Mad About You (25 page)

‘OK. Well, while you’re doing that, I’ll be a bitter divorcee, working nineteen-hour days. Donal will be with some tall country bumpkin called Kathleen, who wears wellies and fleeces and loves being outdoors. They’ll have six big strapping boys, whom Kathleen will push out without breaking a sweat because she has big child-bearing hips. Serge will adore his new family and hate me. I’ll probably only get to see him every fourth weekend, which he’ll spend sulking. I’ll shower him with gifts to try to make him like me, but it won’t work because he’d rather be watching dog-racing in a field with his brothers than playing on his iPad. I’ll get a full facelift at fifty and have lots of meaningless affairs with colleagues. I’ll be forced to retire at sixty and spend the next twenty years sitting in my perfect house watching Donal’s six sons playing rugby for Ireland, while he and Kathleen hold hands and cheer from the sidelines. Serge will marry a girl who is the complete opposite of me and visit me once a year out of guilt.’

I burst out laughing. Lucy joined in and soon we were hysterical with alcohol-fuelled mirth. People began to look at us, which made us laugh even louder.

‘What are we like?’ I dabbed my face with a napkin.

‘You have to laugh or you’d cry,’ Lucy said.

Two men approached our table. ‘Hi, Lucy, we don’t mean to interrupt you, but you seemed to be having so much fun, we wondered if we could buy you a drink and join you.’

Lucy looked up. ‘Hi, I didn’t see you in here.’ I knew by her voice that she wasn’t particularly thrilled to see them. She introduced them to me. The small one was Harry and he worked for Barclay’s Bank and the tall one was John and he was a management consultant or something, I was too drunk to care. They sat down. Harry was not very attractive. John was quite good-looking.

‘I hear you jumped ship,’ Harry said to Lucy.

‘Yes.’ Lucy nodded.

‘Sounds good. There’s a lot of money to be made in aircraft leasing, if you get it right. Where did you get the funding?’

‘Germany, AABA Bank. We shopped around, but they gave us the best terms.’

‘So, how’s it going?’ John asked.

‘Really well, thanks. We’ve sourced the planes and we’re signing clients all over Eastern Europe.’

‘Looks like you hit the jackpot.’

I waved my arm at them and, slurring, said, ‘No work chat. Keep it light and fluffy. I need a break from my life.’

Three bottles of wine later, I was feeling no pain. At about eleven, the men suggested we go to another bar. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was dark and had loud music. Lucy went to the Ladies, leaving me dancing to Rihanna while Harry and John went to the bar.

When Lucy came back, I was flinging myself energetically around the dance-floor. It was fantastic – I was having great
fun. John came over and joined me. He was a good dancer. We swayed to the music, dancing closer and closer. Suddenly, I toppled over. John reached out to catch me. His face was very close to mine. I could feel his breath on my neck and then, without thinking at all, acting on impulse alone, I leant in and kissed him. His mouth opened in response and we began to kiss passionately.

Lucy charged over and pulled us apart. ‘Emma! What the hell are you doing?’

‘Having some bloody fun for a change,’ I snapped.

‘We’re going home.’ Lucy grabbed my arm and yanked me through the crowd to the door. When we got out onto the street, she handed me my coat and bag. I put my coat on in silence.

Lucy laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Emma, this is really not the way to solve your problems.’

I looked at Lucy, tears streaming down my cheeks. ‘Well, please tell me what is.’

I peeled my eyes open. It was still dark. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like sandpaper. I rolled over and realized I was lying on the couch, fully clothed. I hadn’t even managed to take off my coat or shoes.

I gingerly swung my feet to the floor, padded upstairs and tiptoed past a sleeping James to the bathroom. Every step was like a mini bomb going off in my head. I leant against the sink and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face was streaked with mascara, my hair was a tangled, knotty mess and I looked pale and drawn. What a night! I hadn’t felt this rough in years. How much had I drunk? I splashed cold water on my face and tried to rub off my makeup with a flannel. Then it hit me …

OH, MY GOD. I had snogged John in the middle of the dance-floor. I began to shake. How could I? I’m not the type of person who gets blind drunk and kisses strange men in nightclubs. I’m a wife and a mum and I’m happy with my lot. Well … I used to be happy. But now … now I was confused and paranoid. I buried my face in a towel. If this was what it felt like to be unfaithful, it wasn’t worth it. I was so ashamed. My face burnt as the memories flashed back. I had been the one who had initiated it, too. I’d wanted to kiss John. I had really wanted to kiss another man, to just let go, misbehave, do something crazy. If I’m being totally honest, the kiss was actually pretty great, very passionate. If Lucy hadn’t dragged me away, would I have let it go further? Would I have slept with him? I could suddenly see how it was possible to get
carried away in the moment, in spite of your best intentions, in spite of your real feelings, even. Was that what James was doing?

I wiped mascara from my eyelashes and looked into my bloodshot eyes. I’d made a complete fool of myself, throwing myself at John. From now on, I’d have to avoid drinking. Alcohol was not my friend.

I sat down on the edge of the bath. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. It was Lucy.
U OK? Worried about you
.

I texted straight back.
Fine. Sry bout last night. Mortified. Can we never mention incident?

Lucy’s reply was instant:
What incident?

I smiled. Good old Lucy. I knew my secret would go to the grave with her.

Suddenly the bathroom was flooded with light. I winced as the brightness pierced my eyes. James stood looking at me, in his boxer shorts, scratching his head. ‘What are you doing in the dark in your coat? Have you only come home now?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s half six.’

I stood up. ‘No, I got home ages ago. I fell asleep on the couch.’

‘Judging by the alcohol fumes emanating from you, I’d say you had a good night,’ James mumbled. He walked past me and reached for his toothbrush.

‘Too much wine.’ I decided to keep it short and as close to the truth as possible.

‘I’m glad you had a good time. You needed a night out. How’s Lucy?’

‘Fine, but things with Donal aren’t great.’

James stopped brushing his teeth. ‘Hardly surprising. She’s never there. He’s practically raising Serge alone.’

‘Well, it’s a big opportunity for her.’ I didn’t want to get into a debate about the pros and cons of Lucy’s new job. I
needed sleep. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and put the duvet over my head.

‘That’s all very well, but she has a husband and a child she barely sees.’

‘Well, she’s home every Friday and spends all weekend with them.’

James scratched his stubbly chin. ‘It’s not a good idea to spend so much time apart.’

‘I know, James,’ I snapped. ‘I’m all too aware of how one person working late all the time affects a relationship. I live with it every day.’

James put his hands on the washbasin and sighed. ‘Once I prove myself at the club, I can start leaving earlier. A few more wins and I’ll have shown them I’m the man for the job. You’ll see, things will settle down.’

I slammed my hand against the edge of the bath. ‘You said all that would happen after you won the first match, but very little has changed. Oh, apart from the lunatic out there stalking us because of you.’

‘Emma, calm down. You know I wouldn’t cheat on you. And I really think that if we continue to ignore her, she’ll go away and we can get back to normal.’

Normal? I didn’t even know what normal was any more.

I decided to change the subject. I was too hung-over to get into an argument about our messed-up life. ‘Why are you up so early anyway?’

‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d go for a run before work.’

‘It’s pitch dark outside.’

‘I know. I had a horrible dream and I need to shake it off.’

‘What was it about?’ I asked.

James rinsed his toothbrush slowly. ‘It was about you leaving me and taking the children.’

‘Oh.’ I didn’t know where to look. Did he suspect me? Had he guessed what I’d got up to last night?

James caught my eye in the mirror. ‘We’re all right, aren’t we, darling? I know things have been horribly difficult lately, but we’ll get through it, won’t we?’ He sounded genuinely worried.

I really looked at my husband for the first time in ages. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and he had lost more weight, which didn’t suit him. He had the air of a man under huge pressure. I suddenly felt sorry for him.

‘As long as you never lie to me, James, we’ll be fine. But if I find out you’ve lied to me about the stalker, we won’t be.’ I felt a little guilty taking the moral high ground, having just kissed someone else, but then, what was a kiss compared to sex toys?

James turned and bent to kiss me on the lips. ‘I haven’t lied to you and I never will,’ he assured me. He tasted of mint toothpaste: nice. He handed me his toothbrush. ‘I think you might need to freshen up your breath.’

‘Charming!’

He grinned. ‘You know me. I can’t lie!’

While I crawled into bed, James went for a run. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to wash away my guilt.

An hour and a half later, Yuri and Lara were bouncing on me.

‘Wake up, sleepy-head,’ Yuri shouted.

‘Mummy, you smell yucky,’ Lara told me.

I actually felt worse after the sleep. I dragged myself out of bed and shakily poured their cereal into bowls. Thankfully, Claire arrived soon after. It was one of the days she came in early to do laundry and light housework. I almost kissed her when I saw her. I asked her to dress the children and take them to school, then went upstairs and tried, in vain, to make myself presentable for work.

Today we were filming the scenes where Babs takes the make-over volunteer shopping for some new clothes, which meant I could spend most of the day standing to one side, feeling sick without being noticed. We headed to a shopping centre near the studio, which had Topshop, New Look and Next. Babs had one hundred pounds to spend on each guest’s clothes. This time, she was making over Sandra, a single mother of seven children from Liverpool who worked part-time as a dinner lady. She was very overweight, but had a pretty face and lovely thick chestnut hair.

We headed to Topshop first, Sandra wearing tracksuit bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt. Babs was wearing a bright yellow bodycon dress, which looked sensational. She was still being very breezy with Gary and you could see he didn’t know what to think. I caught him staring at her stomach for signs of a bump. I shot filthy looks at him whenever he came in range of me, so he knew better than to try talking to me about it.

As the camera crew were setting up, Babs handed me an extra strong mint. ‘You absolutely reek of booze and you look like you slept under a bridge. Where were you last night?’

‘I met Lucy and things got a bit crazy. Too much white wine.’

‘Are you sober?’

‘I think so.’

‘I’ll do my own mascara today, thanks. I’m not having you poking me in the eye with your shaky hands.’

‘Probably a good idea,’ I whispered.

They began to shoot. Babs took Sandra by the arm and whisked her around the shop, picking up bundles of items from different rails as she went. Then she ushered her into the changing room and handed her the first outfit. It was a strapless black maxi dress, which Babs was matching with a short denim jacket.

‘I’m not wearing tha’,’ Sandra said firmly.

Babs waved the hangers at her. ‘Just put it on. It’ll work.’

‘Are you deaf, luv? I said I’m not putting tha’ on.’

‘Oh, shit, here we go,’ Karen muttered. The cameraman grinned at the soundman.

‘Excuse me?’ Babs glared at Sandra, who had the changing-room curtain draped around her to hide her underwear.

‘You need to get them ears seen to,’ Sandra said.

‘Oh, I heard you correctly. I’m just in shock. Do you not understand the show, Sandra? You come on looking like crap and I make you over.’

‘I understand perfectly, luv, but I’m not wearing no long dress. Me mates tell me I’ve got dead good legs, so I’m not hiding them under tha’ big tent of a thing.’

I watched as Babs rapped her blue fingernails on the hanger. ‘OK, Sandra, let’s be clear here. This is my show. You are a guest. When I tell you to try something on, you try it on. That’s how the show works.’

‘I’m not being bossed around by some jumped-up tart from Ireland.’

Everyone gasped. ‘Get a close-up of Babs’s face,’ Karen hissed at the cameraman. ‘This is dynamite TV.’

Babs smiled sweetly and brought her face closer to Sandra’s. ‘Your friends are a bunch of lying wenches. Your legs are like two tree trunks. Your only hope of ever looking in any way normal is if you get help from someone like me, who actually knows how to dress. So you can either shag off back to Liverpool in your saggy-arse tracksuit and have chips for dinner, or you can listen to me and go home looking like a human being.’

Babs was on fire. The crew were all trying not to laugh.

Sandra’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. Then she gathered herself. ‘I’ll stay, but not because I think you’re good at your job, but because I want the free clothes.’

Babs handed her the outfit. ‘Fine, whatever. Just put these on.’

Sandra snatched the hangers and snapped the curtain shut.

‘The cheeky cow,’ Babs hissed.

‘Keep your cool,’ Karen said. ‘The viewers are going to lap this up. It’ll be good for ratings.’

Babs flicked her hair back and smoothed down her dress. I watched her composing herself. The word ‘ratings’ was like a drug to Babs. Now she was even more obsessed with getting better ones, because that meant she’d get more attention from other channels. Then she could leave this show and, more importantly, Gary behind.

Five minutes later, Sandra came out of the changing room, looking, it has to be said, a lot better. She stood in front of the mirror, swinging left and right.

‘Well?’ Babs glared at her, arms crossed. ‘What do you think?’

Sandra wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s all right, but it’s a bit grannyish.’

‘You’re forty-seven and a size twenty. What do you want to wear? Mini dresses?’

Sandra pouted. ‘Just because I’m older don’t mean I have to dress all frumpy, like.’

Babs adjusted the jacket on Sandra’s shoulder. ‘This outfit is not frumpy. It’s cool, it’s flattering and it makes you look five stone lighter.’

‘What else have you got?’ Sandra was unimpressed.

Babs handed her a pair of streamlined charcoal grey trousers and a floaty pale grey chiffon top that was cut quite low at the front and had little cap sleeves. ‘The trousers are free of pockets and anything that will add to your bulk. The top will just land at the bottom of your stomach, hiding the worst
part, and the cap sleeves will broaden your shoulders and cover the fattest part of your arms.’

‘Looks like something a secretary would wear to work,’ Sandra complained.

Babs’s eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you looking for? Smart-casual clothes or something to wear clubbing?’

Sandra rounded on her. ‘What I’m looking for, luv, is something to wear to the pub on a Friday night. I wouldn’t be seen dead in them boring trousers.’

‘Fine. Well, why don’t you go and choose yourself an outfit and we’ll see how you get on? Go on, Sandra, knock yourself out.’ Babs led her out to the shop floor and gave her a not-so-gentle nudge.

Sandra didn’t need to be asked twice. She raced around and came back with a white vest-top with big red sparkly lips painted across the chest and a denim mini skirt. She put them on and came strutting out of the dressing room like a model on a catwalk.

There was complete silence from the crew.

Babs pursed her lips. ‘Tell me, Sandra, how do you think this outfit enhances your shape? How are you hiding the flabby bits and showing off the best bits with these clothes?’

Sandra grinned. ‘Well, luv, I’ve got my tits on show, which is always a good thing as far as men are concerned. I look like a woman who wants to have a laugh and not like a woman who wants to look at spreadsheets. The only sheets I want to look at are bedsheets.’ She cackled.

Babs started laughing too. ‘You know what, Sandra? I have to tell you as a professional that you look an absolute state. But if you think you look good and you’re happy to go to the pub like that and have a laugh, well, off you go. I’m not going to dress you in clothes that flatter you because you won’t wear them. It’s clear you’re a woman who likes to party and I
appreciate that. So, I’m going to get you some party clothes that are a bit less tarty than what you have on, but I’m not going to try to change you or make you over because you’re having fun and I like a woman who knows how to have a good time.’

Everyone laughed. By the end of the day Babs and Sandra were the best of pals and Sandra went home with a bagful of sparkly clothes for her Friday nights in the pub.

Gary came back into the shop for the last part of filming and witnessed the fantastic dynamic between Babs and Sandra. Karen filled him in on the brilliant scenes they had shot earlier. I hovered near my sister when I saw him approaching her.

‘Well done, Babs. I hear the earlier footage is even better,’ he said.

Babs looked him directly in the eyes. ‘Yes, it is. I was on fire.’

‘So … you’re good? You’re back on track?’

Babs shrugged. ‘When was I ever off-track, Gary?’