Simply Divine (9 page)

Tom had made her feel more beautiful and desired than Kate Moss, a World Cup win and the National Lottery jackpot all rolled into one. He had been the gentlest as well as the most skilful of lovers, although admittedly her field of comparisons was limited. He had made her laugh. He had astonished her by his gentleness and sensitivity. And she had never seen such an enormous penis. It had looked big enough to pick up Channel Five. The World Service, come to that.

Nick would finally be on his way back from Brussels

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now. He'd probably pass Tom in the air. Jane swallowed to combat a rising and recurring nausea, unsure whether it was an excess of champagne or guilt.

Two Nurofens later, Jane stood on the strand of the morning's news, preparing to wade through the tide of tabloids. 'Wondered when you were going to get on to those,' came Josh's voice out of his office. 'Then again, you should know everything about the big story already.'

Please don't let it be another transport minister disaster, prayed Jane. She couldn't cope with the thought of Nick sulking all week like he had after the run in with Piers and the crusties. Trembling, she scrabbled for the
Sun.

'END OF A LAV AFFAIR', read the headline, breaking to an astonished world the shattering news that Champagne had swapped the vitreous enamel heir Rollo Harbottle, whom the tabloid unkindly dubbed 'Loo Rollo', for a more glamorous model. The paper revealed Champagne's latest consort to be 'brooding bad boy of rock Conal O'Shaughnessy, lead singer of moody Mancunians the Action Liposomes, whose "Make Mine A Large One" single, taken from their
Seven Deadly Cynics
album, was last summer's chartbusting sensation.' O'Shaughnessy's unsmiling face glowered from Champagne's side in the
Sun
photograph. His hairy eyebrows lay along the top of his brows like a draught excluder.

'She'll take to being a groupie like a rock chick to water,' observed Valentine. 'Although I imagine the only kind of rock that gets her going is the sort Burton gave Taylor.'

This new, although not completely unexpected, turn of events made the phone call Jane received later that day all the odder. There seemed to be no voice on the other end
_;

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just a series of agonising gasps and sobs.

'Who is this?' asked Jane anxiously. Had Nick somehow found out about her infidelity and collapsed into tears, realising how much he loved her? Her heart raced with guilt-fuelled panic.

'It's Sha-Sha-Sha-Champagne,' the voice on the other end managed to wail before dissolving into another round of sniffles.

'What on earth's the matter? What's happened?' Jane was alarmed. Her interlocutor seemed distorted by agony of the most unimaginable nature.

'I've just got [gasp] a crisis on my hands at the moment [gulp],' stuttered Champagne. Then followed some words Jane could not quite catch. Something about slashing. About cuts. Jane froze as the line went dead, visions of Champagne bleeding to death in the bath crowding in on her.

She immediately telephoned Simon at Tuff. 'Has someone died?' she demanded. 'Has,' she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back, 'Gucci been run over?'

'Leave it with me,' rapped out Simon, sounding concerned for once. If Champagne was hurt, Jane realised, the Tuff PR bank balance would hardly escape unscathed either. Til call you back. Relax, I'm sure it's fine.'

But Jane could not relax. Listening to what had sounded like Champagne's last few minutes on earth had not been a pleasant experience. The surprising realisation that she didn't wish Champagne any real harm dawned on her. It was not, after all, Champagne's fault that they had been thrown together in this bizarre fashion. Christ, thought Jane, giving herself a thorough mental shake. I'm almost starting to feel sorry for her.

When the phone rang again, Jane dashed to answer it.

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'Hello,'said Niek.

'Hello,' stammered Jane, wondering if he could tell by the timbre of her voice what she'd been up to. 'You're back.'

'Yes and no. I'm actually calling to say I'm not
coming
back. To the flat, I mean.'

His voice sounded distant. But then again, it was, thought Jane. Being in Brussels.

'Oh dear, what a pity,' she said. Damn, and she'd been shopping for dinner again, too. 'Have you missed your plane? Do you have to go to more meetings?'

'No,' said Nick abruptly. 'I'm leaving you.' The silence that followed his words reared up and buzzed in Jane's ear.

'
What
did you say?' She clutched the receiver, stunned. Had he, could he have, found out about Tom?

'You heard me,' Nick said calmly. 'There's no nice way of saying this, so I won't. It's over. I just don't think it's working any more.' Hang on, this wasn't in the script, thought Jane, her mind racing. He's dumping me and he doesn't even seem to realise I've been unfaithful. It was almost insulting.

'I feel we've grown apart,' Nick said. He could have grown all sorts of parts, Jane thought bitterly. It had been so long since she had seen him naked he could have developed an extra leg for all she knew.

'How long have you been feeling this?' Or rather, who, Jane added silently. It was obvious now what he was trying to say.

'Well, I've actually been seeing Melissa for a while,' Nick said, understanding her perfectly. 'She's in the same office. It's being going on for about five months.' Roughly the time she had been living with Nick, Jane calculated swiftly. So that's why he had been staying so late at Westminster. He hadn't been lying when he told her he

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was working on briefs. Jane scowled. Had whips been involved as well? No doubt there had been plenty of pairing. No wonder it was called the Mother of Parliaments.

'Was she with you in Brussels?'

'I, um, haven't been to Brussels,' Nick said, at last having the grace to sound slightly shamefaced. 'I've been in London, trying to decide what to do. About us. And now I have. I'm moving out.'

'Moving out? But it's
your
flat.'

'Ye-e-es. I'm moving in with Melissa. But there's no need for
you
to leave. Stay as long as you like. As long as you keep up with the, um, mortgage payments, of course.'

'Of course.' How magnanimous of him. With one bound he was free and had gained a tenant with a doubled rent cheque. 'Right, then,' Jane said, feeling thoroughly out-manoeuvred. 'Um, OK,' she added slowly, uncertainly. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, a mist veiled her eyes and a warm flush spread across her face. A sob caught in her throat.

'Look, I'm sorry—'

'Don't.' It wasn't the loss of Nick that tore at her heart. It was his criminally appalling timing. Why hadn't he done this to her yesterday, before Tom had, well, done what Tom did? Their fling needn't have been quite so meaningless and shallow after all.

Til be round to pick up some things,' Nick said uncomfortably. Til understand if you're not there.'

Jane put the phone down as hard as she dared without drawing Josh's attention.

It rang again immediately. 'I can explain everything.'

'What do you mean?' asked Jane.

'Nothing's wrong at all. I don't think you quite understood.'

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'What?' asked Jane, too confused to place who was speaking.

'Champagne. When she called you. She's upset because the manicurist cut her nails the wrong shape, that's all. Got a bit emotional about it.' With an effort, Jane recognised Simon's voice. He had evidently recovered his sangfroid. 'She's fine now, though. Emergency over. Thought you'd like to know.'

Bugger Champagne and her manicures, thought Jane. Crisis on her hands indeed. 'Fantastic,' she said heavily.

Wishing the accelerator pedal was Nick's head, Jane shot over Waterloo Bridge like a 2CV out of hell. He had discarded her like yesterday's newspapers. Only even yesterday's newspapers had a longer lifespan with Nick. Some had hung around the flat for years.

The scales had fallen from her eyes to such an extent that she could no longer see straight, and completely missed her exit off the Elephant and Castle roundabout. The things she had done for Nick, she raged, shooting down the Embankment in the opposite direction to the one she had intended. The support she had given his career, particularly. When he was trying to get elected to the local council, en route to his goal of working in Westminster, was it not she who had stuffed endless envelopes for him? Wandered devotedly around in the pouring rain canvassing for him? Even stood in for him at his Town Hall surgery when he had been unavoidably delayed. Unavoidably delayed doing what? Jane now fumed, curling her lip with fury. It was not a surgery she wanted to see Nick in at the moment. It was Accident and Emergency.

She had stuck with him through thick and thin. Not that she had ever been all that thin. But she had certainly

been thick. Stupid beyond belief, in fact. She ground her teeth as she remembered the answerphone choked with messages from Nick's constituents, all of which she had diligently noted down for him. People complaining to the councillor about stains on their bathroom ceiling. People whispering suspicions that their neighbours were beaming death rays through the wall at them. People railing about hospital waiting lists, including the never-to-be-forgotten Cypriot matron whose swollen legs had bulged and snaked hideously with fat varicose veins. She had arrived in person in the end, choosing a morning when Nick was particularly badly hungover to come and show him exactly how much she needed an operation on her calves. It had worked. Once he had forced down his nausea, Nick had been on to the hospital like a flash.

Then there had been Nick's many meannesses. The way he always forgot his credit card in restaurants; the way he always had his ear clamped to his mobile when the taxi needed to be paid for; the day he had claimed to have no money to pay the window-cleaner and Jane had subsequently found his wallet stuffed with notes. But far worse than any of this was the fact that he had not dumped her earlier.

If she got home in time, might Tom still be there? It was a vain hope, but Jane pressed the accelerator further down anyway. As she parked outside Nick's flat, now her own, she looked up. On the first floor, Tom's crumbling bay windows were in darkness. He had emphatically, definitely, undoubtedly gone.

So that was that then. No point in thinking about him any more. It was time to pick herself up, dust herself down and start a lover again. And her newly single state held certain compensations, Jane tried to tell herself as she let

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herself into the flat. For a start, she could run herself a bath since Nick was no longer around to take all the hot water. His dirty underpants would no longer litter the floor. The tide of foamy scurf encirling the basin each morning would be a ring of the past. John Humphrys would no longer shatter the early morning silence. But it
was
silent. Absolutely, ominously silent. When, later, she turned the squeaking bathroom taps on, the thunder of water sounded like Niagara Falls.

Lowering herself into the hot embrace of the tub, Jane was shocked to see the bathwater rise further up the sides than usual. She'd got fatter lately, there was no doubt about it. She stared down the length - or was it the width - of her body, plump, white and slick with moisture under the electric bathroom light. Little, shining, blancmange-like islands of tummy, breast and thigh rose above the foaming water line. I look like the Loch Ness monster, Jane thought in panic.

Her breasts lay along her torso, white and pointed like a couple of squid heads. Her waistline, never a strong point, lay conclusively buried under layers of spare tyre and water. All waste, no line. Jane stretched a leg out of the water and scrutinised her cellulite as calmly as possible, before despairingly concluding there was more orange peel there than an orchard in Seville. Somewhere inside me, determined Jane, there is a thin woman waiting to get out. She dared not contemplate the possibility that somewhere outside her was an even fatter woman trying to muscle in.

She stared at her face in the mirror in the bath rack. The overhead lighting minimised the blue of her eyes and emphasised the bags beneath them. They looked bigger and blacker than a Prada tote. Her lips were dry and

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looked thinner than ever and the spots on her forehead seemed of Himalayan proportions. Her crows feet were at least size ten.

No wonder Nick had left her. Tom was probably glad to see the back of her as well. Which is more than I am, thought Jane, catching sight of her reflected rear in the mirrored cabinet as she heaved herself, pink and steaming as a fresh-cooked prawn, out of the bath.

Wrapped in a towel, she felt like a sausage roll, a stuffing of soft pink meat. She felt disgusted with herself. She was too fat to live. She could just stick her head in the oven and it would all be over. Easy. Except for the disgusting thought of all that gluey takeaway pizza cheese which had stuck to the oven bottom. She pulled a face, imagining the stench from the ancient slop of the pineapple and peperonis Nick had been so fond of. No, she wouldn't put her head in the oven.

She'd put it in the fridge instead.

It's at times like this that a girl needs her sense of hummus, Jane decided, shovelling in the remains of a Marks and Spencer's Greek dip selection that wasn't too far past its sell-by date.