Having It All (40 page)

Engrossed in her thoughts Britt didn’t hear the click of the pump telling her that the tank was full and the petrol began to overflow down the side of the car. Suddenly noticing she pulled
the nozzle out sharply, soaking her feet. Swearing, she bent down to rub her boot and realized her hand was still black from the oil dipstick she’d just checked. Feeling hysteria beckon, only
inches away, she rubbed it off with her coat, leaving a long streak of dark oil only inches from the pocket.

For perhaps ten seconds she stood there, nozzle still in her hand, ignoring the angry hoot from the young man in an Escort XR3i in the queue behind her.

She was going to go. She had to. She couldn’t simply turn up at her office tomorrow and go on as though nothing had happened. She needed to apologize, whether Liz accepted it or not.

For once she didn’t look in the mirror as she went to pay, concentrating instead on the range of tacky gifts displayed next to the cashier: fluffy rabbits with ‘Love Me’
stickers; assorted bright green monsters; card-games with names like ‘I Spy’ offering to make journeys fun, bought and never used again; cassettes featuring rock bands who had never
seen the top ten and never would; wilting flowers.

She would like to have stopped at Harrods or Hamleys and got some decent presents, but if she was going at all it had to be now this minute, before she finally lost her nerve.

Picking the least gruesome teddy, a Disney T-shirt and a bunch of chrysanthemums in foil whose sell-by date had been mysteriously blotted out, she handed over her credit card and ran back to her
car.

Liz had just tiptoed out of Jamie’s room and gently closed his door when she heard the doorbell and sighed in irritation. She had been looking forward to a quiet
half-hour in front of the television before knocking herself up a quick pasta. God knows who this could be. Ruby from next door perhaps, run out of Silk Cut again and wondering if Liz could run
down to the pub while Ruby with her arthritic leg sat in front of the television and listened out for the children.

Ruby had started making a bit of a habit of this and Liz had been too amused at the thought of Ruby, eighty-three last birthday, still smoking twenty a day and allowing nothing but butter into
her cottage, while all around her non-smoking cholesterol-free health freaks dropped like flies, to nip it in the bud. Besides, she enjoyed chatting to Ruby and hearing about what the village had
been like fifty years ago. Ruby was a bottomless well of folklore and gossip and it made Liz feel she was part of a real village, not some anonymous dormitory for the commuting classes.

Since she was upstairs, Liz flicked the curtain of the landing window and glanced out smiling. But the smile on her face froze when she saw who stood outside her front door.

It wasn’t Ruby. It was Britt.

Or at least it was what Britt might have looked like if she had taken to sleeping rough. Instead of the usual expensive elegance, oil streaked her pale, unmade-up face, and ran in a long line
down the left side of her mac, whose belt looked as though it had been dangling out of the car all the way from London. Her blonde hair straggled, greasy and unwashed, around her face and Liz saw
to her astonishment that darker roots showed at the top. It had always been Britt’s proudest boast that she was a natural blonde with ancestors dating back to the ice maidens of
Scandinavia.

Liz noticed the tatty teddy and the wilting flowers and knew immediately why she had come. To ask forgiveness. To explain that it hadn’t been her fault. That she’d never intended to
break up Liz’s marriage. Not really.

And Liz felt an anger so overpowering that she had to turn away and hold on to the wall beside her to steady herself against the sudden build-up of pressure in her head. She saw again the
restaurant where she had first found them together and tasted once more the humiliation of knowing she had been used by two people she loved and trusted. She couldn’t forgive. The slate would
have to remain unwiped.

A couple of seconds passed and she heard Britt knock again and saw her peer into the sitting room, where lights blazed behind the chintz curtains, and the fire crackled and hissed
companionably.

Steeling herself, Liz glanced out of the window again and saw that Britt was now gazing upwards at the very window next to where she stood hiding. And in her look of helpless appeal Liz saw such
pain that she had to look away.

And in that moment she saw that it wasn’t she who had lost everything. It was Britt. Liz might have lost David but she still had Jamie and Daisy and she had found peace here and a new
life. And now she had WomanPower too. Britt had nothing. She had loved and had paid the price for loving with her chic and her pride and her capacity to cut herself off from the pain of others.

Liz stood on the darkened landing, her breath coming in quick gasps as though she had been running. She felt that Britt must know she was there, as if she were wearing infra-red glasses and Liz
were a heat source that glowed red in the dark.

But if Britt knew she was there she gave no sign of it. She simply turned and limped, almost as though her body were in pain, back towards her car.

For a fraction of a second Liz felt an irrational temptation to run after her. Instead she stayed stock-still, torn by pity and by anger until, downstairs, the phone began to ring.

‘Conrad
Marks
?’ Liz asked his secretary incredulously, trying not to sound as astonished as she felt. ‘Conrad Marks wants to speak to
me
?’

And then Conrad was on the line with those familiar silky threatening tones. Even a simple enquiry after your health from Conrad had you rushing to check your insurance premiums.

‘Liz, darling, how’s country living? I was so sorry to hear about you and David.’

Like hell, thought Liz. She could just hear Claudia telling him now. Poor Lizzie, she goes off to be a home-maker just when hubby decides to leave home!

‘What can I do for you, Conrad?’ A social call from Conrad was about as likely as the Queen dropping in for a cuppa. ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment.’

‘Heigh ho. A woman’s work is never done. Nappies to soak. Babies to bath. Jam to make. What a busy life you lead, Liz.’

‘Nobody washes nappies any more Conrad, they’re all disposable,’ Liz snapped. What the hell did Conrad want? ‘Don’t you watch your own commercial breaks?’

And then it struck her. Maybe he was calling about Britt, to tell her Britt had had a nervous breakdown or run off with the budget of a Metro series. There had to be some explanation for her
extraordinary appearance.

‘Why are you calling, Conrad? Is it about Britt?’

Conrad sounded annoyed. He liked to be in control of the conversation. ‘As a matter of fact it is.’

‘What about her?’ Liz asked carefully. She wasn’t going to admit that Britt was outside her front door at this very moment looking like Lady Macbeth.

‘You’ve been leaning on her, Lizzie.’

‘Now why should I do that, Conrad?’

‘Because you don’t want her to be Programme Controller of Metro Television.’

‘I didn’t know you’d asked her.’

So it was true. Claudia was being traded in for a more ruthless model.

‘Well, I did. I asked her on Christmas Eve and we’d all but shaken on it.’

‘And then she changed her mind.’

‘You know she did.’

‘And you think that was because of me?’

‘Of course it was.’ Conrad’s tone was getting angrier. He was going out to a première in fifteen minutes and he had to talk Liz into persuading Britt to see sense before
he left. Then they could go ahead with the Board meeting as arranged and he could start softening Claudia up.

‘I don’t know what line you gave her about loyalty and honour and all that crap, but last week she rang up and suddenly turned it down. And when I assumed it was a ploy for better
conditions I upped them.’ Liz could almost hear him looking at his watch. ‘So I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse and she refused it. And you’re telling me that
wasn’t because of you?’

‘What did you offer her?’

Conrad weighed up the situation. If he told the truth Liz might be bitterly resentful that Britt had been offered a better deal than she got. He decided to hedge.

‘A little more money, a few more shares.’

Which meant, Liz knew, a lot more money and a lot more shares. But why on earth had Britt turned down an offer like that? Conrad was right. It was the kind of offer you didn’t refuse. And
then she remembered the phone call from Britt’s mother and suddenly everything fell into place.

‘You’re wrong, Conrad. Britt didn’t turn down the job because of me.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because to do that would be unselfish and Britt has never done anything unselfish in her life.’

‘So why
did
she turn it down? It was the best offer she’ll ever get.’

‘I think I have a pretty good idea.’

‘Come on, Liz, stop farting about. What is it?’

‘Britt’s mother rang me today.’

‘And?’

For a moment Liz wondered if she should tell Conrad, but she felt no particular loyalty to Britt. Why should she?

‘Britt had a miscarriage last week.’

‘A
miscarriage?’
Conrad’s tone was almost comic in its horror. ‘You mean she was fucking
pregnant
when I offered her the job?’

‘You’ve had a lucky escape, Conrad. You might have ended up having to give her maternity leave.’

Liz could tell from Conrad’s appalled silence that he was only going to employ men in future.

‘’Bye, Conrad. Good hunting.’

She began to put the phone down. But he wasn’t quite finished yet.

‘Liz. Liz, before you hang up I’ve got one question.’

Liz could hear the smile in his voice and knew from experience that this was Conrad at his deadliest.

‘What’s that, Conrad?’

‘If Britt turned down the job because she’d just had a miscarriage why did she tell me that it was because she’d taken enough of yours already?’

Liz sat in front of the fire, still holding the phone in her left hand. Had Britt really turned down the job, a job Liz knew she must want desperately, because she wanted to make amends?
Remembering that stricken white face looking up at her, Liz could almost believe it was true.

Jumping out of her chair she ran to the front door, and switched on the outside light, not even stopping to grab a warm coat, and ran down the garden path. The bright floodlight cut a swathe
through the misty night from the porch right down the front path to the lane. Both were deserted.

All that Liz could see was Ruby’s vast green plastic dustbin stamped with East Sussex County Council and the warning ‘No Hot Ashes’, which she had wheeled out for
tomorrow’s collection.

Reminding herself that she hadn’t put her own out yet, Liz opened its lid. Lying amongst the black bin liners and old Christmas decorations were a child’s teddy bear and a wilting
bunch of chrysanthemums.

Liz stood in the middle of the road brushing sprout peelings out of the teddy’s small red jacket. He was a Winnie-the-Pooh copy and the toy fakers of Hong Kong or Taiwan
had failed to capture the original’s endearing smugness. But somehow she wouldn’t have found the genuine article half as touching. It was as though Britt had learned, finally, that you
didn’t have to have the best of everything.

Was Conrad telling the truth? Looking down at the bear’s stitched-on smile, she knew suddenly that he was. Conrad’s motives were genuine for once. He simply wanted to hurt her.

Cradling the bear she started to walk slowly back down the garden path, when the headlights from a car caught her in their beam. She saw with astonishment, that it was a red Porsche. Britt must
have taken the wrong turning and gone up Palmer’s Lane until she found the road blocked by the farmyard.

This time Liz didn’t hesitate. Still holding the bear, she ran up to the car and called to her. ‘Britt, Britt.’ And then she realized she didn’t know what to say next.
Britt’s face was still a mask of pain. Liz held out the ludicrous teddy. ‘Thanks for the bear. Daisy’ll love it.’ She hesitated again. ‘Would you like to come in for a
drink?’

Britt stopped dead in the middle of the road and jumped out of the car, her damp hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes red and puffy.

‘I’m sorry, Liz, I can’t tell you how sorry. For the whole bloody mess.’

And Liz saw a truth that she had not known before. That it is easy to forgive someone who has lost everything.

‘Oh, Britt. I’m sorry about the baby. You may not believe it, but I really am.’

Britt looked at her friend, and knew that, astoundingly, Liz meant what she said. But she saw with blinding clarity how much the baby would have hurt Liz, no matter how generous she tried to be
about it.

‘I know.’ She reached out her hand to Liz. ‘But maybe it was for the best really.’

For a brief moment they held each other and for the first time in what felt like weeks, Britt felt at peace.

David leaned against a stile opposite the Post Office in the tiny village of Blackshaw Head, clapping his hands together and blowing on them against the intense cold of the
January morning. But the cold didn’t bother him, it was exactly the kind of weather he liked best. The sky huge and empty, a deep wintry blue, clear and cloudless, the rising sun already
casting long shadows even at this time of day. God’s own morning, he told himself, and breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh country air.

Looking around he was surprised that the village was deserted. What had happened to the farmers who were supposed to be up with the lark, out milking and taking bales of hay to the hungry sheep
he’d seen up on the tops huddling together for warmth?

All still in bed, with Volvo Estates in the farmyard and EEC subsidies in the bank, no doubt.

Smiling to himself David wondered what he’d been expecting. An apple-cheeked farmer’s wife with a basket of eggs over one arm inviting him in to her cosy kitchen full of the smell of
baking bread, and feeding him on bacon rashers so fresh the hairs were still in the rind and milk warm from the cow?