‘Oh God.’
‘Qué pasa?’ She took the stick from my trembling hand. Hugged me and got me to finish and come through to the bedroom. Just as Nando came in. All I could manage was a nod. There was some rapid breathless Spanish with Pilar, then he suddenly smiled broadly, gave me a tight squeeze, and disappeared again.
Pilar was saying something but I’d gone to the window; Nando had his arms round Jeremy, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then I saw Jeremy’s face. Crying.
I had to go. Anywhere. Just for a while. I was out of the door, tapping in the code, walking along the now long-shadowed stony road giving up the day’s heat to me. For some reason clutching the almost empty Kipling bag.
A baby. A child. A miracle. But not for Jeremy; I’d just look like a sperm-bandit as well as a cheat… I heaved with tears, had to stop walking. I’d run from facing Jeremy, but all I wanted to do was run to him, as I always did, as I couldn’t cope with not being able to do. But we’d had an accident from which, this time, we might never fully recover. Then I found myself holding the crimson monkey. That smile… Nando wanted the baby. And he claimed he could feel how to make things right…
A car was coming up behind me. Pilar, no doubt, accepting yet another errand to do with the silly English woman. It stopped. A door opened. A red-eyed Jeremy, somehow managing to grin. Patting the seat next to him.
‘I didn’t mean to! I don’t know how—’
‘I know, I know. Nando says it’s un milagro. Now get in, you stupid girl - it’s all going to be perfect, don’t worry.’
Chapter 34
embarazada adj pregnant
In front of us, a huge sparkling turquoise ball slipper against grey London Blitz rubble. Jeremy was reading out the Matthew Bourne interview in the programme: the inspiration of the classic wartime love stories, the darkness of Prokofiev’s score, the dedication to his father. He pulled out his phone to switch it off - and grinned.
‘“How are my Cinderellas.” Are we going to let him talk to us like that?’
‘Probably.’ I pulled the programme over and studied the pictures.
‘And what are you doing gawping at that RAF pilot dancer now you’ve got your own Prince Charming?’
‘I’m looking at her. Cinderella looks older than me - Matthew Bourne, I love you.’
A buzz: my phone this time.
‘JM dancing much today? And where is my 24 week foto? Te amo monita. xxxx’
Jeremy watched me replying; he still hadn’t quite got out of the habit of guiding our relationship along.
‘JM? So he does have a name.’
‘Yes, but I don’t like using it, doesn’t seem right.’
‘Juan Manuel. No, it’ll be José. Oh - and his father, so… José Miguel.’
‘Yup. The two ugliest names in Spain, together. José’s fair enough, but why Nando wants to honour a father who refused to come to his own son’s wedding…’
‘He’s thinking long term - he’s told you, they’ll get over it. Probably the minute their grandson arrives.’
Maybe, but his parents were going to have to start communicating with more than gruff consonant-free mumble I could never understand. It had been almost a relief when I was admitted to hospital, even if some of the staff - like most of Nando’s family - looked like they thought I was just too guiri, pale and vegetarian to be carrying a dark gypsy foetus.
‘Hey come on, only two more weeks. Nando’ll sort them out, don’t worry.’
At the mention of his papa’s name JM started squirming and kicking.
We laughed. ‘Every time!’ Jeremy put his hand on my round tummy. ‘Or maybe he picks up on your raised heart rate when we mention his name…’
I shifted myself in the seat to ease my hip-ache. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got the room or energy for a raised heart rate.’
‘Well that’s another thing Nando will have to sort out.’ More kicking. ‘You dance away, Josemi, we’ll have some music for you in a—’
‘Ho-se-mi?’
‘That’s what some José Miguels get called.’
‘I like that. Josemi. Sweet. Sounds a bit like Jeremy.’
Then we linked arms as the Blitz bombs, sirens and music started, and were soon caught up in the plight of frumpy-cardiganed Cinderella, her love for an injured pilot, the dream and nightmare at the Cafe de Paris, their eventual reunion in a hospital and their romantic station departure. All directed by a Cary Grant-like - Jeremy-like - guardian angel.
‘This is worrying - I’m getting as soppy as you these days,’ Jeremy said, wiping a tear. ‘Wonderful. But come on, up you get.’
‘Emma’s going to love it. Why didn’t we book three evenings of it?’
‘As well as the Royal Ballet’s with Mitch and Judy on Thursday?’
‘Tuesday. Thursday we’re here with Emma.’
‘I could have sworn…’ He pulled out the tiny filo from his pocket, despite the crowd surging past us. ‘But you’re quite right. As usual. God.’ He frowned.
‘Jeremy, even people without holes in their head get dates mixed up.’ We reached the entrance. ‘Bloody hell, it’s dark already. And uh - freezing. How did we put up with this?’
‘No idea. But come on, we need to get back.’
‘Why are we doing this, we hate parties.’
‘Oh don’t start up again. It’s just a way of catching up with everyone. And you don’t have to do anything, everyone knows you’ve been unwell.’
We turned onto our old road.
‘Just look at all the miserable hunkered people and crappy Christmas decs.’
He chuckled. ‘You’ve got to stop this. England’s going to be part of Josemi’s heritage too, you know.’
‘True. We’ll have to bring him over for regular doses of the better things it has to offer. The theatres. Cream teas in the country…’
‘Fish and chips on Brighton pier.’
‘Foyles, the gallery… We are going to do some of these, aren’t we?’
‘We’ll see what we can fit in without wearing you out. But I’ve got all these meetings and things to do, Yol.’
‘I know, and I want to help. But… couldn’t we change our flights and stay a little bit longer?’
‘Don’t you think you should be home for a week and making some progress with the family before Nando gets back?’
Home? Home was a few calles away in Jeremy’s spacious apartment with its sunny roof terrace, not far from the Maria Luisa Park; I went there whenever I could. Nando’s house shared a patio garden with the rambling family home and was prone to bombardment by unintelligible questions and commands. Only his sketches, and a couple of flute lessons for his sister Carmelita - the last one drawing an unexpected brief abrazo from her mother - gave any feeling to it.
Jeremy was concerned that I’d be too busy chatting to eat enough at the party, so he’d asked Ginny to give me a pre-party high tea. She was waiting for us, radiant in her usual flowing purple and dangle of beads. ‘How was it? Come in, it’s almost ready. Make yourself comfy.’
The same sofa, but now with a multicoloured Indian throw daringly matching my old patterned rug on the floor. Pavlova looked up at us with disdain from a luxurious fuchsia bed on the armchair.
I stroked her head. ‘Look at you! Remember me, Pav?’
Jeremy knelt down and put his face near hers, scrunched her neck. ‘Have you forgiven me yet, gorgeous?’
Ginny laughed. ‘Only since Paddy’s been around. Think he reminds her of you.’
Jeremy and I exchanged a smile. We’d met him when we’d arrived the previous evening: one of Andrew’s new authors, an apparently gifted but unassuming chap from Bolton, boyishly appealing, pushing forty but looking about fifteen - perhaps fortuitously for an author of teen fiction. On hearing his name he briefly emerged from the second bedroom to say hello - with that mid-scene blank stare that I easily recognised - and retreated.
Jeremy went to get things ready next door.
‘Hones
tly, getting caterers in for thirteen,’ I said.
‘I think he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t start trying to help. Here you go.’ She put a tray on my lap and sat down with hers. ‘How are you doing today?’
‘Honestly, I’m fine now. Just fed up I’m going to look so scrawny and un-blooming for Nando. It’s weird, I’ve tried for years to lose this much weight, and now I’ve seen how bloody awful it makes me look!’
‘You look amazing, considering what you’ve been through. And anyway, you’ve still got a fortnight - including a week of all your favourite English food…’
‘Mm, this is divine. So… Paddy likes your cooking?’
She grinned and lowered her voice. ‘He’s a very appreciative man. Such a sweetheart. And so talented, but I sometimes wonder how he’s survived until now - he’s in his own world. After we saw you last night he said to me, “Is that the girl who gave Jeremy a writer’s block when she left him to search Spain for the ex-boyfriend who’d said he’d give her a baby?” He can’t seem to believe it’s fiction!’
‘I know how he feels. Some of the dialogue… I have to remind myself it didn’t happen.’
‘It’s an incredible work. And even though it’s written from the author chap’s point of view, the understanding of the female mind… This is from you, Yol.’
‘And you! Who d’you think the sister’s based on?’
‘Well, I did wonder! Anyway, with After Lorca’s film rights being haggled over, there’s a fair chance The Reader will attract interest too and we might get to watch ourselves on screen in a few years’ time!’
‘Oh God. But don’t say anything like that to Jeremy, the publisher’s excitement - all this stuff about next summer’s bestseller - it’s making him nervous. He’s funny, obviously he wants it to be successful, but he can’t stand all the talk. In fact I remember this from last time, he was desperate to finish but then goes into a sort of post book-partum blues and isn’t really happy until he’s started a new one.’
‘And has he?’
‘Well he says he’s mulling something…’
‘And what about your composing? I heard you and Javi were working together again.’
‘Haven’t been for a while, what with… well, neither of us being up to it.’
I told her about Javi’s emailed inquisition about Nando. When did it start, he wanted to know, and had I always been in love with him and desperate for his baby - questions I found difficult to answer, and that he had no right to ask. But I’d said, you know how much I loved you and wanted us to be together, if you just think about it. And that’s what he’d done, for so long that I started to wonder if he’d ever be in contact again.
‘But yes, we’re back on track. Everything by email of course, but it’s great. I think it’ll help keep me sane.’
Jeremy tapped on the door and opened it with his key.
‘Sorry Ginny, it’s going to take a while to get out of the habit.’
‘Well don’t bother, I’m sure Paddy and I can remember to keep ourselves decent in the living room when you’re over.’
‘Mitch and Judy are here, Yol.’
‘Good God, Papa breaking the habit of a lifetime and turning up early?’
‘That’s exactly what he said!’
They wanted to know that all was well with me and the baby now, asked after Nando. They gave me a Christmas present - the cookery book I’d suggested - to give to Charlotte when she came over later in the week; we hoped that by the following Christmas they would be exchanging gifts in Jersey. Then I heard about the wedding preparations and Papa and I commiserated about the non-attendance of our in-laws. It seemed particularly unfair for him after - ever the chameleon - he’d converted to Judaism. ‘A-ha. Are we going to have a preview of some of our wedding music?’ Papa asked when he saw Helen and Kirsty arrive with flute cases.
‘Looks like it.’
More strokes of my bump. But then I’d got used to that - accompanied by grinning but often untranslatable or bizarre advice - whenever I went out in Seville.
‘David sends his love,’ Helen said.
‘Oh, and says another friend wants to use one of your pieces with his college pupils. And the chap’s got a sister who works for Music Sales, so you never know…’
Kirsty nudged her. ‘And don’t forget Sophie’s…’
‘Oh yes.’ Helen opened her bag and pulled out a ribboned Aero bar and a glitter-shedding card showing a woman with a massive tummy playing the flute to a donkey.
‘That’s gorgeous! I’m going to go and put it somewhere safe right now.’
I pushed myself up from the sofa and went to the bedroom. Helen followed me, saying she wanted to lose her bag and scarf.
Jeremy came in to take off his sweater. ‘You see? You are enjoying it. But drink Yol, the whole bottle of that apple and elderflower Mitch brought you, by the end of the evening.’
‘Okay.’
He kissed my cheek and left.
Even the small amount I had drunk had quickly gone through me; I tried to get past Helen but she caught my arm.
‘He’s such a beautiful man. And…’ A little chuckle as she pointed to a wedding photo of the three of us that we’d put on the mantelpiece. ‘You are one lucky lady. But go on, I’ve always wondered… Does a threesome actually work?’
‘What?’
‘What’s it like, I mean, is it lady’s first, a sandwich or…’
‘No! I’m married, Jeremy and I are old friends—’
‘That sleep together,’ she said, wagging a finger at our two pillows.
‘Yes, sleep, but not… And anyway it’s none of your business. In fact why don’t you take your business fucking right out of here?’
‘Well I—’
‘Hey what’s the matter here?’ Jeremy had come in to the room with a drink for me.
‘She thinks the three of us—’
‘Yolly, you really should learn to take a joke,’ Helen said, leaving the room.
‘She was not joking,’ I said, dashing in to the toilet and slamming the door.
‘Course she was, now calm down. Yol? Come out of there.’
‘I’m peeing, for God’s sake. It’s alright, I’ll get over it. But where’s Emma?’
‘I told you, she’s going to be late, Lawrie - or was it the girl - got locked out of their flat or something. At least I think I…’
‘No, you didn’t tell me,’ I said, coming out of the bathroom.
‘But it doesn’t matter, I’m here now,’ Emma said, coming in and taking off her coat. ‘Come here you,’ she said, giving me a hug. ‘You’ll get over what?’
‘Helen asking what it’s like to have a threesome.’
She put a hand to her mouth and snorted.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘Sorry. But she’s probably had a few, and let’s face it, it’s a pretty unique set-up. Come on, let’s go and sit down with a bit of that carrot cake.’
‘No Jason?’
‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said, tilting her head to where he was enthralling Andrew.
‘So how are you now? You look so much better.’
‘I am. But God, what would I have done without you and Jeremy?’
‘You’d have had to make that scary sister-in-law of yours help a bit more. Any progress there?’
‘Not much. But I hardly see her, she’s always at the school or out performing.’
‘Just make sure you have this flamenco baby after I break up for the Easter holidays, okay?’
Flamenco baby. It had been a while since I’d heard those two words together. But it was different now: this child wouldn’t be born of the misery of rejection but with the love and support of the three of us.
‘I mean it. He’s your baby too.’
Jeremy got into bed beside me. ‘It’s okay Yol, I’ve told you - I’m fine with the change of plan.’
‘No but really, you’ll have a huge influence on his life, don’t you see that?’
&nb
sp; He smiled. ‘That’ll be good, sounds like I’m going to have all the best bits of parenting without the tedium.’
‘Just a shame we can’t all live together. D’you think it’ll ever happen?’
‘Not while he’s dancing and his parents are alive, no. And actually, I’m not sure he’d be prepared to share you to that extent.’
‘Me? Share you, you mean.’
‘Well both of us maybe. And I think he’s right, we need two places, just a bit nearer and freer flow between them.’
‘Exactly. He and I need to get out of the Morales mansion. Casa Manderley. I feel like that drippy second wife in Rebecca.’
‘Well that all ended well didn’t it? Just remember you’re there to build relationships, not set fire to the place.’
I looked over at him: I knew he didn’t think I tried hard enough, that my complaints irritated him because he would so gladly take my place, but I didn’t want to waste time arguing when I could snuggle down and put my head on his chest instead.
‘Listen to Nando. He understands, he knows what he’s doing.’
‘That reminds me of how he kept telling me he’d be able to feel when it was the time to tell you about us. It made me so cross.’
‘But he was right. Of course I wondered - but I also needed that time to be more sure of my relationship with him.’
‘It’s such a relief not to have secrets anymore.’
‘I’ll never understand why you didn’t tell me about you and Nando in February.’
‘I was too ashamed.’
‘It certainly wasn’t your finest hour, but I hate thinking of you suffering alone with it. But you know, if your banditry had been successful, it could well be that things would have worked out much the same anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘On the other hand, if I’d given you the consolation prize baby you wanted after David, then that would have changed the course dramatically.’
I lifted my head. Looked into those smiling dark blue eyes, ran my fingers through his soft waves of hair and felt the little scars of the wounds that had nearly taken him away from me forever. Of course, if he hadn’t been gay, that would have changed the course even more.
FLAMENCO BABY Page 31
