To Have and to Hold

by Deborah Moggach

  She kept her voice low. ‘Ken, let’s not go to that clinic.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know . . .’

  Now he understood. He stared at her. She remembered, later, how the neon light shone on his moustache. She remembered the silence.

  ‘Come on, Ken.’

  ‘But –’

  She took his hand. ‘Come on!’ Half-elated, half-appalled, she looked into his eyes.

  ‘We can’t!’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t it better, this way?’

  ‘But Viv –’

  Suddenly she dropped his hand. ‘Sorry. Mad idea.’

  There was a silence. Standing beside the car, they gazed at each other. She turned away. It was a cold night but she felt the heat rise in her face. ‘Don’t know why I said it.’

  ‘Mad.’

  Blushing, she went round to the passenger door of the car. She kept her eyes on its roof. She heard him insert the key into the driver’s door, then it must have got stuck because he stopped. She waited. She longed to be home, and closing her own front door behind her. How could she have been such an idiot?’

  ‘Come on then,’ he said.

  She looked across the car. Ken was still standing there; he hadn’t moved.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, come on.’ He looked across at her, directly, his eyebrows raised. She said nothing.

  Then he walked round to her side of the car and took her hand.

  ‘But –’ she stopped. They stared at each other.

  He held her hand and they crossed the road, stopping to let a taxi pass. Still holding her hand, he pushed open the door into the hotel foyer.

  _____Ten_____

  A HAND WAS stroking his brow. Ken woke, suddenly. Ann was sitting on the bed; sunlight shone through the curtains.

  ‘You’ll be late for work,’ she said.

  He stirred and groaned.

  ‘That was Viv on the phone,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ He sat up.

  ‘It’s OK. She’s rung off.’

  ‘What did she say?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘She wants to see you at lunchtime. She’s made an appointment at a clinic?’

  ‘A clinic?’

  She nodded. ‘She’ll phone you later, at work.’ She smiled. ‘Feel awful?’

  He nodded. ‘Hangover.’

  She paused. ‘Ken, I’m so happy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She told me.’

  He stared. ‘Told you?’

  ‘You know, that you’re going to do it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go through with it.’ She stroked his forehead again and leant over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I’m so proud of you. Don’t look like that, I am.’ She got off the bed and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room; Ken flinched.

  ‘Now there’s no turning back,’ she said.

  Harold met Viv in the corridor and walked with her to the staffroom.

  ‘And how’s Viv this sunny morning?’

  ‘Awful,’ she groaned.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Hangover.’

  ‘Naughty naughty.’ He nudged her. ‘I usually give a detention for hangovers.’

  Ann knocked, and went into Derek’s office.

  ‘Here’s the surveyor’s report,’ she said. She sat down, wincing.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on, Annie.’

  She indicated her neck. ‘Just my, well, this bit.’

  ‘Poor Annie.’

  ‘Slept on a settee,’ she said.

  ‘He stood up, and came over to her chair. ‘Let Doctor Derek get to work.’ She sat still and he started massaging her neck. She thought; nobody ever does it quite right but one always murmurs ‘aah, lovely’. . .

  ‘Mmm, lovely,’ she murmured.

  ‘I hope, I mean . . .’

  ‘What?’ she asked, her eyes closed.

  ‘No, none of my beeswax.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘This wasn’t, er, the result of marital strife?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Babysitting.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘No marital strife,’ she said.

  He went on massaging.

  ‘You can do it a bit harder if you like,’ she said politely.

  He kneaded her shoulders. ‘Mary used to love this. In the good old days.’

  ‘Derek . . .’

  ‘Sorry. Out of court.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was just babysitting for my sister. All above board, dirt-resistant, stain-free, fully washable above board.’

  His hands stopped. He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Strange creatures,’ he murmured.

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘Women.’

  She stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Stranger than men?’

  Viv tracked Harold down in the stockroom. She linked her arm with his and laid her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Harry . . .’

  ‘What’s all this in aid of?’

  ‘Dear darling Harry . . .’

  ‘All right. I will.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Elope.’ He put down his books. ‘Come on. No more Trevor, no more Darren, no more 4b, the little wankers.’

  ‘Listen –’

  ‘We’ll drink life’s cup to its dregs.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Listen, I promise I’ll elope with you tomorrow if you’ll just –’

  ‘Oh-oh.’

  ‘I’ve only got one class this afternoon, and you’re free then.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘And they’re only carrying on with their project. Please, Harry!’

  ‘Take your horrible class?’ He sighed, and picked up his books again. ‘And I thought you were offering me your body.’

  ‘Hair of the dog,’ said Ken, bringing his pint to the table. He sat down and passed Viv her orange juice.

  The same tune was playing on the jukebox; the pub was empty, except for a cluster of businessmen at the far end.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘here we are again.’

  He nodded and took a gulp of his beer. Then he wiped the froth off his moustache and addressed the table: ‘Don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  He paused. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He looked up at her sharply. Then he said: ‘Is, er –’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s still in Liverpool.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Got off your classes all right?’ he asked.

  She nodded. Then she looked around. ‘Feels wicked in the middle of the day.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Being here.’

  He nodded. There was another silence. What could they say now? The previous evening had felt so different.

  He looked down at the table. They were sitting beside the window. In the daylight his skin looked grey, as if he had not been outside for weeks. He said: ‘I feel so guilty.’

  ‘Don’t! Look Ken, I –’

  ‘Ssh!’ He frowned, looking behind her.

  She turned. A large woman with frizzed black hair was approaching them; with a jolt Viv recognized Suzi, an American friend of hers. She’d had a perm. She carried a holdall, and her two companions were heading towards the bar.

  ‘Well hi!’ Suzi came up to Viv and Ken. ‘Thought I recognized you. Am I disturbing anything?’

  ‘No,’ said Viv. ‘This is my brother-in-law Ken.’

  She grinned. ‘That’s OK then. Hi Ken.’

  Ken half rose; she shook his hand. He sat down again.

  Viv explained: ‘Suzi taught drama at my last school.’

  Suzi turned to Ken. ‘So you’re married to Viv’s sister?’

  ‘Yes. Er, can I get you –?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Suzi indicated the bar. ‘I’m with t
hem. Mind if I just show Viv something?’

  ‘Please do,’ he said.

  She pulled up a chair, sat down and rummaged in her holdall. She found a rolled-up poster and held it up. It showed a mushroom cloud and the slogan INVEST IN WHAT FUTURE?

  ‘Great, isn’t it?’ said Suzi. ‘Only came through today. It’s specially designed for banks, building societies, places like that.’

  ‘It’s terrific,’ said Viv.

  Suzi turned to Ken. ‘Powerful, isn’t it?’ Ken didn’t reply and she turned back to Viv. ‘How many can you take?’

  ‘Oh, fifty.’

  Ken looked at Viv. ‘You’re going to stick them up?’

  Viv nodded, and said to Suzi: ‘His wife – my sister – she works in a building society.’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Suzi. ‘She can –’

  ‘I don’t think she will,’ said Ken.

  There was a pause. Then Suzi said: ‘Hey Viv, I’ve got some wonderful news. They’ve taken my book.’ She turned to Ken: ‘My magnum opus. My baby.’

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ said Viv. ‘Who’s publishing it?’

  ‘This women’s collective in Limehouse. Very feisty.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ Ken asked politely.

  ‘Gender bias in the school situation.’

  ‘When’s it coming out?’ asked Viv.

  ‘End of the year. We’ll throw one hell of a party, you must both come.’ She grinned. ‘This is advance notice for nine months’ time, so you can’t say you’re busy.’

  Viv looked swiftly at Ken and then grimaced. ‘Well . . .’

  ‘What?’ asked Suzi.

  Viv recovered herself. ‘Well, you can’t predict what might be happening.’

  ‘I get you,’ said Suzi. ‘Yeah, I agree. With these lunatics in charge, who can predict anything?’ She stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She rolled up her poster, said goodbye and went to join her friends.

  Ken turned to Viv. ‘You going to stick those up?’

  Viv nodded.

  ‘It’s against the law, you know. Flyposting.’

  ‘You think it’s criminal?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think it’s criminal to threaten the human race with extinction.’

  ‘Viv!’

  ‘We’re not doing this for fun, you know. We’re not hooligans.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘My dear Viv, nobody wants war.’

  ‘Don’t dear me!’

  He sighed and took a gulp of beer. ‘Know what really gets on my wick?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You and your’ – he gestured towards the bar – ‘friends there, your muddle-headed, self-righteous, dungareed ninnies thinking they have a monopoly on peace. It’s so condescending!’

  ‘You’re the condescending one.’

  ‘You label yourselves, doing bloody silly things like those bloody silly posters. You put people against you.’

  ‘At least we’re doing something, instead of sitting on our backsides. For Christ’s sake, Ken, what sort of world do you want your children to grow up in?’

  ‘I haven’t got any children.’

  She twitched her shoulders, blushing. ‘What I mean is, don’t be such a fascist.’

  ‘You don’t even know what “fascist” means.’

  ‘I know one when I see one.’

  He raised his hands in despair. ‘There you are, in a position of responsibility, infecting children –’

  ‘Infecting?’

  ‘Infecting them with your half-baked –’

  ‘Two of my friends have gone to prison for their beliefs. Catch you doing that!’

  Ken stared at her. She thought he had seen somebody else come into the pub, but then he said: ‘This is appalling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We can’t quarrel now.’

  ‘Why not?’ She grinned. ‘We always disagree. I feel better now.’

  He tugged at his moustache, and looked down at the table again.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He didn’t reply, he just gazed up at her with the sort of stricken look she had seen on the faces of her children, especially poor Rosie when she was being taunted.

  She put her hand over his. ‘Look Ken, I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘What?’

  She took a breath. Then she fumbled for her cigarettes. ‘I rang an AID clinic. Ken, they were horrified. They won’t even see us.’ Now it was she who looked down at the table. ‘They said, as things are, nobody will. It’s up to us.’

  Viv stood at the hotel window and looked down into the street. Key-cutting . . . Ear-piercing . . . 24 Hour Mini-Cab Service . . . Opposite, there was a slot-machine arcade called Family Amusements.

  ‘Nice day out for the family,’ she said. ‘Take them to the Paddington video parlour.’

  There was no reply from Ken, who stood near the door. In the next room a lavatory was flushed. She heard the sound of Ken putting down the carrier-bag, and then the creak of the bed as he sat down.

  ‘No tarts this afternoon,’ she said, not turning.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No women on the prowl. Looks so blameless today. Think he recognized us, that ferrety man at the desk?’

  ‘He must be used to this sort of thing.’

  She laughed. ‘Think so?’ She moved away from the window. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ken sitting on the bed.

  ‘What sort of person,’ she asked, ‘would come to a place like this?’

  ‘Commercial travellers.’

  ‘Lonely people.’ She paused. ‘Well, here we are.’ She moved nearer him and picked up the carrier-bag. She took out the half-bottle of Scotch she had bought. ‘Better get this down. Don’t want to.’ She held up the bottle and smiled at him. ‘Close your eyes and think of –’

  ‘Don’t want to think.’

  ‘No.’

  He paused, then he got up and went over to the basin. ‘I fear we have a one-glass situation.’

  She laughed and unscrewed the bottle-top. He held out the tooth-glass and she poured some Scotch into it. ‘And here,’ she said, passing it to him, ‘is some gender bias.’

  He smiled slightly. He held up his glass. ‘Cheers.’ He drank a little.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You always behave like that after an Indian meal?’

  She nodded. ‘Blame it on the biriani.’ They smiled. Then she said: ‘Ken, she’ll understand.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She just will.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just know.’

  He passed her the glass. She sipped, flinching.

  ‘Viv . . .’

  She put down the glass. ‘Look, let’s pretend we’ve just met. We don’t know anything about each other except we quite like Bell’s whisky.’

  He sat down on the chair. ‘It’s all rather complicated, isn’t it?’

  ‘Let’s be simple then. Lie down and take your clothes off.’

  He stared at her.

  She patted the bed. ‘You can keep your underpants on.’ She started undressing. ‘Lie down, face down.’

  He took off his shirt, his shoes and socks and then his trousers. He lay down on the bed, face down. She stood beside him, in her underwear, and started massaging him.

  ‘Relax. That nice?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You’re still not relaxed.’ She went on, kneading his shoulders and rhythmically rubbing his spine. ‘That’s better. Ah, you’ve got a little mole here. Didn’t see that last night.’ He grunted, lifting his head. She pushed his head down and went on massaging. ‘Terrific muscle tone.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He lay still for a moment, then he muttered: ‘So this is what he does.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ann’s boss. He gives her massages.’

  She stopped in surprise. ‘Like this?’

  ‘I rather think they’re fully clothed. But then
perhaps she was lying.’ He paused, face down. ‘Perhaps they’re catching.’

  ‘What are?’

  ‘Lies.’

  She lay down beside him. ‘Ken . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t think about Ann,’ she said gently. ‘Not now.’

  He shook his head, in the pillow.

  She smiled. ‘I only want you for your body. Nothing wrong in that, is there?’

  He didn’t reply. She stroked the back of his neck. ‘It’d be complicated otherwise.’

  He nodded. ‘It would be horribly complicated.’

  Suddenly he sat up, dislodging her hands. He pushed away from her and grabbed his trousers.

  ‘Ken!’

  He started pulling on his trousers. She grabbed him but he pushed her off.

  ‘Ken –’

  ‘There must be another way.’

  ‘Listen Ken! This is simplest –’

  He pulled on his socks. ‘No!’

  ‘The others’ll understand –’

  ‘Don’t be so thick!’ He stared at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh Viv . . .’

  ‘What?’

  He looked at her. ‘For an intelligent woman you can be bloody stupid.’ Suddenly he stopped, half-dressed and exhausted. He sat slumped on the bed, his head bowed. She paused, then leant against him tenderly.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ she said gently.

  He turned to look at her. ‘You so sure?’

  She nodded. Then she whispered: ‘Trust me.’

  She put her arms around him and kissed his dry lips. She pressed his face to hers and stroked the back of his head. He buried his face in her hair and they fell back together against the pillows.

  ‘Auntie Ann gave us mashed potatoes and chicken and cheesecake with curranty stuff in it.’

  ‘Well I’m giving you toasted cheese.’

  ‘Boring, boring.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Wish she was our mum.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  The phone rang.

  ‘Oh, hello Ollie. Do I? No, it’s nothing. Just irritated with the kids.’ She sat down on the hard arm of the sofa and rubbed at a ladder in her stocking. ‘Last night? Oh, it was fine. I’ll tell you about it – you’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you? What? No – I said it was fine. Look – must go, the kids are knocking over – ‘bye.’

  She put down the phone. The children looked up from the table.