The Model Wife (21 page)

29

Luke was not the only one to board a plane and head off to Guatemala City. Every five-star hotel in the capital was booked solid with news teams from all over the world. As the
Seven Thirty
crew landed, headed by Alexa now that Thea had to organize and attend a funeral, rumours were beginning to spread like nits in a nursery that Minnie’s visit was not entirely altruistic, that perhaps her trips to see the cute little children in the orphanage might be likened to one of her infamous after-hour sprees in Bergdorf’s.

Minnie’s people, however, denied everything, insisting that the model was there on a private charity visit to open a health clinic and give the work of Guatemala Children a higher profile. No further statement would be made.

‘Are you absolutely sure she’s not going to talk to anyone else?’ Thea demanded of Jake. Four days had passed and she was talking on her hands-free kit, foot hard on the accelerator of her Peugeot 205. The speedometer was creeping steadily past 90mph as she made her way down the motorway to Greenways and Gran’s funeral.

‘I’m as sure as I can be,’ Jake said sounding remarkably perky, given it was six in the morning his time. ‘The
Seven Thirty
crew are the only ones who’ve been allowed full access to our projects. If Minnie does choose to speak, she’ll be honour bound to pick you.’

‘Thank you, Jake,’ Thea said, sticking up two fingers at a lorry overtaking on the inside. The driver made an obscene gesture. Thea gestured back.

‘You’re welcome. We’re doing each other a favour.’ A pause and then he said, ‘Shame you can’t be here.’

‘I know,’ Thea said, though she didn’t mean it in the way Jake did.

‘I’m really sorry about your gran.’ He’d said it before, when she’d first told him why she couldn’t come out, but it was nice to hear it again.

‘Thank you.’ Thea paused. ‘Everyone thinks I should be relieved she’s not suffering any more, but I just feel so sad.’

‘Of course. You’ve been in semi-mourning for years and now you can go no-holds-barred. All those emotions you’ve had a stopper on can come flooding out.’

Terrified they might start flooding out right that second, Thea changed the subject. ‘So the adoption is definitely going ahead?’

‘Off the record, yes. All the papers were signed last night. There’ll be an announcement some time this week.’

Thea sighed with relief. If Minnie had suddenly decided she’d prefer a Chinese baby, she would have almost certainly found herself jobless. ‘We were right to send a team, then.’

‘Totally right. You’ll be on the spot when it all kicks off. Are you sure there’s no chance you can join us?’

‘I’d love to,’ she said truthfully, ‘but Alexa’s out there already. They don’t need me.’

‘Shit, I’ve got to go. Minnie’s PA’s waiting to see me.’ Jake lowered his voice. ‘Could be they’ll make the announcement today. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, and Thea, good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ But he was gone. Thea turned her radio back up.

‘It’s outrageous that some woman with a cheque book should just be allowed to wander in to an orphange as though it’s Selfridges and pick the cutest baby she can find,’ said a female voice.

‘More outrageous than leaving the baby in the orphanage to its fate as a child prostitute and a drug addict?’ said another that was vaguely familiar.

‘Minnie Maltravers
is
a drug addict. She’s done ninety days community service and an anger management course for hitting her maid with a handbag. But it looks as though she’s going to get a green light to adopt a baby when so many decent couples are turned down.’

‘It’s irrelevant if other couples are turned down,’ said the woman’s voice. Who the hell
was
she? ‘The point is one child will be rescued from a life of no hope into a life of opportunities.’

‘A life as the spoilt only child of an egomaniac.’

‘Look, you don’t actually think Minnie’s going to bring this child up do you? That’ll be done by teams of nannies. She’ll see it once in the evening for five minutes before bedtime and occasional photo ops, if they’re both lucky.’

‘Exactly,’ Thea said, as she turned off the motorway. The presenter’s voice cut in.

‘Thank you, Dilly Wells and Hannah Creighton for adding your voices to the debate. Listeners what do you think? Call us on…’

Fuck. Hannah Creighton again. The woman was everywhere, like mercury in the water. For the thousandth time Thea wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t sent that email. Would Luke and Hannah still be together? Would Clara never have been born? Would Thea and Luke have ended up together? Would Hannah never have entered the limelight and gone to her grave known primarily for the excellent lentil salad she produced annually for the school fête?

‘We’ll never know,’ Thea said swinging into the Greenways car park.

As she expected the funeral in the home’s chapel was a sparsely attended affair. Thea, Corinne from Greenways, a couple of the Polish nurses, Aunt Maria and her husband George, who had flown in from Malaga for the occasion even though they had never bothered to visit Toni Mackharven when she was still alive. Thea managed to get through the service conducted by a bored vicar, who had never met her grandmother, without crying. She saved her tears for the crematorium where another few words were said and the coffin wobbled behind the curtains and the person she loved most in the world was really gone. Then back to Corinne’s office for tea and boring plain biscuits. Thea resolved to stop at the first garage she saw on the way home and clean them out of Skittles.

‘We always watch the programme on satellite,’ Aunt Maria said as soon as she’d got through the usual stock of platitudes about Gran finding herself in a better place. ‘It’s very good, but I have to ask you one thing – why does Emma Waters always seem to go for those pussy-bow blouses? They make her look like Mrs Thatcher. I mean, I know she was a wonderful woman and all that and she made Britain great again but I still don’t want to see her lookalike reading the news. It’s a bit scary. Do you think she realizes?’

‘I’m not sure she does.’

‘There’s nothing you could do is there?’

‘I could have a word.’ For the first time that day Thea smiled as she thought of how Emma would react. She put down her cup, ready to start extracting herself, when an idea struck her.

‘Do you think I could go and see Mrs Kaplan?’ she said to Corinne.

Corinne looked surprised. ‘Do you know her?’

‘I met her son here last time I visited. He’s in Guatemala at the moment, but she might appreciate a visit from me.’

‘I’m sure she would.’ Corinne smiled. ‘She’s in room forty-nine. Just go and knock on the door.’

Thea knocked with some trepidation. She remembered once finding her grandmother sitting in a pool of urine, her room smashed to pieces as if she were some rock star. But Mrs Kaplan was sitting peaceably in an armchair staring out at the beautifully tended gardens.

‘Hello, Mrs Kaplan. I’m Thea; I’m a friend of Jake’s. My grandmother used to live here: Mrs Mackharven. I’ve just been to her funeral.’

‘On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond,’ Mrs Kaplan sang under her breath.

‘Jake’s in Guatemala. He’s working with some of my colleagues.’ Thea noticed a large black-and-white photo of Jake on the mantelpiece, his arm round a very pretty blonde girl. Absurdly she felt a tinge of jealousy. Then she wondered if the girl was standing in a trench, like Tom Cruise’s leading ladies, to make him look taller, and she grinned.

‘Hot cross buns, hot cross buns, one a penny, two a penny.’

‘We went out for dinner. He’s a nice man. A credit to you. Though don’t be getting any ideas about us. He’s way younger than me and he’s not my type. And I’m probably not his, though I do wonder…’

‘If you were the only girl in the world,’ she trilled.

Thea squeezed her hand. ‘OK, that’s all for now. I just wanted to check you were all right and let you know where Jake is. He’ll come and see you soon.’

She walked back down the sage-green corridor for what she knew would be the last time. Everyone she’d told had gone on about how at least now there was some kind of closure, knowing she no longer had to come here, that her grandmother had some kind of peace, that her financial burden was lifted. But all Thea could feel was total bleakness: the person who’d loved her most in the world had gone.

‘Now I’ve got no one,’ she said to herself, as she got into her car. She rested her head on the wheel for a moment, taking deep breaths.

‘Come on, Thea. You’ll survive. We all do.’

Her phone started ringing. For a moment, she stared at it, debating whether to pick up. Then she took a deep breath.

‘Hello?’

‘Thea, it’s Luke.’

‘Oh, hi, Luke. How’s it going?’

‘Badly.’ No ‘
How are you, Thea?
’ she noticed. ‘Do you know what’s happened?’

‘No. I’ve been at my grandmother’s funeral.’

‘Of course. Anyway, it’s bloody mayhem out here. They’ve made the official announcement: Minnie’s adopted a little boy.’

‘Great,’ Thea said, noting the lack of sympathy. Luke had never been good at the touchy-feely stuff. Tosser. What had she ever seen in him? ‘So we didn’t send you out there in vain?’

‘Well, yes, you did. Because Minnie’s fucking left the country with the baby.’

‘She’s left?’

‘Yup. Slipped out last night, apparently, in her private jet. No one even snatched a photo of them. We don’t know where they are. And we’re stuck out here with bugger-all to do.’

30

Just a month ago, Poppy would have felt her heart crumble when Luke called from the office to say he was off to Guatemala City that night. But this time she took it on the chin. Of course she’d miss him but now she had Brigita to share the load in the day. She was happy to chat about Clara’s little foibles to the point where even Poppy got a bit bored. And every evening she had a party to go to, flanked by the ever faithful Meena.

‘How long will you be gone for?’ she asked, buffing her nails, her phone on speaker. She still couldn’t bring herself to do the Meena hairdresser and make-up artist thing, but she had had a spray tan at the Bliss spa in South Kensington the other day and she was starting to use more make-up.

‘A week maybe.’ A pause and then Luke said, ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s your job.’

‘I’ll pop home to collect a few things. Say goodbye to you and Clara.’

‘Good,’ she said, ‘but you’d better be quick because I’m going out as soon as she’s in bed.’

‘Going out? Again?’

Another chance to tell him about the column, but Poppy didn’t want to do it on the phone. So she simply said, ‘Yes. I’ll see you later then.’

But in fact she didn’t see him because Luke got stuck in traffic, by which time Meena had arrived in a minicab and whisked Poppy off.

‘Where you going tonight, girls?’ said Abdul, the Somali driver, whom they’d had on a couple of occasions, and who appeared to live vicariously through them.

‘It’s a book launch.’ Poppy squinted at the invitation. ‘A history of hats.’

‘Shit, that sounds a bit boring!’ Meena was alarmed.

‘No, it’s by Lady Emmeline de la Vere, so I think it’ll be full of
Tatler
-type people.’

‘Thank Christ for that.’ Meena fanned herself in mock relief.

With each outing, Poppy’s shyness was diminishing. It made her feel important to be ushered through the door when she produced her invitation, and a glass or two or three or four of champagne always helped her feel more self-confident and got her in the mood. As soon as she entered the huge, echoing former brewhouse in Brick Lane, she saw Charlie at the bar. She headed straight for him.

‘You again.’ He kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re becoming one of the fixtures at these events, like the Geldof sisters, or Sienna Miller – she’d turn up to the opening of an envelope. You’re going to have to start behaving outrageously so I can write about you.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ She was glad Charlie didn’t know she was the bimbo. Long might it last.

Tonight, as every night, she scanned the room for Toby, but once again without success. He hadn’t replied to her last text and with almost superhuman force of will she had not sent another one. She told herself not to be so silly. She was behaving like her mother with a new, silly crush. She had to concentrate on the fact she had a very glamorous new job and not mess it up.

So she and Meena drank three pink cocktails (‘laced with guarana’, the barman told them, whatever that meant), then joined a very small Chinese man in a corset and a very large black girl in gold leggings on the dance floor.

‘This past couple of weeks have been so much fun!’ Meena screamed over ‘Billie Jean’. ‘When does the first column come out?’

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Ooh. I can’t wait. After that we’ll be getting even more invites, won’t we?’

I
will, Poppy thought, but she was too kind to correct her friend. Though in any case, she wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without Meena. A warm hand fell on her shoulder. Poppy looked round.

‘Hello!’ she gasped, hoping her moves hadn’t been too stupid.

‘Hi.’ Toby kissed Meena then Poppy on both cheeks. ‘How are you, gorgeous? Looking fantastic.’

Poppy’s throat suddenly felt as narrow as a spider’s wrist. ‘I’m well,’ she shouted above the music. ‘How are you?’

‘Very good.’ Toby had that look in his eyes that reminded her of Clara the first time she tried ice cream, a look that said ‘Why did you keep this from me for so long?’

‘Come and have a drink.’

She looked at Meena, but she winked and waved and carried on dancing. So Poppy followed Toby through the crowd to the bar.

‘Champagne?’

‘Actually I was on the cocktails.’ She smiled, hoping she sounded Holly Golightly-esque.

‘Really?’ He looked dubiously at the pink concoction. ‘Bit girlie for me. I think I’ll stick to champagne.’ They clinked glasses and their eyes locked. Poppy’s heart thudded.

‘Have you been busy?’ she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah. You know how it is. It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Shall we go outside?’

‘OK.’ Feeling almost hypnotized, she followed him through a door on to a roof terrace. Below them, Brick Lane was a kaleidoscopic shambles of neon curry signs, overflowing bins, mini-cabs and girls in high heels. Poppy realized she was more drunk than she’d thought.

‘So, pretty married woman,’ Toby said, as they leant against the iron balustrade, ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

‘Then why didn’t you get in touch?’ she blurted out.

He laughed. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I? Anyway. I didn’t know if you wanted to see me. I mean, you
are
married.’

‘To a husband I never see.’ She was surprised how venomous her words sounded.

Toby shook his head in mock indignation. ‘That’s outrageous. If you were my wife I’d lock you in a cage. Never let you out of my sight.’

Her stomach flipped, as he turned round and looked into her eyes. It’s going to happen. But I’m married. But he’s so handsome. And he’s my age. But I’m married, she thought.

‘Hi guys!’ yelled Meena. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’

‘Are you OK?’ Poppy asked.

‘I’m fine, I’m… Bleeurgh—’

Poppy and Toby’s shoes were drenched in fuchsia-coloured vomit.

‘Oh, shit.’ Meena giggled, flopping about. ‘Sorry.’

Poppy glanced anxiously at Toby, but he was laughing. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

‘I’m so embarrassed.’ She didn’t look anything of the sort, far too gone for that.

‘Ah, come on. It happens to us all.’

Poppy looked at him, more smitten than ever. Most guys would have been furious to have their shoes puked on.
Luke
would have been furious.

‘Awurrgh!’ cried Meena, as the pizza she’d eaten for lunch mingling with some Thai mini-bites flew into a conveniently situated plant pot.

‘Jesus.’ Toby turned to Poppy. ‘I think you’d better get her home.’

‘I’ll be OK,’ Meena managed to say. ‘I can get home by myself.’

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Poppy said immediately. She didn’t want to leave right now.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Toby said, ‘you’re in a terrible state.
I’ll
take you home.’ He looked at her. ‘Poppy, are you going to come?’

Poppy knew she’d been judged and found wanting. ‘Of course,’ she said.

Toby found them a taxi. The traffic was light and it only took forty minutes to get back to Kilburn. Toby sat in the front making calls on his mobile to people called Sergei and Vladimir, Poppy sat in the back with Meena beside her fast asleep. They had to shake her awake to get her out on to the street and through the flimsy front door and up the stairs with its fraying brown carpet.

It was weird being back in the flat, like visiting some Tracey Emin style museum of Poppy’s life. Meena had never got round to finding a new flatmate, so the place was virtually identical to when Poppy had lived there: there were the same gaudy Indian prints on the wall, the same tatty throw over the orange sofa, the same pile of magazines on the coffee table, the same curtains that looked like evidence from the Texas chainsaw massacre, probably the same dirty mugs in the sink untouched since the day of Poppy’s departure. She’d thought that old carefree side of her had died, but perhaps now it was being reborn.

‘I think you should stay the night,’ Toby said, once Meena was tucked up in bed in bra and knickers, a bucket beside her. ‘She might throw up in her sleep.’

‘I can’t!’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘I’ve got a little girl to get back to.’

‘Oh, so you do. I keep forgetting.’ He frowned. ‘I guess I’d better stay then. It’s not safe to leave her on her own.’

A trail of jealousy slithered down Poppy’s spine like a fat slug. ‘Well, I could call my nanny,’ she said. ‘See if she can stay over.’

Brigita was as obliging as ever.

‘Of course, Mummy. Go out on t’piss. Enjoy yourself.’

‘I’m not enjoying myself,’ Poppy said loftily. ‘I’m looking after my sick friend.’

‘Whatever. Clara and I’ll be reight.’

‘Er, OK,’ said Poppy hoping, as so often, she’d understood Brigita’s gist. She hung up and turned to Toby who was buttoning his coat.

‘Do you know a minicab number?’ he asked.

‘There’s a firm next door.’

‘Is there? Great. That’ll save me having to wait for hours.’ Seeing Poppy’s woebegone face, he pecked her on the lips, then more tenderly stroked her hair.

‘I’d like to stay but people need me.’ He bent down and kissed Poppy on the cheek. ‘You’re a nice person, Poppy, looking after your friend.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, guilty that it wasn’t quite so simple.

There was a tiny pause. They looked at each other, then Toby leant forward and took her face in his hands and suddenly they were kissing hungrily.

‘I can’t do this,’ she said, just as he gasped, ‘You’re so lovely.’ They looked at each other passionately, then the moment was broken by the strains of OutKast’s ‘Hey Ya’ blaring from Toby’s jeans’ pocket.

‘Shit,’ he said, pulling out his phone. Poppy expected him to turn it off, but instead he said, ‘Hello, Constantine? Yeah. Fine. Well, look, I’m a bit busy right now but I can be with you in, what, an hour? Is that OK?’ He turned back to Poppy. ‘Sorry about that, darling.’ He kissed her on the lips, but this time perfunctorily. ‘I wish I could stay,’ he said again, ‘but I’ve got people to see. I’m just going to use the bathroom.’

Poppy sat on the sofa. Suddenly she was cold. She pulled Meena’s slightly grimy fake fur throw round her.

Toby was gone quite a while. When he returned he seemed a bit different, brisker somehow, more detached.

‘Shit, I’ve really got to get a move on.’

She’d heard it all before from Luke. But instead of arguing, she smiled like a plucky landgirl.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ Toby said, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Call you tomorrow. Now you take care. Look after Meena.’

And he was gone, leaving Poppy with nothing to do but splash her face with water in the old bathroom. The tap Luke had mended was dripping again, while the squeaking windmill vent in the corner was clogged with cobwebs now that Poppy was no longer around to dust.

Poppy went into her old room, which appeared to have become Meena’s walk-in wardrobe, removed a pile of clothes from her old bed and climbed under the musty duvet, another fossil from her past. It was late, but sleep took a long time to arrive. Her head was pounding as the alcohol wore off and she pondered on what she’d done.

She was married. She couldn’t kiss other men. But she was also – it was the first time she’d bluntly acknowledged it to herself – so miserable. The man she’d thought was her handsome prince had neglected her for so long, she felt like Sleeping Beauty shut up in a tower. But now a new prince was in town and his kiss had made Poppy wake up to a world she’d missed out on, to the prospect that someone else might love her.