Chapter 16
16
It’s Friday and with only just over three weeks to the party, I’m shattered. I’ve gone all out to reach my target of creating a more professional image and found some great websites that give all sorts of tips. I’ve actually juiced for breakfast, done squats and sit-ups, I went for a facial and Bella helped me transform my feet with a loofah and nail polish. Farah and Irfan asked me to go for a coffee after work but I said no. She’s beginning to irritate me with her comments about how peaky I look. She brought in some home-baked muffins and made a big fuss about me taking one.
Yet in the toilets, yesterday, two editors complimented my new style and asked where I’d bought my outfit. I can only conclude – and I don’t like to – that Bella’s right: Farah’s jealous. Goodness knows why, because it takes a lot of work to achieve the changes I’m making. Irfan’s not worried. He asked for my secret formula to getting fit as all his best efforts weren’t having much effect on the size of his belly.
I yawn and gently nudge Flossie to one side before putting my laptop on my knees. It’s only two o’clock. I’m back early from work because of hours owed to me. I sink back into the sofa and click onto Facebook. I know Casey Wilde is friends with Lenny on there. I could look at his full profile through my ex’s page, seeing as I know the password. Perhaps I could work out places he likes to frequent or make arrangements for a rendezvous and accidentally bump into him. As an editor of children’s fiction, I have little professional excuse to contact him.
It all sounds rather childish, but Felicity deserves Thoth to do well and over the last couple of months I’ve realised that, sadly, there’s more to success than hard work and integrity.
I log out and type in Lenny’s password. It’s not something I’d ever done before. Women in the office talked about how they’d secretly read their partners’ texts or track them on social media. However, I’d always trusted Lenny and been brought up not to snoop in people’s private business.
Lenny once told me he uses the same password for everything: Aston Martin. I used to find it endearing that he saw himself as some kind of James Bond. But looking back, I realise his glitzy dreams were a symptom of his immaturity. As Bella’s pointed out, it was me who paid the bills. Did the washing. Got in the groceries.
I scroll down his page and try not to fixate on the photos of him and Beatrix; how his default position is to drape his arm around her protectively. I put Casey Wilde’s name into the search bar. His profile photo is of a quill. He has more than one thousand friends and posts about writing, books or the gym – and parties. There is no mention of Alien Hearts , just his ‘work in progress’. Clearly, he is being careful until he decides on his official author identity. Perhaps if I look at the messages sent between him and Lenny, I’ll find something.
I hesitate, then remember Bella saying that sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone. Flint was the same, encouraging me to be brave enough to take risks. I’ve thought about him a lot lately. It took me a long time to forgive Mum for what happened to him. It was her fault and cruel. Utterly brutal.
A sense of nausea rises up the back of my throat. Taking a deep breath, I shake the memories away.
I click into messaging. Top of the screen are the latest conversations between Lenny and Beatrix. My finger hovers for a moment. It’s no good. I can’t resist. I scroll down mundane talk about work and shopping. My cheeks burn as the conversations become more intimate. They talk about the new underwear she’s bought from Victoria’s Secret. I can’t turn away.
Hey gorgeous. I’m in the Gents at work, feeling decidedly heated. I’m imagining you between the sheets. Me showing Beatrix Bingham who’s boss *smiley face*
Lenny’s never spoken to me like that. I read her reply.
We both know who calls the shots and you love every minute. Little Lenny needs to learn to do as he’s told. Perhaps tonight he’ll be more obedient.
An empty sensation grows inside me. The memories of our gentle lovemaking evaporate. Looking back, we did have a routine. Lenny would reach his height of pleasure and please me afterwards. Usually I was in the missionary position but I thought that suited us. For me it was just about getting close. The smell of his skin. His breath on my face. The full, satisfying feeling of him moving inside. The sweet sound of his moan. Whereas these messages suggest that his and Beatrix’s love life is much more varied. Once again, I ask myself if Lenny had become bored. If… if I’d never been good enough, not even at the start.
My finger pauses as I decide whether to scroll down further to when Lenny and I broke up. It’s like squeezing a spot. You know you’ll regret it but can’t stop. The conversations move backwards in time and my eyes feel impossibly full. In February, she teases Lenny about having feelings for me after he bought the Valentine’s present. Beatrix says perhaps she should withhold sex. He replies by saying not that, as it’s the best he’s ever had.
Maybe I’m bad in bed.
During the hours we spent under the duvet, I never felt shy but always thought it was the emotions that mattered, not the mechanics or positions. Should I have tried to spice things up? Has he had an affair before? Was he only with me because I had a nice flat?
My insides crumble like a dry leaf screwed up in the middle of his hand. Flossie moves nearer as if she knows I’m upset. She pushes against my side and purrs. I take a moment before clicking into his conversations with Casey Wilde. There is just one message: Lenny welcoming him to Facebook and Wilde giving him a new email address he’d just created.
An email address. What if I wrote and told him how much I’d enjoyed Alien Hearts ? I wasn’t meant to have seen the manuscript, but why should I protect Lenny any more? Heat flushes through my limbs and for just one second, I consider throwing the laptop across the floor as I think of the photos of Lenny’s arm draped protectively around her. My heart thuds and I take a deep breath. He would have to finally grow up and take responsibility for giving me an unofficial sneak peek. I copy the email address. Just in case.
Now I can’t stop myself scrolling through all of Lenny’s messages. One from his mum was written just after I first met his family. She says I’m a lovely girl. I sit a little straighter and click into another from his brother, dated the same day. He says I’m not Lenny’s usual type.
Lenny replies:
Looks aren’t everything.
Is this proof Lenny never found me attractive? An indignant spark bursts into flames in my chest. How could he talk about his girlfriend like that? I log out of his account and go into Outlook. Without hesitation, I open a new email and paste in Casey Wilde’s address.
I’m just about to type when there’s a tap at my front door. I put the laptop to one side, get up and open it.
‘Kath. How are you?’
‘Okay, love. There’s nothing much on the telly and I wondered if you fancied a game of Scrabble… Violet?’
‘Sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Come on in.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘To be honest, I could do with the company.’ My throat catches as I shut the door.
‘Everything all right?’
I screw up my eyes. I don’t do crying. Not since we lost Uncle Kevin. Nothing seemed as bad in comparison. Not until now. I loved Uncle Kevin. I loved Lenny. In different ways, they’ve both left. But I’m a grown-up now. I should be able to cope. Mum going to bed all the time after the Twin Towers didn’t do her any good. Just because Lenny and I broke up doesn’t mean I can’t carry on as normal.
We sit down on the sofa and I snap the laptop shut.
‘Just ignore me,’ I say to Kath. ‘I’ve had a tough week at work. How about I put the kettle on and?—’
She squeezes my hand. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I just worry about you, that’s all. For the last month or so… I don’t know… something’s different.’
‘I am.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, more confident, better than I was before. Bella’s been really good for me.’
I head into the kitchen and put the kettle on. When I come back out, Kath has stood up and is peeking into Bella’s room. She will see the make-up laid out smartly on the dressing table and a stack of celebrity magazines. The Jack Vettriano print on the wall of a stylish couple walking along the beach. And a couple of pairs of really high heels in the corner of the room. Bella and I are the same shoe size. I tried them on once and was amazed at how much slimmer my legs looked.
I head back into the kitchen and clear my throat to distract Kath. I wouldn’t want her to know I’d caught her looking. I don’t blame her. She must be curious.
When I come back out with coffee, Kath is back on the sofa.
‘This Bella… She’s making things better?’
‘I’m so glad I’ve got to know her. She’s tidy. Disciplined. A real inspiration. And tough – she doesn’t let anyone mess with her. And what she doesn’t know about style.’
‘That’s important?’ Kath cocks her head to one side.
‘Yes. I realise that now. In the past I’ve always gone for comfort first.’
‘Like me.’
‘And there’s nothing wrong with that – but I work in the publishing world. Bella has helped me see that I need to be savvier. You know how passionate I am about my job. I work as hard as possible and can’t do anything else on that score. A new image could really push my career forwards that extra mile.’ I doubt Beatrix lost many authors. Would Gary have left if I had her slick business reputation? No.
Kath nods.
‘You’re always telling me you wished many of your patients had thought to look after their health when they were young. Consider it a reboot – the old Violet needed an update, that’s all. And I’m sure she can still beat you at Scrabble.’
We play the game accompanied by a plate of biscuits, although I’m not hungry after reading those messages. A ball of heat still glowers in my chest. How dare Lenny.
Even Kath’s appetite is off and she looks more tired than normal. On Monday, she has an appointment to see the doctor. Her painkillers aren’t doing much for her arthritic pain and she has trouble picking up the Scrabble letters. She needs an extra lift. So I do what I’d never done before: let her win on purpose.
After walking Kath up to her room, I return to my flat. I put on a new top which is low cut, I brush my highlighted hair and apply make-up like the assistant in Boots showed me. I stand under the standard lamp to take a photo. It’s a trick I found online. I switch my phone’s camera to selfie mode and take about twenty different photos.
Finally I find one I like. It includes cleavage but has an air of professionalism and emphasises my cheekbones – a look that’s serious but approachable. My stomach flutters as the shadow of my collar bone has never been visible before. The lamp’s light gives my highlights a fifties movie starlet vibe and the lipstick accentuates my mouth. Yesterday I had my contact lenses appointment. I’m allowed to wear them for a few hours every day, to start with. They’ll be ideal for a night out with Casey Wilde.
I go into Instagram and put the photo through different filters. I hardly recognise myself by the time I’ve finished. I share it with my followers and immediately get likes. I’m surprised what a boost that gives me, as if I’ve read a submission and just know the story is going to be a bestseller. I block Lenny’s and Beatrix’s accounts before coming off. I want my new appearance to be a total surprise.
I return to the sofa, flip open my laptop and go into Outlook. The ball of heat in my chest ignites again. ‘Looks aren’t everything’? I load the new photo as my email signature, and write Violet Vaughan, Editor, Thoth Publishing. Punching at the keys, I type.