Behaving Like Adults (50 page)

‘We must,' I replied, smiling.

Nige wedged the greater half of an iced currant bun into his mouth – ‘surprisingly low fat, darling, muffins are
heinous
in comparison' – and grew serious. ‘Look,' he said. ‘I don't mean to go behind Claw's back – well, actually I do – but I did her that favour. I mimicked the client, I fooled Stuart. According to Camille, he hared out the office at speed. I presume she found what she was looking for in his files, I haven't spoken to her yet. But Hol. I've got a bad feeling about this. What I did was illegal. If Stuart
is
defrauding your parents and it goes to court, we could all be in trouble. And I'm not talking about me being outed as a criminal on page seven of
News of the World
. I know less than nothing about law, but if his defence finds out how Camille got the evidence, wouldn't that make the case invalid?'

I lifted my hands. ‘Nige. I have no idea.' I picked at the crumbs on my plate. The quaint decor of Patisserie Valerie was intended to encourage a higher standard of etiquette than Martha's Got Buns, but I was too jittery to care. ‘I'm sorry they got you involved. To be honest, I don't know what's going on but I'm pretty certain it'll end in disaster. When did you speak to Stuart? Yesterday? Wednesday. Wednesday
is
yesterday. Well, the thing is, Claudia's furious with me – oh, too silly to go into – she's not really telling me anything and I don't feel like asking.'

‘
I
could ask.'

I looked at Nige's eager face.

‘Nige. Just don't. It's too risky, the whole thing. And it's complicated, more so than Claudia thinks.' I paused. I had to tell
someone
, if only to receive the reassurance that friends so willingly give when it's not their problem. ‘Stuart's suing me. For defamation.'

‘What!' screeched Nige. Every head in Patisserie Valerie turned in its crisply starched white collar. ‘What?' repeated Nige, this time in a whisper.

I wormed in my seat. ‘I know, I know. I got a writ. So far
I've done the adult thing and ignored it. I had twenty-eight days to reply. Only a week or so down.'

‘Darling, you have to consult a lawyer. It's outrageous. What a load of crap. God, he's scum.'

‘I don't
know
any lawyers. Well. Nick's father, Michael. But.'

‘What?'

‘Nick offered, I declined – I wasn't ready for him to know. Now I suppose I am, but I don't feel I can ask him without Nick's permission, and Nick is in a, mm, bit of a huff with me at the moment.'

‘Balls,' said Nige rudely. ‘Nick doesn't know the meaning of huff! If he knew you wanted Michael's advice on this, he'd ask him. Oh, come on, the man dotes on you – there's not many blokes who'd take out a loan and stick it into their
ex
-girlfriend's faltering business . . . aaaaahhh, you didn't know.' Nige groaned like a dying horse, causing heads to swivel again. I spluttered my cup of coffee all over the table, but by then the clientele had cricks in their necks and didn't bother looking.

‘You're joking.'

‘Yes,' said Nige hopefully. ‘Ah Christ. He said he owed you after five years of squandering your cash. But please don't let on you know. Claw'll kill me. Are you rabid?'

I thought for a second. Should I be? On behalf of feminism, if nothing else? But I wasn't. I was touched to my soul. And the bastard was right – all those copies of
What Hi-fi?
– damn right he owed me!

I shook my head and slapped a twenty on the table. (Nige might have taken over from the star but he was still being paid his understudy's wage.) ‘I won't say anything. Although I will say that only Nick could take out a loan to save my business, then take a job at that business to repay the loan!' I shook my head again. ‘Berk! I'd better get to work, and you, I'm sure have to get back to bed. It's sweet of you to worry about the writ, but don't. I will sort it out.'

Nige was frowning as he received his kiss.

Thursday and Friday in the office were a struggle in roughly the same way that World War Two was a struggle. Claudia didn't say whether or not Camille had found the incriminating evidence. She seemed to be in such a foul temper I didn't want to provoke her by asking. Nick was equally discomfiting to be around. Every time I attempted to send him a fond glance, he ignored it. The two of them sat in front of their screens tapping in silence. If they had to speak on the phone, they'd force civility, but a scowl would settle the second the call ended. When Issy asked if Nick had done anything nice recently, he replied, ‘I watched Michael J Fox in
Teen Wolf
.'

This ended the conversation.

At one point, Issy and I took refuge at Martha's.

‘Whatever is going on?' murmured Issy, sipping at her tea. ‘It's so hostile in there.'

She paused, so did I. ‘Actually,' she said. ‘Don't ask me how, but I know what's going on with Nick.'

I started. ‘You do? How? He didn't tell you, did he?'

Issy merely raised her neatly plucked eyebrows, referring me to her last statement. ‘What's Claudia's problem?'

If Issy doesn't want to tell you something, you could pin her to the ceiling by her earlobes, she wouldn't breathe a word. I filed my interest in Nick, took a breath and related the baby saga. By then I'd honed the tale down to three minutes. ‘I feel terrible, letting the family down like this. I'm sorry Iz. I know you were looking forward to a cousin for Eden. But before you say anything,' I added, ‘I'm in analysis, whatever you call it. I'm going to break it to Mum and Dad at the weekend.' I stopped. ‘I don't know if Claudia's more angry about the non-existence of the baby or the non-existence of my sanity.'

I expected harsh words from Issy – she'd never held back in the past – but instead she covered my hands with hers.

‘Ah, Holly,' she said. ‘I'm so sorry. But, truthfully, I'm not that surprised. You experienced the ultimate
disempowerment. Control was taken away from you in the most brutal manner. Rape is not about sex, it's about power. The emotional consequences can last a lifetime. You are doing
so
well, but it was never going to be a breeze. All your mind was doing was trying to help you cope. You wanted a baby to fast foward over what has happened to you. It
would
have been the perfect excuse not to process the trauma, motherhood would have been your priority, enabling you to pretend that Stuart never happened. But then, you would have just been storing up pain for later on.'

She squeezed my hand, extremely hard. ‘Denial is a defence mechanism, Hol, and all defence mechanisms work by distorting the truth. They try to protect us from the truth, in this case by diverting attention to someone else. The danger is that we become out of touch with reality. We relate to the world and the people around us falsely. Eventually, something happens to puncture our defence.'

She muttered something I didn't catch.

‘Pardon?' I said.

‘Nothing.'

I peered at her. What she said made sense to me, and it was a relief to hear it. I'd never thought that having a psychologist in the family was
useful
– I'd have swapped her for a good old-fashioned doctor any day – but now I was purring with gratitude. Instead of analysing my behaviour in the unflattering and frankly alarming light that was her, habit, she'd claimed to understand me. And when you think you might be teetering on lunacy's edge, the peace afforded by an expert – or rather
two
experts – saying ‘no, no, perfectly normal!' cannot be underestimated. I suddenly felt quite bouncy, but Issy's empathy seemed to fade.

A faint tremor around her mouth.

‘What, Iz?'

She gulped. Shook her head. Huffed through her nose.
‘Here I am,' she said, ‘preaching to you about denial. When I'm the worst offender I know.' She smiled weakly. ‘Denial. Off the record, I recommend it. What idiot would embrace awareness, when the closer you get, the more anxious and miserable you become?'

She'd lost me. I thought I was keeping up, I was mistaken. It was the same feeling I got when attempting to read Don DeLillo.

Issy stabbed at her rock cake with her knife. ‘Frank's having an affair. I've been kidding myself that he isn't for months now. I can't do it any more.' She threw down the knife, crumpled her napkin, dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry. I hate to make a scene.'

It was my turn to squeeze
her
hand. Rachel. I knew it. ‘Issy, that's terrible, I'm so sorry. Is there . . . do you know for sure? You haven't, er, caught him in the act, er have you?'

She shook her head. ‘Phone calls to the same number. Mysterious late nights. Unexplained disappearances from work in the middle of the day. But it's more than that. It's his atttitude towards me.'

‘Cold?'

‘No! Extra loving! Guilt!' she hissed. She lifted her gaze to mine. ‘I know who it is.' Her voice turned shrill.

My mouth was dry.

‘Your friend Rachel.'

To her credit, Issy managed not to emphasise ‘your'.

‘Oh God,' I whispered. The irony was, Rachel considered herself a good friend of mine and yet at the same time was capable of betraying me and my whole family with a clear conscience. She didn't have the same social ties as other people. I'll always remember remarking on her room at college. All the students, myself included, feverishly covered every inch of their walls with posters of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean,
Taxi Driver
, the usual. Rachel's walls remained bare. ‘I don't,' she said when I questioned her, ‘feel the need to externalise my personality for the benefit of others.'

‘Oh Issy.'

‘I found her card in his pocket. It's
her
number he's been calling. The other night he came home with
lipstick
on his cheek!'

This was indefensible. I tried, feebly, to defend it. ‘Thing is, Issy, that anyone who comes into contact with Rachel comes away with lipstick on their cheek. No one ever tells you and you spend the whole day looking like something out of
Risky Business
.'

Issy bristled. ‘Yes, Sherlock, but ask yourself what was he
doing
with her in the first place? At least do me the courtesy of allowing me my pain. If you minimise it, or disbelieve me, you make it worse.'

‘Sorry,' I said, chastened. ‘Of course. What are you going to do?'

‘Don't breathe a word to that slut friend of yours. I plan to confront him. It's our tenth anniversary soon. I'll do it then. He'll book somewhere glamorous, exclusive and expensive for dinner, and I intend to stand up, in front of London's snootiest, and throw the vintage champagne in his bastard two-timing face.'

It was reassuring to see how the expert in human behaviour was so much more refined in resolving relationship conflict than the rest of us. Issy and I dragged our heels back to the office, dreaming of Saturday.

Saturday arrived, although it damn well took its time. My mother rang at ten thirty (‘I worry about waking you up otherwise') to check it was still convenient for me to visit. No doubt Claudia had received an identical call.

‘This is ridiculous,' I thought, and dialled Claudia's number. ‘Hi, it's me,' I said. ‘Just so you know, I told Nick the truth – as you might have guessed from his demeanour today. The engagement is off, obviously.'

‘
Hi
, you,' she cried. ‘I know. He said. I'm sorry.'

‘I'm sorry too.'

We giggled.

‘Do you want to drive to Em and Dee's together?' I asked.

‘Defo. What time?'

‘One?'

‘I'll pick you up.'

I sighed with relief. Claw was the most aggressive driver I knew and the journey was bound to take a year off my life, but at least she and I were friends again. Nick, though, was going to be harder. That morning, I'd picked up the book he'd thrown across the room.
The Social Baby
. It contained a series of photographs of a baby moments after birth, showing how it was fascinated by its mother's face and intolerant of any interruption (the midwife, picking it up to be weighed, the father, stroking its brow). Further pictures showed it reacting to the sound of its mother's voice, straining eagerly in the direction of the sound. And in an illustrated experiment, another newborn had a pad placed either side of it. One smelt of its mother, the other of a stranger. Even when the pads were switched, the baby turned towards the pad that smelt of its mother, focusing on it seventy-three per cent of the time.

I'd slammed shut
The Social Baby
.

Oh Nick. What must he have felt, reading that? To think of yourself, new to the world, wanting your mother,
knowing
your mother, reaching for her, getting a stranger. To feel scared and alone, and yet to have no understanding of why. To hope and hope and hope, until that hope slowly ebbs away.

I decided to take whatever he threw at me (books, blame . . .). I had to show him that, despite our shaky past, I
would
stand by him. He could push me, but this time I wouldn't go. Someone in his life had to stay. I wanted him to see this. Even if our relationship was over, I could be his friend. The world owed him
that
.

‘So today's the day,' said Claudia, as we checked on our food supplies. (A barrel of Minstrels, left over from a cinema visit, four cans of Coke. We were travelling light.)
My stomach lurched. I presumed she was referring to the fact that, in roughly two hours, I'd be breaking the baby news to my heartbroken parents.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘It's going to be a complete nightmare.'

Claw gave me a foul look, as she turned into the traffic. ‘Thanks for your support, Hol. That really – fuck off, you fucking wanker, you drive a fucking Lada, for fuck's sake – helps my confidence.'