The Godmother (23 page)

Bad news from the solicitor, then, I thought, watching Cora squash Billy's cheeks between the palms of her hands. Billy seeks solace in Cora. I wish she'd seek solace in the world around her, but she couldn't seem to find her place in it. She gave so much of herself over to Christoph, sometimes I wondered if there was anything left.

“Did you have fun?” asked Billy.

“It was great, we cooked monkey pie in the garden with magic crystals that can turn your bottom green.”

Billy looked at me. I shrugged.

“You wouldn't understand,” said Cora, walking into the flat that she shared with her mother and Magda, the Polish au pair. It only had two bedrooms, so it was a bit of a squash. Cora used to have her own room and Billy used to fork out for expensive childcare that left her running into the red every month. Cora, knowing that Billy was alone, would make nocturnal forays into her mother's room and Billy would wake up to find a small body curled up next to her. Everyone told her she had to get firm, and put Cora back into her own bed. Trouble was, Cora was so stealthy that Billy never woke up to put her back into her own bed. Eventually, I suggested to Billy that she turn Cora's deserted room into an asset—get someone to live in who could help in the mornings, collect Cora from school and man the gates until Billy got back from work. As well as having help when she needed it most, it would cost her a third of the price. We re-evaluated her monthly expenditure and worked out she'd be in the black. By not changing her frugal ways, she soon paid off her debt. Magda was a blessed addition to their lives. She even had a nice boyfriend, so Billy had enough evenings to herself, and was on-site to babysit whenever Billy wanted, which wasn't very often. Everyone was happy. Even Cora, who now shared her mother's bed and her wardrobe. Cora had started her life in an intensive care unit, then spent months on a ward. She could
sleep anywhere, through anything, at any time. Billy came to bed, pottered around, read, did her face, and all the while this tiny curled creature breathed gently under the duvet, seemingly undisturbed. If my current security blanket was a hard-edged framed photograph that didn't even belong to me, then Billy's was her daughter.

I had the privilege of tucking Cora into bed that night in Billy's room, but the last kiss, as always, was reserved for her mother. Billy softly closed the door behind her and escorted me to the fridge. She handed me a bottle of wine, took two glasses and a corkscrew from the drawer and followed me to the sofa.

“What's happened?” I asked.

“I've got to go to court again.” Her expression was neutral.

“Why?”

“He has changed how he does his accounting. I get 17 percent of what he earns.”

“Which should be plenty?”

“Not if he doesn't declare it. Now he's building boats exclusively for some very rich guy abroad, the money isn't coming into England. He is claiming to earn much less, which, of course, puts an additional burden on his outgoings, which means he can apply to have his percentage dropped back to, worst case scenario, 10 percent.”

“Which leaves you with?” I was trying not to get wound up. We'd been having these conversations about Christoph for most of Cora's life.

“Diddly-squat. He isn't claiming not to have earned the money, he just isn't bringing it in, so I have to put a case to the court that he needs to bring more money in. Trouble is, it's all back-handers and cash in brown envelopes. God knows…”

“What about his other”—I faltered slightly as I tend to do with this subject—“family?” Christoph has a new wife and two children, who both go to the best private schools and want for nothing. Except a nice dad, I suppose.

“She has money. They live off that.”

“Cunning.”

“I guess it's already declared and taxed.”

“How very trusting of her,” I said, sipping wine. “Poor woman, I almost feel sorry for her.”

“That's what you do when you're married, Tessa.”

I was perplexed. She expanded for me.

“You trust your other half.”

“Yes, maybe Nick and Al and…” I suddenly saw where I was going with this, and wanted to retreat. But it was too late.

“And Ben. I know, all the marvelous men out there who are faithful and honest as the day is long. But Christoph was that to me, and he'll be that to his new wife. You don't willfully give yourself to a man you think will shag everything that glances his way, spend your cash and leave you high and dry with a couple of kids and no money.”

For a second, my mind conjured up an image of Helen being evicted from her house, two kids in tow, and Neil speeding off with a blonde in a sports car. It wasn't wholly unpleasant, because after that I appeared on the horizon, like Zorro, to save the day.

“You know it goes on, you just don't think it goes on in your life. She'll probably be thinking how brilliant Christoph is and looking forward to buying a Swiss ski chalet, a Tuscan villa and a house on the fucking Palm.”

I frowned again.

“It's in Dubai, where this rich bloke lives. Doesn't matter, all I'm saying is you assume your husband isn't lying to you. You have to,” continued Billy.

All I could think of was Sasha kissing Ben goodbye as she went off for another week away in Germany.

“I don't want to sue him, Tessa. I don't want all that friction in my life again. He's seen Cora twice this year, things have been getting better.”

“What do you mean, you don't want to go there again? You've never gone there. Billy, please, don't get me wrong, but you've rolled over every bloody time. And it's October, that's hardly regular contact.”

“He travels…”

I'd heard it all before. “Come on, Billy. What good is living like this doing you? You think he's going to be grateful that you've been so understanding? He doesn't give a shit about anyone else apart from himself. I'm sorry, Billy, but when are you going to see it?”

“I think she makes it hard for him to come and see us.”

“She?”

“His new wife.”

I stood up. It was too infuriating to have this conversation sitting down. “New? Billy! New? They have two daughters!”

“He told me once she was very demanding.”

I silently screamed inside my head. “Really. Poor man—a wife who expects her husband to contribute to family life. You're absolutely right, she must be a witch.”

“She doesn't like the fact of us.”

“I bet. Reminds her of what a shit of a man her husband is.”

“Tessa!”

“What? Do you want my help or not? Because I can probably get that money for you.”

“Without going to court?”

I wanted to shake her. But thinking about it, maybe there was a way to do this without going to court. In fact…I felt the tingling excitement of a plan. The lure of a project.

“What?” asked Billy. “You've got a strange look in your eye.”

“If I can find a way of proving Christoph is earning more than he says he is…”

“That sounds like spying.”

I dismissed her concerns. “No more than the shit deserves.”

“Tessa.”

Please stop being so pathetic, I wanted to say, but I didn't. I was on a roll. “I have a good friend who works in this field. I tell you, men hide money from their wives all the time, usually just before they announce their intentions to leave them. It's a dog-eat-dog world. If you're right about brown envelopes, he won't want me sniffing around.” I turned to face Billy. “We could scare him into handing over more cash. The threat of court might be enough!”

For a moment a wicked little smile crossed Billy's lips.

“What do you say?” I asked.

“Go on then, but don't do anything without telling me first.”

“I promise.”

“A real promise. Not a Tessa King promise.”

I put my hand to my heart and feigned shock. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Fuzzy around the edges.”

“I sincerely promise. Now, let's order a takeaway, I'm famished.”

This was a lie. I'd eaten far too many of the children's sausages, but if I ordered and paid for a large Indian takeaway I knew Billy could live off it for a few days.

“So,” said Billy, a mouth full of balti, “any bad behavior you can tell me about?”

I shook my head, and helped myself to more food that I didn't want.

“I take it that bloke didn't call?”

I wasn't sure how much I appreciated her “I take it,” but I shook my head again. The fantasy of Sebastian the civil servant waiting outside my building in the pouring rain to tell me he couldn't get me out of his mind had been superseded by a far less palatable one. The one where I play the marriage-wrecker. The one in which I divide the loyalties and affections of my root friendships, the one in which that kiss did not end with Claudia calling out for Al.

“Just another notch,” I said finally. “What about you?” I asked, knowing it was futile. Billy had cut the wires that sent any kind of signal to the opposite sex. It wasn't that she played hard to get. You had to do a little come-on dance first, to do that. She played nothing to get. And it worked.

“What about any of the men who come through the surgery?” I asked, trying to be encouraging. Billy worked for a nearby dentist.

“People with teeth,” she said. This is what I meant by no signal. “I'm hardly what the average male wants, am I?” she continued. “Practically middle-aged myself, bogged down by a seven-year-old. Divorced. Broke.” She was wrong, of course. If she could see what I could see, we could duct tape those wires back together again. She was beautiful, ethereal, considerate, caring; she was honest and faithful, dedicated and conscientious and she looked fit enough to ride in the Grand National or play Giselle. When Christoph left her, he stole a chip from inside her that rendered her inert. It was the worst kind of heartbreak. He didn't want her, but he made sure no one else would either.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “I was wondering if you'd be my date on Saturday night. Channel 4 are hosting a grand party for the launch of the comedy series that Neil is in. Nick and Fran are coming,” I added quickly, before terror got the best of Billy. “Francesca could really do with a good night out; we can get dolled up and dance around our handbags.”

“I don't know, babysitters on Saturdays are—”

“Billy, Magda is supposed to sit twice a week for you and she never has to.”

“No, but she covers when I'm late back from work and—”

“It's free booze. You can come round to mine beforehand and we'll get ready together. Please. It'll be like the old days…”

What I wanted to say was, “What are you so afraid of?”; instead, I smiled. “Fine. Meet me there.”

“I don't know…”

“One good turn deserves another. I'll look into this,” I said tapping Billie's file on her ex-husband. “You be my date.”

“You're the one who wants to go after Christoph.”

I put the file back down on the table and put my hands on my hips. “So you don't want me to do it?”

She blinked a few times.

“Come on, Billy, not this again.”

She waved her hand over the file. “OK, take it. But I'm sure you have hundreds of dates you could go with.”

“No, Billy, I don't. I just thought it would be fun for us all to go out, that's all.” It was like pulling teeth with her.

“OK. I'll come,” she said.

What was that? An involuntary surrender. Sometimes I wanted to shake her, remind her she was alive, prise her out of the bog she'd got herself in. But I couldn't, because ultimately it was down to her. I watched Billy stifle another yawn so I carried the tray of half-eaten food back to the kitchen, kissed her goodnight, took the file of damning evidence against my goddaughter's father and drove myself home.

I walked into the Channel 4 party alone. It is something that I pride myself on being able to do. It gives me confidence to step over the threshold of a room full of people I don't know all by myself. That extra bit of confidence fuels me as far as the bar, the rest is down to alcohol.

Channel 4 had taken over a huge restaurant in Mayfair, complete with state-of-the-art pod loos that looked like they'd come off the set of
Cocoon
and a VIP bar that if you couldn't get into, you could at least look down into from above. In fact, the toilets were above the VIP area, so actually you were defecating on the heads of those special people who were separated from us mere mortals by a length of twisted red chord. I wondered, as I waited for my drink, whether the architect had been making a point.

There was the typical jostle at the bar. The TV workers knew the drill—get in as many drinks as possible before it becomes a paying bar and don't digress from what is on offer. Vodka and cranberry “cocktail” was free, vodka and tonic would set you back seven quid. I opted for a free bottle of beer, raised it to my mouth, when an elbow appeared from nowhere and knocked it hard against my teeth.

“Ow!” I exclaimed.

“Oh my God, are you OK? So sorry.”

I could taste blood.

“Oh shit, you've lost a tooth.”

I put my hand up to my mouth. Toothless was not going to help me find a spawning partner.

“Perhaps that wasn't very funny.”

I shook my head. I made sure I had a full set of teeth before finally turning to look at my assailant.

“Cinderella,” he said.

Salt-and-pepper man. “Ow,” I said, though strangely it no longer hurt.

“You'd look perfect at a vampire party.”

I frowned.

“Still not funny?”

I shook my head again, but was beginning to smile.

“Good thing I chose to represent comics rather than be one.”

“I'm not sure you had a choice.”

“You're right. I didn't. Though I always thought I had the potential to do the hideous-until-on-stage sort of thing well.” He shrugged. “Didn't work, though. I have to rely on becoming incredibly wealthy instead.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“Have you heard of Ali G?”

I was impressed. “You represent Ali G?”

“No. But I could. And that's the point, as I keep telling my mother.”

I smiled again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“It's a free bar,” I said.

“I didn't mean now.”

Smooth. I started to feel quite excited about the evening. Which was a far cry from sitting on my sofa at home wondering if I could possibly get out of coming at all.

I extended my hand. “Tessa King. In case you forgot.”

He took it. “James Kent. In case you never knew.”

How about that, I wouldn't even have to change my initials. What was I thinking? I was turning into a nutter.

“Are you all right? You're frowning. It's making me nervous. Whatever you've heard about me is untrue. OK, she was fifteen. But I was eleven, so it doesn't count.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My last sexual experience. What were you thinking about?”

There was a beat in my head, a comic beat. You read them in scripts. Someone says something funny then, beat.

“My next one.”

I turned back to the bar and sucked on my beer. I couldn't believe I'd said that. Filthy cow.

We walked across the room together. James seemed to know every other person at the party, which had a strange way of making him appear even sexier, and I was sober, so it wasn't a beer-goggle thing. He introduced me to almost everyone he spoke to, which I liked. I can't stand being a spare part. When he didn't, he always apologized afterwards and said it was because he couldn't remember the person's name. Then he introduced me to someone who needed no introduction. Helen's mother. What the hell she was doing there I couldn't imagine. I always forgot that she was editor in chief of a broadsheet, which meant she didn't need invites. She looked magnificent, of course.

“Tessa. How are you? Still single?”

“Actually, I'm a lesbian these days. I'm sleeping with a top female judge. Who's married. But don't tell anyone.”

Marguerite smiled through her perfectly capped teeth.

“Darling, I'm so pleased you've finally accepted it. But honestly, you should tell people, it won't come as a surprise to anyone, I can assure you.”

Damn it, I walked into that. Before I had a chance to reply, though the perfect one wouldn't come to me until at least twenty-four hours later, she touched James on the arm. “James, I've been meaning to call you.”

“Anything I can do?” said James, smiling at her. I wanted to slam my stiletto heel into his shoe.

“I was hoping you would think about joining our media panel.” Those squared off, stubby dark red nails that I knew too well jutted out of the long cuffs of a white silk shirt.

“Monthly meetings at the Groucho Club, dinner on me. We have some incredible people on it.” She listed some. I had no idea who any of them were, but James was obviously impressed. “We would so like you to join. You're our first choice.”

Marguerite looked good that night, clad in black leather trousers and fabulous boots, but it is amazing how ugly beauty can be on the wrong person. I noticed her hand stay a fraction too long on James's arm. I had enough competition from women in their twenties; if I had to compete with the forty-and fifty-year-olds as well, I was damned. That thought sparked off another, more
terrible one: Marguerite wasn't looking to settle down and breed—in fact, for the commitment-shy male, she was perfect. I felt a terrible urge to snatch James back, but even I (misguided as I am) knew that would be unseemly.

“We could have lunch,” she said. “Or meet after work for a drink.”

I rolled my eyes. “I saw your grandsons the other day,” I said, butting in. “They'll be talking soon—what's it going to be? Grandmère? Grand-maman? Nan?”

“I've no idea, I really haven't thought about it,” Marguerite replied. “Listen, Tessa, I have a favor to ask you.”

I narrowed my eyes. Now what was she up to?

“Would you mind keeping an eye on Helen? I fear she is a little out of her depth here. Apart from friends, they've really invited the very top people. It's important for Neil.”

“Come on, you've nothing to worry about,” I said. “Helen doesn't have to say a word, and people fall over each other to get to talk to her.”

“Exactly. I think people probably expect a little more content from her,” said Marguerite. “I'm just saying she might need your support. Please think about my offer, James, and call me next week,” she said before turning away. Her brutality lay in her subtlety. You can retaliate against barbed insults; it is harder when they are so veiled. We continued weaving our way through the room.

James frowned at me. “You seem to be on peculiar terms with Marguerite. You do realize she has a reputation of crushing anyone who crosses her.”

“She wouldn't dare. I know too much.”

“And why exactly would that be?” asked James.

I shrugged. “She's Helen's mother.”

“Oh, I see.” There was a pause. “Do you mind me asking, but who is Helen? It's just that it seems like a crucial detail I'm missing.”

“Neil's wife,” I said confused.

“Neil's married?” It came out quickly. He tried to cover it up while I tried to ignore the intonation in his voice. But I knew what that question meant. It meant Neil didn't act like a married man. He didn't tell people he was a married man. And he didn't wear a wedding ring because he said it made him look like a “poof.”

“They have twins. My godsons, in fact.”

“Jesus, more godchildren.”

I imagined Mr. Kent mark a cross in the negative column.

Nearly five. “Four,” I said. Funny how things change. Once, having a smattering of godchildren was a compliment. It meant you had good friends; you were chosen above others to care for the most important people in their lives; it meant you had staying power. Right now it felt like a sign around my neck. Leper. Outcast. Unfertilized. Pitied but could be useful some time in the future when little ______ needed a job.

“Oh, yes,” said James. “I remember. Course. Stupid.” He was trying to cover up his bluff. I definitely hadn't told him about my godchildren when we'd performed our own special brand of dirty dancing on the night Caspar drank himself unconscious, and it made me feel bad for him. It wasn't his fault Neil was so disrespectful of his wife.

“Come on over and meet her, she's lovely. One of my oldest friends, in fact.” I didn't want to think about it. Not tonight.

“One more thing, then I'll drop the subject.”

“What?” I asked, perhaps more aggressively than I should have.

“Is it Cherie Booth?”

“What?”

“The judge you're sleeping with. Is it Cherie Booth?”

I winked at him.

Helen was inside the place for special people. Her week in the country had worked: she looked phenomenal. Sleek and thin in a strappy black Dolce & Gabbana dress which showed no evidence of a bulge, let alone the sagging twin skin she claimed she had. That Helen had carried two six-pound babies inside her just over five months ago seemed impossible. A week was not long enough to have had surgery and recovered, was it? No, Helen was just born that way. She caught my eye and immediately came over to the twisted red chord. She looked so relieved to see me that I was reminded what a strange double-edged sword beauty was. She wanted to look her best, but her best made her virtually unapproachable. She hugged me hard. Heavily.

“Thank God you're here. Come on in.”

“Sorry, there's a list,” said an emaciated woman with a clipboard.

“I'll just get Neil,” said Helen.

“Don't worry about it.”

“It's fine, hang on.”

Helen returned a few minutes later, looking flustered and embarrassed. I could tell that the conversation with Neil had not gone well. I had seen for myself how he had kept her waiting—he was too busy holding court. Before barely hearing her out, he had glanced over at me and then spoken rapidly into his wife's ear before turning back to his eager audience. Clearly I was not important enough. I put Helen out of her misery.

“I can't come in. I promised Billy I would loiter by the door and she'll be here any minute. We'll come and find you later.”

“But—”

“It's all right. You're working tonight, meanwhile we all get to enjoy the party; it doesn't seem fair. And, by the way, you look spectacular, so go back into that hallowed place and knock 'em dead. But before I go, this is James Kent.” I didn't mean it to sound like such an announcement. This is James Kent, the father of my unborn children. “He knows your mother,” I said, covering my hormones.

“Poor you,” said Helen.

“How are all the performing monkeys in there?” James asked.

“Vying for limelight.”

“That's why they keep them cordoned off. Channel 4 knows they're better off keeping their comedians seen but not heard. They're all moody bastards in real life.”

I hoped he hadn't gone overboard. Helen got defensive if she thought Neil was being attacked, but not that night. That night she needed ammunition.

“You're right about that,” she replied, smiling at him.

“Very nice to meet you. Neil is a lucky man.”

We turned to leave when I heard the lucky man himself. “James, James, you're on the list, mate. Come on in, let me get you a glass of champagne.” He frowned at Helen and me. “Don't you two girls ever run out of things to talk about? Tessa, sorry about coming in. If it was up to me…” He looked at James. “But you didn't have to queue, mate.”

“I wasn't,” he said.

“Come in, come in.”

“Thanks, but Tessa and I are going to find…” The pause was tiny. “Billy.
But it has been a joy talking to your lovely wife.” Was it my imagination, or did James put an unusual emphasis on that last word?

“Tessa is with you?” Neil couldn't take the tone of incredulity out of his voice.

“Actually, I was tagging along with her. See you later. Hope the show is a success.” He put his arm across my shoulders, turned us around like a couple on a cuckoo clock, and we walked away giggling. I wasn't going to say my friend's husband was a tosser, and he wasn't going to say my friend's husband was a tosser, but I knew we were both thinking it. My only regret was not being able to take Helen with us.

James got ambushed a couple of times. On the third I saw Nick and Francesca walk through the door, so peeled off and went to see them. It wasn't until I was a foot in front of them that I realized Ben and Sasha were just behind them. I felt my stride falter and it confused me so much I felt myself begin to dither around them and, rather than risk kissing Ben hello, I kissed none of them and held back awkwardly. I don't think anyone noticed. All four of them were in a buoyant mood. I gathered they had bumped into each other in a nearby pub, which they'd both independently ducked into for a quick nerve-tightener, which turned into three. I was smiling at all of them, but trying not to look at Ben, which made me look at him, which made me feel as if I was staring. Damn it.

James followed me over. I introduced him to my friends but it didn't feel so fun any more. Feeling queasy, I deserted them by offering to do battle at the bar. My heart was racing. I had really hoped this thing had passed. I thought a couple of weeks of abstaining from clinging to the photo frame and I'd licked it. I felt a cool hand snake around my shoulders. I turned. It was Sasha.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

“Thanks.”

“Who's the dish?”

“I just met him at the bar.”