Mouths of Babes Read online

  “So you’re easily impressed by televisual fame?”

  “Not a lot.” Saz sat down in the chair opposite. She looked at him properly then. Took in the nice suit – nice, not flash, comfortable, not fancy, the careful highlights, shaped brows, clean-shaven skin. Nothing too smooth – good looking but not pretty. “You come across really well on the box. All those strong but understanding speeches, loving husbands, complex, honest citizens. Bastard with a heart of gold. You do them really well.”

  “They write the lines for me, you know.”

  There was silence then, Saz still not ready to hear why he was there. Not wanting to hear why he was there.

  He started to speak and she quickly interrupted him. “Your accent – when did it get so … ”

  “Common?”

  “I don’t know. Sort of. I mean, some of those kids we were at school with were pretty posh, but all our parents wanted us to do better, they all had that grammar school push going on.”

  “I did do better.”

  “Yeah, but your better sounds like their worse.”

  “I know. My nan used to say so too, hated it. Especially when she was wanting to show me off to her mates. Still, makes for much better parts, everyone likes their good guy to have a bit of rough these days.”

  “They certainly get their rough with you, don’t they?”

  Gallagher wasn’t going to let her get to him, acknowledge her baiting, he continued on his own train of thought, “You ever visit her, Sally? My nan? When you go to see your mum and dad?”

  “No one calls me Sally any more and my parents don’t live round there now.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. They moved out. But Cass does, doesn’t she?”

  “What do you know about Cassie’s life?”

  “Nothing. I’m just thinking about family. You know, extended family, family and friends, those people who aren’t really family, but treat you like it all your life anyway? So you never go and see my nan when you visit those nieces and nephews of yours? Grew up next door to her, all those years, in and out of her place whenever you wanted, and now you can’t even pop in?”

  “Oh, fuck off.” Saz wasn’t interested in engaging in conversation with him, least of all about an old woman he rightly suggested she had once cared for and had chosen not to see for years. “Your nan doesn’t need the likes of me popping in when her grandson is one of the more famous men in Britain.”

  “Yeah, but she thought the world of you.”

  “Yes. She did.” Saz nodded, at him and her own thoughts, “And she was wrong wasn’t she? She thought the sun shone out of all our arses and she was wrong. We didn’t deserve her approval, not one of us, and you were the worst of the lot.”

  Gallagher looked at her. Waited. Eventually he nodded. “Fair enough. And that’s why I’m here. She’s been trying to get in touch with me. She wants to tell the whole world just how bad we really were.”

  “Who? Your nan?”

  “My nan’s got Alzheimer’s. If you’d ever bothered to visit her you’d know she’s been fucking bonkers for the past five years. Knows who I am maybe one visit in every ten, if I’m lucky.”

  Saz’s hand went to her mouth, involuntary exhibition of her sorrow for the old woman she had indeed been fond of.

  Gallagher went on. “No, it’s not my nan, I wish it was.”

  “Well, who … ”

  Saz stopped. Stared at him. Mouth dry, adrenalin bitter in the back of her throat.

  Gallagher nodded. “That’s it. Janine Marsden called. She’s left messages on my answerphone – fuck knows how she got my number. She sent letters to an address I thought was totally private. Says she wants to talk. Though from the way she put it, I’d say she wants to shout.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Saz felt sick, hot, cold. Very sick. Janine Marsden coming into the school playground every morning, back into their arena, the one where they were in charge and the likes of Janine Marsden simply had to put up with it. Janine Marsden coming into the school grounds that morning, that last morning, and Saz horrified that instead of just running into the building with everyone else, running and hiding and keeping out of the way, Janine was coming over towards them. Walking right up to them. Saz hating what was coming, terrified of what was coming, and unable to do anything to stop it.

  “What does she want?”

  “She wants to talk to us.”

  “You and me?”

  “No. All of us. The five of us. You, me, Andrea, Daniel and Ewan.” He listed their names and Saz’s stomach lurched again, the familiar litany of who she had been, what they had been together, rushing back to her.

  “She wants to talk to Ewan too?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “But I don’t understand, how does she … ?”

  Gallagher was still talking. “Janine Marsden says she wants to have a chat. With all of us. I don’t know how to get hold of the others, how would I? I’ve been trying to work out what the fuck to do for the past fortnight. And then, God, I don’t even know who told me now, maybe my nan before she completely lost it, but last week I remembered someone telling me ages ago that you did this kind of work.”

  “Did. Don’t do anymore.”

  “That’s not what Carrie said.”

  “What?”

  “She told me you were working today.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t have. It was just a private favour for a friend.” And Saz reminded herself to fax the price list to Claire. Reminded herself about her real world, matters of insignificant divorces and court cases over too much money. Molly at work. Molly coming home from work. Carrie’s big mouth.

  “OK. But this is a private thing too, don’t you think? Janine Marsden? She’s threatening to talk about me.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I don’t know anyone else I can trust with this.”

  “You’re scared about your career?”

  “Primarily. But there’s also the small matter of my getting married at the end of the year.”

  “Really? That wasn’t in the Radio Times.”

  “We’re keeping a lid on it for now.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Not personally, but you’ve probably seen her on TV.”

  “Actress?”

  “Investigative journalist.”

  Saz nodded, understanding. “And you don’t want her investigating you?”

  “Not if I can help it. But it’s not just about me, most of the stuff she’s really successful at has to do with crusading cases from way back in the past. I wouldn’t want my past shit to taint her either.”

  “How very chivalrous you’ve become, Will.”

  “I’m in love. It changes things.”

  “So call the police. Tell them you’re being blackmailed, get them to sort out Janine.”

  Will glared at her. “Are you being deliberately naïve? How the hell do you think the tabloids get half their stories anyway? The cops are the last people I’d go to with this. Anyway,” Gallagher paused, and Saz wondered how rehearsed his speech was, “it’s not only me, is it? I mean, I know I’m the famous one, that’s why she got in touch with me first, but Janine Marsden can’t talk about me without talking about you too. And I don’t imagine you’ve told your partner, what’s her name – Molly? Is that what Carrie said? I don’t suppose you’ve told her all your stories. No one ever does.” He waited again for his words to sink in and then added, “Or have you?”

  Saz looked at him, understood Will Gallagher as well as she had done years ago. He was waiting with all the confidence in the world, knowing her answer. Will and Saz both knew that neither of them would ever be prepared to share these secrets with anyone else. She wanted to kick him out, close the door, walk away and pretend none of this was happening. Instead she answered his question.

  “No. I haven’t. And I won’t.”

  Saz knew she had no choice. She also knew time was getting on and there was plenty she needed to do before Molly arriv
ed home from work. She agreed to meet Will the next day and found herself shaking with relief when she slammed the door behind him. Working on automatic, she got through the rest of the afternoon. Matilda could be counted on to amuse herself for about twenty minutes before the primary colours and squeaky noises of her baby gym became infuriatingly dull, so Saz called Claire first. As the phone rang she knew she could at least be grateful that the urgency in her tone would make sense to Claire’s New York secretary and she wouldn’t have to put up with a London temp’s version of efficiency. She followed the fast phone call with a detailed email, faxed through Damien’s price list and her own invoice, impatiently cursed technology while the digital images went through, and then took Matilda into the kitchen. There she alternated between renditions of “Incey Wincey Spider” and preparing the pasta sauce that any world-working woman might reasonably expect her child-caring wife to come up with – especially when she had nothing else to do on an early autumn afternoon.

  By the time Molly came home, Saz had not only created appropriate scents in the kitchen mess, but she had also managed a whole sixty minutes playtime with their daughter – almost long enough for her Will Gallagher-induced terrors to recede slightly in her pleasure at Matilda’s daily growing almost-vocabulary. Though she still flinched when Molly rang the doorbell. Her hands full of tube-journey novel and work bag and the big bunch of flowers she’d bought from the florist by the station, Molly couldn’t make it to the bottom of her bag for her own keys. Fortunately Molly was so full of her own day that she barely even noticed the look of uncertainty when Saz opened the door. They put Matilda to bed, ate, shared a bottle of wine, and left the dishes for the morning. In bed, Molly tried to explain to Saz how torn she felt between work and their child, and Saz lied about the day she’d spent with Matilda, lied about what she’d done with her afternoon, and lied about what she planned to do the next day. They kissed and held each other and quickly fell asleep, exhausted, fingers crossing in the dark.

  EIGHTEEN

  The next day Saz and Matilda had lunch with their unwelcome guest. Over his de-caff, skimmed milk latté, Will filled in some of his history.

  “When we were at school you said wanted to be a TV presenter?”

  Will nodded. “Yeah, for a while I thought it would be a better use of my talents.”

  “And?”

  “I was shit at it.”

  Saz shook her head, Gallagher didn’t understand, “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just surprised to hear you say you were shit at it. I’m surprised to hear you say you were shit at anything – that’s hardly how the Will Gallagher I knew would talk about himself.”

  “We all grow up, Sally. Saz.”

  “Yeah, but I’m also surprised that you weren’t good at it. All our teachers, parents, you had them eating out of your hand. Surely that’s the perfect manner for a presenter?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Only you would think that was a compliment. You always knew exactly what to do to get people where you wanted them. You had it down perfectly. Not to mention adding in sexual charm for the girls when you fancied it.”

  Gallagher grinned, “I had no idea you had such a good impression of me. I’d have tried harder if I’d have known I had a chance with you.”

  Saz just looked at him, refusing to join in his old-mates routine. “We were talking about your work?”

  “Yeah, well, turns out fooling the people in your bland little suburb isn’t quite the same as fooling them on screen. I discovered very early on that apparently what the public want from proper presenters is truth, not lies.”

  “Whereas what they want from actors is … ?”

  “Simulacrum of sincerity, sweetie. Nobody’s perfect, but you know what? We can all try.”

  Gallagher smiled his famous rueful grin, shrugged his wide shoulders, and ran a hand across his trademark tousled hair, dark blue eyes and slightly crooked smile, just-healthily-tanned skin beginning to crinkle at the laugh-line corners. His gaze totally on her, Saz knew exactly what his employers and his very many fans saw in him. Even she could feel herself warming to the classic representation of a lovable rogue sitting opposite her. She blinked and thought back to the Will she’d known, trying to recapture the exact mix of attraction and fear. It wasn’t hard – clearly he’d just taken those qualities and smoothed them out to suit his successful career. The butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth nice guy crossed with an Eastenders thug when he didn’t get what he wanted.

  “So you chose Ross because it was your nan’s maiden name?”

  “I thought it was a nice gesture, she liked it.”

  “You really did have a soft spot there, didn’t you?”

  “Everyone’s got one, Sally. I found yours quick enough.”

  Saz’s voice was hard again, “What do you mean?”

  Gallagher nodded at Matilda, dozing in her stroller beside them. “All this happy family shit. Pretty damn suburban really, you at home with the kid, the wife out at work. Hardly the stuff of radical lesbianism, is it?”

  “It isn’t a political choice who I fuck, never has been.

  That’s not what this is about at all. Molly and I are just working out how to be with a kid. We don’t know yet, this is a start.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not really happy, are you? Much as you might like to settle down and play the good little wife?”

  “You know nothing about me, Will.”

  “I’m not talking about your sexuality, give me some credit. You’re hardly the first dyke I’ve ever met. Not to mention that I had a pretty good idea back then as well.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Why else did you never come on to me? I’ve always had a pretty good idea of how people see me, I know you think I’m an arrogant bastard … ”

  “Yes.”

  “But I do know what was written about me in the girls’ loos.”

  Saz was flung back to fifteen and rainy days, the primitive cartography of toilet walls way more interesting than geography ever could be. “How?”

  “Andrea told me.”

  “Andrea probably wrote it.”

  “She’d never do that.”

  “Not unless you told her to.”

  Gallagher stopped then, leaned back and sighed, smiling, “My point is, I guessed you were a lezz ages ago. And not just because you didn’t want me, though lesbianism’s never stopped half the actresses I know fucking blokes for show, but the fact is I’m a very good judge of character. And yes, maybe just a little bit arrogant as well.”

  “Nicely put. So if you’re not making assumptions about my sexuality, what are you talking about?”

  “You weren’t at home when I came calling yesterday. Much as you might say you want to, you aren’t completely playing the good little wife.”

  “We don’t do the role-playing thing.”

  “Who does? But that’s not what I was talking about.”

  “I told you, I was doing a favour for a friend. That’s all.”

  Gallagher smiled and Saz wanted to hit him. “So Carrie said.” She wanted to hit Carrie too. Will continued, “And now I need you to go to work for me as well. And for yourself.” He paused, waited for an answer he knew was not coming, and continued, “Because while I accept that right now my concerns might be more pressing than yours, I know you don’t want to expose your past truths any more than I do. So let’s just get this crap with Janine sorted and out of the way. Then I’ll fuck off and leave you in peace.”

  Saz opened her mouth to tell him he was wrong, that he had no concept of her relationship, of her life, that she had none of his worries. And then she stopped, feeling the ripple of fear in her stomach, the excitement she only felt from potential danger. The whispered risk of hidden secrets. Even if those secrets were her own.

  Will might need to keep his past from the press and his bride-to-be, but Saz had always maintained there was no breaking point that her relationship couldn’t take. Now, with new – old pictu
res in her head, she questioned that assumption. She didn’t want to tell Molly any of the things she’d been forced to remember in the past couple of days. Saz had never talked about Will and Andrea and the others, not to anyone, not to Carrie even, certainly not to Molly. She didn’t talk about that morning or the events leading up to it. Especially not the events leading up to it. She didn’t talk about it and she didn’t think about it if she could help it. Had trained herself not to think about it through years of denial and repression. And now, here was Janine Marsden – via Will Gallagher – bringing it all back again. Of course she couldn’t tell Molly.

  *

  A middle-aged woman approached their table, asked Ross Gallagher for his autograph, took a good long look at Saz and Matilda while he was signing her coffee-stained paper napkin, and then giggled her way back to her friends on the other side of the café. Matilda began to stir, soon to wake for her bottle, and Saz made the leap.

  “All right then. Who do we contact first?”

  NINETEEN

  It took Saz a little over an hour, masquerading as three different girls from their grammar school, to register on several variations of Friends Reunited. She was about to give up and get on with making lunch for Matilda when it occurred to her that she hadn’t yet tried her prime source. She called her mother. The phone call was not good timing.

  “Can’t I call you back, Sarah? I’m just getting the beans up for your dad’s lunch.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  “Patrick had a lovely lot of beans this year, we froze most of them. Would you like me to keep some for you? Very good for Matilda, lots of iron.”

  “Yeah, Mum, thanks. Look … ”

  “Though you probably buy all yours organic, don’t you?”

  “Ah, yes. I mean we do … if we can … ”

  “Total waste of money. I was telling Cassie just the other day, it’s all a con, you know. Of course, Molly’s doing well in her job, but with only one of you working, you should take more care. They know what you lot like, you know.”