There had to be a mistake. Quickly, she punched in Home on the phone. ‘Hi. This is Evie and Robin . . .’ Then his mobile. He answered immediately, as if he was expecting a call. It was clear from his voice that he wasn’t expecting
her
.
Evie felt a cold shiver pass through her. ‘Robin,’ she said tightly. ‘We need to talk.’
18
NICK
Nick couldn’t help singing along with Elton. To Julie’s chagrin, he loved accompanying all the golden oldies on the radio with the volume up and the windows down. ‘When you’re my age and taking your kids to school, you’ll do the same,’ he’d say to her. ‘Aren’t you impressed I know the words?’
‘Kind of,’ she’d say, grinning. ‘You haven’t got a bad voice, you know, Dad. At least, not for someone your age.’
It was great when they larked around like that. The journey to school – as long as her driving wasn’t too terrifying – provided him with a great opportunity to talk to her. And, according to every parenting article he had read, it was vital to keep communication channels open with your teenager.
Now, even though Juliana wasn’t in the car, he still loved singing along to Elton. He could see Juliana dancing there in front of him, through the windscreen, in a scarlet, backless dress that was too tight after their daughter had been born . . .
Christ, he’d been stupid. Why hadn’t he stopped her trying to get back into modelling? She’d been out of it too long – and she could have done something else. Set up her own model agency like other ex-models. Anything. But she had been determined. Just as she’d been determined to be the perfect mum.
Now, as he parked the car at the magazine offices near Waterloo Bridge, he mentally kicked himself, just as he did every day of his life. He should have told her she couldn’t do everything. But he had been so keen to help that he had done the very thing he shouldn’t. He’d even gone on a diet with her.
‘Hi, Nick. The models are getting changed inside.’
Janine was getting out of her car. She was four, five months pregnant, thought Nick, with a practised eye, but that hadn’t blunted her ambition. Like Juliana, she wanted to get to the top and have a family. Why not? Some people did it, like her editor, Evie.
Nick walked up to the offices with Janine, shouldering his heavy camera and carrying his light meter. Niall, his assistant, should be here soon. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, out of politeness.
‘Fine,’ said Janine, promptly. ‘Now, about the shoot. I want it to look fresh. Maybe a blue background. And what do you think about . . .’
Nick listened to her ideas, which she had obviously thought through beforehand. Janine was clearly one of those women who didn’t do pregnancy patter. It was as though she was trying to say, ‘OK, I’m pregnant but that isn’t going to affect my output.’ God, it must be hard to be a woman in a competitive world. Briefly he thought of Harriet. Pretty woman. Sad eyes. Nicely streaked blonde hair that might be soft to touch. Did she have a job? He didn’t think so.
He and Janine got into the lift together. A woman wearing a crisp mint linen suit was already inside it. ‘Janine. Good. I want a word about the shoot before I start my meeting.’
She looked at Nick briefly, without interest, then back at Janine. Great. She hadn’t recognised him. Even though he had only been trying to help when she’d lost her kid, Evie had succeeded in making him feel as though he’d been in the wrong. He’d had enough of an emotional roller coaster this morning, thinking about Juliana, and then that row with Julie about her being out late last night. He needed peace now to concentrate on the job.
They got out at the ninth floor, Evie still instructing Janine, who looked as though she didn’t appreciate it. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ she said to Nick.
Nick hesitated.
‘Nick did our last cover,’ interrupted Janine. ‘The one Bulmer liked so much. Remember?’
Evie’s face cleared. ‘That’s right. Well, make sure this one is just as good.’
‘Something’s bitten her this morning,’ murmured Janine, as Evie marched off. ‘Probably worried about the meeting on Friday.’
‘What’s that about?’ asked Nick, hoisting the camera on to his other shoulder.
Janine smiled smugly. ‘Can’t say, I’m afraid. But I’m hoping it’ll be good news.’
Tough cookie, thought Nick. That was where women like Janine were different from Juliana. They might share ambition but Juliana had had heart. Julie, too. She was kind and loving but stubborn. And it was up to him to make sure she didn’t go down the same road as her mother, which was why he couldn’t allow her to go out tomorrow night. Only one night out during the week – that was the rule. And he didn’t really feel happy about that.
Thinking about his daughter and that boy had distracted him. It was with a supreme effort that he pulled himself back to perform under Janine’s beady eye.
‘Right? So we’re clear on the background colour, Nick?’
‘I still think you should go for something warmer. It’s the Christmas issue. Readers want to feel cosy.’
‘I’m well aware of what readers want, thank you very much.’
‘No.’ Evie had come into the room without either of them noticing. Now she spoke quietly but firmly: ‘Let’s listen to him. What do you suggest, Nick?’
‘Red, as I said at the beginning. Not a harsh red, a warm one.’
‘It won’t work, Evie.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Evie was silent. Both Janine and Nick knew better than to interrupt. ‘We’ll do two and compare them.’
Janine was astounded. ‘But that’ll push us over budget.’
‘Not if Nick’s careful.’ She looked at him and smiled dangerously. Nick felt his skin prickle. ‘Do you think you can do it?’
He thought of the university fees coming up and the prospect of more work at
Just For You
. ‘I reckon so.’
It had, he thought, stopping the car at the off-licence next to Boots on his way home, been a close shave. No doubt about it. He had annoyed Janine by pushing for his own idea but he was certain (well, 99 per cent) that it would work. The magazine world was stiff with enemies and he only hoped Evie, who had seemed interested in his ideas, was going to hang around. If she moved on, he would have to answer to Janine.
‘Have a leaflet, sir.’ A woman with greasy hair in an elastic band pushed a poorly printed piece of paper at him.
He glanced at it, unseeing.
GO SLOW!
Hadn’t he had one of these before? If these do-gooders had his problems, they might realise how lucky they were. If he was quick, there was just time to nip into Tesco and get some supper for tonight. On the other hand, maybe they’d just have a takeaway as a treat. It might not be very nutritious but there were times when every parent had to recognise their limits.
He’d spend the afternoon editing the digital images from yesterday and drop them off with the client on his way to school. Picking up Julie was a relief, not a chore – even with her driving. Sometimes, he thought, if he didn’t have his daughter to talk to, he’d go mad.
If he wasn’t heading that way already.
19
KITTY
‘Screech, crash, screech . . .’
What kind of music was that? thought Kitty disgustedly, and tuned to another station.
‘What yer listening to, Miss?’
‘Let’s hear it, then!’
‘What kind of music do you like, Miss?’
Standing in the bus queue with the kids squawking, Kitty pretended not to hear them through the headphones. It would be different when she got to school where it was her job to listen to them and to coax out all the potential that, she was certain, lay dormant under those brash exteriors. But at eight twenty a.m., she was still Kitty Hayling, with a life of her own outside St Theresa’s.
The bus was on time this morning, Kitty observed, as she let the hordes surge on ahead of her. It was easier that way – she wouldn’t get bumped so much, even if it did mean she had to stand.
She nodded at the bus driver, who said something she couldn’t hear. Kitty removed her earpiece. ‘Sorry?’
‘I said, I don’t know how you cope with that lot.’
‘How did you know I was a teacher?’
‘Because your bag is always full of exercise books and because the kids have told me. Little terrors, aren’t they?’
‘They’re not so bad.’ What did he mean, the kids had told him? Had he asked them or just heard them calling her ‘Miss’? She was about to move on when her eye fell on a book that was lying at the front of the bus, near to the wheel.
He saw her expression. ‘Even bus drivers can read classics, you know.’
‘It wasn’t that . . . I mean, well, to be honest, I never seem to have got round to Trollope.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You ought to some time, if you’re a teacher. This one’s a great piece of work, even if the title’s a bit misleading.’
‘Right.’ Kitty nodded. ‘Well, I’d better move on and let you get started.’
She shouldn’t jump to conclusions, she told herself, standing in the aisle, balancing her school-bag on her shoulder and trying to read the morning paper at the same time. That had always been her downfall. She was too quick to dismiss people or, worse, accept them into her heart, then realise they were wrong for her. Look at poor Bruce. That essay showed talent: he was writing from the heart even if the spelling was atrocious. But maybe there was a reason for that. She’d already made a note to check whether he had been tested for dyslexia. If not, she’d have to raise it with his mother after sports day on Thursday. Sports day! More to cope with – and great timing: smack after the Ofsted inspection. Kitty lurched forward with the bus. As she did so, she caught sight of a car moving alongside with two kids in it, waving enthusiastically. Lucy! Such a sweet girl. Kitty waved back more cheerfully than she felt. It might only be Wednesday but already she couldn’t wait for the week to be over – especially tonight. Professional dating! What on earth had she let herself in for?
PIPPA
‘And now we’re coming up to the eleven o’clock news. The American boy who has been holding his schoolmates at gunpoint in Ohio has been captured. However, it is thought that there are at least two casualties, one serious.’
Pippa leaned forward to switch off the radio (who needed news like that?), wishing that she had brought some flat shoes to drive in and changed into these ridiculous heels later. That was the trouble when you spent your life in flat shoes: when you wore a pair of heels you couldn’t walk, let alone drive. But today she had wanted to dress up. ‘You look nice,’ Derek had said, before he left for the office.
She had felt awkward and stupidly guilty. ‘Thanks.’
He took a second look at her pale blue dress which Pippa had kept quiet about: even Monsoon sale bargains were an expensive outlay in Derek’s book. Until now she hadn’t had an opportunity to wear it.
‘I didn’t know you were going out.’
‘I told you last night. I’m having lunch with Gus and some of the others.’
‘The others’ was a loose term referring to the group of friends that she and Gus had hung around with at university. In fact, Pippa hadn’t seen any of them for ages but in the past, when she and Gus had met up for lunch, she had been uncomfortably aware that Derek might read something into the situation that wasn’t there so she had often included ‘the others’ when she referred to her occasional outings. It wasn’t a deceit, she told herself. It was simply to avoid any misunderstandings.
‘Have a good time.’ He brushed her cheek. ‘And don’t worry.’
‘Why not?’ Pippa glowered at him. ‘Why shouldn’t I worry when for all you and I know, I might have - ’
‘Sssh. The children are coming down. See you, then. Enjoy yourself.’
‘Enjoy yourself? Why, where are you going, Mum?’
Pippa put on her apron to preserve her dress and plonked a plate of wholemeal toast in front of Beth. ‘Out for lunch.’
‘With Harriet?’
‘What is this? Some kind of interrogation? No, with another friend.’
Beth looked hurt and Pippa instantly felt repentant. ‘What have you got on at school today?’
‘My geography test. Remember? You were going to test me last night.’
She’d meant to but somehow it had been forgotten in the usual chaos of getting them to bed, cooking Derek’s supper and the hundred and one other things that had had to be crammed into the evening. ‘Beth, I’m sorry. Do you want me to do it now?’
‘There isn’t time. Isn’t that Harriet’s car outside?’
How could
anyone
be early for the school run? Pippa dashed into the hall to yell up the stairs, ‘Lucy, come
on
. You haven’t had breakfast yet and Harriet’s here.’
To her shame, she’d had to send her daughter off with a banana and a Pop-Tart to eat in the car. After that, she’d managed to do a bit of work, send an e-mail to her editor to ask for her deadline to be extended by a day, then get into the car to meet Gus. He had phoned earlier to ask if she could make her own way to Soho since an important meeting had held him up.