Second Chance - Jane Green [90]
Paul shakes his head. ‘I’m just surprised that you’d make such a big decision without talking to me.’
‘Are you angry at me?’ A little-girl voice.
Paul shakes his head. ‘No. Not angry. I’m just upset you didn’t tell me. It feels dishonest.’
Anna looks aghast, then hangs her head. ‘You are right. You are absolutely right. I am so sorry. I did not mean to deceive you, I just got carried away with the excitement.’
‘It’s okay,’ Paul says. ‘I suppose it’s good that we can use it now.’
‘So can I show you the rest of the stuff I’ve chosen?’
‘So it’s a fait accompli? Where is all the stuff?’
‘Hopefully sitting in the barn, waiting for me to confess so we can plan a trip down there to start the work.’
And with that she reaches into the drawer of her bedside table and pulls out a stack of catalogues earmarked with Post-it notes.
Half an hour later Paul is having a shower while Anna lazily flicks through what she jokingly refers to as her ‘secret shame’ – the News of the World.
As she turns to the centre pages, she gasps in disbelief. ‘Paul! Quick! Come here… it’s Saffron!’
The story is everywhere. First broken in America, every news channel has picked up on it, everybody is talking about it, everyone wants to know everything they possibly can about Saffron Armitage, Pearce Webster, and how the two of them got together.
Saffron has spent a horrified couple of days holed up in a hotel – whisked there by Pearce’s manager as soon as the news broke – flicking through every TV station, feeling more and more sick as she hears what they are saying.
A lot of it is false. She froze in horror when one of the entertainment shows had as their guest that bitch Alex from the meeting, introduced as a ‘close friend’ of the couple. The more she listened to Alex, the more she suspected that she was the one who gave the story away.
But enough of it is true. Enough of it makes her shrink with horror at the people coming out of the closet to talk about her, to give their opinions, to share some minor piece of information about Saffron that she hasn’t thought about for years.
Her parents have offered her refuge at their house, but given that they too are surrounded by the press, as is her flat, there seems to be little point. Nowhere feels safe. Never has she felt so exposed. The only thing she wants to do is bury her head under the ground and come out when it has all been forgotten.
Pearce rings and says, ‘I love you. And it will all be fine. This will pass.’
‘Are you saying anything?’
‘Nope. My managers have advised me to keep quiet. Marjie and I are doing this ridiculous fake romantic dinner tonight to try to calm things down.’ Saffron feels her heart sink as he says this – the last thing she expected was for him to pretend to the world that everything was normal, that Saffron didn’t matter, that his marriage was far stronger than the public now believed.
‘Are you okay?’ Pearce can tell from her silence that she is not.
Saffron takes a deep breath. This is what she’s learnt in recovery. Not to say I’m fine, I’m fine. But to explain how she feels. Clearly and kindly.
Say what you mean, mean what you say, don’t say it mean.
It’s still hard, though. Even after all these years, it’s still so hard to tell someone how she really feels, especially someone she loves. The fear has always been, still is, that they won’t like her. That somehow she will end up being abandoned for expressing her needs.
‘To be honest,’ she says quietly, ‘I’m hurt that you’re telling the world that you and Marjie are fine. I feel…’ She stops to think about how she does feel. ‘Well, apart from feeling frightened and overwhelmed and upset, I feel completely irrelevant in your eyes.’
Pearce sighs. ‘I’m so sorry, Saff. I never want you to feel that way, and it has never been my intention to hurt you.’
Saffron lets out a bitter laugh. ‘Even though this is such an awful thing