Copycat (29 page)

Easter came and went. This summer Scarlett and Poppy would be in their last term at junior school.

I still took charge of Martha’s children after school, as before, but she was rather thoughtless to allow Scarlett to bring friends home and expect me to give them all tea. Harriet Birch, an unattractive child, given to whispering and nudging a lot, had terrible manners and was ‘knowing’. That’s how Stella would have put it, and it seemed just right for Harriet Birch. She was the sort to empty toy cupboards but not dream of putting anything back. She could commandeer a PlayStation for hours on end and even eat while pressing the buttons. What on earth did Scarlett see in her?

I was informed that Harriet was going through a difficult time, following her parents’ traumatic divorce. That was what must have made her so sly. I tried to be more charitable towards her.

Poppy didn’t take to her.

‘Why don’t you say she can’t come?’ Poppy asked me.

‘It’s not up to me,’ I told her. ‘Martha’s working, and I suppose it’s only an hour until she gets home and then they can go over to her house. If you don’t want to join them, you can stay here.’

But she did want to join them; in fact, she made a point of staying at Martha’s until Harriet left and I wondered if I should have kept her here after all. Harriet was Scarlett’s guest and Poppy the uninvited intruder. But Scarlett didn’t complain, so I decided to let it go.

‘Why don’t you bring a friend home for a change?’ I asked my daughter.

But Poppy just gave me a fierce look and I was sorry I had interfered.

‘You worry too much,’ said Graham, when I shared my misgivings with him. ‘Scarlett and Poppy are still best friends and probably always will be. But Scarlett is such an extrovert she’s bound to need other people, too. You only have to look at her mother.’

How lucky I was to have Graham – stable, steady, sensible Graham – while Martha, I knew, suffered so over Sam.

No, that affair had not fizzled out as I’d hoped.

Damn him, damn him. As far as I could tell by the comings and goings of Tina’s car, Sam’s affair with that woman was as intense as ever.

Perhaps we weren’t quite so sad after all.

P
ERHAPS WE WEREN’T QUITE
so sad after all.

Sam was changing so subtly nobody else would notice. One evening he spent the whole night in, working on a robot for Lawrence. It was a construction-kit present from Mum last Christmas that we hadn’t got around to fixing. And as they sprawled on the carpet together, their likeness – dark and wiry, tight curls, and with the same sexy grin – struck me with such quiet pride. To stop me cracking up completely I’d taken up painting again: every lunatic whirl and loop, not to mention the thickness of the oils, managed to dilute the worst of my terrors, briefly, at any rate. While I was thrashing about on canvas Jennie was slapping her clay around. She’d stuck with her pottery sessions, a marvel for someone as inconstant as her, and what was even more remarkable was her natural flare for shape and texture. She’d even dabbled in casting small bronzes which she gave away to admirers at local exhibitions. She was commissioned to make a statue of a dolphin on a plinth for the new Sainsburys at Stamford Way, and after this confidence boost she started selling her stuff, first on a stall at the county show and then at serious craft shops. Her work was appealing, it sold like hot cakes; someone compared her to Barbara Hepworth. And when she signed a contract with Henry’s Place, an arty-farty London gallery, she was more staggered than any of us.

‘Who’d have thought she had it in her?’ Sam said nastily, his tolerance of Jennie always fragile. He had no patience, he was even uneasy in her presence. She’d been right about Austria – Sam wouldn’t have them. I’d pleaded their case, but in vain. One more holiday with the Gordons and Sam swore he’d have a breakdown.

‘I’m not bloody well giving in this time, Martha. Just cast your mind back… they’re a drag and you can’t have forgotten the moaning and groaning. Every single holiday for the last nine years has been ruined by that family one way or another, and I’ve had it up to here. No way. Forget it.’

But I hadn’t lied when I’d told Jennie they’d hate it: skiing was just not their style – they’d wither and die in the cold, for a start. And, as it was a group activity holiday, too much of the Gordons’ silly fussing would have affected us all. When I tried to argue the case for Poppy and Josh, Sam flipped.

I was so pathetically eager to please him that I didn’t push the issue. I secretly hoped that the holiday might bring the two of us closer together, and, without Jennie tagging along, without all the worry her kids would cause, this plan of mine would be more likely to work. I had to think of myself, for God’s sake; my sanity was at stake here.

I think the holiday did help. Sam was back to his old self as we screamed with helpless laughter, tackled some satisfying runs and finished each day exhausted and aching, singing songs raucously and making love gently.

Reacquainting himself with his kids again was a slow process for Sam – he’d been withdrawn and distracted for so long – and if I’d believed in God I’d have flung myself on the ground to thank him. This time Sam’s liaison had been so protracted that I honestly believed I’d lost him. The best thing for all of us now was to try and forget absolutely. I didn’t want confessions, soul-searchings, outpourings. I just didn’t want to know.

When I told Sam Jennie’s story about being on the game, he snorted, ‘But you didn’t believe that crap?’

‘Not at first, of course not. We know what she’s like, she’ll say anything. But this was different. She gave so many details, and I couldn’t see what she’d achieve by letting me in on all that.’

‘Sympathy? Attention? She might have modified her behaviour for her own devious purposes, but she’d chop a leg off for one ounce of sympathy.’

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ I reminded him. ‘There was a time, first when Stella died, and then later, after Jennie came out of that hospital, when you were all for forgiving and forgetting.’

‘Time moves on,’ said Sam. ‘Jennie Gordon is seriously unbalanced and you should never take that one at face value.’

‘But she wouldn’t have included Graham in her lies, she’s never sunk that low before. Imagine if it ever came out, if Graham heard what she’d said about him – a sad kerb-crawling sicko – that would be the end of them, surely.’

‘You’re a fool, Martha. When will you learn? She’d sell her own kids to keep you sweet.’

‘She’s a different person. She’s so much better. Sometimes she’s great to have around.’

‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ said Sam.

And I had noticed an uneasy atmosphere whenever Jennie was in our house. Sometimes it was embarrassingly hostile. ‘She’s got more on her mind than me these days, with all her successes, all this new acclaim.’

‘That’s a blind,’ he said convincingly, ‘and you’re naive not to see that. Why do you give her the benefit of the doubt? That woman’s got some hold on you, Martha. I mean, Graham screwing his arse off with
whores, think about it, I ask you.’

‘When I think of Jennie I always feel guilty.’

‘You can’t carry guilt with you for ever.’

How convenient for Sam to think that. ‘You’re the only one around here who’s got any time for that cow,’ he went on, determined to convince me. ‘The Fords, the Gallaghers, the Wainwrights and the Harcourts, they all see her for what she is – but not you. She’s dangerous, Martha, remember that.’

Dangerous?
Rather a loaded word for poor, infatuated little Jennie, but Sam was right about everyone else. Hilary Wainwright called her disloyal, Angie Ford just couldn’t abide her, to Tina she was a drama queen, and Sadie swore she was out for trouble. All this aggression directed at one small inadequate person, with a thin pixie face and cropped streaky hair. If only Jennie could get over her crush, the Gordons would do better to move. Even with the estate nearby, house prices were rising.

I still defended her whenever I could.

But even Scarlett was turning on Poppy. This dislike appeared to be catching like some virulent type of flu, and Lawrence had long ago asserted his preference for any child rather than Josh, who had still not outgrown his puppy fat. Josh was a fat child and he suffered as most fat kids do. In Josh’s case it wasn’t just genes: never without his bag of crisps, he ate like a horse, and when the chip van did its rounds he was mostly at the front of the queue.

Scarlett moaned, ‘Poppy’s forever round here, Mummy, and sometimes me and Harriet just want to be together, without her. It’s not fair. She even keeps her things in my room. And why do we never go anywhere without her… the zoo, the flicks, Pizza Hut… Why do Poppy and Josh have to come?’

‘Don’t talk like that, Scarlett, you sound so horrible. Just because you’ve found a new friend doesn’t mean you dump the other. And I hope you’re not being unkind to poor Poppy.’

‘I’m not, but she makes me sit beside her at school. She cribs my work. If she didn’t use mine, she couldn’t do hers.’

This didn’t sound like Scarlett. But as usual I was too busy to concentrate on Scarlett’s complicated social life, trying to do a hundred and one things before getting them off to school, scraping together the damn packed lunches, finding a clean shirt for Sam, and searching for my wretched shoes. Scarlett would have to sort things out. It would be a useful learning experience.

Maybe next time I saw her I’d discuss it with Jennie.

We did discuss it.

We got nowhere.

Jennie blamed my kids for everything. I was unsure how to react to this.
Could she be right? Were they being unkind?
But before I could take any action, lo and behold, she was up at the school, blabbing on to Mrs Forest that Scarlett and Harriet were bullying Poppy.

This was a first, and a serious one. We’d never really fallen out over the kids before and I didn’t want it to happen now, but something made me so furious… I could put up with most things – I had proved that – but when she dragged my kids into the picture…

Jennie had acted slyly. She had interfered unnecessarily and I felt that this was an important matter the children should sort out for themselves.

What was more annoying, her behaviour solved nothing.

Jennie had no reason to come round at six. Scarlett and Lawrence came home on the bus now, they let themselves in, made a drink, grabbed a biscuit and started on their homework until I got back from work. They insisted that they would rather do this than wait for me at Jennie’s.

The reason Jennie kept coming over was so that her children could play with mine. And, maddeningly, she would leave them at my house while she went back to start on the supper.

I was going to have it out with her. I had decided to get the kids round the table and have a grown-up, honest discussion about how everybody was feeling. I would put up with no nonsense from Poppy, the air must be cleared before this got out of hand. Everybody must have their say and be listened to and understood.

I had only just poured the wine and lit a relaxing fag when Sam burst in and shot Jennie a look. How could he be so appallingly rude? She couldn’t have missed that face… I felt awful.
What the hell had got into him?

‘I’m just going, Sam,’ she said meekly.

‘Good,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t wait.’

Was he joking?
He must be! But hang on a minute – I had wanted to talk. It was essential we sort matters out. When Sam noisily poured a drink and pointedly ignored Jennie, I was forced to say, ‘He’s had a bad day and he doesn’t mind showing it.’

‘I have not had a bad day, actually, Martha, and I really don’t need you to speak for me.’

‘I’m making excuses for your rudeness, Sam,’ I told him firmly. I’d have a real go at him afterwards. He didn’t stay and finish his drink but slammed it down and went up for a shower, after first asking how long supper would be.

‘When I get round to it,’ I snapped.

‘Well, I’m bloody hungry,’ was his awful answer.

I felt for Jennie. I shrugged. ‘What the hell has got into him?’ She stayed silent but looked pale and troubled.

Suddenly she seemed to explode.
‘Why do you take it?’
she asked.

This was not like her. ‘You know Sam…’

‘I don’t know what you see in the bastard and I never have,’ said Jennie. She followed the woodworm trails with her finger, usually a sign of worse to come.

‘He can be wonderful,’ I told her, ‘at times.’

‘But he uses you, Martha, he laughs at you.’

‘He has done in the past, that’s true, but just now things are working out…’

‘No, they’re not,’ Jennie said quietly.

‘They’re not?’

‘No, and that’s the reason he’s being so atrocious, because I know all about what’s going on.’

My heart drummed against my chest. It was like I had bitten something sour and wanted to spit it out before swallowing. But I had to ask,
‘Know all about what?’

‘I know what the pig has been up to. And he’s turning you against me, Martha. I know that and so do you. He’s not being particularly subtle.’

Did Jennie know something?

My God –
was this true?
Or was this Jennie’s way of tarnishing Sam so that I would take her side? But surely, no matter how passionately Jennie felt about me, no matter how desperately she wanted my friendship, she would stop short of wrecking our marriage? I wanted to stop her.
I couldn’t.
Didn’t she know that whatever she told me, true or false, wouldn’t matter?
I would hate her.
Had she no understanding of my love for Sam?

‘He’s been cheating on you for years,’ she said, following the squiggles with that stupid finger. ‘I’ve known about it for half that time, but I decided not to tell you because I hoped it would blow over.’

‘What’s been going on, Jennie?’
But I knew!
I knew!
Why did she feel she had to tell me?

She changed tack, raised lowered eyes and gave me nervous, fluttering glances. ‘Did you suspect? You never said. You never trusted me that much, did you?’