Coming Clean (28 page)

“Why don’t you let me take a look?”

I said I’d head off to my office and e-mail them to her right away.

•   •   •

T
he mood in the office was euphoric. Des had been out and bought several bottles of sparkling wine. People were hugging and kissing and punching the air. Wendy and several of the other PAs were even doing a conga through the office. By now everybody knew that Liz was the new chairman of GLB. Des had told them.

“But you didn’t tell me, you mean sod!” I said as he handed me a plastic cup of sparkling.

“I thought you’d enjoy the surprise.”

I had to admit that seeing Liz sitting behind the chairman’s desk had been one of the best bombshells ever.

I called everybody together and gave them a rundown of my meeting with Liz. “The moment she’s signed off on the program proposals, we get going on the new show. I’m sure she’ll get back to me by this evening, so I suggest everybody take the rest of the day off and we’ll reconvene tomorrow . . . And by the way—well done, everybody, for hanging in there. I think we owe Des a big thank-you for all his hard work and for keeping our spirits up.”

A huge cheer went up.

•   •   •

B
y now it was getting on for midday. It occurred to me that Annie would be finishing her shift at the BBC, which was only a few minutes’ walk away. I thought she might fancy lunch. She whooped and cheered when I told her the news about the strike. “I’d love to do lunch, but you’ll have to come back to my place. Kathleen’s off to the dentist and the boys have got a half day off school, so I need to be around.”

I said I’d meet her outside Broadcasting House in twenty minutes.

Meanwhile, I went to my office and e-mailed all my ideas and proposals to Liz. Afterwards, as I headed back down the corridor, I noticed that the door to STD’s office was open. I stopped and popped my head around the door. Despite everything that had gone on, I couldn’t let her leave without saying good-bye. She was loading her stuff into a cardboard box.

“Hi, Shirley.”

STD looked up. I could tell she’d been crying because her mascara had run, giving her panda eyes.

“Soph. G’day.” She wiped her eyes, making the panda effect worse.

“Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry things ended the way they did.”

She raised her palm in front of her. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. I rarely eat humble pie, but I’m prepared to admit the best woman won. You were right and I was wrong. I misjudged the audience. It’s as simple as that.”

“Thank you for that. I appreciate it.”

“I admire you, Soph. You’ve got spunk. You know what you want and you go all out to get it. In many ways, you’re a bit like me. I’m glad they’ve made you permanent editor. You’ve got a great future ahead of you. In a few years you’re going to be awesome.”

I felt my face redden. “I don’t know about that.”

“Take it from me.”

“So what will you do now?” I asked. It occurred to me that even a career as illustrious as STD’s might not survive such a high-profile failure and that she could be cast into the wilderness.

“I’m heading back to Sydney for a few weeks of R and R and then I’ll consider my options. I’ve got a few irons in the fire.”

I said I was glad and I meant it. She’d been a demon to work for, but in the end she was a gallant loser. I couldn’t help admiring that.

“Right, well, I’d best be off,” I said. “Good luck.”

“You, too, Soph. Knock ’em dead.”

“I’ll do my best.”

We shook hands and STD went back to her packing.

•   •   •

“I
’m so glad it’s all over,” Annie said, putting her arm through mine as we walked to the car park. “I’ve been so worried about you and how you were going to make ends meet if it went on much longer.”

“Well, you can stop now. I’ve been made permanent editor and I’ve got a pay raise.”

“Oh, hon, that’s amazing. I’m sorry we’re going to have to celebrate with a cuppa and beans on toast back at mine, rather than going out.”

“No problem,” I said.

“So how are you?” I asked as we climbed into her car. It was a daft question. She looked exhausted.

“I’m so tired that I’ve stopped sleeping—if that makes any sense. The doctor says it’s stress. He’s given me some sleeping pills. But I don’t want to become reliant on them.”

“But you can’t go on like this.” I made her promise to take them for a couple of nights, just so she could catch up on her sleep.

“So what’s new with you and Huck?” she said.

“Well, I ended up telling Greg about him and he’s pretty pissed off. He’s worried how it’s going to affect Amy and Ben. Amy’s already worked out there’s something going on. I did my best to convince her that we’re only friends, but I’m seriously worried that Greg’s right and that by letting Huck move in I may have fucked up big-time.”

“Soph, you have to stop beating yourself up. You know how worried about money you were. Renting your spare room to Huck made perfect sense—and if I remember, Greg thought it was a great idea.”

“I know. I keep having to remind myself.”

“If you ask me, Greg isn’t worried about the kids. This is about Huck. He’s jealous.”

“I had the same thought. He asked me if I thought we’d made a mistake splitting up.”

“I rest my case. He’s unhappy with Roz and wants you back.”

“Well, if he thinks he can come running back to me the moment he hits a few bumps in the road, he can think again.”

“I agree. On the other hand, he does seem to have changed. He decorates, gardens, cleans his own shitty shoes.”

“I don’t care. I can’t forgive him for treating me the way he did. I just can’t.”

Annie let us into the house, hung up our coats and went to find Kathleen and the boys. “You know, they had such fun at Ben’s birthday party. I think they both enjoyed being with older kids. Made them feel really grown up.”

I said I was glad they’d enjoyed it.

Freddie and Tom were sitting on the living room floor building LEGOs. “Hi, guys,” Annie said. “Where’s Kathleen?”

Freddie said she was in the kitchen. It was then that we both noticed the boys were wearing their backpacks. We could see they were heavy from the way they were leaning forward. “Boys, those things look like they’re really weighing you down,” Annie said. “You can’t be comfortable. I’m assuming it’s part of your game, but what on earth have you got in them?”

“Supplies,” Freddie said. “We’re on an adventure.”

“That’s a lie,” Tom shot back at his brother. “You know what Kathleen says about lying.”

“OK,” Annie said, looking puzzled. “So what’s really in the backpacks?”

“Reminders of our sins,” Tom declared.

“What?”

“Reminders of our sins,” Tom repeated. “Kathleen put them there.”

“Sshh, you numpty. We weren’t supposed to say anything.”

“Your sins?” Annie shot me a WTF look. “Kids, stand up. I need to see inside.”

The backpacks were so heavy that the boys struggled to get up.

Freddie turned around and let his mother unzip the top pouch. “Oh my God. Soph, take a look at this.”

I looked. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The pouch was full of rocks. “The woman’s off her head,” I muttered.

“Kathleen says,” Freddie continued, “that carrying rocks is good for our souls because it reminds us that we are sinners.”

I watched Annie’s eyes fill with tears. “Soph, get these things off the kids, will you?” With that she disappeared into the kitchen. She made no attempt to keep her voice down. She was a lioness defending her young. “Kathleen, do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing, forcing Freddie and Tom to go around weighed down by a ton of rocks?”

“Annie, calm down or you’ll be having a stroke.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. Answer my question.”

“Children need to know that they are born sinners and they need to atone for their wickedness.”

“What? Where do you get this tripe?”

“The Good Book says—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about the Good Book. You’re insane. Do you know that? Totally, utterly insane. Pack your bags and get out of my house. Now.”

Half an hour later, Kathleen was gone, I was making tea and Annie was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the boys doing her best to convince them that babies do not come into this world programmed for evil.

•   •   •

I
got back to Putney around six and went straight to pick up Amy and Ben from Debbie-from-down-the-road’s. I told them that the strike was over and announced we were going out for pizza to celebrate. I thought they’d be pleased. Instead they looked miserable. “I’m going to miss you taking us to school,” Ben said. “And being around when we get home.” I assumed he was speaking for both of them.

“Oh, guys, I’m sorry. I know you’ve enjoyed us being together more and so have I, but I have to get back to work.”

“OK,” Amy said. “How about you increase our pocket money to make up for it?”

“So you’re saying that cash will wipe away your tears?”

“Pretty much.”

“OK, so what sort of a raise are you looking for?”

“Fifty percent.”

“No way. Thirty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Done.”

Ben, who hadn’t done percentages in school yet, looked at his sister. “Is that a good deal?”

“I think I’ve hammered out a reasonable settlement,” she said. Then she turned back to me: “Mum, why are you looking at me like that? You’re the one who’s been on strike. I’ve picked up my negotiating skills from you.”

•   •   •

W
hen we got home, Huck was in the kitchen with Araminta. They were sharing a bottle of wine.

“You’re just in time to help us celebrate,” Huck said. “Guess what—the BBC and Channel Four both want me on their late-night news programs. Plus we just had a really productive meeting with Judy, who thinks that Minty’s Twitter idea definitely has legs.”

“Oh, Huck, that’s brilliant. I’m really pleased things are going so well.”

“Mum’s got news, too,” Amy said, clearly not wanting me to be outdone.

“The strike’s over,” I said. “We won. James Harding got booted off the board and STD’s been sacked.”

“And Mum’s got a pay raise,” Ben piped up.

“Good for Mum,” Huck said. He turned to me. “Well done, Soph. I knew it would work out. So come on, how’s about a celebratory glass of wine?”

I said I would join them in a few minutes. First, I needed to make sure that Ben got in the bath. Then I had to wash Amy’s hair. She still liked me to do it sometimes as a treat.

By the time I rejoined Huck and Araminta, they had a load of papers spread out in front of them and were deeply engrossed in a discussion about fund-raising. I poured myself a glass of wine. “Maybe I’ll take myself off to the living room,” I said.

“No, stay,” Huck said. “We’ll be done talking in a couple of minutes.”

But I knew they wouldn’t be. “Actually, I’m really tired. I think I’d rather put my feet up and watch TV.”

I headed into the living room and checked my e-mail to see if Liz had gotten back to me with her thoughts on the proposal. She had:

All fab. Go for it. I just know we’re going to have a major success on our hands.

Liz x

I closed my laptop. “Please, please don’t let me fuck up.”

Gail rang in the middle of the news. She said she’d spoken to Araminta on the phone and that she sounded lovely. “She’s agreed to tutor Spencer on a Sunday morning. Thanks again for finding her, Soph. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.” I could hear Murray in the background. “Tell her I’m grateful, too!”

It was eleven before Araminta left—which didn’t surprise me. She popped her head around the door to say bye and to apologize for ousting me from my kitchen.

After he’d shown her out, Huck joined me on the sofa. “Don’t you think Minty’s amazing? Not only is she great with the kids at work, but she’s so creative—so full of ideas to promote the cause. Judy was really impressed.”

“You’re rather smitten with young Araminta, aren’t you?”

Huck burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“OK, a bit maybe. It’s just that she’s really beautiful and clever and you spend so much time together.”

“Yes, discussing the PR campaign. I don’t think you appreciate how much there is to do.”

“I do understand,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a bit tired and insecure, that’s all.”

“Well, stop it. You have nothing to worry about. Minty is not my type. The woman plays croquet, for crying out loud.”

With that, he kissed me very thoroughly indeed.

A
fter much debate it was decided that
Coffee Break
’s makeover should include a new name. We knew that renaming it was risky because it could alienate our older listeners. On the other hand, the
Coffee
Break
handle seemed twee and old-fashioned and wasn’t going to help the show broaden its appeal. Several names were suggested. When we put them to the vote, one clear winner emerged:
Women’s Lip
. It was a tad last millennium, but we were on familiar enough terms with the women of middle England—even the younger ones—to know that they wouldn’t respond well to a name that was too out there.

We also decided to lose the serial, on the grounds that it was dated. Ditto the dull and long-winded items on nature and crafts.

The two weeks allotted to us by Liz were spent brainstorming, planning and redesigning. Meetings tended to go on well into the evening. (Suffice it to say that Amy and Ben registered their dismay in the most voluble terms.) By the end we were all pretty wrung out—not to say apprehensive. There was a general gut feeling that the new format would work, but nobody was sure. It was Liz who kept everybody’s spirits up by telling us that we were doing a great job and that
Women’s Lip
represented the dawn of an exciting new era in women’s broadcasting.

During those two weeks, Huck and I didn’t see much of each other. The publication of the
Vanguard
piece coincided with more rioting in London, Leeds and Manchester. The plight of the underclass was big news and pretty much overnight Huck had become the media’s social-deprivation commentator of choice. When he wasn’t appearing on TV or radio, he was giving talks and lectures all over the country. On top of that, Judy’s PR initiatives were beginning to bear fruit. Donations were coming in not just from individuals, but businesses as well.

I’d watched him on TV several times, and he was impressive. He wasn’t merely intelligent and articulate, but he was expressing original ideas, which were driving a new debate about how to combat poverty. He was calling for the leaders of all three parties to sign on to a hundred-year plan to fight deprivation and raise up the underclass.

He argued that governments were by nature shortsighted—they could never see further than the next election. Huck insisted that in order to lift people out of the poverty trap it was important to think long term and recognize that results couldn’t be achieved between one election and the next. Change would take decades. Most politicians and commentators thought he was a daft idealist. He responded by saying that he wasn’t ashamed to be called an idealist and that idealism was precisely what modern Western politics lacked.

After his last TV appearance I texted him:
Great stuff
.
Idealism gets me really horny
.

His bosses at the charity, aware of what an inspirational ambassador for the poor they had, made sure he had the time off he needed to pursue his extramural activities. He also managed to negotiate leave for Araminta—albeit unpaid—on the grounds that she was an invaluable aide and adviser.

I still couldn’t help thinking that her role went beyond that of adviser, but on the nights they were away together, Huck would call me before bed and was always full of how much he missed me and couldn’t wait to ravish me.

•   •   •

F
inally, the first edition of
Women’s Lip
was about to go live to the nation.

I stepped into the lift with Nancy. Des, today’s producer—who had been put in charge of the maiden show in return for all his hard work during the strike—was already down in the studio setting up. Liz was there, too. The editor didn’t usually watch the program go out. The chairman of GLB certainly didn’t. But she and I had so much emotion, not to mention our professional futures, invested in the new program, that we had to be there to see it out of the starting gate.

Nancy was nervous, but had been behaving impeccably. Everybody had noticed the change in her. She wasn’t making quite so many demands and had started making polite requests rather than barking orders. I hardly dared say it, but the therapy seemed to be working.

The doors closed and the lift headed towards the basement.

“There are moments,” Nancy said, “when I still can’t believe we beat STD.”

“Me, neither.”

“And I think it’s totally brilliant that you’ve been made permanent editor. I hear you got a hefty pay raise.”

“It certainly wasn’t hefty, but I’m not denying it’s going to make life a bit easier.”

“I bet you can’t wait to start spending money on clothes. Just think. You can ditch all your old work outfits and get into some decent tailoring. I’m pretty sure Joseph goes up to your size and I’m always here if you need any advice.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said. The woman might have been making progress in therapy, but she was a long way of being cured.

Today’s program lineup was impressive. Samantha Cameron had agreed to come on and talk about the ups and downs of raising small children at No. 10 Downing Street. We had Whoopi Goldberg talking about her new movie, followed by a discussion on women’s rights in Afghanistan. Finally, in place of the serial, Nancy was hosting a phone-in on tattoos—did women love them or loathe them?

We were just about to go into the studio when my mobile rang. Nancy went on ahead while I stopped to answer it.

It was Mrs. McKay, the head teacher at the kids’ school. I could feel my heart beating against my chest. Mrs. McKay called parents only when there was bad stuff to report. Something had happened.

I wasn’t wrong. It seemed that there had been a serious “incident” in the playground. Ben and Arthur had gotten into a fight during which Ben had thrown an almighty punch. This had caused Arthur to fall to the ground and cut his head. He was now in the ER with his mum.

“Ben punched Arthur? But they’re best friends. Is he seriously hurt? Is he going to be OK?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fayne,” the head soothed in that Miss Jean Brodie accent of hers that Greg so loved to impersonate. “He has a cut on his head. He may need a stitch or two and they’ll probably want to X-ray him to check there’s no further damage.”

“Oh God. I have to phone his mum. But how did the fight start?”

Mrs. McKay said she didn’t know. Ben was nursing a bruised hand in the medical room and wasn’t saying much. “I think he’s in shock. The wee laddie didn’t realize his own strength.”

“But Ben tends to shy away from fights. I don’t understand it.”

“Nor does his class teacher. She says it’s totally out of character. I think it would be best if you came and collected him. Then, when you get home, see if you can get him to open up about what went on.”

“OK, I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Oh, and when you get here, perhaps you could pop into my office first so that we can have a wee bit more of a chat about what might have caused Ben’s outburst.”

“Of course.” I pressed “end.” Greg and I were going to get the blame for this. I just knew it. Mrs. McKay was going to say Ben’s behavior was a result of stress caused by the separation.

I pushed open the heavy studio door. By now it was seven minutes to airtime. “Sorry, everybody, but I’ve got a domestic emergency. I’ve been called in to see the head at Ben’s school.” I explained what had happened.

“Go,” Liz said. “Everything’s fine here. Des has got everything under control, haven’t you, Des?”

“Absolutely.”

“And don’t worry about Ben. He’s not turning into a delinquent. I’ve had three boys. Girls bitch, boys fight. It’s the natural order of things.”

I managed a smile.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Nancy said. “In my experience children—like mine—who’ve been exposed to Montessori teaching tend to be far less aggressive.”

I didn’t have the time or the energy to argue. I told everybody to break a leg and headed back to the lift.

Ten minutes later I was on my way to the tube and sobbing on the phone to Greg.

“Soph, take a deep breath . . . What’s happened?”

I told him. “Greg, this is our fault. The separation has been too much for Ben. He’ll be shoplifting next—you wait.”

“Don’t be daft. You’re upset and you’re overreacting. We have no idea why Ben hit Arthur. Right, I’m leaving the office now. I’ll meet you at the school.”

“You don’t have to come. Honest. I can handle it. There’s no point in us both taking time off work.”

“I think we should both be there. It gives a better impression if separated parents present a united front.”

I didn’t argue.

•   •   •

J
ust as I’d predicted, Mrs. McKay—earth tones, ethnic earrings—kicked off by probing me about the separation. Her theory was that Ben might be suffering from some kind of posttraumatic stress.

Before I had a chance to say anything, Greg walked in. “With respect, Mrs. McKay,” he snapped, “I think that’s nonsense.”

“Ah, Mr. Lawson. Do come in and sit down.” They shook hands and he sat. “Now, then, I understand that you might be feeling a bit defensive about what happened. Parents often do. It’s not pleasant to discover that your son has carried out a violent attack on another child.”

“Ben is
not
violent,” Greg came back. “He must have been goaded.”

Just then—to my complete and utter horror—the door opened and in walked Frizzy-Haired Feminist, her frizzy hair partially covered by a Peruvian hat with earflaps. It was identical to the one she’d sent me.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

“Sophie, please calm down,” FHF said, offering me a condescending smile.

Her face was more elfin and waiflike than in her photographs. She was actually very pretty in the flesh. I hated her even more.

I looked at Greg. “I repeat . . . what is she doing here?”

“I called Roz to cancel our lunch date, but when I explained what was going on with Ben, she thought she ought to come with me to the school.” He looked uncomfortable. I could tell that he wasn’t happy about her being here.

“Indeed I did. I think I can explain Ben’s behavior.”

“And you would be . . . ?” Mrs. McKay said to FHF.

“Roz Duffy.”

“Not
the
Roz Duffy—the wraiter?”

“For my sins.” FHF smirked.

Ugh.

“I have to say I’m a huge fan. I’ve read
A Feminist Guide to Global Warming
three times.”

Of course she had.

“I’m also Mr. Lawson’s new partner,” FHF continued. “And I spend a lot of time with Ben—and Amy.”

“Yes . . . mainly discussing pornography,” I said.

FHF swung around. “Amy raised the subject. What was I supposed to say?” She turned back to Mrs. McKay. “Since I’m with the children so much, I think I might have some useful insights into Ben’s behavior.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. McKay chirruped. She found a chair for FHF and invited her to sit down. “Now, then, why don’t we all take a deep breath and discuss this calmly?”

“OK, Roz,” I said. “Tell me. Precisely what are these insights you have into my son’s behavior?”

“It doesn’t take a therapist to see that he’s a very angry little boy.”

“Rubbish,” Greg and I shot back in unison.

FHF wasn’t deterred. “Parental separation is never easy for children. I know. I’ve been there.”

I wanted to throttle the woman, but I couldn’t help thinking back to the little speech Ben had given before we buried the time capsule. Maybe he was angry and until now he’d been keeping it bottled up.

“I have been trying to get Ben to open up about his feelings for a while now,” FHF continued.

“And has he?” Mrs. McKay inquired, her head at an earnest tilt.

“Not yet. But I’m sure he will.”

Mrs. McKay nodded.

“He’s clearly not used to expressing his emotions,” FHF said. “I get the impression that Sophie doesn’t allow her children to express unpleasant feelings such as rage. Her inability to allow this means that those feelings burst out inappropriately.”

I lunged forward. If Greg hadn’t stopped me, I think I would have yanked off the woman’s stupid hat and started pulling her frizzy hair out by the roots.

“Let me deal with this,” he said. He glared at FHF. “You really are a piece of work.”

“Mr. Lawson, please try to calm down.”

He told Mrs. McKay to be quiet and turned back to FHF.

“Sophie and I may have our differences, but she is a wonderful mother and always has been. If anybody needs to address her shortcomings as a mother, you do. Maybe you should look at why you’ve got two druggy sons who’ve dropped out and sleep for a living.”

What do you know? Huck’s instinct about FHF had been right.

“I don’t need this,” she said. “I was just trying to help, that’s all.” She looked at Greg. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Don’t bother. I’m going to spend some time with Sophie. We need to speak to our son.”

Mrs. McKay clearly didn’t know where to put herself. “I think that might be for the best,” she said.

•   •   •

F
HF couldn’t get away fast enough. On her way out, she and Greg exchanged glares. After bidding Mrs. McKay an embarrassed farewell, Greg and I headed towards the medical room to collect Ben.

“Thank you for standing up for me in there,” I said.

“It didn’t take much effort. I meant every word of it. You are a great mum and the kids adore you.”

•   •   •

B
en was in tears all the way home. He kept saying how he hadn’t meant to hit Arthur that hard, that he was sorry and was Arthur going to be all right?

As soon as we got in, he made a beeline for the TV remote. He clearly wanted to block out what had been going on. “Maybe later,” Greg said, taking the remote from him. “First we need to talk about what happened between you and Arthur.” He led him over to the sofa and sat him on his lap. I went and sat beside them.

“I know it’s been hard for you with Dad and me splitting up,” I said, tousling his hair. “And we realize you’ve probably got a lot of angry feelings towards us, but you can’t take them out on other people.”

“I didn’t,” Ben said.

“Are you sure? You need to be honest. Dad and I will understand.”