To Have and to Hold (2 page)

But today it was cold and the windows closed. That was why Viv didn't hear her phone ringing until she was at her doorstep.

It rang and rang in the empty house as she fumbled for her keys. She could see the phone through the window. Her keys had got caught in the bottom of her shoulder-bag and as she rummaged for them her carrier-bag slipped down her wrist and tipped. A carton of eggs fell on the pavement; the eggs spilled and broke.

‘Shit!'

As she stared at the spilled yolks, the phone stopped.

‘Catch!'

Ollie tossed the ball to Rosie. She rushed for it across the grass, but it slipped through her fingers.

‘Feeble, feeble!' chanted Daisy the bully, jumping up and down.

‘
What
?' Viv sat very still on the sofa. ‘Oh my God.'

The front door opened, the ball bounced along the hall. Rosie and Daisy rushed into the room.

‘Mum, Dad's got me Monster Munch but it's salt and vinegar and Rosie's got –'

‘Shut up!' Viv turned back to the phone. She paused. ‘Oh Ken, I don't know what to say.'

‘Is that Uncle Ken? I want to talk to him –'

‘Last night?'

‘Mum, let me –'

‘They've operated?'

‘Mum –'

‘
Shut up
!'

Ollie came into the room, taking off his coat. ‘There's a large black dog outside, licking up a lot of eggs.'

He stopped and stared at Viv.

‘What's happened?'

FROM WHERE SHE
lay, Ann was aware of little squares of light. Sometimes one was switched off and another switched on. Shapes were there; small shapes. When she blinked she could make them bigger, then they shrank. When she opened her eyes, new lights had come on; two up, three along, she could count the patterns in her head, there were little blue glows too. The shapes moved behind the windows; someone closed some curtains and time passed. Perhaps it was an hour, perhaps a month. Ann was half asleep and her mouth was dry and the baby inside her was hurting. It seemed to have been hurting for ever.

It was best to lie quite still, and sometimes, when she opened her eyes just a fraction, blurry, she could see that it was really dark now, of course that was a block of flats outside this window, she had been lying here for ages, and a nurse had come and mouthed something at her; she must have replied politely because the nurse then went away and when she turned to the small blue glows she realized of course they were televisions, how nice, people in there. And lights were switched off and there was Ken's face beside her, very distinct; she told him she could see him quite clearly when she blinked, and that the baby hurt when she moved but it was otherwise all right, and he said something from miles away, something about the baby, and she agreed, she felt her chin move as she nodded, she said of course it would stop hurting soon, he was right, though why he was visiting her she couldn't understand, and he kept squeezing her hand.

And then next time she woke the windows in the flats were all dark, and she felt sorry for Ken in a vague rather pleasant way because he hadn't understood, and she wondered if he were all right, he must be at work now and she was at home in bed, though the walls were different. And then she thought he
couldn't be at work because of course it was the middle of the night, wasn't she stupid.

And then when she woke again it was morning, and bright lights on all around her, and people lying in bed, she hadn't really seen them before. And a different nurse, a black one, was bringing her a cup of tea. And then she understood what Ken had been trying to tell her.

Ken shaved, carefully. The radio told him there was traffic congestion in the Blackwall Tunnel and a tail-back on the M1. He listened to every word, just as he shaved with attention; he knew he must do this, he wasn't stupid, it was simply a question of lifting the razor and applying it to his cheek and the trickier bit around his moustache, he'd been shaving for, oh, twenty years now, and if he didn't do it right today he would start to alarm himself and that would never do. Now the radio told him about a cold front; the voice took it all for granted, that he would want to listen, and of course he would, and then he'd lift up the radio and take it into the bedroom while he got dressed.

There was a very faint noise but he couldn't think where it was coming from. It was a hum, or more of a faint whine; he preferred to ignore it because nobody would like to know that it came from his own head. And then he realized as he put on his shirt that it came from the phone beside the bed. Of course, he had taken it off the hook last night.

Nobody would phone him in the morning. He put it back on the hook.

On the kitchen table lay the bag with Ann's knitting in it. But he made himself a cup of tea and a slice of toast with the knitting just sitting there. He even felt a passing twinge of annoyance that the kitchen clock had stopped and he'd have to buy another battery. Ridiculously, he felt relieved that he could feel annoyed.

He was ready for work. When he switched off the radio the house was so silent that he paused a moment in the hall, listening for sounds.

He closed the front door behind him. As he did so Mrs Maguire, from next door, came out.

‘Terrible, isn't it,' she said.

Ken turned. ‘Sorry?'

‘Terrible. We'll start getting the rats soon.' She pointed to the rubbish bags. ‘We do pay our rates, don't we?'

Ken nodded.

‘And what do we get for it?' she said.

‘Terrible,' said Ken, and went to his car.

All along the street beside the hospital the parking spaces were full. Viv stopped the car on a double yellow line and turned off the engine. In a perverse way she wanted to get a ticket and a small ten pounds' worth of suffering. ‘Life's not fair!' her father used to shout at them, when they were too young to realize the truth. What had Viv done to deserve two strong children, with hair she could brush, that they could now brush themselves, and clever fingers, and complaints about school, and letters that they wrote, in unstamped envelopes, to the Dennis the Menace Fan Club? Two girls, with their fragrant breathing at night and their scattered Pentels on the floor which drove Viv mad because nobody put the tops on, but look what happened in the morning – the girls opened their eyes, they were alive, they had to be bullied to do their teeth.

Viv got out of the car. Today she brought flowers; yesterday there had been no time. She walked towards the hospital steps and stopped. Ken's car was parked there. She hesitated. Inside his car it was as neat as always, with his Zenith Dry Rot files on the passenger seat, just like a normal Monday. The ashtray was full.

Viv walked back to her car and sat inside it. People were going into the hospital, carrying flowers. She waited in the car, amongst the debris of her family life – mud from the allotment, crumbs, wrappers, and
My Naughty Little Sister
cassettes, all out of their boxes. Did she deserve children, that she couldn't be bothered to put back their tapes? She started to do so. Every few moments she glanced at the hospital steps, and that was how she saw her mother.

Viv hurried from the car.

‘Mum!' She grabbed her arm.

Irene turned. ‘Blimey, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Still, there's worse places to have one.'

‘Ken's in there.' She pointed to the building. ‘Let's wait in my car.'

Irene sat in the passenger seat. ‘You and your mobile dustbin,' she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Beats me how Ollie puts up with it.'

Viv indicated the hospital. ‘I think we should let them have some time together.'

‘They'll have plenty of time together when she comes out.'

‘Don't!'

‘I'm just saying now's the time to rally round. The poor pet. How did she seem yesterday?'

‘She tried to be bright. I wish she hadn't felt she should.'

‘Was it a little boy or girl?'

‘I didn't ask.' Viv watched the hospital steps. Down them walked a couple, the woman carrying a new-born baby wrapped in a shawl, small as a doll. The husband carried her case, and opened their car door for her to get in.

‘The poor pet,' said Irene again. ‘Oh my God.'

‘What?'

‘Look who's here.'

Douglas was walking towards them. He, too, was carrying flowers. Viv got out of the car again.

‘Hello, Dad.'

She told him about Ken. At the car door he hesitated.

‘Hello, Reenie.'

She opened the back door for him and he got in.

‘Well, well,' he said, ‘This is cosy.'

There was a silence.

Irene looked in the driving mirror. ‘What's those things?'

‘What things?' said Douglas.

‘Sideboards. You didn't have them last time.' She turned to inspect her ex-husband properly.

‘No?'

‘Sideboards. Like a pop star.'

Douglas smiled. ‘Nobody's compared me to a pop star before.'

‘I didn't.'

Another silence. The car felt cramped. Irene took out her cigarettes and offered one to Douglas.

‘No thanks.'

She stared. ‘Given up?'

He nodded. Irene raised her eyebrows and looked at Viv. Viv shrugged.

‘Bit late, isn't it?' said Irene.

‘Nothing's too late,' he said.

‘Since when have you got so healthy?'

Viv took a cigarette. ‘Some things are too late.'

Irene, through her smoke, was still squinting at Douglas.

Viv said: ‘For Ann, anyway.' She thought: I haven't sat in a car with both my parents for fifteen years, since they've been divorced. It takes this to do it. She said: ‘It's too late for Ann.'

‘She can't have any more babies.'

‘Why?' said Rosie.

‘Because she's had a hysterectomy, which means –'

‘I don't want shoes like this, I want them without any straps and with little heels.'

‘Well you can't.'

‘Tamsin has and Rashida has and –'

‘Shut up.'

They were sitting in a shoe shop. Rosie twitched her foot.

Viv said: ‘She loved your get-well card.'

‘Mum, why can't I –'

‘Shut up!'

A shop assistant came up. Viv tried to exchange apologetic glances but the assistant ignored her.

‘Can she try these?' Viv said, holding up a sandal. She turned to Rosie. ‘Then I'll get you both some tights.' She had a strong desire, today, to buy her children new clothes.

As they walked back home she tried again.

‘Ann's coming out of hospital tomorrow.'

But Rosie and Daisy were barging ahead to catch
Grange Hill
on the telly.

Viv went into the kitchen and dumped her shoulder-bag, with its crackling Barclaycard counterfoils, on the table, and put the carrier-bags on the floor. Why should they understand?

Later, however, she went into their bedroom and there was Rosie, laying her kangaroo on the floor and tucking it up in a blanket.

‘What're you doing?' asked Viv.

‘She's in hospital. Be quiet.'

Ken drove Ann home. She was silent. In the hospital it had been hard to find things to say. He had saved up stories for her, stories from work, but they were mostly the alcoholic adventures of Bob and Al, the chippies who talked the most, and they sounded sordid in the telling so he had stopped.

In the next ward there had been babies crying, quite distinctly. Ann had had to listen to that all day. Probably all night too, though neither of them had brought the subject up. There were so many things that could not be mentioned; he hadn't realized how much of their life was concerned with the future, with building for a family. He couldn't even talk about the extension because its real, unsaid name had always been a playroom, a child's room facing the sun and connecting to the kitchen. So he had told her about the car breaking down, which really wasn't much of a topic. He had wanted to make her smile, he had wanted to tell her about surveying the house in Wainwright Avenue, how he'd been shining his torch into the gaps in the lath and plaster and all the time some little girl, an inmate of the place, had been tying his shoe-laces together. He had wanted to tell her how the lady of the house had come in to ask him about the extent of the rot, and how he hadn't been able to move. But he couldn't tell her this. So they had sat in silence, and he had held her hand and asked her about the food. And she had said that soon she would be out of there and she wanted to come home.

They drove towards Finsbury Park. It was 3.30 and the schools were coming out. A lollipop lady stepped into the road and Ken stopped the car. Children, holding their mothers' hands, crossed the road. Blue anoraks, red anoraks, a little boy
dropping some paper and his mother smacking him. Ken switched on the radio.

‘. . . and now, with news from Beirut, here's our correspondent . . .'

He twiddled the dials, revving the car. It seemed to take an age for the children to pass; didn't they understand? He glanced at Ann's profile.

He ushered her into the hall. The house was neat and tidy, as if they were visitors.

‘Cold?' He put her case down.

‘I'm fine.'

‘I put the heating on.' He felt the radiator.

She nodded and went into the lounge.

‘You've been cleaning,' she said.

‘I'll make us a cup of tea.'

‘Shouldn't you be back at work?'

‘Not yet.'

When he came back with the tea, she was sitting on the settee. He wished she had a book or a magazine on her lap. Even just for his sake.

‘Thought we could have a dekko at these.' He sat down next to her and opened the brochures he'd brought. ‘Have a biscuit. Look.' He turned a page. ‘This place, you have your own villa, balcony, strange Greek plumbing, the works. Levkas, that's just below Corfu but not so spoiled. A touch of the vine-shaded tavernas, and we could have a bash at windsurfing.'