‘Oh! You must let me have your manuscript when it’s finished. I could pass it on to my agent – once I decide who to go with.’
I neglect to mention that I haven’t looked at my novel in at least three years and I have a horrible feeling that it’s total crap. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I may take you up on that.’
She kisses my cheek and stares over my shoulder. ‘Sweetie, I’ve just spotted an old friend, will you excuse me forjust a―’
‘Sure,’ I say, draining my glass. ‘Go ahead.’ I have an urge to laugh, or maybe to cry. I’m not sure which. The music and the chatter, the heat and the laughter in the room are all crowding in on me. I stare from the account handlers in their suits to the designers and techies in their jeans and trainers. Everyone here is in charge of their own life. They know what they’re doing. They’re on a course, focused and going places. It’s only me – Louisa Sullivan – who doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. I smile at a couple of Jared’s employees, but I don’t feel in the mood to make conversation. Instead, I wander over to one of the huge windows and stare down at the quay. At two young women in suits walking past, at the boats on the water waiting for their owners to take them out.
Back when I was at uni, studying Journalism, my career was the most important thing in my life. I was driven and sharp. Excited about all the things I was going to achieve. When did I lose that drive and energy? I keep in touch with a few of my college friends, and they’re all still working in the industry. My best friend from back then, Corinne, she writes investigative pieces for one of the broadsheets. Another good friend works for a music magazine, others freelance for popular online magazines and websites. Too late, I realise I took my writing gig for granted. Now it’s gone, I miss it terribly. Sure, I’m a wife and mother now, and I love being those things, but I also needed something that was just mine. My writing gave me that. I had it, and I gave it away.
‘Louisa? Louisa!’
His voice cuts through my self-pity and I’m suddenly back at the launch party once more, away from my maudlin thoughts.
‘Hey, Jared,’ I say, running a hand down his cheek. ‘Looks like it’s all going great. I think your agency is going to be brilliant.’
‘Do you really think so?’ he asks, a momentary flash of doubt in his eyes.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Look at you. Look at this place, these people. You’re going to be mega-successful, Jared Sullivan. I’m surprised Hello magazine aren’t here.’
‘No, but we’ve got Compass magazine and Dorset Life. You ready to pose for the camera?’
‘What? Now?’
‘Yep, come on.’ He pauses and stares at me. ‘Are you drunk, Lou?’
‘I might be . . . just a little bit. Gonna have to get a taxi home.’
‘Honestly, what are you like.’ He rolls his eyes and wipes his thumb across my lower lip. I thought he was being sexy, but he holds out his thumb, to show me a bit of pastry that was stuck to my lip.
‘Can’t take you anywhere.’ He leans down to kiss me, and I grin up at him, feeling happier. Sod it. Who cares if Darcy Lane has my column. Who cares if she’s getting an agent and a book deal. I have my gorgeous husband. And I’m going to write my own damn book.
* * *
By the time the taxi dropped me home I was sober again, if a little fuzzy-headed, so I decided to walk to school to pick Joe up. Now, we’re home again and Joe’s in bed waiting for Jared to come home and read him a story while I pick up random pieces of dirty laundry from Joe’s bedroom floor – a pair of blue pants, a grey sock, a school shirt – and toss them into the linen basket.
‘I think Daddy might be a little late tonight, Joe Bo.’
‘Ugh, why is he always late?’
‘He’s building his new business.’
‘Why?’
‘You know how you like building stuff with Lego? Making cool things. And when you get into it you don’t want to stop?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, grown-ups like making stuff, too. This is like Daddy’s grown-up Lego, and sometimes he gets . . . caught up in what he’s doing.’
‘Can I see what he built?’
‘I’m sure Daddy will take you to see his offices, yes.’
‘Cool!’ He yawns and flings his head back on the pillow. ‘I’m bored of waiting. Can you read my story tonight?’
‘Of course.’ I drop an inside-out grey sock into the basket before sitting on the edge of Joe’s bed. As I kiss his forehead, I hear the key in the lock.
‘Daddy!’ Joe nudges me out of the way, flings his duvet off and races out of the door and down the stairs.
The front door slams. ‘He-e-ey, buddy!’
I stand and make my way downstairs. Jared smiles up at me as he grapples with our son in a play fight. So much for getting Joe calm before bed.
‘How was the rest of the afternoon?’ I ask.
‘Great. The staff are really excited. Fired up, you know. I’m looking forward to really getting stuck in tomorrow.’
‘Can we have a proper play fight, Dad? In the lounge.’
‘Sure, sure, little man. Let me get my coat off.’
‘It’s a bit late for fights now,’ I say. ‘You’ve got school tomorrow. Daddy will read you a story instead.’ I catch Jared’s eye and he nods.
‘Your mother’s right.’
‘O-oh, plee-ase.’ Joe stares up at me, and Jared looks at me with the exact same pleading expression.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘You go fight. I’ll go and cook.’
‘I’ll eat later,’ Jared says, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over the bannister. ‘Gonna go for a run first.’
‘With Darcy?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Apparently, Mike’s being a d-i-c-k.’
‘Does that spell dick?’ Joe says. ‘Isn’t that a rude word?’
‘Daddy can’t spell,’ I say, rolling my eyes at Jared. ‘He meant to say duck.’
‘Why is Mike a duck?’
‘I won’t be gone long,’ Jared says. ‘Just an hour or so.’
My blood pressure is rising and I suddenly want to scream. Why do all our conversations these days revolve around Mike and Darcy Lane? And why have Darcy’s needs suddenly become more important to my husband than mine? ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Do what you want, Jared.’
I march past him and into the kitchen.
‘Hey!’ Jared calls out to me, but I ignore him. I hear him speak to Joe: ‘Your mum’s right – it’s too late for play fighting tonight. Hop upstairs into bed and I’ll come and read you a story in a minute.’
‘Oh, but―’
‘Now, buddy. No arguing.’
I hear the mournful stomp of Joe’s feet up the stairs, each step a clang of disappointment – my fault, of course.
‘Lou.’ Jared follows me into the kitchen. ‘Why are you so cross? Did I do something?’
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to shout. And I don’t want an argument. But how else is all this going to get resolved? I have my back to him, my hands gripping the counter top, my shoulders hunched. He comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder.
‘Lou, talk to me. What’s going on?’
‘I . . .’ I snap my mouth shut. I can’t tell him about my fears. He’ll think I’m being irrational. I already told Beth, and she seemed to think I was blowing things out of proportion.
‘Louisa?’
‘I just . . . I just wanted us to spend a bit of time together this evening.’ I turn to face him, folding my arms tight across my chest. ‘I wanted you all to myself. If you go running, you won’t be back till after nine and―’
‘Okay,’ he replies. ‘How about if I promise to be home by eight thirty?’
I stare at him. This husband of mine who is bargaining with me so he can go out running with another woman.
‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you stay out all night? I’d hate to think I was keeping you away from Darcy for longer than
necessary.’
‘Lou!’ His brow furrows, his jaw clenches.
‘What?’ I say. ‘You’d obviously prefer to be out running with her, than in here with me. So I’m saying, go. You should be happy now, right? Why aren’t you smiling?’
‘You know that’s not true. I would much rather stay here with you, but I already told Darcy I would go, and she’s so down at the moment.’
‘She didn’t look down at the launch today. She looked . . . radiant is a word that springs to mind. You and she were having a wonderfully hilarious conversation together.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Jared scowls. ‘It was a business launch. She’s hardly going to cry in a roomful of strangers.’
‘No, she’ll save that for your shoulder.’ I hate the words that are spitting from my mouth, yet I can’t stop them.
‘For God’s sake! It was your suggestion I go out with her in the first place.’ He runs a hand over the top of his head.
‘Yes, but not every frigging night,’ I hiss, suddenly mindful that our voices are becoming too loud, and Joe’s still awake upstairs.
‘It’s not every night. And you know Darcy’s going through hell with Mike. But if you want me to stay home then, of course,I―’
‘Don’t do me any favours, Jared.’
‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘you can stay here with Joe. I’m going out for a change. And you can do the school run tomorrow, too.’
‘I have client meetings tomorrow, Lou. I can’t―’
‘Tough. You’ll have to reschedule. He’s your son, too. It won’t hurt to drop him off and pick him up for one day.’ My body is trembling as I speak. I have to get out of the house before I say more things I’ll regret. I barge past him, grabbing my handbag from the table and swiping at a tear on my cheek.
‘Don’t go, Lou,’ Jared says. ‘We need to talk about this.’
‘I’ll be at Beth’s if you need me,’ I say.
I briefly consider packing an overnight bag, but I’m not calm enough to do it and I can’t let Joe see me like this. Beth will have a spare toothbrush I can borrow. I grab my coat and keys and leave, feeling sick when I realise I didn’t kiss Joe goodnight.
Chapter Eighteen
Sunshine filters in through the blinds as I lie in bed in Beth and Carys’ spare bedroom. The flat is quiet; quieter than our house. It’s 9 am already, so I guess everyone already left for work and school. When I showed up on her doorstep last night, Beth was great. I didn’t feel like talking, so she brought tea and toast into the spare room and left me alone, telling me she was there if I wanted to talk.
I didn’t.
Now, I’m checking my phone. There are three voicemails, two texts, and seven missed calls, all from Jared, and all along the same lines of I’m sorry, I miss you, Come home. I guess I should reply, but I don’t know what to say. Should I forgive my husband? Sweep it all under the carpet? What if he still wants to go running with Darcy? I can’t face another argument. So, instead of replying, I set my phone back on the nightstand, roll over and close my eyes once more, letting sleep take me again.
* * *
Eight hours later, I’m in the car heading home in the dark through slow-moving, rush-hour traffic, headlights shining in my rear-view mirror, nerves clawing at my stomach, dreading another fight with Jared. I didn’t wake again until midday, and spent the afternoon pottering about the place, reading old magazines, flicking through daytime TV and tidying Beth and Carys’ kitchen. Not that it particularly needed tidying, but I had to keep myself busy. I wanted to make sense of the jumble of thoughts crowding my mind. Thoughts about Darcy and Mike, about Jared, and my lost or stolen career. I couldn’t get any sense of perspective. I couldn’t work out whether I was worrying over nothing.
I toyed with picking Joe up from school, but then I’d have had to call Jared to let him know, and I wasn’t ready to speak to him yet. Anyway, I figured it wouldn’t hurt for Jared to pick Joe up today. I still don’t feel in the mood to speak to my husband, but I have to go home sometime, and I’m already missing Joe like crazy.
Finally, I make the turn into our road. Jared’s car isn’t outside the house. I hope he remembered to collect Joe. The school never called me, so I’m sure Jared must have picked Joe up. I notice someone else has parked in his spot, and then I recognise the sleek lines of Darcy’s Bentley. What the hell is she doing here? I pull up opposite our house, outside Mrs Levinson’s low front wall. She hates people parking outside her window – it means she can’t be as nosy as usual. Tough. There are no other spaces close by.
Before I get out of the car, I pull down the mirror, switch on the interior light and check my make-up. If Darcy’s in my house, I don’t want to show up with smudged mascara and lipstick on my teeth.
My heart pounds as I let myself in through the front door, wondering if maybe Jared has confided to Darcy about our argument and she’s here to try and talk me around. The hall lights are on, and a delicious smell of warm pastry wafts out of the kitchen. I walk straight through to see a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen table, a basket of fresh bread, and various salad items laid out on the chopping board. Darcy is crouched down in front of the oven wearing a pair of oven mitts.
‘Hi, Darcy,’ I say, trying not to sound put out. ‘What are you doing here? Is Jared with you?’
She turns and stands, closing the oven door. ‘Louisa, you’re back! Hi. I didn’t realise you’d be home so soon.’
‘Well, here I am,’ I say attempting to sound light-hearted, and failing.
‘You must be wondering why I’m in your kitchen,’ she says, crossing the room to greet me.
‘Well, yes, I thought Jared was picking Joe up. Is J―’
‘Jared was working, so I offered to pick Joe up for him. It’s no big deal. He said you were . . . busy?’
I bite down on my rising anger. ‘You didn’t have to do that. Jared was supposed to―’
‘I was passing by the office and he seemed a little flustered. It’s no biggie, honestly. I had to get Tyler anyway.’
I could kill Jared, but I don’t want Darcy to know how I feel so I plaster on a smile and try to appear grateful. ‘Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.’
‘I wanted to. You guys have been so supportive. It’s the least I could do. I offered to take the boys back to mine, but Jared said he’d be home by seven – and he wasn’t sure if you’d be back – so I said I may as well bring Joe here, save him schlepping all the way over to mine after work. I tidied up the kitchen a little and made a pie – hope you don’t mind.’
I bite back the retort that he’s happy to “schlep” over to hers most other nights.
‘Now you’re here,’ she says, ‘do you fancy slicing up some veggies for the salad?’ She slides the chopping board in my direction.
Bloody cheek, I think. But I nod, sit at the table, pick up the knife and start slicing the cucumber. ‘Where’s Joe?’ I ask.
‘Upstairs with Tyler. They’re watching the new Batman movie on Ty’s iPad.’
‘The new Batman movie? I thought that movie was rated 15?’
‘Yes,’ she says, shaking her head, ‘but they love those superhero movies, don’t they. You know what boys are like. It’s probably just a bit of swearing – nothing they don’t already hear at school.’
I have a feeling there’s more in that film than just the odd swear word. I seem to remember the last Batman contained torture scenes. Joe really shouldn’t be watching it, I should march upstairs and turn it off. But if I make a scene, I’ll embarrass Joe in front of his friend. I decide to leave it for a few minutes. Hopefully, Darcy and Tyler will leave soon.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Darcy says, sitting next to me,’ but is everything okay between you and Jared? It’s just . . .he seemed a little―’
‘What? Yes, everything’s fine,’ I say. ‘I just had some stuff to do today, that’s all.’ Suddenly warm, I realise I’m still wearing
my coat. I set down the knife, shrug off my coat and let it slide down the back of the chair in a screwed-up heap.
‘Okay, good,’ she replies. ‘I was worried you two might have had an argument. Jared seemed . . . tense. The last thing I want is for you two to start going through the same crap as me and Mike.’
I give a sympathetic smile and a small laugh to dismiss her worries. ‘It’s probably just stress over the business launch. He wants everything to be perfect.’ I should be polite and offer Darcy a cup of tea, but I need her to go. I don’t want her to be here when Jared gets home, which will probably be any minute. ‘Well,’ I say. ‘Thanks so much again. If you ever need me to get Tyler from school for you―’
‘Oh, yeah, sure. My pleasure.’ She takes the hint and gets to her feet. ‘The pie should be done in about fifteen more minutes. I set the timer so it should beep when it’s done. And Jared’s front door keys are on the hall table.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, faking gratitude. What I really want to do is take the pie out of the oven and sling it into the rubbish bin. My anger is irrational, yet I can’t get rid of it. It’s bubbling up from my gut and if Darcy doesn’t leave in the next few minutes I’m likely to confront her over everything. I’m sure there’s something “off” about her, but I can’t risk voicing my fears yet. Not without sounding like a total lunatic.
I tramp halfway up the stairs to call Tyler down and finally they leave. Once I hear their car pull away, I stand in the hall, my heart pounding like I’ve just run a marathon. Leaning against the front door, I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing back under control.
‘What are you doing, Mummy?’
‘Come here, Joe.’ I open my eyes and hold out my arms. ‘I missed you, baby boy.’
‘I missed you, too,’ he says, allowing me to give him a great big squeeze. ‘Why weren’t you here this morning and after school? I had to play with Tyler.’ Joe wrinkles his nose and wriggles out of my embrace, staring up at me. He’s still in his uniform and his hair’s all mussed.