Sheer Abandon

by Penny Vincenzi

  “Ed, that’s exactly what I’ve done. I told you. A crime with a ten-year prison sentence.”

  “Yes, OK, I hear what you say. But it isn’t really a crime, not morally. You knew she was all right, you saw her safely taken away, you knew she was being cared for by people who knew what they were doing. After that, you got on with your life. Calling it a crime is just a technicality.”

  “Ed! I think you’re a bit prejudiced. How do you think the press are going to present this?”

  “Fuck the press.”

  “No, you can’t say that. They’re going to call me a harridan, a monster, a ruthless bitch. That’s what people will take in. What kind of woman abandons her child and never goes near it again? Someone kind and caring? I don’t think so.”

  “I think you should go and see her,” he said.

  “Kate? I can’t, Ed. Maybe when she knows, maybe when she’s got used to the idea, but—”

  “No, not her. The woman. Janet whatever-her-name-is. Find out what she might do next, if your friend doesn’t run the story. He must be a great guy,” he added. “Most hacks’d have it out on the street by now.”

  “He is. He’s a sweetheart. I always liked him.”

  “A sweetheart, eh? Not sure I like that.”

  “Oh, Ed. No one’s as much of a sweetheart as you.”

  She looked at him and smiled tenderly; he was clearly shocked. He was only twenty-three, with very little experience of life. How could he be expected to cope with all this? Then she thought of herself at twenty-three, a first in law under her belt, working as a trainee solicitor in one of London’s finest firms, all after coming through almost unbelievable trauma: they were obviously two of a kind, she and Ed.

  “I love you,” she said simply. “I really, really love you…”

  “Good God,” said Gideon, “the poor child. That is a terrible story, Jocasta.”

  “I know. Isn’t it? Doing what she did, all alone…” She shuddered. “I’d rather have died. Well, I probably would have died of terror.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” he said. “You’d have done it because you had to. You’re a lot braver than you think you are, you know. Now then, let’s think what’s best to be done for Martha. I have to say, it’s a very nasty situation. Very nasty indeed.”

  “I know. I keep thinking of all the people she ought to tell. Before they hear anyway, in tabloid speak.”

  “Young Nicholas wouldn’t do tabloid speak.”

  “No, of course not. But the others’ll pick it up and run with it. I can see it now. ‘The ruthless career woman who abandoned her baby’ or ‘Baby Bianca’s Heartless Mother.’ I mean, it doesn’t help that Kate’s so bloody famous. It’s a gift as a story, you must admit.”

  “Oh, I admit it. Pollock will murder Nick if he finds out. Now, this is only idle curiosity, but has anyone asked Martha if the father knows?”

  “No. I don’t suppose she has the faintest idea where he is.”

  “Or even who?”

  “Oh, I think she’d know who, Gideon. Martha isn’t a sleeper around.”

  “You didn’t think she’d abandon a child until today, did you? You of all people, Jocasta, know how unpredictable people are.”

  “I know. But I bet she knows. I’d put quite a lot of money on it.”

  “None of mine, please. Now, I have a fancy she should go and confront Mrs. Frean. If she can find the courage.”

  Jocasta’s mobile went; she looked at it.

  “Hi, Martha, how are you doing? What? That’s interesting. Gideon said the same. Hold on a minute.” She looked at Gideon. “Ed, Martha’s boyfriend, says the same thing.”

  “Then he must be a very bright fellow. A man after my own heart. I wonder if he’d go with her?”

  “I’m sure he would. Martha, would Ed go with you?”

  “He says he will.”

  “OK,” said Jocasta. “Go for it.”

  “Martha dear, hello. How lovely to hear from you. I meant to call you last night, you were marvellous. Absolutely marvellous. Congratulations.”

  Martha was not as surprised by this as she might have been. She was beginning to get Janet’s measure.

  “Thank you, Janet. I wondered if…if I could come and see you.”

  “When did you have in mind? I’m very busy today and then, of course, it’s the weekend. Monday maybe?”

  “But it’s awfully urgent.”

  “Really? Well, it’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry.”

  “But Janet, I—that is—don’t you know what it’s about?”

  “I have no idea. But I really can’t see you this weekend. There’s no question of it. I won’t even be here. I’m sorry.”

  Martha looked at Ed. “Now what do we do?”

  Janet put down the phone and went in search of her husband; he was sitting out in the garden, reading the Daily Telegraph and drinking a large mug of coffee.

  “Bob, I did tell you, didn’t I, that I had to be out of town on Saturday night?”

  “I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, we haven’t got anything on. Party business, I presume?”

  “Of course. Charm offensive has to continue but—you can cope with the children, can you? It’s Kirsty’s weekend off.”

  “I usually do,” he said dryly.

  Martha had broken one of her own unbreakable laws and called in sick. She actually spoke to Paul Quenell, who was so excited by her performance on Question Time that she felt he would have given her the whole week off, had she asked.

  “Of course, Martha. You must be exhausted. Splendid they mentioned Wesley by name. Well done. You’re a clever girl. Enjoy the weekend, see you on Monday.”

  Martha put the phone down, wondering if she would ever see him again. Once, she supposed, when she resigned.

  She felt oddly calm. It was ten in the morning; Ed was asleep, having called in sick himself. She had a shower, then wandered round her flat tidying it, flicking through magazines, organising her laundry, and staring out of the window. Mostly, she stared out of the window. And thought about Kate and what on earth she could say to her and how.

  Clio had also called in sick; she had slept for a few hours, but at ten o’clock she was in the kitchen, hoping to find Jocasta. Gideon was there, in a towelling robe; he smiled at her.

  “Hello, my darling girl. Excuse my rather informal attire; I’ve been having my swim. You should try my mechanical pool, it’s very clever. Tedious, but clever. How are you? Tired, I expect.”

  “Not too bad,” said Clio. “Is Jocasta about?”

  “I’m here.” Jocasta came into the kitchen; she looked rather pale.

  “Jocasta, I’ve been thinking,” said Clio. “If Martha agrees, I think you should tell Kate. First off, that is. I mean, she doesn’t know Martha; it’d be the most awful shock. And she’s so fond of you. You won’t mind how she reacts, whereas Martha might. Kate’s probably going to be very stroppy, very hurt.”

  “I rather agree with that,” said Gideon. “Jocasta, what do you think?”

  “I think so too, I’m afraid. The only other thing would be for me to tell her mother and for her to tell Kate.”

  “It would come better from you,” said Clio. “Apart from anything else, you know Martha. But probably her mother should be there. And her father. I don’t think they’ll help, but they’d be outraged if you told her first.”

  “God,” said Jocasta, “I don’t like this!”

  Nick was walking through Central Lobby when he saw Janet.

  “Look,” she said, “our conversation last night—you haven’t run the story today, I see.”

  “No, I needed to do some more research on it.”

  “Well, don’t leave it too long. I’d hate to see it wasted and I’m sure the Sun would love it.”

  “I’m sure they would. Obviously there’s a degree of urgency. But I must talk to Martha—and Chris Pollock is the final arbiter.”

  “Yes. Well, keep in touch.”

 
; “Kate darling, this is Jocasta. Look, I wondered—what are you doing today?”

  “Nothing, really. Going shopping with Bernie. Seeing Nat later. Why?”

  “I…thought I might come and see you.”

  “Cool. But you don’t want to come to Ealing. It’s not exactly hopping. Why don’t I come into town, see you?”

  “The thing is, Kate, I’d quite like your mum and dad to be there.”

  “What? Oh, I get it. It’s about my contract, yeah? Is Fergus coming?”

  “Oh, I think so,” said Jocasta. “Yes. Look, I…we’ll be over in about an hour. Is that OK?”

  “Dad won’t be here.”

  “Is your mum there now?”

  “Yeah. Do you want to speak to her?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Fine. See you later.”

  Never had that irritating phrase had so much menace in it.

  Helen felt physically sick. After all these years, the worst was going to happen: Kate’s mother was going to become reality, no longer a distant, shadowy figure who could be warded off, talked away, but a person, a dreadfully dangerous person, who could come and claim her daughter. Not literally, of course, but emotionally. The mystery that had hurt Kate so badly for so many years was about to be solved. She would know what her mother looked like, sounded like, she could talk to her, ask her questions, find out why she had done what she had done. This woman would walk in and take her rightful place in Kate’s life and she and Jim would be relegated to theirs—second best, understudies, caretakers.

  How could she bear it, if Kate wanted to live with her? If Kate fell in love with her, declared her everything she had ever wanted? Helen had often thought that the most dreadful grief possible would be the death of a child; this seemed to her to have echoes of that.

  Jocasta had given her no details, only said she knew who Kate’s mother was, and that she wanted Helen and Jim to be there when she told her. She was such a nice girl, Jocasta, Helen thought: how badly they had misjudged her.

  Jim was on his way home, had said he would be there within the hour; Jocasta said she would wait until he was there before arriving herself.

  “Otherwise Kate will start pestering me. I won’t be far away, just ring me on my mobile.”

  “You’re not…not bringing, you know, her with you?” Helen had said, her voice shaky, and no, Jocasta had said, there would be plenty of time for that, when they had got used to the idea and were ready to meet her, “Although I don’t think Kate will want to wait for long.”

  Helen was sure she wouldn’t…

  “Why are they taking so long?” said Martha. She was white-faced, her eyes haunted. “What are they doing?”

  “Martha,” said Ed, “try not to be so ridiculous. I’d say Jocasta has only been there half an hour and it’s not a conversation she can have quickly. Two more hours and I’d say you could start to worry. Right now, I think we should go for a walk.”

  “A walk!”

  “Yes, a walk. You know, one leg after the other, move along the street, that sort of thing. You can take your mobile, you won’t miss anything. Come on. Let’s go.”

  Helen went to the corner shop and bought some biscuits. They could have them with the coffee, she thought. As she came out, she saw Kate coming towards her; she was walking very quickly and she waved as she saw Helen. Maybe Jocasta was there already, Helen thought, maybe she had brought Her, maybe Jocasta had already introduced them, and she was coming to tell Helen about her, about this wonderful person who had come at last into her life.

  “Hi, Mum. Would you mind if I got Nat round? Thing is, he’s quite interested in this contract, he made some really good points about it.”

  Did she mind? Did she? Probably not. Nat had been part of the family for the past few weeks, and she was very fond of him—he was oddly gentle and thoughtful, might even help ease the emotional tension.

  “No, I wouldn’t mind,” she said.

  “Cool. Thanks. You all right, Mum? You look a bit tense.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Kate put her arm through Helen’s. “Mum, I’m sorry I got in such a strop about the contract. Very sorry. Nat said I shouldn’t have, he said you were only trying to do your best for me, and of course he’s right. He’s often right. He’s quite clever really, you know, under all that rubbish he talks about his dad and so on…Mum, you’re crying, whatever is it?”

  “Nothing,” said Helen, smiling at her through her tears, “nothing at all. And it doesn’t matter about you being in a strop, we understood. Oh, look, there’s your father now. Go on in and put the kettle on, Kate, there’s a good girl.”

  She watched her striding up the path on her long bare legs, her wild hair falling down her back, pushing the buttons on her mobile to summon Nat: and thought that this was the last time, the very last time Kate would be properly hers…

  “So why didn’t she come herself?” asked Kate. She was white and very shocked, sitting close to her mother, with Nat on her other side, holding her hand.

  “I—we—”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Me, and Clio and Martha herself, we all felt it best if I told you,” said Jocasta. “You know me, you can yell your head off at me and I won’t mind. And your mum and dad know me too. It just seemed more sensible.”

  Kate nodded. “So does she want to see me?”

  “Kate, of course she does,” said Jocasta, hoping devoutly this was true. “But she wants you to get used to the idea. I mean, she’s a complete stranger to you, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah…Yeah, she is.” She sat in silence for a moment, then: “What’s she like, Jocasta? I mean, what sort of person is she?”

  “I don’t really know her either. When we were all your age, well, a bit older, we went travelling together, and I suppose we spent a week altogether in each other’s company. Fast-forward sixteen years and I’ve met her about twice since. Very briefly.”

  “But do you like her?”

  “Well, yes. I think so.”

  “And she’s never told anyone at all?”

  “No one at all. Except this madwoman, and that was at the party.”

  “But…had she seen about me in the paper?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So why the fuck didn’t she come and see me then?” She was angry now, two spots of colour high on her cheeks.

  “Kate, there’s no need to swear,” said Jim.

  “Yes there is! She’s a cow, a stupid fucking cow. I hate her! I hate her already. I didn’t like her at the party, I thought she was right up her own arse, and now I like her a whole lot less. Seems to me the only reason she’s come clean now is because she’s got to. Because she’s scared it’ll all be in the papers. Not because she gives a toss about me, not because she wants to see me. Cow!” She pulled her hand free of Nat’s, folded her arms across her chest. “Well, you can tell her I don’t want to see her. Ever. You can tell her she’s a stupid bitch, and I hate her.”

  “Kate,” said Nat gently, his face troubled, “you can’t hate someone you don’t know.”

  “I don’t need to know her. I hate her! I hate what she did to me—God, why did it have to be her?” She started to cry. Nat put his arm round her; she shook it off.

  “I’m sorry, Kate,” said Jocasta quietly, “so sorry. Look, why don’t I go now, give you all a chance to talk about it. You’ve got my number, if you change your mind, Kate, decide you want to talk to Martha. It might make you feel differently, you know.”

  “I don’t want to talk to her. I never will. Cow. Fucking cow. God!”

  She stood up, started pacing up and down the room; they all sat silent, watching her, not knowing what to do. Finally Nat stood up, took her hand.

  “Come on, Kate,” he said, “let’s go for a bit of a drive. OK with you, Mrs. Tarrant? I think it’ll calm her down.”

  Helen nodded, and they watched him lead her out of the room, smiling at her encouragingly, saying, “That’s right, come on, it’ll b
e all right,” as if she were a small child being led into school for the first time, or to the dentist. Finally Helen said, “That boy is an absolute treasure.”

  “He is indeed,” said Jocasta. “Are you all right, Helen?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Absolutely fine.”

  “One thing,” said Ed, as they walked along the street, “does the—the—well, does he know?”

  “No,” said Martha. “No, he has no idea.”

  “Did he then?”

  “No. I never told him—anything.”

  “But you know who he was?”

  “Ed—”

  “Look,” he said, and for the first time there was irritation, something raw in his attitude, “I’ve been OK so far. Totally on your side. I think I have a right to ask a few questions, don’t you?”

  “Of course you do. But I can’t answer that one. I’m sorry.”

  “What, you don’t know who it was?”

  “I do know who it was. Yes. But I don’t intend to talk about…about him. Ever.”

  There was a long silence. “Seems to me it means you don’t trust me. Unless you’re still in love with him, that is.”

  “I am not still in love with him. I never was in love with him. It was just—just something that happened. By the time I knew I was pregnant, I had no idea where he was.”

  “But now you do?”

  She was silent.

  “You do! For Christ’s sake, Martha, don’t you think you should tell him? Don’t you think she’ll want to know?”

  “Who?”

  “Who? The girl. Kate. Your daughter. God! This is beginning to get to me, Martha. Don’t you think the poor little cow has a right to know who her dad is?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Does she?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” he said. “Look, I need to be on my own for a bit. Suddenly I can’t cope with this. I’ll see you later. I’ll call you, OK?”

  She watched him go, her eyes blurred with tears.