It started Olivia thinking about her own unplanned pregnancy, although in more enlightened times, thank goodness. Her mum had cried a bit when she and Geoffrey broke the news. Did you hear that, Dave? We’re going to be grandparents. Her dad had asked Olivia if she was sure. He didn’t say what about, exactly – that she was pregnant, keeping it, Geoffrey – but she said she was.
Olivia had only ever seen Geoffrey in his university tracksuit or a T-shirt and jeans, but for that occasion he had worn a white shirt with a button-down collar, dark trousers and a leather belt. He looked like a waiter. A very nervous waiter. Olivia’s dad gave him a beer and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Looking forward to getting to know you better, son.
So was Olivia.
She had first noticed him at the beginning of the summer term, hovering round the administration office, looking for excuses to come in and talk to her: checking exam dates, confirming coursework deadlines – information easily found online. Her co-workers teased her, said she had an admirer. He was tall and sturdy, legs thick with muscle. His hair – mid-brown, wavy – needed a good cut, and he really should shave more often. What drew her to him were his lips: full and fleshy, almost feminine. She imagined how they would feel against her own. Kissing was her favourite part of the dating ritual. Intercourse she found brief and perfunctory, but kissing she savoured.
Their first date was in a city-centre pub, crammed with students celebrating the end of exams. He drank beer; she drank wine. Conversation was difficult – ‘pardon’ and ‘sorry, I didn’t catch that’ featured heavily. When she called him Geoff he corrected her, said it was Geoffrey. ‘What’s the difference?’ she had asked, prompting him to explain that his mother said Cabinet ministers were called Geoffrey, plumbers were called Geoff. ‘My dad’s a plumber,’ said Olivia. ‘My mum’s a snob,’ said Geoffrey.
She asked if he had any plans for the summer and he told her about backpacking through South America, about the mountains, the beaches, the beautiful women. He stroked the side of her face, his meaty hand surprisingly gentle, and said she was beautiful too. The kiss was light as air but she breathed it in and wanted more. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, and he guided her through the crowd like a bodyguard.
The sultry June night had fizzed with energy. He pulled her close and kissed her again. It felt just like she’d imagined it would.
His room was a tip, the floor littered with clothes, empty pizza boxes, lads’ mags, CDs and computer games. A grungy duvet hung halfway off the bed. He saw her expression and said, ‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.’ His idea of clearing up was to pile all the clothes in one corner, stack the pizza boxes in another, give the duvet a quick shake and throw it across the bed. The magazines, CD and games, he pushed underneath. He took two cans of beer from an otherwise empty fridge, and offered her one. She shook her head. His chunky index finger barely fitted into the ring-pull. He guzzled like he was quenching a thirst.
There was nowhere to sit but the bed. She kicked off her sandals, lay back and listened: the drone of traffic, a woman shouting, distant music, a car door slamming. ‘Can you hear it?’ she asked him.
‘Hear what?’ He put down his beer, lay next to her, propped himself up on an elbow.
‘The city,’ she said.
He thought about it for a moment before telling her she was funny.
His mouth was soft and tender. She could have lost herself in those kisses but he was impatient to hurry things along. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing muscle and chest hair and the oniony smell of fresh sweat.
Olivia’s boyfriends had all been of a type: well groomed and well dressed, the sort that wore aftershave and hair gel. Geoffrey’s manliness crashed over her like a tidal wave of testosterone. He undressed her quickly, as though she were a present and he couldn’t wait to see what he’d got. Definitely what he wanted, if the instant hard-on was anything to go by.
Jeans and boxers he discarded where he stood and then he lowered himself on top of her, weight on his elbows, hair flopping over his face. When he pushed himself inside her she gasped. ‘Slow down,’ she whispered, suffocating under the sticky heat of his flesh. He stopped, took a very deliberate breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked at her differently, like it wasn’t just her body he saw, but everything else too. He kissed her deeply. He kissed her the whole time. They came at the same moment, their bodies fused in carnal pleasure. She wanted to laugh and cry with the joy of it. It was the first time she had come with a man inside her. Usually she didn’t come at all.
Geoffrey had peeled himself off her and rolled on to his back. They stayed like that while they caught their breath, then turned to face each other. He asked if he could see her again. ‘Silly question,’ she said, smiling. Of course he would see her again. This wasn’t a one-night thing – of that she was certain.
Weeks later, when the shock wasn’t so raw, she told him she suspected she had conceived that night, that she had felt different. Not in a way she could explain, but she wasn’t totally surprised when the test was positive. Geoffrey, on the other hand, had been dumbstruck. He went on about false positives and made her take another test. ‘Are you sure you want to keep it?’ His way of saying that he didn’t.
They had been in his room, cleaned and tidied by Olivia, the general fugginess vastly improved by scented candles and a few of those plug-in things. Geoffrey paced, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘We didn’t use a condom that first night,’ she reminded him.
‘I thought you were on the pill,’ he said.
Moot point. It had happened – now they had to deal with it. She sat him down, kneeled in front of him, explained that she didn’t expect anything. Her parents would look after her like they had always done. She made a joke about her dad and a shotgun wedding, but Geoffrey didn’t smile. ‘I’m saying I don’t expect you to marry me, so you can wipe that look of terror off your face.’
Geoffrey had stood up and paced again. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘My dad’s a vicar and my mother – don’t get me started. A child born out of wedlock? Shock horror.’ He turned away and mumbled something that sounded like ‘shock fucking horror’.
Usually Olivia would have objected when he lit a cigarette but she made an exception under the circumstances. ‘That’s a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it? And anyway, you’re an adult – surely it’s not up to them?’
He pulled on the cigarette as though it was his last, like in those films where the deserter is about to be executed but is granted a final wish. ‘My trust fund doesn’t pay out until I’m thirty, and only if I’m living my life according to Christian values. Big carrot, bigger stick.’
Olivia chose to ignore the emphasis on Christian values and made a suggestion. ‘So don’t tell them.’
He dropped his cigarette into an empty Coke can and tossed it in the wastepaper bin – another acquisition of Olivia’s. She tried to hug him but the smell of smoke made her gag. ‘That wouldn’t work,’ he said.
She looked around for a can of air freshener. ‘Why not?’
He shrugged, as if resigned to his fate. ‘Dunno. It just wouldn’t. I’m a terrible liar. Even worse at keeping secrets.’
Good news for Olivia. Secretive liars weren’t exactly boyfriend material. ‘We’ll tell my parents first and take it from there,’ she said.
All five of them had had lunch together: Olivia, her parents, her brother, Sam, and Geoffrey. Sam seemed a bit smitten by the handsome rugby player in their midst. The few boyfriends he’d brought home had been big and brawny, just like Geoffrey. Olivia was going to tease him but thought better of it. Geoffrey looked uncomfortable enough already, although he seemed to relax once he saw how well her parents had taken the news that she was pregnant.
Despite Olivia’s assurances to the contrary, Geoffrey had expected her dad to grill him about his intentions, a notion Olivia found laughable. Your parents might say stuff like that but mine don’t. So when Geoffrey announced that he
was ready to face up to his responsibilities, it was entirely of his own volition. Olivia didn’t like to think of herself as a responsibility to be faced up to. If Geoffrey intended to stick around it should be because he wanted to, not because he felt he had to. When he reached into his pocket Olivia thought it was for cigarettes, but instead he produced a small velvet box. His hand trembled slightly as he opened it, revealing a miniscule diamond set high on a white-gold band.
Olivia’s mum covered her mouth, eyes shining, and right there, in front of her family, Geoffrey proposed. If astonishment hadn’t rendered Olivia speechless, she would have asked if this was some sort of noble but misguided gesture. She needed to know he was motivated by love, not duty. Her mum inhaled sharply and a state of suspended animation descended on the room.
‘Do you love me?’ Olivia had asked finally.
‘I will,’ he said. ‘And I’ll love our child.’
Until then Olivia had thought of it as her child. Geoffrey’s involvement seemed once removed – almost theoretical. His pledge to love it moved her deeply. ‘I’m willing to believe in our future together,’ he said. ‘Are you?’ She nodded because the words were stuck in her throat. When he slipped the ring on her finger, the joy in the room was palpable.
Quite a different story the following weekend, when they drove to Compton Cross to share their good news with Geoffrey’s parents. Olivia rarely ventured into the countryside and had never heard of Compton Cross. All her life she’d lived in the three-bedroom semi her parents had moved into when they married. The Morans were the first people in the cul-de-sac to buy their council house. Over the years they’d added a conservatory and a garage, triple-glazing and a downstairs loo. As they sped along the M4, Olivia had asked Geoffrey about his house but he didn’t exactly paint her a picture. ‘Old and draughty’ was all she could get out of him.
Two hours after they had set out from Reading, they arrived at the Rectory. The front door had a pair of windows on either side and another five above. Ivy impinged on the honey-coloured stone, spreading up and out in tangled fronds. ‘This is where you live?’
He cut the engine. ‘It’s where my parents live.’ Her own parents’ house could fit in it several times over.
Geoffrey had got out of the car and opened the door for her, his expression grim. She’d tried to hold his hand but he shoved it in his pocket. The front door had opened just before they reached it. Olivia assumed the woman with the steel-grey hair pinned into a bun was his grandmother, but he pecked her cheek and said, ‘Hello, Mum.’ Her attention turned to Olivia. ‘You didn’t say you were bringing a friend.’ Friend?
‘This is Olivia,’ he said, moving aside so the two women could size each other up.
His mother extended a hand. ‘Rowena Parry.’ So formal.
‘Olivia Moran,’ she said, offering as firm a handshake as was polite. Rowena glanced at Olivia’s engagement ring but made no comment.
They followed her into the house. ‘You’re father’s in his study – he’ll join us shortly.’ A Jack Russell terrier ran towards them, skidding on the smooth flagstones. Geoffrey’s face lit up. ‘Alf.’ He dropped to his knees and enveloped the dog in his arms. Olivia imagined him doing the same with their son. She was sure she was carrying a boy.
Rowena suggested they make themselves comfortable in the drawing room while she checked on lunch. The room was chilly, even though it was a hot August day. French doors overlooked the garden: a great expanse of emerald lawn, flower beds, a cluster of fruit trees. Alf jumped on to the sofa and squeezed himself between Olivia and Geoffrey, his chin resting on Geoffrey’s thigh. The furniture looked old and a bit tatty, the sort that gets handed down from dead relatives. A threadbare rug covered much of the floor.
Rowena came in and announced Ronald was putting the finishing touches on tomorrow’s sermon. She sat down on a worn leather chair and embarked on an oh-so-polite interrogation.
Olivia felt like she was being interviewed for a job she had no hope of getting. Her father was a plumber, her mother a receptionist, her brother a hairdresser. These facts appeared to make Rowena mildly curious as to why she was entertaining such an ordinary individual in her drawing room, although she did brighten at the news Olivia and Geoffrey had met at university. ‘What did you read?’ she asked. Olivia glanced at Geoffrey, willing him to steam in and tell the sweet story about how he used to find excuses to come into the office, but no. He let Olivia explain she was an admin assistant in the engineering department, that she’d got the job straight out of sixth-form college and didn’t actually have a degree. Olivia felt she had admitted to something scandalous, like being a sex worker or a socialist, but before Rowena could comment, Ronald blustered in, profusely apologetic, and greeted Olivia warmly. With silver hair and half-moon glasses, he had the air of a kindly professor: a man of wise words and philosophical insights. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go through her family history again, but Ronald was keen to catch up with his son. They chatted about rugby, his part-time jobs, how the village cricket team was faring this season.
Was Olivia the only one who noticed Geoffrey’s foot tapping anxiously on the rug, or that he kept wiping his palms on the sides of his trousers? When Ronald asked if he’d managed to save much for South America, Geoffrey mumbled something about a change of plan. ‘Oh?’ said Rowena, her eyebrows raised. She had good posture for a woman of her age – spine straight, shoulders back. A soap-and-water kind of woman.
Geoffrey cleared his throat. ‘Olivia and I are expecting a baby.’ She loved him for the ‘and I’. He could have put it all on her.
The dog must have seen something in the garden because he suddenly leaped off the sofa and launched himself at the French doors. Geoffrey leaped up too, evidently glad of the distraction. It loosened the silence that had tightened around them. He let Alf out and watched him tear across the lawn. Olivia wondered if Geoffrey might make a run for it too.
‘Can I assume there will be a wedding?’ said Ronald tentatively.
Geoffrey remained on his feet. ‘I’ve asked Olivia to marry me and she said yes.’
With this, Ronald got to his feet too and took Geoffrey’s hands in his. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘That’s wonderful news.’ He let go of Geoffrey and kissed Olivia on both cheeks. ‘And what do your parents think, dear?’ he asked.
‘Oh, they’re delighted,’ she said.
Rowena made the smallest sound, an astringent smile on her face. ‘It’s wonderful news, isn’t it, darling?’ said Ronald with a little less conviction than before. In lieu of a response, Rowena had turned her head towards the garden where a terrified kitten cowered halfway up a tree, Alf at the bottom, teeth bared and snarling, daring it to come down.
*
The injustice of being trapped here at school, while the book club had fun without her, gnawed away at Olivia. If she had anything to barter with she could have asked Harriet to take over her duties for the evening, then she would drive to Ellie’s, forgo the wine and be back again before eleven. But she had nothing to barter with and she couldn’t ask Harriet to cover for her again. It was so unfair, being punished for decisions Geoffrey had made without bothering to consult her. She’d trusted him and he’d let her down.
Even the staffroom aroma of coffee and cake did little to elevate her mood. She spotted Leo Sheridan on his own, sipping from a mug and reading the newspaper. He looked engrossed, but she wanted to ask how Edward was doing – reassurance that the teasing had settled down. She made herself a coffee and was heading in Leo’s direction when Martin came in. He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.
‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch break,’ he said. ‘If I could have a minute of your time?’
He waited for the hum of conversation to die down and announced that Mr Dubois had left St Bede’s a month or so earlier than planned. Lisa Pearce and Peter Havant looked over at Olivia. Maddening that she blushed.
‘How long before a replacement is found?’ asked Rudd Lend
er. ‘And who’s going to cover for him in the meantime?’
Martin nodded a good deal to show that he understood Rudd’s concern.
‘My wife, Ruth, will take French for the remainder of this term. She has an A-level in the subject from Roedean and spent a year in Languedoc before going up to Cambridge. With regard to rugby, I know Mr Sheridan has a full workload, particularly with the Christmas concert coming up, but I do have one or two ideas. I’ll let you know more in due course.’
He shot a grateful smile at Leo.
‘Can I ask why Mr Dubois left so suddenly?’ piped up Lisa Pearce.
Martin hesitated, as if unsure whether to share this information. ‘His fiancée has been involved in a car accident – nothing serious, I understand, but naturally he wanted to return home.’
It seemed a bit too convenient to Olivia, but she kept her opinion to herself.
Martin clapped his hands again. ‘Now, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you, everybody.’ With that he moved towards the door, touching Olivia lightly on the shoulder as he did so. She followed him into the empty corridor.
‘There was something I wanted to ask you. Do you think your husband might consider coaching rugby until a replacement is found?’
That was unexpected. It could be exactly the boost Geoffrey needed. He hated hanging around the Rectory all day, applying for jobs he never got, waiting for the bank to make its next move, Rowena hovering in the background.
‘What a terrific idea,’ she said. Geoffrey in a tracksuit, running round the rugby field, just like when they had met. ‘I’m sure he’d love to.’ For the first time in a long while Olivia felt excited, but it didn’t last.
‘There is something I feel you should know,’ said Martin. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to mention it but I think it’s best that I do.’
‘Oh?’
‘It was Ruth who told me about you and Mr Dubois. She saw you disappear into the pavilion and jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was quite right of her to draw it to my attention, of course.’
An Unsuitable Marriage Page 11
