Read With or Without You Online
Authors: Helen Warner
With or Without You
Praise for Helen Warner
‘A thought-provoking novel’
Heat
‘A page-turning good read’
Star
‘Four women, one wedding and unexpected results. Great good fun’
Woman & Home
‘There’s lots of bitching and a few tears in this fizzing read’
Woman’s Own
‘As bubbly as a glass of wedding Champagne’
Cosmopolitan
‘Action-packed’
Daily Telegraph
‘A ridiculously romantic story written from the perspective of four women as they gear up for a wedding that will have repercussions for them all’
Heat
‘The kind of book . . . holidays were made for’
RED
‘Helen Warner paints a complex picture of friends and lovers’
Star
Helen Warner is Director of Daytime for ITV where she oversees a wide range of programming from
This Morning
to
The Chase
. Previously, she was at Channel 4
where she was responsible for shows including
Come Dine With Me
,
Coach Trip
and
Deal or No Deal
. She lives in Essex with her husband and their two children and she writes
her books on the train to work.
Also by Helen Warner
RSVP
Stay Close to Me
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2014
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Helen Warner, 2014
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Helen Warner to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-47110-061-1
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-47110-062-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by M Rules
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
For Alice & Paddy
My very own VIPs
or without
you
Contents
Chapter 1
‘Jamie!’ yelled Martha, as she raced down the stairs wearing only a pink bra and mismatched red knickers, her long hair still wet. ‘Have you ironed my dress
yet?’
She scuttled into the kitchen, which was a scene of early-morning chaos. The ironing board was up, the television was blaring out the breakfast news, and Jamie, in just a pair of boxer shorts,
was running from the toaster to the table with a plate in one hand and the iron in the other. At the table, Mimi and Tom were arguing loudly over who had flicked a blob of marmalade onto the
computer screen, resulting in Jamie, who rarely raised his voice, shouting that they would both be banned from ‘screens’ for a week if they didn’t stop fighting.
‘Here,’ Jamie said in a softer voice, handing Martha her favourite dress, a stone-coloured, fitted shift. He watched with an amused expression as she clambered into it, before
turning around and contorting her body so that she could zip it up at the back.
‘How do I look?’ She threw the question expectantly over her shoulder.
‘Gorgeous,’ he replied dutifully, bending to kiss the top of her head, before she scurried off in the direction of the front door. ‘But I think you’d benefit from some
shoes?’ he added.
‘Oh shit!’ cried Martha, running up the stairs once more.
From the kitchen she heard Mimi’s voice, ‘Muuuuummm! Enough of the bad language! You’re always telling us not to swear.’
‘Aaarghh!’ grumbled Martha to herself, as she knelt down in front of her wardrobe and rummaged through the pile of shoes in search of a matching pair. Eventually she located a pair
of gold platform sandals that were more suited to a party than an interview, but with time running out she would just have to make do. She couldn’t be late today, it was too important.
Scrabbling to her feet, she stepped into the sandals, instantly growing in stature by four inches. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall, before running out of the bedroom as
quickly as the sandals would allow, only dimly registering that something wasn’t quite right.
‘Jamie! I’m off!’ she shouted, snatching up her oversized leather satchel and opening the door. ‘Bye, kids! Love you both, have a great day!’ she added.
‘Bye!’ they chorused back. ‘Love you!’
Jamie padded out of the kitchen, still wearing just his boxer shorts and looking, she thought, more handsome than he had any right to at such an early hour. ‘Hey, don’t forget your
breakfast.’ He smiled and handed Martha some buttered toast, wrapped in a piece of kitchen paper. ‘And good luck!’
Martha grinned and reached up to kiss him. Even in her high heels he was still taller than her. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, taking the toast. ‘Love you, miss you, mean it!’
she called out in a cod American accent as she finally left.
‘Love you, miss you, mean it!’ he replied, mimicking her accent and laughing as he watched her from the doorway. It had become their private joke, ever since a holiday in Florida a
few years back when they had heard an earnest couple saying it to one another as they parted at the airport.
‘Get inside!’ she shouted as she unlocked the car and dumped her bag on the back seat. ‘You’ll give Mrs Moffatt a heart attack!’
Jamie beamed and stretched languorously, knowing full well that the gesture showed off his toned stomach. ‘Ah, it’s probably the only excitement she gets,’ he protested.
‘I’ll put the bins out later too – she loves that!’
‘Show off!’ Martha shook her head and smiled as she climbed into her beloved Fiat 500 and started the engine. Their 75-year-old neighbour had lived alone ever since her husband
Alfred had died almost four years previously, and she adored Martha and the children. But she especially adored Jamie. He had recently helped to set her up with a computer so that she could Skype
with her son, who lived in Australia. Martha wouldn’t have had a clue where to start, but Jamie was patience personified when teaching her how to use the laptop her son had bought her.
Martha took a deep, calming breath as she drove the familiar route to the train station. She switched on the radio and quickly became absorbed in the easy banter of the Radio 2 breakfast show,
glad to have the company as she munched her toast. It was cold and the butter was congealed but she was grateful for it; it would be lunchtime before she got another chance to eat.
She knew she was lucky. Ridiculously lucky. She had two gorgeous, happy, healthy children, a husband who was her soulmate, and an exciting, high-profile job as a showbiz interviewer. Over her
fifteen-year career, she had met just about all the major film and TV stars on both sides of the Atlantic, and was on first-name terms with several A-listers.
She had become the first port of call for all the big PRs, on account of her reputation as a writer who never veered into the realms of personal bitchiness like some other reporters; she always
seemed to get to the heart and soul of her subjects. She had an innate ability to draw them out and get them to reveal things that they had previously managed to keep to themselves.
She had started out as a news journalist but had fallen into showbiz reporting by accident, when she was sent to interview a top female TV presenter for a magazine. During a searing interview,
the presenter had broken down and admitted that she was an alcoholic, taking herself by surprise as much as Martha. As she wrote up the interview a few days later, Martha had called the presenter
and offered to leave out the revelation, worried about the impact it might have on her young family. Martha had held back from telling her editor about the scoop for that very same reason. But the
TV star had insisted that she was relieved to have finally admitted it, and that she had already enrolled in AA, determined to get help.
The interview made all the national newspapers, as well as being the main topic on a number of radio and TV discussion shows. It also propelled Martha into the spotlight and instantly made her a
favourite with celebrities, who felt that they could trust her, even though, ironically, they always ended up revealing more to her than they planned.
For Martha’s part, she loved her job, but she knew full well she wouldn’t be able to do it without Jamie’s support. He had been a journalist himself when they got together, but
had given up a staff job on a broadsheet to look after the children full-time when Martha’s career really took off. She often had to travel abroad, and without Jamie it would have been
impossible to accept most of the assignments she was given.
Jamie never complained about putting his career second to hers, although she knew sometimes he found it difficult that she was the main breadwinner. He still earned some of his own money by
writing freelance articles; they weren’t big money-spinners but they gave him a certain amount of independence and helped his self-esteem. He was also working on a children’s book,
which Martha felt would be huge if he could get some interest from an agent.
But for the time being, his main role was looking after the children and he did it magnificently. He was very involved with their school, where he was chair of the PTA, and he spent hours each
day playing with them, talking to them, taking them on trips and igniting their interest in everything from trampolining to astronomy. Unlike many of the school mums, he didn’t find the daily
grind of looking after children boring. On the contrary, he seemed to find them inspiring and was never happier than when it was just the three of them out on their bikes together, exploring.
Martha had often thought that he did a far better job than she could ever do if their roles were reversed.
Pulling into the station car park, she punched the air with delight as she found a parking space in a prime position close to the exit and leapt out, wobbling slightly on her heels as she did
so. She grabbed her bag from the back seat and raced for the platform of the small country station, mentally thanking her lucky stars that the train to London left from the nearest platform, rather
than the one opposite, which involved a heart-attack-inducing race up a steep flight of stairs, a trip across a footbridge and back down the other side.