‘Researching her,’ I corrected him. ‘It’s easy for her to give, isn’t it? Fifty quid a month for her is just like a normal person flipping fifty pence.’
‘I suppose, but not all rich people are charitable.’
‘I also learnt she’s not a hugger, so don’t go in too tactile.’
‘OK. What else?’
‘She never crosses the road unless the green man is lit, she jumps at loud noises and then looks annoyed at herself for doing so, she eats lots of noodle bowls from Itsu. She runs every day.’ She runs with the kind of grim determination that makes me wonder what she’s running from. ‘By the way, the doctor won’t keep signing me off and I need to be available for you and this project, so I will have to resign from the Concierge.’
‘How will we manage?’
‘Doing without the regular income is a gamble, but Mum is helping us out and it will be worthwhile when the big payoff comes.’
At the conference, I directed the ‘meet-cute’. I told him when to approach her, when to hold back. The moment she’d finished delivering her speech, I nudged him so that he quickly stood up before anyone else and clapped loudly; she couldn’t fail to see his enthusiasm. I didn’t allow him to join the throng congratulating her as she left the auditorium. ‘She’ll come to you,’ I predicted with certainty. ‘You should get a drink in.’
‘Shall I get a couple of glasses of wine?’ he asked me as we waited for her to arrive at the bar. ‘You said she drinks red. That will make me look confident, and she’ll be flattered that I guessed her preference.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘No, it will make you look reptilian and creep her out. She needs to trust you, and women don’t trust men who ply them with alcohol. Get water. Not tap, sparkling, to show some level of effort.’
I found a seat at the bar and told him to take her to the table in the corner when she arrived. I couldn’t hear them, but I watched them. As I’d followed her for the previous few weeks, I’d become a bit of an expert on her body language. I’d seen her interact politely with strangers; with them she keeps her back straight, her head high, holds herself at a distance. I’d seen her brush off anyone she considered a time-waster; she can do this with one cold glance. And I’d observed her with her friends. When she talks to them, she practically melds into them; her body bends towards them, curls as though she is caressing the air around them, then over and over again she explodes into loud bursts of laughter, throwing back her head, opening her mouth wide, shaking with mirth.
That first night, she did something similar with Mattie. I knew she liked him from the off. That was a relief. He’s good-looking and charming, I’ve said all that, and when he turns his intensity on you, he’s hard to resist, and he really did appear to be upping the ante. It was good to know that the acting classes weren’t a complete waste of time. It’s lucky I’d seen his act before, or it might have been quite hard to handle watching him tilt his head as he listened to her, hanging on her every word, once or twice touching her arm with the tips of his fingers – nothing too blatant, but enough to show his interest, to send a spark. I guess those years of threesomes were my training for this. Helped me identify when he was disassociating the physical and the emotional. I told myself it was great news that he was managing things so well. That initial meeting had been a significant financial investment. I’d had to shell out for train tickets, conference tickets and the hotel room. We did at least put the room to good use. Got our money’s worth when he’d finished up with her. He was under strict instructions to leave her feeling ambiguous about the nature of his attention. It would have been a mistake to so much as kiss her on that first night. Slowly, slowly wins the day.
The next morning, he wanted to leave her a note. I wouldn’t let him. I knew this woman; she was confident and independent. If he came across clingy or in any way too keen, she’d run a mile, maybe even smell a rat. He had to leave her hanging. Wanting more.
It was a nervous wait. Just when I was beginning to be concerned that I’d misread her, her marketing team got in touch, some flimsy excuse about needing a photographer at short notice. Could Mattie perhaps go to her office?
Boom, and just like that we were off the starting block.
31
‘If you don’t fuck her, she’ll lose interest,’ I told him.
‘She won’t, actually. She likes talking to me.’
‘Yeah, but you’ll be friend-zoned, or she’ll think you are friend-zoning her.’
I said this in a way that suggested it was no big deal to me and with the hope that it was no big deal to him. He was a little skittish about jumping into bed with her, or at least he had the good sense to pretend that was the case to me. He’d used the grieving widower card for four weeks, but they were dating – just as I wanted, just as I’d planned – but I knew they would have to have sex eventually. I’d signed up to that.
I knew when they had. I could see it in her face the moment she emerged from her house to go for her run. She looked relaxed, joyful. Mattie is good in the sack. I didn’t ask him about it like I had all those years ago when he slept with the no-hope wannabe actress. I didn’t need any level of specificity in this case. Overthinking it wouldn’t help. I didn’t want to imagine his lips on hers, on her nipples, on her thighs. I didn’t want to wonder about what sort of sex they had. We all know there’s a range. Was it good? Bad? Surely bad. Dull, static, ideally. She probably just lay there being useless, not sucking or allowing him to lick or explore. God, I hoped so. But did anyone have static sex any more, or did that die out in the 1950s? I didn’t want her to have the sense to even fake an orgasm, and I certainly didn’t want to think she didn’t need to fake one. All I could do was try to put it out of my head. Generally I’m good at compartmentalising. Best not to know. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?
What I do know rips me apart.
I bet she did come.
How much money justifies encouraging your partner to make another woman come? If you’d asked me that when I was nineteen, I’d have said there is no amount in the world. I used to say romantic things like that. I used to believe them. Now I’d say a couple of million will more than cover it. I don’t think I’m cheapening him.
I think I could have accepted her joyful expression, but then I saw him whistling. He looked pleased with himself. Very much carrying the air of a job well done. So I unscrewed every one of the bulbs that hung in cheerful festoons throughout her garden and smashed them on the patio. Kids sometimes steal those filament light bulbs; you can sell them on eBay. I could have stolen them so she’d think it was kids, but I wanted her to have to clear up the mess. I hoped she’d cut herself while doing so. Later, when Mattie asked me if I knew anything about the smashed bulbs, I replied, ‘Nothing at all.’ He probably didn’t believe me, but he didn’t challenge me. He picks his battles. Wise.
It’s annoying to admit, but they are quite a convincing couple. People who don’t know them might very well believe in them. They’re not as magnificent as we were when we first started dating; then, we literally turned heads. But she is always laughing and talking and I suppose that is attractive if you like noisy, bubbly types. When Mattie commented that she always had something to say on literally any subject, I snapped, ‘Of course, she went to a posh private school, didn’t she? They teach you that stuff. Small talk and debating and interesting conversation-openers.’
‘And she laughs a lot too.’ He was smiling to himself as he said this. Men are simple, in every sense of the word; they have no idea how transparent they are.
‘I’d laugh if I was as rich as her,’ I muttered. I didn’t add what I was thinking. She won’t be laughing when we’re finished with her. I went to three different comprehensives before I left school at sixteen. No one ever taught me much at all. I’m not going to give you the sob story. Just believe me, it was fucked. My education and my propensity to laugh and chatter were both fucked. Sod Mattie for being impressed by a posh little prig who had everything handed to her on a plate.
When I wasn’t searching through her house, I followed them on their dates. Most of the time I had to wait outside concert halls and trendy restaurants, just imagining the fun they were having learning to make cocktails or master circus skills as I stood on the pavement eating chips. I preferred it when they went to free galleries and museums; at least I could follow them inside then. I didn’t tell Mattie I did this. I thought he’d feel scrutinised, and I didn’t want him to get spooked and start behaving unnaturally with her. I kept at a safe distance. Out of sight.
Out of mind too, apparently.
I mean, obviously nothing is actually going on with them, in a properly meaningful sense; it’s all essentially play-acting, but it’s not always easy to watch. To the casual observer, he might seem quite into her. I tailed them on their little antiquing excursion. I knew he was playing a part and I was glad he was doing it so well, but I was irritated by the fact that he has never once accompanied me on an antiquing excursion or any mooch around any shops. They looked like they were having fun. His excuse to avoid shops with me has always been that it’s pointless to go shopping because we don’t have money to spare, which is true, but you can just look, you don’t have to buy. Years ago, I collected eighteenth- and nineteenth-century ink bottles; it was when I was modelling and had spare cash for such fripperies and indulgences. I had to sell the collection when I let everything of any value go. I didn’t get as much for them as I paid. I heard him tell her that I collected ink bottles, which surprised me. Pleasantly. Cheered me up a bit. I hadn’t expected him to remember.
It is beyond weird hearing him talk about me as his dead wife. The whole grieving widower thing was my idea. I thought it was a better backstory than him presenting as a divorcee or appearing flighty, because at thirty-six, a lack of significant exes indicates a fear of commitment. Plus, we had to have a story that explained why he had no friends or family that she could meet. A lost, isolated widower living away from loved ones is an object of pity and easy to trust. More than that, this story provided a little pinch of something extra. I knew it would create uncertainty about where his affection – his devotion – truly lies. That’s a good thing with a competitive woman. I know she’s jealous of me. Dead me. She wouldn’t be in the least bit jealous of alive me if she knew everything.
The shopping expedition really got to me. They were making goo-goo eyes over tasty treats while I was moping in the shadows, hungry as usual. I followed them from shop to shop. Not going in the smaller ones where I’d be easily spotted, but hanging about outside, waiting for them. When they went into the large antiques emporium, I saw him head upstairs, so I took the opportunity to slip inside and nip downstairs. I didn’t know exactly what I hoped to achieve by staying so close to them; it was a compulsion. I mean, what else was I to do with my Saturday afternoon while he played the devoted boyfriend? I told myself I was being vigilant, as sometimes I would overhear titbits of conversations that proved useful. I would tell him what more could be said on a particular subject or what should be said differently. To some extent I guided the seduction by telling him exactly what women – or at least this particular woman – wanted to hear.
I’ve turned into a regular little Cyrano de Bergerac. You know, the ugly bloke who wrote the letters to the beautiful woman on behalf of the beautiful but stupid man. The question is and always has been, who was she really in love with? I’m not an ugly bloke, but the classical reference pleases me. Mattie often talks about my ‘schemes’ and my ‘tricks’. The word choices seem loaded, a little condemning. My plans are given respectability and currency if I can liken them to classical literature. People think I’m stupid because I was a model and my education was constantly interrupted. I’m not, and it’s dangerous to underestimate me. That is stupid.
The incident in the antique shop wasn’t planned. I couldn’t quite stop myself. I’d been watching him all morning; he’d been nauseatingly attentive and had provided her with the perfect day while I was left lonely. Ignored. Less. She wasn’t supposed to notice me, but I found it quite insulting that he didn’t either. Smashing the trashy stuff and letting her think she’d knocked them with her handbag made him notice me, though. The antique dealer assumed I was just another customer; I think she assumed I worked there. Only Mattie knew who I really was. Everyone was panicked and upset. He looked the most scared of us all.
I just wanted to spoil their day. Silly bitch, trying to buy up the whole shop for him. It was so flashy, so gauche. He should have let her get the ink bottle set, though. I liked it. Arguably, this act was undisciplined of me. I’m not an especially disciplined person, to be frank. I am doing my best in this particular situation to be patient, guarded, but my natural bent is to let it all out. I rate passion. I like to feel and roar. Mattie knows that. I’m not going to apologise for it. It’s totally part of the territory. I’m trouble. I always was even as a kid. That’s not a big surprise. No one can pretend six care homes and four foster homes while your mother is in jail is ideal. Being bad got me noticed. I prefer being a rule-breaker. People who follow rules, pencil within the lines, must regret it on their deathbeds. It’s not that I have no regrets, it’s just that I have no lost opportunities.
Look, fuck you, I have no intention of pleading my case.
32
The plan, as I’d initially laid it out to Mattie, was not at all alarming, my strategy being, ‘don’t scare the horses’. It’s basic to liken him to a nervy stallion, but accurate. I definitely didn’t want him shying away from the jump. When I first told him about the woman my mum cleaned for, Emma Westly, rich and alone, I simply said she was an easy target to help with our cash-flow problems. I said the aim was to get just enough to pay the mortgage. Keep us afloat. I explained that she had so much more than she could spend, while we had nothing at all. Did that seem sensible, let alone fair? I said we would establish the worth of her valuables in her home and hack her computer to get access to her bank accounts. To do this, I just needed time and her passwords. Him being her ‘boyfriend’ gave me access to both. He recognised it wasn’t an especially honourable path, but he didn’t have a better idea.
‘Then we can filter some cash away from her,’ I told him.
