Trophy Life (13 page)

Amy’s heart felt like it had risen all the way to her throat and was trying to jump right out. So they weren’t together anymore.

'We’re co-parenting now. That’s what they call it. For Rupe’s sake. Actually we get on pretty well now that we’re not sharing a bathroom.'

She laughed politely, but felt all of the old feelings bubbling to the surface. That sense of injustice. The desperate sadness. The sheer jealousy. She had never had the chance to share a bathroom with Freddie. Never had the chance to learn if they worked as well together as a couple as they would have done as friends. Sitting here with him now it felt inconceivable that they would never get that opportunity.

'How often do you get to see him?' She surprised herself with how normal she sounded.

'I have him sleep over every other weekend and I pick him up from nursery twice a week. He goes to nursery near my office actually as Fran works nearby too. He’s a handful, but so much fun.'

He still called her Fran. It was a small thing, but she wondered what kind of breakup they could have had that would mean he still called her Fran. Was there still a spark there?

'Want to see a photo?' Freddie asked shyly.

Amy really didn’t. She didn’t want to see the child he shared with Francesca. Their joint bond. But on the other hand she really did. Smiling and nodding, she reached out as he proffered his phone.

There, on the screen, was a photograph of a dark haired smiling little boy, his arm coiled possessively around Freddie’s neck. It was like looking at the past and the present in one shot.

'He’s identical to you,' she breathed. 'A little Freddie.'

'I know,' he smiled, taking his phone back and looking at the photo himself. The love was so clear in his eyes it made Amy want to cry and put her arms around him. He was clearly a devoted dad.

'What about you? Any plans for kids anytime soon?'

'Well, if Harry had his way, I’d be barefoot and pregnant by now.' She felt a bit disloyal saying this, especially to Freddie, but the words had slipped out before she could think to censor them.

'But you don’t want that?' he asked. There was no judgement in his voice. It was purely a question.

'I want kids,' she clarified. She wanted him to know that. 'I think I’m just not ready yet. Or something.' She truly didn’t have the answer to this.

'Did you ever think about when you’d have kids? I mean, did you picture what your life would be like?' He sounded almost wistful as he peeled the label off a bottle of water.

In truth, she had never pictured how her family life would pan out beyond the vague notion that she would get married and have children. When she was at university, she’d never considered it at all, thinking instead of what she would do professionally. She had been desperate to write or work behind the scenes in the news. Maybe work in politics. There had been no space for any other thoughts.

'Nope. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I just expected it to happen.'

'Yep, me too. Just not that quickly.' They shared a look. She knew this was her chance to ask.

'What happened?' She said it quietly.

'You know what happened.' She said nothing. He knew what she meant. Neither of them looked the other in the eye. They were both playing with the spoons and dessert plates in front of them.

'You know I couldn’t leave.' She did. She remembered that tearful night like it was yesterday.

She had been waiting a week for his call before it finally came. Her joy, her happiness and excitement had turned first to impatience then confusion, then to anger and then, finally, to despair before his name finally appeared on her phone.

'Amy,' he had croaked.

'Hi.' The word had come out as an exhalation, all intention to give him the cold shoulder fading away as she heard his voice.

'I’m so sorry.'

She had waited. Waited as he had paused. She had expected a grovelling missive about how he’d taken so long to call. Or maybe he’d just changed his mind. Maybe he would say he had been drunk and regretted it. Regretted saying those things. Kissing her. It had seemed interminable that pause. That silence. In retrospect she’d have wanted it to last longer so she would have had less time before she had heard him say it.

'Fran’s pregnant. Amy, she’s having my baby.'

Amy had felt stupefied. None of it made sense. For some reason the first thought that had come to her was, ‘but they’ve broken up, why would they still be having sex?’ She went through all the possibilities in her head in a second. Abortion, adoption. But she knew those things just weren’t Freddie. He would never do that. She knew him so well.

'I can’t leave her, Amy.' She knew this too. She knew this instinctively. Freddie had never forgiven his own father for leaving his mum to raise him and his brother alone. It had broken her. It was a massive part of the reason he never liked to go back home on the weekends. He always felt like a burden. A reminder of the fact that his father had left.

Freddie broke into her thoughts.

'We moved in together near Fran’s parents in London. They were really good about it. My mum was devastated. But she’s coped. It was hard. We both quit uni and I went to work, like I told you in a kitchen. Long hours and then no sleep with a newborn was not fun. Even if we’d loved each other I think the stress could have broken us.'

'It sounds like you’ve lived a lifetime in just a few years.'

'That’s exactly what it feels like.'

They had finished a bottle of wine between them at this point and were both looking a bit morose.  Freddie stood up and motioned for her to follow. 'I think we need to liven things up a bit, don’t you?'

Out on the dancefloor, the bride and groom were energetically dancing with their friends and family. Freddie walked her onto the floor as the band sang a rowdy rendition of Bruno Mars’s
Uptown Funk
.

Amy, who hadn’t danced in ages – Harry refused to dance unless mandated by his mother and only then something sedate like a Waltz – felt her limbs loosen as she found the beat. Before she knew it, half an hour had passed and the band switched to a slower sound in the form of Shania Twain’s
Looks Like We Made It
. She and Freddie stood apart for a minute before he beckoned her to him and they came together in an awkward approximation of a slow dance. She was keenly aware of his arm around her waist.

'I’ve never understood why this song is always played at weddings,' he mused. 'If you listen to the lyrics, it is truly miserable. They really are a bad couple.' And with that they swayed silently to the crooning voice of Shania, Amy savouring every second.

When the song finished, replaced by the much more upbeat
Brown Eyed Girl
, they stood there, unmoving, for several more seconds just looking into each other’s eyes. Amy felt entranced. Their spell was broken when somebody stumbled into them in the course of his dance moves, shouting a slightly slurred, 'Sorry!'

'Come on, let’s get off the dancefloor.'

As they did, Amy suddenly felt certain she should go home. She wasn’t sure where this evening could end up, but she knew the feelings she was having weren’t right.

'I’d better go. Thanks so much for tonight. It really is beautiful.' She was backing away from him.

'Let me get you a cab.'

'No, no, don’t worry. I’ll just ask at the reception desk.' Their eyes met in understanding. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

'Goodnight Aims.'

She smiled back. 'Goodnight.'

***

Amy was driving determinedly the next morning on her way to the London Ladies headquarters, a travel cup of strong coffee in her cup holder. She was happy that she had taken Freddie’s advice to research organising charity events. For one thing, she had realised what an incredibly short amount of time two months was to plan such an event and that she had better get her skates on.

Most guides to planning such dos started at nine months before. One had started a full year before. Amongst their to-do lists were marketing and promoting the event, choosing a venue and arranging games and entertainment. Yet, Amy could see that the most important element was managing the budget. It was this that would determine the amount the charity would receive at the end.

Another reason she was only too glad to be so preoccupied was that all of this activity meant that she had no time to dwell on last night or the confusion that it had awakened inside her. It meant that instead of lying in bed that morning paralysed into a stupor by a mixture of guilt and excitement at having been so close to her ex-beau, she was barrelling towards the Knightsbridge HQ of the Society, where Esther had assured her of her own desk at which to work.

The building was a discrete townhouse in one of the area’s most prominent roads behind Harrods. Like her mother-in-law’s house it was a stuccoed building, yet in contrast to Andrea’s the inside was not stuffy or dark, but bright, modern and simply stunning. Almost entirely comprised of white and glass surfaces, it was a perfect mix of period features and modern chic. Elaborate cornicing mixed flawlessly with glossy white furniture while period fireplaces were crowned with bright pink lilies in tall vases.

Amy had made her best attempt at dressing appropriately. Giselle had actually taken to couriering outfits directly to her house, like a sartorial fairy godmother. Today, she was dressed in shimmering black trousers and a plain black long sleeved top with a grey fur gilet, a gold chain dangling down almost to her waistline. The clothes were slightly tight on her, but just about fit. Yet, judging by the withering up down look she received from the impossibly glamorous receptionist, she had clearly fallen short of the mark.

Once inside, she saw a small bar with several tables, chairs and comfortable looking sofas scattered around. There was a door signposted as the spa and another as the changing rooms.

Directed upstairs, she found her way to a large open plan room with several desks scattered around it. Esther greeted her as she entered.

'Amy, hello,' her plump frame made its way to her. 'Let me show you your desk. You have your own computer and there’s a stationary cupboard over there. Is there anything else you want help with?'

Amy asked to see details of past events. Esther looked confused at this, but after much rifling through folders, she produced a couple of press cuttings and some sheets of paper with scant details.

'Is that it?' Amy asked. She had been expecting clear budgets, maybe a spreadsheet or two.

'Oh well we’ve always done the same thing,' said Esther, her eyes bulging in confusion.

'And does it have to be at The Dorchester?'

'Oh yes,' Esther enthused. 'The Annual Dinner is always at The Dorchester. Where else would it be?' She looked completely mystified by the question itself.

'Ok, well, thanks.' She smiled and Esther waddled away. Amy spent the rest of the morning studying her options, researching game ideas and looking at possible guest numbers, marketing tactics and ticket prices. Esther would occasionally come to peer over her shoulder, oohing and aahing over her Excel spreadsheets and lists.

By the end of the morning, Amy felt that she was starting to get to grips with things. She created a group email chain with the rest of the committee members, setting their next meeting and asking them to start thinking about prizes for a raffle. She also contacted the charity representative for The Children’s Fund to ask if she could give a speech.

'Children’s Fund, Jinny speaking.'

'Hi Jinny, I’m Amy from London Ladies, we’re doing a fundraiser for your charity next month?'

Jinny seemed electrified by this.

'Oh yes! I can’t tell you how thrilled we are. We’re not used to having this kind of support, it’s brilliant.'

It transpired that The Children’s Fund was a tiny charity that helped children in North London who acted as carers for their family members.

'We’re not one of the better known charities and we usually struggle to get any donations so this is a big deal for us,' Jinny had confided. 'Why don’t you come in to our offices and see what we do?'

Bowled over by Jinny’s enthusiasm and her promise that she wouldn’t regret it, Amy had agreed to come and see their centre in Kentish Town the next day.

Happy with her achievements, Amy decided it was time for a little reward. She wandered over to Harrods where she perused the food hall, coming away with pots of olives and antipasti, then visiting the beauty counters for some La Prairie goodies. No harm in making herself look her best, after all. Giselle had been telling her that she was looking 'tired', which Amy knew meant that she thought she looked awful. So maybe she should make an effort. It was this thought that carried her through the rest of the day.

Chapter 10

Amy was browsing her Facebook newsfeed for what must have been the fifth time that morning when she heard her mother call her from downstairs.

'Amy, we’re leaving. Are you sure you don’t want to come?' There was a pleading note in her voice.

It was a Saturday in October and Amy was in her childhood bedroom in Totteridge, dressed in a ripped Guns N Roses t-shirt that had belonged to Julia and a pair tracksuit bottoms, makeup free with her hair tied messily back in a frizzy ponytail. ‘Come and get it boys’, she had thought sardonically as she had, despite her best efforts to avoid it, caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.

'No thanks, mum!' she yelled back. Her parents were off to visit her Aunt Norrie and Uncle David in Bushey. She could hear her mother looking for the keys to the car and her dad shuffling around impatiently. It was a good few minutes before she breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the front door close.

Stuffing yet another handful of popcorn into her mouth, Amy returned to surveying the virtual world. Despite the early hour, several of her friends had already posted updates.

'Freezing cold, but loving it!'
wrote an old school friend, Hannah, captioning a photo of a sunrise with her hand on the mast of what appeared to be a sailing boat. She had always been the active sort, but surely even she wasn’t capable of being so disgustingly, impressively full of life so early on the weekend? The time on the photo read 5:30am for goodness sake.  Amy studied the image with its beautiful yellow and orange tinge and gentle waves. Even Hannah’s hand looked fulfilled, with its tan and clutch of bracelets visible on her wrist. 

'Does anyone know what I did last night?'
wrote Scott from university. Amy smiled at this and 'liked' it. Clearly old habits died hard.

Scrolling down, she saw posts from the day before, the Friday. It seemed filled with friends’ successes and challenges in work.

'Hating the City Line this morn. Grrr.'

'Did someone say promotion? Um, yes!'
This accompanied a photo of a large and impressive cocktail.

Or '
Boardroom Bingo: First one to complete all these dares in their next meeting wins a round of drinks.'

Reading these excited and excitable snippets and seeing the photos of drunken Friday night drinks with colleagues, Amy felt left out in the cold. She hadn’t been out in weeks. She couldn’t face the pitying gazes or perky questions about what she was up to. What would she tell them? That she was looking for work? In between jobs?  What had she even done yesterday whilst the world went out to work? Well, it had been pretty similar to today actually. She had sat. Waiting. That was what she did now.

Waiting for emails replying to applications. For phone calls responding to voicemails from her asking for a chance. This seemed to be her new job. She waited.

Occasionally there would be a frisson of activity. She would hit the refresh button to find an email in her inbox, usually from Bookatable.com or TripAdvisor. When genuine correspondence from actual potential employers did arrive it was invariably negative.

In the past month, Amy had had twenty seven rejections by email and four by post. Most places just ignored her altogether. She wasn’t sure what was worse. She had almost started to feel bad for bothering the poor human resources teams tasked with responding to her clearly substandard application forms and covering letters.

Deciding to take a break from her lacklustre attempts at a job hunt, Amy stood up from the office chair now littered with popcorn husks and stretched. She noticed a fluffy white piece of popcorn drop to the ground presumably liberated from some hidden crevice and bent to pick it up, popping it into her mouth.

Entering the living room, she slumped in front of the TV. She already knew there would be nothing good on, but she was prepared with pre-recorded shows from the week on the Sky box.

She had just started watching
America’s Next Top Model
when her phone began to trill. It was Lucy.

'Hey,' Amy said dully as she picked up.

'Hey yourself,' Lucy said breathlessly. Why did she sound breathless? Amy considered asking, but wasn’t in the mood to find out. She probably shouldn’t have answered the phone. Why bother? She didn’t really feel like chatting. She stared ahead aimlessly as a girl who resembled a praying mantis in both body and facial features tripped as she attempted to walk down the runway.

'Fancy a coffee? I’m not far from you.'

Amy hesitated. It wasn’t like she had alternative plans. And yet she couldn’t imagine getting dressed – including shoes and everything – and actually leaving the house. It all sounded a bit extreme.

'I don’t know,' she said.

'Oh come on. I haven’t seen you in ages. What if I come to you?' Now Lucy’s voice was almost pleading.

Amy relented and the next thing she knew, Lucy was on her doorstep. As Amy opened the door, she was sure that she saw an old man do a double take and visibly quicken his pace as he saw her. Then she focused on her friend. She wasn’t sure who was more shocked. Lucy clearly hadn’t bargained on Amy still being in her crumpled, stained night clothes, nor that her unwashed hair would be festooned with popcorn, like baubles on a Christmas tree. Amy meanwhile had never seen Lucy in workout gear, yet here she was in Nike Air trainers and a tracksuit. Sweat was seeping through on the armpits, indicating that some form of physical exertion might have taken place.

Lucy was the first to speak. 'What happened to you?' Amy may as well have been wielding a bloody chainsaw with a maniacal grin on her face given the horror in Lucy’s voice. 'You look terrible.' Her friend picked a piece of popcorn from Amy’s hair.

'Nothing,' Amy replied defensively. 'Just a slow day.'

Amy put the kettle on and she and Lucy sat at the table studying each other, listening to the loud humming drone of the water burbling into life.

'So what have you been up to?' Amy said, forcing as much cheer as possible into her voice.

'Nothing much. Work’s a bit dull, but it’s a friendly enough gang. Accountancy isn’t exactly thrilling, but it gets me through the day. I’m seeing dad later. Something he wants to talk to me about. I think he wants to talk about my future or something. He’s coming over for dinner. Mum’s her usual busy self. Always on holiday or out with friends. She’s just come back from a week in the Maldives with the Lord.' 'The Lord' was their nickname for Lucy’s stepfather, Lord Galton.

Lucy’s parents had split up when she was young, but it was quite an amicable divorce as far as Amy could tell. It was almost as if her parents had just one day shrugged their shoulders and gone their separate ways. It was almost certainly more complex than this, but given that Lucy had been too young to remember any of it, that seemed irrelevant.

'I’m more worried about you really. What’s been going on? I hate to say it, but you look like things are bad.'

As she walked over to make the drinks, Amy considered shrugging it off and pretending there was nothing wrong, but she was pretty sure that she was the physical embodiment of 'not ok'. What’s more, it would be good to talk to someone outside her family about her job search, especially Lucy who had yet to find her chosen path. She was always changing jobs. Last year she had tried being a personal assistant. Now she was working in the human resources department of an accountancy firm.

'I wouldn’t take it personally, Aims,' she said soothingly when Amy had finished telling her the latest in her fruitless hunt. 'A lot of these places advertise jobs that are already filled, just to look like they’re open to outsider applications. It’s all about who you know. Even in the accountancy world. You’d be surprised.'

'But even if that makes me feel better, it doesn’t help me find a job though, does it.' Amy said despondently, holding onto her mug of tea.

They sat in silence thinking about this. 'You will find something you know,' Lucy said finally.

Amy couldn’t stand the look of pity in her friend’s eyes. If she thought about it any longer she might cry. She scrabbled in her mind for a change of subject.

'Hey, it’s your birthday next week!' It had come out louder than she had intended, but it had the desired effect.

'Yes! Nothing massive. Just drinks at mine.' But Amy knew that this was a big step for the usually reserved Lucy, who had never made a big deal about her birthday. The most she had ever done was drinks at the pub with her friends and even that was only because they had dragged her out.

Amy was actually dreading it. The thought of having to dress up and be sociable at the event was not a pleasant one, but she knew there was no way out. She hadn’t even started to think of what she would wear.

'My mum’s insisted on having a barman. Can you imagine?' Lucy rolled her eyes and Amy laughed. It was a relief to be talking about things besides work and within an hour she had started to almost feel like herself. Yet, when Lucy left a couple of hours later, the silence of the house descended again and, unsure of what else to do, she returned to
America’s Next Top Model
.