‘You might look worried,’ snapped Olly, halting in front of her.
She gazed up at him, the weight of Jenna pinning her to the chair.
‘I suppose this is her?’
Here’s Olly, she thought, stupidly. Here, in the garden of Honeybun Cottage, was Olly saying something quite incomprehensible. ‘Her?’ She tried to focus through potato wine and the barbecue haze.
‘I suppose this is our baby?’ Had his eyes always been that cold? She didn’t remember them as quite so hard.
Pete snitched Jenna brusquely onto the safety of his own lap, waking her and making her cry.
Angel’s eyes blazed at the good-looking hell-man who’d burst in and ludicrously tried to claim paternity of her baby. ‘Who in God’s name is this?’
Tess stared. God. These were her friends – she must deal with this embarrassment! Jolting herself into action she leapt to her feet, lifting her voice above Angel’s. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’
‘I want the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Her hands felt clammy. ‘It is ... Let’s go inside.’
Set-faced, Olly crowded her through her own kitchen door, snapping it shut behind them to exclude possible hangers-on. He had a glower like King Kong.
‘I know that’s my baby, before you deny it!’
She could only gape, the kitchen table pressed against her hips and Olly towering over her, not bothering with the how-are-yous or nice-to-see-you-agains. She tried to shake her thoughts into order. ‘How on earth can Jenna be yours?’
‘It’s obvious!’ snapped Olly. ‘James let slip you were pregnant when we split up – more than two years ago. And that kid is fifteen to eighteen months old, add nine months ... My baby.’
‘But ...’ She couldn’t back away any further. Her neck hurt from craning to meet Olly’s glare. Confusion turned her tongue temporarily to wood and was useless to moisten paper lips and form a denial. Even if he ever shut up and gave her a chance.
Olly crashed on. ‘James told me how long you stayed with your folks – long enough to produce my baby and get a bit of support through early infancy, collect your money from our house sale and let James set you up in a place just the right size for two, I’d say. Guy’s evasive. Mari obviously anxious.’ Hands spread in a concluding attitude. ‘My baby!’
‘My father has evidently been indiscreet. Guy’s always evasive. And my mother will be anxious – because I’m getting along nicely without her.’
She ducked under his arm and backed two steps away. Such a little distance, two steps, but enough to clear her head. ‘But why?’ she wondered. ‘Why would you want her to be your baby? Why would Olly Gray want Jenna to be his baby?’
‘It is my baby.’ Two steps for her were one for him and in a second he was right back in her face.
The glower, at such proximity, unnerved her. She sniggered. A tense and probably irritating snigger. ‘It’s very doubtful.’ She smiled. A full, mischievous gloat. ‘She’s not even my baby.’
He stopped. Eyes narrowed, feeding new information to his mind and calculating possibilities. ‘James said you were pregnant when, you know ...’
‘I was. When you jilted me by e-mail, I was pregnant. Was, was, was! Eleven weeks, they told me. Then ... swoosh!’ She made a sliding away gesture. ‘Gone before I really realised it was there. And your baby was ...’ Stopped. Sucked in a huge, necessary breath, searching her mind for the most brutal expression to repay him a little for the fright, pain, subsequent illness. But she hesitated. Maybe he’d ceased to touch her, if she couldn’t muster enough hate to hurt him? ‘... Gone,’ she finished, quietly. ‘And in a few days I was bleeding as if it was a new national sport. I was ill for more than a year ...’ She tailed off. Olly wasn’t listening.
Olly was very still. Body, eyes. She could almost hear his mind ticking. Through the window she was aware of Angel and Pete on their feet, fussing around Toby, soothing Jenna.
‘Did Dad tell you I’d had the baby?’
Slowly, eyes still hard on her face, he shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Did he tell you I’d had a miscarriage?’
He shook his head again. ‘No. We were …’ He hesitated. ‘I explained that I really needed to see you. He said he supposed we really ought to talk things through. Then he asked me if I’d known you were pregnant.’
Tess felt her heart begin to steady as her imagination supplied a vision of Olly taking James aside, pally-pally, earnest and sincere, persuading out of James details that Tess would rather have kept secret. ‘And what did you say?’
Olly’s eyes flicked round the kitchen. After a silence, he admitted, ‘I was angry. I drove off.’
Tess nodded, letting her mind tick. Something had brought Olly here today. When did Olly do something for no reason? ‘What did Guy say?’
Maybe because it wasn’t his main focus, Olly replied unguardedly. ‘He said you’d lent him dosh.’ Then, ‘If you miscarried, why wouldn’t James tell me?’
She laughed, a small, angry sound. She never knew when James would be dependable and when he’d turn round and bite her. ‘I’d guess he thought you’d turn up – as you have. He likes you. I’d guess he wants us to get together again. Thought I’d be pleased to see you and ...’ Dosh. The word resonated suddenly.
‘I bet you’ve run out of money, Olly, haven’t you?’ The key clicked round so suddenly that she actually chuckled. ‘That’s why you so wanted Jenna to be your baby! You’ve screwed up and you’re all out of money! You, IT wizard, can write your own cheques in today’s world but somehow you’ve got in a financial scrape. Olly Gray, you sharky bastard! Here’s me with my own house, doing OK, James in the background to run to, and you can see the answer – temporary, probably – to your problems!’
Colour hectic, breath galloping, she searched his glowering face. ‘Have things gone wrong for you? Can you bear it? That I’m successful and solvent and Olly’s screwed up?’ She laughed, let her voice become mocking. ‘Olly’s screwed up!’
The furious widening of his eyes and tightening of his lips over clenched teeth gave her warning, but she was too out of practice to dodge the long hand that whipped out and cracked across her cheek.
‘Bastard!’ And it hurt! It stung! It all but made her ear pop. It wrenched humiliated, furious tears to her eyes as it had the three times it had happened before. Well, no more! ‘Get out!’ she barked.
She heard his suddenly shaky response. ‘Tess! I …’
And that’s when the door crashed back on its hinges, glass shattering, and Tess discovered just how rapidly Olly could find himself back in the lane, leaning on his car and crowing for breath, a bloodied nose to cradle along with his aching midriff, a rip in his trouser knee where he’d landed on all fours.
But Olly obviously allowed himself to be educated by the experience. When a voice growled at his shoulder, ‘Go, now!’ – he went.
While Ratty had been watching Tess’s confrontation in the kitchen, Toby had begun wailing that he felt ill. Adding that to the uncomfortable situation of Olly trying to claim their daughter, it seemed sensible that Pete and Angel take the children home.
And now Angel had rushed back to check that Tess was OK, leaving Pete – and by default, Ratty – appointed babysitters.
‘So?’ Pete prompted, circling promising ads in the Auto Trader with Toby’s stubby purple pencil crayon. ‘What did Tess think about your heroics? I wanted to shoot back, as you were obviously brewing trouble, but Angel was upset and when Toby, with impeccable timing, threw up, I couldn’t get away.’
‘She cried.’
Pete drew a pleasing oval around an advertisement for a Karmann Ghia.
Ratty squinted over his shoulder. ‘We’ve only just rebuilt a Karmann, let’s do something different.’
Pete sighed, scribbled his oval out again. ‘He really clipped her one, did he?’
‘Certainly did. Hand print like a starfish on her face.’
Shaking his head, turning the page, Pe
te whistled disapproval. ‘That’s seriously uncool. Seriously. Smacking a woman like that.’ He pushed his hair back and tried to catch the light on a dark, grainy photograph of what purported to be an accident-prone Porsche. ‘Big guy, that Olly.’
Ratty grinned. ‘These annoying, smooth guys with desk jobs. Pushover. And I was really cross.’ He’d also taken full advantage of the surprise element, erupting into the room in a shower of broken glass. God he’d been angry. Furious. Raging. Was it Olly’s contemptuous blow or Tess’s humiliation? Something had exploded him into the room without feeling his feet meeting ground, lit the flashes behind his eyes. And flung the hard, maddened punch into Olly’s unprepared stomach, brought the knee up into Olly’s face as he doubled over, given weight to the final, satisfying, ignominious boot against the buttocks that sent Olly sprawling.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been leaning against the wall outside the door where he could both watch and listen. Nor waded in uninvited. But he’d swung the odds in Tess’s favour.
Pete tapped the page. ‘How about a BMW Isetta?’
‘No, no more bubble cars. Little bastards.’
‘Low mileage, though.’
Ratty grunted. ‘You wouldn’t think people would be so proud of not going far.’ He settled back comfortably into his chair. The beer had taken over where the wine had left off.
‘What was Jos doing?’ Pete ran his finger down a column of photos of vehicles for sale.
‘Sitting on the wall, looking pugnacious. Until Olly took off and Tess began to sob, then he decided he had a headache and left.’
‘And you kissed Tess better?’
Ratty stopped twisting to read the magazine, tipping his head back to relax his neck. ‘She wasn’t interested in sympathy. Well, not after the first five seconds of crying all over my shirt. Look.’ He picked at a rusty smear where blood from the corner of her mouth had mixed with her tears. ‘Christ, did she suddenly get enraged, ungrateful woman. Bastard Olly, bastard men, bastard this, that. Then it’s “Just leave me, Ratty! Go away!” – she’s always telling me to go away. So here I am, an unsung hero.’ He wondered about another beer. But had to get up early in the morning to see the remains of an E-Type Jaguar in North Devon he hoped to get for silly money. Probably better not. ‘Coffee?’
‘Sure.’ Pete tossed the magazine on a pile and wandered towards the kettle.
Ratty sent after him, ‘D’you think she knew how she looked today in those cut-off denims and the white vest?’
The chuckle from the kitchen told him that Pete had certainly noticed.
‘She should wear her hair loose like that always. And her shirts that tight.’
‘Why don’t you just go for it – here, not much milk left, sorry, better keep enough for the kids or I’ll get scalped – is it that impossible to ask her out?’
‘Mmmm.’ Ratty blew his coffee. ‘I think she’d refuse. Her feminine instincts would alert her, y’know, “It’s a man! It’s a man! Remember, men hurt!” I’m still thinking, if I’m around for her, it’ll kind of just ... happen.’
‘You must be dynamite in bed, Rats, if you think it’ll happen without her realising! Oh hiya, Toby-boy, can’t you sleep?’
‘Daddy,’ Toby droned drearily, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand and scratching his pyjama’d tummy with the other. ‘Daddy, I sicked again. Watty, I sicked in bed.’
‘There’s something gross on his cheek,’ Ratty pointed out.
‘I see it.’ Pete sighed, abandoning his coffee and reaching out gingerly to his little boy. ‘And there’s another on his neck.’
Chapter Ten
‘Looks like bloody chickenpox.’ Pete’s apologetic voice, from the phone. ‘Fat blisters and a temperature. He’s crying for his mum, so ...’
Tess’s voice was still quivering with fury. She had to concentrate to speak to Pete civilly. ‘Of course, I’ll tell her.’
Angel excused herself helplessly. ‘I’ll have to go, Tess.’
‘’Course!’
‘I feel dreadful leaving you, after Olly ...’
Tess shook her head, hiding her face behind a sheet of hair. ‘Don’t fret, I’m all over it now! Early night, double whisky, I’ll be cured.’
Late into her early night, she lay wide-eyed and naked beneath a single sheet. Olly. He remained dazzling; did she still want him? Or might she have, if he hadn’t slapped her? What if he’d brought roses, smiled his sexiest, asked to begin again, tried to kiss, instead of hurt her? It might’ve been nice to find out.
The ringing of the bedside phone jumped her out of her preoccupation. ‘Fancy a trip to the seaside?’ Ratty demanded, without preamble. ‘I’m seeing an E-Type in Devon tomorrow, and if Pete comes now Toby’s sick, it’ll leave Angel with her hands full.’
Propped on her elbow in the dark, she thrust back her hair and deliberated. Wasn’t she busy, chewing over the scene with Olly, beating herself up over the way trouble had come courting? Didn’t she have wallowing and dissecting to do?
‘Tess?’
Did she want to be cooped up in a car with the witness to her humiliation, for a long day because Devon was a hell of a way?
Maybe she’d better leave Middledip so Olly couldn’t find her again, so she didn’t have to face people who were now aware that Olly thought she was supposed to put up with slaps. Olly-rage blossomed fresh in her chest. And, if she went, this time she wouldn’t even tell James where she was going.
Or should she stay in spite of Olly? Or maybe he wouldn’t always behave so hideously ...?
‘Tess!’
No, she didn’t think she wanted to visit the seaside. ‘Take Jos.’
Ratty slid into impatience, anything to do with his business paramount, to his mind. ‘Yes, obviously, except he’s got it too!’
Tess let herself be diverted. ‘Really? Poor old Jos, chickenpox at his age won’t be funny.’
‘Poor, poor old Jos, poor Toby, I’m dead sorry for them. But I’ve made arrangements to see this car tomorrow!’
‘Can’t you go alone?’
He made a considering noise. ‘It always goes better with two to work the vendor. Someone to be dubious, baulk at the price, hate the colour. Anyway, I might need a co-driver, it’s a long way and I could do with this favour, Tess.’
And I owe you one, she supplied silently. Although I didn’t invite you into my quarrel and as well as worrying about after the ball, and you helping deal with my bleeding, I’m cringing that you saw me get a slapping. And if something did happen after the ball, why don’t you say?
Maybe leaving would be best, away, far away from everyone. Up a mountain, behind a large gate, with a moat, and big, toothy dogs.
‘Please?’
‘Oh ... all right!’ She’d tired of the argument before it’d really begun. One day; one day couldn’t be that bad.
‘Great, thanks! Early start, I’ll be there at five. And, by the way, bring a toothbrush and change of knickers in case we have to stay over.’ And he’d gone.
‘Be there at five’? ‘In case we need to stay over’? She slammed the phone back into the rest so hard that it jumped out again. ‘Bloody Ratty! He tucked that in at the end, didn’t he? Sodding arrogant self-absorbed shitty men!’
Tess, asleep when Ratty banged the door with an impatient fist, stumbled down the twisted staircase.
He strode in through the patched-up door. ‘Forget to set your alarm?’
She pulled her towelling robe tighter and trudged back up the staircase. ‘Went back to sleep.’ After lying awake for hours.
He called after her, ‘Sugar in your coffee?’ Minutes later he opened her bedroom door, making her leap for a shirt and, with head averted, thrust the coffee mug into the room. ‘Here.’
She snatched the mug, refusing to thank him. What the hell did he think he was doing, barging in like that? And not even trying to sneak a look.
‘Five minutes,’ he suggested briskly.
Despite her aggravation, she’d taken
his advice and packed a few things the night before; so by pouring most of the coffee away she was ready in time, dropping breathlessly into the kitchen clutching her hairbrush.
‘Great.’ He walked out to the van that was waiting with the trailer hooked up behind it, leaving her to lock up and scramble after him, scolding herself for letting him rush her. Why commit herself at all to this tedious trip to see a tiresome old car?
The van began to move even as she felt for the seat belt. ‘Here we go,’ he said, trundling into Main Road. It was the last he spoke for some time. Smoothly he took them through Bettsbrough to the dual carriageway and onto the M6.
Gazing away from him, she brushed her hair slowly until it streamed, bright in the morning sun, over her right shoulder. Damn, she’d forgotten a band for it. No, nothing in her bag, nor her pockets, her hair would just have to remain loose and probably be a sodding nuisance. One of these days she’d just get Angel to chop the whole messy mop off. She smiled to herself. Unlikely ...
How nice it was this early morning to be able to see over the hedges from an empty road, the early sunshine making pink and apricot beauty of even the rawness of the new housing estate they passed. She wondered dreamily about those houses. At just after six, would the occupants of those roofed boxes be awake? Did they like it that their house replicated the one next door in its brand-newness, its immature garden?
She considered, in contrast, the satisfying age of everything at Honeybun, the wild little garden of pot marigolds, holly and birch, the conifers that she didn’t snip into shape because her father always clipped his so formally, too tight for her taste ...
Then they were swinging off the M6 and into a service station, the radio told her it was 7.30 and she realised she must have dozed off over her thoughts. Surreptitiously, she checked her T-shirt for dribble.
‘Breakfast!’ Ratty slid out of the cab and stretched.
The restaurant perched on the bridge over the motorway. Ratty ate silently. Tess finished first, fidgeting and gazing through the window at the traffic disappearing in three lines either way beneath them. Why had she let herself be persuaded – no, ordered – to come? Why did she wait cooperatively for what was coming next? Perhaps Ratty would even deign to begin a conversation soon and no doubt she’d respond to his new mood and they’d be friendly again.
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