by Karen Clarke
‘He sounded upset.’ Celia’s eyes were intent on me. ‘Have you seen him?’
Perspiration broke out on my upper lip. ‘I might have gone to his parents’ anniversary party yesterday.’
‘I thought he was seeing someone else.’
‘He is, and they’re engaged,’ I said flatly, though saying the words out loud sent a shockwave through me.
‘Engaged?’ Mum and Celia said together. They looked appalled, as if I’d said he’d converted to Scientology, and I hurried out before either could ask for details.
Tugging my phone from my bag, I switched it on and saw I had a voicemail.
‘Marnie, it’s me, Alex.’ I pressed the phone harder to my ear. ‘I wondered if you were OK yesterday, you left in such a rush …’ he paused, and my memory pitched back to the squashy blue sofa in his house, where he used to pull my feet into his lap and give them a massage, when I’d been in the shop all day. ‘It was good to see you,’ he said, his voice thick with feeling. ‘Please call me.’
I switched my phone off again and ran almost all the way to the shop, not even slowing when a fully dressed and made-up Doris appeared on her doorstep and waved her notepad at me. Did the woman ever sleep?
Harry’s van was there when I arrived, and there were signs of activity in the shop. I burst in to find dustsheets already down. A workman with a pair of blue overalls hanging from his waist, and a tattooed serpent curling around one bicep, was slapping white undercoat on the wall, and a woman with the same shade of russet hair, and a freckled nose, was doing the same to the other. I remembered Beth telling me Harry employed a husband and wife team, renowned for their ability to paint a room in under an hour. At the speed they were moving I imagined they’d be done by the time I put the kettle on.
Beth emerged from the office, dangling the spare set of keys from her finger. ‘Hope you don’t mind,’ she said, taking a sip from the mug in her other hand. ‘I thought the sooner they started the better.’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ I scolded, out of breath. ‘There’s paint fumes and dust and slippery surfaces.’
‘I won’t stay long, keep your wig on,’ she said.
The workman pointed his paintbrush at his wife. ‘That’s Em, and I’m Toby,’ he said with a friendly grin. He had an athletic vibe – a bit like Greg Rutherford.
‘Nice to meet you both.’ I fluttered a wave.
Em gave me a shy smile and returned to her painting.
I looked at Harry, carefully sanding the counter top in preparation for a coat of varnish, frowning with absorption.
‘Should I run through the itinerary?’
With the tiniest of sighs, as though I’d asked for the moon, he pushed his goggles into his hair and removed his dust mask. He counted off on his fingers. ‘Paint the walls, replace the shelving behind the counter, remove lighting, paint the skirtings and doorframes, and sand the floorboards.’
Not for the first time I wondered how I would have felt if Alex had taken a dislike to Beth. Harry was lovely with everyone else, and I’d never heard anyone say a bad word about him, so I could hardly blame her for loving him, but sometimes I wished she’d married someone else.
‘Good,’ I said briskly, conscious he was trying not to look at my fringe. ‘Shall I leave the door propped open to let the paint smell out?’
‘Obviously.’
I scuttled over to turn the sign to ‘CLOSED’ to deter people from coming in.
‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
I found Beth in the kitchen, humming under her breath. ‘Honestly, you should go home,’ I said. ‘How come you’re up so early, anyway?’
‘I was worried when I didn’t hear from you last night.’ Her gaze drifted up. ‘Why?’ she said to my fringe.
‘It was driving me mad.’
‘I wondered why there was hair all over the floor in the office.’ She studied me a moment longer. ‘It’ll grow back,’ she concluded. ‘So, come on.’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘How did it go with Alex?’
‘Ugh,’ I groaned. As I gave her the low-down her expression veered between laughter and horror, and settled on concern when I got to the bit about Bobbi-Jo’s engagement ring. ‘I think she wanted me to see it,’ I said, spooning three sugars into my coffee and stirring it wildly. ‘She put her hand on Alex’s arm on purpose.’
‘Oh, Marnie.’ Beth took away the spoon and squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But he wants to talk to me,’ I said. ‘I think she might be pregnant.’ I glanced at the dome of Beth’s belly. ‘Though not as pregnant as you are.’
‘I thought she already had a child.’
‘She does, but he’s about five.’ I removed my jacket and slung it on the worktop. ‘Her clock’s probably ticking, and she’s latched onto Alex because she knows he’s a good catch.’
‘Weeell …’ Beth looked about to protest, then said, ‘Maybe he wants to invite you to their wedding.’
I almost choked. ‘I bloody hope not,’ I said. ‘I’m not the kind of ex who’d be OK with that sort of thing.’
‘Me neither,’ said Beth with a shudder. ‘It’s not natural.’
‘I’ll be glad when they’re back in New York, to be honest.’
‘Out of sight, out of mind?’
‘Something like that.’ A picture popped into my head, of the pair of them pushing a buggy through Central Park in the snow. At least there’d be no chance of me bumping into them. ‘So much for his plans to travel.’
‘I got the impression he only went along with all that for you,’ said Beth, scooping froth from her mug and into her mouth. ‘And he’d never have met her if you’d asked him to stay here.’
I was about to strenuously protest that it wasn’t my fault when her expression changed. ‘What’s wrong?’ She looked as if she was holding in a burp.
‘Bit of back pain,’ she said, chewing her bottom lip as she put down her mug. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Maybe Bunty’s getting on your nerves again.’
‘Feels like she’s using an angle-grinder.’
‘Ouch.’ I waited for her face to relax, deciding to ignore her comment about Alex. She was just reacting to being in pain that was all. It had never suited her. ‘Mum’s back,’ I said, to distract her.
‘Oh?’ Her eyes stretched. ‘What’s happened noooooooOOOOOW!’
‘Beth?’ She’d dropped to a squat. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t know.’ She pressed her chin to her chest. ‘It feels right, somehow.’
‘O-kay.’ She looked odd, with her gigantic belly protruding between her white-trousered knees, her lime-green stretchy top so tight I could see her belly button sticking out. She was making a noise low in her throat, like Chester when he was unsettled. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘Just keep talking.’
‘Right.’ She was puffing air through pursed lips, as if trying to blow out a stubborn candle. ‘Is it still OK to come over later and make some sweets for tomorrow?’
‘That’s fine,’ she said, sounding like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. ‘The in-laws won’t be back until late tonight.’
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘I’m going to die in childbirth,’ she squawked, looking at me through damp eyelashes. ‘I can’t give birth, Marnie, I just can’t. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Of course you can.’ I knelt down and rubbed her back. ‘It’s fear of the unknown, that’s all.’
‘It’s fear of pain and dying.’
‘That as well.’
‘Oh GOD!’ she wailed, plopping her bottom on the floor, legs sticking out in front of her. Thrusting her back against the cupboard, she pushed her hands into her hair, squashing her curls. ‘I want gas and air NOW!’
‘But you’re not in labour yet,’ I said, confused. ‘Are you?’
She gave me a mournful look. ‘I’m not due for another week.’
‘I know but …’
‘Th
esis won’t be happy, I’m not finished yet.’
‘Katherine Parr will have to wait.’
Beth’s cheeks were raspberry pink. ‘Take care for my soul. Save me, thy servant, which wholly trust in thee. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I will never cease crying to thee for help,’ she intoned.
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s a part of a prayer that she wrote. Katherine Parr. Seems appropriate.’ Her eyes were roving blindly.
‘Where are you going?’ she said as I scrambled to my feet.
‘Er, just to see how Harry’s getting on.’
‘Don’t leave me.’ She was on her hands and knees, crawling after me. ‘Have you got any painkillers?’
‘I think you might need more than an aspirin,’ I said. ‘Just wait here, I won’t be a minute.’
I hurried out the front, and stopped in my tracks. Harry was rollering the ceiling white, while Toby and Em were now coating the walls with the buttermilk paint I’d had in the stockroom for months. The place looked so different already; bright and airy, the sun reflecting off the walls to dazzling effect.
‘Everything OK?’ I said.
Harry’s face twitched with irritation. ‘Everything’s fine.’ When I didn’t move he lowered his roller with a long-suffering sigh and removed his paint-speckled baseball cap. ‘What is it?’
‘Beth’s in a bit of a state.’
‘Ah.’ He scratched his ear. ‘She’s been in a state for a while, to be fair.’ For a second, he seemed to forget it was me he was talking to. ‘She was fine at the start, she’d got it all worked out, but …’ he bit his lip. ‘I dunno, she’s lost the plot a bit lately.’
I looked up, as if she might be clinging to the ceiling. ‘I think she’s in labour.’
‘WHAT?’ The roller clattered to the floor.
Toby and Em looked round, eyes flaring with alarm.
‘S’up mate?’ said Toby.
‘Carry on with what you’re doing.’ Harry’s tone brooked no argument.
They resumed painting, like robots.
‘Are you sure?’ said Harry, following me into the kitchen where Beth was standing, staring at a spreading wet patch around her feet.
‘My waters have broken,’ she said, in an awestruck tone. ‘At least, I don’t think I’ve weed myself.’
‘Her waters have broken.’ Harry looked at me, animosity stripped away. His expression was a peculiar mix of unbridled panic and joy.
‘Yup,’ I said. ‘They certainly have.’
‘It is water, not wee, isn’t it?’ Beth said plaintively. ‘It smells like straw.’
‘What happens now?’ asked Harry, clutching his cap to his chest like a workman in a period drama, with no idea about women’s bits.
‘You’re the ones who’ve been to parenting classes,’ I said, wondering whether Beth was intending to ever use a sentence without the word ‘wee’ in it again. ‘Do you go straight to hospital, or wait for contractions to start?’
‘I think they’ve already started,’ Beth said, cupping her bump. Her eyes refocused, flipping from Harry to me. ‘I’m not ready,’ she whimpered. ‘I haven’t been practising my chanting.’
‘Should I call an ambulance?’ Harry seemed gripped with indecision for possibly the first time since I’d known him.
I decided I’d better take charge. Despite having months to prepare, their memories had clearly been wiped. ‘I’ll call the hospital and ask their advice.’
An efficient voice at the end of the line informed me Beth should come in, as her waters had broken. ‘She’s at risk of infection,’ I said to Harry, which had a startling effect.
He burst into tears. ‘We have to go! Right now!’ he cried, traversing the kitchen, cap in one hand, the other raking his hair.
‘But what about the shop?’ cried Beth, as if it was all that mattered. ‘And the baby-sling I ordered hasn’t come yet, and I saw this little vintage silver spoon on eBay I was going to order …’
‘You’re not Kate Middleton,’ I soothed. ‘Bunty’s got plenty of stuff already, you just have to—’
‘And I don’t think I like the colour for the nursery in the new house, it’s supposed to be sage, but it looks like parsley. I hate parsley, it gives me heartburn.’
‘Oh Christ, Beth, I’m so sorry.’ Harry looked stricken – as if she’d announced the baby wasn’t his. ‘I’ll strip it off before we move in, I swear, I’ll get some paint specially mixed, just say the word …’
‘Will you two chill the hell out?’
‘Oh god.’ Harry swiped his face with his forearm. ‘It’s all turning to shit.’
I placed my arm around Beth’s trembling shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about any of that,’ I said in my firmest voice. ‘It’s not important.’
‘But the shop …’
‘Toby and Em can finish,’ Harry interjected, eyes wet and staring. ‘So I’m driving her to the hospital then?’
‘Er, yes,’ I said. ‘Go to the hospital. They’re expecting you. Tell them your name. They’ll know what to do.’ Better to keep it simple. I handed him Beth’s bag, then turned to squeeze her hands. ‘This is it,’ I said, seized with emotion. ‘You’re going to have a baby.’
‘Oh my days,’ she said. Her eyes were like saucers. ‘Is this really happening, Marnie?’
I nodded, her face blurring. ‘Yes it is,’ I said, laughing and crying at once. ‘Go,’ I said to Harry, who seemed frozen to the spot now. ‘We can’t stay here crying all day.’ I sniffed. ‘Keep me posted, OK?’
Beth nodded furiously. ‘If I die …’
‘You won’t.’
‘Of course she won’t,’ growled Harry, flinging her bag across his shoulders and rubbing his swollen eyes. ‘Don’t even say that, Beth.’
As we led her through the shop, me clutching Beth’s hand while Harry’s arm circled her back, Josh strode through the doorway, his skateboard under his arm.
‘What’s happening?’ He jumped aside to let us pass.
‘Beth’s in labour.’
‘My waters broke.’ She gave him a trancelike stare. ‘It’s all over the floor.’ Her knees buckled. ‘It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it bloody well hurts, it hurts, it hurts, oh Christ almighty it hurts,’ she chanted, which definitely wasn’t what she’d been practising. ‘Get it out, get it out, get it OUT!’
In a sudden, panic-stricken movement, Harry yanked open the door of his van and virtually threw her onto the front seat before sprinting round the other side. Wild-eyed, he leapt in and revved the engine.
Beth buzzed down her window. ‘Help me,’ she said feebly, sticking her hand out.
Grabbing her fingers I leaned over and said to Harry, ‘You’d better get her there in one piece or you’ll have me to answer to.’
My words had a calming effect. He pulled on his baseball cap sideways, straightened his shoulders and nodded.
‘What about your bag, with your birthing things?’ I said to Beth.
‘It’s been in the back of the van for a week.’
‘Good.’ I unwound her fingers from mine. She was staring past me with a puzzled expression.
Turning, I saw Josh inside the shop, talking to Toby while miming a painting action. I was swept with gratitude. He was obviously offering to help.
‘I recognise him,’ Beth said, as if she hadn’t been keening like a war widow mere seconds ago. ‘Isn’t he Rob Hancock’s nephew?’
Twenty-Four
‘What are you on about?’ I stared at Beth as Harry crunched the gears.
‘It was when your gran broke her leg and you were at the hospital.’ Her face was sheened with sweat. ‘Oh no, it’s happening again,’ she whimpered.
‘Tell me,’ I ordered, my breathing as shallow as Beth’s.
‘Ooch! OW!’ She attempted to focus. ‘I took in a delivery and Hancock had someone in the van and I asked who it was and he said his nephew and it was him, that man in the shop, I recognise him, he’s got the same hair and eyes and he was wearing
a yellow T-shirt with “Blink if You Want Me” on it,’ she said, delivering the words in a frenzied stream. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh, no, oh no, oh no,’ she wailed, as Harry finally found a gear and veered away from the kerb.
‘AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!’ was the last thing I heard as the van roared off, and turned the corner so fast I half-expected it to swing over onto two wheels.
So much for being careful.
I stood for a moment, turning her words in my head.
She’d been out the back the first time Josh came in, and hadn’t had a chance to meet him since. He probably hadn’t noticed her the day Rob Hancock dropped off his delivery.
His nephew.
He’d tried to put me off Kandy Kings, and placed an order with Rob, even though I’d told him he wasn’t my supplier any more. I remembered his reluctance when I said I was thinking of making my own sweets, and how he’d defended Rob.
My heart was racing, while around me life carried on as normal.
The beach was filling with people, visiting for the bank holiday weekend, erecting windbreaks and deckchairs and flapping out towels. An ice-cream van had already parked down the road.
A couple emerged from the guesthouse with a little girl.
‘You can get some bonbons later,’ the woman told her, flashing me a quick smile. ‘You’ve just had a fry-up for breakfast.’
Josh was Rob Hancock’s nephew.
Fury rose, and must have reached my face as the woman grabbed for the girl’s hand and snatched her away.
I marched into the shop and gripped Josh by the arm. ‘Can I have a word?’ Not waiting for a reply, I yanked him away like a wheelie bin, pretending not to notice a look of alarm shoot between Toby and Em.
‘What’s wrong?’ Josh sounded bewildered as I shut the stockroom door behind us, before slamming my palms against his chest and shoving him hard.
‘What the …?’ His calves hit the pallet behind him, causing him to plop down. He stared at me, blank-faced with shock. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Is it true?’ My voice was a strangled croak.
His brow scrunched. ‘Is what true?’
I snapped the light on so I could see him more clearly. ‘Are you Rob Hancock’s nephew?’
