Between Friends (20 page)

‘Stopped from telling Neal?’

Carrie took her hand.

‘Jane, darling,
you
should tell Neal about this. He’s desperately worried about you. You can’t go on keeping this secret; it’s eating away at you. I doubt if it’ll make the slightest difference to his feelings. Maybe it seems like he’s uncompromising on this, but all he wants is for you to be all right.’

‘He needs to understand why this happened, Jane,’ Marta said.

‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to think about it at the m-moment. What did you mean about stopping Tom?’

‘I meant, he mustn’t be allowed to carry on doing this. He blackmailed me, you know. He made me pay over cash to stop him telling you about our affair – then he told you anyway.’

‘Oh my God—’

‘So we have to think of something, don’t you agree? Marta?’

‘I do.’ Marta hesitated. ‘Jane?’ she asked in a tentative voice.

‘Yes?’

‘How’s Emily? I’ve been so worried about her.’

‘She’s much better. Thanks for asking.’

‘I didn’t mean to ... I never ... I only ever wanted to help, you know.’

‘Yes. I know that now. I’m sorry I was so m-mad at you.’

‘I’m sorry if I did anything wrong. I love Emily dearly.’

‘I know you do. And I said something terrible to you – about not knowing how to bring up children—’

‘Because I’d never had one of my own. That hurt, Jane, I can’t pretend it didn’t.’

‘I was lashing out because I was angry. I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s okay. And anyway ... this might not be the most tactful time to tell you—’

Jane caught on at once. ‘You’re p-pregnant?’

‘You’re
pregnant?
’ Carrie squealed.

Marta’s eyes were shining. ‘I can’t pretend the timing is the best. Jane, Jake’s gone to London. Things aren’t good between us at the moment.’

‘Oh my God! Does he know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I never thought ... I thought you and Jake were solid. What happened?’

‘Who knows? Tom happened. Not an affair,’ Marta said hastily, ‘he just made himself rather too much at home and Jake felt edged out. Being out of work for so long made him more vulnerable than I’d realised. His self-esteem had plummeted. I can’t believe that spotting Tom that day in the café has caused so much damage.’

‘As Carrie says, Tom Vallely,’ Jane spat out the name as if it were a curse, even managing to avoid the stutter, ‘has to be stopped.’

They looked at each other.

‘But how?’ Marta asked.

Chapter Twenty-nine

‘And if I ever find you anywhere near that cupboard again—’

Tom let his voice trail off threateningly. He turned his profile to the camera, clenched his wrist just a little too tightly round the young actress’s wrist (simply in order to inject a little real drama into her insipid acting, naturally) and half closed his eyes menacingly.

Conscious of the camera zooming in for a close-up, he held the look, allowing the merest flicker of the lids for added effect.

The young nurse looked at him, fear writ large in her huge, dark eyes.

‘I won’t. I promise!’ she quavered.

‘Because that smart young husband of yours just might not be quite so doting if he heard that—’

‘Don’t tell! Please don’t tell! I’ll do anything!’

Tom let go of the girl’s wrist with a fierce thrust that sent her banging into the wall.

‘Cut! Thanks Tom, Joy – you were both great. Right, let’s take a break for lunch, back in an hour.’

Tom Vallely was having the time of his life. He had established his character, Mr Charles Darling, an arrogant and egotistical consultant, as one of the core characters in the soap and
Emergency Admissions
was beginning to soar in the ratings. He liked to think of it as the Vallely Effect. He was looking forward to the regular pay cheque, but there were snags. The first cheque might be safely in the bank but it didn’t even begin to cover his debts – and he was already running up big bills to fund the lifestyle he was determined to enjoy.

The young actress playing the nurse he had just threatened was in the canteen when he arrived. He glimpsed her by the till, talking to one of the runners and rubbing her wrist. She caught sight of him and turned away quickly. Silly bitch. She’d flirted him into bed when he’d joined the cast but after just one shag she’d refused to see him again.

‘You’re really hot, Tom,’ she explained, painfully sincere, ‘but a bit too hot for me. Sorry.’

Tom didn’t take well to rejection. In any other situation he might have pursued the matter, but when you were working with someone every day it didn’t do to fall out too seriously. Instead, he took it out on her in small ways – a snide word here, a joke at her expense there and if, like today, he got the chance of physical contact, he played up to it. Subtly, of course, so that no-one else saw.

She’d better not snitch.

He glared at her across the room, staring fiercely at the back of her head, sure that she would know he was looking at her. He watched her hand come up and rub her neck as if it was sore.

Result.

At the canteen he helped himself to salad, a brown roll and a glass of juice. Must watch the figure. Wouldn’t do to pile on the beef.

Ann Playfair was in today. He spotted the middle-aged scriptwriter at a table by herself. Looked like a dyke. Good writer though, she came up with some excellent storylines for Mr Darling and,in fairness, she had been useful in helping him to land the role.

‘Afternoon, Ann. May I join you or is someone sitting here?’

Turn on the charm, Vallely, you never know what’s round the corner. He smiled his best smile and summoned warmth to his eyes.

‘Hello, Tom. Please,’ she indicated the vacant chair, ‘do sit. How’s it going?’

‘Brilliant. Loved that last script you did, Ann, the one where my character pulls off the impossible and saves the lad who was mangled in the farm machinery. And the “Will they, won’t they” line with Harriet Love is sheer genius.’

‘You’re getting on well with Hayley?’

‘Doesn’t it show?’ Tom had shagged Hayley Dearborn, who played Harriet Love, a couple of times. He knew he’d get her into bed again, too, despite her protestations that she had a husband and kids in Chester and she really shouldn’t be...

‘And the rest of the cast?’

He shrugged. ‘They’re okay. Yes. Good bunch.’

‘You don’t think your character is a little too arrogant?’

‘Hmm. Self-confident, wouldn’t you say, rather than arrogant?’

‘It’s a fine line.’

‘I can only go on the scripts I get, darling.’

Ann put aside her plate and started on her dessert. Jam roly poly and custard, no wonder she was so fat. Tom sipped his water and bit his tongue. Wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of a scriptwriter.

‘Sometimes actors bring out the best in a character, sometimes the worst. And scriptwriters pick up on that as well as feed into it.’

‘Are you saying I should tone the character down a bit?’

‘I wouldn’t presume to advise you, Tom. That’s the director’s job.’

‘Well, she seems very happy.’

‘That’s good.’

Tom let her finish her pudding, then asked, ‘Any good storylines coming up for Mr Darling?’

‘Tom. You know I can’t say. That’s not my job.’

‘Worth a try though.’ He grinned at her artlessly and was rewarded with a smile in return. ‘Any news from the girls? Marta?’

‘Aren’t you in touch?’

He put on a shamefaced look. ‘Should be, of course, but it’s been manic round here.’

‘Right.’

‘So...?’ he prompted.

‘Marta phoned me last week. Jake’s in London, she says, on a temporary contract. She sounded a bit down, but on the plus side, she’s been very busy with a certain Mr McGraw, an American.’

Tom’s ears pricked up. ‘Is that the guy who was on the news the other night? The one who’s poured millions into setting up some new business venture in Dundee?’

‘Apparently, yes. Marta’s been running tailor-made tours for some of the Americans he’s bringing over, real up-market stuff. She’s been enjoying that. And Carrie – you know Carrie?’

Did he know Carrie? Tom nearly laughed out loud. Instead he simply nodded encouragingly and waited.

‘Carrie Edwards has been seeing this man, it seems, this Mr McGraw. Marta says she’s a changed woman, like a teenager in love.’

Really? Caroline Edwards in love? Well, well.

‘How wonderful.’

‘Jane Harvie, though, the third of the friends – I take it you know her as well? Jane is seriously depressed. Marta didn’t say why. If you’re concerned about the girls, Tom, maybe you should get on the phone. Didn’t you stay with Marta and Jake in Edinburgh? I’m sure she’d welcome a call.’

‘Of course. Sure. I’ll call today. Nice to chat with you, Ann darling. I’ll have to move though. An actor’s work and all that.’

‘Yes, of course. Bye Tom. Nice to see you are prospering.’

Prospering? Up to a point, but not enough. Worth a phone call, for sure.

Chapter Thirty

The flurry of snow that had been so widespread across the Highlands didn’t touch Edinburgh, but the weather had turned autumnal.

Forced into the garden – Jake’s domain – to tidy up the falling leaves, Marta grew thoughtful.

Jake was due home today. She glanced at her watch. His train would be pulling in to Waverley Station any time now. He had refused her offer to meet him – ‘Don’t be silly, Marta, I’m perfectly capable of catching a bus’ – so it would be at least forty minutes before he got here.

Jake didn’t know about the baby. She’d been tempted to tell him a dozen times, but as soon as he’d told her he was coming back for a weekend, she’d decided that this was something better done face to face.

‘Coming home? Oh Jake, how lovely,’ she’d said, thrilled.

‘Just to pack up more of my things.’

‘Oh, I see.’

They’d been talking more and more on the phone – getting closer. The stilted conversations of the days just after his departure had mellowed into a comfortable familiarity.

‘It’s going really well here.’

‘I’m glad,’ she lied. That is, she
was
glad for him. He sounded so much like the old Jake, telling her about the projects he was working on, enthusiastic again. She just wasn’t happy that he was in London, not in Edinburgh. Once he was here though ... once he knew about the baby...

She bent again, picked up the bag full of leaves and crossed to the compost bin. There, that looked neater. Under the apple tree, the first of the crop had dropped. She would make a crumble for supper.

He rang the doorbell.

Rang the bell. In his own house.

Instantly, Marta felt uneasy. Why had he done that? He still had a key.

‘Hi, Jake.’

She hadn’t anticipated the impact his physical presence would have on her. There he was, her Jake, her husband, so deeply, dearly familiar, and yet so obviously out of bounds. He made that clear at once, bending forward and to kiss her cheek with polite formality. He defined the limits he wished to maintain.

‘Journey alright? It’s so lovely to see you.’ Christ, she sounded like a stranger, or at least, a passing friend. ‘Oh Jake—’ she extended her arm, reached out to him impulsively.

‘Bang on time,’ he said cheerfully, ignoring the outstretched hand. ‘May I come in?’

Biting her lip, Marta stood aside. She’d worked hard in the cottage to make sure everything was perfect. A large vase of hydrangeas stood on the hall table, perfectly lit by the ceiling spotlights. She had put coffee on to brew and the smell was wafting along the corridor to where they stood. In the small living room, pale autumn sunshine streamed pleasingly in through the window, highlighting the bronze sculpture of the sleeping woman they had bought together in a gallery in town as a Christmas present to each other.

Two years ago. That was all. Two years, and yet it seemed like a lifetime.

On the far wall, the sunlight picked out a print Jake had given her for her thirty-fifth birthday, so that the freshness of the green and the intense blue of the Himalayan poppies glowed like gems.

‘Is that coffee on offer? I could kill for a decent brew.’

‘Of course. Want it in here?’

‘Thanks.’

He could have walked in and helped himself. That would have been the natural thing to do, not to sit and wait for her to bring it, like a guest. She bit back her comments and went to fetch the coffee, pouring a glass of juice for herself. She had gone off coffee completely.

If he notices, I’ll tell him now.

But Jake didn’t notice. He talked, instead, about London, about the job, about life in the south.

‘Getting the Tube every day, that’s the worst bit. If I could afford somewhere a bit nearer, I’d love to be able to walk, but it’s so expensive. I’ll keep looking. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a room somewhere.’

‘I’m sure it’s tiring. What’s the place you’re in like?’

‘Doesn’t compare with this.’ He gestured round the room. ‘You’ve always made things so nice.’

Come back then. Come home.

‘Thanks.’

He finished his coffee.

‘I’ll take my bag up to the spare room, will I? I can pack my stuff up tomorrow. You don’t mind me going into your room to do that?’

Marta’s heart plummeted. This was horrible. It was worse than not having him here at all. She’d thought – what? – that he would fall back into bed with her? Perhaps not, that was always going to be unlikely, but still, the reality was a shock, like getting into a bath you expected to be warm and finding out that it was icy.

‘Sure. No problem,’ she said dismally.

Worse was to come. He glanced at his watch. ‘Then I’ll have to get going, sharpish. I’m seeing my mates for the Hearts match.’

‘Oh!’

She’d expected they would do something together, go for a walk on the beach, visit a gallery, go to the cinema, perhaps.

‘What about later?’

She’d already made the crumble.

‘If you don’t mind me using my key, I’ll just let myself in. That alright? I wouldn’t want you to stay up for me.’

‘Sure.’

‘It’s great being able to see the guys again. I’ll catch up on the news, do the town.’

He was smiling, relaxed, apparently happy – indeed, happier than she had seen him look for some time.

Marta’s expectations were comprehensively punctured. She felt her lip quivering and tears stinging her eyes, but pride made her summon the will to hold them back.

At the door, he turned back to study her. ‘You’re looking well, by the way Marta. Positively glowing.’

‘Thanks.’

‘See you in the morning. I’ll try not to disturb you.’

‘See you.’

And then he was gone, swinging along the path and down the road, and Marta was left feeling far, far worse than she had felt in all the weeks he had been away.

She couldn’t let him leave without telling him, because once he knew, it would change everything. In the morning, he appeared in the kitchen looking cheerful.

‘Brilliant match. And Hearts won.’

‘I saw the result. How were your friends?’

‘In great form. Iain’s missus is expecting again.’

Now. Now was her opportunity.

‘That’s nice. Jake—’

‘Is that porridge you’ve made? Excellent. You always were a fine homemaker, Marta. Do you mind if I take sugar on it?’

‘I’ve already put it on the table for you.’

‘So you have. This is tasty. I’ve missed having porridge.’

The moment was slipping away. She had to say something. Perhaps start with something less dramatic? Like an apology?

‘Jake, I’ve been meaning to say, well, I’m sorry. About Tom, I mean. It was really stupid, bringing him into the house like that, not even asking you.’ She bit her lip. ‘If you’d been a bit more honest about it, earlier on … I mean, perhaps I could have—’

‘So it’s my fault, is it?’ Jake broke in, his tone edgy.

‘No! No, I didn’t mean that. I only meant ... you’ve always been so easygoing, I didn’t realise how you felt about him until it was too late. That’s all.’

‘I did try to tell you. You kept defending him.’

‘Did I?’

‘You wouldn’t listen, Marta.’

‘Oh.’

‘Your trouble is, you always see only the best in people. It’s not the worst fault anyone can have, but sometimes it can cause real problems. It certainly did this time.’

‘Then I’m doubly sorry.’

This was not going well.

‘I wanted to tell you that, Jake. And I wanted to tell you ... I’ve been thinking ... I’m really proud of you.’

‘Proud?’

‘Of the way you dealt with being unemployed. Tom – well, he was a sponger and a thief. I know that now. On the other hand, you did everything you could, you wrote all those letters, phoned people, even got that temporary job in the Assembly Rooms—’

‘All pretty much organised by you.’

‘I only encouraged you. You did it.’

‘Yes. Well. Thanks for apologising, Marta.’

Jake pushed aside his bowl and ran his hand through his hair.

‘I’d better go and start packing. My train’s at eleven.’

Time was slipping away. Do it now. Tell him now. You have to tell him.

Marta laid her hand on his arm, detaining him. Jake, half rising from his chair, sank down in response to her touch and looked at her.

Say it.

‘There’s something I have to tell you, Jake. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father at last!’ she smiled.

‘Bloody hell.’

Jake’s mouth fell open. She’d anticipated surprise – but she’d foreseen pleasure too, not this blankness.

‘It’s happened at last.’

Again she smiled, more tentatively this time.

‘Bloody hell,’ Jake said again, but this time there was a note of irritation in his voice.

‘Aren’t you—’ she faltered, ‘aren’t you pleased?’

‘Well, the timing could hardly be worse, could it?’

‘But your contract will be up in February and the baby’s not due till mid-May.’

The silence seemed to go on forever.

Say something, Jake. Tell me you’re happy. Tell me this is all a big mistake. Tell me you really love me.

‘I’m not planning on coming back, Marta.’

Shock paralysed her. She could hear the kitchen clock with its faint tick, tick, tick, marking out the moments of her bewilderment. Jake’s face was set. She could feel the grain of the oak table under her fingers, ripples of time across the years. At last she found her voice.

‘You can’t mean that. You’re going to be a father, Jake. It’s what we’ve always wanted.’

‘It’s what you’ve always wanted.’

‘
Jake
!’

‘I’ve never been able to work out what our lives would be like if we had a baby, Marta. I was just too much of a wimp to tell you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’re an organiser, Marta. A very good one. You organised our home, you organised your work. And you organised me. You made all the decisions in our lives. Where we lived. Where we went on our holidays. What I wore.’

‘You were happy to let me.’

‘Yes. That was my fault. I allowed habit to take hold and as my irritation grew, I became less and less able to admit to it. But a baby, Marta?’

‘Our baby—’

‘I can see what would happen. Everything would be organised round the child and by some magical art, I would be organised into some level of the family hierarchy so deeply invisible that I would barely exist.’

‘
No
, Jake! How can you say that? How can you
think
that?’

He shook his head.

‘Sorry, love, but I’m finding I like making decisions for myself. It’s not always easy, and I make mistakes, but they are
my
mistakes. And anyway ... I’ve started seeing someone else.’

Marta gasped. So soon?

‘Her name is Jenny and she’s in the public-relations team in the firm where I’m working.’

She did not want to know this.

He gave a short laugh. ‘Ironically, she’s a single mother. She has a child of three, a boy.’

‘You mean, you can become a father to someone else’s child, but not to your own?’ she asked incredulously.

‘Hang on a minute, Marta, you’ve only just told me about being pregnant, it’s not exactly something I’ve been factoring into my decisions. Anyway, it’s early days’

‘How could you even
think
of taking on another family when you’ve got one of your own on the way?’

‘I didn’t say I was going to “take on a family” as you put it.’

‘Well it sounds remarkably—’ Marta bit her tongue. A row wasn’t going to help. She swallowed miserably.

‘All I’m saying,’ Jake said, ‘is that at the moment, I can’t see my way to coming back to you. A baby?’ He raked his hair. ‘Christ.’

‘Jake—’

Jake pushed back his chair and stood. ‘I won’t abandon you, Marta. You know I’d never ... Jesus.’

He turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

Her heartbeat slowed and became sluggish, so that breathing became difficult and her limbs grew cold. She started to shiver. There must be a way round this. She would talk to Jake again when he came downstairs. That was it, yes, she would talk to him again.

‘I’ll phone you,’ he called from the hall.

‘You’re not going already?’

He dropped his bag on the floor and pulled her into an embrace, but as her heart lurched with hope he said quietly, ‘My train’s in fifty minutes, I have to go or I’ll miss it.’

‘Darling—’

‘Listen, love, you’ve dropped a bombshell. You’re going to have to let me digest the news.’

‘If you don’t want to come back to Edinburgh, I could come to London—’

He released her sharply. ‘Don’t use this pregnancy as blackmail, Marta. That’s not your style at all.’

Her hands flew up to her face to cover the sudden heat in her cheeks.

‘I’m pleased you’re pregnant, Marta,’ he said more gently, ‘for your sake. I know how much you wanted a baby. But babies can’t heal broken relationships, they never could.’ He bent and kissed her cheek again. ‘We’ll talk soon, I promise. We’ll work something out.’

He closed the door behind him.

He had gone. And now she was alone.

But not, this time, completely alone. Her hands shaking, she picked up her phone.

‘Carrie,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘I need you. Please, please help me—’