The Would-Begetter

by Maggie Makepeace

  ‘Lovely to see you,’ Wendy said. ‘’Bye.’

  ‘’Bye,’ Barry said. ‘No, not that coffee, darling. We always have the decaffeinated sort with the red label, don’t we?’ Then they moved off together.

  Wendy found herself standing there, staring after them and feeling emptier than she could have thought possible. She tried to imagine Hector doing the shopping, with or without Morgan, and failed. Then she pulled herself together, picked an unnecessary box of tea bags from the shelf at her elbow, and dropped it into her own trolley. There was no need for her to rush home. Morgan was staying the night with his friend, whose family had bunk beds and were therefore much envied. Wendy was unaccustomed to such freedom, but lacked the spirit to make the most of it. She paid for the food, dumped it in the boot of her little car and then wandered aimlessly round Marks and Spencer until she caught sight of some woman in one of their many mirrors and thought, she looks a mess, and then, Oh God it’s me!

  On the spur of the moment she decided to treat herself to a new hairdo to cheer herself up. But had she enough money? Hector always kept her so short. She checked the contents of her purse – yes, she could just do it. There was a salon in the department store across the road which was also open late, and it wasn’t always necessary to book in advance. Wendy went straight there.

  When she emerged sometime later with her hair all curly and bouncy and smelling sweet, it was starting to get dark. It was much later than she had intended. Oh well, she thought, it’ll serve Hector right if he’s home before me for a change, with no supper all ready and waiting.

  She saw the police car as soon as she turned in at the bottom of her drive. It was waiting at the top, outside her front door. As she parked beside it and wound down her window, a policewoman got out and approached her.

  ‘Mrs Mudgeley?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Hector Mudgeley, but no one seems to be in.’

  ‘Oh he’s probably still at work. Can I help?’

  ‘Excuse me just a minute.’ The policewoman turned away and spoke on her radio. Wendy heard her say, ‘No, he’s not back yet.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, beginning to get alarmed.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ the policewoman said, ‘but there’s been a bit of a fire at the Westcountry Chronicle building and we need to locate everybody.’

  ‘A fire? But why? How?’

  ‘We think it may have been caused by a small bomb.’

  ‘A bomb! But… he must still be there… at work… Oh my God – HECTOR!’

  Chapter 18

  Jess was becoming accustomed to Hector waylaying her after work, and wanting to have a drink with her in the pub or go for a private walk by the sea. Sometimes she worked late, and on those occasions on her return home, she would find little notes in her letterbox signed: H.M. XXXXXXX. She became convinced that the man genuinely believed himself to be in love with her.

  For her own part, she was still confused, and the only purely positive feelings she had were of relief that she hadn’t allowed herself to be seduced that night with claret. Jess thanked the gods for deliverance. She made a firm decision not to have an affair she might be ashamed of. She knew her own limitations well enough – she didn’t like subterfuge, and she hated deceit – she would rather remain celibate.

  She said as much to Hector, but he still kept coming to see her, even though he wasn’t getting anywhere. She could see that she had hurt his pride and was sorry, but she remained adamant.

  ‘I’ll divorce Wendy,’ he now offered as they walked along a deserted beach, well out of sight of Woodspring. ‘Then we can get properly married.’

  ‘On what grounds?’ Jess objected. ‘What’s poor Wendy done to deserve that? And what about Morgan? You surely wouldn’t leave him behind too?’

  ‘I need you, Jessy,’ Hector urged. ‘Surely you see that?’ Her mobile phone rang suddenly. ‘Don’t answer that!’

  ‘I must,’ Jess said. ‘It might be important.’ She fished it out of her pocket and pulled up the aerial. ‘Jess Hazelrigg?’

  It was a regular contact of hers in the fire service. ‘Thought you’d like to know,’ he said, ‘your newspaper’s been fire-bombed. If you get down here PDQ, you’ll see some fairly dramatic flames.’

  ‘Christ!’ Jess gasped. ‘Thanks. I’ll be right there.’ She stuffed the phone back and dragged at Hector’s arm. ‘We’ve got to go, Hector. The Chronicle building’s on fire!’

  ‘Shit!’ Hector began to run back towards the road where they had left their vehicles. ‘I never thought they’d actually do it.’

  ‘Who?’ Jess sprinted beside him.

  ‘Mates of the rustlers. I’d heard they’d made threats, but…’

  Jess’s phone rang again. It was Nigel. ‘Yes, isn’t it ghastly, I’ve just heard,’ she panted, still running. ‘I’m on my way.’

  The fire was visible in the evening sky long before they got there. Jess, in her official Jeep and a regular attender at fires and other emergencies, was able to get closer than Hector in his car, being waved through the roadblock and setting-to at once to take photographs. The fire had certainly taken hold. Flames sprouted out of the top windows and roared fiercely. There were loud cracking noises as internal timbers gave way, and the air was thick with the stench of burning paper and plastics. Smuts and ash fell all around. Three fire engines were already fighting the blaze, and another was just arriving, siren blaring. Jess saw familiar faces going about their jobs, as she was herself, but this time it was so different. This time it was her own building that was disintegrating before her eyes… She forced herself to concentrate on doing her job and tried to control the shaking of her hands. Then she was briefly interrupted by the police, who ticked her name off on a list of Chronicle employees.

  ‘Just checking there’s no one missing, who might still be in the building,’ he said, running a pencil down his pad. ‘That leaves… Hector Mudgeley. Everyone else is accounted for.’

  ‘He’s OK,’ Jess said at once. ‘I’ve just seen him.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, only a few minutes ago. He was…’ Jess remembered she wasn’t supposed to have been with Hector, and had to think quickly. ‘… in his car driving here. I passed him.’

  ‘Sure it was him?’

  ‘Positive. I’d know that car anywhere.’

  There was a crash and a shower of sparks as parts of the roof fell in. More thick smoke rose into the evening sky. All around was illuminated in the glare of the flames. The crowd went ‘Aaaaah!’ and were moved further back by a cordon of police. Jess found that she had tears in her eyes at the destruction of it all; the old familiar offices, her precious darkroom, all that valuable equipment…

  ‘JESS!’ someone screamed.

  Wendy had burst through the line of policemen and was running towards her, distraught. ‘Where’s Hector?’ she babbled. ‘He must have be in there. Have you seen him? He’ll be burnt to death! Oh I can’t bear it. Has the body got a scar on its forehead? They must TELL me, because if it hasn’t it isn’t Hector. It CAN’T be Hector. HECTOR…!’ and she began to scream again. Two large policemen ran forward and took hold of her by both arms.

  ‘Hector’s SAFE,’ Jess shouted at her. ‘I’ve just seen him.’ But Wendy seemed not to take it in. She fought wildly in her captors’ firm grasp, and seemed hell-bent on rushing into the burning building.

  ‘Tell her he’s OK,’ Jess cried to the policemen. ‘What body is she on about?’

  ‘There aren’t any bodies,’ Hector’s voice said from behind them. ‘The firemen say it’s all clear, thank goodness. God, what a mess!’

  Wendy wrenched herself free and rushed into his arms. ‘HECTOR!’ Then she burst into uncontrollable sobs. Hector seemed embarrassed. He patted her on the back a few times.

  ‘All right Wendy. I’m here, OK? Calm down. Everything’s under control.’ Then he disengaged himself and held her at arm’s length and in a c
heerful voice, apparently attempting to neutralize her hysteria, said, ‘Good Lord! Whatever have you done to your hair?’

  It took Wendy some time to get over her anxiety of the night of the fire. She had several nightmares, where she woke crying out for Hector. Hector himself was not helpful or even particularly understanding. He woke the second time, and turned on the light irritably.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman! It’s only a bad dream. I’m here. There’s nothing to get so worked up about. I’m also in the middle of a very difficult time at work. We’re all over the place; temporary offices, borrowed computers, printing on somebody else’s press in Bristol and Lord knows what else. And then you see fit to murder my sleep as well! It’s just not on, you know.’ Wendy felt the injustice of this deeply, but tried her best to be understanding. Poor Hector was bound to feel harassed and was also sure to take it out on her.

  It also seemed that there was never going to be a good time to discuss Morgan. We must do something about him soon, Wendy thought worriedly. The sooner he gets special education, the better. He doesn’t complain to me about it, but I can tell he’s unhappy at school. I do wish Hector would sometimes stop work for a couple of hours and come to parents’ meetings. The teachers all agree with me that there’s a problem, and I’m sure he’d take it better coming from them than from me. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him tonight.

  That evening, however, Hector came home in an odd sort of mood. He wasn’t cross and he didn’t seem depressed, but he wasn’t exactly happy either. If anything he appeared rather on the defensive. Wendy couldn’t imagine why.

  ‘Wendy?’ he began, ‘d’you remember we always said we didn’t want Morgan to be too much of an only child and not get properly socialised?’

  ‘Yes,’ Wendy said, ‘but he’s fine. He’s got a good friend at school. And while we’re on the subject…’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Hector interrupted. ‘I’ve got something I want to discuss with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a boy I know, who is going to need a friendly family to stay with for a week or so soon. His mother is having another baby and hasn’t any adult to support her, so it would be a great help to her if the seven-year-old could be taken off her hands for a short time.’

  ‘But who are they? How do you know them?’

  ‘I’m coming to that in a minute,’ Hector said patiently. ‘I just want you to consider how you’d feel about having someone of Morgan’s age to stay.’

  ‘Well, it all depends on whether Morgan likes him or not, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh they’d get on.’ Hector seemed assured. ‘It would only be for a little while; be good for them both.’

  ‘W… ell…’

  ‘It would be an act of charity,’ Hector encouraged her. ‘A good thing to do.’

  ‘But who are they?’

  ‘The boy’s name is Florian Brakespear, and he…’

  ‘Brakespear? But isn’t that the name of that hippy woman who got flooded out that Christmas?’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Hector said blandly. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d remember her.’

  ‘Oh I remember her all right! Can’t her lorry driver look after his kid?’

  ‘Oh he’s vanished long since,’ Hector said. ‘Zillah’s all on her own now.’

  Of course! Wendy thought. She’s the other woman. It’s so obvious!

  She nearly came straight out with her thoughts, but native caution tinged with curiosity held her back. ‘Barry told me ages ago that you fancied her,’ she said, watching to see if his expression changed.

  ‘Poor old Barry,’ Hector laughed. ‘You can’t believe everything he says, now can you?’

  ‘Well, do you?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I just thought you might enjoy having the lad to stay. I know how much you like children. It was always a matter of regret to me that we only had one. I thought this might make it up to you a little.’

  Wendy smelt a rat at once, but was intrigued nevertheless. What was Hector up to? She decided she would play along with him a little and perhaps then she might find out. She discovered that she did want to know after all; that uncertainty was worse than anything.

  ‘Well, I suppose we could always try it,’ she said hesitantly. ‘No promises, mind.’

  Hector came forward and gave her a hug. ‘Good old Wend,’ he said. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’

  ‘And while we’re talking, Hector…’ Wendy began.

  ‘Sorry love,’ Hector said quickly. ‘Must just catch the news, OK?’ And he sat down with his back to her.

  Wendy had a sudden dreadful thought. What if Hector was the father of this new baby of Zillah’s?

  Jess didn’t have nightmares, but she had certainly been unsettled by the fire and its aftermath. It wasn’t that she was obliged to share a borrowed darkroom (though that was bad enough), or that she found herself spending more time than usual in travelling between temporary offices to collaborate with her colleagues. These things were irritants but they did not disturb her deep down. It was Wendy’s behaviour that had really got to her; the realization that Hector (and the little scar on his forehead) really did belong to her, that she knew him far more intimately than she, Jess, did; that she certainly loved him more. She had thought of Wendy as a silly woman who was incapable of intense emotion – the Barbie Doll type whose personality was as superficial as her fluffy sweaters – but she had been shocked by the obvious depth of Wendy’s feelings and (if she were really honest with herself), shocked also by Hector’s perfunctory words of comfort to her. It wasn’t kind. Hector wasn’t kind!

  Jess caught a bad cold which developed into bronchitis, and she had to stay in bed for several days, one of which was her birthday. Her parents rang in the evening to wish her Many Happy Returns, and she pretended she was feeling better than she actually did, in order not to worry her mother.

  Her father said, ‘Thirty-two eh? Isn’t it about time you settled down and gave your mother some grandchildren?’

  ‘Oh come on, Dad,’ Jess said. ‘You’re not supposed to say things like that these days. It’s not politically correct.’

  ‘What nonsense. I speak as I find!’

  ‘There’s plenty of time,’ Jess said.

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long, will you.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Goodbye then, love, and have a happy evening.’

  “Bye Dad.’

  Jess put the receiver down and lay back, thinking, Forget grandchildren, what about MY life? What am I doing here? There’s no future for me with Hector. I definitely don’t want him to leave Wendy for me, and I’d hate to be accused of suborning his affections and causing her unhappiness. And there’s no one else. Maybe it really is time for me to be moving on.

  Perhaps I should go and live in Caroline’s basement, she thought, even if our friendship isn’t as close as it once was. I must be pragmatic after all, and how else would I be able to afford to live in central London? And I am still very fond of her… And it would be an enormous challenge to go freelance…

  Zillah had her third baby boy at home at the end of April, with expert ease and only minimal help from the midwife and health visitor. Hector, who had called in daily to check on her progress, missed the birth by hours (greatly to his relief) and did not have to get involved. He had expected another one like Florian, and was quite taken aback at the sight of such a handsome baby.

  ‘Isn’t he lovely?’ Zillah asked proudly. ‘I’m calling him Alaric.’

  ‘Oh come now!’ protested Hector.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Well put it this way, it’s not a name I’d choose.’

  ‘It’s a good thing you’re not his father then, isn’t it.’

  ‘So who is?’ Hector said, glad of the opportunity to ask.

  ‘No one you know. His name’s Johnnie.’

  ‘And you don’t see him any more?’

  ‘Nope,’ Zillah said cheerfully.

  ‘But you’
re coping all right?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Well I’ll borrow Florian this evening then, shall I?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Right. I’ll go home and warn Wendy and then I’ll be back later.’

  Wendy was grumpy on hearing the news. ‘It’s a bit short notice,’ she complained.

  ‘Well babies don’t work to timetables,’ Hector said.

  ‘And I haven’t discussed it with Morgan yet.’

  ‘Then it’ll be a nice surprise!’

  Both Zillah’s boys were home from school by the time Hector got back to her cottage. Christian met him at the door.

  ‘This is a bad idea,’ he said.

  ‘Oh I don’t think so,’ Hector said. ‘It’ll be a nice break for Florian and give your mother a rest too.’

  ‘But I can look after both of them.’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ Hector said, stepping inside, ‘but you don’t have to.’

  ‘But…’ Christian followed Hector into the kitchen. Florian was there eating chocolate.

  ‘Right then, young Florian,’ Hector said breezily. ‘All set for a few days’ holiday? Have you got a bag packed?’

  ‘Piss off!’ Florian said sullenly.

  ‘That’s no way to react to a good offer,’ Hector said mildly. ‘Don’t reject it out of hand until you know what it entails.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ Christian said. ‘Once he’s made his mind up, that’s it.’ Florian looked gratified at the compliment.

  ‘Well,’ Hector said diplomatically. ‘I’ll just have a word with your mother, shall I?’ He knocked on Zillah’s bedroom door and went in. ‘He doesn’t seem keen,’ he said to her. ‘Can you persuade him?’

  ‘He’s an awkward little cuss,’ Zillah said. ‘I wonder where he gets it from. Tell him to come in here a minute. I’ll soon sort him out.’

  Hector stayed in the kitchen with Christian whilst Florian was being convinced. Christian was not very talkative, but what he did say was impressive. He was enjoying school, intended to go on to university and then into scientific research of some sort. He wasn’t interested in money or cars or status. He wanted to do something worthwhile for mankind.