“And how’ve you been?” Mavis asked him, biting her tongue.
“Well, I’ve had this pain in my leg, and I’m a bit concerned. I’ve got a friend who knows about these things, and he says it could be something called intermittent claudication. I looked it up, and I’ve got all the symptoms.”
Mavis sighed. It had been a very long day, and all she wanted was a hot bath and her bed. She listened for a few more minutes, and then very gently, almost apologetically, she replaced the receiver.
She was surprised to find that she hardly felt guilty at all.
Part Six
Alice
As soon as Alice heard Jay’s tone of voice on the phone, she knew that Angela had had her baby. On the surface, his greeting was the same as usual, but she knew him too well not to hear the undercurrent of excitement.
“Angela’s had the baby, hasn’t she?” she said.
“How did you know?”
“Call it feminine intuition.”
“Ah.”
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me all about it?”
“Oh, Alice. I didn’t know how to do this. I thought of asking to see you and telling you face-to-face, but —”
“Like giving someone bad news, you mean?”
“No. Of course not. But I knew it was going to be difficult.”
“You mean, you knew I was going to be difficult,” said Alice, knowing that that was exactly what was already happening. She was overcome with sudden nausea, and sat down on a kitchen chair.
“Not at all. But I can imagine how you must feel.”
“Can you?”
“I’ve a pretty good idea.”
“Well, tell me. Tell me how I feel, Jay, and then I won’t have to go to the bother of finding out for myself.”
“Alice, please.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, really I am. And I’m being pretty ungenerous, too. So do tell me about it. I want to know; of course I do.”
“Well, she went into labour yesterday afternoon. The baby was born early this morning.”
“And you were there?”
“Of course I — yes, I was there. She wanted me there.”
As she questioned Jay, Alice knew that she was pouring salt into her own wounds; it was almost as though she were trying to get all the pain out of the way quickly. For naturally, Jay would have been there. Nowadays, wasn’t it rare for fathers not to be present at the births of their children?
Apart from a formidably businesslike midwife, there hadn’t been anyone with her when Finn was born. She had asked her mother whether she would like to be present when her grandson came into the world, but her response (“No thank you, dear. I’ll see you both when you’re all tidied up”) had been unequivocal.
“And everything went all right?” she asked now.
“Everything went fine. Angela was very — no, you don’t need to hear that. She had a good labour, and we’ve got our daughter.”
“And she’s beautiful.”
“Of course. We think so, anyway.”
Oh, how that “we” seemed to cut into her, like a knife. Before the baby, Jay had rarely referred to himself and Angela in that way, and Alice had managed to persuade herself that they weren’t really a couple at all — or if they were, it was in name only. The baby had changed all that.
She pulled herself together. “What are you going to call her?” she asked.
“Arabella.”
“Oh.” Alice hated what she thought of as frilly names, and Arabella was not without frills.
“Not your kind of name, I know, but Angela likes it.”
“And you? Do you like it?” It was an unnecessary question, but Alice wanted to know.
“It’s — okay. I’ll get used to it.”
Alice felt a small tingle of pleasure. If Jay had been the one to choose the baby’s name or if he had been more enthusiastic about what they had called her, she would have found it even more hard to bear.
“So, I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Congratulations would be nice.”
“Oh, Jay, I do congratulate you. Of course I do. It’s wonderful news, and you must be so thrilled.”
But Alice knew that her good wishes had come too late and that Jay was hurt. How could she do this to him? On this, which must — or certainly should — be one of the happiest days of his life, how could she not be happy for the man she was supposed to love? And yet she was overcome with misery, not just because Angela was probably at this moment holding Jay’s baby in her arms, but because she, Alice, was such a nasty, jealous person that she hadn’t even been able to act as though she were happy for him.
“You’ll be able to have bonfire birthday parties,” she said now, trying to remedy the situation.
“What?”
“You know. Children’s birthday parties can be a nightmare, but as hers is so near to Guy Fawkes, she’ll be able to have fireworks.”
“I suppose she will.”
But the moment was lost. Alice had had her chance — and goodness knows, she had had enough time to prepare for it — and she had blown it.
“So — I expect you’ve got lots to do?”
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
“Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, Alice.”
For a long time, Alice sat on at the kitchen table, gazing out of the window at the leaden sky of a dank November morning. She didn’t cry — as far as Jay’s baby was concerned, she had done all her crying weeks ago — but she felt a bleak emptiness that she had never felt before. She knew that her behaviour had been unforgivable and that Jay must be angry as well as hurt. But she also knew that even had her congratulations been fulsome and sincere, it wouldn’t really have changed anything. She had known — they had both known — that the writing was on the wall. Their relationship had weathered all kinds of storms; there had been rows and misunderstandings in abundance. But they had never had to face anything as big as this, and Alice knew that there could only be one conclusion. How odd that something as small, as innocent, as a newborn baby should be the one unsurvivable obstacle to a relationship that had once seemed indestructible.
But if Alice thought she had reached rock bottom, there was more to come.
“Trot and I want to talk to you,” Finn told her over their lunch of sandwiches.
“That sounds very portentous.” Alice pushed away her plate, deciding she wasn’t hungry.
“If you’re not eating that, can I have it?”
“Be my guest. So what’s this all about?”
“Best to wait till Trot comes,” said Finn through a mouthful of sandwich. “He’ll be here at teatime.”
“And wants feeding, I suppose.”
“Thanks, Mum. He said you’d offer.”
“Did he now?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t trust you two.”
Finn grinned. “Trot and me are perfectly trustworthy.”
“Trot and I.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind.”
Trot turned up promptly at five. Alice thought he looked ill at ease and wondered what on earth he was up to.
“Could I have a beer?” he asked.
“Of course. We’ll all have one.” Alice fetched three cans from the fridge. “Now, what’s this all about, Trot? I hope it’s not one of your silly games.”
“No silly game,” said Trot, opening his can and taking a long swig.
“What, then?”
Trot and Finn exchanged glances.
“It’s like this.” Trot put down his beer and leaned forward in his chair. “I never had a gap year.”
“It seems to me that your whole life has been one long gap year,” Alice remarked.
“I never had a gap year,” Trot continued, ignoring her. “And Finn would like one, wouldn’t you, Finn?”
“Too right,” said Finn.
“So, we thought we might have one together.”
“When?” asked Alic
e, with a feeling of foreboding. “When exactly were you and Finn thinking of taking this — this break from your labours?”
“Well, the thing is —” Finn began.
“When, Finn? Just tell me. When? Not a difficult question.”
“After — after my GCSEs. More beer, anyone?” Finn made to get up.
“Finn, sit down. What on earth are you talking about? Of course you can’t take a gap year after your GCSEs. What about A Levels? You’ll have two more years before you can even think about gap years.”
“He doesn’t want to do A Levels,” Trot said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“He doesn’t want to do A Levels,” Alice repeated. “What a mature decision. He’s not yet taken his GCSEs, and he’s already decided, has he?”
“Well, yeah.” Finn looked uneasy.
Alice took several deep breaths. This was not a time to lose her temper. “And whose idea was this — this gap year?” she asked.
“Mine.” Trot and Finn spoke together, then looked at each other and giggled.
“It was your idea, Trot, wasn’t it?”
“Well, not exactly. We were discussing it, and Finn said he wanted to travel, and I’ve always wanted to, and it seemed like a good idea. It’d be safer with two of us,” he added (the only sensible thing he’d said so far).
“I really don’t want to do A Levels, Mum. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve told you and told you, but you won’t listen.”
“If he gets good GCSEs, he’ll be fine,” said Trot, who as far as Alice was aware knew nothing at all about the importance of further education (and was also living proof that a disregard for qualifications was no guarantee of success in life).
“Let me get this straight,” Alice said. “Finn is going to do his GCSEs, and then the two of you are just going to — to bugger off round the world. Is that it?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Trot agreed.
“And has anyone discussed this with Finn’s teachers?”
“Naturally we wanted to talk to you first,” Trot said piously.
“How kind.”
“Yes, well, you are his mother.”
“And you, Trot, are his father. You’re supposed to be encouraging him to make the best of himself; you should be considering his interests. As it is, I suspect you just want a companion for your silly adventures. You want to sacrifice Finn’s future for your own fun.”
The argument continued through tea, with Alice becoming increasingly cross and frustrated, and Finn and Trot — who had obviously made some kind of pact — being sweetly reasonable — thus, as they presumably saw it, putting Alice firmly in the wrong.
After their meal, Kenny called round, and he and Finn went up to Finn’s room together, leaving Trot and Alice alone.
“What really annoys me,” Alice said, “is that you two seem to have been planning this — this escapade for some time, without a word to me.”
“Can you wonder?” said the new, reasonable Trot. “We knew this was how you’d react.”
“Who are you really doing this for, Trot?” Alice asked.
“For both of us. I want to travel; Finn wants to travel; we’d both like someone to do it with. Going together seems the obvious solution.”
“And you can’t wait until he’s finished school?”
“He’ll have finished school.”
“You know what I mean. Till he’s eighteen.”
“Look.” Trot leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “How’s this for a deal? If Finn works really hard and gets good GCSEs, and if he still wants to leave school and travel, then that’s what we’ll do. But if he changes his mind and decides he wants to stay on, then he does that. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”
“And if he fluffs his GCSEs?”
“Then we’ll have to cancel our plans, and he’ll have to go back and take them again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“And you won’t put any pressure on him?”
“Not if you won’t.”
“You’ll encourage him to pull his finger out?”
“Yes.”
“And if he decides to go back and do his A Levels after this little jaunt, you won’t stand in his way?”
“Absolutely not. Why should I? Alice, I know you think I’m irresponsible, but I do have his best interests at heart.”
“Who’s going to pay for all this? Travel isn’t cheap.”
“I’ve got a bit saved up. I’ve got one or two things I can sell, and I’ll adapt the van so we can sleep in it. And we can work if necessary. If we live simply, it shouldn’t be too expensive. In any case, that won’t be your problem, Alice. I don’t expect you to pay for this.”
After Trot had gone, Alice gave the idea some more thought. She still didn’t like it, but she had to admit that it wasn’t quite as mad as it had seemed at first. Finn had never really liked school, and while he was bright enough, he would never be particularly academic. A year away just might help him to think again about his future. It would give him a chance to get away from school and home and see things from a different perspective, and then he could go to college and take his A Levels the following year if he wanted to.
But what would she do without him?
As Finn was growing up, she had become increasingly aware of the brevity of childhood and hence the relatively short time for which she had him to herself. She would never have another child now; Finn had been her one chance of motherhood. Last week had seen his sixteenth birthday. Those sixteen years had flown by, and now, if this plan went ahead, her time with him would be over by next summer. He would come back, of course, and would probably be living at home again, but it wouldn’t be the same. Things would never be the same again.
Once more, she was consumed with fury at Trot, who was planning to steal from her the final precious years of Finn’s childhood. Trot, whose input had been minimal, was now cashing in on all her hard work — on everything she had done to help Finn to become the person he was — and taking him off as a companion for his globetrotting. She knew that Trot loved Finn, but he was also self-centred in the way that people who live alone sometimes are. He had never had to consider anyone else’s needs as other than secondary to his own, and while he would certainly do his best to ensure Finn’s safely, that was about all she could expect from him.
The next time she saw Jay — a brief, snatched meeting, for Jay had other responsibilities at the moment — Alice told him about the gap year idea.
“Is it such a bad idea?” he said. “I always wished I’d had a gap year.”
“But not at this stage. Not before A Levels,” Alice said, wishing they had found somewhere more salubrious than a roadside greasy spoon.
“Well, what does he want to do? As a career?”
“He’s no idea.”
“So he doesn’t know what qualifications he’ll need, does he?”
“Maybe not. But surely it would be better to start off with at least some qualifications? A Levels, at least?”
“Not necessarily.”
But Alice knew that Jay was having trouble concentrating. He looked exhausted, and there was something that looked suspiciously like baby sick on the shoulder of his sweater. She decided to change the subject.
“How’s the paternity leave going?” she asked.
“Tiring.”
“Nights?”
“We take it in turns.”
“Not — not breastfeeding, then?”
“Angela didn’t like the idea.”
No, thought Alice. Angela wouldn’t. She felt a tiny surge of triumph. Finn — poor fatherless (at the time) Finn — had at least had the best in that department, for Alice had breastfed him for nearly a year. That this was as much due to laziness and poverty as anything else was something Alice chose to ignore. She liked to think of herself as something of an earth mother, who had happily sacrificed her figure and her sleep for the good of her baby. In fact, Finn had been a good sleeper, and Alic
e’s breasts had recovered nicely, but at least she had taken the risk. She had put her baby first.
“How is the baby?” Alice asked.
“She’s fine. Screams rather a lot, but I guess that’s what babies do.”
“Finn didn’t scream much.”
“Well, lucky you.”
This was not going well, but then, how could it? Each of them had preoccupations in which the other played no part, and both were too tired to make much of an effort.
“Have you any photos?” Alice asked.
“Of the baby?”
“Who else?”
“I may have.” Jay got out his wallet. “I didn’t think you’d want to see them, so I didn’t bring any.”
Alice both did and didn’t want to see photos of Jay’s daughter. One part of her was curious, but the other felt (illogically) that if she never saw a photo, then it would be almost as though the baby didn’t really exist. She could continue in her present state of semidenial.
“Oh, I have. There’s just one.” Jay took out a small photograph. “But I’m afraid it’s got —”
“Angela in it,” Alice finished for him. She had never seen a photo of Angela before, and oddly, this was harder than seeing the baby, who could, in this photo at least, have been anyone’s newborn child.
She examined the photograph. It was obviously taken just after the birth, for the baby was swaddled in a towel and Angela still wore a hospital gown and an identification band on her wrist. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. But there was that smile (Is there any other smile like it?) of the new mother — triumphant, exultant, disbelieving (Is this really mine? Did I produce this miracle myself?) — as she gazed down at the tiny face and still-damp, dark hair of her new daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said. “I didn’t want you to see this one. It — it…”
“Brings it all home?”
“Yes.”
“But it — she’s there, Jay. I can’t keep pretending you don’t have a wife and child.” She hesitated. “She’s very pretty.”
“The baby?”
The Frances Garrood Collection Page 53
