The Forever Home by Sue Watson
Chapter Eight
Mark stayed for at least an hour; he seemed reluctant to go. When he finally got up, I realised I hadn’t asked when he’d be moving his things. I didn’t want him to leave anything behind, it might tempt him to come back, and worse, bring his new ‘little family’ with him.
‘So are you going to get someone to come over and shift your stuff?’ I asked.
‘No – er, as I said, the place we’re in at the moment is small. Erin has nowhere to hang her clothes, we’re sharing a rail. So if it’s okay with you, I was going to store it here for a while, until everything’s sorted?’
‘Mark, it’s been six months now. You need to take your stuff, it isn’t fair.’ His clothes were all that was left of him, they were the last to leave. I didn’t need the reminders of our marriage, the ghosts of our life together, I just wanted them gone. ‘You’ve always been a hoarder, there are two bedrooms filled with your clothes and books and everything else you ever bought. Which is a LOT!’ I said grumpily, as I followed him down the hall, to see him out. ‘I want to spring-clean, get rid of the cobwebs.’
‘And the memories?’ he said, almost regretfully as he turned around, glancing at himself in the hall mirror; he always did that. God, why did I never realise how vain and irritating he was? Perhaps I did, but chose not to dwell on it.
‘Yeah, the memories are waiting in a dirty old skip. Now go, you vain bastard, you’re steaming up my mirror.’
He laughed. ‘Got to keep those groupies happy.’
‘Sounds to me like you’ve got enough on your plate with the lovely Erin,’ I said, scowling.
He stopped, and turned to me. ‘Carly… About those scripts?’
Having worked on the treatment for the US show, I was in line for a decent pay-out once the contracts were signed and the deal went ahead. If the deal didn’t go ahead, all we had was what was in our joint account, and that would be split on the divorce. Either way, I’d already done more than enough for his career, and now he’d found someone else to share the time in LA we’d worked for and dreamed of. So let him find someone else to write the little jokes and endearing comments in his scripts, which had earned Mark Anderson the tagline ‘who every man wants to be and who every woman wants to sleep with’.
‘Sorry, Mark, I’m not your scriptwriter, or enabler, any more.’
His jaw clenched and I saw the flash of anger in his eyes, and he opened the door, but must have realised he had one more favour to ask me, and tried to smile. ‘Oh, Carly… just one more thing before I go. Erm, the US deal, if it comes off, it’ll mean a lot of press coverage. And Estelle and I were thinking… there’s still this issue of how we address… the end of our marriage.’
‘Okay,’ I said slowly.
‘Thing is,’ he leaned in conspiratorially, ‘if you’re happy to say you’re fine with everything, that it was a mutual decision and we broke up before Erin and I got together – it will cover the tricky question of—’
‘How you managed to impregnate a twenty-four-year-old while you were still married to me?’
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite so bluntly – but, as Estelle pointed out, if things start to look in any way… unsavoury – then—’
‘Unsavoury? God forbid.’ I gave a mock gasp.
‘Look, you know what I’m saying, we need to manage this. There are rumours, but so far we’ve not gone public on anything.’
‘Yeah. I know. I’m just keeping to myself. I don’t want my business spread across the bloody news. Why don’t we all just get on with our lives? Why do we have to make anything public?’ I asked.
‘You know why. No TV channel here or in the US will have me as their face if they think there’s anything…’
‘Unsavoury?’ I asked, sarcastically.
‘Oh, please stop being petty, Carly. We feel that for the American press, we may need to… tweak things a little.’
‘You mean lie?’
‘You might call it that. I call it tweaking the truth to keep a roof over our heads.’
‘My roof is here, Mark,’ I said, pointing at the ceiling.
‘Okay, okay, and I know it’s a big ask, after everything – but will you go along with the narrative Estelle’s prepared and agree that we split up twelve months ago? Would you say you’re happy for me and Erin, and that you welcome the new baby?’
‘I already did. I congratulated her when I saw her in the tearooms, just before she called me a selfish old cow.’
He shifted awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘So, you want me to welcome the new baby?’ I said, pretending to think. ‘I know, I’ll go one better, I’ll let them photograph me knitting baby bootees and say how delighted I am because it will be like having a grandchild.’ I leaned on the door jamb, folding my arms.
‘Stop it, Carly, and keep your voice down,’ he hissed, looking round. He was so paranoid.
‘I’m not married to you any more, so why do I have to lie? Why wouldn’t I just tell the truth?’
He looked like he was in physical pain. ‘Carly, for the sake of the kids, we need to keep this civilised, we don’t want their lives ruined. Yes, it would be bad enough for my story to be plastered all over the newspapers… but what about yours? You wouldn’t want that getting out, would you?’
I knew, in that instant, that I would never be free of Mark. He would still be threatening to expose me in years to come; my only escape from this would be if he died, and took what he knew with him.
‘You’d never say anything… to Erin, would you?’ I asked, my mouth dry.
He looked at me, but didn’t answer. ‘Better to say you’re happy with everything. You don’t want that bitter old ex-wife label, do you?’ he said, and I got the message. I had to tell his lies or he’d tell mine.