Chapter 7 Mia
MIA
Soft music plays and waiters flit about the ballroom in immaculate white shirts and black trousers, distributing champagne in tall crystal flutes to the assembled WAGs.
Joanne Murray always goes all out for her evening events, and right now, in the middle of the premier season, she’s going to go the extra mile.
I lean against the wall of the ballroom, tucked away in an obscure place behind an impressive green plant with large fronds.
With a champagne glass in hand, I watch Joanne Murray as she smiles and schmoozes and poses for photographs.
She’s the WAG, the wife of Peter Murray, a man whose reputation and ability rivalled David Beckham’s back when they played for opposing teams.
Peter, unlike David, didn’t keep his looks, and now hosts a show on smallholding and gardening on ITV.
Joanne, on the other hand, raised an empire.
She has a fashion line, make-up brand, several perfumes, a homewares collection, and someone even said she was now designing the interiors of luxury yachts.
The ultimate WAG.
But as I watch her face, I wonder just how happy she is. We’re all good at pretending, and everyone knows how many affairs Peter had while Joanne was at home with their children. Maybe these elaborate parties are all just a front, the mask to hide how sad and alone she is.
Or maybe I’m just projecting.
“You look like you’re too lost in your own thoughts and not enjoying the party,” Holly says, appearing beside me with a glass of champagne.
“I’m wondering how Joanne’s doing.”
“Mmmm, you and everyone else.” Holly leans closer. “Word on the street is that Peter’s filing for divorce.”
My jaw drops. “No way.”
Holly nods. “Apparently some lovely lass in Cornwall has caught his eye. All that fresh country air giving him new life, and now, well…” Holly trails off, gazing across the ballroom, in Joanne’s direction.
“Not that she’ll lose anything, really. She has enough money to last her a few lifetimes and her kids aren’t little anymore.
” Holly gives me a side glance. “Men, ey?”
“Yeah, men.” I take a swig of my champagne, mulling over Joanne’s situation, and my own.
Yes, I wanted to divorce Archie. I should have divorced him years ago.
I don’t even know why I never did now. But perhaps he’d beat me to it.
Just like Peter Murray was going to now.
Joanne had stayed with him through all his infidelity, all that betrayal, to try and put on a brave face - and for what?
To now be ousted in favour of some woman young enough to be Peter’s daughter no doubt. Why hadn’t she taken control of her life earlier?
Holly gives me a pointed look. “You still look like you’re thinking.”
“Just wondering why we let men get away with the things they do.”
“Hope they’ll get better?” Holly gives me a smile that isn’t quite relaxed.
“Hope they’ll see what they have in front of them and finally give us respect?
” She sighs heavily, casting a gaze back over to Joanne, who is smiling brightly, no sign that anything is wrong as she chats and gesticulates.
“Or maybe we just keep thinking that one day we’ll say or do the magic thing that’ll turn them into better men because we don’t want to chance what else is out there. ”
“That’s extremely grim,” I say with a laugh.
“Trust me, the dating pool makes you extremely grim.” Holly tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and grimaces. “The ones who are upfront about being tossers are one thing, but the ones who say anything just to get you into bed? They’re the worst. Men are too comfortable lying.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
Joanne spots me across the room, her face lighting up as she makes a bee-line for me, and I take a fortifying gulp of champagne.
“Mia!” Joanne places a kiss on each of my cheeks with exaggerated smooching sounds, and I wonder just how many glasses of champagne she’s needed to get through this day. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I feel like it’s been ages.”
“Yes, I know, we need to catch up.” I exchange a quick glance with Holly, who raises her eyebrows but quickly takes a swig, neither of us wanting to remind Joanne that she just saw me last Monday. She really is drunk.
Joanne smiles sadly at me and rubs my shoulder. “How are you, though? You must be struggling with all this?”
I swallow hard and try to find the words. “I’m… lucky to have people around me.”
“She’s being very well looked after,” Holly interjects quickly, and Joanne presses a smile in her direction.
“Ah, well that’s… that’s lovely.” Joanne’s gaze settles back on me. “Has anyone heard from Archie at all?”
Holly’s gaze flickers to my face, and my mind races. “He’s… He’s spoken to his grandfather, so we know he’s alright.”
Joanne scoffs a little more loudly than I expected, and she downs the remainder of her champagne. “Ah yes, Billy Graves, he’d be loving all this. His grandson following in his footsteps.”
Holly looks at me with alarm, and Joanne seems to recover and quickly covers her spite with a laugh.
“Oh, don’t mind me! The Graves men just have a way of rubbing me up the wrong way.
” She leans closer to me, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
“Dominic shagged my PA about 10 years ago and she was so smitten she was ready to run off with him.” She throws her head back and laughs loudly.
“Oh but then he wasn’t interested and the poor girl was so distressed she ran off to France and never came back. Has a cooking vlog now I think.”
“I guess we all knew Dominic was a bit of a ladies man.”
“So you be careful,” Joanne says, wagging her finger at me.
“I’m his daughter-in-law.” The very idea that Dominic would be interested in me is ludicrous, and Joanne really must be drunk if her brain is headed in that direction.
“Nothing stops a Graves!” Joanne laughs merrily and heads off to accost her next victim.
I slouch against the wall, suddenly feeling itchy and uncomfortable, even the make-up on my face suffocating me.
“Bloody hell,” Holly mutters at my side. “She’s wasted.”
“She surely fucking is, talking like that.” I shake my head, putting my champagne glass down on the table beside me. “I just hope no one overheard her.”
“I don’t think so,” Holly says, casting a quick glance around us. “This night can’t end soon enough.”
“We’ll stay for Joanne’s speech and then we’ll go,” I say, and Holly nods.
I force myself to engage in a little more small talk before we all take our seats, the minutes dragging by painfully until we’re all served our ridiculously enormous plates with a tiny sprig of food in the middle.
It’s green and foamy, and I decide not to eat it.
Rich people food still has me scratching my head.
The other WAGs at the table chatter happily, asking me about my dress, my latest campaign for Dior, admiring my hair and asking how I get it so shiny. I indulge them, reminding myself it’ll all be over soon and they’re probably as bored as I am.
Finally, there’s a tinkling of metal on glass, and all conversation hushes to silence as Joanne takes the stage. She’s met with polite applause, and she waves gaily as she positions herself behind a glass podium.
“I am so grateful to see so many of you here tonight, I am forever in awe of the dedication of the women of this community to stand behind these causes and to use their influence for good,” Joanne says, dipping her head demurely when more applause patters in the ballroom.
“Now as many of you know, the children’s hospital is a cause that lies close to my heart.
My own son, Isaiah, spent 6 weeks in hospital when he was born prematurely. ”
A picture pops up on the screen behind her, of a tiny baby in an incubator, a little knitted cap on his head and the rest of him obscured by wires. A collective sound of gasps and “Aww”s goes up from the group, and Joanne turns to look at the picture, a hand to her chest.
“That’s my Isaiah, the day after he was born,” she says, and more soft applause sounds. “It was a hard time for our family, Isaiah being our first baby, and we could not have gotten through it without the support of the staff at the Great Ormond Street Hospital.”
The picture behind her changes, to one of Peter, sitting in a chair, no shirt on, and this tiny, wire-covered baby on his chest. He’s looking down at him, his face a combination of joy and fear, Isaiah’s tiny hand curled around his finger.
Joanne turns to look at the picture, and I don’t know if anyone else notices the tension in her stance, but I sure do. She looks at the picture for a beat too long, the women around me starting to shift in their seats.
“Oh dear,” Holly mutters under her breath.
Joanne spins back to the podium, blinking rapidly.
“Sorry, that picture always makes me so emotional. It was… It was such a hard time, and without my husband, I don’t know…
I just don’t know…” She wobbles a little on her feet, gripping the podium with white-knuckled determination.
“I couldn’t have done it without him, I wouldn’t have been able to manage at all, and…
” A sob hiccups out of her, and there’s shared glances of alarm thrown around my table, and no doubt the room.
Joanne sobs again, louder this time. “My husband loves me,” she snaps into the microphone, and the room is deathly silent. “He does, and he always has.”
“Oh shit.” Holly says it loud enough for the other women at my table to all snap their attention to her.
“I can’t…” Joanne gasps from the stage, and I start to hope that someone, fucking anyone from Joanne’s team goes to help her.
“I couldn’t have done it without him, and that meant something.
It did.” Joanne slumps forward, her sobs carried over the microphone to echo around the room.
“He’s not leaving me! He’s not!” She straightens back up, her hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead and mascara running down her cheeks.
“And I know you’re all saying he is! I know you’re all saying he’s going to leave me, but he’s not!
I won’t let him! And all you bitches smiling here and eating my food saying he will when your own husbands are probably shagging your fucking PAs, well fuck you! ”
A woman in a suit finally darts out from stage right and takes Joanne’s arm. At first she fights back, jerking her arm out of the woman’s grasp, and stumbles backwards.
“No, I’m not - I won’t let them talk about me like that, I won’t!” Joanne shouts, pointing a finger at the room.
The woman gets closer to Joanne again, and mutters to her quietly. She’s joined a few seconds later by a man, and through their combined efforts, they manage to wrestle Joanne off the stage amidst her tears and accusations.
The woman returns a moment later to go to the podium, and gives us all a warm smile.
“I’m so sorry, ladies, but Joanne has taken something of a turn, and the event will have to be cut short,” she says. “We do thank you for your attendance tonight, and our ushers will see you all out. Have a lovely evening.”
I turn to Holly, who rewards me with wide eyes, lifting her hands.
“I’m not shagging Archie, promise.”
I bite back a laugh, because that would be so inappropriate. “Well, that makes two of us.”
Holly similarly is trying not to laugh, and reaches out to take my hand. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I laugh when I’m nervous.”
“What the fuck was that?” I ask under my breath as the women around us get to their feet and begin to leave.
“That’s a man destroying a woman and leaving her to deal with it in the public bloody eye.” Holly grasps my hand and gets to her feet, pulling me up with her. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go get some real food.”
Outside, the press are waiting for us, the veritable cascade of WAGs, a paparazzo's dream. The lights flash wildly, and names are called out as cars arrive to ferry us away.
“Mia! Mia!” A familiar voice sounds too close, and Holly is instantly between it and me.
“Hardcastle, you can sod off,” Holly snaps.
“Oh come on, Hols,” Hardcastle drawls. “I just want to know how Mia is holding up in her husband’s absence.”
“Just fine, thanks,” I reply, not looking at him so I don’t accidentally give him a good picture.
“Joanne’s had a breakdown in there, we’ve heard,” Hardcastle says, snapping another picture of me. “Can you relate to what Joanne’s feeling, Mia? Are you afraid things are going to go the same way for you?”
“Paulie, that’s pathetic,” Holly says, holding up a hand to block his camera. “Shove off, would you?”
“I’m merely concerned that Mia’s headed the way Joanne is,” Hardcastle says, his voice heavy with concern. “We’ve developed a special relationship after all these years, haven’t we, Mia?”
“In your bloody dreams, Hardcastle,” I mutter.
Our car pulls up, and Holly quickly ushers me to the door before rounding the back to climb in the other side. The driver scowls as Hardcastle blocks me from closing the door behind me.
“Ey, bugger off would ya?” The driver calls, but Hardcastle keeps his leg jamming the door open.
“Fucking move!” I snap, clenching my eyes shut as his camera flash goes off right in my face. “Get the fuck away from me!”
“Why did Archie leave you, Mia?” Hardcastle practically shouts in my face. “Is it because you can’t give him a baby?”
“Let go!” I try and shake him off the door, but he holds fast.
“Drive!” Holly barks, and the driver accelerates so Hardcastle loses his grip.
With a strangled yelp, he falls to the ground, and I slam the door shut. The driver guns the engine, and Holly and I both look out the rear window to see Hardcastle wriggling on his back in the street like a dying cockroach.
“That’s going to make the papers tomorrow,” I say with a frown, still blinking furiously to try and shift the glare in my eyes.
“No, it won’t,” Holly says, settling in her seat with an angry huff. “They’ll all be too pre-occupied with poor Joanne and her mental breakdown to be concerned about you running over Paulie fucking Hardcastle. That man’s asking for a beating, and I bloody hope someone gives it to him one day.”