To be honest, I’m ready for a latte now myself, but Luke is still totally engrossed. He’s poring over the framework of a pushchair with the hugest, most rugged wheels I’ve ever seen. It’s upholstered in khaki camouflage and looks like a great big Action Man toy.
“So, it has an articulated chassis,” he’s saying with interest. “How does that affect the turning circle?”
For God’s sake. It’s not a car.
“You can’t beat the turning circle on this model.” Stuart’s eyes are gleaming as he demonstrates. “The Warrior is the Humvee of off-roaders. You see the sprung axle?”
“The Warrior?” I echo, aghast. “We’re not getting a pram called the Warrior!”
Both men ignore me.
“It’s a great piece of engineering.” Luke takes hold of the handles. “Feels good.”
“This is a man’s pram. It’s not a fashion pram.” Stuart glances with slight disdain at the Lulu Guinness printed stroller I’m holding on to. “We had an ex-SAS guy in here the other day, Mr. Brandon.” He lowers his voice. “This is the pram he chose.”
“I like it a lot.” Luke’s pushing it back and forth. “Becky, I think we should get this.”
“OK.” I roll my eyes. “That can be your one.”
“What do you mean, my one?” Luke stares at me.
“I want to get this one!” I say defiantly. “It’s got a limited edition Lulu Guinness print and built-in iPod holder. And look at the sun canopy. It’s fab!”
“You cannot be serious.” Luke runs his eyes dismissively over it. “It looks like a toy.”
“Well, your one looks like a tank! I’m not pushing that down the street!”
“I would just point out,” interjects Stuart delicately, “while applauding both your choices, that neither of these models has the car seat and lie-flat facilities that you were originally seeking.”
“Oh.” I look at the Lulu Guinness stroller. “Oh, right.”
“Might I suggest you regroup, have coffee, and work out your needs? It may be that you need more than one vehicle. One for off-roading, one for nipping around the shops.”
That’s a thought.
Stuart hurries off toward another couple, and Luke and I head toward the café.
“OK,” I say as we reach the tables. “You go and get the coffees. I’ll sit here and work out exactly what we need.”
I pull out a chair, sit down, and get out a pen and my Pram List. On the back I write Pram Priorities and draw a grid. The only way to do this is to be totally rigorous and scientific.
A few minutes later, Luke approaches with a tray of drinks. “Get any further?” he asks, sitting down opposite me.
“Yes!” I look up, my face flushed from the effort. “OK. I’ve been working it out logically…and we need five prams.”
“Five?” Luke nearly drops his coffee. “Becky, one small baby cannot possibly need five prams.”
“It does! Look.” I show him my grid. “We need a travel system with a carry-cot and a car seat for when it’s tiny.” I count off on my fingers. “We need an off-road jogger for going on walks. We need that shopping-and-lattes one for the city. We need the whizzy folding-up one for the car. And we need the Lulu Guinness one.”
“Why?”
“Because…it’s cool,” I say defensively. “And all the other yummy mummies will have one.”
“The other yummy mummies?” Luke gives me a blank look. Honestly. Doesn’t he remember anything?
“In Vogue! I have to be the yummiest!”
Stuart is passing the café area, and Luke beckons him over.
“Excuse me. My wife is now talking about buying five prams. Please, can you explain to her that this is totally unreasonable?”
“You’d be surprised, sir,” says Stuart, giving me a confidential wink. “We do see a lot of repeat custom. And if you wanted to get all the pram-buying wrapped up in the one trip, it might make sense….” He trails off at Luke’s stony expression and clears his throat. “Why not try out a few models on our all-terrain stroller course? That’ll give you a real idea.”
The all-terrain stroller course is at the back of the store, and Stuart helps us take all our “possibles” over to it.
“We at Pram City are very proud of our stroller course,” he says, effortlessly pushing five buggies along in a straight line. “As you go around it, you’ll find every surface that the pram may encounter in its lifetime, from the shiny marble of a shopping mall to the pebbly beach of a summer holiday to the stone steps of a cathedral…. Here we are!”
Wow. I am quite impressed. The stroller course is about thirty meters long, like some kind of racetrack, and all the way round, people are pushing prams and calling out to each other. In the gravel section, one girl has got totally stuck with her pink umbrella buggy, and in the beach section, two toddlers are chucking sand at each other.
“Cool!” I grab the shopping-and-lattes stroller and head for the start. “Race you, Mr. Warrior.”
“You’re on.” Luke takes hold of the enormous khaki handles, then frowns. “How do I release the brake?”
“Ha! Loser!” I start dashing over the pavement section with my nippy stroller. A moment later I see Luke starting to push his monster along, and soon he’s gaining on me.
“Don’t you dare!” I say over my shoulder, and pick up the pace.
“The Warrior is invincible,” Luke says in a film-trailer voice. “The Warrior admits no defeat.”
“Can the Warrior do a twirl ?” I retort. We’re on the marble surface by now, and my stroller is amazing! I push it with one finger and it practically does a figure eight. “You see? It’s absolutely—” I look up to see Luke already on the gravel. “You missed your compulsory figures!” I call in outrage. “Twenty-second penalty!”
The Warrior is pretty cool on gravel, it has to be said. It just kind of crunches the stones into submission. Whereas my stroller is a bit…crap.
“Need any help there?” Luke inquires as he watches me pick my way across. “Having trouble with your inferior pram?”
“I don’t plan to take the baby to any gravel pits,” I retort kindly. I reach the grass and accidentally-on-purpose bump my pram into Luke’s.
“Trouble with your steering?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Just testing your airbags,” I say airily. “They don’t seem to be working.”
“Very kind of you. Shall I test yours?” He bumps his pram into mine, and with a giggle I shove him back again. At the side fence I can see Stuart watching us in slight alarm.
“Any decisions yet?” he calls out.
“Oh yes,” Luke calls back, nodding. “We want three Warriors.”
“Shut up!” I hit Luke with the back of my hand and he starts to laugh.
“Make that four—” He breaks off as his mobile rings. “Hang on a sec.” He takes it out and lifts it to his ear. “Luke Brandon. Oh, hi.”
He lets go of the pram and turns away. Maybe I’ll have a go with the Warrior now. I take hold of the massive handles and give it an experimental push.
“You’re kidding,” I hear Luke saying sharply. I wheel the Warrior round till I’m facing him. His face is tight and pale, and he’s listening with an intent frown to whoever’s on the phone. Is everything OK? I mouth at him, but he immediately swivels away and takes several paces away from me.
“Right,” I can just hear him saying. “We have to…think about this.” He’s rumpling his hair as he walks along the stroller course, not even noticing the couple with the three-wheeler who have to dodge him.
Feeling slightly anxious, I start following him with the Warrior. What’s happened? Who’s that on the phone? I bump the wheels down some steps, and at last I catch up with him at the sandy beach section. As I draw near I feel a nervous flip. He’s standing still, clutching his phone, his face etched with tension.
“That’s not an option,” he keeps saying in the same low voice. “It’s not an option.” All of a sudden he notices me and
his whole face jolts.
“Luke…”
“I’m talking, Becky.” He sounds rattled. “Could I have some privacy, please?” He strides off down the sand, and I gaze after him, feeling as though I’ve been punched in the face.
Privacy? From me?
My legs are trembling as I watch him striding away. What went wrong? One minute we were pushing prams and laughing and teasing each other and now…
Suddenly I’m aware of my own mobile ringing inside my bag. I have a sudden mad conviction it’s Luke, apologizing—but I can see him on the other side of the stroller course, still talking.
I pull out my phone and switch it on. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Brandon?” comes a crackly voice. “Dave Sharpness here.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Of all the times.
“At last!” I snap, taking out my worry on him. “Listen, I canceled you! What are you doing, still following my husband?”
“Mrs. Brandon.” Dave Sharpness chuckles. “If I had a penny for every woman who phones up to cancel the next day and then regrets it—”
“But I did want you to cancel!” I feel like hitting the phone in frustration. “My husband knows someone’s been following him! He saw one of your men!”
“Ah.” Dave Sharpness sounds taken aback. “Now, that should not have happened. I’ll speak to the operative concerned—”
“Call them all off! Call everybody off right this minute before my marriage gets ruined! And don’t phone me again!”
The phone is getting more and more crackly.
“I’m losing you, Mrs. Brandon,” I hear Dave Sharpness’s voice faintly. “My apologies. I’m on the road to Liverpool.”
“I said, stop the investigation!” I say, as loudly and clearly as I dare.
“What about our findings? That’s why I was ringing. Mrs. Brandon, I have a full report available for you….” His voice disappears into a sea of static.
“Findings?” I stare at the phone, my heart suddenly thumping. “What do you…Mr. Sharpness? Are you there?”
“…really think you should see the photographs…”
The crackle suddenly switches to a continuous tone. He’s gone.
I’m paralyzed, standing on the sand, one hand still clutching the Warrior. Photographs? He surely doesn’t mean—
“Becky.” Luke’s voice startles me so much that I jump, flipping my phone into the air. He bends down to pick it up from the sand, and hands it back. I can’t quite look at him as I take it with shaky hands and shove it in my pocket.
Photographs of what?
“Becky, I have to go.” Luke sounds as strained as I feel. “That was…Mel. Slight office emergency.”
“Fine.” I nod and start pushing the Warrior back to the beginning of the course. My eyes are fixed straight ahead. I feel numb. Photographs of what?
“Let’s get the Lulu Guinness pram,” says Luke as we reach the start. “I really don’t mind.”
“No. Get the Warrior.” I swallow, trying to press back the sudden lump springing up in my throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
All the fun and easyness has disappeared. I feel cold with apprehension. Dave Sharpness has got evidence of Luke doing…something. And I have no idea what.
FIFTEEN
I DON’T BOTHER with the sunglasses this time. Nor do I bother smiling at the receptionist. I sit bolt upright on the same brown foam chair, shredding a tissue to bits, thinking, I can’t believe it.
I couldn’t do anything over the weekend. I had to wait until Luke went off to work this morning. I made sure he’d really gone (by looking out the window and then calling him twice in the car to make sure he hadn’t turned round) and then plucked up the courage to ring Dave Sharpness’s office. Even then, I practically did it in a whisper. I spoke to the receptionist, who refused to give me any details of the findings over the phone. So here I am, at eleven o’clock in the morning, in West Ruislip again.
The whole thing feels surreal. It was supposed to be canceled. They weren’t supposed to find anything.
“Mrs. Brandon.” I look up, feeling like a patient at a doctor’s office. There’s Dave Sharpness, sounding more sepulchral than ever. “Would you like to come through?”
As he ushers me into the office, he looks so pitying, I can’t bear it. Instantly I decide to put on a brave face. I’ll pretend I’m not bothered if Luke’s having an affair. I was only wanting to know out of idle curiosity. In fact, I’m glad he’s having an affair, because I wanted a divorce all along. Yes.
“So you found something,” I say nonchalantly as I take a seat. “Interesting.” I attempt a careless little smile.
“This is a difficult time for you, Mrs. Brandon.” Dave Sharpness leans heavily forward on his elbows.
“No it’s not!” I say overbrightly. “I really don’t care. Actually, I’ve got a boyfriend and we’re going to run away together to Monaco, so I’m absolutely fine about all of this.”
Dave Sharpness doesn’t look taken in.
“I think you do care.” His voice descends yet lower. “I think you care very much.” His bloodshot eyes are so mournful, I can’t hold out anymore.
“OK, I do care!” I sniff. “Just tell me, OK? Has he been seeing her?”
Dave Sharpness opens a manila folder and surveys the contents, shaking his head.
“This part of the job is never easy.” He sighs, shuffles the papers, then looks up. “Mrs. Brandon, your husband has been leading quite the double life.”
“Double life?” I gape at him.
“I’m afraid to say, he’s not the man you thought he was.”
How can Luke not be the man I thought he was? What’s he talking about?
“What do you mean?” I say, almost aggressively.
“Last Wednesday, one of my operatives trailed your husband from his place of work. He checked into a hotel under a false name. He ordered cocktails for several…women. Of…a certain type. If you know what I mean, Mrs. Brandon.”
I’m so gobsmacked, I can’t speak. Luke? Women of a certain type?
“My highly skilled operative followed up his alias.” Dave Sharpness gives me an impressive look. “He discovered that there has been trouble at that particular hotel in the past. There have been…regrettable incidents with women.” Dave Sharpness looks at his notes with a distasteful expression. “All of which have been hushed up and paid off. He’s clearly a powerful man, your husband. My operative further discovered several sexual harassment charges which were never pursued…a joint allegation of bullying against himself and a colleague, again hushed up….”
“Stop it!” I cry, unable to listen anymore. “You must have got your information wrong! You or your operative. My husband doesn’t drink cocktails with women of a certain type! He would never bully anyone! I know him!”
Dave Sharpness sighs. He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his huge stomach.
“I feel for you, Mrs. Brandon, I really do. No wife wants to hear that her husband is less than perfect.”
“I’m not saying he’s perfect, but…”
“If you knew the number of deceivers out there.” He eyes me lugubriously. “And the wife is always the last to know.”
“You don’t understand!” I feel like slapping him. “This can’t be Luke. It just can’t be!”
“It’s hard to come to terms with the truth.” Dave Sharpness is inexorable. “It takes great courage.”
“Stop patronizing me!” I say furiously. “I do have courage. But I also know my husband isn’t a bully. Give me those notes!” I grab the folder from him, and a pile of shiny black-and-white photographs falls out onto the desk.
I stare at them in confusion. They’re all pictures of Iain Wheeler. Iain outside Brandon Communications. Iain Wheeler walking up the steps of a hotel.
“This isn’t my husband.” I look up. “This is not my husband.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Dave Sharpness nods in satisfaction. “Your husband has two
sides to his personality, as it were—”
“Shut up, you stupid man!” I shout, exasperated. “It’s Iain! You’ve followed the wrong person!”
“What?” Dave Sharpness sits up. “Literally the wrong person?”
“This is one of his clients. Iain Wheeler.”
Dave Sharpness grabs one of the prints and stares at it for a few seconds.
“This isn’t your husband?”
“No!” I suddenly spot a photo of Iain getting into his limo. I grab it and point at Luke, who is in the background on the other side of the car, barely in focus. “That’s Luke! That’s my husband.”
Dave Sharpness’s breathing is getting heavier as he looks from Luke’s blurry head to the photos of Iain, to his notes, and back to Luke.
“Lee! Get in here!” he shouts, suddenly sounding far less smooth-caring-professional and more pissed-off-South-London-geezer.
A few moments later, the door opens and a skinny guy of about seventeen pokes his head round the door, holding a Game Boy.
“Er…yeah?” he says.
This is the highly skilled operative?
“Lee, I’ve had it with you.” Dave Sharpness bangs his hand furiously on the table. “This is the second time you’ve buggered up. You’ve only followed the wrong bloody man. This isn’t Luke Brandon.” He jabs at the pictures. “This is Luke Brandon!”
“Oh.” Lee rubs his nose, looking unconcerned. “Shit.”
“Yes, shit! Yes, I’ve a good mind to fire your bloody arse.” Dave Sharpness’s neck has turned bright pink. “How d’you get the wrong man?”
“Dunno!” says Lee defensively. “I got his picture out of the paper.” He reaches in the folder and pulls out a clipping from the Times.
I know this picture. It’s a candid shot of Luke and Iain chatting at an Arcodas press conference. “There, see?” says Lee. “It says, ‘Luke Brandon, right, confers with Iain Wheeler, left.’”
“They got the caption the wrong way round!” I practically spit at him. “There was an apology the next day! Didn’t you check it!”