Out of the Blue (47 page)

“She always has to be the center of attention,” Katie offered as she placed the fairy on top of the tree. “And she always has to win.” I rolled my eyes. It was true. “But you’re totally different, Mum, so I’ve sometimes wondered why you two became close?”

“Because at school a lot of the girls were pretty nasty to her, and I hated that, so I decided I’d be her ally. Then, as she grew in confidence, I realized what fun she was. And because I was rather unadventurous and sensible, I found Lily liberating because she was wild.”

“So it was the attraction of opposites, then?”

“Yes, I suppose it was. To me, she was such a tonic. She was so daring. And she liked me because I never really threatened her in any way. I always imagined, especially once I’d got married, that we’d slowly drift apart. But we didn’t, and, to my surprise, she’s always kept in close touch.”

“Well, it’s obvious that she needs you, Mum.”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

“I mean, you’re her only real friend. And because she knew you when she was so young, you probably remind her of just how far she’s come.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” I sighed as I hung a tiny glitterball on the tree.

“And of course it’s obvious that she adores you.” My hand suddenly stopped in mid-air.

“Is it obvious?” I said wonderingly.

“Oh yes. No doubt about it. You’re very important to Lily. But then you’ve been close for twenty-five years. Perhaps you should have a silver anniversary party!” she added with a laugh.

“Mmm…perhaps we should. But the longer you’re friends with someone, Katie, the more meaningful that friendship becomes.”

“She’s obviously a bit jealous of Dad,” she remarked. “As though she knows you better than him. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t really like her,” she suggested. “Three’s a crowd and all that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “I think he finds her a bit shallow and vain. He admires her intelligence tremendously,” I added, “but he thinks she’s wasted her gifts. He says she could have been a brain surgeon, or a scientist. He thinks she’s sold out to fashion and glitz.”

“But it’s up to her what she does with her life, not Dad.”

“Yes. Of course it is.”

“I do
like
Lily,” said Katie judiciously. “She’s funny. And she’s intriguing.”

“Intriguing…?” I murmured. “Yes.”

“She’s very complex,” Katie added. “I mean, she’s so obsessive, and so driven. Mind you, Dad works really hard too.”

“He always has,” I said.

“No, he’s working incredibly hard on something at the moment, but he wouldn’t tell Matt and me what it is.”

“He’s probably negotiating to buy some expensive new author,” I suggested, “or striking some big foreign deal. Now, will you both be all right tomorrow night?” I enquired as we appraised the tree. “I won’t be out for long.”

“We’ll be fine,” she said airily. “We’re almost grown-up, you know.”

“Yes,” I said, sadly, “I
do
know that. I know it all too well.” And as Katie switched on the lights, and they began to wink and flash, I thought, wistfully, of how she and Matt would soon be leaving home. Peter had wanted me to have another baby. But now Andie was having it instead.

“Will it be a good party?” Katie enquired as we put the boxes away.

“Not really,” I said. “Office parties rarely are.”

In fact I always found the AM-UK! Christmas party a bit of a strain. Standing in the boardroom drinking cheap white wine wasn’t my idea of fun. But they’re my colleagues, I told myself as I got into work on Monday morning, and it would be unsporting of me not to go.

I had my usual espresso from the machine, then glanced at the papers before starting work. I looked at the
Mail,
then picked up the
Independent
and suddenly my plastic cup stalled in mid-air. “BISHOPSGATE BOOKS FENTON & FRIEND.” I experienced a huge surge of adrenaline as I quickly scanned the piece:
Latest blockbuster merger…Fenton & Friend snapped up…Bishopsgate paid £35 million…rumors began six months ago…further gossip at Frankfurt
…
Smith showed real financial flair…MD Charmaine Duval’s desk already cleared…Oliver Sprawle poised to go
. My hands shook with shock as I put the newspaper down.
That’s
what he’d been working on, I realized. That’s why he’d been slaving away. Good God! I thought. Last December Peter was about to be sacked by Charmaine; now, just a year on, he had sacked
her
. As I tried to concentrate on my weather charts, one thought wouldn’t go away—that Peter must have been right in his presumption that Oliver was behind the drip-feed of poison to the press. I now knew he’d had a motive, if he knew of Peter’s plans to take over the firm. I glanced at the article again. It said that Peter had been planning to buy up Fenton & Friend for more than six months. Oliver’s brother was a banker, and could easily have told him what was afoot. Hence Oliver’s continuing attempts to undermine Peter—now, at last, it began to make sense. I remembered Peter had hinted at things at the Frankfurt book fair. I’d told him he’d had the last laugh on Charmaine and Oliver, and he’d replied, “Not quite.” But now he had, I realized, and they’d got what they deserved. I was so thrilled for Peter, and so proud of him I thought my heart would burst. Then I was knocked down by a wave of regret because I remembered we were getting divorced. Tonight Peter would be celebrating his success—but not with me.

“Are you OK?” said Darryl.

“What?”

“You look a bit down.”

“Oh, no,” I murmured. “I’m…fine.”

“Coming to the Christmas party?” he added brightly.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

So at half past seven that evening I found myself standing in the throng, clutching a glass of cheap Chardonnay.

“—bloody funny!”

“—a singing ferret?!”

“—the Princess Diana tragedy special.”

“—did you see Sophie on
Newsnight?
”

“—yeah, that girl from the
Big Breakfast
.”

“—Selina Scott was there!”

Terry was looking cock-a-hoop, then the music started and I could hear that annoying “Merry Christmas” song. Well it wasn’t a merry Christmas for lots of people, I reflected miserably, least of all for me.

So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody’s having fun…

I’m not, I thought. Far from it.

Look to the future now, it’s only just be-guuuuuuun.

“Faith!” It was Iqqy. I kissed him. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m OK.” I shrugged. And then, because he’s so sympathetic, I added, “Actually, I’m feeling dreadful—my divorce is about to come through.”

“Poor darling,” he said compassionately. “And I’ve just finally dumped Will.”

“You have?” I said. “Well, that’s a good thing. He treated you very badly from what you said.”

“He certainly did,” he sighed. “I decided I couldn’t stand it any more, so I told him it’s over this time. Bye bye.”

“Then that means you’re going to be happier,” I said.

“Yes, I am, Faith. And so are you.” I smiled at him and thought that I’d never felt less happy in my life. By now I was beginning to feel slightly tipsy as the wine and music flowed. Iqqy went off to chat to someone else, and I had a quick word with Marian, and with Jane on the planning desk, but I avoided the whining Lisa who’d messed up Sophie’s autocue. In any case she was deep in conversation with Tatiana. And now I found myself standing next to a girl called Jan, who’d started temping the week before. She’d clearly drunk quite a bit, and seemed in the mood to talk. I established that she’d temped for newspapers and magazines before she came to AM-UK!.

“I like being a temp,” she said as she knocked back her glass of wine. “It’s fun,” she added as she grabbed a passing vol-au-vent, “and it means you’re not tied down. I’m not the faithful type, professionally,” she giggled. “I like to play the field!”

“Did you enjoy working on newspapers?” I asked politely.

“Oh yeah—I did. Especially on the gossip columns, that was a laugh!” she exclaimed.

“Where did you do that?” I asked, aware that my interest was being suddenly aroused.

“Ooh, all over,” she replied. “At the
Express,
and the
Daily Telegraph;
and I did a few weeks on
Hello!.
I also worked on
TV Quick!
for a bit, and then I had a stint on the
Daily Mail.”

“Did you?” I said. “When was that?”

“Between March and July of this year.”

“Really?” I said. “How interesting. Because I had some nasty gossip at around that time.”

“I know, I remember it,” she said with an inebriated laugh.

“Really?” I said again. “Did you read it?”

“I typed it up,” she replied.

“And were you…sworn to secrecy?” I asked as she drained her glass.

“In theory, yes,” she said. “But you know how it is with us temps, we come and go.”

“In that case,” I said meaningfully, “could you reveal the source for those pieces?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. Actually, I do know who it was,” I added, “I’d just like you to confirm it, that’s all.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll tell you if you’re right. Hit me with a name!”

“Oliver Sprawle.” She looked blank. “He used to work with my husband at Fenton & Friend,” I explained. “We were both convinced it was him.”

“Oliver Sprawle?” she repeated, chewing on her lower lip. “No, that name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“There were two nasty little pieces,” I explained. “One was in
Hello!
in April, and there was a piece in the
Mail
in July.”

“Well, I was working on those titles at those times,” she said. “And I can tell you that it wasn’t him.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded. I was confused. “But, I was convinced it was,” I said. “So who was it, if it wasn’t him?”

“I’ll tell you,” she said. “As long as you promise not to beat them up—I could get into trouble for this.”

“I swear not to do them any acts of violence,” I added. “But I just need to know.”

“OK, then. It was Lily Jago—that woman who edits
Moi!.
”

* * *

I took the stairs two at a time as I went up a floor to my desk. I punched Lily’s phone number into the pad, inflamed by a mixture of fury and drink.

“Lily!” I said. I was hyperventilating. “I want to talk to you, I—”

“This is Lily Jago…” I heard her answerphone click on.

“Lily, I know you’re there. Will you please pick up?”

“Thanks for calling me…”

“Pick up the phone, Lily! Do you hear me? I want to talk to you!”

“But I’m away now in St Kitts for Christmas…” Oh. Oh God. I’d forgotten. “And I’m not back until the thirtieth—late.”

I hung up, then stared out through the plate-glass window, trying to work it out. Why would Lily do that to Peter? Because she didn’t like him, of course. But on the other hand, she did like me. And she would know that if she hurt him in any way, then that would damage me, too. In any case, those nasty little pieces had no basis in truth. They were just spiteful speculation, designed to make him look bad. How
dare
she, I thought furiously. How dare she! But what the hell was it all
for?
And now, as I felt confusion furrow my brow, I heard laughter and music from below. Above the alcohol-fuelled babble, up floated the words of a familiar song.

There are more…questions than answers,
I heard Johnny Nash croon. There certainly were, I thought.
And the more I find out, the less I know
. Quite, I thought miserably.
Yes, the more I find out…the less I know
.

* * *

“Peace be with you,” said the priest on Christmas Day. I’m going to
kill
her, I thought.

“Now, in this season of goodwill to all mankind…” I will, I’ll kill her, the treacherous
bitch
. “Let us call to mind our sins…” I’d rip out her heart and feed it to Graham if I didn’t think it would poison him. As for Jennifer Aniston, I’ll have her turned into a Shih Tzu-kebab. Then came the first reading, which was all about Mary being pregnant and giving birth in the manger, and the baby being wrapped in swaddling clothes and all that, and I thought I was going to be sick. I glanced at the infant Jesus lying in the crib and thought, I’ve really
had
it with babies this year. Then, oh God, from the back of the church, this sweet treble voice piped up.

In the bleak mid-winter
… Oh no. Please no. Not that.
Frosty wind made moan
. Tears sprang to my eyes. This was the bleakest mid-winter of all.
Earth stood hard as i-ron
. So bleak.
Water like a stone
. This year’s been so hard, I reflected.
Snow was falling, snow on snow
. That’s when it all began, I reflected, at Snows, in January.
Snow on snow. In the bleak mid-winter, lo-ong ago
. The priest’s purple vestments blurred and I felt Katie squeeze my hand. I hadn’t told the kids what I’d found out—they wouldn’t understand it any more than me. In any case, I had to talk to Lily first, which I couldn’t do for six days.

That no-man’s land between Christmas and New Year’s Eve passed in a painful blur. My parents came, and Sarah, and the kids went to see Peter, of course. I hardly ate, and everyone said I looked ill, but they put it down to the impending divorce. Some strange, residual loyalty to Lily prevented me from telling them the truth. But on the night of the thirtieth I sat up, alone, Katie’s words ringing in my ears.

She adores you, Mum, you can see that.

You’re my dearest friend in the world.

You’re important to her. She loves you.

I have only your best interests at heart.

I lifted the silver kaleidoscope to my eye and gently twisted the end, watching the Technicolor sequins slither and slide and regroup into ravishing shapes. They were mesmerisingly complex and beautiful, and impossible to pin down.

* * *

“So, things are
pretty
frosty!” I said brightly when I went back to work the next day.