Deranged Marriage (40 page)

At least something positive came out of it: Joe and I talked briefly on the phone. He was no longer being followed by the press, they already had a few shots of him, but when asked about me and the baby, he regretted saying ‘George is a nutter and should be locked up and made to stay away from small children of any origin.’ This did not make him popular. But I was just happy to hear his voice again.

I resented this invasion into my private life, any person would. George commanded his army—the press—to march on my life, to take no prisoners, to show no mercy and like the devoted army they were, they obeyed.

The mental torture I endured was gruesome. I lost a part of myself in those days and I didn’t know if I would ever recover. I would sit in bed and wonder how many people had talked about me that day; how many passed judgement.

‘
Oh
,
it’s
dreadful
,
that
marriage
-
pact
girl
is
a
complete
slut
.
’
‘
How
she
can
live
with
herself
after
what
she’s
done
to
that
poor
man
is
beyond
me
and
now
she
thinks
she
is
capable
of
being
a
mum
.
’
‘
Imagine
,
sleeping
with
two
men
,
getting
pregnant
and
not
having
an
idea
who
the
father
is
.
’
‘
She
says
it
is
one
of
only
two
people
...
makes
you
wonder
doesn’t
it?’

Then the tears would roll down my cheeks because I knew that I would probably have judged my story in much the same way, were I reading it, and what thought did I ever give to strangers who were condemned for doing something wrong. Affairs, betrayal, it is easy, so easy to criticise. Now, I was being judged and although I didn’t doubt that some people were guiltier than others, I believed that there were definitely some people who were probably victims in much the same way I was. Of course I had to take my fair share of blame. We all make mistakes and we all have to live with the consequences, but they are normally things we have to deal with in private, like losing Joe. But on top of that, everything was public and the people reading the paper would be judging me the way that I had judged others in the past and that pained me to the core. The story had some sort of mention every day. Mainly they focused around me being in hiding and George being distraught at my continued rejection of him. The good news was that my clients were getting coverage on the back of me, but Imogen accused me of being no better than George for that. She was right. This is where confusion seeps in. Working in PR I rejoiced whenever I got any press editorial for my clients. Well, now
I
was getting it by the bucketful. They had managed to track down some of my clients.

‘
She
made
a
mistake
but
she’s
a
great
account
director
,’ Phil from
Zoom
.

‘
We
have
a
good
working
relationship
and
her
private
life
has
nothing
to
do
with
it
,’ Sarah from
Jet
. (The most effective household cleaner in the land).

‘
I admire
Holly
professionally
and
none
of
this
has
any
bearing
on
that
,’ Helen from
Final
Mile
Shoes
.

‘
The
team
is
a
team
and
Francesca
Williams
PR
is
not
just
Holly
Miller
.
They
are
an
effective
company
and
Holly
is
an
effective
leader
.
We
have
no
plans
to
review
our
representation
,’ Michael from
Software
Store
.

‘
I
should
be
so
lucky
as
to
be
in
her
shoes
,’ Brenda from
Stop!
(spot cream). I think she was a bit confused as to the situation.

Flattered as I was by their words (apart from Brenda’s), they were excited only about the free coverage they were getting, not about the fact they’d supported me.

I was using my predicament to promote my clients, albeit indirectly, my company were reaping the benefits. Not only had we received a record number of new business enquiries but we’d won two new clients in as many weeks. Far from being a liability I was an asset thanks to this crazy situation. So, although I hated it (I really did hate it), I also felt guilty for benefiting from it. On top of everything else I was prone to moments of guilt about that, as well as everything else, but also happy that I was speaking with Joe, even though our conversations revolved around the bloody press. He didn’t say how he felt about me and I didn’t ask. The time wasn’t right, I was just grateful that he was still talking to me. It was more than I deserved.

I had developed the habit of talking to myself, in an attempt to maintain my sanity. I was working really hard. Imogen was fully ensconced and refusing to go home. The good news was that she had become friendly with the loss adjusters from downstairs so she spent a bit of time with them. Actually, I loved having her, especially as she had got used to the press and was really quite impressively blasé about them. We were becoming close friends as well as sisters. It felt quite special. Jack had been up a couple of times to see her but because of the press siege and the fact he was a ‘bit famous’, I didn’t get to see him. Imogen came back smiling though and I tried to persuade her to go home, but she said that Jack appreciated her so much more now. Absence
did
make the heart grow fonder. She missed him like crazy and he missed her like crazy and that was fantastic. There was even a positive side for her. She was also keeping my parents updated as to the developments, which meant that I didn’t have to talk about it too much. I thought about it all the time but thoughts are thoughts and talking about it was different, and it upset me too much.

I gave myself pep talks, something I’d practised since childhood but now they were so much more important. I was keeping the misery away from my door more successfully than I was keeping the press away.

My pep talks: You have a lovely flat (spending so much time in it was making me appreciate it more). You have great friends and a great family. You have a baby on the way. You’ve got your health.
It
could
be
a
lot
worse
...You won’t be fat forever (please God). You have known love. Your skin is looking fantastic.
It
could
be
a
lot
worse
...You still have a career.

The photos in the paper have shown your good side.

It will all blow over shortly and then everyone will forget.

You will be able to go where you want, when you want.

It
could
be
a
lot
worse
...My final pep talk was verging on the desperate: Your hair hasn’t fallen out.

You can afford nappies and Baby Gap. Just.

There are so many nice names you can choose from for the baby.

Sleep is overrated.

It
could
be
a
lot
worse
.

Well, it worked for me anyway. I used them when I woke up in the morning with a sinking feeling or a mild panic. I used them when I looked at the daily papers and saw my story still there. I used them when George made his ever-increasing television appearances, (
Ready
Steady
Cook
,
BBC
Breakfast
,
Blankety
Blank
,
London
Today
to name a few). I used them before I called Joe, or before I spoke to anyone. I used them all the damn time.

I was using them today for two reasons. One, I was going out and the press would at last get that elusive shot of me. I was wearing my black trousers (the pyjama-type ones) and a cream tunic top. I even put on high heels. I was only going to the hospital but as I had to face the press I decided to make sure I looked my best. I took ages over my hair and make-up. The other reason was that George had managed to get an
Aloha!
magazine feature, that was due out that day. A mixture of
OK!
and
Hello!
magazines,
Aloha!
was a British publication, that was growing in popularity. Mainly because it always seemed to have chocolate attached to its cover.

‘Imogen, it’s time to go.’ She was standing at her sentry post by the window. I had tried to get her to move a few times at the beginning, but I gave up. You would almost think she was enjoying herself, but I knew better. Apparently the loss adjusters liked staring at the press as well, they had got to know each one of them by sight and they got very excited when a new one appeared. Together, with Imogen, they had become the paparazzi equivalent of trainspotters minus the anoraks.

‘Are you going to be all right?’ she asked, moving away. ‘There’re ten there today, which isn’t bad really, well not as bad as some days, but most of them have cameras and well they’re going to get overexcited when they see you aren’t they?’ The touch of hysteria in her voice worried me.

‘Keep calm Immi. I spoke to Freddie and Francesca about this and all I have to do is go out, let them snap their cameras, say a few words...I’ll be fine.’ Actually the bravado was completely false. Francesca had told me that biting the bullet and going out was the best thing. There had been so much speculation. Some papers claimed I had gone into hiding, others claimed sightings of me staring out of the window (it was Immi in the blurred photos), some said I was too humiliated to leave the flat, others said I should be too ashamed of myself to leave it. They were having a field day with my life. Only it wasn’t my life any more. I was a bystander; they were in charge. Freddie had wanted to come and get me and do the male thing by escorting me, but I wouldn’t hear of it. We had an important presentation the following day and he needed to work on that. So I pretended to everyone that I was fine about going out, even to Lisa, who also wanted to come over, but I knew that that particular situation would probably end in violence and that wasn’t something we needed.

Also there had been two more ‘kiss and tell’ stories, but unlike ginger Justin, they were both made up. One guy called Bruce claimed that I had promised to marry him too but in the end just used him for sex. I promise I have never met a Bruce. And Clint said that he was also a contender for being the father of my child. I knew no one called Clint. Francesca gave those particular papers
hell
for printing the lies, and in all fairness they both printed retractions. But no one reads retractions do they? Especially when they are positioned at the bottom corner on an inside page. I didn’t even try to discover if I could sue, there seemed no point in antagonising them any further. George did leap to my defence over Clint, saying there was no way that the baby could be his. But that was because he didn’t want to share the limelight. For once his selfishness worked in my favour.

The thing that worried me most of all was Joe. We spoke about the kiss and tells and he laughed and said he knew they were all crap because the guys didn’t even know me. That made me feel happy
and
sad. Happy because Joe knew me and he knew me enough to recognise that they didn’t know me. Sad because he still wasn’t with me and there weren’t any signs of him coming back.

‘Holly, you haven’t moved,’ Imogen said, questioningly. She had gone to touch up her make-up while I had been daydreaming.

‘Sorry.’ I smiled, gave her a hug. ‘Let’s go feed the lions,’ I joked as bravely as I could. We turned towards the door. ‘Ouch!’ I bent over with unexpected pain. I think it was more shock than pain that led to such a reaction.

‘Oh my God, what’s happened?’ Imogen grabbed hold of me. I straightened myself up and she saw the tears in my eyes. ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ I shook my head and smiled, this time genuinely.