First Friends

by Marcia Willett

  Tom was likely to prove the stumbling block. He had already showed surprise at Kate’s news and had reiterated his opinion that he felt that it was silly to tie oneself down so early on. Since this had been Cass’s view too, she had been obliged to agree with him. Now her mind worked busily on how she could persuade him to change his ideas. Tom was no less jolly and fun-loving as a married man than he had been as a Midshipman. He liked to have his friends around him and had a very definite eye for a pretty face. This pleased Cass. She was far too secure in her own beauty and popularity to look upon other women as threats. Rather she regarded them as fellow adventurers in pursuit of a common prey—man! She had also grasped the principle that, if she planned to break the rules, it would be to her advantage if Tom were breaking them likewise. No recriminations or reproaches if anything came to light: both of them in the same boat was how she wanted it to be. How, though, to present the idea of a baby in a new and interesting light?

  The rabbit’s scream as the owl dropped upon it out of the dark broke the train of her thoughts. Turning her back on the night, she dropped her dressing gown on to the floor and climbed into bed.

  ‘COME ON!’ MARK CAUGHT Kate by the arm and ran her across the road. ‘I can see the top of it over the hedge.’

  ‘I can’t go any faster.’ Kate stumbled beside him, gasping. ‘Got stitch.’

  ‘One last sprint.’ He put his arm around her to hurry her along. Their arrival at the bus stop coincided with that of the bus and Kate climbed aboard and collapsed thankfully on to a seat. Her pregnancy, still in its early stages, was going well but this hadn’t been one of her best days. Gradually she began to regain her breath although the pain in her side showed no sign of subsiding.

  ‘Well done!’ Mark swung into the seat beside her. ‘I do hate to miss the start of a film.’ Kate nodded, too breathless to speak, and they remained in silence for the short journey until the bus stopped opposite the cinema in Gosport.

  Throughout the film, a war epic, Kate was aware of the pain in her side. She couldn’t concentrate on the screen where khaki-clothed men shouted and fell, shot and were shot at whilst tanks and lorries rumbled and throbbed and guns roared and smoked. She dwelt on the thought of the coming baby; she could still scarcely believe in the miracle of its being. After all, there was no evidence of it yet although, out of sheer pride and excitement, Kate had taken to wearing a loose pinafore and sticking her stomach out.

  She shifted a little in her seat to ease the discomfort and looked at Mark who was absorbed in the film. Expressions passed over his face reflecting emotions that were being acted out before him: his eyebrows lifted, his lips twitched into a smile, a grimace, his shoulders lifted in a shrug. He was absolutely involved although remaining unaffected by scenes of the most horrific violence. ‘Man was made for war,’ he was fond of quoting, ‘woman for the recreation of the warrior.’ She tried to relate the two sides of him that were beginning to emerge—the vulnerable, unconfident man and the insensitive and sometimes cruel man—struggling with the dichotomy of a character that reacted strongly against criticism of himself whilst taking pleasure in undermining other people. She realised that she was staring at his unsuspecting face in an attempt to read something of his character from it and looked away, feeling that in some unfair way she had been spying on him.

  She had been surprised at Mark’s willingness to embark upon parenthood, having prepared herself to meet opposition and even flat refusal. She had felt that it was only fair to point out that it might prevent them from doing certain things together but he had agreed that, since he would be at sea for most of the next twelve years, it was really quite sensible to start a family. In the first place it would keep Kate from loneliness and secondly they would still be young enough to enjoy life when the children were grown up and off their hands. Kate was delighted at his response and even more delighted to find herself pregnant at the first possible opportunity. So was Mark. It seemed that his virility was well and truly established and his peers were impressed and even envious and Kate was made much of when he took her into Dolphin. If she had hoped for any physical consideration, however, she was to be disappointed. He had pointed out that pregnancy was not a cause for special pleading: women everywhere were doing it and he even told her of peasant women who had their babies in a hedgerow and went back to work in the field the same afternoon. Kate retorted that she wasn’t a peasant woman but when Mark began to look irritated she had decided that it was best to let the matter drop.

  When the programme finally ended, Kate made her way to the ladies’ cloakroom. She dragged down her knickers and experienced a moment of shock followed by panic. Holding her breath, she stared at the blood. Without waiting to pee, she dragged them up again and hurried out, into the crowded foyer.

  ‘Mark.’ She almost fell against him as she clutched his arm. ‘I’m bleeding! I’m going to lose the baby!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ He glanced about him involuntarily to see if anyone had heard. ‘Don’t make a scene. Come outside.’

  They went down the steps, Kate taking little choking breaths. He led her to the bus shelter and pushed her down on the bench.

  ‘What shall I do?’ she asked, staring up at him and trying to control her panic.

  ‘The bus goes right past the surgery.’ He made an effort to control his instinctive reaction of distaste at any real human emotion. ‘We’d better go in and see the doctor. Thank goodness we came to the early performance. Do try to pull yourself together.’

  Kate huddled in her corner and tears slid down her cheeks. Horrified by this lack of restraint, Mark lit a cigarette and moved away to stand at the kerb feeling resentful that she was making him an object of interest. Passers-by stared curiously at them. Kate was past caring. All that mattered to her was that she might lose her precious baby. She sat shivering in the cold wind, her leg and stomach muscles clenched as though she would hold the baby in by force.

  When they arrived at the surgery, she was taken straight in and examined by her doctor. Because of her stress and fear, she found the examination even more painful than usual but he was fairly quick and when he had finished with her he turned away to peel off his rubber gloves, motioning her to get dressed.

  ‘Will I lose the baby?’ She slid off the couch and put her clothes straight.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ He was sitting at his desk, writing on a prescription pad, and she wondered what he would do if she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his balding head in gratitude and relief.

  ‘These tablets should do the trick. But you must go to bed and stay there. I’ll come in to see you tomorrow. You say that you were running for a bus? Mmmm. Haven’t been making love too fiercely, have you? Doesn’t help at this stage, you know.’

  Kate was silent. Mark had certainly been very passionate on his return from sea. The doctor watched her for a moment, looking at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

  ‘Well, none of that for a bit now, I’m afraid. I shall send your husband down to the late-night chemist to get this made up and then you must take a taxi home and go straight to bed. I’ll be round in the morning.’

  At last, having gulped down one of the precious tablets, Kate was able to slide between the sheets. Mark stood at the bottom of the bed, his face worried. She smiled at him.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine now and so is the baby, thank God. Aren’t we lucky?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He smiled a little but the anxious look quickly returned. ‘It’s not that. I’m just wondering how I shall manage with you in bed.’

  Kate looked surprised. ‘It won’t be too bad, surely? It’s not as if you’ve got to go to sea or anything. You’ve got another week’s leave. I should be OK by then. We’ll manage.’ She smiled at him encouragingly.

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t return her smile. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

  ‘No. Don’t bother. But I should love a cup of tea.’

  She lay listening to him moving ab
out in the kitchen and, after a while, began to relax as the realisation that the baby was safe took hold. Presently she dozed and was woken by the sound of the front door closing.

  ‘Mark?’ she called. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He put his head round the door. ‘Only me. You nodded off so I thought I’d do the tea when you woke up. It probably did you good to sleep.’

  He was looking much more cheerful and Kate felt relieved.

  ‘Where did you go? Did you run out of ciggies?’

  ‘No. I went and phoned Mother. Father is driving her down tomorrow to look after you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know that I’m no good at this sort of thing. I didn’t marry you to be a nursemaid,’ he said, reacting instantly and defensively to her exclamation of dismay. ‘Mother can look after you properly. I can’t cook or do anything.’

  You could learn! thought Kate, resentfully. I had to.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to clean up a bit.’ Disappointment, that at the arrival of their first real domestic problem he had gone running to his mother rather than giving the two of them the chance to attempt to deal with it together, made her sharper than usual. ‘The bathroom’s terrible and you’ll have to make up the spare bed.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Mark stared at her in surprise. ‘That’s why Mother’s coming.’

  Kate hauled herself up in horror.

  ‘You can’t let her see the place like this. Please. She’ll think I’m a slut.’

  ‘Who cares?’ He laughed, comfortably. ‘She’d have a fit if she thought I was dashing round like a maniac. She’ll be perfectly happy to take charge. I’ll go and make that tea.’ Delighted to have shed the domestic difficulties, he went whistling down the passage and Kate felt a wave of mortification engulf her.

  She felt the helplessness of her situation and knew in a brief moment of enlightenment that Mark would never put himself out just to make her feel happier—not even at a time like this. She began to weep hurt and frustrated tears but, feeling an echo of that earlier pain, stopped abruptly, frightened.

  I simply must relax, she thought. The baby’s safe. I mustn’t put him at risk again. She began to take deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside. Presently she slept.

  ‘TOM?’

  ‘Mmmm?’ He continued to read The Sunday Times. ‘Did I tell you that Kate nearly lost the baby?’

  The conversation was taking place late on a Sunday morning in early-March in Cass and Tom’s bedroom. The rumpled bed was littered with newspapers and empty mugs and crumby plates stood on the bedside tables and the floor.

  ‘No!’ Tom came right out of the paper, looking shocked. ‘Is she OK? How did she manage that?’

  ‘She was running for a bus.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘They were going to the cinema. I expect that Mark was afraid he was going to miss the cartoons.’

  ‘Oh, honestly, darling.’ Tom chuckled in spite of himself.

  ‘Perfectly true. Poor old Kate was almost deranged. It was while I was down in Devon for a few days and she told me all about it when I got back. The steam was still coming out of her ears. She had to stay in bed and Mark persuaded his parents to come and look after her. She was furious.’

  ‘Quite sensible, surely? Would she have been OK on her own?’

  ‘She wouldn’t have been on her own. Mark was on leave. But he couldn’t cope with cooking a few meals and making the odd cup of cof -fee so he sent for Mummy! Kate said that the flat was in a terrible mess and Mark refused to do any cleaning up or make up a bed for them or anything. Kate was totally humiliated. Said that the old bat went round sniffing and tutting about the cobwebs and the ring round the bath and things, while Mark stood looking pathetic and making faces behind her back. Poor old Kate. She was extraordinarily cross, for Kate.’

  ‘But she’s all right now? What about the sprog?’

  ‘Both perfectly all right now. Tom?’ she added, as he showed signs of returning to his newspaper.

  ‘Mmm? Any chance of any more coffee, darling?’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Cass, clad only in one of Tom’s shirts, slid her long legs out of bed, picked up the mugs and padded to the kitchen.

  Tom stretched and reached for a cigarette. This was much better than being cramped into a little bunk, snatching four hours’ sleep between watches. There was no doubt that married life had a lot going for it. And Cass was wonderful! Tremendous fun to have around, no nagging and whingeing about the separations, and as for sex . . . Tom inhaled deeply and grinned to himself. All his oppos were green with envy. A few of them were sniffing round though. Tom frowned a little. He was quite sure that though Cass loved to flirt it amounted to nothing more than that. Nevertheless . . . He flicked some ash in the direction of an overflowing ashtray. He remembered her dancing with Tony Whelan at a recent party and knew that he may not be able to trust the bastards while he was at sea. He drew in another lungful of smoke and thought about Mark bragging about his incipient fatherhood. Good enough chap, bit serious and anti-social for Tom’s liking but OK in his way. Perhaps, after all, he’d been a bit too quick to pooh-pooh the idea of starting a family. It would certainly tie Cass by the heels and it might be fun to be a father . . .

  When Cass returned, he studied her appreciatively. The long blonde hair fell about her shoulders and his shirt hung open allowing glimpses of her superb breasts. As she stood his mug of coffee on the bedside table, he reached out for her, sliding his hand up her long, smooth flank.

  ‘Watch out,’ she giggled. ‘Mind the coffee!’

  She collapsed on top of him, only just managing to stand her mug in a safe place first. ‘Tom?’ Her mouth was against his.

  ‘Mmmm?’ His hands were exploring the now familiar and excitingly delicious curves and he rolled so that she lay beneath him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. I know what we said about not having a family yet but don’t you think that it would be nice to have a baby, darling?’ She ran her hands down his back and, drawing up her knees, wrapped her legs around him. ‘It would be such fun.’

  ‘A baby? Mmmm.’ (Mustn’t sound too keen. She might suspect something.) ‘But I thought we agreed . . . Oh, Cass. Oh, that’s nice.’

  ‘Mmmm, isn’t it?’ (If I can turn him on enough he’ll agree to anything and it’ll be too late afterwards.) ‘Yes, a dear little baby. Oh, do let’s, darling.’

  ‘A baby . . . Oh, darling. Well, if it’s what you really want . . . Christ Cass! Don’t stop!’

  ‘Oh, it is, Tom. Is that nice . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, it is. If you like then. Why not? Oh, Cass . . . ’

  ‘MARY HAS SUGGESTED THAT I come up to Newcastle when the boat goes up. You know that she’s driving up? Her parents live out near the moors, Hexham or somewhere. It’s quite a good idea, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmmm?’

  The conversation was taking place in Kate and Mark’s bedroom on a Sunday morning in June. Kate had made early-morning tea and brought it back to bed for them. A little later she had satisfied, as best she could with the present restrictions, Mark’s passion. As soon as it was over, he had immersed himself in the newspaper. Kate sighed inwardly. She knew now that Mark’s ‘Mmm’s’ were time-buyers but she didn’t want to upset him by snapping ‘You heard!’ The idea of a trip to Newcastle after months of being alone was too thrilling for words.

  Reluctantly he lowered the newspaper and looked at her.

  ‘I said,’ she felt nervous now and it sounded ridiculous repeating it all, ‘Mary Armitage is driving up to Newcastle when the boat goes up for your visit and she’s asked me if I’d like to go with her. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s terribly silly.’ Mark’s tone was dismissive.

  ‘But why?’

  Mark gave a sigh which prayed for patience and shook his paper. ‘What are you going to do in Newcastle all by yourself for a week—six months pregnant at that? It’s different for Mary. She’s got her family
. And I shall be too busy to spend any time with you, I promise you. It’s not some great party, you know. A great deal of work goes into these “Show the Flag” visits.’

  ‘I know that.’ Kate was disappointed but resigned. ‘I wouldn’t be in your way. Mary has asked us to stay with her family so I’d have company in the day and you could go in and out with Simon.’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much!’ Mark’s irritation rapidly became annoyance.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ Kate pushed aside the bedclothes and got out of bed. She felt that she could argue her case better on her feet.

  ‘If you think I’m staying with the First Lieutenant and sucking up to his family you’ve got another think coming. I’ve got some pride, you know.’

  ‘But they’ve asked everyone to stay,’ explained Kate. ‘Apparently they’ve got this huge house and . . .’

  ‘Forget it! Andy and Paul can stay if they like. They’re not married so it’s different.’

  ‘Why is it different?’ she asked, trying to understand him.

  ‘It just is. And, anyway, it’s crazy rushing around the countryside in your condition. I thought you said the doctor told you that you had to take care. Especially now he thinks it’s twins.’

  ‘Well, he did. But I’m not planning to walk to Newcastle,’ cried Kate in exasperation.

  ‘And how will you get back?’ Mark raised his brows and smiled in an irritatingly superior manner. ‘The boat’s going on to Rosyth. You know that, don’t you? From what I’ve gathered, Mary’s staying up north until the boat’s due back in Gosport. Are you sure that they’ll want you for three weeks?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t actually say how long . . .’

  ‘Quite. It’s my guess that she wants company on the way up and a nursemaid for those sprogs of hers. Once there, you’ll be on your own and then you’ll have to fight your way back on a train. She probably can’t find anyone else to go with her. I can’t see the Captain’s wife wanting to slum it in Newcastle.’