Kitty opened her mouth to reply, but her retort was stifled by the spasm of pain that made her double up.
‘Breathe through it,’ said Alys. ‘There’s a good girl.’ She waited until the contraction had passed and Kitty managed a weak smile. ‘I think we’ll ring the hospital just to be on the safe side, but I’m sure there’s no need to panic; it’s often tricky to tell what’s happening with first babies. Then I’ll wake your dad up so he comes, too. Just in case he has to drive.’
‘Mam? Whilst you fetch Dad, I just need to make a quick phone call.’
Gethin dragged himself into the bathroom and stood under the cold shower to wash away the last of his hangover. The cold jets of water, like acupuncture needles in his skull, were supposed to take his mind off the pain, but did nothing for his guilty conscience. When he looked in the mirror, the same dumb prick stared back at him; the one who’d taken advantage of a good-natured woman who’d trailed all the way out to America for the sake of others. He should have given her the attention she deserved when she needed it, and should have addressed her fears instead of brushing them aside, but he’d behaved just like his father, who’d never listened to his mother. Whenever his mother had tried to express her concerns for the farm, her father had rubbished them and made her look small. As for all that selfless devotion to him? Had his father respected it? Had he, hell! All he’d done was take her love and trample all over it.
Maybe it would be better for Coralie if he did keep away, but there was something he could still do to prove he wasn’t all bad. Gethin picked up the old jeans and shirt he wore when he was working. He’d promised that there would be a painting for the handover ceremony at the end of April when everyone in Penmorfa would have an opportunity to see the work. And if he wanted to avoid letting everyone down, there’d be an awful lot of midnight oil to burn if he was to meet the deadline. He squared his shoulders and rubbed his hands together, eager for the challenge. A Lewis man by name, but no longer, if he could help it, in nature.
The first faint blush of dawn was illuminating the sky when Kitty and her parents arrived at the hospital. By the time the midwife had finished her initial checks, a pale sun cast a lemon light over the white walls. At first Kitty clutched at the daylight, grateful that she wasn’t hemmed in by inky-black squares of night. But, as her contractions racked up in strength and frequency, even the sight of clouds scudding across the blue began to annoy her and she jumped every time the door opened.
‘It’s all right,’ said Alys, who was looking much happier now that the midwife had reassured her that the baby was doing well. ‘Your dad’s waiting outside until it’s all over.’
‘I wish I bloody could,’ Kitty said, as the screw of pain in her back tightened again.
‘Try to relax,’ said Alys, smoothing the hair from her brow. ‘I know it’s easier said than done, but believe me, fighting it won’t help.’
Her mother was clearly too old to remember that this was seriously painful.
‘Fuuuck!’
‘Nice greeting!’ she heard someone say as the contraction subsided. Good, she thought, resting back on the pillow, now it can begin.
‘Adam?’
Kitty grinned at the surprise in her mother’s voice.
‘Oh good,’ said the midwife following him into the room, ‘your partner’s arrived!’
‘Birthing partner!’ Adam added quickly. ‘A spare one at that since she’s already got her mum here.’
‘Shame,’ muttered the midwife, looking disappointed. ‘Lovely looking man like you. I’m not sure you should be here, in that case.’
‘Don’t you dare go!’ Kitty bellowed, finding some strength.
The midwife thought about it. ‘Hmm, well, Mum seems to want you here …’
‘Yes, I sodding do!’ roared Kitty, feeling like a huge monster baby herself.
‘Well, since we’re not busy …’
Kitty saw Adam twinkle at the nurse, then quickly wiped the smile off his face when Alys gave him her hard stare. Was it something genetic that made him flirt with every woman he met?
‘You got round to telling your mum at last then,’ he said, bending down to drop a kiss on Kitty’s forehead, as she reached for the gas and air. ‘I offered to be here just in case,’ he explained, pulling up a seat next to Alys. ‘Although, I never seriously thought she’d take me up on it,’ he added, grinning back at Kitty.
‘I’m just going to check to see how she’s progressing,’ said the midwife.
‘Do you want to swap places?’ Kitty heard her mother offer. ‘You’re very close to the business end.’ She was glad that Alys refrained from making any further comment; Adam was looking quite self-conscious enough. Then, as the next contraction broke over her, Kitty reached out and grabbed his hand as if someone had just thrown her a lifeline.
‘I want to push!’ she yelled. She was sorry for swearing at the midwife when she suggested she might not be quite ready, but it was very fucking annoying, to say the least, to be advised to stop, and highly satisfying when she finally got the green light. Kitty gave everything she had into one almighty push and nearly as much to a second. By the time she’d got to what felt like the tenth or possibly the twentieth, her initial enthusiasm was beginning to wane.
‘I can’t do this anymore,’ she wailed.
‘You got to!’ said Adam, sounding horrified.
‘I want to go home now!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Alys, suddenly not sounding so reassuringly like mummy. ‘Working yourself into a tantrum isn’t going to help any of us.’
She heard a small muffled sob and sensed someone quietening her mother. Then Adam was there, holding her face, making her look into his eyes.
‘Come on now, sweetheart,’ he said gently. ‘Just keep calm and think of how close you are to seeing your beautiful baby. Stick with it, girl.’
‘You’re doing really well,’ said the midwife. ‘I can see baby’s head now. Baby’s got lovely blonde hair.’
Hair? For a split second, she forgot the pain. A real baby with real hair! And then she sensed something like the first ripples of a distant tsunami heading her way and braced herself for it to break. Kitty grunted and the grunt turned into a roar of pain and triumph. Suddenly everyone in the room was crying.
‘You beauty!’ said Adam, wiping away the tears to kiss her and then Alys. Alys managed to stop him kissing the midwife, who was just wiping the baby ready to pass to Kitty.
‘Well done, Mummy,’ said the midwife, handing him over. ‘Here’s your beautiful son.’
Kitty took her eyes off her baby just long enough to smile at Adam. ‘What do you think of him, Daddy?’
‘So that’s what all the bickering between Kitty and Adam was about!’ said Coralie the next afternoon when Alys called into the shop with the news.
‘“My only love sprung from my only hate”,’ quoted Alys, sending Coralie’s thoughts off in a direction she didn’t especially want them to follow.
‘I could see the sparks flying between them last summer, but I was a bit slow on the uptake,’ Alys continued, looking thoughtful. ‘No wonder some of the flower beds were looking a bit neglected.’
‘But why didn’t Kitty tell Adam about the baby sooner?’
‘I think she assumed he wouldn’t be able to handle it; with good reason, I guess. He’s never going to be an easy dog to keep on the porch.’ Alys perched on the stool next to the counter. ‘This way at least she knew he’d be there for the birth of his son.’
‘I wished I’d seen his face, I bet it was a picture.’ Coralie smiled, thinking how unfair it was that she was about to spoil Alys’s happy mood.
‘Well, fair play to him, he didn’t faint, not even when he realised what Kitty was saying. He looked over the moon, actually.’ Alys sighed and shook her head when her eyes met Coralie’s. Adam settling down? However lovely it seemed, they both knew it was unlikely to happen.
‘Have they chosen a name yet?’
A shadow flitted across
Alys’s face. ‘I think she feels she wants to get to know him first. I’m worried that she’s spent so long denying this baby’s existence that she’s finding it particularly hard to accept he’s here. I’m thinking about putting her and the baby in the holiday cottage. Would you mind? Adam’s still sharing a place with his brother, but I thought it would be a way to encourage the three of them to get to know each other without me and Huw cramping their style. Who knows if Adam will stick around for the long haul, but let’s give them all the best possible chance. I think Kitty’s got enough to cope with just getting her head around being a mum.’
Whilst it would be nice to have company again, Coralie wasn’t convinced that a screaming baby would make up for Gethin’s absence. ‘Well, Kitty can always give me a shout if she needs anything. Though I can’t say I’m an expert on babies.’
Nor was she ever likely to be, she thought, feeling glum.
Alys gave her a sharp look, ‘I must say, you’re looking very sleek. Something to do with New York?’
Coralie acknowledged the compliment with a smile. Alys didn’t look entirely convinced by the silky black shirt teamed with black jersey boot-cut trousers. Since she’d brought them back with her though, it seemed a waste not to wear the clothes she’d been storing at her parents. Especially when she’d spent so much on them in the first place. Her hot brush had been amongst her things too, so she’d straightened out the kinks and swept her hair back in a simple pony tail rather than fiddling around with scarves.
‘Well, it did make me think twice about where I want to go with Sweet Cleans. I’m thinking about redesigning the brand, maybe going for something a bit more sophisticated. When I approached Tessa at The Cabin at Abersaith about my range, she thought it looked a bit amateurish. Different styling might make it a better fit.’
‘The Cabin is a very upmarket hotel,’ Alys said frowning, ‘though there’s a high chance that someone like Keira or Sienna or one of those other actresses will discover you, if Tessa agrees to stock you.’
Coralie hesitated. When an email had arrived from the Pamala Gray Gallery her hopes had been raised then dashed. Her dejection was somewhat mollified when she read on. Laura Schiffman, who’d done such a good job of fielding Gethin on the night of the disastrous reception, had written to send warm thanks for the sample of Happy Hands which had apparently soothed her eczema like no other cream.
So impressed was she by its efficacy that she’d even ordered a dozen more to give to her stressed-out colleagues and friends. The interest had caused Coralie to wonder yet again if she could muddle on with Sweet Cleans on her own, or if it was time to think big. She decided against sharing her thoughts with Alys, putting off the discussion that would certainly cause the older woman additional worry.
‘But are you sure that’s the direction you want to follow?’ Alys went on. ‘Most people are trying to save money. I mean, we’re even pushing plants for austerity Britain now. Some of our customers are uneasy about buying roses which have racked up air-miles, so there’s been a real resurgence of interest in grow-your-own cut flowers like dahlias, roses and gladioli.’
The sound of R&B blasting from a white van crunching down the road beside the garden centre from the old cottage made them both look up.
‘I haven’t seen any of those for a while,’ said Alys. ‘They can’t have very much left to do.’
‘I suppose it will go on the market, will it?’ Coralie asked casually.
Alys, who’d picked up a pot of Happy Hands, removed her glasses to give her a close inspection, making Coralie feel she’d rather revealed her less-than-happy hand. If there was any chance of running into Gethin she wanted to be prepared.
‘It doesn’t look like the same place now, that’s all I can tell you,’ Alys replied. ‘Mind you, it should never have been allowed to get so run-down. Nothing to do with Gethin, by the way,’ she added, reading Coralie’s expression. ‘He did his best for Gwyn, even though the old boy could be so stubborn and difficult.’
Maybe it was a family trait. Coralie pretended to tidy her greetings card display, something she’d taken on trial because she felt sorry for the artist. If Alys couldn’t see her face, maybe they’d stay on safer ground.
Coralie blew out a long breath and, omitting the details, explained that Gethin was planning to substitute the portrait with one of his existing works.
‘Oh, that’s all right!’ Alys laughed. ‘I’m sorry that it was a wasted exercise for you, although –’ she shot Coralie a quick smile – ‘I hope you did manage to enjoy yourself. And I daresay there’ll be a few comments about lowering the tone, but the point is that an original work by Gethin Lewis, however, erm, racy, will sell for an awful lot of money! Besides, there’s nothing the rest of the Hall Management Committee can do but grumble. ACORN have already approved the loan.’
Coralie folded her arms. According to what she’d read online, the reason Gethin’s work had sold for such extravagant sums was mainly due to investors hoping to make money from another Last Samba before Sunset. Everyone loved a winner, but how would they feel about an artist whose work had so dramatically fallen out of favour?
Chapter Twenty
Gethin’s shoulders were burning, but at least his stomach had stopped complaining. His back ached from standing for so long and his throbbing brain was warning him that he was going to have one hell of a tension headache when this was all over. But still it wasn’t fucking right. He swiped at the canvas again, frustrated that his hands just couldn’t translate what was in his head, repeatedly reverting to the cynically sensual crowd-pleasing oeuvre that had swollen his bank account and left him emotionally bankrupt.
He’d painted through sunset, oblivious to the glass windows turning to gold in the late light. The neon signs above the bars and clubs winked unnoticed by him as the last commuters hurried home and the first pleasure-seekers arrived in search of something to take their cares away. He’d been painting too urgently to think about food. As for drink? He’d had such a bad taste in his mouth for so long he wondered if there was anything that could ever wash it away, although his imagination was telling him he could smell coffee.
‘She’s worth it, you know.’ Ruby, a cardboard cup in each hand, kicked the door shut behind her and looked round for a flat surface that had escaped the worst of the paint.
‘Hi, Rubes, what are you doing here? Haven’t you got work to do? There’s a big exhibition ahead, you know.’
She shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe I was shortlisted! “Brave New Artists: Rising Stars”. And one of them’s me! Oh, man!’ She slid down the wall and sat cross-legged on the floor, as if the weight of everything that had happened in such a short space of time was too much for her.
‘It’s great news, Rubes.’ He passed her a coffee and then sat down beside her to rest his aching shoulders. ‘I want to see you get the prize for the best painting, too.’
‘I feel bad,’ she said, plucking at the silver dog tag round her neck. ‘It should have been you getting all the attention.’
‘Oh, I’m not short of attention.’ He patted her knee. ‘And I couldn’t be happier for you. So the judges approved of the digital image then? That’s terrific.’
‘Yes, now I have to submit the physical painting for judging. ’
Ruby gave him a rueful smile and he shoved gently against her shoulder. ‘You should get out of here now then, before someone spots you hanging around with a loser. I’m finished here, you know that.’
She pulled a face. ‘I owe you. You were the one who took me on when I had nowhere to go. I would have had to leave school if you hadn’t paid my fees and found me somewhere to live.’
He rose stiffly to his feet. ‘I was shrewd enough to spot talent, that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, none of the other applicants ticked the boxes about being able to lift five gallons of paint or work off ladders. For a tiny girl, you punch way above your weight.’
‘People should be more loyal,’ she said, getting u
p and shoving her hands in her pockets. She stared moodily out of the black windows at her reflection. ‘This isn’t about fashion, it’s about an artist creating something fresh and original.’
Gethin raised his brows at her. ‘So tell me, when did I last do that? The fact is, Rubes, I’ve been playing the system for too long, rote-producing stuff with no heart and soul. I’ve been found out.’
She lifted her eyes to him, meeting his in the glass. They both knew it was true. ‘So take your chance and make the most of it. Don’t go down the same route as me.’
‘At least you’ll always have Last Samba before Sunset,’ she said, trying to cheer him up. ‘That’ll keep you off the streets.’
Yeah, maybe, but what did that painting mean to him now? The royalties from shelves full of Samba merchandise – the prints, coasters, mugs and mouse mats – had enabled him to set up in New York. They’d also helped to keep the old man in comfort in an expensive private nursing home where he could be certain that the well-trained staff could cope kindly with the frailties of his failing mind and body. For where was the good in making a dying man suffer for past hurts he struggled to remember?
And even if the administrators for his art publishers paid up, as he was assured they would shortly, sales had to be reaching saturation point. He’d even watched a documentary programme about supposedly lost tribes, where one of the elders was wearing a Samba tee shirt with his loin cloth in a startling ancient world meets modern combo. Yup, Samba had been so huge he’d almost choked on it. No wonder he’d lost his appetite for producing new work when all the public was looking for was more of the same. Getting that hunger back made him feel nervous and excited all at once; a bit like falling in love.
‘Go on, Rubes, it’s late,’ he told her, eager to get on. ‘Your girlfriend’ll be waiting for you.’
‘Yeah.’ She grinned. ‘It’s good to have her back. Not having her around when Coralie was there made me appreciate her more.’
‘That’s the way it goes,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.’
Move Over Darling Page 19
