Crappily Ever After (14 page)

Personally, I wouldn’t know where to begin finding someone on the Net, but Amy, having friends in high places combined with being a bit of a computer whizz-kid, could find out pretty much anything she wanted about anyone.

 ‘So, what’s wrong with that?’ I ask.

‘Nothing in itself I guess. But I think we should pay him a visit when he’s next “away”,’ Amy concludes.

‘Fine,’ I shrug, ‘he’s away now. Let’s go.’

‘All right, but I need to call in a sickie tomorrow,’ says Amy.

‘I was joking!’ I snap. ‘God, leave it be won’t you!’ I don’t know why I’m feeling so defensive. What did I expect them to say? They wouldn’t leave it be. Three pulled sickies and a total waste of a day’s holiday for me and we are back on the drive to Southampton at 10am the next day. Waste of bloody time, if you ask me. But I know, deep down, that it’s just that I’m not sure I want to know the truth.        

Armed with Alfie’s Southampton address, we follow Jill’s directions and only get lost four times. A record – by her standards. We pull up outside a gorgeous Victorian house in a leafy suburb. Amy puts a head scarf and dark glasses on and walks up to the door with the latest Betterware catalogue, which had been delivered to our house yesterday. The excuse being that she, the agent, had muddled some of her orders and was having to retrace her customers to check if they had placed an order and, if so, what they wanted. We watch as she walks up to the door and rings the bell. Nothing.

‘See,’ I say. ‘Big wows if he has a Southampton home. Probably wants to make sure I’m not a gold digger before he mentions it. Besides, he’s on a business trip, so why would he be here anyway?’

Amy returns to the car and a discussion ensues, without my involvement in any of it. The decision is made that they will all take another sickie tomorrow and check back into our B&B from last time. Jill places the call to book us in and we park up for the night in the pub car park and continue our stakeout from the bar closest to Alfie’s house.

Taking it in half hourly turns, Jill, Amy and Emily walk the 200 metres to his house.

5pm: no lights, no answer.

5.30pm: nothing.

6pm: dog barking when Em rang the bell, still no answer.

6.47pm: all a bit drunk now, so missed the half hour slot, still nothing.

 7.42pm: drunker still. Jill rushes back in from outside, exclaiming there are now lights on in an upstairs window and also one on in what appears to be the front room.

‘Did you knock?’ asks Emily.

‘Nooo! exclaims Jill. ‘I didn’t think they’d listen to a pissed Betterware woman. One of you will have to do it.’

‘But we’re all pissed,’ I say, ‘And besides, I think he might find it a bit funny if one minute I’m a nanny in London and the next I appear to be a Betterware catalogue woman down his street in Southampton. So that’s me out.’

‘I’ll do it.’ Amy raises her head in a dignified manner and walks out the door. Closely followed by a gaggle of hysterical females.        

We hide behind the hedge, like something out of
Scooby Doo
, and watch as Amy knocks. After a minute or so, a young girl in pyjamas, aged around eight, comes to the door.

‘My Mummy and Daddy aren’t here, but my Auntie Jane is. Jaaa-aaaane!’ she shouts. ‘Betterware lady.’

Turning her attention back to Amy, the little girl makes conversation:

 ‘I’m going bowling tomorrow with Mummy and Daddy.’

‘Oh, how nice,’ slurs Amy. ‘Whereabouts?’ Amy’s silhouette takes on the appearance of
The Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang
child catcher.

‘Just at Megabowl, down there.’ The little girl points to the left.

‘What’s your name, honey?’ asks Amy.

Auntie Jane appears behind the child.

‘Sorry, we don’t want anything, thanks.’ She ushers the girl inside and closes the door. Bugger!

The next morning Amy insists we are up at 11am for Megabowl’s opening time. We begin stakeout number two. She could have at least got the time out of the child I think, unreasonably. We order coffee and bagels and chat amongst ourselves until 1pm.

‘There’s no getting around it, Lucy,’ Em shakes her head solemnly, ‘Why hasn’t he told you about the Southampton place? Did you know he had kids?’

‘He doesn’t.’ I roll my eyes. ‘At which point did you hear the child say: ‘My Daddy’s name is Alfie,’ I mock.

‘True,’ Amy picks up the possible explanation. ‘I mean, he could have a Southampton home and rents it out. In which case it probably just didn’t occur to him to mention it to Lucy.’

‘Thank you, Amy.’ I hold my hands out towards her, to show that she is the only one with a bit of solidarity. Amy flicks a long blonde lock off her shoulder and smiles in a superior way at the others.

‘Good explanation,’ Jill nods her agreement. No-one can think of a way around that one.

‘See, wasted trip,’ I smile with relief. ‘But we shall sit it out here, like idiots, ‘til the kid turns up with her Mum and Dad just to prove the point. Then we can head for home, so I can actually have some kind of holiday.’      

An hour later. Emily is the first to prick up her ears as she hears a familiar voice. Alfie! He walks in, with Auntie Jane behind him, and three children.

‘Once again he lies. He’s supposed to be in Geneva,’ states Emily.

I announce that I’m bored with this and go outside for a walk. I wander along the street and look in the shop windows. I can’t focus on anything I see, but I don’t want to be at Megabowl either. I look like a stalker.

I meander back after half an hour and bump into Jill.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ she exclaims. Then adopting a more sympathetic tone, suggests we go for a quick drink.

‘No, I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s going on.’ I make my way back towards Megabowl. Jill pulls me back.

‘Luce, there is something you should know first. His wife, she’s in there…’

I am now imagining some bizarre kind of wake. The anniversary of her death perhaps, when Alfie exhumes her and does something fun like bowling with his sister and the kids. How weird.

‘So, Jill, you’re trying to tell me he’s in there with his sister and three kids and has brought his dead wife along for a laugh?’ My head buzzes with confusion. Anyway, how would Jill even know what Polly looks like? None of it makes sense. I have to see this for myself. Storming away from Jill, I walk purposefully back to the bowling alley, just in

time to see Alfie and family exit
en masse
. I take in Alfie, Auntie Jane, the little girl from the doorway and two boys. Following on behind, and shouting,

‘Chloe, don’t forget your fleece,’ is a pretty, dark, curly-haired woman. I recognise her from the photograph. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I stop dead in my tracks and Jill looks at me anxiously.

‘It can’t be. It just can’t.’

‘Come on Lucy, we can go now. You know the truth, leave it be and deal with it next time he calls. Look at them all. Do you want to break their hearts?
They
have done nothing wrong.’

I feel fury rise up inside me and I walk purposefully towards them.

I’m going to do them all a favour and tell them everything.                           

                       
                         
Chapter Ten
           

‘You absolute
bastard
!’ I scream at Alfie. My head feels like it’s spinning, I am puce with rage. ‘Were you actually going to ever tell me you were still married?’ My voice rises hysterically.

‘Lucy…?’ Alfie stares at me in shock and confusion, like he doesn’t recognise me out of context. ‘What…what the hell are you doing here?’ he stammers.

‘Alf?’ queries a confused Polly, looking from Alfie to me and back again.

‘Polly, take the kids to the car, please. I’ll explain in a minute, once I’ve calmed this woman down.’

 No, Alfie,’ says Polly. ‘I think I’ll stay and hear this.’

‘Pol, I have no idea who she is. She could be dangerous. Take the kids to the car!’ he shouts.

‘You are Alfred James Hughes, your wife died three years ago in a yachting accident –
allegedly!
You live in King’s Road, Chelsea, your telephone number is 07745...’

‘OK, Lucy! I think you’ve made your point here. Now piss off!’ snarls Alfie. I laugh in disbelief. ‘Excuse me? I have been with you for just over a year and I have no right to an explanation?’

‘You know what, Lucy, you do,’ Polly intervenes. ‘But you also deserve the truth. So, therefore, Alfred,
you
take the children back to the car. If you didn’t know who she was, you wouldn’t have known her name. Don’t
insult my intelligence.’

Alfie looks helplessly at Polly.

‘Do it!’she yells. He scuttles off with a now sobbing Chloe and the two boys. Polly runs after them, and kisses Chloe on the top of her head,

 ‘Mummy will see you soon, baby. Be a good girl and go home now.’

‘You absolute wanker!’ She shakes her head at Alfie, and walks back to Jill and I.

Jill looks uncomfortable.

‘Lucy, if you’re OK I think I’ll head back and let you talk. I can come along if you want, though,’ she trails off, sadly.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll see you back at the B&B.’

‘Don’t scratch her eyes out,’ Jill warns Polly. ‘She really had no idea. None of us did.’

Jill walks off, her head down. I can tell she feels awful about being the messenger. It just makes me love her all the more.  

‘Coffee?’ says Polly, business-like and with a slight chill.

‘Wine?’ I suggest.

‘Why not?’ Polly replies.        

We stop off at a wine bar Polly knows and order two glasses.

 ‘So,’ she sighs, ‘why don’t we start this at the beginning?’

 I explain how Alfie had contacted me through a friend on the Millionaires website.

‘He seemed so genuine, saying how you had died in a yachting accident.’ Polly chokes on her wine, coughing loudly.

‘I remember that trip well. Sadly, it was our friend Malcolm’s wife that died.’

Unbelievable! He stole some poor man’s real tragedy for his own gain.

‘Melanie was a great friend of mine. My two eldest children are only months of difference in age of her and Malcolm’s. He has never found a new person to share his life. He was devastated. Still is.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her quietly, not able to look at her face. ‘I would never knowingly go with a married man. Or even with any man with a girlfriend. I have morals – and besides, if they do it with you, they’ll do it to you.’

‘Well, there’s a prophecy that’s come back to bite me on the backside,’ murmurs Polly absent-mindedly.

‘You and Alfie? Was he married before then?’

‘No’, replies Polly, ‘but he did have a girlfriend. I was flattered, I guess. He said I was the one.’

‘Hmm, he talks the talk, right enough.’ I reply.

‘I did notice he seemed to spend a lot of time away from home, though,’ says Polly. ‘I just thought Dad was working him really hard. He always answered the phone when I rang, nothing made me feel there was anything suspicious going on.’

Conference calls, I think. All those times with me, when he darted out of the room – that was his excuse. How could I have been so stupid?

‘I suspected after Chloe was born that he was having an affair,’ continues Polly. ‘He started to spend a lot of time at the office. Said he had responsibilities now and I guess, well, I just believed him. Suppose I wanted to.’

‘I made a lot of compensations for the fact he was a widower,’ I reply. ‘Uncomfortable silences during any movie with a death or funeral scene. I put it down to sorrow, but really, it was guilt. Actually, I don’t know how anyone with a conscience at all could have kept up that for a year. I guess he had too much to lose.’