The Fat And The Thin Of It Page 7

you’re having.” He flopped onto the sofa and flicked the TV on.

  Good, I thought. He’d be watching the news and wouldn’t want to talk for half an hour.

  I poured him a glass of Pinot and took it to him. He smiled a thank you and I went back to the kitchen to start on the sausages. I was surprised to hear his footsteps behind me, but I carried on frying, concentrating perhaps too hard on the bubbling pork skin.

  “How was your day, darling?” he asked my back.

  Shit. Keep frying, girl; pretend you didn’t hear him.

  “Sunshine?”

  I feigned surprise, but kept my eyes firmly on the pan. “Hm?”

  Terry gave a little frustrated sigh. “I asked you how your day went.”

  “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I gave a little laugh, but it came out like a snort. “Um...” turn the sausages, girl. “Not that great.” Give them a little shake to stop them burning. “I ah... got fired.” Now turn the heat up so you can’t hear him above the sizzling.

  After quite a long pause, he said. “Really? What happened?”

  I didn’t like the fact that he sounded more curious than concerned.

  “The Hairy-it said they were cutting personnel because of the crisis, but I suspect she got rid of me before they got rid of her.”

  Another long pause. “And why would they want to get rid of her instead of you?”

  Oh, thank you, Terry, for your vote of fucking confidence! “Because I do most of the work, that’s why!” I huffed. “If the big-wigs in New York knew all that I do, they’d realise it was her they didn’t need!”

  “But she’s the director of the agency and you’re only the events manager. She’s supposed to tell you what to do, isn’t she?”

  Sarcastic and sneering bloody sod! ‘Only the events manager’!”Well, thank you for putting me in my place. I had no idea that’s how the fucking agency worked!”

  I angrily turned to look at him with the frying pan in my hand, and the sausages nearly went flying out of the pan and across the counter.

  “Jill, don’t take it out on me, okay? I’m not the one who fired you.” Terry turned on his heel and went back to the TV.

  I stomped after him with the frying pan still in my hand, the sausages sliding about like ball-bearings in a child’s hand-puzzle. “Christ, Terry! You could show a little bloody compassion! I’ve lost my job, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Jill,” he sighed as he flopped back onto the sofa. “Don’t swear.”

  It took a lot of self-control not to chuck the frying pan at his smug, greying head, and I was still debating if it would be worth the threat of another a lawsuit if I did when the doorbell chimed, and chimed insistently until I opened the door. The frying pan nearly flew over my shoulder when I saw the Hairy-it and her partner, the agency’s lawyer Pam, standing red-faced on my door-step.

  “Yoo hafet a fucking cloo wad you god yoursef idto, bitch!” Harriet sounded quite nasal when she spoke, probably because her nose was three times the size it should have been and she was sporting a nasal cast. She was also wearing a neck brace. She and Pam backed me and my pan into the hallway and through to the living room. Terry gawped at us as we came in, but remained seated the sofa.

  Not a lot was said. After the initial shock of seeing ‘Bill and Ben’ at my door, I realised what they were there for. The Hairy-it stood uncomfortably but with a smug smile on her distorted face and her hands on her hips. Terry remained seated, glass half-raised to his lips, still gawping. My sausages had long stopped sizzling and were beginning to stick to the cooling fat lying on the bottom of the pan.

  “Yoo are id deep shit.” Spat the Hairy-it. “Do you realise wad de iplicatiods are? Do yoo haf ady idea wad I cood do to yoo?”

  Pamela stepped forward at that moment and dramatically produced a paper from behind her back and thrust it into my free hand. “This is a summons denouncing GBH with intent towards Ms Harriet Swartz.” She didn’t pause for breath. “It states that you will be sued for the total of five hundred thousand pounds, plus costs if you lose, which you will.” She turned on her heel and made for the door.

  The Hairy-it came up and stood toe-to-toe with me and hissed, “Id udder wods, you balishos, violet cow, I will watch yoo slither dowd idto de fucking sewer, ad will applaud as your skiddy arse disappears dowd the draid.” She grabbed my leather agenda from the table beside my lap-top. “Yoo cad keeb dis as a preset, because it isd’t worth de cheap plastic id’s bade of!” she chucked it over her shoulder and narrowly missed Terry’s head, winced and groaned dramatically, then turned on her heel and swaggered awkwardly out the door.

  The sausages were well and truly welded onto the bottom of the pan by the end of that.

  I followed her and stood at the door, watching the tail-lights of their car race off into the frosty night. Terry came up behind me.

  “Would you mind explaining all of that, Jill?” the icy mist of his breath hovered over my shoulder.

  I stood there until the cold night air made the hairs on my neck curl uncomfortably, then my sausages and I headed for the kitchen and another glass of Pinot.

  “Jill, talk to me.” Terry insisted as he followed me.

  I poured the wine and took a long gulp, my hand shaking so violently that I dribbled a good deal onto my pink silk blouse. The sausages and pan went into the sink, my life followed suit, and my bloody husband was insisting I explain ‘all of that’.

  “You’re going to have to tell me sooner or later, you know that.” He persisted with his usual calmness.

  Why was he so calm? Why couldn’t he see that I did not want to answer him right at that moment? Why did he insist on being a huge, bloated blister on my arse and self-esteem?

  The only sound was made by the kitchen clock and my throat chugging down the wine.

  “Jill, whatever you’ve done you can tell me.”

  I couldn’t take any more. “Shut up!” I hissed, and strode – Pinot bottle in hand – up the stairs.

  To be honest, I felt surprisingly numb after what had happened. I suppose I’d expected some kind of repercussion, but I hadn’t expected it quite so soon. I’d thought I would have had time to regroup, work out a plausible excuse, form a strategic plan of attack or defence – or all three, if necessary. But, what I hadn’t counted on was Terry witnessing my decline into a lawsuit for violent behaviour. The fact that the Hairy-it and Pam had invaded my house and threatened me was not the problem: it was that Terry had seen it all, and would now revel in it and gloat and lecture and...shit!

  The state of the Hairy-it’s face had been horrific; comical, but nonetheless horrific. Had I really done that, or was it make-up? How the hell had I done that if I had? I couldn’t honestly, for the life of me, remember. Cally had texted something about a karate palm punch, but where the hell had I learned to do that? Had watching kung-fu films with Terry left something embedded in my subconscious?

  Terry had followed me up to our bedroom. I flopped onto the bed, Pinot bottle in one hand and my half-full glass in the other, and he rested himself in the doorway and simply stared. I drained my glass and filled it again, taking absolutely no notice of him. My manner was decidedly nonchalant – I hoped.

  “Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s the way it is...”

  And with that, he walked into the spare room and shut the door.

  Neither Terry nor I emerged from our respective rooms for the rest of the evening. I was surprised that he didn’t go to the kitchen to find something to eat, but I felt quite content that I didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and with all the nerves of the day, my stomach had knotted up like a party balloon tied into a poodle.

  I finished the last of the Pinot and tottered into the en suite to get myself ready for bed. I felt the urge to go and put the sheets on the spare bed for Terry, but I resisted: he could get his own bloody bed together. It gave me a small sense of rebellion, of standing up to him and for myself, and I removed my make-up with a
smirk on my face.

  It had been a God-awful day, but at least I’d lose weight.

  Of course, I didn’t sleep at all that night.

  The image of the Hairy-it and Pam bursting into my house replayed in my brain; their words, especially Pam’s, resounded threateningly in my ears. I analysed her words and realised exactly what they meant: I’d be branded a criminal, have to go to court, have to find half a million, lose everything...

  I tossed and turned in my bed as I tossed and turned the events of the day around in my head, and finally began to remember a fair bit of what had happened. Harriet had approached me from around her desk in a menacing manner. Well, she always did everything in a menacing manner, but I particularly felt the menace in her intentions at that moment. That sounded good; I’d have to remember that for my statement to the police. So, she’d put her hand out in front of her and towards me as if she was going to strike me… not really, actually. She looked as if she was going to push me out of her office, but I’d say ‘strike’ as it sounded better. The next bit had been pure reflex: I pushed my hand out rather abruptly to block hers, but because she’s so much shorter than I am, the palm of my hand struck the tip of her nose. She screamed, fell backwards and hit her head on the corner of her desk and I legged it. And, apart from concussion or whatever the neck brace was for, I’d obviously broken her nose.

  Oh, for the love of Lagerfeld, I’d karate-chopped Harriet’s nose!

  If they felt like it, they could very well sue me for whatever and they would more than likely win and I most definitely would lose everything. We would lose everything, Terry and I and Penny. I’d have a police record; I’d be utterly unemployable – not only in my line of work, but even as a bloody check-out girl in Tesco.

  Oh, sweet Jesus Christ, what in hell’s name made me do such a bloody stupid thing?

  I rolled about in bed, trying to think of a way to make all this go away. I could claim temporary insanity, sure, but would that take the weight off such an act? I could still be sued, but would I still go to prison?

  Oh, my God; prison! I could actually go to prison!

  Oh, please, please, please make a fairy godmother appear and wave her wand and take this nightmare away. Make her turn the clock back twenty-four hours and make me fucking sane again!

  By five thirty I was itching. It was a physical itch under all of my skin that I couldn’t scratch, so I decided to get up. Terry wouldn’t be about for an hour, which gave me time to make a cup of tea and a slice of toast, go into the conservatory and sit huddled in the snuggie and smoke a couple of cigarettes in peace. But, as I’d just put the kettle on, Terry appeared at the kitchen door, looking as if he too had had a rotten night.

  He stood eyeing me like he did Penny after she’d come home late when she was a teenager. “Could I have one of those as well, please?” he asked, his polite manner in contradiction to his disapproving look

  I shrugged a ‘why not’ and popped a tea bag in another cup. We both stood in silence as we listened to the water in the kettle gradually build up steam, then I made the two teas and passed one to him as I made my way to the conservatory.

  And, of course he had to follow me.

  The conservatory was absolutely freezing. Thanks to the golden light from the conservatory shining through the window and onto the first few yards of the lawn, I could see there was a layer of frost so thick that it looked as if it had been snowing. I grabbed one of the anoraks off the coat rack and put it on before wrapping myself in the snuggie. The mist of my frozen breath and the steam of the tea mingled and hung around my head. I lit a cigarette and puffed out the blue-grey smoke, hoping to create a foggy screen that Terry wouldn’t see me behind.

  He too grabbed an anorak and sat on the wicker chair opposite me. He sat back and crossed his legs, his hands wrapped round his steaming cup. “Come on, Jill. Tell me what happened yesterday.” His tone was firm but even.

  I puffed out a smoke-screen. “I told you; I got fired.”

  “What did you do?” he insisted in that stern, fatherly tone. “What had happened to Harriet?”

  I sighed petulantly. “I really don’t want to talk about…”

  “Jill, God damn it! Talk to me!”

  I could count the times Terry had shouted like that on one hand and still have fingers left over. He didn’t scare me as I knew his character, but I’d been menaced and shouted at so much the day before that he made me jump before huddling deeper into the anorak and snuggie. I thought it best to talk to him.

  Whilst I told Terry the whole story, he simply sat listening with an impassive look on his face. When I finished, the itching under my skin had returned but I felt better for having got it off my chest. I waited for his reaction, but he took his time, so I drained my mug of by then chilly tea and lit another cigarette.

  “You know that this could ruin us, don’t you?” he said quietly. “We’d lose absolutely everything and you could well end up in prison.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re not telling me anything that hasn’t been swimming round in my head all night, Terry.” I released a huge sigh. “Yes! I do realise all that.”

  Christ, why couldn’t he have said ‘Don’t worry, sunshine, we’ll work this out together’? I really, really needed him on my side right then, even if he wasn’t!

  His eyebrows were pinched together and a grimace distorted his mouth. “Where on earth did you learn to strike out like that? Don’t you know it’s a martial arts move that could have shattered the bridge of her nose into her brain and killed her?”

  “I probably learnt how to strike like that after years of having to sit through all those bloody Bruce Lee films of yours.” I mumbled and shivered under the clothing. I thanked whoever or whatever that I hadn’t had the strength in my hand to whack her that hard. I tried to sound more in control than I felt. “Again, Terry, I’ve been thinking about that all night, too.”

  He sat immobile, grimacing and pinching his face, and I puffed quickly on my cigarette. Finally, I softly said, “I’m sorry.”

  That provoked a reaction. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry for causing havoc at Catwalk? Sorry for almost killing Harriet? Sorry for the possible disastrous outcome?” he shook his head ever so slightly. “What exactly are you sorry for?”

  I understood that he was angry and disappointed in me, but I had expected a little empathy, just a smidgen of support. His disapproval and reprimanding tone made me feel very alone and irritated. “For all of it, okay?” I fumed. “I know I did wrong; I know, I know, I know and I’m sorry! I don’t remember, okay? I’d just got bloody fired and I was in a state! What else do you want me to say?”

  He just sat there, and I got more irritated and went on the defensive – as always.

  “Look, Terry. Do I have to remind you that if it wasn’t for my work, we wouldn’t be living in a house like this? And, if it wasn’t for my work, Penny couldn’t have studied medicine and be doing her internship in Boston! We wouldn’t have the lifestyle we have if it wasn’t for me and my work! I earn twice as much as you – hell, a whole lot more than twice – and you reap the benefits of my money just as much as anybody else. And,” I sat up and jabbed a finger at him. “Do you honestly think Mike would have made you manager of that company if it wasn’t because I gave you all that work? So don’t sit there with a bloody righteous look on your face and tell me what I’ve done bloody wrong!”

  “That’s always your answer, isn’t it?” he said coldly. “You always have to castrate me to justify working all hours, hardly ever being home or taking the slightest interest in anything concerning this family.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. “What do you mean?”

  “I sat patiently quiet while you palmed Penny off onto your mother while you raced about. I kept quiet when you came home hysterical with stress and took it out on me. I allowed you to work…”

  “Allowed me?”

  “I allowed you to ignore your daughter under the pretence of paying for her pr
ivate education! I allowed you to do whatever you wanted, even though I didn’t like it!” he got up brusquely from his chair and paced the conservatory. “Penny never had a proper mother and I don’t have a wife! What Penny and I have is a woman whose sole purpose in life is to prove to everyone how successful she is, regardless of who she has to tread on in the process! The trouble is, Jill,” then he jabbed a finger in my direction. “You trod on those who loved you and kissed the backsides of those who only saw you as a commodity, and now, thanks to your stupidity, those same people are in a position to orchestrate your downfall, and you’ll drag Penny and I down with you! And,” he boomed, all the velvet scraped out of his voice. “If I got to be manager, it was because I bloody worked for it!”

  A grey morning was struggling to feed some light through the glass roof of the conservatory, and it cast grotesque shadows over Terry’s face. I’d never seen him so mad, and I was glad he didn’t get like that often because he was very scary. He stood glowering at me as Othello must have glared at Desdemona before smothering her for an uncomfortably long time until he shrugged himself into composure.

  “I’m going to work.” He stated simply, and walked out the door.

  “It’s only seven o’clock.” I informed him lamely, but he continued on his way upstairs.

  I went and made myself another cup of tea. I went through the motions without thinking, feeling quite numb and neutral to what had transpired with Terry, then went back to the conservatory and lit another cigarette and waited till he left. By the time I heard the front door close and his Range-rover crunch away over the frosty drive, I was freezing. I needed to do something, so I made my way to the bedroom, donned some exercise gear and climbed up to the attic.

  We’d converted the attic space into a gym, with the elliptic machine, a running machine, some weights and a step bench. We had a music dock system wired up and I turned it on, found the music I used for the elliptic machine and warmed up my muscles before climbing on board for a session.

  I must have been on the machine for about an hour, but it could have been longer as the digital timer was on the blink. I pumped away, trying to keep my mind on the music, but the previous day’s events and my ‘little talk’ with Terry wheedled its way through the rhythm. I replayed everything God knows how many times, and every time a different moment became blown out of proportion.

  In my mind’s eyes, I saw myself standing in the dock being sentenced to ten months’ imprisonment and a total of two million to be paid to Harriet in compensation. I was accosted and bullied by the female inmates, each weighing at least sixteen stone and towering over me by a foot. My figure had finally become an impediment, and I was auctioned off to the highest bidding inmate as their ‘pet’.

  I imagined Penny straining to remain