Monday to Friday Man Page 15

  Good point. I don’t want to be too pushy too soon, but maybe I will ask him. Thinking about Jack, I might just call to say hello and thank him for the naughty note he left on the bed. Nancy watches me carefully as I pick up my telephone.

  Jack’s mobile clicks into voicemail so I decide I’ll try him later.

  ‘Never mind,’ Nancy says watching me hang up. ‘Now it’s Sunday tomorrow. I’ll book us in for a massage, tan and a makeover.’

  ‘Listen, you’ve done more than enough, Nancy.’ I gesture to the collection of shopping bags at our feet.

  ‘Rubbish. I’ll get Lydia to do you because she can work miracles.’ I don’t know whether to be insulted that I need such a lot of work done or touched that she wants to make me look beautiful for Jack.

  ‘Don’t worry about the cost. It’s all on Nicholas, remember.’

  I prickle, feeling angry on my brother’s behalf that she’s quite so free with his money. ‘No. I won’t allow that,’ I insist.

  ‘Up to you.’

  One of the stylists approaches us, and checks on our highlights. They need to stay on for another five minutes. ‘Nancy, do you mind if I ask you something?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘It would be awful, wouldn’t it, if …’ I pause, trying to work out how to put it. What I would like to say is please don’t take Nick for granted. ‘What would you do if Nick lost his job?’

  She looks horrified.

  ‘He could, in this recession. I know he’s worried about it, which is half the reason he works so late,’ I add.

  ‘I’d tell him to get another job, and quickly. We want to send the girls to decent schools so there’s no way he can afford to be out of work.’

  ‘How about if he wasn’t well?’

  ‘Why! Has he said something to you? Is he unwell?’ she says, panic in her voice.

  ‘No, he’s fine, sorry. It’s just…’

  ‘What, Gilly?’

  ‘Are you happy, Nancy’ – I really want to ask her if she loves Nick, but I don’t have the nerve – ‘with Nick?’

  She purses her lips together. ‘Yes. Gilly, my parents were poor. Dad drank himself to death.’ She turns to me. ‘I’ve never told you this, but there was never enough food in the house because Dad spent all Mum’s dole on alcohol. I used to wear secondhand clothes for God’s sake! When I left home I went to elocution lessons, learnt how to speak properly and was determined to do better for myself,’ she says. ‘I worked hard to get a man like Nicholas.’

  I feel uncomfortable hearing this admission from Nancy. Clearly Nick wasn’t an object of affection, he was a target.

  The hairdresser comes back over to test if the dye has set on Nancy’s hair. ‘Don’t you dare tell your father,’ she whispers to me in a threatening tone. ‘I’d hate him to know the whole story.’

  ‘Do you still love him?’ I burst out. I can’t believe I said it. I feel relief because I’ve wanted to ask her this for so long, but have never had the courage.

  ‘I’m a good wife and an excellent mother.’

  I frown, without realizing because she says, ‘Gilly! You can’t ask me things like that!’ She is led to the washing basin to have her hair shampooed. ‘I’m happy the way things are. And so is Nicholas,’ she says in a definite tone, before the young assistant asks her if she would like conditioner.

  On the way home, I decide to try Jack again. The number rings. ‘This is Jack Baker, please leave me a message after the tone,’ he says. I switch it off, wondering what he’s been up to all day.

  ‘Everything off and slip into these,’ Lydia says, handing me a pair of plastic flipflops and a bath cap.

  I strip right down to my underwear and cover myself quickly with a towel when someone opens the door. It’s Nancy, and I try hard to suppress laughter but it doesn’t work. She’s been sprayed already; it looks as if she’s rolled around in a mud bath.

  She perches on the side of the couch and fans herself. ‘Can’t put my clothes on yet. It has to cook for five minutes. Stop laughing, Gilly!’

  There’s a knock on the door. ‘Ready?’ Lydia calls for me.

  ‘I’m stark naked, except for my knickers, standing in…’

  ‘Oh don’t be so modest Gilly. It’s only me,’ Nancy says, watching as I struggle to peel off my own knickers from underneath my towel, before sticking on a plastic bath cap over my hair. ‘D’you think I should go on my date looking like this?’ I ask, doing a sexy pose, and for the first time in years we both start laughing.

  I’m stark naked, except for my plastic thong, standing in a narrow cubicle as Lydia blasts from a machine what feels like air-conditioning over my body. I lift one arm, hold up the other, turn sideways, turn to face the wall, turn back to face her, feeling increasingly like a prison convict. I shut my eyes and think of Jack, and seeing him tomorrow evening. I think about Guy too. I wonder how his work is going? Does he miss me like I miss him? Guy has a habit of creeping into my thoughts.

  ‘I don’t want to look too brown,’ I say, panic beginning to set in when Lydia asks me if I want one or two layers.

  ‘Trust me, this’ll give you a lovely sun-kissed look. People will think you’ve been to San Tropez.’

  Right, but what do I tell them? It’s mid-October and I haven’t been anywhere except Ravenscourt Park.

  Later that evening, plucked, manicured, exfoliated and tanned, Nancy and I make our way back to Richmond. I want to see Tilda and Hannah.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ I say as I join Nick bathing the children.

  My brother smiles. ‘Wow, doesn’t Auntie Gilly look lovely?’

  Matilda laughs. ‘You look funny,’ she says. Hannah doesn’t say a word.

  ‘I’ve been to San Tropez,’ I tell them, sitting on the edge of the bath. Guilt overwhelms me that Nick has had to look after the children all weekend, but my guilt is misplaced. He tells me he’s had a lovely day.

  ‘Haven’t we, angels?’ he says as he swishes a toy crocodile in the water. ‘He’s going to eat me up!’ Tilda wriggles, splashing water.

  ‘He can’t eat you,’ Hannah says, deflating her imagination. ‘He’s plastic.’

  ‘Daddy bought croc for us today, Auntie Gilly!’ Tilda says.

  I plunge my hands into the water and grab the crocodile, chasing it after the girls. ‘Snap!’ I shout before I gasp, ‘Oh shit!’

  Even Hannah breaks into a smile at that. ‘I mean, oh no, I mustn’t wet my hands! The tan will wash away!’

  ‘Oh shit,’ Tilda copies.

  ‘No, Matilda,’ my brother says firmly. ‘Now tell Auntie Gilly what else we’ve done today.’

  ‘We went to the playground,’ she says.

  ‘The Princess Diana Memorial one,’ fills in Nick.

  ‘Why didn’t Mum come with us?’ Hannah asks Dad, and from Nick’s weary expression, she’s clearly been asking him that all day.

  ‘When are you going to get married, Auntie Gilly?’ asks Tilda.

  ‘She won’t now,’ Hannah predicts. ‘Her time’s run out.’

  I look over to Nick, knowing Nancy must have said this to them. ‘My time isn’t running out, but yours is! If you don’t get out of the bath right now you will both turn into prunes!’

  When they step out, Matilda particularly excited, I wrap a fluffy towel around her; Hannah is getting to the age where she wants to do everything on her own.

  ‘Nick, is Hannah all right?’ I ask him, when we’re alone in his study. ‘She’s very quiet.’

  He presses his head into his hands. ‘I think she heard us arguing again this morning. Nancy’s latest thing is we send her to boarding school, but I think she’s too young.’

  ‘Perhaps you should try talking to Hannah, maybe she’s feeling insecure or nervous…’

  ‘I’ve tried but…’

  ‘You could take her out for an afternoon, just the two of you? Sometimes it’s easier to talk out of the house.’

  ‘Anyway …’ He sighs, turning to me. ‘I like your hair shorter
. It suits you.’ The contrast between his fragile marriage compared to my hair makes me feel ashamed, as if I am in a child’s game, far away from the grownup world.

  ‘Jack’s a lucky man,’ he says.

  ‘Thanks …and thanks again for this weekend. Nancy was pretty amazing,’ I have to confess.

  ‘Good. I’m glad she could help.’ For a moment I have an overwhelming urge to hug him. ‘Anyway, it was a treat to have the girls to myself,’ he confides, before whispering, ‘no one nagging in my ear. I should be the one thanking you.’

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ I say, hitting his arm affectionately.

  30

  ‘So come on, where did he take you and the emerald dress?’ Sam asks under the oak tree.

  ‘Wow, you look incredible,’ Jack had said when the waiter slipped off my coat.

  I tell them he took me to Gordon Ramsay’s.

  ‘But don’t you need to book two months in advance?’ asks Brigitte.

  ‘Not if you’re Jack,’ I claim proudly. He only has to say the word Stargazer and everyone treats him like royalty, I think to myself.

  Then we went on to a nightclub and danced.

  Jack had held his arms around my waist, his hand moved up and down my back against the silk of my dress…

  ‘And?’ Ariel demands. ‘Then what?’

  ‘That’s it,’ I smile, urging him not to go on because Walter is by my side.

  ‘No it’s not!’ Ariel shakes his head.

  And then we made love, in my room this time, with the bedside light on.

  ‘Did he notice your hair? Your tan?’ Sam continues.

  ‘When’s Guy back?’ asks Mari. ‘I don’t know why, but I miss Hatman.’

  It’s Friday morning and I’m at the gym. I have enrolled myself into a new ‘fat-busting’ gym class. I used to love working out with Ed and it’s time to get fit again. I am not scared of bumping into him at the gym any more. If I do happen to see him on the treadmill, it’s time to show him I’m over it.

  I owe this transformation to Jack. He has entered my life like a whirlwind and by the time the weekend arrives, I need Saturday and Sunday to recover. In the past fortnight my diary has been packed with private screenings of films, nightclubs and restaurants. For the first time in months I have had to cancel my regular supper with my father, and when I told him why, he said he was thrilled that I was dining with a younger man.

  Last night Jack flew in through the front door like an aeroplane, scooped me up from the sofa and whisked me into a cab to Soho, where we met a few of his television friends in a trendy wine bar before jumping into another taxi to go to Annabel’s nightclub. I’m enjoying meeting new people and Jack’s friends are an easygoing, live-for-the-moment crowd. When Ed and I split up, inevitably I lost a chunk of my social life; it has been difficult keeping in touch with his friends. People don’t take sides, but of course they gravitate to the person they originally knew.

  Annabel’s never fails to please me. The cushions are comfortable, the soft lighting intimate, the company last night perfect, and I love the feeling of glamour in the air. With a champagne cocktail in one hand, I could hear Gloria’s advice to enjoy myself, and when I’m with Jack I do feel happy. When we arrived home I thanked him. ‘You make me forget my problems,’ I said.

  ‘What problems?’ He smiled, before adding, ‘You do the same for me, so thank you.’

  ‘No. Thank you,’ I said, peeling off my top and throwing it seductively over my shoulder.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he retaliated as he chased me upstairs.

  After my gym session and swift walk in the park, Ruskin and I walk down the Pimlico Road. I spot Kay, who works in the florist’s, and wave to her. She often gives me leftover flowers on a Friday evening. I then nip into the local coffee shop, before tying Ruskin’s lead to one of the chairs outside.

  ‘The usual, Gilly with a G?’ Manuel asks me, turning round to the cappuccino machine. Manuel is Italian and has worked in this café for years. He doesn’t like change.

  He hands me a grande cappuccino with one sugar, no chocolate sprinkled on top, and a plain croissant, heated up but not piping hot. ‘How’s the shop?’ he asks, as he always does each morning when he hands me my coffee cup on a cardboard tray. I tell him that Ruskin lifted his leg on a Russian lady’s expensive-looking coat. ‘I think she was a countess,’ I whisper, before saying luckily I don’t think she noticed. Manuel laughs, always enjoying the gossip on Mari’s customers. ‘You have a lovely weekend, Gilly,’ he says and I raise my coffee cup to him and wish him the same as I leave.

  As I walk on, past all the smart interior design and photo-gallery shops, I think about this coming weekend. I might see if Jack wants to stay. While it is nice to have the weekends to myself, maybe he could just stay tonight? I know it’s not the deal: that’s probably why Jack hasn’t mentioned it. He doesn’t pay to stay for the weekend, but strictly speaking, I’m not Jack’s Monday to Friday landlady any more, am I? I wonder in fact, if I should charge him for living at No. 21 at all? I feel guilty charging him when he takes me out all the time. No! I have to! His rent helps towards my mortgage … but I could offer him the weekends for free.

  ‘I can’t, Gilly babes,’ he says when I call him from the shop. Normally I don’t make too many private calls from work, especially not with Mari’s beady eye on me, but she and Basil are on a long weekend break in Cornwall, spending time with her mother.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, it was just a thought.’ I twist the telephone cable, wishing I hadn’t asked.

  ‘I’ve got this family thing on and…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I repeat. ‘Really, it was just a thought.’

  ‘Maybe another time, OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, hiding my disappointment. While I love our evenings, I want to have some slow time with Jack. No racing to work but breakfast in bed, coffee and a walk in the park, a film and a pizza. I want the opportunity to tell him about my birthday party.

  ‘Got to run. See you Monday.’

  I hang up. ‘Yep, see you Monday.’

  Later on in the afternoon I open the writing book Guy gave me. Since he’s been away I’ve barely picked up my pen. I read his message inside again. Maybe this is your something. I can hear him ticking me off, asking me what I’ve been doing with my time. Why haven’t I started? Why am I so scared of failure? I open the book, determined to make some progress when the doorbell tinkles and in he comes, Mr Platter Man. Ruskin barks, but I pull him back onto the sofa. Today the old man’s wearing a diamond-checked tanktop over a pair of mustard-coloured trousers and he’s carrying a canvas bag with bumblebees on it. ‘Oh … er … hello,’ he says, ‘I was just … er … just …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wondering … um … do you … er … sell … er … irons?’

  ‘Onions?’ I mishear.

  He chuckles. ‘No, dear … er … irons?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, no. We sell antiques, unless you’re after an old iron? You might find something in the Portobello.’

  He’s not sure.

  ‘How about Peter Jones?’ I say, showing him to the door and directing him to the department store again. ‘Did you find your plates, by the way?’

  ‘Platters? Er … no.’ He looks confused, loses his balance and staggers back, grabbing hold of the doorknob.

  Next thing I know, I’m ushering him back into the shop and offering him a cup of tea and a custard cream, and telling him to come and meet my Ruskin. Over tea (lots of slurps) I discover his name is Dennis. He’s seventy-nine and he lives in Victoria. Ruskin attempts to sit on the man’s bony lap, ‘He wants to give you a kiss,’ I tell him. Dennis blushes profusely, gently stroking my boy.

  ‘You’re a man, Dennis, I need some advice,’ I say, when we’re on our second cup of tea.

  ‘Oh … I’m not … very … er … qualified.’

  ‘Oh yes you are,’ I say, not allowing him to get out of it. I tell him about Jack, more to get it off my chest than ex
pecting Dennis to understand. I find myself confiding that Jack never wants to stay at the weekend. I leave out no detail. ‘I have no idea what he gets up to, Dennis. Would you ask him outright if he’s got a family or some deep dark secret? What would you do?’

  Dennis takes a long time considering this, as he munches his biscuit. He rests a hand against his ear, thinking deeply.

  ‘I don’t … er … know,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ I smile, putting him at ease. ‘Here, have another biscuit.’

  He refuses another, winding himself up to say something more. ‘I think … er … Gilly … he sounds like … er … a bad … er … egg.’

  On Sunday afternoon, curled up on the sofa, Eastenders omnibus playing in the background, I call Jack, but his phone goes straight into answer machine mode. I decide against leaving a message. I try to picture what he gets up to at the weekend. Why would I even doubt that he lives in Bath? That he has made up this excuse of having a ‘family thing’ on?

  Later on that evening Mum calls, telling me there’s a heatwave in Perth, unusual for this time of year. Then she wants to know my news. I find myself describing Jack to her, though I don’t go into all the detail. ‘What is it?’ she asks. ‘Something’s worrying you, I can tell.’

  If Mum were sitting on the sofa next to me, I’d probably tell her; or if she lived a couple of hours’ drive away I might even get into the car, but … ‘Nothing’s worrying me,’ I say. ‘Really. I’m having a great time.’

  31

  Susie, Anna and I are out at Susie’s local pub, the Owl and the Pussy Cat. It’s a lively place, with candles on wooden tables, comfortable leather sofas to sink into and a fireplace where the owner’s cat, Pickles, is always found sleeping. Anna is filling us in on how it’s going with Paul.

  ‘Love that by the way,’ Susie says, gesturing to my turquoise top that I’m wearing with jeans.

  ‘I thought it was new,’ Anna smiles, and briefly I tell them about my shopping trip with Nancy.