Authors: Sue Margolis
“This isn’t to do with you and Dad. I swear.”
“What did I tell you?” Greg said. “OK, what is it to do with?”
Ben started to sob again. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. I didn’t. Honest.”
I wanted to cuddle him, but Greg held up his palm.
“So you keep saying,” he said to Ben. “But you did mean to hit him?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” I said. “Arthur’s your best friend.”
“He’s not my best friend. He hates me.”
“Hates you?” Greg said. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”
“He does. At my party, I told my friend Olly the real reason I didn’t want to go back to the Stone Age in my time machine.”
My mind flew back to the conversation that Ben and I had had on this subject. But that was ages ago. I couldn’t believe it was still on his mind. “Because you’re scared of mammoths?”
“Yeah. Anyway, I made Olly promise not to tell anybody, but the next day at school he told Arthur and Arthur started calling me a wimp and a scaredy-cat. Then everybody else joined in. It went on for days and days. They were all chasing me around the playground calling me names. And in the end I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“So you lashed out at Arthur.”
He nodded.
“And not one of the teachers saw what was happening?” Greg said.
“I told my teacher, Miss Clark, that Arthur was calling me names and she just said to keep away from him.”
Greg got to his feet. “Right. Where’s the phone? I need to have another word with Mrs. McKay.”
While Greg was telling Mrs. McKay a few home truths at full volume, I tried to explain to Ben why punching people wasn’t the best way to settle disputes.
“I know, but it happened before I’d even thought about it. I was just so angry.”
“I get that, but you have to apologize to Arthur.”
“All right, but he’s got to promise to stop teasing me.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. I think you’ve made your point.”
“Arthur’s going to be all right, isn’t he? He’s not going to die?”
“Of course he’s not going to die, but he is going to have a very sore head.”
I dug my mobile out of my bag. Before Ben did any apologizing, I had some of my own to do. I went through my contacts list until I found Arthur’s mum’s number.
“Abby, it’s Sophie Lawson. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what happened. I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible. Is Arthur OK?”
“He’s fine. They taped up his cut and we’re back home. Look, I’ve been talking to Arthur about what happened and he’s admitted that he and some other kids had been chasing Ben and calling him a wimp. I’m furious with him. Somehow I’ve managed to raise a nasty little bully. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Ben’s teacher wasn’t quick enough off the mark. If she had been, this whole thing might never have happened.”
Abby and I agreed that both boys needed to take their share of the blame. We also decided that rather than risk another fight breaking out at school the next day, it would be best if they got together straightaway to say their sorrys. I said that Ben and I would be over in ten minutes.
As we left, Greg was still on the phone, bawling out Mrs. McKay and accusing her and Miss Clark of negligence. I called to him that we were off to see Arthur. He gave me the thumbs-up.
• • •
B
en and Arthur didn’t exactly fall into each other’s arms. That was for girls.
They eyed each other warily for a few moments. In the end it was Ben who broke the silence.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“How’s your head?”
“Still hurts. They thought it might need stitches, but they taped it instead.”
“Sorry I hit you.”
“Sorry I chased you and called you names.”
“The tape looks cool.”
“Yeah, but I really wanted stitches.”
“So d’you want to play something on the Wii?”
“If you want.”
Abby and I took this to mean that they were best friends again.
Before I left, I got a text from Greg:
Leaving now. McKay deeply apologetic. Has promised to call you. Speak soon. G.
• • •
S
aturday was the start of half term. The children’s old nanny, Joyce, who had looked after them when they were little, had invited them to spend the week with her at her bungalow in Brighton. The children hadn’t taken any persuading. Amy and Ben loved Joyce. They also loved Brighton. Joyce took them to the amusement arcades and let them eat hot dogs and cotton candy. Sometimes the three of them played bingo at one of the parlors on the promenade. Ben knew most of the calls, but what they loved most was the possibility of winning money.
Greg said he would drive the kids to Brighton. “I need to go down to the farm to see how the tank’s holding up in the wind and rain, and Brighton’s only a few miles farther on.” I didn’t ask if there were any buyers in the offing because it was obvious there weren’t.
Greg arrived just after nine. I handed him a box of Belgian chocolates and an orchid plant. They were a thank-you to Joyce for having the kids.
After I’d waved the three of them off, I had a shower. Then, wearing only a bath towel, I made my way upstairs to the attic.
Huck and I spent the rest of the morning catching up on all the sex we’d been missing lately because we’d both been working so hard. I was still putting in long hours on
Women’s Lip
, which had received some excellent reviews. The
Independent
called it “gutsy” and “punchy.” The
Times
singled out the item on tattoos, describing it as “fun, without being trite.” There were also hundreds of congratulatory e-mails. It was all great stuff, but none of it meant anything until the audience figures were in.
Huck was working far harder than I was. When he wasn’t giving talks and interviews, he was hosting charity auctions to which A-list celebrities had donated personal memorabilia and/or a “fan experience.” Huck informed me that the latter meant you got to talk to them for three minutes. But the money was coming in. There was already enough to refurbish the youth center and buy some sports equipment and a decent sound system. On top of that, a couple of Premier League soccer players had offered to coach the kids in the local park, and the choreographer who’d designed the dance routines for the West End production of
Me and My Gal
had offered to give a weekly dance class.
• • •
A
few hours later, Huck and I lay half dozing in each other’s arms.
“I’m hungry,” I said. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“I could heat up some soup. And there’s some garlic bread in the freezer.”
“Sounds good.”
“And then afterwards how’s about we make a start on my boxed set of
The Office
?”
“Nah, I’ve got work to do. Besides, I caught a couple of episodes while I was away last week. Can’t say I enjoyed it. Overrated, if you ask me. Minty said the same.”
“Oh, well, if Minty says . . .”
He laughed. “Behave. Go make soup.”
I got out of bed and reached for Huck’s bathrobe. “So you really hated it?”
“Pretty much.”
I plodded downstairs. I’d just put the garlic bread in the oven when the phone rang. It was Greg to say the kids had been safely delivered and he was leaving Brighton now.
“Oh, and Joyce says thank you for the chocolates and the orchid.”
I thought he sounded a bit down. “Greg, you OK?”
“Not really. I was going to tell you earlier, but I didn’t want the kids to hear. I’ve left Roz. We haven’t stopped yelling and fighting since the school episode.”
“Wow . . . I’m so sorry, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”
“I know. It’s been on the cards for ages. In the end, I couldn’t see any point carrying on.”
“How do you feel?”
“Pretty crappy, but relieved. The woman’s a piece of work. She’s the most arrogant, self-centered, self-serving, controlling, domineering person I’ve ever come across. I know love is blind, but is it deaf as well? God only knows what attracted me to her.”
“Maybe you like powerful women. I was never much cop at being domineering.”
“You were pretty good at yelling.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“So what now?”
“I’m looking for a flat, but meanwhile I’m staying with Ken Wallis, the
Vanguard
news editor.”
Greg asked me not to tell the kids about his having left FHF. He said that since it was his cock-up, he’d rather break the news to them himself.
“So, how are you?” he said.
“Fine. Just hanging out.”
“With Huck?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Right . . . well, I’d best hit the road.”
“OK, see ya. Look after yourself and stay in touch.”
“Sure.”
When I got back upstairs with soup and garlic bread, Huck was on the phone with Minty. “Mint, that sounds amazing. You are a genius. OK, I’ll be with you in half an hour and we’ll flesh it out a bit more.”
Huck stood up and started pulling on his jeans.
“Mint’s totally reworked my speech for tonight. She’s added a new opening and conclusion. It’s so much stronger. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Huh, so she’s
Mint
now . . .”
He pulled on his T-shirt. “Soph, stop it. I don’t have time for this.”
L
iz called me into her office. The audience figures were in. They were up sixty percent. Twenty would have been OK. Thirty would have been great. But sixty was staggering. Of course, we realized that the rise was partly due to people wanting to check out the new show. The numbers would no doubt fall off a bit.
“Well done, Soph. You did it. This is brilliant news.” She poured us drinks and we toasted the future of
Women’s Lip
.
Later on, she invited the rest of the producers and reporters to join us. She made a short speech thanking everybody for their dedication and hard work. “And to show you precisely how grateful we all are at GLB, a celebratory drinks party has been arranged at Soho House.”
We were allowed to bring plus-ones, but Huck said he couldn’t make it. He and “Mint” would be driving back from Leeds. How, with all this gallivanting, Araminta was finding time to tutor Spencer I had no idea, but somehow she was managing to fit it in and, according to Gail, she was working wonders.
“He’s almost word perfect. She seems to really connect with him. To be quite honest, I think he’s a teensy bit in love with her.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between her and Huck. She goes with him on all his speaking gigs. They’re often away overnight and she’s pretty much all he talks about.”
“So have you asked him what’s going on?”
“Yeah, but he insists their relationship is strictly professional.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Oh, come on. You know as well as I do what sort of reputation Huck had when we were young. It was impossible to keep up with all his girlfriends.”
“I know all that, but people grow up. They change. He told you he’d changed.”
“Yes, and I made the mistake of believing him.”
She let out a long breath. “OK . . . I wasn’t going to say anything, but I could tell he wasn’t right for you.”
“How?”
“Way too earnest.”
“Greg could be earnest.”
“True, but he could also sit and talk to Murray about soccer and cricket. I can’t imagine Huck doing that.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“And what sort of a bloke buys his girlfriend books by existentialist philosophers? Big mistake. If you ask me, there’s only one way to a woman’s heart and that’s through the Harrods jewelry department.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Soph, it might be my imagination, but you don’t seem too bothered that Huck might be cheating on you.”
She was right. I wasn’t
that
bothered. Granted, no woman enjoys being traded in for a younger, prettier model, and I couldn’t deny being angry and jealous, but if he had decided to move on, it wasn’t going to reduce me to a weeping, shaking heap. That was because I didn’t love him.
I’d fallen in love once before—waltzing down Charing Cross Road—and the feelings I had for Huck didn’t come close to what I’d felt that night.
• • •
“I
think I just wanted him for the sex,” I said to Annie. We were standing at the bar at Soho House. Since Huck hadn’t been able to make the drinks do, I’d invited her along as my plus-one.
“Well, I guess it’s hardly surprising, bearing in mind how bad things were between you and Greg in the bedroom department.”
“So I used him.”
“Oh, come on. He used you, too. When you met he’d only just got back from Africa. You said yourself that he seemed pretty lonely.”
“Did I tell you,” I said, “that he doesn’t like
The Office
?
”
“Oh, then you
have
to dump him.”
“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I mean, are you seriously suggesting giving the man his marching orders because he doesn’t share the same taste in comedy as you?”
“No—I’m merely taking it into account.”
Annie laughed. “You are bonkers. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m not bonkers. Comedy connects people. You have to share a sense of humor—laugh at the same stuff. If you don’t, you’re done for.” Thinking about it, I wasn’t sure that Huck laughed very much at all. I thought I loved his earnest, intense manner, but I missed laughing. Greg and I had laughed all the time. In the beginning at least. Our favorite pastimes had been sex, eating and watching comedy. In that order. Huck and I shared a love of food and sex, but we didn’t share a sense of humor. Instead we shared discussion and debate, views on existentialist novelists. (Or we would have, had I gotten around to reading
The Stranger.
)
“Actually,” Annie said. “You might be right. Rob and I adore
Mr. Bean
.”
“You’re not serious. You like slapstick? I never knew that about you.”
“What’s wrong with slapstick?”
“No . . . nothing. The point is, you both like it.”
“OK,” Annie said. “Suppose he’s not sleeping with Araminta. Will you still dump him?”
“Probably.”
Finally we spotted a table. We picked up our drinks and battled our way through the thicket of people. Liz seemed to have invited every journalist in London. I’d spoken to her a few minutes earlier and she’d said how delighted she was by the turnout. I didn’t rain on her parade by reminding her that the majority of hacks would go anywhere for a free drink and a honey-glazed sausage on a stick.
“So,” I said to Annie as we sat down, “how’s your mum coping with the boys?”
“Oh, you know Mum. She’s always bursting with energy, but I can see that looking after them five days a week is getting too much.” She looked down at her drink. “Actually . . . I’ve decided to hand in my notice.”
“I’m not going to say I’m surprised, but are you absolutely sure?”
She nodded. “I can’t go on working these hours. The powers that be have decided they can’t afford to hire another producer, so my shifts won’t change. It’s too much. I’m still not sleeping. I’m seeing almost nothing of Rob and I’m ratty with the boys . . . who are still traumatized by what Kathleen did to them. I reported her to the nanny agency, by the way. Mine was the third complaint they’d had, so they’ve dropped her from their books.”
“I should think so . . . So as far as work goes, what will you do?”
“Well, I’ve realized that being a stay-at-home mum isn’t an option. I’ve talked it over with Rob and I think I might do an interior design course, get a proper qualification and set myself up in business. What do you reckon?”
“I reckon that sounds brilliant.”
“I can set my own hours. Be around for the kids and Rob.”
“So you’re still going to run around after him?”
“I’ll get an au pair maybe, but I know that Rob’s not going to change. And I do love him. I’m not like you. I don’t have the energy to try to change him. I don’t want us to spend our lives yelling and fighting.”
“You mean, like Greg and me.”
She didn’t say anything. “I have a good life, Soph. Rob loves me to bits. We have a lovely home. He spoils me with fancy holidays. He just has this Achilles’ heel.”
“And you’re able to live with it?”
“Marriage is all about compromise.”
“Maybe I didn’t compromise enough.”
“It was different with you and Greg. The man was a complete slob. Rob’s just your average male chauvinist pig.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Come on, why don’t I get us a couple more mojitos?”
I fought my way back to the bar.
“Soph!”
“Greg—what are you doing here?”
“I was invited. Liz must have money to burn. Half of Fleet Street is here—even the political editors. Anyway, I thought I’d stop by and offer my congratulations. You’ve done a wonderful job, Soph. You should be really proud of yourself.”
“Thanks. I just hope we can keep it up.”
“You will. I don’t have any doubts about that . . . So Huck’s not with you?”
“He couldn’t make it. I came with Annie.”
Greg asked what we were drinking.
“So, you heard from the kids?” he said after he’d ordered two mojitos and a beer for himself.
I said they’d been texting several times a day. “They seem to be having a great time . . . So, how are things with you?”
“Camping out isn’t great.”
“No luck with finding a flat, then?”
“Nope. Not as yet.” He paused. “Soph . . . I actually had another reason for coming this evening. There’s something on my mind that I need to discuss with you. Could we go and talk somewhere private? The roof terrace maybe?”
“But I can’t leave Annie on her own.”
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
As it turned out, when we got back to the table, Annie was busy talking to Nancy. They knew each other slightly. Brian was one of Rob’s clients and the two women had met once at some company dinner.
I could tell that Nancy was drunk because she was asking Annie if she thought Rob paid sufficient attention to her vulva when they made love. “I mean, does he tell you how beautiful it is?”
“I don’t know . . . I guess he does . . .”
“What on earth is she on about?” Greg muttered to me.
“I’ll explain later.”
He said he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“These days, Brian has got so much better at complimenting mine. He’s even given it a name. First he wanted to call it Becks—after the beer—but I wasn’t having that, so I decided on Agape, which is Greek for ‘divine love.’”
“That’s nice.”
Annie caught sight of Greg and me. She gave me a look as if to say, “Thank the Lord the cavalry’s here.”
“Greg,” Nancy cried. “How wonderful to see you. Now, then, I demand to know how you could possibly leave the wonderful Sophie for that dreadful Duffy woman? I met her once. Talk about full of herself. Of course, I put her in her place. ‘Duffy,’ I said, ‘just shut up and bloody well shave.’ That stopped her in her tracks.”
Greg was trying to stifle a laugh. “I wish I could have been there to see that,” he said.
I whispered to Annie that Greg wanted a private word on the roof terrace. She said not to worry. She would take Nancy to find Brian.
“Oh, and have you heard about STD?” Nancy said. “She’s working for Simon Cowell in LA.”
“Really? I’m amazed she found another job.”
“According to my spies, she recently pitched a new show to Cowell. It’s called . . . wait for it . . .
America’s Got
Canine Talent
. Apparently he went crazy for the idea and asked her to be the exec producer.”
We all agreed that
America’s Got Canine Talent
was right up STD’s street and that she’d probably do a great job.
• • •
G
reg and I climbed the narrow staircase to the roof terrace. It was full of groups of raucous journos who’d come up for a smoke. Greg waved to a chap from the
Vanguard
, who seemed particularly wasted. We found a table next to one of the outdoor heaters.
“So . . .” I said. “What did you want to talk about?”
Greg put his beer down on the table. “I’ve been rehearsing this all day. Now I don’t know where to start.” I’d never seen him so nervous. “The thing is . . . do you think there might be any possibility . . . ? I mean, would you consider . . . ? Shit, Soph, I want you back. Would you at least think about it?”
“Greg, you’ve just come out of a relationship. You’re feeling low. You’re sleeping on a mate’s floor. You’re not thinking straight. You and I getting back together would be a huge mistake.”
“But I’ve changed. It’s taken me until now to realize what an arse I’ve been and that I cocked up big-time. I was a slob. I took you for granted. I tried to make it look like you were a madwoman for wanting a clean, tidy house. I’m so ashamed, you’ve no idea.”
“You know what really gets me?”
“What?”
“That you were able to change for Roz, but not for me. Why wasn’t I worth changing for?”
“It wasn’t that you weren’t worth it. I just didn’t get it. It was only when I began living with Roz that I realized what an arrogant arse I’d been. It was Roz who pointed that out and, cow that she is, I’ll always be grateful to her for that. The moment I moved in with her, she made it clear that I was expected to pull my weight around the house. There was no room for protest or debate. I either respected her rules or I was out. And you know what was odd?”
“Go on.”
“I started to enjoy it.”
“Oh, please. Next you’ll be telling me you found it
healing
. You didn’t enjoy it. You got in with it because you were scared to death of Roz and she beat you into submission.”
“Look, Roz can be hard going, but she did not beat me into submission. And, OK, maybe it wasn’t the actual housework I enjoyed so much as seeing the results. I realize now that a home needs to be more than somewhere you go to eat and sleep. It needs to be clean and comfortable, a place where you can relax. I fucked up, Soph. I will spend the rest of my life being sorry for that. You were the love of my life and I pushed you away. I destroyed so much.”
“You did and that’s why it’s too late. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being angry with you for how you treated me.”
He nodded. There were tears in his eyes. “I can understand that. So, you and Huck . . . Do you think you’ll make a go of it?”
“Actually, I think I’m about to end it. Things haven’t worked out.”
His eyes lit up. “So that means we could—?”
“Greg, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Do you honestly think that after everything that happened between us, you can simply apologize, tell me that you’ll load the dishwasher and empty the trash now without being asked, and I’ll let you waltz back into my life?”
“I waltzed into your life once. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. But like you say, you destroyed all that.”
“You’re right. I guess I made my bed . . .”
“I guess you did.”
• • •
T
hat night Huck didn’t come home. I’d texted him just after midnight, but he didn’t reply.
When I got back from work the next day, he was in the kitchen unwrapping a frozen pizza.
“Sorry about last night,” he said by way of greeting. “I crashed at Mint’s. I was too tired to drive any farther.”