drink in my hand courtesy of Helen. Everyone around me is being utterly fabulous. Jake especially, who’s almost like a human anaesthetic, numbing me, holding me, telling me over and over that everything will work out for the best and that this will all blow over. Funny, but in my detached state, I’m deeply touched at how concerned they all are and feel surrounded with care and attention that’s comforting beyond belief.
‘After all, it was only a job …’ Helen is saying, and I do my best to smile back at her, and look like I actually mean it.
‘And with all your experience and sterling record, you’re bound to pick up something else …’ nice-guy Ben chips in kindly.
‘Plus,’ Jake adds wisely, ‘remember how fast these stories all blow over. It flared up in no time, so let everyone just have their gossip about it, be done with it. And in a few days no one will even be able to remember what the fuss was about.’
He squeezes my hand and I squeeze his right back. Lovely thought, and even though I don’t quite believe it, it’s calming, reassuring to hear. For the first time all day, I allow myself the luxury of a deep breath.
Maybe they’re all right and I’m wrong. Maybe this is just a minor embarrassment, a tiny inkblot on an otherwise spotless copybook that will soon be forgotten about. Something I’ll look back on in years to come and have a good giggle at. Maybe it will all be done and dusted in a day or two. Maybe the board will overlook this mess and give me another chance. Maybe.
This sensation lasts all of about two minutes until the upstairs doorbell goes. Helen rushes upstairs to check it’s not a journo, then comes back down to the kitchen a few moments later, white-faced.
‘Eloise, you’ve got a visitor in the drawing room,’ she tells me, sounding shakier than she has done all evening.
‘Come on, she can’t see anyone, she’s not in any fit state …’ Jake says on my behalf, but Helen interrupts him.
‘It’s Sir Gavin,’ she tells me. ‘And he’s waiting for you.’
Takes approximately ten minutes for my seven-year career to come crashing down in flames and the weirdest thing of all is that somehow I can’t bring myself to feel a single thing. Sir Gavin is cool, courteous, but ruthless; as you’d expect. Won’t even sit down, or have a drink, just stands close to the door, impatient to get this over with. Probably dreading that I’ll start to cry and therefore ready for a fast exit.
His theme is unchanged since we spoke early this morning, or rather, since he lectured me; I made a massive error of judgement, I messed up royally, I had the appalling rudeness to stand up the board this afternoon and now it seems the editor of the paper of record
has become a salacious news story herself.
In my detached, almost composed state of mind, I could almost count the number of times he repeats the same tired old clichés. ‘We gave you every chance to explain yourself …’ was one particular beaut. ‘You have a duty to be impartial and to uphold the standards and good name of the
Post
and have failed in that most spectacularly,’ another gem. This must be what it feels like to be expelled from school, I think. In fact, I’m half-expecting him to come out with a line like, ‘I’ve already phoned your parents …’
But the punchline is the same. I’m out, and Seth is in, simple as. Funny thing is though, if Sir Gavin expected pleading, tears and handkerchief-twisting from me, he was disappointed. All I can do is look at him as though I’m having some kind of out-of-body experience and think, I gave you blood, sweat and tears all those years. I barely even got to see my little girl, who means more to me than any shagging job. Sacrificed all that, and for what? At the end of the day, for nothing, that’s what.
I even surprise myself by smiling at him as I show him out. He of course, moaning and groaning at suffering the indignity of being papped on the way in and out of my house, me not much caring either way. Thinking, you were quick enough to shove me to the lions, now see how you like it.
‘I must say Eloise,’ are his parting words to me, ‘you’re taking this extremely well.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ I tell him evenly. ‘I think you’ve possibly done me the biggest favour of my whole life.’
And now it’s well past ten at night, I’m still tucked up on the sofa, not quite able to believe what’s just happened. I got fired – and somehow, it’s all okay. The sky didn’t fall in. The world continues to turn on its axis. It’s weird, I actually feel physically lighter than I’ve done in years, not to mention deliciously woozy from the wine that the others have been practically ladling down my throat. Relieved in the same way that a crash survivor does when an out-of-control car finally stops spinning. Your whole life flashes before your eyes, but then you think, you know what? It’s over and I’m going to be okay. I’ve survived the worst. And if it’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this. With the people that I’m lucky enough to have around me, I know I’ll pull through, start over.
Ben, by the way, has been invaluable all evening, and I can’t help noticing with a smile, is paying more than particular attention to Helen. Making her eat plenty of sandwiches and constantly topping up her wine glass, engaging her in chat and asking her loads of questions about herself. Attentive, caring, interested, not conventionally handsome, but certainly attractive in a scruffy, fell-out-of-bed way … I already like this guy.
He’s over at the kitchen table making her laugh now, telling her some yarn about a guy he’s working with on parole at the moment, who Ben had really gone out on a limb for, eventually managing to find him a job working on a forklift truck in a machinery plant out on the Westgate Industrial Estate.
‘So I told him the good news, thinking he’d be delighted with the work,’ Ben smiles at Helen, ‘and that he was all set to start Monday and you know what this kid said back to me?’
‘Tell me,’ says Helen.
‘He said, “You want me to work in Westgate? Two buses? Feck right off with yourself!”’
The pair of them guffaw as I look on silently.
Oh Christ, I think, immediately dismissing the thought with a smile; I got fired today, am facing into a dole queue without any visible means of being able to support my daughter and now I’m trying to play matchmaker?
Must be even more in shock than I thought.
Though now that I come to think of it, she hasn’t once even mentioned the awful Darren’s name, not even to drop his name into the conversation, or checked her mobile to see if he’s rung, like she does a dozen times a day on average. Which is so not like her.
I’m not passing any comments, I’m just saying, that’s all.
‘You must be tired as well by now,’ Ben says to her, looking gently across the table at her.
‘Hmmm, I think all this wine is doing the trick,’ Helen smiles warmly back at him, then stifles a yawn.
‘Been a long day for you, as well as Eloise,’ he says. ‘Maybe it’s time you tried to get some sleep?’
‘Not a bad plan,’ Helen nods, stretching her arms out tiredly.
‘I’d better make a move too,’ Ben says to me and Jake, as we sit side by side on the sofa, him nursing a beer and me I think already on my fourth glass of wine. It’s doing the trick nicely though. After the horrors of today, I’m now beginning to feel more relaxed, calmer and, well, a bit floaty, like I’m on drugs.
‘I arranged for Josh to have a playdate and sleepover after school, with his best buddy,’ Ben explains, ‘so I need to get back so I can pick him up first thing in the morning.’
‘Josh?’ says Helen. ‘Is that your son?’
‘Yup,’ says Ben, pulling his jacket on and getting ready to hit the road. ‘Six years of age and the light of my life.’
‘That’s, well, that’s pretty much how I feel about Lily,’ she smiles very prettily back at him.
‘If it wasn’t for Josh,’ he goes on, ‘I honestly don’t know how I’d have coped these last few years since his mum … Since she left us.’
‘Oh. You’re divorced, then?’
He didn’t answer immediately, which catches my attention.
‘Separated?’
‘Widowed.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
Funny, I couldn’t help thinking through my slightly woozy haze, Helen didn’t look the tiniest little bit sorry. Not at all.
‘Well, let me show you out on my way upstairs to bed,’ she says, coming over to hug me and Jake goodnight.
‘Do you want a lift home with me, Jake?’ Ben offers.
Say no, please say no, I need you here tonight …
‘I think I’ll hang around for a bit longer,’ Jake tells him, then turns back to me. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
I don’t answer; just grin stupidly, drunkenly back at him. Marvelling that such a shitty day could have ended so miraculously. A minute later, Helen and Ben are clattering their way upstairs and finally, it’s just us, just me and Jake, alone.
Next thing, his arm is tight round my shoulders and he’s gently caressing my hair.
‘You’ve had a rough day,’ he says.
And although it’s true, I haven’t the heart or the energy to even start delving into work stuff, not to mention the fact that I’m officially on the brink of a dole queue. Besides, compared with the fact that he’s here, actually here beside me, it all seems so unimportant right now. And at the end of the day, like I keep telling myself over and over, wasn’t it only a job?
‘But Jake, if you hadn’t been around … I don’t know what I would have done without you today. You’ve been amazing, a rock.’
‘Eloise,’ he sighs deeply, ‘There’s no way you would have had to suffer through what you did if it wasn’t for your link to me. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for that. Jesus, do you know how much the very thought of it is killing me? Everything you worked so hard for?’
Now my arm is around him, and I’m stroking his cheek. My turn to comfort him, after everything he’s done for me today.
‘I know, of course I know how you must feel,’ I tell him softly, ‘but none of this was your fault, how could it have been? The only person responsible for what I did, is me.’
He’s looking down though and for once I’m finding it impossible to gauge what he’s thinking.
‘Jake, look at me,’ I tell him firmly.
He does, his eyes misty, bloodshot, exhausted looking.
‘The past is behind us now,’ I tell him insistently. ‘Everything’s out in the open. No one can ever throw an accusation at me or anyone connected with you again. It’s OVER. Really and truly over.’
I want to throw in every other cliché I’ve even heard from ‘tomorrow is another day,’ to ‘the sun will come out tomorrow,’ but manage to shut myself up in time. Jake’s smart. He already knows.
‘Then my next question is this,’ he says, leaning in closer to me now.
‘Go ahead, ask me anything.’
‘Can you forgive me? For taking off the way I did? For walking away from you? I was so angry, and a bit shocked, if I’m being honest …’
I slump back against his chest, relief flooding through me.
‘Jake, it’s the other way round. I’m the one who should be thanking you for even talking to me again after what I put you through. All that deceit, all those lies – that bloody weekend …’
‘Seems like it happened another lifetime ago, doesn’t it?’ he says, arms locked around me now. ‘And I felt like such a heel for leaving you there, for deserting you the way I did.’
‘Stop, really there’s no need …’ I try to say exhaustedly into his shirt, but the sound comes out all muffled.
‘Looking back, I think I was just completely knocked for six,’ he goes on, lifting my legs up so I’m sitting on his knee now, lifting me like I weigh almost nothing. Making me love how big he is and how tiny I feel next to him.