Got You Back (6 page)

Katie had begun by feeling she could definitely help Owen. He clearly had self-esteem issues and she wanted to do all she could to enable him to regain his confidence. Besides, the twenty-five pounds he paid her for each session came in handy. Although he hadn't actually paid her anything for a good few weeks now. Feeling sorry for him, she had agreed they could set up a tab and he could pay her once he had got back on his feet. The bill now ran to more than a hundred pounds.

Gradually, though, Owen had begun to worry her. She
would catch him gazing at her trustingly, hanging on her every word. Once, he had got up the courage to ask her out for a meal and she had had to let him down gently. Let him know that, as his — what would she call herself? — complementary therapist, it would be unethical. That, even if that wasn't the case, she had a boyfriend. He had been very sweet about it, told her that one of the things he liked most about her was the fact that she was loyal to James. For weeks afterwards, though, he had spent the sessions discussing his inadequacy with women, his hurt and anger that life had dealt him a bad hand, his deep-rooted feelings of worthlessness while she slipped needles into his scalp. Truthfully, although Katie wasn't afraid of Owen — she didn't feel like he was about to pounce on her or make inappropriate suggestions — she had started to feel out of her depth. She wasn't qualified to handle his genuine emotional problems. Owen, she had come to understand, needed proper help. She had tried to raise this with him, had suggested he see his GP and get referred to someone who had a degree and some clinical experience, but he had got upset. He hadn't wanted to listen.

This morning's session hadn't been any better. They had talked about the usual things, Owen's loneliness, his lack of self-worth, and Katie had suggested burning ylang-ylang oil to elevate his mood. ‘I know I keep saying this,’ she had said, ‘but why don't you think again about moving? It's unhealthy living so close to something that makes you unhappy.’

‘Why should I be driven out by them?’ he'd said as he'd said several times before.

‘You mustn't look at it like that. You've got to think about what's best for you.’

‘If I move out they've won,’ Owen had said huffily.

‘It's not a game, Owen. There's no question of anyone winning or anyone losing for that matter.’

‘You don't understand.’

‘Do you know what?’ she'd said gently. ‘I don't, I really don't. That's why maybe it'd be better if I just left you to relax. Let the needles do their work.’

‘No. Don't go. I feel better when we chat about stuff.’

‘You know I'm not a real therapist,’ she'd said, laughing, ‘and I might be giving you all the wrong advice.’

‘That's OK,’ he'd said, smiling back. ‘I ignore it all anyway.’

So she'd stayed, although she had felt distracted, not in the mood to listen to Owen's self-pity, because of the phone call she had received just before he had arrived.

James had been gone for about an hour and Katie had been tidying the house, trying to make it look like a professional, calming space where she could receive her clients. She was lighting the burners to rid the spare room of the Stanley smell when her mobile had rung. She had looked at the screen, she didn't recognize the number — it could have been anyone — but Katie always saw her phone ringing as an opportunity. You never knew what life might throw at you, her mother had always said. Grasp everything by the throat and make the most of it. It would never have occurred to her not to answer.

‘Hello,’ she'd said, in her most positive voice. She had read somewhere that because of the lack of visual clues people sounded more bored and disconnected on the
phone than they actually were. It was important to project positivity. Smile while you talk, the article had said, and the person at the other end will pick up on it.

There was a moment's silence, then a voice had said, ‘Is that Katie?’

‘It is,’ she'd said cheerfully.

‘This is Stephanie Mortimer.’

Katie had thought quickly. Stephanie, that was the name of James's wife. They had never spoken before but, she'd thought nervously, Stephanie didn't sound as if she was brimming with friendliness.

‘Hi, Stephanie. How nice to talk to you finally.’

There had been a long silence. Katie had grown anxious. ‘There's nothing wrong, is there? James hasn't had an accident or anything?’

‘Do you know who I am?’ Stephanie had said. ‘I'm James's wife.’

‘Of course I know who you are —’ Katie had said, and then the doorbell had rung. Owen, bang on time for his appointment as ever. ‘Stephanie, I'm really sorry but I have to go. Can I call you back later? On the number that came up?’

‘OK.’ Stephanie had sounded taken aback. ‘I'm around all morning.’

So now Katie couldn't concentrate. This was an event, a milestone. OK, so Stephanie didn't sound like a barrel of laughs but once they'd started to talk she knew they'd get on fine. Katie got on with everyone. And then it would be only a matter of time before Stephanie suggested that James bring Finn up for a couple of days and they could all start to play Happy Families.

9

Stephanie put the phone down and wondered if she had imagined what had just happened. It had taken her two or three false starts before she had been able to go through with dialling Katie's number. She had sent Natasha off window-shopping around Sloane Street, armed with Meredith's measurements, a Polaroid camera and a notebook. She knew that even if she'd got her to sit in the room next door Natasha wouldn't have been able to resist putting her ear to the door and listening in to her conversation, and Stephanie didn't think she could perform with an audience.

She had gone over and over in her head what she planned to say to Katie. She would announce herself with dignity — she was determined not to get hysterical, she didn't want to give Katie the excuse to think, Oh, I can see why he wouldn't want to be with her. ‘I am Stephanie, James's wife,’ she intended to say but then it was hard to imagine how things might go after that because Katie might either deny all knowledge of James or she might break down remorsefully and beg forgiveness. Stephanie was hoping it would be the latter — not because she intended to forgive her, far from it, but because an out-and-out denial would be so hard to deal with: she would feel that Katie had the upper hand. What she certainly hadn't been prepared for was the easy friendliness of
Katie's ‘Hi, Stephanie’, the confidence of her ‘How nice to talk to you finally.’

She had no idea what to do now. The next move was Katie's and that made Stephanie feel very uncomfortable. If she hadn't heard Katie's doorbell ring for herself she would have thought she was making up the interruption to get off the phone, giving herself the psychological advantage. I mustn't get any more paranoid than I already am, she reproached herself. All she could do now was sit and wait. If Katie didn't call her back she would try again and then again and again until she got her. She wasn't going to let her get away with it that easily.

James will soon be on his way back to London, she thought, dreading his arrival. She wanted to be fully appraised of what was going on before he got home. Forewarned is forearmed and all that bollocks. She tried to call Natasha, but her phone went straight to voicemail meaning she was probably on the tube, so she rang Cassie and listened gratefully as she rambled on about a conversation she had had with one of the other nannies on the school run.

She looked at her watch; ten fifteen. She was scared to move from her desk, even to go to the bathroom, in case Katie rang and she missed the call. Why hadn't she rung her from her mobile? She decided she needed a displacement activity and that tidying the office might be just the thing. It was about forty-five minutes later, while she was knee-deep in a selection of this season's belts and clutch bags, that the telephone rang. She almost fell flat on her face running to answer it.

‘Stephanie Mortimer,’ she said, trying not to sound out
of breath, which could be misinterpreted as nervousness and therefore weakness.

‘Stephanie, hi, it's Katie.’

There it was again, that unrepentant tone. What was wrong with the woman? Didn't she feel the tiniest bit ashamed of what she'd done — what she was still doing? ‘Hello,’ Stephanie said evenly. ‘Thank you for calling back.’

‘ That's OK. So… erm… it's great to talk to you.’

Maybe there's something wrong with her, Stephanie thought. She's bipolar or amnesiac or something. ‘Katie, maybe you didn't hear what I said before. I'm James's
wife
. I know about the two of you.’

She thought she heard Katie gulp. In fact she did but not for the reason she thought. Katie was, in fact, swigging from a bottle of Evian water as she spoke.

‘Of course you do. James told me he'd told you.’

Now Stephanie was really confused. And, what was more, she was growing irritated. This wasn't playing out in any of the ways she'd imagined. ‘James didn't tell me. I saw one of your text messages. Accidentally. I wasn't looking or anything.’ She didn't want this woman to think she was the jealous, irrational type.

Now it was Katie's turn to sound confused. ‘Well, maybe I've got it wrong. I thought he told me he'd told you himself because he didn't want you to hear anything on the grapevine, you know. In case you bumped into anybody you knew from up here and it was a bit awkward.’ Katie was beginning to wish she hadn't called back without talking to James first. Clearly Stephanie had issues. Maybe the break-up hadn't been as amicable as James
had made out. In fact, she
had
tried to ring him, once Owen had left, but James, who must have had his hand up in the inside of a cow somewhere, hadn't answered. ‘Either way, I'm glad you do know. It's much more civilized that way, don't you think? Everything out in the open.’

‘That's all you can say? “I'm glad you do know,’” Stephanie snapped. ‘How about “sorry” or that you feel ashamed of yourself or something? You're fucking my husband after all.’

Katie flinched, as much from the language as from the implication behind Stephanie's accusation. She rarely swore. She didn't believe it was necessary or, at least, only as a last resort. ‘Ex-husband,’ she said cautiously. Clearly Stephanie was a bit unhinged.

Stephanie stopped dead in her tracks. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said he's your ex-husband. The man I'm… the man I'm going out with. If you have a problem with that, then that's between you and him.’

‘He told you we're separated?’

‘Of course,’ Katie said anxiously. ‘You are, aren't you?’

‘No,’ Stephanie said. ‘Not the last time I looked, anyway.’

Katie felt as if she were falling down a rabbit hole. Wind rushed past her ears and the floor seemed to be slipping away from her. ‘What about Peter and Abi?’ she said, quietly.

‘Who?’

‘Peter and Abi. The people he lodges with when he's
in London. What about the put-me-up and Abi's bad cooking and Peter's terrible jokes?’

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,’ Stephanie said. ‘When James is in London he lives with me. In our house. With our son.’

Katie knew all about denial. It was a defence mechanism that protected the deluded person from having to deal with the gravity of something that had happened to them, hopefully until they were strong enough to take the consequences. A year and a half seemed like a long time to still not be acknowledging that your husband had moved out though. She was sure she read somewhere in one of her many self-help books that you shouldn't indulge deluded people in their fantasies. She took a deep breath. ‘I'm really sorry, Stephanie, and know this must be hard for you to accept but James is with me now. There's nothing you can do to change what's happened. You have to move on.’

Stephanie felt a shot of adrenalin-fuelled oxygen flood her brain. This was like a bad dream. She had thought Katie might deny her involvement with James but what she had never — could never have — imagined was that Katie would actually deny Stephanie's relationship with him. She knew though, as soon as Katie spoke to her in that rather patronizing way, that Katie believed she was telling the truth. There was no doubt in Stephanie's mind that James had convinced his mistress that his marriage was over.

‘Katie,’ she said, trying to stay calm, ‘I don't know what James has told you… Well, actually I do. He's clearly told you that we're no longer together — but the truth is
he's lying. He's deceiving me and he's clearly deceiving you…’

She stopped as Katie interrupted, her voice a little wobbly: ‘I have to go, Stephanie, I'm afraid. I have another client. It was nice to talk to you and I'm really sorry, I am, that you're finding it so hard.’

Katie had said goodbye and put the phone down before Stephanie had a chance to respond. She put her head in her hands. Now what?

10

Once she had ended the call Katie started to shake. She had so often fantasized about finally getting to speak to Stephanie and consolidating her new little family, but in none of those fantasies had it ever turned out like this. Stephanie had sounded, well, crazy; deluded and angry and accusatory all at the same time. Poor woman, Katie thought. I had no idea she was this unhappy. James had always made it sound as if Stephanie had been behind the split, as if she'd put her ambition before her marriage without a second thought.

I have to speak to James, she thought, picking up the phone again and calling his mobile. The call went straight to voicemail, as it so often did when he was working. She panicked a bit about leaving him a message, not wanting to worry him, so she settled for a warm, calm ‘Hello, lovely,’ followed by ‘Give me a ring if you get a moment,’ and left it at that. Hopefully he would call her back before he left for London because once he was there communication was always a bit more hit-and-miss. James had always told her that his phone got no reception at Peter and Abi's flat in Swiss Cottage and that in order to call her he had to risk life and limb climbing out on to their first-floor flat roof. There was no point her ever phoning him in the evenings therefore, and he had never got round to giving her Peter and Abi's home
number. A hot arrow shot through her. She didn't even know their surname, she realized now, she had never thought to ask — why would she? — so she couldn't even ring
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and get their number for herself.