Gaynor was speechless with shock. She looked beyond Debra at the softly-lit room, glimpsing its old leather chair and drawing board, wondering where Sam was. “Did he say that?” she managed eventually.
“He didn’t have to.” Debra’s voice was curt. “He’s been through hell because of you and he knows now he’s better off without you. So just leave my father alone.”
“But he wrote me a note,” Gaynor said desperately. She held it out to Debra. “He asked me to come.”
Debra took the piece of paper and scanned it briefly. She was closing the door. “Well, he’s changed his mind.”
“Stupid bitch,” Gaynor said to Lizzie. “How long’s she going to be hanging around like a bad smell? Leave her father alone! Anyone would think he’s a bloody child. What shall I do?”
Lizzie, at the bar with a large glass of Chardonnay, waved a dismissive hand. “Phone him and say what is your witch of a daughter playing at? Call his mobile!”
“He hasn’t got one! And if I phone the land line, she might answer. I bet she doesn’t even tell him I’ve been round. He’ll think I’m ignoring the note and then…”
She stopped as two couples came into the bar. She shook her head at Lizzie and sighed. Then she switched on a dazzling smile for the customers. “Yes, good evening and what can I get you…”
There was no more chance to talk. There were lots of drinkers in as well as a few tables ordering food. The evening whizzed past in a frenzy of dashing up and down stairs with trays of pasta and garlic bread, opening bottles of wine with one hand and writing out bills with the other.
Looking round at several people waiting, Gaynor thought about asking Lizzie to come behind the bar but she was deep in conversation with a hippy-looking guy with a beard and already on her second bottle of Chardonnay.
“I won’t keep you a moment.” Gaynor nodded at a middle-aged man who’d been sitting at the bar on his own for some time. He’d told her he was called Gary and was an electronics salesman. Quite who he was selling to in Broadstairs, she had no idea but he seemed to have a fairly hefty expense account. He’d already had a bottle of Chilean red and a couple of vodka cocktails; now he was on neat vodka on the rocks and looking slightly bug-eyed.
He winked at her. “No problem,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.” He held out his glass. “Make it a large one. And one for yourself,” he added expansively. “Can never resist a pretty face!”
Yeah, yeah. Gaynor smiled absently. It was nearly half-past ten and she just wanted the hands of the clock to whiz round to closing time so she could get cleared up and decide what to do about Sam. She wondered what exactly he had said to his daughter. She knew they were close – he’d said he could talk to her about anything, but this…
She thought she might just phone and see who answered. She could always put the phone down if it was Debra.
Claire had finished in the kitchen and had come behind the bar. “Is he all right?” she asked, nodding at Gary.
“He’s being pleasant enough,” said Gaynor as she looked at Gary’s grinning face. She’d wondered fleetingly if she should have served him last time but she didn’t want a scene and there’d been other people waiting. So she’d dropped ice-cubes into a tumbler and deftly pressed twice at the Smirnoff optic.
“Don’t give him any more,” said Claire in a low voice.
“Can we have another one?” Lizzie was waving an empty bottle from the other end of the bar. “Have you scored?” enquired Gaynor, raising her eyebrows in the direction of her companion.
Lizzie leant towards her. “Getting a bit boring now!” she said in a stage whisper.
Behind Gaynor, Claire spoke sharply. “Look over there!”
Gaynor looked round. Gary was beginning to sway. He grinned and held up his empty glass. “Vojka,” he slurred. “Another one pleeesh…”
“He’s got to go,” said Claire. “You should have stopped serving him ages ago.”
She walked round to the front of the bar. “Time to go home now!” she said briskly. “We’re closing soon.”
Gary giggled. “I don’t shink I can move,” he said, with difficulty. He gave her a large, drunken smile. “I shtuck here.”
“Oh no, you’re not.” Claire pulled at his arm. He toppled forward. One of the blokes in a group next to him put out a hand and yanked him back up again.
“Want us to throw him out? he enquired cheerily.
Gaynor shook her head, feeling responsible. “No, no I’ll do it.”
She came round to stand beside Gary, too. “I’ll deal with it,” she said to Claire. “Come on now,” she told Gary. “Get off the stool.”
With the help of a couple of the men nearby, she got him on to his feet. He slung an arm around her shoulders and let her lead him, meandering drunkenly, to the door.
“Goodnight,” she said, as she disentangled herself. “Time to go home.”
“What’s going on?” enquired Claire, when she came outside,
five minutes later.
“Every time I let go of him, he falls over,” said Gaynor.
Gary giggled. “I don’t shink…” he said, “I don’t shink…”
Claire rolled her eyes. “We can’t leave him here. It doesn’t look very good to have someone passed out on the doorstep. Shall we try and get him to the top of the road?” She looked back over her shoulder at the still-crowded bar. “I’d better not leave the place – I’ll see if I can get someone…”
“It’s OK,” said Gaynor. “He said he was staying at the Grand. I’ll walk him up there.”
Claire looked doubtful. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“It’s not far.”
The Grand Hotel was only round the corner and along Albion Street. It was the town’s best and she could imagine how delighted they would be when Gary graced reception. But that was their problem – it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to deal with an inebriated guest.
“Come on,” she said. Gary began to giggle again. With a huge effort he straightened himself and began staggering forward up the hill.
“I like you,” he told her loudly as they weaved their way to the top of Harbour Street. “You are a bish of all right.”
He was leaning most of his weight on her and as they rounded the corner, he crashed into the lamp-post and nearly knocked her flying. “Stand up straight,” she cried in alarm. “Keep walking!”
If she could just keep him moving, she could propel him forward. It was when he stopped that his knees sagged and then she couldn’t get him started again. A group of youngsters emerging from the Dolphin Pub nudged and pointed as they staggered past. Gaynor made an exasperated face at them, hoping it would be apparent that she doing her good landlady duty in dragging the old drunk home and he wasn’t her hot date for the night.
They’d got halfway up the road. Her back was hurting from supporting him and he seemed ready to sink to the pavement. She stopped outside the Albion Bookshop and tried to prop him up against the entrance. He slumped against the glass and pointed a finger at the window display. “I sh’ read that,” he told Gaynor. “Ish very good.”
“Great!” she said through gritted teeth. He still had an arm wrapped around her. “Come on, Gary,” she cried, in desperately jolly tones. “Let’s get you home!”
He shook his head with an idiotic grin. “You’re very beau-shi-ful,” he said.
She heard footsteps come along the pavement behind her and tried to move him out of the way. “Gary, please…” She turned and stopped, startled, as she found herself looking up at Sam. Debra was beside him.
“Sam!” she said in surprise, smiling with relief. “I’m so glad to see…”
She trailed off at the look on his face. He glanced coldly from her to Gary and then stepped off the pavement and walked into the road to skirt round them. Debra put her arm through his, shooting Gaynor a poisonous look as she hurried her father past.
“I shink I love you!” Gary shouted, draping himself back
over Gaynor as she looked after Sam. She saw Sam look back but couldn’t see his expression in the darkness.
She heard Debra though. Her voice floated back to them, loud and clear and deliberate. “Well, it didn’t take her long, did it?”
“You are a bloody nuisance,” Gaynor said to Gary when she’d got him moving again. As if in answer, he promptly fell over. She stood watching him giggling on the pavement with something approaching despair.
“Please!” she called out to three guys, swinging along in leather jackets on the opposite side of the road. “Please could you come and help me?”
They sauntered over – they were in their mid-twenties and sniggering at Gaynor’s predicament. “Where are you trying to go?” one asked.
“In there.” Gaynor nodded to the illuminated hotel sign twenty metres away.
“Come on, mate!” Two of them took an arm each and hauled Gary to his feet. “Bedtime.”
The third fell into step beside Gaynor. “What have you done to him, to get him in such a state?” He grinned at her as they walked up to the double doors of the hotel.
“Nothing to do with me,” she said, shortly.
“You want to give him a bit more love and attention,” said the one on Gary’s right arm, as he pushed open the door with one foot. “Look after him! Be a proper wife!” They all laughed loudly.
“He’s not my husband!” Gaynor said hotly. “I don’t know him from Adam.” They stopped in surprise just inside the foyer.
“In that case, love,” the young man said, “I should fucking leave him to it.”
They both let go of Gary. Gaynor clapped a hand to her mouth as she watched him plunge forward into the hotel’s giant cheese plant. There was a snapping sound as leaves and compost scattered across the pale carpet.
Gaynor fled.
Lizzie was fast approaching a similar state by the time Gaynor got back to Greens. “I’ll take her upstairs with me,” she said wearily to Claire who had done all the clearing up and was jingling her keys impatiently.
“I wondered what on earth had happened,” said Claire. “I was just coming to look for you.”
“I’ve bought us some wine.” Lizzie was gaily waving yet another bottle of Chardonnay. “Come and tell me all about it.”
Gaynor sat on the window seat among Sarah’s cushions and watched Lizzie pull out the cork.
“You should have seen the way he looked at me,” she said, morosely. “Like I was a piece of dirt.”
“Bastard,” said Lizzie succinctly. “Come on, have a drink.”
Gaynor looked down. “I’d better not.”
Lizzie glanced at Gaynor’s middle. “Suppose,” she said grudgingly.
Gaynor had changed into a pair of pink pyjama bottoms and an old T-shirt of Sarah’s. She put her arms around her knees and sighed. “I must go home and get some more stuff soon but I can’t bear the thought of bumping into Victor.”
Lizzie looked around the sitting room. “Where are you sleeping?”
“In Bel’s bed – poor little thing is on a put-you-up in with Sarah. Sarah’s been so good…”
“You know you can stay in mine when Ravi and I go off travelling again.”
Gaynor smiled. She’d tried staying in Lizzie’s spare room, but the sounds of Lizzie and Ravi locked in passion coming through the thin walls had kept her awake and made her utterly miserable. “Sorry,” Lizzie had said sheepishly when Gaynor gently explained that she thought she’d be better off above the wine bar.
“When are you going?” Gaynor asked now.
Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. This temp job ends at Christmas. I quite fancy hitting the sunshine then. It’ll depend on money and stuff. Ravi’s broke too.”
Gaynor smiled again. Lizzie was always broke, always in temporary jobs, but somehow it never stopped her doing what she wanted.
“Where is Ravi, anyway?”
“In Hull seeing his mum. He was supposed to go last weekend, but he couldn’t tear himself away from me.” Lizzie lay back on Sarah’s sofa with a smirk.
“I think you’ve fallen for him,” Gaynor said, seeing if she’d confess, now she was three sheets to the wind.
Lizzie sat up and swigged at her glass of wine. “Not me!” she said, with mock bravado. Then she wrinkled her nose. “A little bit, maybe.” She giggled. “Still don’t really know him, but hey…” She fell back into the cushions.
“I’m beginning to wonder if we ever know anyone,” said Gaynor, sadly. “Everyone seems together on the surface but scratch it and there we all are – as flaky as hell.”
She turned sideways and stared down at the street lights below. She was still reeling from Richard’s revelations about Sarah. Now she thought about it, it all made sense. The way Sarah would be crabby and uptight and then swallow a couple of pills and be all smiles and light again. The way her headaches were constant. Richard had said that if you took too much, the codeine itself gave you headaches, so there you were, taking tablets for a headache that would give you a headache, so you had to keep taking more and more…
He’d said he’d talk to her about it. Gaynor wondered how Sarah would react.
“And look at Sam,” she said to Lizzie now. “I would never have had him down as a bloke who’d let his daughter send me packing.”
She thought painfully of the expression on Sam’s face, the way he had stepped round her as though she were infected.
“Told you he was a flake,” Lizzie said disparagingly. “Though, in fairness,” she added, a slight doubt in her voice, “perhaps he really wasn’t there and doesn’t know what she said.”
Gaynor shook her head. “I saw his face tonight. He’s not interested any more. There was no love or affection there. I’m really gonna be Mother of the Year, aren’t I? No money, no home, no father for the poor brat…”
She suddenly felt her chin tremble. “Oh Lizzie, what am I going to do?”
Lizzie sat up again. “You are going to get yourself together, sweetie,” she declared, slurring slightly. “You’ve got to sort Victor out – your house up there must be worth a fortune by now. You want half of that for starters – then you can look for a place of your own. And the sooner the better. Nine months isn’t very long.”
Gaynor felt panic rising inside her. “I know, but I can’t cope with seeing Victor right now.”
“Is that all it is?” Lizzie looked at her. “Sarah thinks you’re in denial. That you’re not facing up to being pregnant.”
“Well, I am, but…”
“Do you still want it?”
Gaynor looked at her friend in anguish, feeling the tears come into her eyes. She hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t know – I’ve waited for this for so many years and you know how you imagine a moment. I thought when I finally discovered I was pregnant, it would be so magical. I imagined telling Victor and him cracking open champagne. A bit like he did for Chloe, really,” she added bitterly.
At the thought of her step-daughter, the panic increased. She didn’t want to lose Chloe too – not any more than she had already. But…
“Have you spoken to her yet?” Lizzie lay back down, hands behind her head, her bare feet up on the arm of the sofa.
Gaynor shook her head. “No. She keeps phoning. I haven’t answered – she’s had to leave messages. She’s obviously in a terrible state. Can’t really work out whether she wants to blame me or commiserate.” Gaynor looked shamefaced. “I know it’s awful but I can’t face going to see her either – I don’t want to talk about Victor and she’s really pregnant now – she’s seven and a half months, she’ll be huge…”
Lizzie frowned. “So? Why’s that a problem? You will be before you know it.”
“Yes.”
“Gaynor,” Lizzie said again deliberately, “do you want this baby?” She propped herself up on one elbow and took another swallow of wine. “It’s a big undertaking. It’s a huge, life-changing thing. Never a moment to yourself. Total commitment. Can’t send it back…” She shudder
ed.
Gaynor sipped at the tea she’d made. “It’s not that I don’t want a baby,” she said slowly. “It still seems such a miracle that I’m pregnant after all this time.”
“Nothing wrong with you after all!” said Lizzie crossly. “That bastard…”
“But I wonder if I’m up to having one on my own…As you say, it’s a big commitment.” Gaynor chewed at her thumb. “I might give the poor little thing a terrible time. Is it fair?”
Lizzie flapped a hand. “I’m thinking of you. Is it fair on you?” She was really slurring now.
“But I don’t think I could – you know – not again…” Gaynor bit her lip, trembling.
Lizzie shook her head. “That was a very long time ago,” she drawled. “It’s all quick these days – in, out and home again. Steffi had one in that new clinic out at Ashford.
Said it was nothing. Said it was much worse the next day when she had to have a filling replaced.”
Gaynor wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t feel like that. I know I’d…”
Lizzie sat up and wagged a finger at her. “You have got to sort yourself out,” she said drunkenly. “You go and see Chloe, you face up to things. You’ve got a problem if you can’t look at a pregnant woman!” She leaned forward and waved her hand a bit more. “Go and look at Chloe and face it, then you’ll know… It’s not good,” she slurred, “putting it off. You’ve got to go and see her and tell her what really happened with Victor and then make a decishhon…”
“There isn’t really a decision to make,” said Gaynor bleakly. “I’m having a baby.”
Lizzie slumped back among the cushions. “It’s not a baby yet,” she said loudly. “It’s only a, it’s only a .. phew,” she said with difficulty, “a phew cells…”
Gaynor fetched a quilt from one of the children’s beds and put it over Lizzie. As she leant out to switch off the light, Lizzie’s eyes suddenly snapped open again. “And no father,” she said, and passed out.
And no father. Gaynor got into Bel’s bed, pulled the pink-patterned duvet up over her shoulders and thought about Sam. She thought about his slow, thoughtful way of talking, the way he would listen intently, would lean out and stroke her hair. “I’m here for you,” he’d said.
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