The Show (20 page)

The week after filming ended, Laura was at home on Mummy duty with the boys when Hugh’s reedy little voice drifted in from the playroom.

‘Look, Mummy! Maisie’s on the television.’

‘She can’t be, darling. Our programme won’t be on telly until next week, remember?’

Laura was in the kitchen, mindlessly peeling potatoes to make a shepherd’s pie for supper. It was too hot for shepherd’s pie really, but she couldn’t look another salad in the face and needed something to do that didn’t involve die-cast trains or worrying herself sick about
Valley Farm
finally airing.

‘She is!’ Hugh insisted. ‘Come and look.’

Laura wandered back into the playroom. Luca was gnawing a stickle brick to death in the corner. Hugh had been engrossed in CBeebies, but had accidentally switched to SkySports on the remote and now seemed to be watching a one-day match live from The Oval.

‘Look! It’s Maisie. Right there.’

Hugh pointed to the screen. There indeed was Macy – for some reason Hugh had never been able to pronounce her name – jumping up and down with delight in the stands. Australia had been all out for a meagre 230 after England had put on an impressive 352 in their 50 overs, and James Craven had been named man of the match.

Laura watched Macy skip onto the pitch and fling her arms around James’s neck. She looked ravishing in a floaty blue and white sundress, her usually porcelain skin tanned a light, golden brown from all the long hours of outdoor filming.

Looking down at her own meat-stained apron and unshaven legs beneath a shapeless old denim mini, Laura suppressed an unworthy stab of envy. She knew that Macy and James’s high-profile relationship meant more publicity for the show. It was a good thing that Macy was constantly photographed looking gorgeous at glamorous events, and even better that she did it on the arm of a bona fide British sporting hero. And it wasn’t as if she, Laura, wanted to spend her life whizzing up to London parties, drinking champagne and getting her picture in the papers. But still, it rankled slightly that Macy and Gabe got to have all the fun, while she sweated bullets behind the scenes, or ran around after the children.

Gabe was also up in London today, at some swanky Channel 5 drinks do in the Chelsea Physic Garden. He claimed not to want to go – ‘It’s a pain in the arse, if you must know; there’s so much to do at the farm’ – but Laura couldn’t help but think he had had the better end of the deal, versus her own day of playing
Thomas the Tank Engine
for four hours straight with two fractious little boys, in heat that would have made Gandhi lose his temper.

‘I love Maisie,’ Hugh sighed.

‘Do you?’

‘I do. She’s like a beautiful queen. And she’s always laughing.’

‘Is she?’ Laura frowned.

‘Uh-huh,’ Hugh nodded. ‘Just like Daddy.’

‘Well, what about me?’ Laura was ashamed to hear herself asking. ‘Don’t I laugh?’

Hugh looked confused by the question. ‘Not really. I mean, not all the time, like Maisie. You’re a bit more seriouser.’

‘Oh.’

‘You laugh if someone tickles you,’ Hugh added kindly. ‘Do you want me to tickle you now? I will if you like.’

‘Not right now, sweetheart.’ Laura kissed him. She felt stupidly emotional and annoyed. Where the hell was Gabe? He should have been home hours ago to help with the kids. No doubt he was laughing away somewhere, three sheets to the wind on Pimm’s and champagne, clowning around with the Channel 5 execs.
They’re probably in a strip club by now
, she thought irrationally.
Spearmint bloody Rhino.

The phone rang. Laura jumped on it.

‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ she snapped.

‘Er, at home, in my library. Should I not be?’

Eddie’s voice was deep and smooth and instantly calming, like an Irish coffee. He sounded amused but not mocking. Laura exhaled and let her shoulders relax. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks. He’d been busy finishing his prison memoirs, locked away in his study at Riverside Hall or up in London with his literary agents. Laura had missed him dropping round to the set, sprinkling his charm and easy confidence over everybody like fairy dust. It was good to hear his voice.

‘Oh, it’s you! Sorry.’

‘Who were you expecting?’ asked Eddie.

‘Only Gabe,’ Laura sighed. ‘He’s late, as usual. Anyway, how are you? How’s the book?’

Eddie made a groaning sound.

‘It can’t be
that
bad,’ said Laura.

‘It’s not bad, exactly,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m just not sure it’s good enough. If it’s going to be my ticket back into politics, it needs to say exactly the right things to exactly the right people. But at the same time, I do feel it has to be truthful. I met a lot of good people in prison. It’s … difficult.’

‘My my,’ Laura teased him. ‘I believe I just heard the fabled sound of the political conscience! I thought you people had your scruples removed at birth? Or at least on entering the Commons. Like wisdom teeth.’

‘Or foreskins,’ said Eddie.

‘Ouch.’

‘Exactly. Happily, I remain intact in that department. Which I dare say is more than you needed to know!’ He laughed loudly.

I really must try and laugh more
, thought Laura.
Out of the mouths of babes, and all that.

‘Anyway, I was ringing to see how you and Gabriel were and to see if you wanted to come up here next Sunday and watch the first episode with us?’

‘That’s terribly kind of you,’ Laura began.

‘Annabel’s not exactly cock-a-hoop about it, as you know,’ said Eddie. ‘But she’s agreed to host a small drinks do.’

Laura felt suitably astonished, although it was true that Eddie’s wife had notably softened towards the show recently. Ever since Milo Wellesley had been packed off to Africa, in fact, Annabel seemed to have cheered up immeasurably. Perhaps having the house to themselves had been all that the Wellesleys needed to revivify their marriage. Laura indulged in a momentary fantasy of how easy and relaxed her life with Gabe would be if the children disappeared for a few weeks. Although she knew if it really happened she’d spend the whole time pining for the boys. Gabe would be even worse.

‘You’ve probably already made plans to watch it up in London with the Channel 5 lot …’ Eddie said.

‘Actually,’ said Laura, ‘between you and me, the only plan I’ve made is with my sofa and a sick bag. I’m terrified, Eddie.’

‘But why? It will be a triumph, my dear, you’ll see.’

‘I’m not even sure if I can sit through it myself, never mind watch it in public,’ said Laura. ‘I’ve been biting poor Gabriel’s head off for weeks. I’m a wreck! As for the reviews the next day, I’ve already told Gabe to go into the village early and set fire to every newspaper he can find.’

‘That’s it then,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s settled. You must watch it with us.’

‘No, really. I—’

‘We will raise a great number of glasses of excellent champagne, to the show and to you and to all your hard work. We will celebrate, and reviewers be damned. All that matters is the ratings, anyway.’

‘Spoken like a true television producer,’ said Laura.

‘I’ll expect you on Sunday then. Six o’clock at Riverside Hall; dress for success, sick bag optional.’

‘Eddie really, I …’

The line had already gone dead.

‘I can’t face it, Gabe. I actually can’t. Let’s just go home.’

Laura and Gabe were standing outside the front door of Riverside Hall. Gabe had reached forwards to ring the bell when Laura grabbed his arm, her face white with panic.

Pulling her into a hug, Gabe stroked her hair soothingly. ‘We can’t go home. Lady Wellesley’s expecting us. You know as well as I do one does
not
disappoint Lady Wellesley.’

‘Oh God, I’d forgotten about her,’ Laura wailed. ‘That makes it even worse. She always looks at me like I’m Pol Pot. I can’t watch the show with Cruella de Vil breathing down my neck!’

‘The only person breathing down your neck is going to be me,’ said Gabe, ‘in a good way. The show will be great, Laura. Tonight will be great. Trust me.’

He rang the bell. The door was answered almost immediately by a pretty but fragile-looking young woman in a full maid’s outfit.

‘Please come in. May I take your coats?’ she asked nervously, like a call-centre worker reciting a script.

‘We don’t have coats,’ said Gabe. ‘It’s ninety degrees out here. I could murder a cold drink, though, if there’s one going.’

‘Of course, sir.’ The girl blushed. ‘Follow me.’

She led them into a comfy sitting room. A large TV was mounted on the wall above the fireplace, already tuned to Channel 5. Laura switched her attention to the soft linen sofas and armchairs strewn with brightly coloured scatter cushions that were dotted invitingly around the room. On a coffee table in the centre, a vast Wedgwood jug overflowed with wild flowers, and scented Diptyque candles flickered on the windowsills. Along the garden side of the room, floor-to-ceiling French doors had been flung open, allowing the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle and newly mown grass to drift inside on the warm evening breeze.

Macy and James were already here, sipping cocktails and chatting to Santiago and Penny de la Cruz in one corner. Eddie had his arm around his wife, who was smiling broadly.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen her crack a smile before,’ Gabe whispered in Laura’s ear. ‘Have you?’

‘Never,’ Laura whispered back. ‘Perhaps she’s got wind.’

Gabe laughed loudly, making Eddie look up.

‘Ah, there you are! At last. Kick-off’s in five minutes. What can I get you both to drink?’

‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ said Gabe. ‘Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!’ He wandered over to congratulate James Craven on his recent performance, leaving Laura alone with Eddie and Annabel.

‘What can I get you?’ Eddie asked her.

‘Nothing. Just water.’ Laura’s nerves were back with a vengeance.

‘Nonsense. We’re celebrating. You must have something. A glass of champagne, at least?’

‘Mrs Baxter just said she didn’t want a drink, Eddie,’ Annabel said curtly. Her earlier smile was gone now, replaced with a familiar expression of withering disdain. ‘Magda! Don’t just stand there gaping! Fetch some iced water, please. Quickly!’

Laura watched awkwardly as the maid scuttled away. Lady Wellesley spoke to her as if she were a dog. So much for the happier, more relaxed Annabel. Clearly Milo’s absence had only defrosted the ice queen so much …

‘It’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ said Eddie, ignoring his wife’s wrath and wrapping a paternal arm around Laura’s shoulders. ‘Today’s quite the day for good news.’

‘It is?’ Laura looked puzzled.

‘Yup. I’ve sent my agents the first two-thirds of the book and they love it,’ Eddie beamed. ‘This time next year I could be back in politics full time.’

‘That’s brilliant.’ Laura smiled back. ‘You must be thrilled,’ she added to Annabel.

‘I’ll be thrilled when the book’s finished and published and we have our old life back,’ said Annabel waspishly. ‘And when all this television nonsense is behind us. I don’t mean to be rude, but your ghastly programme’s been a terrible distraction for Eddie.’

She had never liked Laura, and she knew for a fact that the feeling was mutual, so she resented Laura’s attempts at ‘chumminess’ now. If Westminster life had taught Annabel anything, it was that an enemy was infinitely preferable to a false friend.

Laura was just wondering what Annabel might say when she
was
trying to be rude when Eddie jumped in.

‘Yes, well,’ he said smoothly, kissing his wife’s cheek. ‘With any luck it will prove to have been a lucrative distraction. That’s not the only good news either. We had a letter from Milo today, finally. Apparently he’s loving Africa. We could hardly believe it, could we, darling? He sounds like a different boy.’

Magda, who’d just returned with the water jug, froze at the mention of Milo’s name. After the awful humiliation of his leaving party, she’d been too angry and upset to say a proper goodbye to him. Of course, more than two months had passed since then. She no longer felt the same burning mortification that she had at the time, when that dreadful boy Jamie had looked through her as if she were nothing, as if she were dirt. But the memory still stung. She wondered what it would be like when Milo came back. Whether he really
had
changed. Thinking about his return from Africa bothered her more than it should have.

‘Magda! Don’t stand there like a lemon.’ Annabel’s irritated voice brought her back to the present. ‘Pour Mrs Baxter her water. She’s been waiting long enough.’

‘Really, I’m fine.’ Laura gave an embarrassed laugh. Why was Eddie’s wife so poisonous to the maid? Did she just dislike all women?
It must take a huge amount of energy
, Laura thought,
to live one’s life at such a pitch of distrust.
Then again, perhaps being married to a serial philanderer like Eddie had taken its toll? Laura tried not to judge Annabel too harshly. After all, she herself had been pretty vile to Gabe recently behind closed doors, and with much less reason. You never really knew what went on in other people’s marriages, no matter how hard you tried to peek behind the curtains.

The familiar theme tune signalled that the news had ended. Everyone turned towards the TV.

‘That’s it. We’re next!’ said Eddie, rubbing his hands and sinking down into one of the sofas, a stiff Annabel beside him. ‘Magda, make sure everybody has a full glass. Come on, you lot. Find a seat.’

James, who was sprawled across Annabel’s perfectly pristine Chesterfield as though he spent every day reading his newspaper there, squeezed Macy’s hand. ‘Are you nervous?’

She looked at him as if he were mad. ‘Not at all. It’s not the first time I’ve been on TV, you know, honey.’

‘Of course not. But it’s still a big deal. This time tomorrow you could be a household name.’

‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ said Macy.

The truth was, she was nervous. She could tell that Gabe was too. He played it cool in front of Laura. But he needed this show to be a hit. In their different ways, and for their different reasons, they all did. For Gabe and Laura it meant paying off the mortgage. For Macy it could be the gateway to an international career. For Eddie it was a stepping stone back into politics. Even Annabel wanted the show to do well, if only to have an answer to all its many detractors.