Chapter 67 Favour
Three builders are surrounding me. It seems that they are keen to drill out the footing that contains Jason Mercer, as it’s cracking badly.
I’m keen they don’t. They want to understand why, and I tell them that I’m representing Tor, and she wants to sell the house soon, so it’s imperative the pool house is built without delay.
They talk about insurance and I say that I don’t give a fuck about insurance, I just want Tor to have her pool house.
The only way of curtailing the endless conversation with these persistent men is to offer them five thousand pounds.
It is an expensive business, burying the dead, but the builders are happy with the deal and agree to inject some resin to strengthen the footing instead.
I find Tor inside shouting at various staff. I try to explain that I’ve contained the situation, and the pool house will go ahead on time. She doesn’t even seem grateful about the builders, but as soon as I reach out to comfort her, she lunges and hugs me.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I’m such a fool, a bloody, bloody fool. I’m finished.’
‘What’s happened now?’ I ask.
Tor re-explains the situation with Zac, and canters through the various stages of her grief – denial, anger, bargaining, self-flagellation, and acceptance – with impressive efficiency.
‘It’s not you, Tor. He took advantage of you. He’s ruthless.’
‘He’s still doing the Facebook thing. I don’t understand why,’ she says, pushing me away and stomping around her kitchen island.
‘He wants more money,’ I say, with one of those empathetic tilts of the head that people so enjoy.
‘He’s been in touch?’ she says, and grabs my arm.
I nod and gently un-prise her fingers.
‘He’s not getting a penny more,’ she declares firmly.
‘But you want the Facebook image gone, right?’
‘Of course,’ she says, adding gin to a large, ice-filled glass for what is, I presume, not her first of the day. She holds the bottle out towards me but I shake my head as she heads for the mint.
The doorbell rings, and Tor, who would usually leave it to her maid, (for some reason feels that it might be relevant) rushes off. I can’t help thinking she’s imagining Zac arriving on a white charger to take her away from all this wealth and privilege.
In her absence, I take out my phone. The mums on the Facebook group have asked their next question after some intensive debate. I decide to give them an answer.
Their question is: ‘Does her first name start with a vowel?’
It’s such a good question, I’m impressed.
‘No,’ I write, and send.
Tor returns with a package from Net-a-Porter and puts it on the countertop.
‘You OK?’ I say, with the low tone people use when supporting others.
‘No,’ she says. ‘But shopping doesn’t stop for scandal.’
She glances at her phone, which she’s left out. A notification is sitting there. She reaches out and picks it up. A moment later, she is silently shaking her head and cradling her gin.
‘What is it?’
‘My name starts with a consonant, I’m fucked,’ she says. ‘The bastard’s going to ruin me.’
‘I can try to help,’ I say.
‘How? He wants to destroy me and I’ve got no money left. What will my children think?’
Tor is now where I need her to be. Imagining her ruin in garish colours.
‘I’ll pay it for you,’ I say. ‘I’ll make him delete everything.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ she says, her eyes wide with hope.
‘Of course I would, Tor. I can’t let you be ruined by someone so deceitful.’
‘You’re the best friend in the world,’ she says, throwing back half her G&T and embracing me.
I peel her bony arms from my shoulder, then I ask if she would be willing to do me a little favour in return.
‘Anything at all,’ she says.
‘You sure?’
‘Ask away. I’ll do anything for you.’
I smile. ‘Don’t be cross.’
‘I won’t be. You’ve saved my life.’
‘Yes, I have. Please sit down.’
‘Why?’
‘I think you’ll want to be seated, that’s all,’ I say.
Tor eyes me suspiciously, then flops onto a stool and folds her arms.
‘In return for solving your persistent problem, I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind swapping Hero’s admissions number with Nelly’s,’ I say, looking out towards the garden.
‘What do you mean?’ barks Tor.
‘The candidates are given anonymous candidate numbers, which they put on their desks to enable blind marking. If Hero and Nelly swapped numbers, then whatever Hero answers on her test would be marked as Nelly’s effort.’
‘Right,’ says Tor, her eyes narrowing. ‘But then Hero would get Nelly’s marks.’
‘Yes.’
Tor is open-mouthed. ‘But Hero’s brighter than Nelly.’
‘She has a more measurable intellect currently, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I mean she’s bloody smarter, Lalla. You want Nelly to take Hero’s place at Adams? You want to cheat my child out of her place?’
‘I’m just trying to help you, that’s all.’
‘You manipulative, conniving bitch. I can’t believe what you’re asking me to do.’
‘It’s a small sacrifice to save your reputation,’ I say, staring coldly and unblinking.
‘The answer’s no,’ she says defiantly.
‘You’re one question away from being exposed.
The press would be camped outside your door.
Lawrence’s political career would be up in smoke, and you’d be the middle-aged woman seduced by a toy boy who took you for a ride, in both senses of the word.
Adams wouldn’t accept being associated with such a scandal. ’
Tor stares hard. Her head is shaking. ‘Did you plan this? You and Zac? Is that why you wanted to meet him?’
‘Not at all, Tor, I’m just seeing an opportunity.’
‘I’ll never forgive you,’ says Tor.
‘Luckily,’ I say, ‘that’s not something I’ve asked for.’