As It Is On Telly (20 page)

‘It’s a video tape,’ she told Kat.

‘Your wedding?’

Bunty shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’ She read the label with no comprehension. ‘Graham.
On
the
Sofa
.’

‘Oh my good God, it’s something really perverted,’ said Kat.

But Bunty knew that Graham would never humiliate her like that. He’d always watched out for her feelings, saved her embarrassment. Saved her even from embarrassing herself – until now. ‘Watch it with me,’ she said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It took nearly four months for the damage to be undone, which was coincidentally about the amount of time it had taken to create it all. Kat had a theory that it was always the case, a sort of relationship quid pro quo system. ‘It’s like, ‘Create one bad month and I’ll give you one for free’,’ she said over drinks in early February, when she was finally back, leaving behind the New Zealand summer.

Bunty sighed. ‘Well, I did a very good job of it. I deserve every bit of penance, I suppose.’

‘It wasn’t all your fault,’ said Kat, watching Dan’s behind through the window as he dropped some piping off in Bunty’s garage. ‘Graham always was pretty boring, let’s face it. Who could possibly have imagined what he was up to?’

Who indeed? Certainly not Bunty, who had sat on Cally’s sofa with her hand on her chest, roughly where her heart was bleeding, and her mouth open in wonderment as Pearl and Finn appeared on the TV screen. ‘On the sofa? Oh my life.’

Pearl was introducing a new section: ‘Finance with Farradays’. Suddenly, shatteringly, there was Graham, gleaming of tooth and looking, well, almost handsome in his current skinny Shrekky way, a nice open neck shirt under his new dark-blue suit jacket, stammering only slightly over his beginnings but picking up speed and credibility as he began to discuss stakeholder pensions for the benefit of the viewers.

‘He’s met Pearl and Finn,’ whispered Bunty.

‘Are those two shagging?’ Kat squinted at the screen. ‘They’ve got to be shagging, surely? They’re so chummy and giggly.’

‘Kat, wrong moment,’ warned Cally, evidently still feeling slightly guilty for having told Graham what Kat had passed on to her – that they’d gone to Eastport Marina to find someone called Ben.

Bunty watched her husband – her almost-handsome, do-anything-for-her husband – facing all his fears at once and talking to the camera, and felt tears sting her eyes. He couldn’t possibly have done more to combat his biggest fear of all – losing her. But it was too late.

Cally handed her a tissue. ‘He told us – well, ranted – all about it. How he’d thought you might want sex with him if you didn’t think it would lead to more kids. How he’d realised how fed up you were and decided to reinvent himself just to keep you happy. He even thought about what you liked best, which is apparently these two,’ she jerked a finger at the TV, ‘and not me and Kat, which upset me a bit, I have to say.’

‘Anyway,’ piped up Pete from the kitchen where he was on calming-cups-of-tea duty, ‘his company said they wanted volunteers for this job, and he and some other bloke went up for it.’

‘Ryan!’ squeaked Kat. ‘Christ, you can see why Graham got the gig. Anyone’s got to be better than Ryan.’

‘Watch it,’ said Bunty.

‘Apparently the other guy’s quite good too, according to Graham,’ said Pete, handing Bunty a mug. ‘They had media training and everything with some consultant.’

Bunty and Kat stared at each other. ‘Verity Reynolds!’ they said together. ‘I thought he was having an affair with her,’ groaned Bunty.

Pete shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Although he did say –’

‘Pete,’ Cally said in a warning voice again. Bunty looked sideways at her. Since when was she so careful about what everyone said?

‘What? I want to know.’

Cally rubbed her arm. ‘He did say he’d had the chance to … you know … with Verity Reynolds, and he was very sorry he’d turned it down seeing as you were shagging everyone in town.’

‘But I wasn’t! I was trying … but I wasn’t!’

To think she’d nearly gotten down to it with Ben. Bloody horrible Ben. Thank God it had never happened. But Graham, funny Graham with his sticky-out ears, nodding so knowledgeably at Finn’s fatuous questions, had nearly had someone else. Had, in fact, been wanted by someone else. He suddenly looked doubly attractive in Bunty’s eyes.

‘Why didn’t you stop me?’ she wailed at Cally. ‘You wanted to, I know. All that stuff about supporting me and not understanding me. You don’t even like Graham.’

‘No, but I know you do, Bun-hun, and that’s enough for me.’ Cally rolled her eyes at Pete. ‘Anyway, don’t blame me, I didn’t know anything about it until you were practically on the doorstep. Blame Kat.’

‘That’s right,’ said Bunty, rounding on her other friend. ‘You. You encouraged me all along. It’s your fault. I wouldn’t have done any of this if it weren’t for you.’

Kat shrugged, her round eyes pained. ‘I thought you were enjoying yourself. You looked like you were having fun. I hadn’t seen you that energised in ages.’

‘Oh. So it’s true, then. I am boring.’ Bunty slumped back into the sofa cushions, tears threatening again.

‘No,’ said Kat firmly. ‘Not boring. Bored. You were just bored.’

She had a point. Even when Charlotte padded into the room in her pyjamas saying, ‘Where’s Dad? Why’s he on telly?’ and Bunty gathered her up against her side, planning on never letting her go, Bunty realised that it wasn’t enough. Charlotte, the house, the tennis club, archery, even inventing perfect men – it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Something real and enveloping, warm and fulfilling, like … She thought instantly of the perfect person.

‘Can I borrow your phone?’ she said to Kat, checking the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘It’s midnight here, so it’ll be what in the UK?’

‘About midday,’ said Cally.

So she wouldn’t be waking anyone up. She wrote her message, found the number on Kat’s contact list, and pressed send: ‘I need to talk to you. I’ll be home in a few days, can I contact you then? Oh. This is Bunty not Kat.’

Moments later the answer came back: ‘Sure babes’. And Bunty had smiled as she began to make her plans to a degree that would have made Graham proud.

They had come home to find the place vacant. Even the house had an injured air to it.

‘Where’s Dad?’ Charlotte wandered from room looking for him, with Bunty sensing the rising desperation in her search. She felt rather the same herself. All this time she’d imagined that it was she, Bunty, who was the cornerstone of the home, but it did feel treacherously empty without Graham, without any prospect of him coming through the door and annoying the bejasus out of her by dropping his briefcase on the sofa and eating his leftover sandwiches before dinner. Not that he did that any more. He didn’t do anything any more.

He’d left her a note. Touché, thought Bunty, swallowing hard as she picked up the one remaining sheet of Basildon Bond that had clung to the redundant writing pad. In a certain light she could still see the imprint of her own writing, informing him she was taking their daughter and leaving. ‘Bunty and Charlotte,’ it said. ‘I’ve just moved out to give you some space while we sort things out. I’ll be in touch.’

Charlotte read it over Bunty’s shoulder. ‘Well, that’s great. That’s really great. Well done, Mum. I don’t know what was going on but, like, totally well done.’ And she gulped down a shuddering sigh.

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Bunty, kissing her daughter’s forehead. It occurred to her that pretty soon she’d have to reach up to do that. Or she could start a new trend for kissing kids on the chin. ‘It’s not that bad. Don’t go getting all emo on me.’

‘Emo?’ Charlotte reeled around, her eyes flashing dangerously. ‘I’m not blimmin’ emo! Am I wallowing in my own dark abyss? No! I don’t think so. I’m just flippin’ sad, Mum. My dad has moved out. And it’s all your fault.’

She stomped off to empty out her suitcase, leaving Bunty in an empty room, empty-hearted. Sighing, Bunty wondered through to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of wine would help. She’d just poured a puddle into the bottom of the glass when she became aware that someone was watching her. There was someone on in the garden. Definitely – she could sense it. ‘Graham …? Oh shit,’ she called. Grabbing the phone so that she could call the police if she found a crazed murderer on her back doorstep, she willed herself to turn around.

They weren’t in the garden at all, but in Mary’s garden, peering over the fence – her beautiful denim-blue fence, both pairs of eyes accusing, but tinged with sadness. Steeling herself, Bunty opened the back door and headed off down the garden.

‘You’re back then,’ said Graham.

‘What have you been up to, love?’ said Mary.

Mallory’s head popped up next to Mary’s, and Bunty’s heart sank. How much had he told them? ‘Well, I for one think it’s grand to see you again, young Bunty.’ And he gave her a broad, conspiratorial wink.

‘Thank you, Mallory. Yes, I’m back. What are you doing over there?’

Graham’s head flipped from side to side, so that for a moment it looked oddly like an executive toy, ears flapping to and fro. ‘I said in the note. I’ve moved out to give us some space.’

‘To Mary’s?’

‘It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,’ said Graham huffily. ‘Mary gets an income and I get affordable, convenient accommodation.’

Bunty’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Graham.’ What a love. It was such a stupidly Graham-type answer – none of the underlying emotional stresses and all of the money issues. He was perfect for Farradays
On
the
Sofa
. Perfect in many ways. Even for her. Especially for her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Could we …?’

She’d have liked a private discussion without Mary and Mallory flanking him like Bill and Ben round Little Weed, but Graham cleared his throat, pre-announcement. ‘Not ready for that yet, if you don’t mind. Now, Mallory and I have rigged up this step-ladder arrangement,’ he said, indicating the makeshift stairs running up to the top of the fence and then down the other side, ‘so Charlotte can come and visit, or, you know, when I’m ready, I can perhaps come over to maybe see … her.’

‘Of course,’ said Bunty softly. ‘I ... Mallory, Mary, could you …? Oh, sod it. I do love you, you know, Graham.’

Graham stared at her balefully, his ears turning pink, and Mallory discreetly pulled Mary away. ‘Right. Well, that’s a bit of credit in the bank, I suppose,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’re …. having tea in a minute. Charlotte might want to come over.’

‘Right. Yes. I’ll go and tell her.’

She made it up the path and inside to inform Charlotte of the new arrangements, and back out to the back door to wave her off, before the tears began in earnest. What was the point of it all, she wondered as she sobbed into her wine, sitting on the floor of the kitchen where she wouldn’t be seen through the window. What was the bloody point?

And then she remembered her plan, and someone who was waiting for a call. ‘A plan, Dan, the drainage man,’ she said with intermittent sniffs, pulling the phone down from the worktop.

‘Dan, hi, it’s Bunty. Is this too late?’

Dan sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her. ‘Hi! Thank God! I’ve been bursting with curiosity as to what you wanted to talk to me about. I’m guessing it’s not Flinders raising his mangy head again?’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘You can imagine what I’ve been thinking,’ said Dan with an earthy chuckle.

‘What everyone else will be thinking, I expect. But I don’t want to have an affair with you. Oddly enough.’ Bunty summoned up her courage. ‘It’s not … It’s nothing like that.’

Dan paused, then said, ‘That’s good, if I’m honest, because, well, you’re my mate, aren’t you? Wouldn’t want all that crap getting in the way.’

‘Exactly! Oh, Dan, thank God you said that. Because I’ve been getting a lot of things wrong and I don’t exactly trust my judgement any more, but I thought we were mates, and I hoped we might be … sort of better mates. Because you know how you’ve got really big hands and mine are little and I can get in small spaces …’

Dan laughed. ‘Now you’re totally doing my head in.’

‘No, I mean … Look, Dan, I need a job. Could I be your apprentice?’ There. She’d said it. Finally!

She could almost hear Dan grinning down the phone. ‘Who am I, Donald Trump?’

‘No, you’re Dan, Dan the drainage man. And I could be Bun, Bun the hands down the … yeah, well maybe that won’t work. But we could. We’d work well together, wouldn’t we? You don’t have to pay me much.’

‘You’re on,’ said Dan with barely a pause for thought. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet and planning to take someone on anyway. Can’t think of anyone better. You’re not going to be all difficult and want school hours and no weekend work, and that kind of stuff, are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, all right then. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine! Yay!’

If she’d not been so miserable, Bunty would have cheered. Even so, she managed a very large smile and a bottoms-up on her wine glass, and was actually managing a small victory dance round the living room when Charlotte got back. ‘Are you all right? We had pie. Do I have to go to school tomorrow? I think I’m jet-lagged.’

‘I’ve got a job!’

Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You? What the … So are you and Dad getting a di … a divorce?’

‘No! God, no, I don’t think so. Anyway, I really, really hope not. I love your dad. And I love you. No, I’m going to work with Dan, in drains, near fences. It’s just for me. Just to keep me busy and having fun.’

Charlotte, mollified, stared at her from under her fringe. ‘Mother,’ she pronounced, ‘you have a seriously weird idea of fun.’

But it was fun. Tremendous fun. And half of the joy was that being so unlady-like and bogged down in mire and filth, nobody in their right minds could think that she and Dan were an item. They were work mates, good and proper; he taught her the trade, she made the tea.