Separate Lives (8 page)

Monday June 8, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]

Brothers: Just to keep you up to speed with plans for The Party To End All Parties. (Warning: There will be bullet points!)

• •
  Ma and Pa want us all at the Pink House NO LATER than 12. That's MIDDAY on the Sat, Guy. So no excuses!
  
• •
  The marquee people will be there first thing. Having said that, I think it would be good if there were somebody on hand other than the folks to oversee things. Will is nearest, and has already volunteered. Thank you, Will. Also, photographic duties fall to Alex, obviously . . . so don't forget your camera(s)!
  
• •
  Ma has booked a catering company she read about in
  Tatler
  or
  The Lady
  or the
  Suffolk Gentlefolk Monthly
  , or whatev—Hot Sausage and Mustard. They will be on site by 8 a.m. and commandeering the kitchen, but will also arrive with as much stuff pre-prepared as poss. You prob don't give a monkey's about
  the menu but I have included it as an attachment, if you can be arsed.
  
• •
  The order of play is that non-family guests (100!) should be arriving 6 for 6:30. There will be drinks and then dinner will be served 7:30–8. There are some nannies organizing ents for the kids when they start getting annoying. Afterward there will be speeches. We are all doing speeches, btw, so please get cracking pronto! I've allocated 5 mins each. Then Pa will close and there will be DANCING! Local DJ—ex BBC Suffolk (!)—booked. Carriages at 1 a.m., etc. I have pre-booked a taxi service for the locals.
  
• •
  Accommodation: we're all sleeping over, obv. Everybody's in their old room, except for Alex and Susie and the kids, who are in the stables(!).
  
• •
  Sunday: Ma and Pa will host brunch, but Ma has hinted (OK, said) that we're expected to clear off by mid—late afternoon as they will be exhausted. Won't we all?! Marquee's being taken down Monday, btw.
  
• •
  Met office long-range weather forecast is good. Fingers crossed!
  
• •
  Don't forget your dancing shoes! Over and out.
  

Isobel x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

You basically scare the shit out of me. Still, very impressive. 12 it will be . . . G

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Terrifyingly efficient. Expect nothing less. Off to therapy now, re stables . . . A x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Very good. I've decided to stay overnight on Fri 19th—figure the folks will get in a flap first thing o'wise. Will do Alpha Male stuff re marquee erection—tho have decided against wearing uniform. W x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Did you get that email from I?! Weird she never went into the Forces, no?! Call you later? G

Thursday June 18, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Thanks for lunch. Thanks and—no thanks. You know what I mean. My head is still spinning. It's not that I'd ever been so complacent as to imagine that Susie might not be capable of whatever it is she's been capable of. It's just that you don't go looking for trouble, do you? We've been OK. Not great, I grant you, but OK. Nothing is ever the same after you have kids (as you know). But just because it isn't the same doesn't mean it has to be bad (as you know). We've just been muddling through, same as everybody. Sometimes it's a bit ships-in-the-night, but . . . I dunno. I really don't know what to think. And it's been kind of complicated by the fact that it came from Pippa. Kind of ironic, really. I mean, whatever Pippa lacks in a sense of humor she makes up for in . . . I don't think I have to go there, really, do I?

Anyway I keep thinking about the details of it. Weird that it was only last week. Look I'll cut to the chase—could you text me Pippa's number? I've got to get my address book up to speed on my new phone, having lost the other one at the bloody Landmark when I was blue-sky-out-of-the-fucking-box with the Germans. And I know what you're thinking but my motivation for wanting Pippa's number isn't THAT (really!). I just feel
I need to talk to her about exactly what she overheard. God, I hate this week!

But I'm so selfish. It's not all about me. Congratufuckinglations—if ever there was the perfect wife for you, it's Lisa. About fucking time. A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I hear you. Don't go doing anything hasty . . . BUT, having said that, it may well be a good idea if you spoke to Pippa. While I totally trust Lisa's version of events—why wouldn't I? She's going to be Mrs. Guy Fox—I think it's prob a good idea for you to get it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Though Pippa's no horse. Anyway, I'll text you her number separately as a business card. G

Friday June 19, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Will, I know you're up to your eyeballs and you're racing down to the Pink House tonight, but I just wondered if you'd heard from the brothers this week? I've sent a couple of emails and no replies . . . I know they're not exactly wordsmiths, but I usually get the email equivalent of a grunt in reply, so . . . Anyway, see you tomoz! Ix

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Spoke to G—he's been out of the loop (I quote) “closing a mega-deal.” Whatever that means. (Assumes Patronizing Older Brother Voice.) Apparently we can read all about it on the back pages of the tabloids tomorrow. In truth, I may forget to do that. Anyway, A isn't in a good place. Apparently he lost his phone last week and didn't back up all his numbers, so that prob explains the radio silence, but he just called—ostensibly about tomorrow though I could tell there was something else—and YOU MUST
NOT BREATHE A WORD OF THIS TO A SOUL because he's keeping it under his hat till the party's over—but he's just lost his job. He's in bits. What is called for is some sibling support but in a hands-off sort of way, I think, for now . . . I got the impression he wasn't going to tell Susie till after the weekend. Having said all that, I think there's even more going on. Don't know what—just a hunch, even though A is always pretty impossible to read. Other than that, everything under control. See you tomoz. Wx

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Oh God, I just KNEW there was something! Poor Alex. My lips are SEALED. Though nothing is guaranteed after the second glass of fizz. Till tomorrow. I x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Who says there'll be a second glass of fizz?! Recessionary measures called for—isn't it going to be cava all the way after the first glass?! Now I trust you to keep mum (if not MUMM! Look—a champagne joke!). On the subject of which, don't even think of telling the folks. W

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Am not entirely stupid! MUMM's the word. Gutted about the cava, tho . . . x

Monday June 22, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Cc: Guy Fox; Alex Fox

Congratulations siblings! I don't think the weekend could have gone any better, do you? Spoke to folks first thing: tired but happy. Kitchen restored to relative normality, tent pegs/dance floor apparently haven't entirely ruined lawn and they're leaving for the Portuguese Golf Detention center
from Stansted tomorrow a.m. Our Work Here Is Done, methinks?! Hope all well in your respective worlds . . . Ix

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Crap morning. Told Susie about work—it took a while to get her to actually hear what the hell I was saying and when she did she was pretty tight-lipped—and then I had so much on my mind, like talking to employment lawyer to sort out the redundancy package. Anyway, I got Isobel's email—glad folks OK and enjoyed weekend and will be out of loop in Golf Hellzone for a bit. Thanks for support. Talk soon . . . A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Look mate, don't do anything SILLY, right?! Don't start making decisions when everything is a bit tits up, emotions running high . . . remember, Susie is the emotional one, you're the cool one, so hold on to that. And don't worry about the Pippa sitch. One drunken taxi fumble does NOT constitute a relationship deal-breaker. Unless you want it to. Get your priorities right: sort out the work thing before you start messing with the domestic stuff. Look at it this way: you've had a relationship hiccup and whatever Soos has been up to maybe you're now both 1–1 in extra time? But pause before you start taking the penalties, eh? Bound to end in tears otherwise. Just saying . . . G

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Thanks. Am cool, calm . . . and I've collected my P45! Gallows humor always the best, eh? A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

You OK? W

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Never better! You? A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Are you being chippy or merely sarcastic? Just offering support, like big brothers are meant to do. No need to take it . . . W

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Yeah, I'm chippy AND sarcastic. Thanks for offer of support—but not required. It'll all get sorted. As you were. A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

You OK little brother? xxx

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Thanks, I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. Enforced change is an OPPORTUNITY, right?! It's a cluster-fuck of mid-life crises pending . . . A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Look, I'm just saying I'm here if you need me. I know you won't but it's my sisterly duty to say it. And not only say it but MEAN it. And if you need any legal advice I know a cracking lawyer who relishes a good ruck and would leap at working with you. I x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Employment or Divorce?!

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

FFS! Employment! What ARE you on about? Call me between 1–2 p.m. if you want the name/number. She's ace. I x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Grateful! Will call. A x

Friday June 26, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Wassup? You still alive?! G

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Yeah, but only just. Sorry—bastard week. Isobel put me on to one of her lawyer mates who's a proper ball-breaker and says she'll see me right (at a price). And Susie and I are . . . actually fuck knows what Susie and I are. All I know is that a big box containing a pair of posh new boots arrived for her this morning and then she said she's taking the kids down to the seaside for the weekend to stay with her new best mate, that Sausage Woman from the party, formerly known as Heinous—I think you met her? And apparently she's doing this because she thinks “we all need some space.” So hurfuckingrah—we are now officially a mid-life crisis + marital breakdown x unemployment cliché, squared. You going to the match tomorrow? A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Oh. Shit. But maybe a weekend apart good for all of you? And I'm not only going to the match tomorrow, I've got two golden tickets for the director's box. You on for that?! G

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Like you need an answer? Call me in the morning with the Where and the When . . . A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Great re the match—should be ace. And why not call Pippa? Any port in a storm, eh mate? And it's not like you're MARRIED! (This is a JOKE!). G

Monday June 29, 2009

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Call me asap? A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Look, I know we just talked for 5 mins and obv we needed longer but I just want to reiterate: don't tell Susie. Take a deep breath. Sort out your mid-life crisis. Get the Ball-Breaker to clinch you a fabulous redundo deal that will buy you a year off to re-think. Publishing not the be-all. You've been moaning about the pressure for at least 18 months, remember? In a year's time you could be totally tooled up as a photographer and living your fucking dream. Sell the house if you have to, but FFS don't rush into anything. G

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Thanks. It's fine, really . . . A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I just tried to call you—signal busy—but I think I need to write this down anyway because, further to my previous . . . it's not fine . . . last night I
had the first proper conversation I've had with Susie in weeks. She came back from her girly weekend at the seaside all calm and collected and . . . it turns out that the conversation Pippa thought she overheard in the fucking shop was actually Susie LEAVING A FUCKING MESSAGE ON MY PHONE. THE SAME PHONE I LOST BEFORE I'D HAD TIME TO HEAR THE MESSAGE. A MESSAGE ABOUT MEETING ME AT THE LANDMARK HOTEL, COS SHE KNEW I WAS THERE FOR THE GERMANS' MANAGEMENT THINK-TANK. FUCKITY-FUCK.

I left the fucking phone in the Landmark's bar at lunchtime on that Friday, shortly after which Susie apparently left me a message suggesting some sort of quick “date-night” cocktail on the way home, and she said we could only be an hour or so because she'd already asked our terrifying au pair—Irish Ruby, aka You Know Fucking Who—to stay late twice that week, and she was too scared to ask her again. If you'd met Ruby, you'd know that was entirely plausible. She's like Susan Boyle crossed with Sarah Palin. But when I got home—late that night, unsurprisingly, after being forced to reinvent the wheel for the Germans and then have a “celebratory” drink—Susie was already in bed. I told her I'd lost my phone and all she said was “that explains why you didn't return my call. I left you a message this afternoon. But whatever.” And she just turned over and went to sleep.

Anyway, all of that would be fine, I guess, wouldn't it . . . if I hadn't just spent most of this weekend IN BED WITH PIPPA.

I am fucked. Thanks, Guy. And thank your missus too, while you're at it. I can't really blame Pippa, I suppose—not now—but I think I may need some SPACE. A

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

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