by Minna Howard
‘She’s deaf as a post and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told her to wear her hearing aid at all times,’ Mrs Tracy Morton announced. ‘I even said there might be a fire and now there is and that might be the end of her.’
Saskia, who’d never met Coral, thumped on the door again. How dreadful if she burnt to death, just because she hadn’t put in her hearing aid.
More people appeared, all elderly from other flats. Saskia had not realised so many people lodged here.
‘I’ll go downstairs to let in the fire brigade when they come,’ she said, fearful now that the fire might take hold of the whole house, and also now afraid that too much smoke inhalation could affect her baby. ‘Perhaps we’d all better get out,’ she said, thinking as all these people now appearing seemed to be old and perhaps slow on their feet, it might be best to get them out sooner rather than later. Trevor said he’d round everyone up if it got worse but to go outside herself for the sake of her coming child. Saskia wondered if, before she left, she should try and save some of Ivor’s things in case the fire reached the eaves.
‘Is he there?’ Mrs Tracy Morton, resplendent in a maroon, silk dressing gown demanded as if she expected him, in his youth, to smash down Coral’s door and carry her to safety.
‘No, he’s away in Scotland,’ Saskia said, running upstairs to close the flat door. The smoke was in the tiny hallway, and she wondered if she should open a window but then worried the wind might fan any flames that reached up here. She didn’t know which of his things to save. She threw some of the leather-bound books he’d inherited from his grandmother that she knew were among his most prized possessions into a bag. Terrified she’d be trapped there, she grabbed her handbag and ran, closing the door behind her.
As far as she could assess the fire still seemed to be enclosed in Coral’s flat, though the smoke was seeping out filling the house.
The other residents were shutting their doors, making for the stairs, some struggling to save various treasures. She ran down past them and opened the heavy front door, letting in the icy night air. She was relieved to see the fire engine coming down the street.
In a moment they had taken charge and got into Coral’s flat. An ambulance was called, and an unconscious woman was carried away. The fire had started on a gas ring that had not been fully turned off and a towel left too close to it had caught fire. It was soon put out though one rabbity-looking woman verbally attacked one of the firemen for using too much water and flooding the kitchen.
Seeing that the danger of the whole place going up in flames had passed, Mrs Tracy Morton took charge. She interrogated the firemen and announced to all the tenants who hovered round on the landing, dressed in various forms of nightwear, that there was damage to a wooden cupboard next to the stove and the floor where burning bits had fallen. Although she had not gone inside the flat, she announced to them all that the flat was not much more than a shell now. She was convinced that Coral was seconds from death, ‘if she had not succumbed already’, and that the house had just been rescued in time from being engulfed in fire and killing them all.
Trevor, who had also spoken to the firemen, said firmly, ‘We were very fortunate that this young lady alerted us to the danger and called the brigade, who have now made us safe. It could have been so much worse.’
Everyone turned to Saskia, chorusing their thanks. Various people asked who she was and Mrs Tracy Morton with a whiff of self-importance, announced ‘Saskia is Ivor’s lady friend.’
‘Oh, how nice,’ one person remarked.
‘I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,’ someone else said.
Saskia said quickly, ‘He’s an old friend and he kindly offered me a room just for a few days, while the place I live in is… sorted out. Well, goodnight everyone. I hope…’ She glanced at Trevor. ‘I hope that Coral is okay. Please keep me posted.’
He nodded. ‘Will do.’
She went back upstairs to Ivor’s flat, leaving the firemen to finish off. She shut the front door, opened all the windows and wrapped herself in a blanket before sitting in a large armchair by the window and taking deep breaths of the night air, filling her lungs until they ached before expelling it.
She sat in the dark, her hand over her bump. The dark sky was studded with stars and she could see the gleam of the river, the moving water fragmenting the reflection of the moon. She was filled with sorrow for her child, now without a loving father to live with them and make a home together. Yet her mother had managed to give her a good and happy upbringing, and she liked to think she was a well-balanced person. In some cases, she’d been luckier than some of her friends living with both parents whose own dramas had made them mixed up and unhappy.
This fire could have destroyed them all, left them dead or badly burnt, caused her to lose her baby. She must be strong like her mother and do her best with the situation as it now was.
Alone in the dark flat, the smell of smoke still lingering, she wished she hadn’t sent Darren away, but had made him stay for the last night they had together. Perhaps she could have persuaded him to stay with her until their baby was born and support her through the birth as they’d planned. She wondered where he was now. Had he flown straight back to this woman in the States or was he lonely somewhere in London, waiting to go back to the airport to catch his flight?
It was now 6 a.m. She picked up her mobile and sent him a text.
There’s been a fire in the building I’m staying in, scary but most of us are fine.
A few moments later, he sent a reply.
Are you sure you and the baby are all right?
She stared at his words for a long time before she rang him. Could she change his mind?
NINETEEN
Verity changed the sheets on their bed. She’d been quite lazy about it while Nathan was away but he’d be back at the weekend.
She’d missed him because she loved him and also because she needed him to share this new drama in their lives. She wondered now, as she smoothed the clean, crisp sheet over the mattress, if his feelings towards her were caused by guilt. Had he known about Saskia before she’d told him? Perhaps Helen had contacted him when she was dying and he had thought not to tell her, or he’d just hoped by keeping silent the issue would go away. How long ago had Helen told him, if she had? Had he feigned surprise when she had rung him to tell him about the sudden appearance of his possible daughter? The thought unnerved Verity, making her determined to find out the truth of it.
Her life had become an ongoing commotion fuelled by his mother and was even worse now, with the breakup of Saskia’s relationship.
She had sent Saskia a short text, hoping she was all right and as a last thought, caused by a sort of guilt, she added that she was welcome to stay here while things were sorted out. Saskia answered the following day, thanking her, assuring her she was fine; Ivor was away for the week and she’d stay in his flat until he returned. She’d let her know when it would be convenient to meet up with Nathan.
Verity thought it best to leave her alone. There were so many ways to come to terms with a breakup and, after all, she hardly knew her. She’d leave Saskia to get in touch in her own time.
She’d just got home after a particularly difficult day at the crammer. She wondered why some parents insisted on paying out so much in the hope of getting a few exam results for their offspring, some who obviously had little or no interest in doing any more than coasting through a life dedicated to frivolous enjoyment. It was unfortunate that Justin was attractive and popular with the others, and that the two other boys who had rather weak characters were falling under his influence and egging him on. To her relief, the girls in the class were knuckling down, laughing at him and mildly flirting but not letting him distract them from their work.
The phone rang just as she was about to flop down on the sofa to watch the news, a glass of wine beside her. She was going to mark a pile of essays and tackle the next day’s work plan. Sighing, she put down her work and got up to answ
er it. A man with what could only be described as a sexy voice, asked to speak to her.
‘Speaking.’
‘Hello, it’s Mark Gilmore, I’m ringing about my son, Justin. I understand he is in your class and I wanted to know how he was getting on.’
Talk of the devil. Her heart sank, her anger mounted. She would not put up with him trying to get special favours for such a tiresome boy who was distracting her class.
‘I’m glad it is you, Mr Gilmore. I think you should know that you are wasting your money on trying to educate Justin further. Although he lives within walking distance of the college, he is always late for class, and disrupts it whenever he can, and he hasn’t handed in one piece of homework – well, not one that I can accept, just a so-called essay consisting of two lines.’
‘Hold on, Mrs Walton, Justin is a very intelligent boy, he just needs a little time to settle.’ There was an edge to his voice.
‘He’s had plenty of time and everyone else is settled, working hard and doing well.’ She knew that other teachers were finding him difficult as well.
‘You’re obviously are not getting his attention.’ Mark Gilmore’s voice was bordering on unpleasant now.
‘You are right.’ She bit back a stream of things she was tempted to say about him having a spoilt, undisciplined son who hid his lack of learning by playing the fool, disturbing everyone else. She was slightly afraid she could put her job in jeopardy if she told this man some home truths. She, and fellow teachers at such places, wondered sometimes if these crammers cared enough for their students, or were just keen to take their parents’ money even if some students hadn’t a hope in hell of getting high enough grades to get them into the university they wanted. However, she thought Tony, the principal of the place, was pretty fair about what they could achieve, especially through hard work.
‘I thought a tutor in your position would be more sympathetic,’ Mark Gilmore, said coldly. ‘I will discuss this with the principal.’
‘Is there any reason, perhaps some emotional problem why Justin needs extra care?’ she asked more pleasantly, suddenly afraid that perhaps his parents had recently broken up, or someone close had died, or something else, which might have triggered his son’s insolence.
‘No, of course not. Are you insinuating, Mrs Walton, that my son is mentally retarded?’ He was shouting now before slamming down the phone, leaving her feeling agitated and furious. Justin was spoilt and arrogant and not particularly clever, hence his distracting behaviour, and need to show off.
A few moments later the phone rang again, and she picked it up warily, afraid it was Mark Gilmore again, though now she was ready to unleash her anger, tell him how this boy was ruining the chances of the other students in the class, by his tiresome ways of distracting them and holding up the lesson.
‘Yes, what is it now?’ she snapped.
‘Oh… sorry to disturb you… is that Helen?’ The man could not have sounded more different to the angry parent before.
‘Oh, forgive me, I thought you were someone else, the irate father of one of my difficult students. No, I’m Verity Walton. Is this about Saskia, Helen’s daughter?’
‘Yes, she rang my wife and I’ve only just found out about that by chance. Is she there… or Helen? It’s Scott Carson,’ he said timidly.
‘No. I’m sorry to break sad news but Helen died a few months ago. Her daughter is Saskia and…’ She hesitated. Was she to say Saskia could be her own husband’s daughter, or leave it to Saskia to sort that out herself?
‘Oh, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry. A woman called Saskia rang from this number, and my wife answered and thought it was a scam, but I don’t know. I… we did have an affair, Helen and I, and she did tell me she thought she was pregnant, but I… well, I know it sounds cowardly now but I was very young and the last thing I wanted was to be landed with a child. So, I’m afraid I left.’ He ended in a whisper.
‘Yes, I understand, the thing is…’ Verity paused.
‘You see…’ Scott started, stopped and then said with a rush, ‘My wife and I have been trying for a child for years and nothing has happened and then I remembered Helen telling me she might be having my child and I… I wanted to see… if I did have a child after all. I do feel bad about deserting her like I did, but I was very young and had no money then… but if I have one…’ His voice petered out.
Verity was not going to mention her own husband’s possible part in this. She said, ‘Look, I don’t know what to say. I’ll get Saskia to ring you. Perhaps you should have a paternity test to solve it once and for all.’
‘Yes… but my wife.’
‘See what you can do, but Saskia’s not here just now. If you give me your mobile number, I could get her to ring you,’ Verity said firmly. She would contact Saskia herself and warn her. How relieved she was that Nathan would be back at the weekend and could deal with it all.
TWENTY
The week crawled by. Verity longed for Nathan, even in an offhand mood, to return and take over this paternity issue. She was exhausted with having to deal with Justin the troublemaker, who had become even more disruptive, coming in late, making a great show of getting out his books, flirting with the girls and altogether testing her patience to the limits.
Having discussed his behaviour with another tutor who had more experience with difficult students than she had, Verity decided to ignore him until his behaviour improved. Avoiding any eye contact with him, she discussed the role of Henry VIII and the church with the rest of the class, praising anyone who correctly answered her questions or offered their own opinions.
Justin obviously hated to be ignored, so in a moment of quiet while the rest of the class were copying down some notes she’d put on the board, he said, ‘My father would like to meet you. He thinks you don’t understand me.’
‘He’s right there, none of us understands you,’ Polly, the prettiest girl joked, causing him to frown at her.
‘We’ll discuss this after the class,’ Verity said, feeling that early retirement sounded tempting. To add to her problems, Delia had announced that she was arriving this afternoon to greet Nathan on his return on Sunday, act out the loving mother routine and possibly rescue him from Saskia’s clutches, if she dared to turn up. Delia would be in the house when she got back this evening, so she would not be able to slump in front of the television and peacefully watch some soap after work.
To her relief Justin sloped off early, throwing out some excuse about the dentist. She did not bother to question him about it; the class would finish in ten minutes anyway.
On the way home she bought a joint to shove in the oven with dauphine potatoes, for her and Delia’s supper. They could eat the leftovers cold with a salad the next day. She’d do a proper shop tomorrow, fill up the fridge for Nathan’s return.
The sky was black now with the winter setting in, and lights gleamed like jewels in the dark from shop windows and streetlamps. Arriving home, she saw her mother-in-law’s car parked in the street. With a sigh she opened the front door, dumping her shopping in the hall, taking off her coat and hanging it up in the cupboard.
To her surprise, she heard a male voice coming from the living room. Leaving her bag in the hall, she went in.
‘Ah, there you are, dear,’ Delia greeted her. ‘This is Mr Carson; he thinks he is Saskia’s father.’
‘Oh, but…’ She stared at him. He was a wispy, rather frail-looking man. His hair was greying at the temples, though his face was youthful, boyish even. His skin was pallid, slightly blotchy, his eyes a sort of hazel, and supposedly he could be Saskia’s father though she didn’t see a great resemblance.
‘How did you know my address?’ Verity demanded, certain she had not given it to him.
‘He rang here just as I came in.’ Delia said cheerfully. ‘He wasn’t far away so, I thought it best to settle this once and for all. I wouldn’t want Nathan to have to bring up a child that wasn’t his. He’s only just arrived.’
‘Saskia is t
oo old to be brought up,’ Verity said sourly. She was exhausted after putting up with Justin and now coming home to this.
‘Well, she’s having this baby and Nathan doesn’t want to be a grandfather before his time,’ Delia said smugly.
‘She’s having a baby?’ Scott looked worried. ‘Is she married?’
‘No,’ Delia said firmly. ‘People don’t seem to get married first these days, do they? So unsettling for the children.’
Verity hovered in the doorway, set on escaping to the kitchen to put in the supper, but afraid that Delia would invite him to stay and he’d accept. She wondered how many more men might turn up to claim Saskia, after enjoying the heady mix of sun, sea and the atmosphere of freedom on a Greek island.
Scott looked rather embarrassed. He said, ‘It might be awkward if she is my child because my wife and I have been trying for a baby for years and have not been successful.’
‘Yes, you said.’ Verity didn’t wish to go into that now. She craved a glass of wine but then she’d have to open a new bottle and offer it to Scott and Delia, and this might turn into a party when she longed for peace and quiet.
To add to the tension in the room, Delia embarked on a story of someone she knew who, having been told he was infertile, ended up having quite a few children with other women.
Scott blushed. ‘Oh, no, I haven’t… well, slept with many women.’
The doorbell went again and with a sigh Verity got up to open it.
‘It could be the postman,’ Delia joked, ‘but it is quite late. How I hate these dark evenings. Perhaps it’s a parcel from Amazon, they come at all hours.’ She turned to Scott. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you – you have that DNA thing and then we’ll see. You may be lucky and be her father. I must say Saskia doesn’t look much like my son or my grandsons for that matter.’ She smiled at him kindly and half-moved from her place on the sofa, hands outstretched as if to hurry him out.
