Trophy Life (26 page)

Freddie’s hand rushed to cover hers, which sat desolately on her lap.

'You
are
a catch.' His tone was so warm she longed to wrap herself up in its embrace. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Freddie spoke up.

'I’m so sorry about the things I said. None of it was right.'

She shook her head. 'But you
were
right, weren’t you?'

'Well, yes I can’t help always being right,' he said, rolling his eyes in mock modesty. Amy’s lips curled in what was one of the first smiles she had cracked since the night of the dinner.

'Idiot.' She hit him gently on the arm with the back of her hand.

'What are you going to do now?' There was a definite tinge of hope in his question.

'I have no idea.' And, as she said this, she knew it was true. She had no idea what was next for her. And yet it wasn’t frightening or intimidating. Her future lay open and undefined, like an unspoilt landscape. The prospect of it wasn’t a source of panic or anxiety. It just was. She wasn’t sure how much potential there was, nor to what end, but she had the resources and the determination to at least explore the possibilities. Nevertheless she knew that wasn’t what Freddie meant.

When Freddie asked what she was going to do next, he wanted to know if there was a chance for them. Could they now start the relationship they were supposed to have had all those years ago? She smiled thinking about it. They could do it. Finally be a real couple, going to the movies like they had always loved and meeting each other’s friends and family. They could move in together. Maybe even get married. Have a family?

As if reading her mind, he said, 'There’s nothing stopping us. I can see you’re thinking about it.'

'I am,' she admitted. 'And it would be so amazing. I know it would.' He looked elated. He leaned forward, but she stopped him, hand on his chest. 'But it’s too easy.' At this, he froze, looking confused.

As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she began to see how things could be, if she just let them. How she could just fall into her old, comfortable pattern. How a life with Freddie could unfold with so little effort. She could avoid the struggle and possible rejection of the real world in favour of a cocoon, but in doing so, she could miss out on so much. She had to make him see it as well.

'Come on. You know it is,' she said. 'I’ve done nothing with my life, Fred. What did you say to me that night after the dinner? You asked how Harry could let me give up on my writing. And you were right. Only that wasn’t just his fault. It was mine. I have let myself just fall from one thing to another. I think if we got together I’d just do the same. Focus on you and me instead of doing something with my life. Do you see where I’m coming from?'

'No.' He was sulking and she gave him a pleading look. 'No, I really don’t,' he insisted. 'Why can’t we be happy for once? What’s the matter with just being happy?'

'Nothing. But I have to try to be happy on my own first. I have to actually
do
something by myself. I can’t just stumble from one relationship to another. It would hardly be the best start, would it?'

'No.' He rubbed his face in his hands and she saw the fight leave him. 'It just seems unfair that’s all. That to do that, you can’t be with me. I want to be there for you.' He wasn’t just sad. He was angry. She could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders. She wanted to ask for his forgiveness. To say that they shouldn’t part on these terms, but she knew she had no right to do so.

There was another reason that Amy knew things would never work between her and Freddie. Ever since she had learned about Kitty’s role in bringing him back into her life, there had grown in her an underlying anger for allowing herself to fall into such a trap. She hated that she had been manipulated in this way. And, as much as she didn’t want it to, it tainted her feelings for Freddie, poisoning them. Of course, he had been manipulated as well. He had been collateral damage.

Amy tried to hug him from where she sat, but the angle was awkward and he didn’t try to help her. He just sat, head in hands until she let go. Giving up, she kissed his head. She was working hard to keep the tears at bay. She was surprised at the fact that she had any tears left. Surely she had cried them all out by now. She stood up and picked up her bag and laptop, giving him one last look before she walked out. It was only when she was safely on the street, walking away, that she let the tears flow.   

Chapter 18

Amy had never felt such pride as when she signed her first rental agreement. Yes, it was for a tiny studio flat in West Hampstead – or more accurately the less glamorous Kilburn - that wouldn’t allow her to
have
a cat let alone swing one around. Yes, it was just a six month lease, not a twenty five year mortgage. And yes, it was audibly near the very busy high road. But it was all hers. Earned with her money from her own job.

It was six months since she had joined the staff of The Children’s Fund as part of their publicity department. She had called them in the aftermath of the wine debacle to offer her apologies when Jinny had offered her a job.

'Look, I know things didn’t end as well as they could have, but you really did do excellent work. And of course then there was that anonymous donation. So you really don’t have to apologise for anything.'

'Donation?'

It turned out that a mysterious donor had given the charity over £200,000 a mere two days after the article about the wine fiasco had been printed.

'It allowed us to complete all the work and hire two more staff members. I guess what they say is right. No publicity is bad publicity.'

Amy had been delighted. Of course, it hadn’t been the move into journalism that she had wanted, but it did allow her to do plenty of writing. In fact, much of her job involved creating everything from brochures to press releases and all for a worthy cause.

She loved every minute of it. She adored her colleagues, a group of excited and excitable guys and girls who enjoyed daily drinks at the lively bar next to their office. She loved the fact that she was writing for a living. Actually paid to write. And she loved helping the children who relied on the charity.

She felt such a sense of achievement every time she reached the discreet front door of the North London offices. She had found this job herself. Attained it herself. It was all her.

It was especially exciting that she was finally out of her parents’ house. She had only stayed with Julia and Mark for a total of two weeks before realising that her presence on their sofa was hardly what they needed in their lives. Nor was it a great way to move on with hers. But moving back in to her parents’ home had been soul destroying. She had been transported right back to those dark days after finishing her training contract with Drakers. No job and no prospect of one, but now she was even worse off. Not only had she lost a husband, but a best friend as well.

The divorce had been incredibly fast. It had all been done on paper, completely impersonally and, within a matter of weeks they were no longer husband and wife. It had helped that they had no children together and that their prenuptial agreement had been so precise. They had merely left with everything with which they had come into the marriage. It had almost been too easy. Surely it shouldn’t be so simple to end a marriage. She kept waiting for a stern-faced judge to call them to explain themselves.

'Two years? What on earth made you get married then only last two years?'

In the months since she had left Harry, she had had plenty of time to consider their relationship. She felt sad about the end, not bitter. Yes, what he had done was cruel and wrong, but they each had a role to play in their downfall. They had rushed into a marriage for all the wrong reasons; she had wanted to hide from her mistakes and to give her life new meaning, something which he seemed to offer. She meanwhile represented a chance for him to confound expectations. He hadn’t wanted to marry the girl his father had chosen for him, to follow the script already written. Was it really surprising that it hadn’t worked out? The last thing she wanted was to air their dirty laundry in public any more than it had been already.

Unfortunately the papers had loved it.

'Sir Split-A-Lot Splits From Wife'
the
Daily Mail
had cried from the newspaper stands the day after it had happened, with a rather unforgiving photo of herself á la Cherie Blair with a birds nest on her head emerging from her parents’ front door (that was the last time she would answer a door without full makeup). Harry meanwhile had looked, in their words, '
downcast, but dapper in a pin-striped Armani suit.'

She had since seen – also in the papers - that he was now dating Binky Hijinx of all people. They had been photographed around and about at all sorts of high end events, from the Polo to art gallery openings and even the odd festival, Binky looking flawless in her short shorts and Hunter wellies while Harry looked slightly out of place in skinny jeans and a white shirt with a scarf tied around his neck.

As for Lucy, she wasn’t sure if they could ever be friends again; certainly not as they had been, but when she thought about her, she no longer felt the burning hatred that had first engulfed her in those early days. She still couldn’t entirely forgive the betrayal, but nor could she discount everything Lucy had said to her in the changing cubicles that day. Maybe Amy hadn’t paid enough attention to what had been going on in Lucy’s life. After all, her friend had clearly felt lost, jumping from one job to another. Perhaps she could have asked more questions, listened more closely.

Then there had been Freddie. Giving him up had been the hardest thing of all. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t wonder if she had made a mistake. Had it not been for her mother’s gentle nagging, she wasn’t sure she would have gotten out of bed in the mornings.

Yet it was getting easier and easier to come to terms with her decision. Not only was she happy in her work, but she had started writing for fun again. She now authored an anonymous fortnightly blog entitled
Secret Life of an Accidental Aristo
. It was a behind the scenes look at life in the higher echelons, all told with fictional names and with more than a dash of humour. Giselle, with whom she had stayed in touch, helped her keep on top of the goings on in the Society and beyond. It had a small, but dedicated following on social media and Amy loved the back and forth she had with the readers.

'I cannot BELIEVE how some of these people live! The clothes, the makeup. I live vicariously through this blog'
, one comment had read, while another girl wrote, '
The way you describe the characters, I feel like I know them, but that they are people I would never meet. Totally different world. Like another planet!'

She always replied to every comment. What made it especially fascinating though was that it showed her how social media had made the world an even smaller place. One message she had received had been from former colleague and ex-trainee-solicitor, Graham Gill. The last she had heard of him had been his exit from the firm in favour of life in Peru. Well, now he was back and, fresh from his adventures, was working in a vegan restaurant in Archway.

'And who came in last week with two tots in tow??'
he had written to her.

The answer had been Jackie, who had apparently given up law in favour of life as a stay-at-home mum of twins, living in the suburbs. The news had made Amy laugh out loud.

Today, dressed in her old Seven jeans and a fitted t-shirt with a pair of trainers, she had made her way through the chaos of London Underground and was walking towards the charity headquarters when she saw Julia’s name flash on her phone screen. 

'Jules! How are the munchkins?'

There were floods of tears on the other line. The kind that would leave her sister breathless, nose streaming.

'She’s gone. That’s it.' Sobbing ensued.

'Jules it’s her first day at primary school, not the army. She’ll be back at 3:30. Was she ok?'

'Barely gave me a backwards glance,' Julia sniffed. 'Now mum’s really on my case. ‘They’re all at school now. Does that mean you’re going to finally get a job’' she mimicked.

Amy giggled while avoiding another pedestrian on a direct collision course.

'It doesn’t help that she can now use you as an example. ‘Amy’s got a job. Amy’s working. Why can’t you?’ Oh because it’s that easy. What am I going to do?'

Having bid her sister farewell, Amy entered the now infinitely more cheerful premises of The Children’s Fund headquarters.

'Hi Christa, hi James,' she said, waving as she passed the offices of the carers team on the way to her own.

'Drinks tonight!' Christa yelled back. It was Friday, so drinks were practically mandatory.

At her desk, Amy started replying to the emails that had already landed in her inbox. There was one from a social worker detailing some extra help that a six year old girl named Lindsey needed on the weekend. A photo of Lindsey was included, which Amy couldn’t help but linger over. Large brown eyes stared at her from the screen. They seemed simultaneously innocent and burdened and Amy’s stomach churned with the elation that the things she did day-to-day could help this child. It was all the motivation she needed. She forwarded the message to Christa, marking it urgent. She knew Christa and her team would try everything possible to help Lindsey.

There were several other messages about fundraising events. Then she started working on a press release about their latest project, a plan to set up a fund to take groups of carer children on holidays. Just then she received another email. It was from someone called Jonty Fitzgerald, the subject line read '
Thank you
.'

'Dear Ms Harris

My name is Jonty Fitzgerald. My mother was Lady Fenella Fitzgerald. I believe you knew my mother from the London Ladies. I am afraid we lost her a few months ago. Mummy was a strong willed, smart and caring woman, but towards the end of her life, she wasn’t always herself. She was prone to bouts of forgetfulness and confusion, but the London Ladies was a sanctuary to her and one she valued greatly.

But I digress.

I wanted to write to let you know that, towards the end of her life, she made a large donation to your charity and I believe it was you who inspired her to do so. I know she did so anonymously and perhaps I am not honouring her wishes exactly, but I thought you should know that your passion for this cause was one she took to heart. It was one I heard her mention on several occasions.

I hope to continue her legacy. Please know that I will continue to fundraise for your very worthy cause and that I will encourage others to do so.

Yours faithfully

Lord J. Fitzgerald'

She had to reread it several times before it sunk in and some of her colleagues must have realised something was up because they were crowded around her desk reading over her shoulder by the time she shook herself back to reality.

Amy remembered Lady Fenella always attending the committee meetings. She now wished she had spoken to her more, learned more about her story. An enormous wave of guilt attacked her.

'Wow,' James breathed.

'Yes, we’re definitely going to need those drinks,' Christa said behind her as a stunned silence prevailed.

***

'Mum? You won’t believe what happened today,' Amy babbled excitedly into her phone over her lunch break, walking brusquely to the local café where she always bought her sandwich, keen to get out of the cold. Her mum was now one of her favourite people to tell about her achievements at work as well as relying on her for advice.

Nothing had surprised Amy more than her mother’s reaction when Amy had found her new job. She had told her parents over a Tuesday night dinner, nonchalantly, trying to underplay it. When she had said that she had been offered a new role, she had expected her mother to be excited, but had also thought that that excitement would last only as long as it took to tell them what the job entailed. After all, working for a pittance at a charity was not exactly similar to the professional life they had envisioned for her. And yet, Clara had been not just happy, but delighted by the news.

'That’s fantastic darling!' she had exclaimed, dropping her fork and going to hug her.

'Honestly mum, it’s just a small charity and the pay is really low,' Amy had said as her mum heartily kissed her on the head. 'But I think it’s something I’ll really enjoy.'

'Don’t put yourself down. It’s a great role.'

'And they offered it to you because you did such a good job for them on that dinner? That’s outstanding,' her father had marvelled.

Amy had beamed, revelling in her parents’ clear pride. Since then, it was as if a silent yet seismic shift had occurred. It had taken time, but Amy had stopped worrying what her parents thought about her and, in response, they had started treating her like an equal. Even the way they talked to her had changed. Amy knew it wasn’t just because she had entered the labour market. It was more than that.

Looking back, she could see that they hadn’t been able to understand her choices and she had never opened up to them. In fact, worried that they wouldn’t approve, she had closed herself off. She had hidden away in the cossetted world she had created and pretended, even to herself, that everything was fine.

'You clearly made a big impression on her,' her mother now said when Amy had finished telling her about the email and the donation. Clara paused. 'I’m just so happy that you’ve finally found your place.'

Amy didn’t know what to say to this. Her mother continued. 'Because that’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? For you to be happy. That’s all any mother wants.'