I came into the living room to find my intervention in full swing. The Magnificent Brian was asking Meryl to pick a card, any card and he had a rapt audience, including Rosencrantz. Ethel had been presented with the giant bunch of silk coloured flowers and she and Irene were looking as if they’d caught the bouquet at a wedding.
The doorbell went again and I came back out dreading to think who it would be. I opened the door to Wayne and Oscar. Wayne was wearing a bright yellow three-piece suit and Oscar was in jeans a shirt and had his broken nose in a splint.
‘We’re here for you, and Rosencrantz, but only because we respect you,’ said Wayne. Chris and Marika came into the hall with Adam.
‘Coco what the fuck is going on?’ said Chris. ‘There’s a magician in there who’s just made a budgie appear out of Meryl’s handbag, and now it won’t come down off the top of the curtain!’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I said.
‘You are not taking this seriously!’ hissed Chris. He grabbed Adam and they went upstairs.
‘Coco, we have to do this, and we have to do it now,’ said Marika. Oscar was shaking.
‘Come on love, it’s okay,’ said Wayne.
When we went back into the living room, everyone was standing round The Magnificent Brian. The Budgie was on his finger whilst midwife Justine fed it little bits of cupcake. Rosencrantz saw Wayne and Oscar.
‘What are they doing here?’ he asked.
‘Oh Coco,’ said midwife Justine. ‘Dad’s budgie loves these intervention cupcakes…’
Everyone froze.
‘Intervention cupcakes?’ said Rosencrantz. Then Chris and Adam marched in with Rosencrantz’s backpack. Chris pushed the cake plate to one side and emptied out bottles of pills, vodka miniatures and a small bag of what looked like cocaine. We all stared at Rosencrantz.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Rosencrantz in shock.
‘So it is your bag?’ said Chris.
‘You took it from my room,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘Of course you put all that in there…Mum, Chris and Adam put that in there… Mum!’
‘’E ’ad twelve quid out my ’andbag too!’ said Ethel.
‘Nan, I never took that money from you… Mum, what’s going on?’ He was crying. ‘They’re trying to turn you against me.’
‘We just all want to talk to you,’ I said starting to cry softly. ‘Just talk.’
Rosencrantz eyed everyone in the living room. ‘You went so far that you even hired a magician?’
‘We should get going,’ said The Magnificent Brian tucking the budgie into his gold jacket.
‘Spare us the tears Rosencrantz!’ shouted Wayne. ‘Look at what you did to Oscar! You! It’s a fucking intervention love, and you need it.’
‘Wayne!’ I said. ‘Let’s all calm down.’
Rosencrantz’s eyes started to dart round the room. He lunged for what was on the table, I tried to grab it from him but he pushed me, I lost balance and fell forward, catching my head on the edge of the coffee table. All hell broke loose as Adam and Chris tried to grab Rosencrantz. Midwife Justine ran to help me up off the floor. Rosencrantz managed to get past everyone and darted out of the living room, followed by Chris, Milan and Adam.
The next few minutes were a blur. I saw stars. Marika brought me some tea. Meryl started popping the balloons with her brooch pin, until Ethel told her to stop. Then I felt sick and Marika took me up to the bathroom, where I threw up.
When I came back downstairs, Chris, Adam and Milan were in the kitchen, soaking wet. There was a storm outside and rain was smashing against the windows. Everyone else had left.
‘Cokes, are you alright?’ asked Adam checking my bruised head.
‘Yes.’
‘He pushed you over. You’re eight months pregnant…’
‘He was scared. Where is he?’ I said.
‘He got away,’ said Chris. ‘With a bag of cocaine and amphetamines…and pain killers.’
‘Okay Chris!’ I said.
‘Do you still think there’s no problem Coco?’
‘Just go,’ I said. ‘Everyone go.’
When they’d left I sat in the kitchen and watched the storm increase as the darkness fell. Rocco whined and curled up in his bed, and I heard Adam moving about in the living room, clearing away the decorations. Just before nine, the landline rang. Adam answered but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
He came through and handed me the phone.
‘Coco, it’s Chris.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘I’m at my old house. Rosencrantz is here, and so are the police,’ said Chris.
‘You called the police?’
‘No. Rosencrantz forced the lock and it set the alarms off, I got here just as the police did.’
‘Can’t you tell them it’s an accident?’
‘This is Crown Land Coco, you know how close Clarence House is, police presence is high. And I think Rosencrantz has drugs on him.’
‘Shit. He really has a problem?’
‘He does hun… You need to get here fast, and if you’ll let me, I think I can sort it out.’
I met Chris fifteen minutes later outside his house off Regent’s Park. The wind and rain were still pelting down. Two police cars and a big white minibus were outside. Chris was sheltering in the front door porch with the two police officers. He came and hugged me.
‘Where’s Adam?’ asked Chris.
‘He didn’t come. He thinks he might do something he regrets if he sees Rosencrantz.’
‘Thanks guys,’ said Chris to the police. We went in through the front door. We turned the corner into the living room and Rosencrantz was sitting against the wall wearing his backpack. I went to hug him but he got up and stepped back.
‘Why did you stop loving me?’ he said. Tears were coursing down his face. ‘I thought I was your baby?’
‘You are my baby,’ I said.
‘How can I ever face anyone again? Police outside… I’ve ruined everything.’
‘You haven’t,’ I said. ‘But look at this, look at what’s happening. You brought drugs into the house. You broke in here and the police are waiting outside. I want you to get help.’
‘What? Rehab? Who is going to want to have anything to do with me after being sent to rehab?’
‘Rosencrantz. I’ve been to rehab,’ said Chris.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true. In 1986 my boyfriend died and I went completely off the rails. I tried to take my own life. Your mum saved me Rosencrantz, now let me repay her the favour and help to save you.’
Rosencrantz looked around Chris’s empty house, the police lights flashing against the bare walls. It seemed to finally sink in that the game was up.
‘They’re not going to stick needles in me, are they?’
‘No,’ said Chris.
‘What if they don’t let me out?’
‘If you go voluntarily, all will be fine. It’s just a couple of weeks where you get to sleep and get back to your old self. Look, I’m fine, years later. Although I’m still single, they couldn’t do anything about that.’
Rosencrantz gave us a weak grin and nodded.
‘Let me have your backpack,’ said Chris. Rosencrantz let him gently slide it off his shoulders.
‘It’s now or never,’ said Chris. Rosencrantz nodded and allowed us to take him outside. We passed the two police officers and went to the white minibus. Three men emerged, thankfully not dressed in white. Rosencrantz signed a form and got in the bus. The door slid across with a slam. It had Pathways written across it in red letters. I went to press my hand against the window but it drove away into the darkness of the outer circle.
‘You told him a couple of weeks but you were in for four, weren’t you?’ I said.
‘Rosencrantz will be too. And he’s signed to say he can’t leave voluntarily,’ said Chris. ‘Sorry, it was the only way.’
Friday 15th June
The house was listed by the estate ag
ent at nine this morning. At 9.04 I got a phone call from Meryl. I was still in bed when I answered.
‘Coco. Your house is for sale!’ I pulled my ear away from her shrill voice.
‘Let me guess? Google Alerts?’ I said.
‘Yes… Coco our house is much bigger than yours, yet you are asking, well quite a lot.’
‘It’s the market rate Meryl, and it’s London,’ I said sitting up in bed. Adam opened his eyes beside me.
‘What’s wrong with Milton Keynes?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you going to give Daniel half?’
‘No.’
‘He lived there for twenty years. He helped with its upkeep!’
‘In all our years together the only ‘upkeep’ Daniel took part in was glueing the handle back on his Who Shot JR? mug. Now I have lots to do,’ I said, and I hung up.
Then an email pinged through on my phone to say that for the next twenty-eight days Rosencrantz will be in the care of the Pathways Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Centre in West London. He can have no contact with us, nor we with him. And visitors aren’t allowed. Adam leaned over and kissed me. He inspected the bruise on my head.
‘You should have this seen to.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, and showed him the email.
‘He’s a lucky kid. Rehab will set Chris back a few grand.’
‘He’s not a lucky kid…’
Adam was silent. Then an email popped up to say that the house was now listed for sale,
“A truly delightful, three-bedroom period house with private garden within walking distance of Regent’s Park. The property provides excellent entertaining space with high ceilings and comprises a master bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, two further bedrooms, bathroom, music room, a beautiful living room with a bay window and access to the garden, a fitted kitchen, and terrace. Each room has its original Regency fireplace.
Steeplejack Mews is located on the eastern side of Regent's Park, just north of Marylebone Road and is only a short walk to Great Portland Street and Baker Street underground stations, as well as numerous shops, bars and restaurants.”
It sounded entirely different to the house we were in, after all that had happened yesterday.
Saturday 16th June
Today was my birthday. I’m forty-five. Adam fielded phone calls from Meryl and Tony, and Ethel, who had all clubbed together and bought me a £5 Debenhams gift voucher. Then Daniel rang to say he’d only just remembered it was my birthday, and that he’d email a £5 Debenhams voucher asap. I haven’t set foot inside a Debenhams since the early 1990s… but still.
‘No. We haven’t got any news of Rosencrantz,’ Adam kept saying to them on the phone. ‘And no, no one has made an offer on the house.’
It was a gorgeous day, and in the afternoon Adam arranged for Chris and Marika to come over for a picnic in the garden. He made it look beautiful with sandwiches and tea, and he bought a big delicious oozing carrot cake, but I still felt so glum. Then Chris gave me their present, a big square squishy package tied up with a bow. I tore off the paper… and lifted out two enormous adult-sized babygros.
‘Oh. Thank you,’ I said confused.
‘The blue one is for Adam,’ said Chris. Adam picked up the giant matching blue babygro and held it up to him.
‘Jesus Chris!’ said Marika.
‘What? You said get to get them some babygros…’
‘For the baby! Not for them you idiot!’
‘I was distracted when you phoned… Do you know how crazy it is trying to run a big company?’
I looked at Marika’s incredulous face and for the first time in days, I cracked up laughing.
‘You have to understand, I’m suddenly working in a very stressed atmosphere,’ said Chris. ‘I was in work mode when you phoned.’
‘You thought we’d wear these?’ I said through tears of laughter. ‘We’d look like two enormous Teletubbies!’
‘I don’t know, I thought I’d missed some new fashion trend… Oh my god, next gift!’ said Chris blushing.
Adam went inside and came back out with a big flat package. I was still laughing when I tore off the paper. We all went silent.
‘I had it done before…’ said Adam his voice trailing off. It was a huge framed photo of Me, Adam, Rosencrantz, Marika and Chris. The photo was taken in the bar after the last performance of Chasing Diana Spencer: The Musical at the Edinburgh Festival.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That was such a happy night… such a happy time. Look. Rosencrantz had just graduated from drama school.’
They all put their arms round me.
‘And things are going to get even better,’ said Adam. ‘This photo is to remind you there are always good times around the corner.’
‘Hear hear,’ said Chris. ‘I propose a toast… to Rosencrantz, love, babies and friendship.’ We all clinked our teacups.
When we went to bed that evening I didn’t feel, all of a sudden that things were fine, but I had hope, and that felt good.
Friday 29th June
The past two weeks have been a drain on my resources of hope, waiting for Rosencrantz to be released, waiting for this baby to finally be born. The weather is so hot and I’ve done nothing but lie around and read books and watch TV.
I’ve phoned Pathways Clinic three times, trying to get information and each time I’ve been firmly and politely rebuffed.
‘I can’t comment on a patient’s progress,’ said the smooth female voice on reception.
‘He’s doing well then? I presume you’d only comment if something terrible had happened.’
‘I can’t comment on patients.’
‘Has something terrible happened? Is he alive?’
She paused.
‘Yes, he is alive. Nothing terrible has happened. I can’t give you any more information, I’m sorry.’
‘So you can only tell me if he’s alive or dead?’
‘Well we don’t like to put it in those terms. I’m only telling you this because you phoned.’
‘So I only hear from you if he’s dead or dying?’
‘I understand if this is difficult but your son is receiving the best care. Why don’t you take a look at our website?’ She said and put the phone down.
I logged on to the website, but it was all generic photos of models posing as addicts, and bland ‘mission statements.’
They could at least provide a webcam of the exercise yard or whatever they have there. I’d love just a glimpse of him.
Adam has worked a lot at the bar. I’ve read a lot, in bed.
Saturday 30th June
We suddenly had viewings booked for the house, so I was forced out of bed. The estate agent asked if we could be out for most of the day. It was baking hot so Adam loaded up a picnic basket with food and drink, sun cream and my iPod. He grabbed a big umbrella and drove us the two-hundred yards to the edge of Regent’s Park. It was busy but not too crowded, full of people drinking iced coffee and sunbathing. Adam pitched the rug and umbrella in a shady spot overlooking the lake. It was deliciously warm.
I rested my head on Adam’s lap. My t-shirt rode up and he stroked my bump. My belly button is now stretched to capacity and sticking out. Suddenly I felt a big kick.
‘Whoa!’ said Adam lifting his hand away. I looked down, the shape of a foot was protruding from the side of my stomach. I could see the outline of a tiny little shinbone and ankle. It disappeared and my stomach was smooth again. Then it popped out again.
‘He’s running out of space,’ I said. ‘It’s like he’s is poking around inside me. I can feel him under my ribs.’ We waited for a bit longer.
‘I think he’s still.’ I said lying back down. ‘Thank God, a bit of peace. He’s was joggling around all night.’
‘You know Cokes, this is lovely but we keep forgetting you’re going to stop being pregnant and an actual baby is going to come out.’
‘And it’s going to need feeding and changing and attention.’ I said.
The tiny little outline of a foot popped out again, twice in quick succession.
‘Wow,’ said Adam. ‘He’s gonna be a karate kid.’
‘Or a dancer.’
‘Not my son,’ said Adam. ‘Come on boy give us another kick.’
‘Whoa, hang on,’ I said sitting up. ‘What did you mean, not my son?’
‘He’s gonna be, you know athletic.’
‘Dancers are athletes. Ballet dancers. What if he wanted to be a ballet dancer?’
‘He would get his butt whipped if he was a ballet dancer.’
‘You don’t want our son to be gay, do you? Like Rosencrantz.’
‘Come on Coco, we’re having a nice time.’
‘He’s your step-son.’
‘I know he is but it’s going to take time for me to forget.’
I lay back again.
‘You didn’t answer my question. Do you want our son to be gay?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘It wouldn’t bother me.’
‘It doesn’t bother me either Coco. It’s different with Rosencrantz.’
‘How?’
‘He’s white,’ said Adam. This pulled me up short.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m stating the obvious. Do you know how difficult it is growing up as a young black boy? You want to add gay into the mix?’
‘You’re scaring me Adam.’
‘You’re scared? Coco you do realise that our baby will be mixed race.’
‘Yes.’
‘You just need to be aware. I live with a little bit of racism most days. On some days, a lot. He’s gonna have that too.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t think about it.’
‘You’re lucky.’
‘But the gay thing. You know where I stand on that,’ I said.
‘I do.’
We carried on lying there, but Adam had really made me think. Bringing a baby into the world is the most terrifying prospect. I looked at him with a new admiration. He never ever moans about the way people treat him, but what he said, he has to live with stuff every day.
Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex Page 25
