Young Wives' Tales (47 page)

If I tell him that my husband’s ex-wife is threatening me, possibly about to blackmail me, I’ll have to allude to the fact that my marriage is in trouble. Although arguably points one and two say that much, fairly clearly, anyway.

‘Lucy, I would like to apologize for my behaviour at the office party. I was wondering if we could put it behind us. To be honest my recollections of the evening are fairly vague. I was quite drunk too. So if either of us said anything or did anything that either of us is embarrassed about, we needn’t be because I don’t remember it.’

Mick has clearly practised that speech. The speed with which he delivered it suggests he is keen to plummet through his rehearsed apology as efficiently as possible. It is very brave of him to deliver it in the first place. I’m sure he doesn’t want to have to linger or repeat himself.

I smile at him with a true sense of gratitude. Mick was not drunk at the party. He was as sober as a judge. His claim that he can’t remember much is undermined by the fact that he
can
remember I was drunk. He said that he was drunk
too
. However, I can see that Mick has given our situation a lot of thought and decided that sweeping the incident under the shagpile is the kindest option. I’m grateful. It shows that he is a genuine friend. I beam at him.

‘Oh, Mick, we both know that it’s not you who owes me an apology. It’s the other way round. I was the one who was totally out of order. I’m sorry that I put you in an awkward position.’

Even though his apology has made me feel I’m sloshing about in the milk of human kindness, I struggle to be too much more explicit. It’s degrading.

‘I was very drunk and not thinking clearly. I am sorry that I –’

‘Tried to get me into the sack.’

‘Mick!’I glance hastily around the café. He’s grinning. I guess it’s better if we can laugh about it.

‘That’s what I’m offended about, Lucy. You had to have your beer goggles on before you’d make a move on me.’

He’s still grinning but we both know that there is an element of truth in what he’s saying. I’d never have tried to seduce Mick if I hadn’t gotten so blinding. My drunkenness is at once the get-out clause and the insult. It’s a complicated situation. Luckily, Mick is a simple man and defuses the potential intricacies of hurt feelings, loose morals and tricky consequences by laughing at me.

‘It’s me who should be offended you turned me down,’I joke back.

‘I like you too much to shag you. I rarely shag women I actually like.’

And with that compliment and testament to our friendship we agree to let the matter lie.

‘So, we’re good now, hey?’asks Mick.

‘We’re good,’I assure him.

‘You can get back to being ball-breaking Lucy and cutting thrusting deals and earning big bonuses for us all. All of that. Hey? Because to be straight, Lucy, people are beginning to notice that you’re not quite yourself, right now. Your eye is so far off the ball, you seem to
be playing a totally different game. I mean I respect your family thing and I know that you’ve said you want to spend more time with Auriol. That’s cool. However, if you’re planning on spending less time in the office you’re going to have to be more efficient when you are there.’

‘How serious is the gossip? I’m asking you because you are my friend and I think you’ll be honest with me.’

‘Sorry. It’s serious. The other day Ralph asked me if everything was OK in your world.’

We stare at one another, aware that this is an issue. Ralph should not have reason to discuss me with other members of staff and even if he does do so then why has he chosen Mick? The answer is transparent. Everyone assumes we are shagging, or have been shagging and that we’ve now broken up. I realize that I’ve compromised us both.

‘I’m so sorry, Mick. Point noted.’

‘It’s not like it’s all your fault. My reputation doesn’t help,’admits Mick gallantly.

Mick reaches for his coat. His work is done and he’s conscious that we both need to get back to work. I put my hand on his arm.

‘You’re a good mate, Mick.’

‘I am, Princess.’

‘So I have to tell you something.’Mick flops back into the plastic seat and settles at the ugly Formica table.

‘Do you need more coffee?’

I shake my head; if I have a distraction I might lose my nerve.

‘It’s a shame that people are gossiping about you but I deserve it. I did shag someone.’

Mick actually gasps. I’ve shocked him, or disappointed him, or maybe he’s scared for me.

‘Things had been pretty gloomy at home, between Peter and me. Well, you know that much. I was feeling old and used.’

‘Used?’

‘Used by the whole maternal and wifey bit. I’m not a natural at self-sacrifice. I was bored and I felt neglected. The whole formula.’

I’m lucky that I’m justifying myself to Mick; he’s pretty egocentric too and tries to sympathize with me. Some would be livid with my miserable little excuses.

‘So you did it to shake things up a bit?’

‘I did it because I was absolutely pissed. It was the night of the party. After you left.’

‘I see.’

Mick’s lips disappear as he sucks them into invisibility. He stays absolutely still and silent for an age. I realize that I’ve hurt him. Perhaps only his pride is wounded, but maybe evidence of my indiscriminate sexual offers that evening are genuinely distasteful to him.

‘Who was the lucky man?’he asks at length. His tone betrays irritation and curiosity.

For the first time I can’t bring myself to hold his gaze. I drop my head into my hands and mutter.

‘Joe Whitehead.’

‘What? Did you just say Joe Whitehead?’

I nod and drag my eyes back to Mick. I might as well look at his disgust square on – I face mine in the mirror every morning.

‘That snivelling, stupid, sneaky shit?’

‘Yeah, you’ve got him.’

Mick pushes his chair back and for a moment I think he’s going to storm out of the café like a jilted lover. Instead he goes to the counter and orders more coffee.

He slams the tiny cups on the table. ‘I wish there was whisky in these,’he says. ‘Joe Whitehead is so beneath you, Lucy.’

‘Apparently not,’I comment.

I have the decency to face the fact that we are as low as those we lie with. And while Joe has got a terrible and fast-depreciating record at work for being irresponsible, a brown-noser, a loner, a shirk and a fool, I do not believe I can take any moral high ground.

‘Best put it behind you, Luce. Just forget it,’says Mick.

It’s obvious from his expression that he wishes to put the thought right out of his mind. I understand. I almost balk when I think of Joe Whitehead’s fat little hands grabbing, inexpertly, at my flesh.

The sex was the worst I have ever known. A grunting, derisory grapple punctuated with pungent whiffs of stale sweat and the sound of his excited panting. It was all over in a few minutes. Almost not long enough for me to realize what was happening. Not that I’m suggesting I was forced, I wasn’t. I didn’t say no, but then nor did I say yes.

After Mick had left, Joe and I had several more drinks in Wasp bar. Joe suggested we go on somewhere else. I said no, I needed to get home. I was in a hideous state, wobbling and slurring, I did not want to be seen that way. Joe agreed to get my coat and rushed off quite helpfully. He was gone for ages. When he finally returned, he dragged me up from the daybed and led me out of the main room.

‘Aren’t we going the wrong way?’I slurred. I wasn’t sure. The mirrors were disorientating and I could hardly stand, let alone navigate.

‘I know a back door, it leads to the main road. It will be easier to get a cab.’Then Joe put my coat over my head. He thought he was being funny and he kept saying, ‘No one can see you are with me now, Lucy, so don’t worry.’Which, even at the time, struck me as peculiar. He knew I didn’t want to be with him.

I didn’t like having the coatsee where I’m going. I grabbed over my head, I felt claustrophobic and vulnerable. I never liked wearing a blindfold, not for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey as a kid or even in bed with Peter. I like to see where I’m going. I grabbed at the coat and tried to put it on properly but Joe just laughed and held it tightly over my head. I told him to stop it, that he was messing up my hair, but I didn’t make too much of a fuss, I didn’t want to draw attention to our departure. He was right, I didn’t want to be seen with him. The exchange took just a minute or so but when he took the coat off my head we weren’t outside, we were in a tiny private room.

I knew exactly what the room was normally used for.
It was the sort of room I would probably have looked for with Mick if he had taken up my hint. The sort of room that the management let at great cost and with great discretion. It was decently decorated, if not a little obvious. There were no mirrors like in the main bar but there were lashings of red velvet. Red velvet cushioned walls, red velvet flowing curtains and a red velvet daybed. The room said sex. And hell.

There was one lone bucket in which rested a cold bottle of champagne, not Crystal now but a bottle of house. There were no glasses. In his haste to arrange this seduction, Joe must have forgotten to specify. I assumed that he’d screamed instructions and passed wedges of cash across the counter as he collected our coats.

I groaned, told him I really didn’t want anything more to drink, just wanted to go home. He asked me to relax, suggested I needed to lie down and sleep off the excess. I stayed standing. Joe tried to get me to drink the champagne from the bottle but I clamped my mouth closed and the sticky bubbles ran down my chin and shirt. He licked up the mess and I didn’t stop him.

In that moment I thought the quickest way to get home was to give in to it.

Mick waits for me to respond to his suggestion. I pull out a box of cigarettes from my bag. I offer him one. He refuses but helps me to light up; my hands are shaking and I can’t see the damn lighter because tears are threatening. I blink furiously and take a deep breath.

‘I would put it behind me. I had. But there’s a problem. He has not.’

‘He’s fallen for you?’

‘Inevitably.’I flash Mick a grin but it’s entirely fake. I’ve never felt worse. ‘He’s turned into a bit of a stalker, actually.’I try to laugh but the effort breaks me. The tears can no longer be kept in check. Mick’s kindness is a fatal blow. I start to sob. ‘He contacts me all the time, text, e-mail and on messenger.’

‘How’s he managed that?’

‘He’s tampered with my laptop. He got my mobile number from Julia. I’ve had to change phones but last night he rang me at home. He thinks we have something going. He won’t accept that I was drunk and that he was a mistake. He hounds me, asking when we can meet again. Mick, he’s scaring me. I don’t want to lose my family or my job but I definitely don’t ever want to have to do that with him again.’

‘It’s OK, Princess, it’s OK.’Mick is around my side of the table and he’s kneeling on the floor next to me. He’s rubbing his hand on my back. ‘I’ll sort this out. We’ll sort it out together. Don’t worry. We’ll have the bastard fired by this afternoon.’

I have never before believed in the need for, or the existence of, a knight in shining armour. But right now I think I can hear Mick’s horse gallop towards me and I’m enormously grateful.

Mick establishes that I have kept some of the e-mails but none of the texts. I show him my BlackBerry and he seems confident that we have a case of sexual
harassment. Depressingly he says that there will be no disagreement that Joe has affected my performance at work in the past month.

‘But I had sex with him.’

‘So what? You don’t want to have sex with him again. He needs to know that no is no. Besides, morally he’s behaved hideously. He took advantage of you when you were plastered.’

‘But it’s going to be so embarrassing if Ralph knows what I’ve done. And anyway, even if Ralph does fire Joe, mud sticks. I’ll be marked out as a troublemaker.’

Mick can’t deny that I have a point. My career in the City will only survive until the next set of culling and then I’ll probably be offered a hearty redundancy package and shown the door too. The City doesn’t like squealers.

‘Well, before we try the official channels, we can confront him together, if you prefer.’

‘And say what?’

‘Say that we will go to Ralph if he doesn’t resign.’Neither of us considers the possibility of just asking Joe to stop pestering me – it’s gone too far for that. ‘This isn’t just about his inappropriate behaviour in terms of harassing a co-worker. These e-mails suggest the man’s bonkers. He needs help. We’ll put that to him. If he has a shred of sanity or dignity left he’ll get out sharpish. He won’t want a blot in his copybook either.’

‘It might work,’I admit.

For the first time in a month I allow myself to feel
hopeful. I lean across and hug Mick. ‘You really are a friend. Thank you.’

‘No. A true friend would have shagged you when you offered and saved you from Joe,’says Mick with a sheepish grin. After seeing me cry he’s unsure how much joshing I can take.

‘Yes, this is all your fault.’I try to smile through my snot and tears. ‘Seriously though, some good has come out of this debacle,’I add.

‘What’s that then?’

‘Something’s changed for me. I’ve started to appreciate what I have now it’s all at risk. I know I’m so lucky to have my husband, my daughter, my friends.’I squeeze Mick’s hand affectionately. Suddenly, the relief that Mick’s support has afforded disappears. ‘Oh shit.
Peter
.’

‘Are you going to tell him?’

‘Do you think I should?’

‘I wouldn’t. But then I’ve never been married, so I don’t know.’

‘Peter’s ex-wife knows about Joe,’I confess.

‘What?’Mick can’t believe my life can get any more tragic or farcical. Neither can I. ‘How?’

‘I have no idea but she does. She made reference to it when I saw her last Sunday. I’ve hardly slept since.’

‘Do you think she’ll tell your husband?’

‘I don’t know. She doesn’t owe me any favours. Oh God, I’m so ashamed. What have I done? You see, Mick, in my book having sex with a hideous little man was terrible but I had managed to compartmentalize
the disaster in my brain. I had done a lousy thing. But it was over and I’ll never do it again.’