By ten to eight, however, he was home. He stepped into his cramped flat and sighed. The hall needed sweeping. There were bills all over the doormat, and he was about to be exposed as the world’s biggest bastard on national television. He phoned for a pizza and tried to stay away from the television. He resolutely surfed the net for the first couple of minutes, then shut down the computer and switched on to Channel Four in time to watch himself running away down the main road in Aurrillon. At the time, they had assured him that they couldn’t show his image without permission. Unfortunately he had buggered that up completely by signing a form that that Jim bloke had given him at the pizzeria, when he was trying to get Emma back. He had agreed to be in the film because Emma had wanted him to be in it. Then, with the cameras rolling, she had taken two days to decide to send him packing. He felt thoroughly fucked over.
The phone rang. It was probably Eleanor. Eleanor was twenty-two, blonde, sexy and vacuous. He had no desire to speak to her. She would be annoyed. She would probably give him the elbow. It didn’t matter. London’s bars were full of Eleanors, Sandys, Katies, and Leannes, to name just four of his recent companions. He pulled the phone line out of the wall. Then he fetched a bottle of Scotch from the corner cupboard, filled a large glass, and shifted his chair round for a better view of the screen.
In Brighton, Anne brought her dinner into the sitting room, and flicked through the television channels idly, searching for something mindless.
‘Ooooh,’ she said to herself when she found
Moving On
. ‘Just the thing.’ She loved programmes about people moving abroad. She watched the titles, then stared in disbelief.
‘That’s Matt,’ she said. ‘And that’s Emma.’ She put her fork down and watched the story unfold, open-mouthed. ‘But what about the baby?’ she muttered to herself, puzzled.
Jo had invited her best friends to watch it with her. She needed other people with her, because she knew that, in company, she would make a supreme effort to appear amused by the whole sorry tale.
‘I’m over him,’ she explained to them, as they waited for it to start. ‘I just don’t much fancy watching this on my own.’
‘Of course you don’t, honey,’ said Lara immediately, and hugged her. ‘Olly’s in bed, yes?’ Jo nodded. ‘Where’s Mike?’
Jo grimaced. ‘I told Mike I didn’t want him to see it. So I don’t know where he is.’
‘You do. He’s watching it at home.’
‘I know.’
Mike was officially Jo’s partner. She was taking things extremely slowly this time, but it seemed to be going well. He knew all about Hugh’s behaviour, but she still didn’t want him to see it in technicolour.
‘Jo, this programme’s not about you. You know that.’
‘Yeah. It’s kind of strange that I’m sitting down to watch a documentary about my ex-husband’s other partner. But no, I’m hoping this will all be about Emma. I wouldn’t touch a thing like that with a bargepole. God knows what she was thinking of. I imagine she just didn’t care.’
Her other friend Sheila spoke up. ‘You don’t mind Emma though, do you?’
‘No. I don’t mind her. Good luck to her and all that. I hate her. And I really really hope she doesn’t tell all the people at home how I turned up and pretended to be lost.’
They settled back, with white wine and crisps and chocolate. The programme was, indeed, all about Emma. She appeared to have had a total breakdown. It was raw. Jo had never seen anything so raw on television, and she wanted to avert her gaze. She was embarrassed to see any woman being exposed in such a manner. She was angry that the television people had taken advantage of Emma’s mental state to steal her private moments. Emma’s grief looked frighteningly familiar. She was heartily thankful that no camera crew had captured her own worst moments during that first year of separation.
The breakdown, however, was followed by a striking recovery. All the women, including Jo, cheered Emma on. Then, when she was about to leave France, with her fabulous clothes and a nice haircut, Hugh turned up again. The voiceover was sniffy about his reappearance.
Jo was devastated. The bastard ex-husband had gone to France last spring and told Emma that he had realised that he had loved her all along. She bit her knuckles. Sheila touched her arm.
‘Bastard,’ she said. ‘You knew he was a bastard.’
‘But look at him,’ Jo whispered. ‘He means it.’
Lara stroked her arm. ‘He’s a liar,’ she reminded her. ‘That’s what he does. He lies. He was just scared of being alone.’
‘But he never tried that with me. He never came back to me like that.’
‘Because he knew you’d tell him to fuck right off. Just like she’s about to.’
They held their collective breath, all of them willing Emma to kick Hugh out. Jo tried to work out whether they could have got back together without her knowledge, whether they could be a happy family unit to this day. She was sure Emma would have told her. Emma, unlike Hugh, was decent.
But Emma might have been trying to spare her feelings, or she might have been worried that she would be angry.
It looked for a tantalising few moments as if Emma was going to agree to his request that they give it their best shot for Alice’s sake. Jo thought she was going to be sick. When she did the right thing, the room erupted into cheers, and Lara quickly refilled the glasses. They happily toasted Emma’s future.
Jo drank an enormous amount of alcohol that night. The next morning Mike proposed, and she accepted him.
As it finished, Pete looked nervously at Jane. She had not reacted at all during the documentary and he had no idea what she was thinking.
‘Your brother came out of that well,’ Jane said mildly. Pete frowned. He had not seen it that way. ‘NOT!’ she added loudly, and burst out laughing. ‘What a wanker!’
Pete laughed too, relieved. ‘Indeed.’
‘That film shouldn’t have been called
Moving On
. It should have been called
Emma’s Revenge
.’
‘She’s done all right, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Jane snuggled up to him. ‘You know, I used to worry that you were going to rush off to France and leave me so you could declare your eternal love for Emma.’
‘I know. That’s all behind me.’
She looked him in the eyes. ‘Promise?’
He looked at her. Jane had grown on him. Emma had always been a fantasy. For the first time, he felt ready to let her go, to commit himself wholeheartedly to reality.
‘Promise,’ he said.
When it ended, I had my head in my hands and tears running down my cheeks. Alain pulled me in close, and I allowed myself to cry on his shoulder. I bitterly regretted being in the film. I wished I had kept it all private. It was undignified to parade that sort of experience in front of the public. It was none of their business, but I had allowed it to become their business.
‘Fuck,’ I said. Alain certainly understood this.
‘It was good,’ he said. ‘You did fabulously. Everyone who sees it will like you. I’m so proud of you. You can’t imagine.’
‘We’re all proud of you, Ems,’ said Andy, in a tight voice. I looked to Fiona for confirmation. She was stroking Max’s cheek and avoiding everyone’s gaze. There had been far too much about her affair in the film, and I could see she was mortified and scared. ‘You were great,’ she said, looking at her baby.
I closed my eyes. I desperately wished I could go back and change it.
The phone rang, and the atmosphere lightened. It was Greg. He, Rosie, Bella and Charlotte had watched the programme at Christa and Geoff’s house.
‘Hey, famous girl,’ he said.
‘Hey, famous boy,’ I replied. ‘The camera loves you. And your fiancée makes a damn good movie.’
‘Doesn’t she just? Hang on, she’s snatching the phone.’
‘Emma!’ said Rosie, intensely. ‘Emma, what did you think? If you hated it I’m sure Greg won’t marry me.’
‘I didn’t hate it,’ I said. Then I said it again, more forcefully. ‘I thought you did a great job,’ I added. ‘I don’t imagine Hugh agrees and that has to be good. How are you feeling?’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You know. Fine. Feeling fine. Looking forward to getting away.’
Greg took the phone back. ‘Good surfing,’ he said.
‘Cheers. I’m much better than that now. Alain looks after Alice while I practise. His kids think it’s great that I can surf. They think I’m cool. You two off tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon. Gatwick-Madrid. Madrid-Havana. Can’t wait. I think a bit of sun will do Rosie a power of good, too. Hey, and you really were great. We were all yelling you on.’
‘Don’t tell Rosie, but I hated it.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
He passed the phone round. I spoke to Bella, and Charlotte, and Christa. Then Geoff came on.
‘Hello, Emma,’ he said. Geoff had opened up enormously. He was a different person from the uptight uncle who must have been perpetually tormented by guilt. ‘Emma, I’m extremely proud of you,’ he said. ‘Well done. Sarah would be thrilled with you. And I want to stop strangers on the street and tell them I’m your father. In fact I might go out there right now.’
‘Don’t,’ I told him. ‘The streets are full of dog shit. But thanks.’ I thought about it. I tried out a name I had never called him before. ‘Thank you, Dad,’ I said.