Love Is a Secret (23 page)

OCTOBER

WHAT MUMS KNOW

JOIN OUR ONLINE DISCUSSIONS ON:

Should couples stay together for the sake of the children?

The best internet filters for kids.

CHUCKLE CORNER FROM PUSHY PRINCESS:

Why does it take one million sperm to fertilise one egg? Because the sperm refuse to stop and ask for directions!

TIP FROM MESSY MUM

Don’t clean up until the end of the day or it will get messed up before your bloke gets back.

THOUGHT TO KEEP YOU SANE FROM BIG MUM

If you don’t like what someone is doing to you, change your reaction to them.

ONLINE DISCUSSION ON BULLYING

From Earth Mother To Mimi: Educational psychologists talk twaddle. Trust me. I was married to one. Your gut instincts are more reliable – and cheaper.

From Expectent Mum To Mimi: Your the one who shud see someone. You must be doing something wrong if your kid is STILL being a dick. No wonder hes being bullied.

36

Accept it. She wasn’t returning his calls because she didn’t want to see him any more. And she was right. They were both married, for crying out loud. But it hurt so much – it was a real physical pain, not being able to talk to her, touch her, be with her, ask her what she thought about the hurtful reply from that stupid woman on
What Mums Know
, which served him right for asking advice from strangers.

Supper. Starving children – well, irritable ones, anyway.
Concentrate
. Mark examined the circle of sliced gammon suspiciously: ‘Peel back for cooking instructions.’

Peel back? Mark tore at the unyielding plastic with his fingers and then his teeth. The pain momentarily relieved the ache in his chest. Blast! The label had torn and the instructions were illegible. He’d head for a compromise and grill them on medium.

There was time to do a bit more work until school pick-up . . . or he could try ringing her just once more. Second thoughts, maybe it was better to email. Less invasive. Less like stalking. Allowing her to reply, if she wanted to.

From: Mark Summers

To: Caroline Crawford

Please ring. Urgent.

Receiving mail
.

He waited, heart pounding, as a message pinged up but it wasn’t from Caroline: it was another brief from a client and . . . what was this?

From: CBX Baby Nests

To: Mark Summers

As from November, we will no longer be requiring your services.

He stared at it, stunned. Then, galvanised into action, he reached for the phone, which, unlike emails, couldn’t be ignored.

‘Mark, I’m sorry.’ The girl at CBX sounded genuinely regretful. ‘They instructed us to use that wording. You know we’ve been taken over by that American firm?’

‘But you said it wasn’t going to change your marketing strategy.’

‘That’s what we were told. But now they want us to use a London PR firm they’ve used before.’

So they wanted a glossy flagship rather than a one-man band in Oxford.

‘To be honest –’ she dropped her voice ‘– lots of us aren’t happy about the changes. I’ve got an interview next week and – sorry, Mark, got to go.’

He sat still for a while, staring at the email. He’d need to find more clients if Freddy and Florrie were going to stay at Coneywood.

The phone! Grateful for an interruption to his dilemma, he seized it, hoping it was Caroline.

‘Mark. Clive here from EFT. Have you seen the magazine?’

It took him a second to register. ‘Not yet.’

‘They’ve got a price wrong.’ Clive’s voice was clipped. ‘We’ve already had two retailers ringing in to complain. I want you to get the magazine to print an apology, making the price clear. And I want another photograph too. We’ve just paid a huge amount of money for an advertorial. They’d better not have messed that up too – unless, of course, it was your fault.’

The implication was that because he’d sent one email to the wrong place he might make another mistake. Mark felt sick. Dimly, he could remember Caroline ringing him in Boots when he’d been sorting Florrie out. Had he been so flummoxed that he’d given her the wrong price or had the mistake been hers?

‘I’ll sort it,’ he said firmly, glancing at the clock. He needed to leave for the school pick-up but this was more urgent. Now, too, he had a bona-fide excuse for getting hold of Caroline. Hastily he dialled her number.

‘Editorial.’

It wasn’t Caroline’s voice.

‘Zelda? This is Mark Summers.’ Briefly, he outlined the problem.

‘Oh dear. Hang on a minute and I’ll check her copy.’

He waited tersely, watching the clock hands move round. Already he was ten minutes late for school. He’d have to ring the kids on the mobile to say he was coming.

‘Looks like she’s put the wrong price, I’m afraid. I’ll send an email to the editor.’

‘My client wants an apology showing the correct price. He also wants a picture.’

‘A picture?’ Zelda sounded bemused. ‘I’m not sure about that, but I’ll let you know.’

And that was that. No proper ‘sorry’. Funny. Caroline seemed too organised to make a gaffe – although everyone did from time to time: his life was full of them.

‘Clive? It’s Mark Summers. They’ve made a mistake their end.’

He took a deep breath. ‘They’re probably going to print an apology.’

‘When?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘I want to know by the close of tomorrow. Otherwise, Mark, I may have to consider terminating our contract.’

Shit.
Shit!
‘I’ll sort it. Don’t worry.’

Without bothering to shut the windows or check that the back door was locked, Mark raced to the car. He was twenty minutes late. In just a month, he had been unfaithful (if not technically) to his wife and lost two clients. How bad could it get?

37

‘Doing anything nice today?’

Caroline glanced up from the computer at Roger, who was about to set off for work. ‘Tennis with the girls.’

‘How nice,’ he said.

‘What about you?’

‘The usual. Meetings all morning and video conference this afternoon. I’ll probably be late. Enjoy the tennis.’

They’d had these conversations before and they were so wearying. The more frenetic Roger’s life at work became, the more he envied her own, more flexible schedule. In the past, she’d felt guilty about this but, somehow, Mark’s attentions had made her stronger.

‘I will.’ She glared at him. ‘I work too, you know. And it’s not as though you haven’t had your share of fun in the past.’

He stared at her stonily. ‘If you can’t put it behind you, Caroline, we don’t stand a chance.’

‘If you hadn’t done it in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this bloody situation,’ she said testily.

‘Goodbye, Caroline.’ For a moment, he looked as though he was about to move forward and peck her cheek, but she turned back to the screen. ‘Do try to keep Georgie off the computer tonight, will you?’ he said tersely from the doorway. ‘I’ve told you before, it’s interfering with her homework. You ought to be more strict. If we get another report like the last one, she should be banned altogether.’

‘If you were at home more,’ she said, ‘you could help me enforce the rules. It’s not easy, you know.’

‘The reason I’m
not
at home more is because I’m the poor sod who’s out there earning the money.’

‘So do I!’

‘But you’re at home more than me so it’s up to you to make Georgie work.’

She could have argued back but there was no point. He always got the better of her, always made her feel inadequate. ‘Fine.’

He picked up his briefcase. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Caroline.’

She clenched her teeth.
Just go.

She waited until the door had slammed before breathing a sigh of relief. Right. She was nearly ready. Put on trainers. Grab a bottle of water. Extra jumper because it was sharp outside. Find racquet. Go to loo.

Afterwords, the soap made her wedding ring rise up her finger. How odd. It had never done that before. Caroline looked at the thin gold band. She had never once removed it – that might have brought bad luck – yet suddenly she had an overwhelming desire to take it off and see how it felt.

Don’t be daft. Dry hands. Set burglar alarm. Get out of house before she did something completely mad. What had come over her? she wondered, as she walked briskly down the road to the club. It was just as well that she had one of her weekly tennis sessions: they made her feel alive, just like the kiss that she couldn’t get out of her head.

Stop right there.
The price of breaking up the family was too great. After all, wasn’t that why she had begged Roger to stay?

The other three were on court already, even though this time she wasn’t late.

‘Hi.’

Ginny, whose girls were at boarding-school and who passed most of her time at the tennis club, glanced at her watch. ‘We’re going to have a quick run round the outside to warm up.’

Caroline’s heart sank. Normally she arrived too late for this. She hated jogging, but there was no escape. Conscious that she was trailing behind, her breasts thumped up and down.
And
she’d forgotten to wear a panty-liner. She gritted her teeth and clenched her pelvic floor muscles as she ran.

‘Right!’ Ginny’s face was glowing with the wind. ‘Mind if I partner Laura? It will give us some practice for the tournament next week. Rough or smooth?’

It was rough. Just her luck. ‘Want to serve, Caro?’ asked her partner Jill, a thin, wiry girl who ran the local branch of the Twins’ & Multiple Births’ Association. ‘I’ve still got problems with my wrist.’

She always said this but it seemed to work a lot better than Caroline’s when it came to backhand. Caroline got her first serve in but then her mind wandered. She hadn’t slept with Mark – and she wouldn’t. She’d make sure that Zelda dealt with him in future. And she’d continue to ignore his mobile messages.

‘Out,’ called Ginny, triumphantly.

Caroline cast an apologetic look at Jill. That was the trouble with doubles. You were responsible for someone else’s points. Just like marriage. When the other failed, you were dragged down with them . . .

‘Isn’t that your phone?’

They were swigging water after the third game, which Caroline and Jill miraculously won, despite Caroline’s inability to concentrate. Each had placed her mobile on the bench in case a child’s school needed her.

‘Sorry. Hello, Caroline speaking.’

‘Caroline, it’s Mark Summers.’

Why the formality, unless he, too, regretted the kiss?

‘Sorry to bother you but I’ve got a problem.’

She listened, perplexed. ‘But I rang you to check the price. I remember.’

‘I know. I remember too.’

‘I don’t get things wrong.’ She felt cross.

‘Well, one of us has.’ He sounded polite but firm. ‘I’m afraid EFT wants an apology.’

‘Diana won’t like that. Look, Mark, I have to go. I’ll talk to Zelda in the office and get back to you.’

‘Thanks. And, Caroline?’

‘Yes?’

‘When will I see you again?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She was aware that three pairs of eyes were on her. ‘Look, must go. ’Bye.’

She
had
been right. She knew it. The price in the copy was the same as she had written in her notebook when Mark gave it to her on the phone.

‘Look at this!’ She thrust the page in front of Zelda. ‘That EFT chap’s moaning because he says I put the wrong price for one of his toys in the educational-toys piece. He wants an apology, can you believe it, when it was his mistake?’

Zelda made a little face. ‘Actually, I’m afraid it might be my fault. I rang to double-check the price just before it went to Production and the EFT salespeople told me it had changed. I thought I’d corrected it but it looks as though I didn’t.’

‘Oh, no! Diana will go mad.’

‘I’m really going to get it this time. I’m so bloody exhausted that I just can’t think straight about anything.’

She
did
look shattered, poor thing. ‘Look, we’ll say it was both of us. Make up something about a muddle when one of us was off.’

‘Can we really?’ Zelda brightened. ‘I’d be so grateful. Diana’s always on the warpath –
no
, not the phone again!’

‘I’ll get it.’

‘Caroline, it’s me.’

Mark’s assumption that she knew who ‘me’ was both annoyed and delighted her. ‘I’ve just found out something that might clarify matters. We were both wrong. The price of that toy had changed but they hadn’t told me. They did, however, tell your colleague Zelda when she rang to check.’

‘So I gather,’ said Caroline, grimly. ‘Unfortunately, it didn’t get altered.’

‘So can I tell my client we’ll get an apology?’

‘I can’t promise anything until I’ve spoken to the editor. I’ll get back to you.’

‘All right. Look, Caroline, I really need to see you. Can I take you out to lunch next week?’

Her hand shook. For the first time she could, ironically, appreciate how Roger had been carried away by his feelings for that woman. But could she do what he had done? Before, it had all seemed romantic, unreal and flattering. But now it was getting serious and her knees were knocking. How could she throw away her children’s security because this man could turn her insides to water?

‘I must go, Mark. ’Bye.’

Zelda watched her closely as she sat down. ‘He sounded persistent. I can’t stand pushy PRs.’

‘Nor me,’ said Caroline firmly.

Should couples stay together for the sake of the children?

Yes. At least, that’s what she’d thought two years ago. Why blow it now?

Before she changed her mind, she picked up the phone. ‘Roger? It’s Caroline.’

Not ‘me’. Not since that time, towards the end of his affair when he had hesitated because he hadn’t known if it was her voice or the other woman’s when she had called.

‘Ben’s working and Georgie’s staying late for another play rehearsal. I wondered if you felt like staying in town for dinner tonight before we go to pick her up.’

No one, thought Caroline, searching for something to say, could accuse her of not trying. Dinner with her husband had seemed like an olive branch at a time when Mark’s voice had sparked off all that guilt. But they had exhausted their usual topics – children, work – and hadn’t even finished the first course. It was an uneasy silence – the silence of an ill-fitting date or an uncomfortable marriage.

My marriage is running on the wrong fuel, she thought suddenly. It would be a good coverline if it wasn’t so painful.

Everyone around her seemed to be chatting, just as she and Mark had during their London lunch and then again in Oxford. What was it that someone had said recently in an interview on
Woman’s Hour
? That was it. Wordplay to women is what foreplay is to men.

‘Are you tired?’ she asked, watching her husband pick at his chicken curry.

‘Not really.’

Another silence.

‘Are you?’

‘Sort of.’ She explained about the price problem that day but he didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. His work was so different from hers – at least the magazine world was relatively easy to understand but accountancy was a mysterious world of figures.

‘What was yours like?’ He nodded at her prawn soufflé.

‘Quite nice. Yours?’

‘OK. Look, Caroline . . .’

Her heart pounded. She’d learned to dread those words. Two years ago, they had prefaced a confession she had never thought to hear. As Jeff had said, if you lined up all the men in the world, Roger was the last you’d expect to be unfaithful.

‘Yes?’ she whispered.

‘I am tired, actually. More so than I realised. Do you mind if we go home?’

‘Fine.’

Instead of being filled with relief that Roger’s coolness was merely down to tiredness – and perhaps boredom with her company – she felt angry. Why couldn’t he make an effort? A vision of Mark swam into her head and she didn’t try to push it away.

They paid the bill and walked towards the station. ‘By the way,’ said Roger, fishing in his pocket for his season ticket, ‘I’ve got to go away next weekend – another wretched conference. In Leicester, this time.’

There had been conferences before, which he had later confessed had been something different. Yet this time she knew from the way his eyes met hers that he was telling the truth. ‘Next weekend?

You won’t be able to go to the ball, then.’

‘What ball?’

‘I told you ages ago. That charity ball I have to go to, a week on Friday, for the magazine.’

He slipped his ticket into the machine. ‘Sorry, but I can’t get out of it. And before you ask, no, she won’t be there.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Caroline, following him down on the escalator. A youngish man, somewhat the worse for drink, knocked into her as he pushed past but Roger failed to offer her his arm.

‘No, but you thought it.’

They stood in icy silence on the platform. Caroline felt eerily calm. If he wouldn’t go to the ball with her, she’d go on her own, although she didn’t relish the prospect: it was very much a do for couples. She stared at a poster as a breeze ruffled her hair, the railway line began to throb and the tube appeared. Roger got on in front of her, leaving her to fend for herself in the crowd of late commuters with briefcases. It was then that she decided she wouldn’t go alone.

She’d take someone else.