The Queen of New Beginnings (36 page)

If there was one thing Alice couldn’t abide it was injustice; it was something she had learned the hard way. The more she thought of what Stacey had done to Clayton, the more she felt compelled to right the awful injustice he had suffered. But how? What could she—? A thought skittered through her head. She looked away from Clayton and tried to grab hold of the thought, to stop it slipping away from her. She tapped her forefinger against her lip. Moments passed. She slowly returned her gaze to Clayton and was surprised to see him looking at her in a very odd way. There was an intensity in his gaze that she was sure hadn’t been there before. “Do I have your permission to suggest something?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” he replied almost inaudibly.

“It may sound a bit far fetched,” she said, “but I think I’ve come up with something, a way to exact a little revenge on Stacey. Actually, it’s a way to exact quite a lot of revenge on her.”

The make-up girl was one of those hip-looking types kitted out in baggy low-waisted black jeans, a minuscule T-shirt that may well have fitted her better when she’d been ten years of age, a stud through her nose and silver rings on both thumbs. She dabbed Clayton’s face one more time then declared him ready. He took off the paper bib from around his neck and thanked her as profusely as if she had just announced that he’d won the lottery. Oh, yes, Mr. Congenial was in town.

It was all preparation for his impending television appearance. Normally before he appeared in front of a camera he would be snapping and snarling like a caged animal—he’d been known to snap and snarl whilst actually in front of a camera—but today was different. Today he was sweetness personified, ready to give the performance of his life.

He was invited to wait in the green room, where a man he vaguely recognized was sitting on a leather sofa and talking into a mobile phone. Next to the man on the sofa was a girl flicking through the pages of a Filofax. She was in her late twenties with a fraught air about her; presumably she was the man’s publicist. She looked up and smiled at Clayton when he sat in the chair opposite. There was no smile from the other man, just a look of reproach as if Clayton had no right to be in the same room as him. Up yours, thought Clayton.

Glen had offered to come with him but had then discovered he was otherwise engaged with another client. “I’ll record the programme and watch it later,” he had assured Clayton. Glen had been delighted when Clayton had suggested he try to get him on a chat show for some extra publicity. “I’ll turn you into a media tart yet,” Glen had responded. “What’s our hook?” he’d asked. “What are we selling? Have you started on that sequel?”

“We’re selling my innate charm and affability,” Clayton had told him.

“You’d better come up with something else because I’ll tell you right now, that won’t get us a ten-second slot on hospital radio,” Glen had huffed.

Initially they didn’t get any takers, just as Glen had warned, but then two days ago a call had come in from
The Stevie McKean Show
saying they’d been let down by a guest and could Clayton fill in?

From that moment, the first part of Alice’s plan was up and running.

Next it was down to Bazza to play his part.

When Clayton had returned to London after George’s funeral, Clayton had called Bazza and asked to meet him for a drink. “You’re not going to hit me or anything, are you?” Bazza had asked warily.

“No. But I am going to hit you with a plan of extraordinary brilliance.”

They had met for lunch in a small Greek restaurant just around the corner from Clayton’s house. After Clayton had outlined what was going to happen, Bazza very nearly turned all weepy on him again. “But why?” he’d asked. “Why would you do this for me?”

“Because I’m a soft-in-the-head bugger and old friendships mean something to me. I also want retribution.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m blown away. I promise I’ll repay you somehow.”

“That won’t be necessary. You just have to accept that you’re going to look pretty stupid for a while.”

Bazza had scoffed at that. “I can’t look any more stupid than I have recently. At least this way, I’ll get my life back.”

• • •

Across London, in Clayton’s sitting room, Alice checked her watch. “Time to give Isabel a call,” she said, “then we’d better put the television on.”

Bazza nodded and also checked his watch. Alice smiled to herself: it was like a military operation. Operation Stitcheroo as she had nicknamed it.

Isabel eventually answered her mobile. “Everything OK your end?” Alice asked.

“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” Isabel replied haughtily. “You know I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m with a client. Especially one as important as this one.”

“Well done.”

“Whatever it was you wanted to discuss, I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow when I’m back in the studio. Good-bye.”

Alice ended the call on the specially bought pay-as-you-go phone and turned to Bazza. “Everything’s going according to plan at your place.”

“I still can’t believe we’re going to get away with this,” Bazza said. He pointed the remote control at the television:
The Stevie McKean Show
had just started.

“I do hope you’re not questioning my ability,” Alice said.

“Oh, no,” Bazza said quickly. “Clayton’s told me you’re awesome. It’s just that it seems too easy. Too simple.”

“The best plans are. You’re sure you’ve got the recording stuff organized?”

“Yes. It’s all set up. Don’t worry.”

They sat on the sofa, both of them waiting for Clayton to make his appearance. They didn’t have long to wait: he was Stevie’s first guest.

He looked almost jaunty as he ambled down the steps to the interview area. Dressed in an open-necked navy-blue shirt, a cream jacket and a pair of faded jeans, sporting a trim new haircut, he looked good. While the audience clapped, he took his seat on the sofa that was placed at an angle to the host’s desk; he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “He looks so casual,” Alice remarks. “So at ease.”

“It’s an act,” Bazza said. “He hates chat shows. He’d rather gnaw one of his hands off than do this.”

“I know; that’s what makes it all the more incredible.” She kept to herself that she thought Clayton had never looked better or more attractive. And that she suddenly felt massively distracted by the sight of him. Since George’s funeral they had grown closer again, but only as friends—friends who were in league together, plotting revenge on a particularly unpleasant person. She wished it was otherwise, that Clayton would view her as he once had, but he clearly didn’t. Sometimes she felt like opening up to him. But she couldn’t. Not when she still felt the sting of his rejection that day in the hospital cafeteria. She had shared her feelings with Isabel, at the same time making her swear she wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Clayton. Isabel had urged her to be brave, to take the risk of being hurt. “What’s the worst that could happen to you?” Isabel had said. “You’ll feel silly, angry and tearful, but you’ll get over it in time.”

Meanwhile, on the television screen Clayton was going through the motions of the interview, talking about
The Queen of New Beginnings
and how it had set him off in a new direction with his writing. Which was exactly what they’d planned for him to say. Then inevitably, Stevie turned his questions in the direction of ancient, well-trodden ground.

“So, tell me, Clayton, how are things between you and your old writing partner, Barry Osbourne? Any chance of a reconciliation between the two of you?”

Clayton uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them. He shuffled a bit. He fiddled with one of his cuffs. He smiled ruefully. He looked exactly like a man who had been put on the spot. Again, it was what they had planned. “Are you working up to ask me how things are with Stacey?” he said. “Is that what you really want to know?”

Stevie laughed lightly and exchanged a look with the audience. “Well, since you’ve raised the matter, how are things? I’m sure everyone here, as well as the viewers at home, would love to know.”

There was a bit more shuffling from Clayton. A bit more cufffiddling. Another rueful look. “Not good, if you want the honest answer,” he said. “I still feel so guilty about Stacey losing the baby the way she did. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the guilt.” He suddenly snapped forward in his seat, rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, Stevie, I’d give anything to hear Stacey say she forgives me. No, really, I mean it. And yes, I know that she’s said it in interviews, indeed I believe she said it right here on this show with you. But, the thing is, she’s never said the words directly to me.”

After lingering on Clayton’s pained expression, the camera turned to Stevie. Stevie took his cue. “Well, Clayton,” he said, “who knows, maybe Stacey is watching us right now.” And in one of the cheesiest moments in television history, he said, “Stacey, if you are watching us, why not get in touch with Clayton? Why not put the man out of his misery?”

There was a laugh from Clayton at this. The camera swung back to him, just in time to catch him say, “You make it sound like an offer to have me put down, as if I were a dog.”

“Steady, Clayton,” murmured Alice anxiously, “stick to the script. No ad-libbing.”

The host laughed too and announced they’d be right back after the break.

Bazza turned to Alice. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

• • •

The make-up girl was dabbing at his face again, applying a dusting of powder to stop his skin from glistening under the glare of the cameras. He was tempted to ask for an extra-thick coating of the stuff to cover his blushes. How the hell he’d said what he just had without cracking up he didn’t know.

His microphone was needlessly being readjusted when he heard Stevie replying to someone who was talking to him in his earpiece. “You’re kidding me? It’s for real? Are you mad? Of course, we’ll go with it. This could be television gold!” He smiled obsequiously at Clayton. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Really?” said Clayton, pretending he hadn’t heard the one-sided conversation.

They were counted back in and once again Clayton assumed an air of nonchalance. Which was the last thing he was feeling.

Face to camera, Stevie was telling the audience about his next guest, some actor from
The Bill
who’d got an autobiography to flog—so that’s who the bozo was in the green room. “But first, girls and boys, we’ve got a surprise guest on the phone. Some of you might be thinking we’ve set this up, but hand on heart, this is one of those spontaneous television moments we all live for.” He turned to Clayton.

Clayton smiled nervously and sat up slightly straighter, for all the world a man fearing a trap about to be sprung on him. “You’re not going to present me with a red book and say
This is Your Life, Clayton Miller
, are you?”

“Better than that; we’ve got Stacey on the phone for you!”

“No!”

“Oh yes! She was watching the programme and felt compelled to call in.” Stevie swivelled his head and stared into the appropriate camera. “Hi, Stacey,” he fawned. “It’s good to speak to you again. How are you?”

There was a silence and then what sounded very like the chink of glass against glass and liquid being poured.

“Err…Stacey, are you there?”

“Oh, hi Stevie, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were ready for me yet.”

“We’re more than ready for you, my darling. How are you?”

“Can…can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“Is Clayton still there with you?”

“He is. Is there anything you want to say to him?”

There was another silence, another chink of glass and the sound of more liquid being poured. A lot of liquid. Practically a bucket full.

“Stacey?”

“Sorry…I’m just in the most awful state here. You can’t imagine how I’m feeling. I’ve done something awful. Something so,
so
bad.”

Probably at the instruction of the voice in his earpiece, Stevie adopted his extra-caring face. “You do sound a bit upset, love. What’s the problem?”

“There’s something I have to say to Clayton. I can’t go on any longer unless I do.”

Stevie turned his caring face to Clayton. “Clayton, would you like to say something to Stacey?”

The camera fully on him, Clayton said, “Hello, Stacey.”

There was a stifled gasp from Stacey.

“What is it, Stacey?” asked Clayton. “You don’t sound well.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For…for everything! I’ve treated you atrociously.” She started to cry.

Clayton exchanged a look with Stevie, as if getting his permission to go on. “Is this about you sleeping with Barry behind my back?”

“
No!
Although I am sorry about that. But not as sorry as I am about…Oh, God, I’ve spilled my drink now!”

“Stacey, what
exactly
are you drinking?”

“Um…just a little something to get me through the day. Don’t we all need a little help now and then? I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“So long as you’re sure it’s helping,” Clayton said. He raised his eyebrows at Stevie.

“It’s all there is in my life these days,” Stacey said with a loud and messy sniff. “Oh, nothing’s going right for me anymore. My life’s a sham. I should never have left you for Barry. He’s not half the man you are. He’s too weak. I need a man who can stand up to me.”

“Stacey, darling,” Stevie cut in with his ultra-caring voice, “what about forgiving Clayton, can you do that? That’s what we all want to know.”

“But you don’t understand. It’s…it’s Clayton who has to forgive me. I lied about him causing my miscarriage. I made Barry lie, too. He didn’t want to, but I forced him. I’ve forced him to do so many things. But you see, I wanted someone to blame for losing the baby and…and Clayton was perfect. Oh, this feels so liberating, finally to tell someone the truth. Oh, why didn’t I do this before?”

Clayton turned to Stevie, his expression all wide-eyed shock. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. My life was very nearly ruined. I was…I was cast as a monster. A child killer.”

For once, Stevie seemed lost for words. “I’m as shocked as you,” he finally managed. But then he twitched, very likely in response to the voice that Clayton could hear bellowing in the man’s ear. “What we all want to know now, Clayton,” he said, “is can you forgive Stacey for what she did?”

Milking the moment for as long as he could get away with, Clayton hummed and aahhed and eventually he said, “You know, I think I can. After all, harbouring a grudge never did anyone any good, did it?”

From down the line came a tearful howl. “Thank you, Clayton. Thank you, thank you,
thank you
. You’re a wonderful man.”

There was a click and then the line went dead.

“Well,” said Stevie, “I don’t know about everyone else, but I think we’ve all just been on an incredible journey together. What we need is a quick break. Be right back with you!”