never have admitted to it, but his pride in her success and the way she was managing to juggle her career in advertising with being a single mum to four-year-old Maisie positively burst out of him whenever they were together. And Jessie who, at
thirty-seven, was still the baby of the family, and who loved her dad so much she would probably still sit on his knee and insist he read her a story, if he would let her.
She thought of how much they meant to her as a family, how, since they’d all but fostered her twenty-two years ago, she had felt like they’d filled a hole in her life that her dad had created when he’d left and that she and her
mum had steadily made deeper every year, chipping away relentlessly at the foundations of their relationship like would-be prison escapees.
It couldn’t be true.
11
By the time she got back to the hotel after forty-five minutes of aimless wandering around Soho, Neil had been replaced by Judy. Ordinarily this would have filled Jen with joy. They could spend the afternoon gossiping and chatting, and the time
would pass by in a heartbeat. Today, though, she would have found Neil’s long silences a relief.
She considered, for a brief second, whether she could confide in Judy about what she thought she’d witnessed, but she knew that, fond as she was of her, confident as she was that Judy would sympathize and probably give her some sound advice
about what she should do next, Judy had no filter, no concept of keeping things to herself. She parroted out whatever she had heard, regardless, completely unaware that sometimes discretion might be best.
Consequently, Jen knew that Cathy from housekeeping had once had sex with a guest whose room she was meant to be cleaning, that Graham the doorman (or Graham Roper the Doorman Groper, as she and Judy had once nicknamed him, because he had hands
that didn’t so much wander as run ahead with purpose) had a penchant for lunchtime visits to strip clubs, and that Nick, the head waiter in the restaurant, had been blessed with a third nipple right in the centre of his chest. There was no malice in
Judy’s sharing of stories, she just couldn’t help herself. It was as if she leaked, and there was nothing she could do to make it stop.
If it hadn’t been to do with Charles, Jen might have been tempted to tell her, anyway. She desperately wanted to say it out loud to someone. To see if it sounded ridiculous, or plausible, when it came out of her mouth. But her
father-in-law’s minor celebrity status meant that her suspicions would spread around the hotel like wildfire and, before she knew it, the tabloids would probably be camping out on his doorstep, rifling through his bins and taking photographs of Amelia from unflattering angles,
emphasizing her wattle and comparative lack of sex appeal.
For a fleeting moment, she even wondered if she should tell Jason what she had seen. She knew she couldn’t do it, though. Couldn’t be the one to shatter his idealized vision of his father. Not when she wasn’t sure, anyway. Not
when what she had seen might have a hundred innocent explanations. If only she could think what one of them might be.
The afternoon turned out to be a write-off as far as work was concerned. Jen tried, and failed, to concentrate, and when she accidentally called the representative of a well-known macho Scottish actor, who was expected to arrive the following
day, and told him that she had organized the Brazilian wax his client had requested in the hotel spa, she realized it was time to give up and go home. So she claimed a sudden-onset migraine and the need to go and lie down in a darkened room. Fortunately, she had so rarely taken a sick day in
all her years on the job that no one questioned
whether she was telling the truth and, in fact, their genuine concern for her almost made her come clean and admit that she was lying. She refused David’s offer of a cab, insisting that she was OK
to negotiate the Tube, and left as quickly
thirty-seven, was still the baby of the family, and who loved her dad so much she would probably still sit on his knee and insist he read her a story, if he would let her.
She thought of how much they meant to her as a family, how, since they’d all but fostered her twenty-two years ago, she had felt like they’d filled a hole in her life that her dad had created when he’d left and that she and her
mum had steadily made deeper every year, chipping away relentlessly at the foundations of their relationship like would-be prison escapees.
It couldn’t be true.
11
By the time she got back to the hotel after forty-five minutes of aimless wandering around Soho, Neil had been replaced by Judy. Ordinarily this would have filled Jen with joy. They could spend the afternoon gossiping and chatting, and the time
would pass by in a heartbeat. Today, though, she would have found Neil’s long silences a relief.
She considered, for a brief second, whether she could confide in Judy about what she thought she’d witnessed, but she knew that, fond as she was of her, confident as she was that Judy would sympathize and probably give her some sound advice
about what she should do next, Judy had no filter, no concept of keeping things to herself. She parroted out whatever she had heard, regardless, completely unaware that sometimes discretion might be best.
Consequently, Jen knew that Cathy from housekeeping had once had sex with a guest whose room she was meant to be cleaning, that Graham the doorman (or Graham Roper the Doorman Groper, as she and Judy had once nicknamed him, because he had hands
that didn’t so much wander as run ahead with purpose) had a penchant for lunchtime visits to strip clubs, and that Nick, the head waiter in the restaurant, had been blessed with a third nipple right in the centre of his chest. There was no malice in
Judy’s sharing of stories, she just couldn’t help herself. It was as if she leaked, and there was nothing she could do to make it stop.
If it hadn’t been to do with Charles, Jen might have been tempted to tell her, anyway. She desperately wanted to say it out loud to someone. To see if it sounded ridiculous, or plausible, when it came out of her mouth. But her
father-in-law’s minor celebrity status meant that her suspicions would spread around the hotel like wildfire and, before she knew it, the tabloids would probably be camping out on his doorstep, rifling through his bins and taking photographs of Amelia from unflattering angles,
emphasizing her wattle and comparative lack of sex appeal.
For a fleeting moment, she even wondered if she should tell Jason what she had seen. She knew she couldn’t do it, though. Couldn’t be the one to shatter his idealized vision of his father. Not when she wasn’t sure, anyway. Not
when what she had seen might have a hundred innocent explanations. If only she could think what one of them might be.
The afternoon turned out to be a write-off as far as work was concerned. Jen tried, and failed, to concentrate, and when she accidentally called the representative of a well-known macho Scottish actor, who was expected to arrive the following
day, and told him that she had organized the Brazilian wax his client had requested in the hotel spa, she realized it was time to give up and go home. So she claimed a sudden-onset migraine and the need to go and lie down in a darkened room. Fortunately, she had so rarely taken a sick day in
all her years on the job that no one questioned
whether she was telling the truth and, in fact, their genuine concern for her almost made her come clean and admit that she was lying. She refused David’s offer of a cab, insisting that she was OK
to negotiate the Tube, and left as quickly
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