To Have and to Hold (11 page)

‘No, you.'

‘Wimp,' she said.

She went along the passage and opened the front door. Ann stood there. Viv looked beyond her; Ken must be parking the car.

Ann said: ‘He's not coming.'

The three of them sat at the table, eating bean salad. Ken's empty place had not been cleared away; Ollie said he might have second thoughts.

‘I called him a coward,' said Ann. ‘I shouted at him. It was awful.'

Viv poured them some more wine. ‘I still don't understand. Is he going to go through with this or not?'

‘I don't know. All he said was it was too private for one of your big heart-to-hearts.'

Ollie gestured round the room. What does he think? We're on
Candid Camera
?'

‘He's shy, you see,' said Ann.

‘Shy?'

Viv nodded. ‘Course he is. That's why he gets so aggressive.'

Ann looked at them pleadingly. ‘He's not a coward really. He'd be the first over the trenches.'

Viv smiled. ‘But you don't have to talk then.'

Ollie mopped up his vinaigrette with some bread. ‘There's so much stuff we've got to talk about . . .'

‘I know,' said Ann. ‘The legal side, the money side. He wants to discuss those.'

‘Why the hell isn't he here then?'

‘Ollie!' Viv glared at him.

Ann paused. ‘You know perfectly well why.'

‘Why?'

‘Because you make him feel inferior.'

‘We don't!' said Viv.

Ann nodded. ‘It shows.'

‘What does?'

‘The trying.'

Ken knelt on the kitchen floor, mending the ironing board. He banged in a nail. Beside him, spread out on a newspaper, was the broken teapot he'd been meaning to mend for months. He would get on to that next.

While Viv poured out the coffee, Ollie went over to the fridge and brought out a bottle of champagne.

‘Let's drink this anyway.' He opened it, and filled three glasses. They raised them. ‘To this generation, and the next.'

Viv said: ‘And the older one too.'

‘What?' asked Ann.

‘Dad and Vera.'

Ann put down her glass. ‘What?'

There was a silence.

Viv said: ‘Hasn't he told you?'

‘Told me what?'

Viv stared at her. ‘Oh God.'

‘What's happened?'

‘I presumed he'd told you by now.' Viv paused. ‘He's getting married again.'

There was a pause as Ann took a sip from her glass. ‘No he hasn't told me.'

‘Oh hell,' said Viv.

‘He hasn't bothered to tell me. All he's bothered to do is ask me for a mortgage.'

Nobody spoke. They gazed at the empty bowl in the middle of the table. Some scrapings of cream remained in it, and a stray glacé cherry.

Ann made a faint hiccuping sound, then Viv realized it was not that: she had started to cry.

Viv jumped up and knelt beside her. ‘Don't.'

Ann raised her streaming face. ‘He doesn't love me –'

‘He didn't mean to –'

‘Oh I've always known that, of course, I have! It's just . . . oh, nothing's any good. Ken can't even bother to swallow his pride and come here, just because he's embarrassed, but why does that matter, for God's sake? Why does it matter if it's his baby, it's only a little mechanical business, everything else seems so much bigger than that, but the trouble is he doesn't seem big enough for it, probably none of us are. Everything seems so empty –'

‘Don't –' started Viv.

‘– All these years, all these miscarriages, and my darling little girl who was hardly there but she
was,
she was there, she was mine, I held her, she was all perfect, except she never moved, and what's the point of anything, what's the point of lovely meals like this and kind sisters and even Ken being loving because he is really, but nothing's any use, it doesn't mean anything when I can't have a child!'

Ann stopped, hiccuping for breath. Viv and Ollie stared at her. She fumbled for a handkerchief but she couldn't find one; Viv grabbed the napkin and wiped Ann's face with it, her poor wet eyes, and then her nose.

There was a silence.

Then Viv said: ‘Listen, Ann. Whatever happens, I'll have this baby for you.'

Ollie spoke for the first time. ‘She will.'

‘Leave Ken to me.' Viv wiped Ann's eyes again. Ann hardly ever wore mascara but she had worn it for this evening; her
cheeks were streaked. ‘I'll take him out and get him drunk and tell him what we're all going to do.'

Ann turned to face her. ‘Will you really?'

Viv nodded.

MADELEINE
,
AS USUAL
was on the phone. Today she kept her back to the staffroom and spoke in a whisper. Viv gazed at the broad bottom in the faded jeans. She resented Madeleine for using the phone, yet she felt grateful to her for delaying things. She sat down on the sofa beside Harold, who looked up from his
Guardian
.

‘Trevor wrote me a note today saying could he go to the toilet, spelt
TOYLUT
. I said he could go to it when he could spell it so he changed it to
BOG
.'

Viv laughed. Harold pointed to the newspaper. ‘There's a post here in Norfolk, Grade 2. Would they be fresh and innocent in the fens?'

Viv shook her head. ‘They just keep it in the family.'

‘Don't think I can stand the hormone level here much longer. Very unsettling for a middle-aged chap.'

‘Poor Harry.' Viv stroked his head and glanced at the phone.

‘Just seething with sex. What's the name – oh yes, Tracey. The one who babysits for you. Apparently she threw up in biology this morning.'

‘Did she?' Viv thought of Mo's conversation, at the allotments.

‘Must be the excitement of seeing a nude frog. Then there's that little incident behind the kitchens. Honestly, Viv, when I go home and tell Louise about my day the kids ask why I'm speaking in French.'

Madeleine left the phone. Viv jumped up and rummaged in her bag. ‘Harry darling, could you lend me 10p?'

He gave her a coin. ‘Chivalry, though terminally ill, is not yet entirely extinct.'

‘You're a pet.'

She went to the phone and dialled. She was wearing her striped jumper and felt ridiculously hot.

‘Hello,' she said. Ridiculous. She had never, in her life, rung Ken at work. ‘Is Mr Fletcher there?'

He was. She asked him out for a drink.

Viv sat at the kitchen table, correcting exercise books. She heard Ollie's footsteps coming down the stairs. He stood in the doorway, holding his overnight bag.

‘Listen to this,' she said,
‘Mr Rochester is a real man, with a bad temper and broad shoulders and smouldering eyes.'
She closed the book. ‘Perhaps he could fix our guttering.'

Ollie laughed. ‘You've been inflaming them again?'

‘She goes on like this for half a page. What Harold calls tumescent prose.' She stood up. ‘You off then?'

Ollie nodded. ‘I've said goodbye to the girls. So you're seeing Ken tomorrow?'

Viv nodded.

‘We're both doing our bit, aren't we? You for the childless and me for the homeless.' He was going to Liverpool for a housing piece. He paused. ‘I do admire you, you know.'

‘Hey, what about love?'

‘I'm not allowed that now.'

‘Spiritually you can.'

He smiled. ‘Thanks a bunch.'

She put her arms around him. ‘Be Petrarchan. For a month or two you can just write me sonnets and pass them to me in bed.'

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. ‘Are we mad?'

She turned up her face and kissed him. ‘I love you for this.'

Ann drained the potatoes, grimacing at the state of Viv's sink, she looked at her watch.

Finally Viv came downstairs. She was wearing a knitted apricot two-piece.

‘Crikey!' said Ann.

Viv looked anxious. ‘I wore this for my interview at school.'

Ann laughed. ‘It's not you, Viv.'

‘I've been hours trying things on. What shall I wear for your husband?'

Ann started mashing the potatoes vigorously. ‘Whatever you feel comfortable in. The first thing you find on your bedroom floor.'

Viv went upstairs.

‘And hurry!' Ann called. ‘You know how he hates waiting.'

She called the girls in to supper and went on mashing the potatoes. Squashing the lumps, she remembered Viv as a teenager, zipping on her long white boots. Those boots.

They had always shared a room. Ann would be sitting on her bed, doing what? She could never remember. What Viv was doing was getting ready. Struggling into her boots, buttoning up her suede miniskirt, which was grubby but who could afford to get it cleaned? Bending over her inadequate mirror, pencilling Twiggy lashes underneath her eyes. Sixties warpaint. Sometimes she borrowed make-up from her mother's dressing table.

Late at night Viv would creep in. Creaks from the floorboards. Her efforts to be quiet of course always woke Ann; besides, she wanted to hear. A groan, as Viv unzipped her crippling boots:
beauty before comfort.
A sigh from the eiderdown as she sat on the bed and whispered about what she'd done, with who. The stifled giggles that made their chests ache. Viv smelt of scent and risks.

Viv appeared again, dressed in a T-shirt and a floral skirt.

‘Better?' she asked.

Ann nodded.

Viv came over, dipped her finger in the mashed potato and sucked it. ‘Ken always says I look like a tramp. Or a site foreman.'

Ann laughed. ‘Not true. He told me once I ought to take a tip from you.'

‘He didn't.'

‘“Be bolder,” he said.' She moved away and shouted upstairs: ‘Rosie! Daisy!'

Ken wore a sports jacket and the pink tie he'd worn on Christmas Day; his hair was sleek and still wet. She greeted
him, wishing the pub wasn't so empty. He jumped up to get her a drink.

‘You stay,' – she indicated his glass. ‘You haven't finished.'

‘Please, let me –'

‘Ken –'

‘Please.'

‘All right. Pint of Burton's please.' She sat down, smiling. ‘For strength.'

‘Where's Mum gone?'

‘I told you. She's having supper.'

‘But why's she having super with Uncle Ken?'

‘Why not?'

‘Why don't they have supper here?'

‘Come on. It'll get cold.'

They sat down. Daisy looked at the chicken. ‘Yum. Mum never cooks us this.'

‘Doesn't she cook you a proper tea?'

‘Not all this stuff. Where's she having supper?'

‘Look, I'll show you something.' Ann took Daisy's fork and stroked it along the mashed potatoes. Then she lifted up some peas and scattered them on the top. ‘We used to do this, your mum and I, when we were your age.' She started to sing: ‘
We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land
. . .'

‘What?'

‘For it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand.'
she stopped. ‘It's a hymn.'

‘Oh, a hymn,' said Daisy.

‘Sorry about the other night,' said Ken.

‘Doesn't matter.' She sipped her beer.

‘The meal, all that trouble.'

‘Listen, Ken. I'm going to go to a lot more trouble than that.'

There was a pause.

‘So how's school?' he asked.

‘Fine. Look, Ken . . .'

‘What?'

She was silent. She took out her cigarettes and offered him one.

‘I'm trying to give them up,' he said.

‘So'm I.'

They each took a cigarette. He rummaged for his lighter.

‘Here.' She took out her matches and lit his.

‘Thanks.'

They sat there, blowing out smoke.

She said at last: ‘I feel like a first date.'

He didn't reply.

She said. ‘We ought to talk about clinics.'

‘Isn't this illegal?'

‘We'll pretend we're married.'

He looked at her. ‘They couldn't believe us.'

‘Leave it to me. I'm a wonderful liar.'

‘Wouldn't they want to see documents, certificates –'

‘Don't worry. We'll sort all that out.'

He paused. ‘One thing we must sort out . . .'

‘What?'

‘Money. I'd rather settle it with you –'

‘I've told you Ken. You're not paying me to have your baby!'

He looked around swiftly.

‘Nobody's listening,' she said.

‘There's such a thing as compensation.'

‘Ken . . .'

‘What?'

‘Don't feel guilty, don't feel beholden. It's dangerous.'

‘What?' He looked at her, alarmed.

‘You end up resenting the person. Even hating them.'

‘I won't! I'm just . . . so grateful.'

‘She put her hand over his. ‘There's no such thing as a selfless act. I
want
to do it. Get that into your thick head.' He didn't reply. She smiled. ‘Come on. Let's have another drink. Let's get plastered.'

‘Come on. Bed.'

Ann led the girls past Viv and Ollie's bedroom. She glanced inside. It looked ransacked, as if a burglar had decided nothing
was worth taking. Clothes lay scattered over the bed: gold trousers, leather skirt, the second-hand, flowery dress that Ollie said made Viv look like a nymphomaniac charlady.

Ann closed the door.

The pub was filling up. Ken finished his third pint.

‘I'm starting to enjoy this,' he said.

‘Let's go and eat.'

He stared. ‘What about Ann?'

‘I'll phone her up,' said Viv.

‘. . . and the Prince took the magic goblet and drank from it. And as he drank, a wonderful thing happened; he grew young and strong again, and his wounds healed. In the forest the birds started singing and the flowers opened. The Prince strode through the woods, looking for his lost Princess –'