Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
F or once, Allie was glad that the London weather was doing what it did best: raining. Not pouring rain, that would be too dramatic, just the usual, run-of-the-mill grey drizzle which messed with your hair and your mood and mysteriously managed to creep into the most waterproof of footwear. Allie’s plan to hide in the cafe over the road from Brinkman’s and observe the unfolding of events from there had been thwarted by the CLOSED sign she had found on the door when she had arrived about twenty minutes earlier.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ she had growled to herself and mentally blamed Jess for putting this stupid idea into her head in the first place. What did she really expect to see? Of course, she was hoping for something theatrical: Jake being physically ejected from the building by two burly security guards, the police leading him out in handcuffs or a group of Brinkman’s employees hurling rotten vegetables at him as he scurried out of the office, seeking shelter from their wrath. Instead, right now, she was staring at the nondescript red brick building from the doorway of the closed cafe, the rain giving her a measure of anonymity as she huddled under her umbrella. The worst thing would be to be spotted here, embarrassingly stalking her editorial nemesis.
‘Morning, I see you had the same idea.’
Allie winced at the sound of the familiar voice and came face to face with a black umbrella. It tipped back slightly, revealing Martin who at least was smiling at her, which she hadn’t expected, given the manner in which she had left things with Will after she had dropped her revelation. And the fact she hadn’t yet had the guts to reply to Martin’s message.
‘Oh, hi,’ Allie said somewhat warily. ‘Yeah, guessing you’re here to see if Jake gets kicked out?’
‘I am. I’m hoping it won’t take too long, given this…’ Martin indicated towards the sky.
‘How did you hear about it?’ Allie asked, hoping to delay the inevitable conversation about books and writing, and writing of said books and where the inspiration for certain plot lines came from.
‘Production director gave me the nod, said there had been a lot of closed doors and it wasn’t looking good for Mr Matthews. Thought I’d come down here and see if it was worth watching. Great minds, hey?’ He gave Allie a sideways look, which she met, smiled again somewhat sheepishly and looked down at her feet. ‘Did you get my message?’ he asked.
She nodded and decided to bite the bullet. ‘I’m guessing you’ve spoken to Will?’
‘I have, we had an interesting conversation.’
Allie grimaced and waited to see what he would say next.
‘Look, Allie, I can imagine how awkward that whole meeting must have been for you, and what a surprise it must have been to have realised that myself and Will are related.’
Allie opened her mouth to put Martin straight and tell him that she had known, before that awkward meeting, that he and Will were related, but then she paused as she realised something. Will hadn’t told Martin that Allie knew beforehand that Will was his son. He hadn’t told him that she had done nothing about the situation, or confessed to either of them that she knew. Which must count for something? Surely if Will was irreparably angry with her, then he wouldn’t have bothered keeping something like this from his dad? She felt a surge of hope inside her and then realised that it was her job, not Will’s, to set Martin straight. Because if there was a chance that she might be able to put things right with Will, it was going to start with being as honest with Martin as she could be.
‘I knew,’ she said plainly, ‘before the other night. I knew Will was your son, I realised when I saw the photo at your house. And I didn’t admit it to either of you.’ She allowed the silence to hang in the damp air between them, giving Martin the time to realise what she was admitting to.
‘Oh. Well, I see.’
Allie looked hard at him. He didn’t look cross or especially surprised or concerned. ‘I’m not sure you do,’ she pressed. ‘Did he tell you about my story?’
‘You mean mine and Angie’s story?’ Martin chuckled.
‘Look, Martin, I’m so so sorry, I never meant to…’
Martin continued to laugh, and then waved his hand at her. ‘Allie, I’m teasing you. I know Will seems to have taken this badly, but I honestly don’t know why, and I think that says more about his relationship with us than it does about your creative process. We agreed to switch plots, remember? Why do you feel telling our story is so bad?’
‘Because it’s yours and Angie’s story, Martin,’ Allie protested, ‘and I wrote it without telling you.’
Martin looked puzzled. ‘No, you didn’t. We agreed from the outset, you gave me that brilliant serial killer plot line and I swapped it for mine and Angie’s marriage story. Or at least the happy version where we don’t end up almost divorced.’
‘You’re getting a divorce?’ Allie eked out in a hoarse and horrified voice. ‘I thought things were getting better?’
‘No! I mean, I can’t speak for how Angie felt in the past, but things are OK now, better than OK. And really that’s down to you.’
‘It is?’ Allie was struggling to follow this conversation.
‘Well, you’re the one who showed me what an idiot I was being. And you’re the one who told me I needed to fight for my marriage, not take it for granted. What was it you were always going on about? Grand romantic gestures? Not sure Angie would agree that I’m any good at those, but I’m getting better at not taking her for granted, making the effort and all that. She even said so herself last night.’
‘She did?’
‘Yes. I took her for a romantic stroll in Richmond Park at sunset. It was lovely. Not sure why we don’t do it more often.’
‘Because you live in south-east London?’ said Allie, not liking to think back to the walk she had taken in Richmond Park with Will. What on earth had made her suggest it as a date night for his father? She groaned internally and promised herself that no matter what happened with Will, she would never, ever share suggested date locations with a romantic interest’s parents again.
‘Well, that’s, erm, great, Martin. I’m really pleased for you. But are you sure you’re OK about my book?’
‘I think it’s rather sweet, actually. Angie does too. I told her. Well, actually, Will told her and then I filled her in on it all after he left.’
‘She doesn’t think I’m awful?’ Allie had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that even if she did manage to get Will to talk to her again, his mother would always think badly of her.
‘Not at all. You know what a fan she is of yours from the other night; I think she’s excited to be immortalised by you. By the way, I still want to get her books signed by you, as a surprise. What do you think of that as a grand romantic gesture?’ Martin looked expectant. ‘Would you be OK to do that?’
‘Erm, sure.’
‘We’ll have to keep it a secret from Angie of course, which I’m not so comfortable doing.’
Allie would have thought this quite a sweet statement if she didn’t know that Martin had already kept many, many other things from Angie over the course of their marriage. Allie mulled over these revelations. Angie knew about her story, Angie was excited to be written about, Angie still liked her. She knew she should have felt more relief than she did, but actually she really wanted Will to be OK with it all, Will to still like her.
‘Do you think it was worth coming?’ Martin said after a while, nodding over the road where the front of the Brinkman’s building was still just as lifeless as before.
Allie shrugged. ‘Depends. If we get to see Jake slink out with his tail between his legs and order restored, then yes. But I have a horrible feeling he’ll just wriggle his way out of the whole thing and get away with it.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Martin looked at her in surprise. ‘But there’s so much evidence against him.’
Allie raised her eyebrow. ‘Seriously, Martin? You’re going to question whether it’s possible that a straight white man gets away with years of abuse despite overwhelming evidence against him?’
‘OK, fair point.’ Martin had the good grace to look a little ashamed. ‘Look, something’s happening…’ Martin pointed over the road where the revolving doors of Brinkman’s had just started turning. ‘Is it … do you think it might be?’ He squinted.
‘Yes! Yes, look!’ Allie grabbed Martin’s arm with her hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s him! It’s Jake, look he’s coming out.’
Sure enough, a figure that seemed to match the description of Jake Matthews was slowly emerging through the revolving doors, there was a flash of movement and suddenly there he was deposited on the pavement. And it definitely looked like Jake, or at least a version of him. Allie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something changed about him, he seemed diminished somehow.
‘Does he look…?’ she started.
‘Different?’ Martin finished for her. ‘Yes. He looks … less somehow.’ They both turned to look at each other, for a moment neither of them knowing how to feel about witnessing what was surely the downfall of Jake Matthews.
‘What’s he holding?’ Allie asked.
‘A box. Goodness, he’s been given the cardboard box treatment!’
Jake was indeed clutching a small brown box to his chest, trying to shelter it against him and out of the rain, but with little success. Even from this distance they could sense the anger in his body language. He stepped closer to the curb, transferring the weight of the box (which seemed quite slight, if it really did contain all his personal office possessions) to one hand and raised the other one into the air, attempting to hail a cab. But it was London and it was raining, so for once, the odds were stacked against him. Two cabs went by, their lights out, not taking any fares. Martin and Allie stood and watched, both wondering how long it might be before Jake gave up the hope of hailing one and headed for the Tube. But just then, a black cab with its light on came down the road towards Jake. He stuck his hand up once again and for a moment it looked like the cab was slowing down, before it sped up again and raced past him, splashing him with water and screeching to a halt further down the road to pick up someone else. In his rage, Jake misstepped, one foot went off the pavement, his cardboard box tilted and then upended and the contents spilled out across the wet pavement.
Allie couldn’t help but cry out in astonishment at how the luck of Jake had turned. He couldn’t have heard her above the sound of the traffic, but something made him look up at that moment to see her and Martin standing across the road, watching his demise. His face was a picture of surprise for a moment, before his eyes narrowed and he scowled at them as he scrabbled to pick up his now soggy belongings and stuff them back into the box. He gave them one last foul look over his shoulder before he stalked off in the direction of the Tube.
‘Wow,’ Allie said eventually. ‘That was quite cinematic, wasn’t it?’
Martin gave a low whistle in agreement. ‘Reckon you can put that in your book?’ he asked.
Allie considered this for a moment before shaking her head. ‘My book doesn’t really have a villain, unless you count yourself before your redemption,’ she joked.
Martin grinned at her broadly. ‘You mean before your intervention.’
Allie gave a little curtsey, in acknowledgement.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘if you’re not going to use it, can I?’
Allie nodded. ‘Be my guest. I think I owe you. I should have told you and Will as soon as I knew about the two of you.’
Martin put his hand out from under the umbrella and held it there for a moment. ‘It’s stopped raining,’ he said, before turning to look at her. ‘Yes, you probably should have. But I know why you didn’t. And I understand. I’m sure I would have done the same.’
Allie gave a small, tight smile in response. ‘Thanks, Martin, I appreciate that. But I don’t think Will sees it that way. And look, I know he’s your son and you probably don’t want to know any of this. But I really liked him. I mean,’ she corrected herself, ‘I really like him. He makes me feel…’ She paused, wanting to make sure she got this right. ‘He makes me believe in happy-ever-afters again.’
Martin took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I don’t know if this will help, but before this all happened, Angie and I hadn’t seen Will that happy in years. I wish I’d known you were the reason.’
Allie bit back the tears at Martin’s bittersweet revelation. ‘Phew,’ she breathed out heavily. ‘Getting a bit deep here, Martin!’ She gave his hand a squeeze and then dropped it firmly, wanting to grasp back some dignity and control in this awkward situation. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and, grateful for the distraction, pulled it out to look at it. ‘It’s a message from Verity,’ she said. ‘She says it’s done – well, we knew that! – and that she’s on her way into Brinkman’s for her meeting. She’s arranging drinks on Friday at a pub, for her authors, to celebrate.’ Allie looked up from her phone. ‘You should come,’ she said to Martin. ‘It’s not like you have another editor at Brinkman’s now.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Martin. ‘Anyway, I can’t. Angie and I are going to the cinema on Friday.’
‘So sweet, popcorn and back-row seats?’ Allie couldn’t resist the tease.
Martin ignored her. ‘You should keep writing,’ he said, ‘ your book.’ Allie couldn’t help but notice the emphasis he placed in that sentence and was grateful for it. ‘Angie and I are really touched that you would think us worthy of writing about. You should finish it.’
Allie nodded and they said their goodbyes, both of them relieved to have had this conversation and to have had it against the backdrop of Jake’s unceremonious firing. It started raining again as Allie made her way to the Tube station and she hoped there hadn’t been any delays and that she wouldn’t bump into Jake on the platform, which would be beyond awkward. But the Tube was running a good service and the platform was empty, leaving Allie alone with her thoughts. Martin was right, she should keep writing, and she would keep writing. But she wasn’t going to do what he thought she ought to do with the finished result.