Sugar Mummy (43 page)

 
'You could look after
the children while your wife works,' she says, unconvinced.

I snort cynically. 'You've been reading our features section:
"Andrew and Amanda live in West London. Amanda, twenty-seven, works in PR while
Andrew, twenty-eight, looks after the couple's two children, Lily aged one and,
er, Lysander aged four". Picture of floppy-haired twat in Breton top with baby
sling standing next to people carrier. I used to have to share the lift every day
with the gormless, horse-faced Sloanes who write that shit.' I see from Jane's face
that the two specimens behind me must have turned round again. 'Oh fuck off,' I
mutter and we giggle like kids then we sit back in silence while I play with the
remaining penne on my plate and Jane watches me.

She says, 'God, you're gorgeous when you're angry.'

'Now who's being patronizing?' We both sit back enjoying the
effect of the wine and food and pondering on this little outburst.

'I'd better be going,' she says at last.

'Sure,' I say, sitting up and looking round for the waiter. 'Sorry
if I was a bit aggressive there.'

'No, don't be,' she says, reaching across for my hand. 'I like
it when people are honest. What do they call it? A frank exchange of views.' She
smiles wickedly.

'We certainly had that.' I catch the waiter's eye. He smiles
and nods and begins to make his way over.

'You're very good at that,' she says.

'Good at what?'

'The restaurant thing. Catching the waiter's eye, asking him
what's good today. All that stuff. I'm crap at it.'

'You don't have to do it, you're a girlie,' I explain sweetly.

'Any coffee, dessert?' says the waiter as he takes our plates.

'What about some zabaglione?' I ask Jane.

'Ooh, I love zabaglione,' she says, pronouncing the 'g'.

I look up at the waiter and he nods and smiles. 'One? Two?'

'Just one and two spoons,' I say.

'God, I feel quite pissed after that,' I say almost to myself
as we leave the restaurant.

'I don't,' says Jane immediately.

'You must be, a bit.'

 
'No, I'm not,' she says
boldly, walking along a line in the paving stones as if to make her point. 'I could
drink you under the table, you wuss.'

'I'll take your word for it.'

We continue in silence for a while. 'You're living with her now,'
asks Jane.

Oh, shit! 'How do you know?'

'Well, you more or less said, and then I rang Vinny and he confirmed
it.'

'Good old Vinny.'

'Don't blame him.'

I have to answer the question she hasn't asked, 'I've just got
no money and it's a place to stay. She says nothing. 'It's just made me realise
how wrong the whole thing is,' I say truthfully.

'Well, like I said, I'm not keen on playing the home breaker.
It's your decision,' she almost whispers.

'I'm going to end it. It's crazy. I'll live at home if necessary
till I get another job.'

'Vinny says your room's still free in Fulham,' she volunteers
and then seems to regret it. 'At least it was when I spoke to him.'

'I don't deserve you, Jane,' I say, stopping and turning her
to look at me. I touch her neck and ear.

'No, you fucking don't,' she says.

When we arrive at the Tube station I lean down to kiss her on
the cheek but somehow she moves or I change my angle of approach halfway through
and our mouths meet. She tastes of garlic and wine and she smells of perfume mingled
with warm skin. I pull her towards me. After what could have been three quarters
of an hour we disengage. She is blushing slightly and rearranging her hair. I'm
just staring at her.

Then she says, 'Thanks. It's been really nice.'

'Yeah, I'll ring you at work.'

'Yes,' she says, but not enthusiastically. 'Ring me when you've
sorted things out.'

It's not late when I get back - just after eleven. Marion is
on the phone. All over the settee are bits of paper – sketches of dresses, photographs,
pictures from magazines. She has obviously made sure her Personal Shopper earned
her dinner. I take off my jacket and get a glass of mineral water from the cabinet
by which time Marion has finished on the phone. She is staring at me.

'Hi, babe,' I say and make to kiss her. She offers her cheek
and I know I am in trouble. Then I know why. 'How was jack?'

How could she know? 'Fine. Why?' I mumble.

'Just wondered.'

'How was the Personal Shopper?'

'Don't change the subject,' she says evenly. 'We're talking about
your evening.'

'Oh, go on, then.' And she does. She walks over to the settee,
shuffles about in the papers strewn over it for a while and then brings out a handful
of Polaroid pictures. For a moment I think they must be something to do with the
Personal Shopper but then she holds one up triumphantly, her eyebrows raised, quizzical
and triumphant.

It's a picture of Sloane Square Tube. I look at Marion. She looks
down at the photo in her hand. I look at it again. It's slightly blurred and taken
at an angle but there we are: Jane, with me walking towards her, smiling. Marion
holds up another - us kissing hello. Then another - us talking together, smiling
again. And another - me pointing past the camera down the King's Road. Finally we're
walking off together, Jane laughing.

'Where the hell did these come from?'

'Never mind. Why did you lie to me?'

I actually feel slightly sick - partly at being found out and
partly at the thought of being spied on. They look like something from a News of
the World expose except that I'm in them.

'Oh, I didn't want you to get the wrong idea.'

'What wrong idea?' snaps Marion. 'You're fooling around.'

'I am not. Jane is an old friend from college, like I said. I
just said she was a bloke to stop you worrying,' I lie fluently.

'Stop me worrying?'

'Yes. You're so paranoid. I told you - she's just an old friend.
We've known each other since we were at college. She's like a sister, that's all.
Look, you can see - I'm just kissing her on the cheek.' I have a quick shuffle through
the pictures to check that is all I'm doing to her. Marion seems at least halfway
convinced. She snatches them off me.

'Why haven't I met her?'

'You haven't met any of my friends. You're always telling me
you don't want to.' My turn to make it up as I go along. 'She's quite pretty, even
though I don't know what she's wearing. Is it Voyage?'

'What?'

'Voyage? That looks like a Voyage number.'

'I doubt it. I expect it's a Top Shop number.'

'Where?'

'Exactly. It's where girls from Reading get their clothes.'

'Mmm. I see.' She stares so hard at Jane that her face puckers
up. I wonder whether Jane is shivering on the Tube. Then she looks at it again at
a distance and looks at me suspiciously. I shrug my shoulders. 'Let's just hear
no more of it.'

'OK. I'm sorry I lied to you,' I lie.

Marion takes my face in her hands. 'I don't want you to lie to
me, Andrew. A relationship based on lies is no relationship at all. I discovered
that from my husband.' She looks up at the ceiling. 'Both of them, come to think
of it.'

What about the others? I wonder.

'I know,' I say, looking at the Polaroids. What I really want
to know is who took them.

After breakfast the next day Marion goes out for a cranial massage
and Ana Maria goes out to Sainsbury's so I dive onto the phone and ring Paperchase
in Tottenham Court Road.

'Jane?'

'Hello?'

'It's me, Andrew.'

'Hello.' She sounds pleased to hear from me.

'I just wanted to check you got home safely.'

'Fine - just the usual onslaught from muggers and rapists but
I ran faster.'

'I really enjoyed last night.'

'So did I. Erm, yes, of course, we've got them in red, blue and
green but not black.'

'What's the matter? Is someone there?'

'That's right.'

'Can't talk?'

'Exactly.'

'OK, so if I say I really, really like you and I love the way
you put your hair behind your ear and your theories about James Bond and snuff movies
and I want to see you again, you can just say, er, what can you say? "We'll
have them in soon"?'

'What size did you want? A4?'

'Say it.'

'I'll have to have another look.'

'Why won't you say it?'

'We've already discussed that but we might have them in soon.'

'That's good enough for me. Shall we do something tomorrow night?'

'If that's convenient for you but you, er, know, our terms and
conditions.'

'I do - very well. I'm going to tell her tonight.'

'I'm very glad to hear that, Mr Smith.'

When she comes back Marion decides to take me to get some new
clothes. We go to Emporio Armani in Brompton Road. She doesn't like the black formal
suit I like mainly because I picked it out and said 'I like this one'. Of course,
Mark would have approached it differently but then he's a professional and I'm an
amateur. Soon to be retired amateur. In the end she buys me the one she likes plus
a pair of swimming trunks because apparently we're going on holiday soon. Then we
go to the florist and while she is verbally assaulting the woman behind the counter
I take the opportunity to talk to Chris, the chauffeur.

'Thanks,' I say.

He looks up at me in the mirror. 'What for?'

'You know.'

He almost smiles. 'Sorry, mate, don't quite follow you.'

'The pictures. Of me with that girl?'

He shrugs slightly and grins. 'Sorry, don't know what you're
on about.'

'Yes, you do, you bastard.'

Still looking in the mirror he grins even more, takes off his
sunglasses and says quietly, 'Don't try and get smart with me, son. I'm only making
a living out of her like you are. Oh, and just remember this, you little cunt, I
know plenty of people who would gladly beat the shit out of you for the price of
a pint, no problem. You won't be sleeping with any more rich old women - or men
- for that matter, with a glass in your face and your balls smashed into porridge.'

'You - you'd better watch it, too,' I say huskily.

He laughs. Then he leans forward, gets out of the car, walks
round and opens the rear door. One of my hands goes instinctively to my balls while
the other scratches around for the door handle on my side just in case I have to
make a quick exit. But he's just opening the door for Marion.

'I'm never going in that-' she begins. Then she stares at me.
'Are you all right?'

'Yeah, fine,' I say in a voice that doesn't sound like mine.
'I think I just need some fresh air.'

'That's a good idea. Let's walk a little,' says Marion. The last
thing I see as I get out of the car is Chris smiling at me in the mirror.

'Chris, we'll see you at home.'

'Certainly. Mind the traffic, madam,' he says softly.

Chapter
Twenty-One

I tell Marion that I’m going out with Vinny that night. I've
rung him already, given him Marion's number and told him to ring me and suggest
we go out.

When he does I make a big show of saying 'Hey! How are you? Yeah,
I'd love to.' Of course Vinny can't resist going slightly over the top as a piss-take
but he is still quite convincing, which is particularly useful because towards the
end of our conversation I hear a click on the line. I've already rung Jane from
a phone box and arranged to meet her at seven-thirty at the Bibendum Oyster Bar.
I want to eat shell fish with her - knock back oysters and pull the salt, sweet
flesh of crab and lobster out of their pink shells.

'Out again?' says Marion when I tell her.

'Yes, just for a quick drink with my old flatmate Vinny.'

'But I have a reservation for two at The Ivy tonight.'

'Oh.' I'm not sure if I believe her.

'Sorry.' She is lying on the bed watching Oprah on one of the
cable channels and eating low-calorie pretzels.

'Well, what am I going to eat tonight?'

'Can't Ana Maria get you something? We'll go out tomorrow night.'

'Boil in the bag fish on my own in front of the TV with that
peanut-brained troll to keep me company.'

I sigh. 'I'm really sorry, I know I should have told you before,
only ...'

She looks at me for a moment. Then she picks up the phone and
dials a number.

'Channing? Hi, it's me. What're you doing tonight? Who? That
old lush! Cancel her. I'll pick you up at eight. OK? See you then.' She hangs up
and looks daggers at me again.

'There you are,' I say pleasantly. She looks back at the telly.
I watch her for a moment. Women! I sit down and pick up her hand and begin to kiss
it. 'Oh, Marion, it's just my old mate Vinny.' She yanks her hand back.

'Where're you meeting?'

'A pub.'

'Near here?'

'Quite near,' I say helpfully, shit-for-brains that I am. 'OK,
I'm leaving at a quarter of eight. I'll give you a ride.'

'No! Don't worry.' She shoots me another glance.

'Why not?' She smiles slightly. 'Don't you want a ride?'

'I'll just walk, thanks anyway, besides I'm going a bit earlier
than that'.

'OK.' She looks back to the TV again and celebrates her victory
with another pretzel.

Marion does what I half-suspected she would do.

'Bye.' I say quickly, popping my head round the bedroom door.

'See you later.'

'I'm ready,' she says, getting up from the dressing table. 'I
can give you that ride after all.'

'Are you?' Normally she takes forever to get dressed and put
her make-up on and I end up pacing up and down or having a couple of drinks and
watching the telly while she buggers about. Sometimes by the time we arrive somewhere
I am already half-cut but after a while I've got used to it and, anyway, it helps
me relax.