Little Bits of Baby

by Patrick Gale

  ‘That was as much a reason for her not being adopted as her blindness.’

  Jake felt his concentration sag. He watched the rapid movements of Robin’s mouth and felt very far away. He sat mutely through Robin’s recitation of how sinister Iras Washington was talking perfect English at three, reading braille at six and using a braille-converted typewriter at seven. He heard without listening how she had now mastered braille-adapted word processing and had nearly finished her first novel. The waiter brought back Jake’s credit card and at last Robin ran dry. Jake watched him smiling to himself and playing with the pastel-printed papers that had wrapped their amaretti. Robin took one in his beautiful fingers, formed it into a kind of parachute then lit one of its corners in the candle flame and rested the burning paper in the ashtray. The small fire flared, died down then, just as the paper turned black, sent the parachute flying over their heads on a small mushroom cloud. Robin watched it enchanted, then let his eyes drop back to Jake’s.

  ‘You’re terribly happy, aren’t you, Robin?’

  For the first time that day, Robin answered him without irony.

  ‘Utterly,’ he said, and his smile was sweet-natured, and wine-saddened.

  ‘This is Faber Washington, isn’t it?’

  Robin lent across the table, urgency in his face, his hands fingering the air for right words.

  ‘Jake, it’s never … I mean, this has never, well. I think I might be losing my mind.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful,’ said Jake.

  ‘No, it’s absurd. Calf-love’s grotesque at this age. I know I’ve only just met him but he’s so very … Oh, I don’t know, just so … I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a kind of madness. I’m not a well man.’

  ‘You’ll get over it,’ Jake told him, standing. He had to get out. ‘God! Robin, what’s the time?’

  ‘Coming up to three. Why?’

  ‘I’m late. I must rush. Look, you’ll be around for some time, won’t you? You’re not going back to Whelm straight away?’

  Robin stood too.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m going back at all.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, I can’t very well. Not now. I think it’s better for me to stay and face things here. For a while.’

  ‘Robin, I must go.’ Jake held out a hand.

  ‘Lovely lunch. Thank you.’ Robin clasped his hand and, before he realised it, Jake found he was being pecked on the cheek.

  He drifted back to the office through the Covent Garden crowds like a drunk, which, on reflection, he was. Slightly.

  ‘It hurts,’ he thought. ‘This really hurts.’

  He lurched up the fire stairs in an effort to sober up. Joy looked up from her desk.

  ‘Bad boy,’ she said. ‘You told me two-thirty.’

  ‘Sorry, Joy.’

  ‘The men from Genisan are here early.’

  ‘Toothbrushes. I thought that was tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ve put them in the boardroom with a jug of coffee and a smile.’

  ‘Where’s Saskia? I thought she was seeing them first.’

  ‘She’s still tied up at Cicero and Morse. I already paged her. She’ll get over as soon as she can.’

  ‘Joy. Keep them amused. I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be two sees.’

  ‘OK. And while I remember, Candida just rang. She says she’s got to work late and as it’s your nanny’s day off, could you pick up Jasper from kindergarten. She says there’s no rush. They’ll hang on to him until you come.’

  ‘Perfect,’ he muttered. ‘Thanks a lot, Joy.’

  ‘Bad boy,’ Joy sighed, slipping back into the boardroom.

  He shut himself in his office, checked his watch, then dialled a number from memory. He kept a hand over the mouthpiece in case the wrong person answered. They didn’t.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Peter. Hi. It’s Jake.’

  ‘Jake! What a lovely surprise!’ Peter’s tone was oddly hearty. ‘What can I do you for?’

  ‘Well, I was wondering if you’d like a game of squash tonight. An extra one. I need a bit of punishing.’

  ‘Oh, Jake, I’d love to but I promised Andrea I’d cook tonight.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Any other time would be fine, but …’

  ‘That’s OK, Peter. Actually, I won’t keep you. I’m in a bit of a rush.’

  ‘Fine. Speak to you soon, Jake.’

  Like son, like father, Jake thought. He walked to the window and glared down at some pigeons that were bedding down sordidly on the ledge below. On his way to the door he stopped to pick up his dictating machine. Pressing a red button, he held it close to his mouth. ‘Memo to Accounts re: Art Fund,’ he confided. ‘Request authorisation to release moneys for purchase of work by Faber Washington, that’s F-A-B-E-R and Washington as in White House. You’d better look out his agent for me, Joy – I suppose he has one – and get some figures together, as I’m not sure what he’s worth now. Ring round a few galleries too. We’ll want to buy quite a lot, four or five.’

  Twenty-One

  Andrea was in the sitting-room teaching Jasper Browne how to play Hangman. Brevity was taking up all his small lap. He was not an especially bright boy so Andrea had let him hang her several times in succession. Normally he made up for his dimness with confidence which, in its turn, could be a problem when his jollity quashed the responses of brighter, more timid children. In the last few days however, both she and Peter had noticed him change. Twice today she had come across him sitting on his own in a corner, watching and trying to pass unseen. As a rule, if there was any delay in his being collected at the end of the afternoon, he ranted and sulked but today he accepted the prolonged absence of nanny or either parent with dull, almost unfeeling equanimity.

  ‘So what have I got left?’ she asked. ‘Oh no! Only one go and then you can fill in my left leg and I’m dead! Help!’ He laughed but not properly; only to placate her. ‘Let’s see; F-blank-T-blank. Shall I make a guess?’

  ‘All right,’ he said, quietly.

  ‘Umm. OK.’ she enthused. ‘Fate!’

  ‘Wrong,’ said Jasper.

  ‘Oh, dear. Well, fill in the other leg then. That’s right. Kill me off. You’ve won again. Now, what was your word?’

  Breathing heavily with concentration, he filled in the remaining two letters.

  ‘Oh. Jasper, dear, you don’t spell photo that way.’

  ‘I do,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s wrong, I’m afraid. The proper way to spell it is with PH at the beginning instead of the F. It’s not a real word, really. It’s short for photograph, but that’s a bit harder to spell.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Shall we call it a draw and do something else?’

  ‘All right.’

  He sat there staring at the pieces of paper they had covered with letters and executed pin-persons. She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Well, look at the time!’ she said. ‘Mummy is late. You must be hungry. Shall we go to Peter’s and my kitchen and see what we can find?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Would you like a piggyback?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He set Brevity gently on the sofa beside him then trailed Andrea to the kitchen and sat on a stool while she made him a sandwich.

  ‘Can I have a banana in it?’ he asked.

  ‘What, banana as well as cheese?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, eager to get through on any level.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said as she set it before him. There was a rattling of keys in the lock and Robin let himself in at the back door.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, rushing across the room. ‘Can’t stop. Got to have a bath. Love you lots.’ And he thundered up the stairs, chased by the adoring Brevity. Jasper had suddenly perked up.

  ‘That’s your son,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Andrea.

  ‘He’s a holy man,’ he went on.

  ‘Sort of,’
she said. ‘He’s very special to me.’

  ‘We’ve got lots of photos of him at home. Lots and lots.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes. Mummy was looking at them all the other day. She had them all over her bedroom floor. She keeps them in a shoebox.’

  ‘You eat your sandwich,’ she said, dying to know more and wishing she were not so scrupulous. ‘Mummy’ll be here soon.’ Once he had his mouth full she went on. ‘She’s got lots of photos of Robin because they were best friends when they were little. Your mummy used to come and stay here. You know the tree house at the bottom of the garden?’ Jasper nodded, munching. ‘Well, she used to climb up and sit there for hours and hours. She and Robin would take a bag of apples and a pocketful of sultanas each and then climb up there and pretend it was where they lived.’

  Now, I mustn’t cry, she thought. I’ve got Robin home again and Peter loves me again. I’m a very happy person.

  ‘It kept them happy for ages,’ she added out loud.

  The doorbell rang. Andrea jumped up.

  ‘That’s probably Mummy now. You stay there and finish your glass of milk and I’ll go and see.’ She hurried into the hall. Robin’s bath was filling loudly upstairs. She heard him cross the landing and shut the bathroom door. To have the now celebrated, elegant Candida Thackeray waiting until well into the cocktail hour to pick up her child from school made Andrea suddenly aware of her unfashionable, motherly dress and harassed hair. She stopped to check herself in the mirror then thought, ‘Mud on her knees. Sultanas in her pocket. What the hell?’ and opened the front door. ‘Jake! How lovely!’

  ‘Didn’t Candida tell you I was coming?’

  ‘No. She didn’t tell me anything. Jasper said it was nanny’s day off so naturally I assumed that Candida would … Come in, come in. Robin’s just come home but he’s already in the bath, I’m afraid. Rushing out somewhere, I think. Come to the kitchen. I’ve just given Jasper a cheese sandwich. Cheese and banana, actually – is that all right?’

  ‘Sweet of you. That’s his favourite. We’ve got an extra nanny, you see, to cover Perdita’s feeds on Sam’s days off and so on but it turns out she can’t drive and the agency hadn’t anyone else to spare. Stupid of us to be so dependent on them, really. I am sorry Candida didn’t ring. You must be wanting to get on with things …’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s been lovely having him to chat to. We played Hangman, didn’t we Jasper?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jasper.

  ‘And Peter’s still visiting at the hospital so, er …’

  ‘Well, we must be off and leave you in peace,’ said Jake.

  ‘No. Stay for a drink. Do,’ she touched his arm. ‘It’s such fun to have you here again. Please?’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’

  ‘Quite. What would you like? Wine? Lager?’ Andrea peered in the fridge. ‘Gin?’

  ‘Lager, please.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s low-alcohol stuff.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  She poured Jake a low-alcohol lager, awarded herself a gin and French and led father and son back to the sitting-room.

  ‘Have you got any photos?’ Jasper asked her.

  ‘Several books of them.’

  ‘Have you got some of Mummy and the holy man?’

  ‘Of course, dear, but his name’s Robin. There are even some of your daddy. You see that shelf there? The bottom one? Well, all those big books have photographs in. Let’s see. Yes. Try the navy blue one. That’s it. Take them over to the table so you can look at them comfortably – it’s a bit big to hold on your lap.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jasper and hauled the book onto a writing-table by the window where he sat and pored over his parents’ mysterious past. Andrea turned back to Jake and smiled.

  ‘It seems so long ago, now,’ she said.

  ‘No seems about it,’ said Jake. ‘It was. I had lunch with Robin today. Did he tell you?’

  ‘No. He’s only just come back.’

  ‘Oh yes. You said. Sorry.’ Andrea noticed that Jake had still not found the ability to sit back on a sofa and relax. She half expected him to call her Mrs Maitland. ‘It was rather strange,’ he said. ‘He just turned up out of the blue.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I hope he didn’t disturb your work.’

  ‘No. It was good to see him properly. We didn’t really get a chance to talk at the christening.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She sipped her delicious drink, which she had made rather strong, and wished she were drinking it alone with Peter. She wished Peter would hurry up and come back. ‘We’re so thrilled to have him back.’

  ‘I bet. I gather he may be staying back for good.’

  ‘We hope so. He seems to have missed London terribly. He’s out all day, nearly, walking around, taking favourite buses, talking to strangers in cafés – same old Robin.’

  ‘You don’t find him changed?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jake frowned. He was still fairly good-looking, she decided, but only because she knew how he used to look and laid her memories over the thickening neck and now indelible frown. ‘He’s changed all right. He’s the same Robin but now he’s more so. Everything’s slightly exaggerated, imbalanced almost. Sorry, that’s an awful thing to say, especially when you’re so pleased to have him home again.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She took an icy sip, knowing exactly what he meant, and stared across at Jasper for a moment. The child was either fascinated by the photographs or extremely sly. She turned back to Jake. ‘You know,’ she said quickly, ‘No one’s ever really told me what happened, why he ran away.’

  ‘But surely Candida did. I thought.’

  ‘Not really. She was so hysterical when she called us up. All she said was that he had disappeared and that “it was all a stupid misunderstanding” and then we hardly saw her after that. Not until after your marriage, of course.’

  ‘I wrote a letter.’

  ‘Yes. To Peter. I remember. It was sweet of you but it didn’t explain much.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Dob was very in love with you, wasn’t he?’

  ‘No. Not exactly. He hadn’t told me. It was stupid of me not to notice I suppose, but he hadn’t told me and when he finally did I panicked. I wasn’t the last one to see him, though. Candida was.’

  ‘Yes. I know. But surely, when you heard he’d turned up at Whelm you must have been surprised. You knew him so well. He’d never shown any interest in God before?’

  ‘He was reading theology.’

  ‘Well, I know that, but that didn’t make him Christian. He was far more interested in Eastern things. If we’d had a telegram from an ashram, that would have been understandable, but Whelm of all places … Peter went half-mad, you know. He was convinced they were holding him against his will. It almost broke him.’

  ‘He’s coming up the steps now,’ Jake said.

  They both coughed; ridiculously, she thought, like adulterers in a bedroom farce. The front door opened and shut.

  Peter called out,

  ‘Hello?’

  Andrea called back, ‘Hi! In here,’ and Jake stood up.

  ‘We really must be off,’ he told her. ‘Your supper …’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Peter came in saying,

  ‘Hello, darling,’ then, ‘Hello, Jasper. Still here? And Jake! What a lovely surprise.’

  ‘I came to pick up Jasper,’ Jake explained. ‘It’s Samantha’s day off and there’s normally a supply nanny to cover her but the supply …’ He saw Andrea was smiling at him. ‘Well, anyway, there was a mix-up and Candida was kept on late by some emergency. Can’t think what it was, she’s normally home by two-thirty or three.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Peter, who had been rather too obviously not listening, grinning as he was at Andrea.

  ‘How was Marcus?’ she asked him, receiving his welcome kiss.

  ‘Bad,’ he muttered. ‘It’s nearly over.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ she said.

&nb
sp; ‘Can I get you another drink, Jake,’ asked Peter, taking Jake’s glass. ‘Another lager, was it?’

  ‘Actually, I really must be off. Candida may be home and worrying about Jasper. It’s long past his bedtime. Thanks so much, Mrs Maitland … I mean, Andrea.’

  She laughed. They all did.

  ‘It’s having Robin back here,’ Jake muttered. ‘Feels so strange.’

  ‘We’ll give him your love,’ she replied, thoughtlessly.

  ‘Sorry about the squash,’ Peter told him. ‘Any other time. Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘What squash?’ asked Andrea, sleepily, feeling the drink reach her knees as she stood in farewell. ‘Come along, Jasper. Time to go home. Did you like the photos.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very much. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  He ran out into the hall after the men. She heard the front door open again amid muttered manly goodbyes. She went to sit where the child had sat and began to look at the photographs. Robin and Candida grinning from their treehouse. Another one with Candida in a cowboy hat and Robin in a dress Andrea had once been made to wear as a bridesmaid. She turned some pages and found a terrible, wet camping trip to Suffolk. A much younger Peter grinning up at the camera while frying bacon in a field amid strings of wet clothes. Andrea, unbelievably twee in a sou’wester, glaring from the shelter of a church porch. Candida and Robin curled up under the same blanket in the back of the dormobile, then brand-new, boxes of groceries looming behind them and Candida’s irritating penny-whistle discarded in merciful sleep.

  There was a clinking of ice cubes on glass and Peter came back. He had poured himself a grapefruit juice.

  ‘I should have told you,’ he said. ‘It was so silly.’

  ‘What was?’ She had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘The squash. I’ve been playing secret squash games with Jake every week since, oh, well for ages. Years.’

  ‘But that’s lovely,’ she said. She laughed. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘To be honest, I can’t remember. It seemed vital at the time that neither you nor Candida should know. I think … I think it was because I still missed Dob so much and Jake was a last kind of link to him. What was curious was that he obviously felt enormously guilty over something and seemed to regard the weekly contact with me as some kind of penance.’ He was standing by her and stroking her hair. ‘Do you mind very much?’