Best Supporting Role (27 page)

“I don’t know,” I said. “But at least I’m thinking about the future. You’re not.”

“That’s just the way I am. I can’t get obsessed with what might possibly happen one day.”

“But suppose you hit on hard times and meanwhile my business is on the up. You might be forced to come to me for money. Let me be clear. I’d have no problem helping you out if you’d already made some financial provision—taken at least some responsibility for
yourself. It’s the fact that you refuse to do anything at all that gets me. I can’t face having to support somebody who hasn’t made the effort—somebody who has squandered all his money. It has too many echoes of Mike. I can’t do it.”

“Sarah, I am nothing like Mike. I don’t gamble. I’ve never been in debt in my life.”

“But if you carry on like this—living for today, not giving a toss about tomorrow—you might end up in debt, and that scares me.” I paused. “And the money isn’t the only thing.”

“Go on.”

“OK . . . I’m worried that this is going to be our future—you swanning off abroad for weeks or months at a time the way you always have. Maybe I’m being melodramatic, but it just feels like another kind of widowhood.”

He looked genuinely shocked. “Christ. I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. I’ve been on my own so long that it hadn’t occurred to me how you might feel about me going away.”

“Well, maybe you could start thinking about it . . . all of it.”

I looked at the clock again. “I really do have to go. Can we talk about this another time?”

“Sure . . . but you do still love me, don’t you?”

“Don’t be daft. Of course I still love you.”

•   •   •

I
was due to collect Dan first. On the way, I called Rosie.

“It all just came pouring out,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t stop it. I thought I’d be able to compromise, but I’m not sure that I can. The man lives like there’s no
tomorrow. On the other hand, he did get thoughtful when I told him I didn’t want him leaving me for weeks on end. I suppose that’s something.”

“You’re right. It means he really loves you and cares about you. Look, I understand how his attitude to money upsets you, but maybe one of the reasons he’s so relaxed is that he’s assuming he’ll inherit when his parents go.”

“He might—assuming the money isn’t swallowed up in care home bills. And even if it’s not, I don’t want to be with a man who’s relying on his dead parents to support him.”

“Does it really matter where the money comes from?”

“Yes. To me, it does.”

I could practically see Rosie shaking her head in frustration.

“I know you think I’m being too hard on him, but . . .”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I never had to live with Mike. That experience clearly had a profound effect on you. And why wouldn’t it?”

The tears started falling down my cheeks. “Shit, Rosie, help me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetie, love you as I do, you know I can’t make this decision for you. It was the same with Steve. It has to be your call. All I’d say is this: think very carefully before you do anything you might come to regret.”

•   •   •

I
’d just gotten the kids to bed when Hugh called.

“I really think we need to talk. Can I come over?”

He arrived ten minutes later. I took a couple of beers out of the
fridge and suggested that as it was such a warm night, we take them into the garden.

“Since you left, I’ve been doing some thinking,” Hugh said. “First of all I want to say I had no idea how you felt about being left while I went away. I wish you’d said something. I can’t promise that I’ll stop traveling, because apart from my relationship with you it nourishes me more than anything else I know. But I promise I’ll never ever go away for long stretches. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“And as for long trips—we could do them together, with the kids. We can go away for a couple of months during the summer, the best part of a month at Christmas. . . .”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us having fun.”

“Look, first of all it will be years, if ever, before I can leave the business for more than a couple of weeks. And second, have you any idea what these trips would cost?”

“Sarah, I don’t know what you want from me. My business is doing well; I’m not in debt. From where I’m sitting it feels like you want to change me simply because you’ve got some hang-up about having loads of cash in the bank.”

“It’s not a hang-up. I’ve told you before, all I want is for you to start thinking about the future. Just put
something
aside for the future. Christ, it’s not asking the earth. It’s what most people do.”

“OK, fine. So where are your savings?”

“I don’t have any. I know you think I’m being a hypocrite lecturing you like this while I have nothing, but I promise you that the moment I have any spare cash, it will go straight into the bank. I will
always make sure I have money for the children, money for me if I get ill or the business goes down.”

“I can’t help it. I just feel like you’re bullying me. I had enough of that with my mother. She wanted me to become a banker and I stood up to her. My last relationship broke down because the woman I was with wanted me to give up acting and get a proper job. Being a builder didn’t work for her either, because the way she saw it, building was a trade, not a profession, and she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up among her banker friends. I had no choice but to walk away. I’m fed up to the back teeth with people trying to get me to do what they want. What about what I want?”

“Hugh, read my lips. I’m not asking you to give up anything. All I’m asking is that you start putting some money aside.”

He took a mouthful of beer. “Sarah, have you any idea how many hours I work in an average week?”

“Of course I do. I also know that you drive yourself way too hard. I have no idea how you coped working on the shop during the day and doing
The Producers
in the evening. I don’t know how you didn’t get ill.”

“I never get ill and that’s because I’m always planning my next trip. I can’t live without it.”

“Then you’ll have to live without me.” I couldn’t believe what I’d said, but I made no attempt to take the words back. It didn’t feel like I was being irrational, but if I was, then that’s what being married to Mike had done to me and I felt powerless to fight it.

“What? That’s it? You’re breaking up with me because I enjoy traveling?”

“No, I’m breaking up with you because you refuse to compromise.”

“Why does it all have to be about me? I don’t see you compromising. Shit, Sarah. Are you crazy? We love each other. We should be sitting here planning our future. Please don’t do this. . . . Look, I understand what you went through with Mike, but . . .”

I was on my feet now. “You know what? You don’t understand. You don’t have the remotest idea. If you did, you wouldn’t be so dogmatic.”

“Here we go again. It’s me who’s refusing to compromise. I’m the one being dogmatic. What about you? . . . OK, what do you want? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

He stood up, took a wad of fifty-pound notes out of his wallet and threw them onto the garden table. “Right, first thing tomorrow, we’ll take this lot to the bank and open me a savings account.”

I shook my head.

“Not enough? You want more? OK, I have more.” He found some more notes and slammed them down on top of the others.

“Can’t you see? I want you to
want
to do it. I refuse to be the one forcing you, constantly nagging.”

“I’m sorry, but that just isn’t me. It’s not who I am.”

“I know.”

“Christ. This is just so fucking stupid.”

“Maybe to you.”

“I need to get out of here.” He headed back into the kitchen. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

Nor could I.

•   •   •

P
art of me thought—or hoped—that he would call the next morning, admit that I was right and that he was living like an overgrown student. Then we’d sit down, have a sensible talk, the whole thing would be resolved and we’d have jungle makeup sex on the living room floor. But he didn’t. He didn’t call the next morning either. Or the one after that.

I couldn’t sleep. Missing him was unbearable. The ache was almost physical. I lost count of the times I almost picked up the phone to say that I was sorry for being such an arse and please could we just go back to where we were. But I couldn’t do it. Rosie accused me of being impossible and stubborn and suggested I go back into therapy to deal with this anxiety over money that Mike had left me with. I took the point, but at the same time I didn’t think what I was asking of Hugh was outrageous. If we got back together, we’d be arguing again in minutes.

I decided to say nothing to my mum. I couldn’t cope with all her angst. I suspected she was already fantasizing about her wedding outfit.

My most important task right now was to finish the bra pattern. There was less than a week to go to the competition deadline. I would sit at my drawing board, compasses in one hand, flexi-ruler in the other—staring at my instruction manual.
Next, extend the lines that “radiate” from the Point of Bust point to the edge of the cup and beyond. Number the lines 1 to 7 clockwise starting at the “cup apex,” as in the diagram.

And now in English if you please. I would screw up another sheet of graph paper, aim it at the bin and miss. I was wading in paper balls. Then I would make coffee, open another KitKat and start thinking about Hugh.

There was no room for error. It needed to be perfect. Given that this was my first attempt at making a bra pattern, perfection or anything close to it was unlikely. The aunties kept telling me not to panic. They were sure that my pattern would be perfect, and if it wasn’t, they would modify things. “Don’t forget, poppet, that Rosie will need two fittings. That gives us plenty of room to adjust.”

Finally I handed over the pattern. The aunties insisted it would be perfect. I told them not to count on it. I was losing faith and enthusiasm, partly because I was tired and frazzled and partly because I was missing Hugh.

“For crying out loud,” Aunty Sylvia said. “Get off your high horse and phone him.”

I’d thought twice before telling the aunties what was happening with Hugh and me. They liked him—that was never in doubt—but they still didn’t approve of my dating an actor. I wasn’t sure I could cope with all the we-told-you-sos. But seeing me so miserable, they’d had had a bit of a rethink.

“No. He needs to grow up.”

“I agree,” Aunty Bimla said. “He does need to grow up. That means you will need to give him time, but I promise you he will come around. He isn’t going to let a wonderful girl like you slip through his fingers.”

I said it felt like I’d already slipped.

Of course Dan and Ella wanted to know why they hadn’t seen much of Hugh lately. When I told them we’d had an argument, they got cross and said it was bound to be all my fault. Even though he had no idea what the argument was about, Dan called me “a fat bossy poo head.” Ella burst into tears and demanded to know what
she was going to do now that she’d been chosen to sing a solo and had nobody to help her practice. Of course, I offered to help her, but she said she wanted the song to be a surprise.

“A surprise for me?”

She nodded. “Oh, darling, that’s so sweet. I don’t know what to say. Tell you what—maybe Grandma could help you.”

“No. I want Hugh.”

I didn’t want to tell Mum and Dad about breaking up with Hugh. The inquisition would be endless, but if I kept quiet, I risked their hearing it from the kids. So one night after they’d gone to bed, I made the call.

Mum picked up on the first ring. “Hi darling. I’ve just been sitting here thinking about you. I’m just so excited about the bra competition. I’ve got this feeling you’re going to win. You’re so gifted. Plus you’ve got two of the most talented seamstresses in the country helping you. What shouldn’t you win?”

“Because I know almost nothing about how to make a bra pattern and Valentina di Rossi is entering as well.”

Mum wasn’t having it.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got your aunty Shirley looking over you. She’s probably collaring the Almighty right now and having a quiet word in his ear.”

The image made me smile. For a moment I forgot why I’d called.

“Mum, there’s something I need to tell you. Hugh and I have stopped seeing each other.”

“Oh, darling. No . . . I’m so sorry. The pair of you seemed so together. What happened?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Don’t tell me. He’s found somebody else. Funny, though. He didn’t strike me as the type. Mind you, I suppose all actors are the type. I mean when you move in those glamorous circles. It’s a different world. There’s temptation at every turn.”

I assured her that there was nobody else.

“Then what is it?”

The rest of the story came tumbling out. “I love him,” I said finally, “but after Mike . . .”

“I know, darling. You don’t have to tell me.”

“So what do I do?”

“Keep talking. Keep yelling and fighting if needs be. Thrash it out. If you love each other, you’ll work it out.”

“I thought we could do that, but it’s just not happening.”

“Then one of you has to climb down.”

“But which one?”

•   •   •

T
he following morning there were more tears. This time, from Aunty Bimla. Rosie had just arrived for her fitting and she and I were sitting in the basement having a cup of tea with Aunty Sylvia. It was well after nine thirty and Aunty Bimla hadn’t arrived.

“It’s so unlike her,” Aunty Sylvia said. “Maybe I should give her a call.”

“She’ll be fine,” I said. “She’s probably stuck on the tube.”

But she wasn’t fine. A moment later, Aunty Bimla appeared, her eyes red from crying, her face puffy with exhaustion.

“What on earth is it?” Aunty Sylvia said, putting her arm across Aunty Bimla’s shoulders.

“It’s Sanjeev.”

“Has something happened to him?”

“No. Nothing like that. He’s fine, but it is all such doom and gloom.”