Getting Rid of Matthew (16 page)

Leo Shallcross.

Matthew's son.

20

H
ELEN HAD STAYED
at her desk, turning the small white card over and over in her fingers for several minutes. She simply couldn't compute what she was seeing; she must have picked up the wrong piece of paper at home somehow and Sonny's number was…where? She knew she had transferred it from the pocket of her jeans to her bag in one sneaky movement, making sure that Matthew didn't see and ask her what it was. There was no way it could have gotten mixed up with anything else. Which could only mean one thing. Sonny was Leo and Leo was Matthew's son by his first wife, Hannah. The one he seemed to have next to no contact with. She went out into the stairwell and called Sophie.

"How's it going with Sonny?" Sophie asked, after they'd exchanged pleasantries. "He said you thought you might be able to help him out."

"Why do you call him Sonny?" Helen asked, trying to sound casual. "It says on his business card that his name's…Leo Shall-cross." She tried to make it sound as if she were reading it for the first time.

"Oh…" Sophie laughed. "It is. I just call him Sonny because he's my stepson. He's Matthew's oldest, didn't I tell you about him? And when I first met him, there was this grown man who I was suddenly supposed to be stepmother to, so I called him it as a joke, to wind him up, and it just sort of stuck. I can't imagine calling him Leo now. Sorry, I should have told you."

Oh, fuck, thought Helen. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Sophie was still talking. "So…he said you got on really well, and you might have time to do some stuff for him…"

"I'm not sure," Helen said, desperate to get off the phone. "Maybe. I've got a lot on at the moment, is all. Anyway, didn't you say Matthew worked in PR himself, so wouldn't it make more sense if he took on the account for the restaurant? You know, discount for family and all that."

"Stop trying to do yourself out of a job…"

Helen cut her off. "Listen, Sophie, I have to go, I've got a deadline."

"Are we still on for Wednesday night?" Sophie was saying.

"Yes, fine. I'll see you there." Helen punched the phone off before Sophie could say good-bye.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

She tried to picture Matthew as he would have been at thirty-eight. Would he have looked like Leo? They had those same fucking bright-blue eyes; why hadn't she noticed? But then Leo was darker—of course he was darker, Matthew had gone gray already—and Leo didn't have the Shallcross nose. His was narrower, straighter, Paul Newman to Matthew's Dustin Hoffman.

Oh, God, I've kissed my boyfriend's son, she thought and, forgetting that Leo was way closer in age to her than Matthew was, she decided that that made her a child molester or some kind of pervert, anyway. There was bound to be a name for it. Matthew had changed his nappies (well probably not, knowing Matthew, but anyway) and now she was practically having sex with him. There was no one in the world it would have been worse for her to have kissed—well Suzanne or Claudia maybe, or his mother. Oh, God, she was like one of those teachers you saw on the news who ended up in prison, pregnant by a fifteen-year-old boy in her English class that she'd forced herself on at break time.

She sat down on the top step, trying to figure out what to do. In fact, she thought, there isn't even anything to figure out. I can't do the job, I can't see him again, end of story. I have to ring him now and tell him that I'm too busy. That's the end of it and that's the end of my shot at getting something on my CV. She walked back through to her desk to find his number, but Laura was there, rooting through the piles of paper.

"This is good," she said, holding up the half-written release.

"I haven't finished it yet," Helen answered defensively.

"I know, I'm just saying, what you've done so far is good. I'll need it in the next ten minutes or so, though."

"No problem." Helen took the early draft back from her and sat down at her computer. She'd just finish this before she made the call.

Ten minutes later she was in Laura's office, waiting as her boss read over the final version of the press release.

"Great," Laura said. "I don't need to change anything."

"No problem," said Helen, turning to go.

"Oh," said Laura, "one other thing. Sandra Hepburn wants us to come up with a stunt—something to get her maximum coverage on the weekend before the Ace Awards nominations are announced. You know the kind of thing, think Gail Porter on the side of Big Ben. I'm struggling, so if you have any ideas…"

"Why are you asking me?" Helen said suspiciously. What was it with Laura all of a sudden?

"I'm asking everybody," Laura said calmly.

"I'll have a think," said Helen, backing out. It was one o'clock; she really must phone Sonny. Leo. She must phone Leo.

Back at her desk, she could see that her in-box had one new message. Ignore it, she told herself. Ring Leo and then look at it. But it was an irresistible potential way to avoid making the call for another five minutes. I'll just see who it's from, she thought, then I'll call. She clicked on the message, which was under the unfamiliar name Helen Sweeney. Helen-from-Accounts, of course it was. Truthfully, she couldn't really care less what the message had to say, but she read it anyway to kill a bit more time.

Dear Helen,
it said,
I wanted to say thank you for being so nice to me this morning. I know we haven't always been the best of friends
(we're still not, Helen thought to herself, don't kid yourself ),
and I want to apologize if I've ever been anything other than generous towards you. I've been thinking about what you said about me and Geoff and I've decided I'm going to ring him this evening and sort everything out. Thanks again.

Helen peered over the top of her computer and could see the other Helen smiling at her. She smiled back, baring her teeth, then looked at her watch—five past one. OK, hopefully Leo would be having some kind of business lunch with his phone turned off and she could just leave a message—"Sorry, something's come up" or "There's been a death in my family." No, too drastic. How about "One of my regular clients has got in a bit of trouble and I need to try and keep it out of the papers, so I've promised him I'll concentrate on him, and nothing but him, for a few days. His life…no…his marriage depends on it." Yes, that'd do. Throw in a few hints that the fictional client was someone very important. Promise to call Leo in a week or so's time, when it was all sorted, to see how he was getting on, and then forget she'd ever met him. Perfect. It was a shame, but it was so, so much better that she distanced herself from him now rather than further down the line, when who knew what might have happened. She thought briefly of his hand on top of hers across the restaurant table, and then pushed that thought from her mind.

Back out in the stairwell she dialed his number and then crossed her fingers, waiting for the answerphone to kick in. Shit, it was ringing. She was about to hang up—he'd get a missed call, he'd know she'd tried him, then she'd just keep her phone switched off for the rest of the day, and the evening, and tomorrow—when he answered breathlessly.

"Eleanor! I was just thinking about you. How's it going?"

"Er…OK…but…"

She tried to remember her prepared script.

"Erm…"

"In fact," Leo was saying, "I've been thinking about you all weekend. I know I shouldn't say that, I mean, I know we're not going to talk about stuff like that until your situation's different, if it ever is, I mean, I'm not assuming. God, I'm rambling. Sorry."

"It's OK. Listen, Sonny…I mean Leo. Should I call you Leo, now? Anyway, something's come up."

And she told him the excuse she had concocted, although, she thought later, she'd elaborated too much, adding in class-A drugs and illegal payments and rumors of homosexuality.

Leo sounded devastated. She knew it was as much for the fact that he wouldn't be seeing her on a regular basis as that she wouldn't be doing his PR for him. He could get another PR person.

"I'm really sorry, I know I've wasted your time and everything…"

"No, Eleanor, listen, it's OK, I understand. I'm just disappointed, that's all. I thought you'd do a great job and we'd get to see more of each other…"

"Sorry, Leo, really I am. I hope you get someone good. And I hope the restaurant's a huge success, I'm sure it will be."

"Maybe we could go for a drink…sometime…" he was saying.

"No. I don't think so. It's just…it's difficult at the moment. I'm a bit, you know, a bit busy. Oh, God, I have to go, the
News of the World
are on the other line."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How d'you know it's the
News of the World
if you haven't answered it yet?"

"Because they said they'd call me back and my other line's ringing so it must be them."

"I can't hear it."

"Flashing, it's flashing. Ringing's just what you say, isn't it? You'd never say, 'I have to go, my other line's flashing.'"

"Wouldn't you?"

"No, it'd sound stupid, 'My phone's flashing.'"

"If you say so. OK, well, you'd better go, then, don't want to keep the
News of the World
waiting. Bye, Eleanor."

Oh, shit.

"Bye, I'll call you in a week or so, see how you're getting on."

"Yes, you do that," Leo said without conviction, and put the phone down.

Fuck.

Well, Helen thought, still sitting on the top step, I've well and truly blown that. But then it was well and truly blown anyway, because Sonny wasn't Sonny, handsome young restaurateur with no baggage, he was Leo, son of Matthew, her married boyfriend, and she wasn't Eleanor Whatsherface, PR, she was Helen Williamson, secretary, girlfriend of Leo's married father. So what if Leo had taken offense and probably never wanted to speak to her again? That was for the best. She'd just have to write it off as a meaningless flirtation that never had a chance of going any further. She just wished she hadn't liked him so much. And he hadn't been so good-looking. And funny. And considerate.

She went back to her desk, skipping lunch, and tried to concentrate on coming up with ideas for Laura. Fucking Laura, getting me to do her fucking job for her, she thought.

OK, Sandra Hepburn. Famous for taking her clothes off, would do anything to get in the papers. Literally anything. But it was hard these days to think of anything so extreme that it would guarantee you column inches, because the tabloids were full of young women who had "forgotten" to wear any knickers when they put on their miniskirt and went out and climbed a ladder. Probably the most outrageous stunt Sandra could pull would be to put on a knee-length dress and go to church. Tragedy always sold. If Sandra could pull out a cancerous lump or a dying loved one, that would do it, but Helen had a feeling she'd already sold all of those stories "exclusively" in the past. She could have a liaison. Helen quickly ran through all of Global's male clients to see if any of them was looking for a quick publicity boost. Or one of the women, although the part-time lesbian market had been a bit saturated of late. Come on, Helen said to herself, you're always claiming you have great ideas, where are they? But she couldn't focus on anything except Leo's monotone "Yes, you do that" and the click of the phone cutting off.

She wanted to ring him back and say, "No, you don't understand, I really really really fancy you, but you see, I'm the woman who stole your dad away from your stepmum, so it's all a bit complicated," or "Let's run away together and never tell anyone where we are, especially our families," or even just a pathetic "Can we be friends?", although that would be pointless because, of course, they couldn't.

She jumped as her mobile rang. It had to be him. Maybe he was ringing to say that he knew all about who she really was, but it didn't matter because he was besotted with her anyway, and as soon as she'd resolved the situation with his dad and Sophie, he'd whisk her away for a new life, or even a long weekend. She scrabbled under the papers on her desk to find it. Rachel. Helen decided she couldn't face talking to her friend, so she let it go to answerphone.

"Do you know your phone's ringing?" Jenny said archly from the other side of the office.

"No," said Helen, mobile in hand, mock innocent. "Is it?"

* * *

"Tell me about Leo," she said to Matthew in the car on the way home. His expression clouded.

"What's to tell?" he said miserably. "I know that he despises me for leaving Sophie."

"Why, though?" Helen was genuinely intrigued. "She's not his mother."

"No, but he gets on well with her. When he first met her, he tried to warn her off me, told her I was bound to do the same thing to her as I did to Hannah. And of course, he was proved right. I've barely heard from him in the last few years, mostly I'd hear his news through her."

"You must miss him," Helen said, thinking, I know I do already.

"Every few months he drops in unannounced and stays for dinner."

Helen blanched. "Does he know where you're living now?"

"Oh, yes, I've told him, so, you never know…"

"Lovely," said Helen, feeling sick.

That evening, she fell asleep on the sofa and dreamed that Sandra Hepburn had stripped naked at the opening of Leo's restaurant, Verano, thus giving both herself and Leo some much-needed publicity. Not a bad idea, she thought when she woke up. I'm sure Sandra would be up for it. She fed Norman and sat down on the kitchen floor beside him, scratching him between the ears while he ate.

* * *

Sophie was examining herself in the mirror in a way she had rarely done since she had gotten married, back view, side view, in the harsh light of the bathroom. She wanted Matthew to think she looked good. Not because she cared if he thought she was attractive anymore, she told herself, half convincingly, but because she didn't want him to compare her unfavorably to Helen, she didn't want him to think he'd won the top prize at the raffle.

Leo was coming over to babysit his little sisters, which meant that she would get a chance to ask him about Eleanor. He'd sounded a bit down on the phone and she didn't seem to be doing his PR for him anymore, which Sophie hoped didn't bode badly—in her head, she had already paired off her new friend and her stepson. She wasn't given to matchmaking, especially with family, because it inevitably ended in disaster, but there had been an undeniable spark between them when they met and she'd always hoped Leo would end up with someone she'd get along with. It was a tenuous thing on paper, a relationship with an ex-stepchild, but Sophie had thought of Leo as family for fifteen years and dreaded him meeting a woman who wouldn't understand their bond. Not that Leo had been out with that many women since she'd known him—not for more than a few dates, anyway. He took the whole idea of relationships very seriously, probably as a reaction to his father's complete lack of respect for them.