The Better Woman (30 page)

He looked down at her, his face taking on a look of mock sternness. ‘You'll regret it in the morning . . .'

Alison giggled. ‘You know me – play now, pay later!'

He laughed, squeezed her waist, and went off to get the drinks.

‘Well, what do you think?' Alison asked, plopping herself down on the sofa. She immediately checked herself. ‘No, I didn't mean to ask that. Because it doesn't matter what you, or anyone else, think. Just me and Jack.'

Jodi answered her anyway. ‘I think he's big and handsome, with an emphasis on the BIG, and I think that he obviously loves you as much as you love him.' Then she added, ‘You look so different, your hair, your clothes . . .'

Alison's reply was considered. ‘Work demands a certain standard. I'm management now – have to look the part. But outside of work I don't need to make a statement. There's no need to do the gothic look or have a nose ring – Jack gets who I am no matter what I wear.'

Happy as she was for Alison, Jodi's own loss suddenly seemed unbearable. Tears, which she had held back through all the Christmas festivities and the well-meaning enquiries of her relatives, suddenly came gushing out.

‘Oh, Jodi.' Alison hugged her tightly. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rub your face in my happiness.'

Jodi tried to tell her it wasn't her fault but found it hard to utter anything remotely coherent. She cried for the memories of last Christmas. She cried because it was a brand new year and all she could see ahead was loneliness. She cried because she feared she would never again find someone who would
get who she was
. She didn't notice when Jack came back with their drinks. Or the look of concern he shared with his girlfriend before making himself scarce.

Jodi watched Sue from afar as she organised the little nippers for the flag race. The kids were lying down on the sand. At the sound of Sue's whistle they scrambled to their feet and their short legs raced up the beach, sand billowing in their wake. At the halfway mark some of the children were already well ahead as they grabbed their flag, nothing but a length of garden hose, and turned back. The slowest children found there was no flag left for them to take and had to return empty-handed and, devastatingly, eliminated. Sue called encouragement to each child as they crossed the finish line, managed to keep tears at bay and lined up the kids who'd made it to the next round.

This time the fact that there were fewer flags than kids went less smoothly. A little girl turned back against the flow to double check. The other kids bumped into her and there was a pile-up on the sand.

‘Need help?' Jodi asked, coming forward.

Sue's face was a picture of surprise before it broke into a big smile. ‘Jodi! Your mum mentioned you were coming back.' A few of the children were wailing and she paused to pat some
shoulders. ‘Yes, I do need help. Can you organise an activity for those out of the race?'

‘Sure.'

Jodi kicked off her flip-flops and grabbed a ball from Sue's box of equipment.

‘Okay, kids.' She smiled at the group of young children, some with tear-stained faces. ‘My name's Jodi. Enough of racing, we're going to play ball. Who wants to get wet?'

‘Me,' they all screeched in reply.

She lined them up in the shallow water and played some simple throwing games. Soon the children were laughing and splashing as they dived to catch the ball, their earlier disappointment at being eliminated from the flag race forgotten.

An hour flew by before Sue called an end to the activities. Jodi's shorts were soaking and sand was caked to her bare legs. She felt good, though. Better than she had for a long, long time.

She borrowed a sarong from Sue and they went across the road for a coffee. They managed to get a seat outside one of the buzzing cafés and they made small talk in the long wait to be served.

‘How does it feel to be back?' asked Sue when she finally had a coffee cupped in her hands.

Jodi spooned the froth from her cappuccino. Rich and soft, it melted on her tongue. She spooned some more and realised that the cappuccinos in London were no match.

‘The same and not the same,' she answered. ‘The people, the perfect weather, the beach today – they're all wonderfully familiar. But me, I'm different.' She paused, sipped from her cup, and then added darkly, ‘Very different.'

Sue reached over and covered Jodi's hand with hers. Her
freckled face was deeply sympathetic as she said, ‘I'm so sorry about Andrew. It was such an awful tragedy . . .'

Her voice faded. Jodi didn't say anything. She had a lump in her throat that she didn't trust. Conversation babbled on around them as they sat in silence; women in beach dresses, men in singlets and shorts, children with ice-creamed faces, all with so much to say. Summer permeated the air. Not heavy and humid, like in London, but breezy and carefree.

Yes, I do miss this
, Jodi thought.
The warmth of the sun on my skin, the feeling of sand between my toes
. . .

She came back to the present. A man had stopped by their table and was looking at her quizzically.

‘I know your face,' he mused. ‘I just can't place it.'

She shrugged as if he must be mistaken but in her mind's eye she could see it coming to him later on. He'd snap his fingers, startling his wife, and exclaim, ‘I've got it! She's the girl from the court case – you know, the one who stabbed her stepfather.'

That was one of the few benefits London had to offer: anonymity. Jodi realised that she had lived with a desire to be anonymous, to disappear, for most of her life: during her parents' divorce, while she'd lived with Bob, the court case and its aftermath, even today with this man who thought he knew her.

Who is Jodi Tyler? Other than the girl who wants to disappear?

She didn't know. All she knew was that London was where she needed to be. For now.

1992

Gretel did hold the job open and Jodi threw herself into it wholeheartedly when she got back to London. Her new boss, Ian Flynn, had very definite ideas and such a strong personality that Gretel seemed like a pussycat in comparison. His deliver-or-die style was good for the project but didn't win him any popularity points with his staff.

‘What he gained in the good-looks department, he lost in personality,' Rachel, one of the juniors, complained.

He was certainly good-looking: wiry brown hair, a strong angular face and intense blue eyes. He was also very good at his job, with a knack for thinking outside the box.

‘Rachel, have you tried asking the marketing team to see if that feature is totally necessary?'

Of course Rachel, whose attention was more focused on her social life than her job, hadn't thought to ask marketing.

‘I didn't think that was part of my job,' she replied, a sigh
in her voice.

Ian's expression became harder than it already was. ‘Well, if you don't expand your limited conception of what your job entails, then I'm afraid you won't have one for very long.'

Rachel, panicked at the thought of losing her job and not being able to afford London's social scene, jumped to her feet at the warning. Ian Flynn was not one to make idle threats.

Jodi learned a lot in her quest to meet his exacting standards. She learned not to go to him with half-cooked ideas. She learned not to escalate issues until she had turned every stone in the attempt to resolve them. She learned that the IT department always said no at first, but if she persevered she could
almost
get what she wanted from them. All in all, she enjoyed the satisfaction of creating something new and was grateful to be preoccupied with the project as the anniversary of Andrew's death came closer.

Thanks to Ian's meticulous management, the new pension system was right on schedule as it moved from development to testing. The project team waited with bated breath while the testers checked the functionality and viability, every body only too aware that this was make or break for the April deadline. Thankfully, the system needed nothing more than a little tweaking here and there. Invesco was now perfectly positioned to take the pension market by storm.

With the project entering its final phase, Jodi's job changed and took on more of a marketing emphasis. Ian was regularly asked to present the new pension products to blue-chip companies with a view to securing their investment. Jodi helped put the presentations together and went along to provide technical support that Ian rarely needed. During the presentations, Ian exuded charm as he tried to sell the unique design of the products. Jodi saw a completely different side to him.

She found that she, too, liked being face to face with customers. The more experience she acquired, the more Ian allowed her to be involved. He was an excellent role model and coached her on when to push and when to pull back. Together they brought their two-part act to boardroom after boardroom, doing their level best to win their first client.

Finally their efforts paid off: the board of IBM's pension fund agreed to invest. Other large companies were sure to follow suit. Ian was euphoric.

‘This calls for champagne,' he declared to the team and Rachel's face brightened at the thought of a night out on the company.

In truth, a night out was the last thing Jodi felt like. Tomorrow, 10 April, was the anniversary of Andrew's death. Her mind kept drifting back. The police on her doorstep. The hospital afterwards. The all-too-vivid images of him being thrown into the air, crashing down, dead on impact.

‘Jodi?'

Ian was staring. He'd obviously noticed that she wasn't as enthusiastic as the others about celebrating their success.

‘You are going to join us, aren't you?'

His tone implied that he wouldn't take no for an answer. Jodi was suddenly sick of him and his bullying ways.

‘No, I'm not, Ian.'

Drinking champagne on the eve of Andrew's anniversary was too much to ask.

Ian frowned. ‘This is an important milestone for the team,' he informed her in his iciest of tones.

He had a point, of course. Securing IBM as a client was a major coup that guaranteed the long-term success of Invesco's venture into the pension-fund market. Definitely a cause for celebration for the project team who had worked so hard to pull it off. If it
wasn't for the cold horrible truth that Andrew had been dead a whole year.

‘Sorry, Ian.' Jodi reached for her jacket. She slipped it on and defiantly buttoned it up. ‘Hope you all have a good time.'

The next morning dawned with unexpected brightness. Jodi pulled back the curtains to reveal a perfect blue sky that urged her outside. She followed its calling, dressing in casual jeans and a warm sweater, and walked a familiar route to a nearby park. A fresh breeze fanned her face but it wasn't cold. At the park flowers had begun to blossom in an array of vibrant colours. Spring had, belatedly once again, arrived in London.

Jodi sat on one of the weathered benches. She took deep breaths of the scented air as she watched the antics of the children playing around her. Surprisingly, there weren't any of the usual squabbles and tantrums. Only smiles and rings of laughter. This wasn't a day of sadness. It was a day of happiness, of new beginnings.

Sitting on the bench, Jodi began to make some decisions. Firstly, it was time to make some friends in this lonely city. This would involve going out socially and letting other people into her life. Another change would have to be the Thursday-night rendezvous with Janice. Yes, they could still continue to meet, but somewhere public where they'd have to hold it together. Lastly, and most difficult of all, came the decision to move out of the maisonette.

Her mind made up, Jodi didn't stay around to dwell on her decisions. She got to her feet, waved at a friendly toddler who was smiling her way, and left the park. Before she could change her mind, she walked to the office of the real estate agent who managed the maisonette.

‘Can we help find you somewhere new to live?' the girl at the reception asked.

‘No – I'm moving to another suburb.'

On Monday morning Jodi went to work and listened to all the talk about Friday's big night out.

‘Ian put his credit card behind the bar,' Rachel told her. ‘Champagne was literally flowing . . . and Ian was so relaxed – like a different person.'

Jodi smiled to herself. Rachel had undoubtedly drunk a lot of champagne and got herself into a state where everybody, even Ian, was her best friend.

However, when Ian arrived at work Rachel did actually smile at him and politely enquire how the rest of his weekend had been. And he did give her a civil answer, which led Jodi to believe that they were, at long last, on friendlier terms. All thanks to some free champagne.

Ian put down his briefcase and hung his suit jacket on one of the hooks by the door. He wore a crisp white shirt that enhanced his tan. His face was unsmiling as he turned to speak to Jodi.

‘Multimedia asked if we could go see them today,' he informed her in a terse voice. ‘They've apologised for the short notice and understand if we can't make it.'

‘What time?'

‘Eleven.'

Jodi bit her lip. That left very little time for preparation. ‘The usual sales pitch?'

‘Yes, but without the benefit of being able to study what pension fund they have at the moment and how we can differentiate from it.'

‘Going in blind,' Jodi muttered half to herself.

‘Yes.'

She tapped her pen on the desk while she thought it over.

‘I think it's a bad idea, Ian. It would make us look cheap – running in at the drop of a hat and trying to sell our product without knowing what we're pitching against.'

Ian nodded. ‘I agree. I'll tell Gretel the answer is no.'

Still no smile. Jodi got the feeling he was still angry that she hadn't gone for drinks on Friday night.