Hens Reunited (17 page)

Her gaze wandered to the newspaper rack and fell on the front page of the
Herald.
Georgia’s paper. GIRLS ALOUD – GOSSIP SPECIAL! screamed a headline in bold black print. By Polly Nash, Showbiz Reporter.

Alice gave her usual shudder at glimpsing the tacky headlines of the
Herald –
it was a reflex action for her – then blinked as a thought struck her.
Polly Nash
, Showbiz Reporter? What had happened to Georgia’s Knight on the Town column, then? Had she been axed?

A prickle ran down Alice’s spine. Had Judgement Day finally arrived? She had been wishing for the guillotine to fall for such a long time. Could it actually be true that karma had paid Georgia back at last? She stretched out a hand for the newspaper, curious to find out.

‘You’ll have to pay for that if you want to read it,’ Mrs Smithers barked, without moving her eyes from the till.

Alice thought quickly. She had boycotted the
Herald
on principle ever since Georgia had run the back-stabbing story that had wrecked everything. She would not pay a penny towards its future while that evil bitch still worked there. But if Georgia had
gone
. . .

‘Well? Do you want it or not?’ Mrs Smithers persisted.

No wonder people shopped elsewhere, Alice thought, hackles rising. Rude old cow! But she forced a smile and passed the paper over to the shopkeeper. ‘Yes, please,’ she said as sweetly as she could manage. She’d already had her reputation tarnished by Dom and his mates in the pub. She didn’t want Mrs Smithers joining in the Alice-bashing with rumours about any perceived bad manners.

‘Right. Eleven pounds seventy-two, then.’

No please, no thank you. Mrs Smithers was not exactly going for it on the customer-service front. It drove Alice into a sarcastic frenzy of over-politeness to make a point. ‘There you are. Thanks. Thanks very much. Goodbye now!’

Miserable trout. Alice turned the buggy with some difficulty to avoid knocking over the ageing bottles of pop lining the wall, and left the shop. Then, as soon as she was out in the sunny street, she pulled the newspaper from her bag and turned to the showbiz page, propping it on the buggy hood to read it.

Oh, rats. The page was still headed Knight on the Town – and there was Georgia’s face sneering out at her. But hold on . . . What was this?

‘Brought to you today by Polly Nash, Showbiz Reporter.’ And then, in smaller letters, ‘Georgia Knight is away.’

Damn. Damn it! False alarm – and now she’d gone and paid good money for the wretched newspaper. Georgia was probably stretched out, oiled and glistening, on a sunbed in Barbados, sipping cocktails in between being ravished by willing studs and concocting new bitchy stories with which to destroy other people’s lives. Pah. And there Alice had been hoping her old enemy had been fired and reduced to gloomy stints in the jobcentre. Huh. She should have known. Georgia was made of tougher stuff. People like Georgia didn’t get pushed out of their job, did they?

‘Checking your horoscope?’

She looked up at the voice
.
Dom, of course, astride a bike. Did the man never have any work to do? She’d have thought this time of year there would be plenty of stuff to be done on the farm, or wherever it was he worked. She shook her head and stuffed the newspaper unread into the nearest litter bin. ‘Nope,’ she said.

His gaze flicked curiously from her face to the newspaper. Oh great. So what would the next rumour be?
Weird new-girl Alice has money to throw around! She bought a newspaper – and didn’t even read it!
Well, she’d look forward to hearing the Chinese-whispered edition of
that
breaking-news story at the next toddler group session. She could hardly wait.

In the meantime, though, she wasn’t going to hang around. Lecherous Dom would only get the wrong idea again. ‘Bye then,’ she said dismissively, and wheeled Iris straight past him before he could reply.

She could feel his gaze on her back. He was probably rolling his eyes and saying ‘Women!’ or something equally patronizing. Well, sod him. And sod Georgia bloody Knight, too!

It had been Alice’s worst nightmare come true, the newspaper article. Of course, ever since Jake had landed a plum role in the big new prime-time BBC drama, he’d appeared in a few tabloid columns, but mostly only saying things like
Spotted in Covent Garden –
Flying High’
s Jake Archer buying a latte!
Or
Watch out for
Flying High,
the new series on BBC One starring sexy newcomer Jake Archer as trainee pilot Leo Stone . . .
That sort of thing, a mention. A small compliment at the most. Only a few words, but he’d cut them out all the same, stuck them in a folder. He’d laughed at himself for doing it – ‘I know it’s a bit train-spottery,’ he’d said when she’d seen him there with his scissors, ‘but I’m just dead proud, Alice. I’m dead excited!’

Then, as the series gained in popularity, the column inches grew longer. There were accompanying colour photos, and the words ‘sexy’ and ‘hot’ were bandied around with increasing frequency. And it wasn’t long after that that he began appearing in the glossy celebrity magazines. ‘You’re in
Now
magazine!’ Alice had screamed down the phone to him, the first time she’d seen it. She’d been flicking through the pages while she was waiting in the dentist’s surgery and felt a huge jolt of excitement race through her at the shot. Her husband! Famous!

He’d chuckled down the line, sounding very pleased. ‘I know – and my agent just called to say that
OK!
want an interview for next month, too. We’re on the up, babe!’

That was when he’d still said ‘we’ and ‘our’, of course. Before it all became ‘I’ and ‘my’.

She’d had no warning, Alice, when the storm broke. Jake was away filming – they shot a lot of the series in Suffolk – and Alice was on her own, her belly getting rounder by the day. What was she? Five, six months’ pregnant? You’d think she’d know the date, but she’d blanked it from her mind, locked it away in a space she didn’t often revisit. She’d been just about to leave the flat for some milk and chocolate on that particular morning. But as soon as she opened the front door, she’d been dazzled by the camera flashes.

‘Over here, Alice! That’s it, darlin’!’

Flash, flash!

There was a crowd of cameramen and journalists with notepads there, pressing in around her. She stepped back, blinking and confused, clutching the door jamb for support. Were they after Jake? Didn’t they know he was filming?

‘Can we get a comment from you, Alice? How are you feeling today?’

Flash, flash!

Stupidly – so stupidly! – she’d thought they were referring to her pregnancy. (She still cringed when she remembered that bit. As if they cared!) ‘Well . . . fine,’ she said, her hand covering her belly. She found herself wishing she’d washed her hair. It had been so greasy ever since she conceived, it was like an oil-spill disaster. And if the paparazzi were chasing
her
now – a celeb by proxy, like the WAGs you saw in all the magazines – well, she’d have to start making more of an effort with her appearance.

Someone laughed from the crowd but she couldn’t see who.

‘What do you think about Jake and Victoria, though? Any comment for us, sweetheart?’

Jake and Victoria?

Jake and Victoria?

Alice had stared in shock, flashbulbs popping like fireworks before her eyes.
Flash, flash, flash!

‘Don’t tell us he hasn’t broken the news to you yet?’ one of the hacks yelled. ‘What a swine! You wanna get a look at today’s
Herald
, love. Here!’ And a newspaper was shoved into her hand.

Alice had heard enough. She stepped back into the hall and slammed the door on them. The letter box opened straight away and a business card was posted through. ‘My mobile number’s there, Alice. Give us a bell when you want to talk. We can set the story straight, put your side across, all right? When you’re ready.’

Her legs were shaking. She thought she might very well faint there and then in the hall. It was only the fact that someone was peering in through the letter box at her that propelled her to the safety of the kitchen, away from the vultures.

Once there she had leaned against the table and stared in shock at the front page. SEXY JAKE’S MILE-HIGH ROMPS!
Jake Archer and his leading lady in secret love trysts – full story by Georgia Knight, Showbiz Reporter, on page 3
.

That was the precise moment her world fell apart.

‘Alice!’ He was coming after her. ‘Alice, wait!’

Oh, now what? She didn’t feel like waiting. Not for Dom. He was another ladies’ man like Jake, wasn’t he? Cut from the same cheating cloth, no doubt. Well, she wouldn’t be making that mistake twice. No way. She held the handles of the buggy so tightly that her knuckles paled. She’d ignore him. He’d get bored of her soon enough, and would move on to someone else. Just like Jake had done.

It had shocked her, his reaction to the pregnancy when she’d broken the news to him last year. ‘But if we have a baby, you’ll love it more than me,’ he’d sulked.

The ‘if’ jarred. She
was
pregnant. In her mind, there was no ‘if’ whatsoever. She’d stared at him, wondering if he was joking. He wasn’t. ‘It’s a different kind of love,’ she’d countered. ‘You’re my husband. I’ll always love you. And I’ll love our children too.’

He’d recoiled. ‘
Children
? How many do you want?’

He wasn’t looking at her, was fiddling instead with the PlayStation controls, his character on screen charging through a jungly scene, machine gun in one hand.

‘Well . . . I don’t know,’ she’d replied. ‘I guess we have to see how we get on with this one first.’

He made a grunting noise and shot someone through the head. Alice winced at the blood explosion on screen.
Right
, she thought.
Like that, was it?

That had just been the start of it. He was as indifferent to the pregnancy as she was delighted. He refused to be drawn into discussions of names, what colour they should paint the spare room, what the baby might look like . . . She felt as if a chasm had opened up between them – almost that she’d lost her husband, her companion. In her darkest moments, she even wondered – she could hardly bear to think this now – she even wondered about aborting the baby. Just to get back the closeness with Jake.

Incredibly, he seemed to have lost interest in having sex with her too. That was unheard of. Unheard of! Alice found herself miserably examining her thickening waist in the bedroom mirror, her expanding thighs and bottom. Didn’t he find her attractive any more? Not even with the huge bazoomas wobbling around on her chest?

Clearly not. He stayed out later and later at night, while Alice was so knackered she just wanted to sleep earlier and earlier. She felt a terrible ache of guilt that she was somehow to blame for this, that it was her fault relations had broken down between them.

Days went by without them having sex. Then a whole week! It had never happened before. Jake had always wanted sex round the clock previously – during hangovers, illnesses, Alice’s period – nothing had ever put him off. But something had now.

‘Alice, wait! Dom’s voice dragged her back to the present. It was a relief, actually, to find herself here in the leafy green lane, rather than in the claustrophobic and depressing confines of their old flat, sunk in anxiety for her marriage and baby.

She stopped walking and turned to face him. The sun was so bright she had to shield her eyes with her hand. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

He caught her up, the bike between them like a barrier. ‘It’s just . . . I was wondering, have I done something to offend you?’

His brown eyes were wide with innocence and she almost wanted to laugh. Why did he care, all of a sudden? A show of thoughtfulness
before
he started discussing her in the Duke of York – that would have been the decent thing. But afterwards – too late, pal. The damage had been done.

She stood her ground and looked him in the eye. What did she have to lose by telling a few home truths? She’d never had the chance to say such things to Jake – he’d done a bunk by then. She’d wished and wished afterwards that she could have given him a piece of her mind.

‘Actually, you have,’ she replied, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t like people gossiping about me behind my back. Especially in a village like this, where news spreads fast.’

He looked baffled. ‘I’m not sure . . . What do you mean?’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘I
mean
, I heard what you were saying to your mates in the pub the other night.’ She glared. ‘Telling them you’d been up in my bedroom!’ She blushed violently at the words, and the accompanying image that had just popped into her head. ‘What did you say a thing like that for? I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me, I’ve only just moved in! So I’d appreciate it if you could keep that sort of remark to yourself next time!’

She swung away from him and tossed her head. Her hands were trembling and she clenched them into fists so that he wouldn’t notice. ‘Not that there will
be
a next time,’ she added icily. Yeah. Good one, Alice. So there!

She risked a sideways glance at him. He looked annoyed. Well, not as annoyed as
she
had been! She stalked off, waiting for him to follow her and defend himself. He didn’t bother.

Huh. Guilty as charged – she might have known. He could at least have put up a fight, though. She’d expected him to call after her, apologize even. But no.

She was surprised to find that she was just the tiniest bit disappointed.

Later that day, Alice was in the front garden, pulling up weeds in the sunshine. Iris was napping and it was so warm out, she couldn’t bear to stay in the cottage to wash up the lunch things, or do anything housewifey. There was nobody but her own sweet self to tidy up for these days – Iris didn’t care if they lived amid chaos. So maybe she’d muddle along in a mess for a while. It didn’t really matter, did it?