Trophy Life (4 page)

'Isn’t that nice.' Flynn seemed a bit confused by the gesture, but in a typical three year-old non-sequitur said, 'Daddy let’s go outside!'

Amy saw her sister watching as well and could see through her eyes the comparison of warm Mark with Harry. She suddenly felt very defensive.

'Harry’s been doing so well at work,' she said, smiling at Izzy as the men went outside with the two other children. 'We’re hoping he gets partnership soon.'

'Wow,' her sister said. She was clearly impressed, but there was something detached about the way she spoke. It was how she always talked about Harry. It was like she was making polite conversation with a stranger at a party. 'That’s great. I saw him on that show this week. My friend Gemma was really excited when I told her he’s my brother-in-law.'

'I’m supposed to see Andrea tomorrow.' It came out part confession, part plea for help.

She knew she could expect sympathy from her sister. Both women found Amy’s mother-in-law terrifying in the extreme. The thought that she had been 'summoned' – for that’s what it was, a summoning – was as bewildering as it was petrifying.

'Any idea why?' Her sister was far more animated now.

'Nope,' Amy said. 'And I don’t think I want to know.'

Chapter 3

Standing in her mother-in-law’s living room in South Kensington with its regency paint palate and gloomy atmosphere, Amy was reminded of a book she had read as a child. Was it called
Funny Bones
? It was the story of a family of skeletons which began:

'
In a dark, dark street, there was a dark, dark house.'

Diving deeper and deeper into the shadows it finally found its residents, declaring '
in the dark, dark cellar, some skeletons lived.'
With her sunken cheeks and severe expression, scrawny fingers clutching at her china cup, Andrea Green was not unlike one of those skeletons. Amy even thought she could make out her jagged frame underneath her loosened skin. Never mind that that skin was covered in the most expensive of Chanel.

'It,' Andrea paused solemnly, 'is time.' This pronouncement was followed by a calculated sip of tea.

Amy waited for her to expound. This was clearly a matter of great gravity. Something of national importance perhaps, at least judging by the tone. Was Amy about to be let in on some great family secret? Did Harry have a crazy ex-wife they kept trapped in a tower á la Jane Eyre? Oh no, she thought, is she about to tell me that I have to start breeding little Greens? An heir and a spare? She couldn’t think of a more excruciating conversation to have with her husband’s mother.

'You are a Green my dear and Greens must represent the family.'

Ah yes, 'The Family'. Andrea saw herself as the matriarch of a great dynasty, one whose reputation had to be constantly tended and elevated, not unlike the Windsors or perhaps the Kardashians. It didn’t help that Andrea Green preferred to be known by her title,
Lady
Andrea, bestowed upon her when Harry’s late father had himself received a knighthood.

As if in solidarity, Sir Steven's eyes stared down at Amy now from the portrait which hung on the wall behind Andrea. His expression, a mix of petulant reluctance and mournful resignation, combined with his drooping jowls and ill-fitting medieval outfit to give him the air of a grumpy toddler at a fancy dress party.

Steven Green had been made Sir Steven, a Knight of the Order of the Bath, in honour of his work in the sector of banking. He had been the head of a prestigious private bank by the name of Hodders. Of course, in the light of the banking crisis, it did transpire that Hodders’ one-time spectacular success in the investment and currencies markets had been courtesy of some less than above board - but equally spectacular - strategies, but Sir Stephen had had the good grace to shed his mortal coil before he could be the subject of anything so vulgar as being held to account for this. What’s more, this was never discussed, either within the family or otherwise.

For Andrea’s part, she saw herself as a member of the aristocracy if not minor royalty, with a duty to the people of Britain and, of course, the world. Her ambitions were nothing short of stratospheric, particularly for her children. It was clear that she considered Harry’s older brother, James’s match with Giselle, whose family had connections to the royal German line, suitable. Quite what she made of the middle class roots of Amy from Totteridge, North London was another thing. She imagined that Andrea felt she had much in common with the tribulations of the royals themselves, having welcomed the less than regal 'Kate' into their midst.

'The Society is having its annual charity dinner in three months,' she said, her tone clipped. 'You are ready to join the committee and will help to organise it. Giselle is busy apparently, something to do with school exams. And I won’t have Olivia doing it again. The Christmas do was a disaster. All that tinsel.' She paused and seemed to shudder at the memory, but continued without any expectation that Amy should comment. 'The next meeting is in a week. I imagine that gives you enough time to find your… look.' She peered meaningfully at Amy’s outfit.

Such was the force of Andrea’s assertions and their content that Amy took an involuntary step backward, almost tripping over herself as she did so . It was all a bit much to take in. She considered sitting down, but was too scared of harming one of the antique chairs scattered around the room.

'OK,' she said dumbly. Her mind was racing, trying to understand what was being said and whether she should say something. Anything.

The Society. This was what those 'in the know' called the London Ladies’ Society, the exclusive women’s social club which prided itself on a membership which consisted solely of the crème de la crème of London life. The reality of this seemed to be a mix of bored socialites and celebrities.

Seeing what must have been a mixture of confusion and terror on Amy’s face, Andrea added, 'Ask Giselle what to wear. That girl might have the brain of a bratwurst, but she can dress.'

Amy left Andrea’s home feeling like she’d just been spat out of a washing machine. Her head was spinning and there was a ringing in her ears. She sat in her car, stunned into stillness.

So this is what it was going to be like as the wife of Harry Green from now on. She had known it was coming, she reasoned. In fact, she wasn’t sure how she had managed to escape it for so long.  Over two years in fact. Could she do this kind of thing full time? Be a member of various committees and charitable organisations?  Andrea had done it for decades. Giselle also did it in her own way, mainly joining fashionable causes which involved her posing in t-shirts created by the latest designers for good causes. There seemed nothing wrong with it. More than that, she thought, it was honourable to raise money for charity.

She could just hear her mother’s voice responding to that point. 'Yes, sure, raise money for charity in your spare time or go work for a charity properly, but these committees are just busy work for pointless housewives.' Was that right? She wouldn’t tell her about this, just in case.

At least the ordeal was over and now she could just enjoy a coffee with one of her best friends, Lucy. Lucy was currently working as a PR-something in Notting Hill and the two had agreed to meet at the Starbucks off Portobello Road for a catch up. There were much nicer places to have coffee in Notting Hill, but Starbucks had always been their chosen haunt, ever since their university days when they would go to their local branch on a Sunday and sit there for an hour each with their chosen hangover cure, a skinny latte and a muffin for Amy and a hot chocolate and slice of cake for Lucy.

When Amy arrived at the busy corner of Westbourne Park Road and Portobello, she was a few minutes early and decided to have a wander around. She was pondering some oranges at a nearby market stall when she dropped one and it rolled a few yards, much to the annoyance of the stall holder. She rushed to retrieve it just as another hand got there first, picking up the errant fruit and holding it out to her. She was focused on the hand as she reached out, her Londoner instincts as usual making sure to avoid eye contact with strangers. But when she went to take the orange from the hand, it held on.

'Every time I see you, you’re up to no good.'

Amy froze. She didn’t need to look up. She didn’t even need a second to think about it. That playful tone, the light Irish lilt, the implied intimacy.

It took her just a moment too long to realise that her jaw was gaping open rather unflatteringly in a zombie-like torpor. His face, by contrast, was spread into that friendly, open smile, warm brown eyes sparkling with that sense of fun that was all his.

That’s all it took. She felt herself transported as if by flashback.
Whoosh
. It was as if they were still back there. Still carefree students, spending their days watching
Friends
reruns and drinking too many stupidly named cocktails. There they were. That kiss. That night.

'Oh my gosh, Freddie,' she finally spluttered and consciously made an effort to smile back. He pulled her in for a hug and she could smell that familiar aftershave. Was it aftershave or just soap?  'Do you live here now?' He had always said he would move to London. He’d always had big plans.

'I’m here for a job interview actually.' As he spoke, his eyes never left her face. She couldn’t quite bring herself to keep eye contact for as long as he did, but she could feel the warmth of his eyes, like the sun on a flower, willing it to raise its face to the sky. 'I don’t want to say too much as it’ll suck if I don’t get it, but I’m hoping it’ll mean a move further in. I actually live just north of London at the moment.'

'Oh wow, good luck,' she said, overcome and still concentrating on maintaining her smile. She couldn’t think of a single other thing to say. 

'What about you?' he prompted. 'What have you been up to?'

'I’m married.' She practically hurled the words at him and found that she had thrust her left hand under his nose, her enormous diamond ring lighting up his slightly bewildered gaze.

'That’s great.'

'Two and a half years now,' she said, rounding up the actual two years and three months and simultaneously answering a question nobody had asked. There was another short silence as she debated whether to ask him. What to ask him in fact.

In the end they both spoke at the same time.

'Are you still-'

'Listen, I’d better go-'

They laughed nervously.

'I really have to go for this interview. Are you still on the same number?'

She nodded dumbly.

'Oh great, me too. Would be great to catch up. I’ll give you a call.'

She stared after him as he walked away in the direction of Notting Hill Gate, waving one last goodbye and turning. She smiled again and waved robotically in return before dazedly going to wait for Lucy in the safe surroundings of the café. She ordered her usual and considered ordering for Lucy, but decided against it in case the drink went cold.

Sitting at a table by the window, she crossed her legs and started shaking her foot erratically as she always did when she was excited. Where was Lucy? Amy always made sure she arrived places on time, but in the past, she could have counted on Lucy being there first, eager and early, waiting for her. But this was the second time that their positions had been reversed.

'Hi!'

Perhaps it was that Amy had been lost in thought, perhaps it was that she actually found it hard to recognise her friend these days, but even though she’d been waiting for her, Lucy managed to make it to right in front of her and speak before Amy had noticed she was there. This wasn’t surprising. Amy needed a second or two to readjust nowadays before she could focus on Lucy.

Until a year and a half ago, Lucy had been what could probably best be described as full figured. Not significantly overweight, not fat, but at a UK size 14, she had never been comfortable in her body. She had always talked about losing the weight and had occasionally made a half-hearted attempt at some ridiculous fad diet, but then one day, she had just gone and done it. It had felt like it had happened overnight. Of course it hadn’t, it had taken months, nearly a year, but for Amy, the change had come suddenly.

Much in the way a mother who sees her child every day doesn’t notice their growing size. It takes strangers saying, 'The last time I saw you, you were this big!' Lucy had quietly, silently, transformed and now, standing in Starbucks with her skinny jeans and a top that allowed a tiny peek of her perfectly flat tanned stomach, she was a completely different creature to the one Amy had met in that university dorm room.

Her long, blond once frizzy hair was sleek at the top, falling into expertly created Elle Macpherson style waves at the bottom, while her make-up made her skin look flawless. Admittedly, Lucy’s thin lips and close set eyes meant that she would never be a natural beauty. In fact, there was almost a sense of disappointment palpable about the fact that, after having lost all this weight, her face had never matched its promise, but she was so immaculate, so preened, that it almost didn’t matter. 

After they embraced, Lucy went to the counter, coming back with what looked like herbal tea. Amy internally congratulated herself on not ordering her a hot chocolate as she once would have done.

Amy asked about Lucy’s work and they laughed as she in turn regaled Lucy with the story of her meeting with Andrea that morning.

'Then you’ll never guess who I ran into just outside,' Amy said, waiting for Lucy’s full attention. 'Freddie O’Connor.'

Lucy gave a gratifying gasp. 'What? Seriously? What made you think to wait this long to say that? You saw Freddie?'

'I know, I know, I meant to say something I just forgot.' She had actually just needed some time to think of how to tell her friend about it, how to phrase it without sounding over excited, but she kept that to herself.

'What did he say? Is he still with
her
?' Lucy put a special emphasis on the word ‘her’.

'I don’t know, he was off to an interview for a job and he didn’t have time to talk. He said he would call, but you know how these things are.'

'
You
have to call. You need to know what happened,' Lucy said urgently.

'Why? What does it matter? It was a million years ago.'

'Ok, it was only five years ago and you spent about half of that time moping about him. You need to know what happened,' she insisted. 'Was he wearing a ring?'

Amy looked down at her coffee, shaking her head trying to remember. She hadn’t looked to see if he was wearing a ring. 'Luce, honestly, it would have mattered once, but I’m married. I’ve moved on.'