by Jenny Oliver
And she hated that. And, however irrational, part of her blamed Wilf.
‘Right, so when are we going to stop?’ Wilf opened his eyes and sat forward, scraping his hair back with both hands and rubbing his mouth before looking in Holly’s direction, ‘You must be knackered.’ Then he grinned, ‘And I have to eat.’
Chapter Eight
They pulled off the autoroute just after a toll booth and into a service station. The area was thick with trees, pine cones littered the Tarmac and sparrows hopped around in dust baths.
Wilf went to get the food while Holly picked a table. She chose one under a monkey puzzle tree. In front of her, a group of lorry drivers had set up folding chairs around a radio and were smoking and drinking coffee as the sun set. When she sat down she rested her head on her folded arms, closing her eyes for just a second.
When she opened them, she saw one of the lorry drivers walking her way. Buff and tanned and wearing a singlet and jeans, he raised his mug in her direction with a smile and a wink and called something in French that she didn’t understand. She smiled and he carried on strolling over. He’d just reached her picnic table, had his arms braced on the wood, was saying something that sounded smooth and flirty but that she couldn’t understand, when Wilf appeared ‒ a tray laden down with food and a huge fluffy Mickey Mouse under his arm.
The singlet guy glanced at the cuddly toy with a smirk then, tipping his head at Holly, his expression saying it was a shame she wasn’t single, raising a hand in apology to Wilf, he took a step back and turned to re-join his mates by the lorries.
Wilf watched him retreat with narrowed eyes. ‘Am I cramping your style?’ he asked as he slid the tray of food onto the table.
Holly ignored him and studied the food. There were two steaming bowls of glossy, rich boeuf bourguignon, a salad of grated carrot, radishes, big plump tomatoes and lettuce with a little white jug of vinaigrette, and then bowls of tarte tatin and cream. He’d also bought himself a toothbrush, toothpaste and a bar of soap which was in a plastic bag on the edge of the tray. Wilf sat down opposite her, still giving cursory glances at the lorry drivers, who looked languidly super-cool with their rolled-up cigarettes, tiny espresso cups of coffee, big muscles, golden tans and tattoos.
‘I got that for the baby,’ he said, indicating the huge Mickey Mouse, a gesture that, from the tone of his voice, he clearly felt had been ruined by the lorry driver’s smirk.
‘It’s very nice,’ she said.
He nodded.
Holly took a bite of the beef stew and almost sighed with relief. It was like a hug in a bowl, warm and rich and melt in the mouth.
Wilf was still slightly preoccupied with the lorry drivers. Between mouthfuls and glances in their direction he said, ‘When do we find out if it’s a boy or a girl?’
Holly was buttering a bit of bread and paused, ‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘Oh.’ He nodded again.
Holly carried on buttering.
The sound from the lorry drivers’ tinny French radio filled the silence between them.
‘Why do you keep looking at them?’ Holly asked.
‘I don’t know. It feels really weird that you might be flirting with other people, you know, when you’re pregnant.’
‘Are you serious?’ she asked, pausing and putting the roll down that she was buttering.
‘I know. It’s awful. Don’t be mad with me. I just had to say it.’
‘So I take it you won’t be flirting with anyone?’
He looked momentarily unsure.
She snorted a laugh. ‘You’d have to change your image completely! What would they write about you in the papers?’
‘It’s just spin.’
‘Oh right.’ Holly raised a brow. ‘So when you have a different girl on your arm in every different picture of some party or other, that’s all just a front, is it?’
His lip curled up a touch before he replied, ‘I didn’t know you kept such tabs on me.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s hard not to. You clearly have very good PR.’
‘Ha!’ Wilf laughed. ‘I can hardly help my popularity!’
He reached forward and jabbed a bit of salad with his fork. ‘Seriously though, most of it’s just marketing. I have to be places because that’s where our clients are. And it’s good for business. I mean, I can’t help it if the ladies want to be photographed with me,’ he said with a cheeky grin.
Holly watched him as he forked the rest of the stew into his mouth and then moved onto the tarte tatin. There was no denying how good-looking he was. It was almost off-putting. Cheekbones you could ski down, hair too long for most people but he somehow carried it off, tanned and healthy-looking - like he made enough money to spend a lot of time playing polo. His nose was long and straight and eyes twinkled like someone had just said something funny. The baby would be lucky if they inherited his genes. They were exactly the type of good looks that had made him the perfect one-night stand. Charming, witty, cool, self-assured, cocky. Everything that Holly usually avoided. All the traits that she had watched her mum be seduced by. But then with Wilf there was always that knowledge of him as a teenager. Massively driven, determined to succeed. She knew he’d had to live with the string of husbands his mum had had, the new step-sisters and brothers, the good and the bad. That his mum had lived off money that those men had earned. And that that dependence had infuriated him. She remembered the planning that had gone into the Cherry Pie festival. Him and Emily and Jack all working out the logistics. She remembered watching with admiration this cool young eighteen year old who was going to make it on his own.
And he’d succeeded. He was part of the founding group who owned restaurants such as Gosfords in Sloane Square. The Petite Kitchen just off Regent Street. The Octopus Diner in the City, the New York Deli in Shoreditch. Everyone had heard of them. They were the kind of places that people were queuing up for as soon as they opened. On-trend and serving guaranteed good food. She remembered her mum taking her to Gosfords for her eighteenth birthday. The decor was American diner meets the Orient Express, with cosy chocolate leather booth seats and gold luggage racks, a shiny floor of multi-coloured chequerboard tiles and big glinting chandeliers suspended from the vast ceiling arches. The taste of the eggs Benedict there was better than any photograph of happier family times.
The night Holly had slept with Wilf was like the night he’d kissed her at the festival. There had been no moment when she’d thought he would be the person she would tie herself to for life. As she said, he was too good-looking. He was too lose-able. Too transient. He had heartbreak written across him. But he had this quality. Like an addiction that made being near him thrilling. He was like his sister in that way, his life-blood, his energy was infectious. And in that moment, as he looked at her across the picnic table, all cheeky grin and pleased-with-himself wink, she knew the road ahead was going to be near impossible.
Chapter Nine
As they got back into the van it was dark. Night was edging in around them. Headlights were at full beam and shops and supermarkets all shut up. Holly pulled her scarf around her shoulders and yawned.
‘I think we should try and get to Chaumont,’ Wilf said as he jumped into the driver’s seat. ‘Then we’ll be about halfway.’
Holly made a face, she was ready for bed. ‘But it’s getting dark. Everything’ll be shut.’
‘Nah, we’ll get somewhere. Hotels stay open.’
‘I don’t know, Wilf. I’ve been stuck in France before with nowhere to stay. I think maybe we should pull off sooner.’
Wilf shook his head, ‘I think let’s just get a few more miles done and then stop in a bigger town. Come on, we’re more likely to find somewhere to stay in a big town than one of these tiny ones.’ He glanced at her, eyebrows raised as if assuming compliance. Holly shook her head. ‘Well,’ Wilf went on, ‘I’m driving so I get final say.’
She could see his grin in profile, really pleased with himself.
‘I told yo
u,’ Holly said, pulling down on her rucksack straps, kicking a bit of gravel with her foot, feeling like one of her sulky teenage rowers.
Wilf ran his tongue along his lip. ‘The woman in there said there’s another place up the road. I’ll go, you stay here.’
Holly sighed and sat down on a bench in front of the lavish town hall building. The first hotel they’d asked in had told them there was a conference on in the town and the likelihood of finding a room available was slim. Wilf had thanked her and, once outside, rolled his eyes as if she had no clue what she was talking about.
An hour later, they still had no room. It was really dark, getting cold and even the restaurants had started to stack their tables and drag sandwich boards inside. Wilf had made a joke about sleeping in the van and from the look on Holly’s face, realised it wasn't very funny.
Pretty much alone in the square, bar a couple of people walking their dogs, Holly got her phone out and texted Annie.
Waiting for Wilf to find hotel. Anything interesting happening at home?
Same as always. Builders still taking forever to fix my roof. But they have cut fallen sycamore into stumps for cafe tables (sounds gross but actually v. nice). If you’re bored, talk to the baby. A x
Holly looked down at her tummy and scrunched up her face. ‘OK in there?’ she said. Then she had a bit of a look around. The dog walkers had stopped for a chat while the dogs sniffed around each other. A couple of students ambled past her, kicking a stone along the pavement.
Holly looked back at her bump. ‘We haven’t got anywhere to stay at the moment. But don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I think Daddy’ll find us somewhere. I don’t think he’ll allow himself to be wrong.’ She smiled to herself. ‘He’s very stubborn,’ she said and then, after a second’s pause, carried on, pleased to have found someone to tell all her frustrations. ‘And really full of himself. And he refuses to admit when he’s wrong. And he drives way too fast. And he doesn’t really listen. And…’ She stopped herself, realising that this wasn’t the person to be telling and a loop of the journey so far suddenly spinning through her head: Wilf running to jump into the van, the funny lunch on the ferry, the dinner outside at the service station under the pines, the Mickey Mouse like a mascot on the front seat, and now Wilf trudging all across town to find them a place to stay. She sighed. ‘OK,’ she said to the tiny bump, ‘He’s not that bad. And I think whatever happens you’ll be OK because he’ll be an OK dad.’ She paused, ran her finger in a line from left to right across her T-shirt, then gave her stomach a prod. ‘He’s funnier than I thought,’ she added with another prod.
‘You think I’m funny?’ she heard Wilf say from behind her and she closed her eyes for a second, wondering how long he’d been standing there.
‘No. I was just saying it for the baby.’
Wilf laughed as he climbed over the back of the bench and slid down next to her. ‘I think it’s a bit unfair that you get to talk to it. I think I should talk to it. Play it music. Stuff like that.’ He was looking at Holly very seriously.
‘If you want to talk to it, you are more than welcome,’ Holly said, putting her hands down either side of her on the bench so her tummy was easily accessible.
Wilf made a face. ‘Well it’s kind of embarrassing with you here listening.’
‘There’s not much I can do about that.’
Wilf bit his lip, looked around to check no one could hear him in the square and then leant forward so his lips were level with Holly’s tummy. ‘Hello, baby,’ he said, clearly feeling awkward. ‘Dad here… No, it’s too weird.’
‘Keep going,’ Holly said with a nod.
‘OK.’ Wilf straightened his collar, pushed his hair back. ‘OK. Hi, baby, it’s your dad. Hi. Um. Nice to meet you. I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, but I am going to work on your mum about that.’ He sucked in a breath and glanced up for a sneaky look at Holly, who made a face back at him. Wilf grinned. ‘I’ll play you some music at some point. Good stuff. I’m not convinced about your mum’s taste so far. And I don’t want any of her boyfriends in the future playing you their crap.’
Holly raised her eyebrows and Wilf shrugged.
The idea of meeting someone new felt strangely sad all of a sudden. She thought about waving the kid goodbye on a Saturday morning, as Wilf pulled up in his Porsche or whatever flash car he drove, and them spending the weekend having a cool, crazy time together. She saw herself as single in that image, but maybe she wouldn’t be. Maybe there would be someone by her side as she waved her child off with Wilf. She thought about her mum leaving and the few times she hung out with her and her new boyfriend. How weird it felt, simply because she knew her mum had left her for him. That had made this man better. More important than her. And she hated that. She hated that if she had asked her mum to choose, she would have picked him.
She’d told Enid that once and Enid had replied, ‘Your mother is a fool.’ Which had been strangely reassuring in its simplicity.
Wilf had carried on talking as Holly had been flying ahead, mapping out the future.
‘…so we have a room for the night, but there’s only one room with one bed which I don’t think Mummy will be very happy about but there’s not really anything that Daddy can do about it because some joker insisted that we stop in a town that had a conference on.’
Holly frowned. ‘Where are you going to sleep?’ she asked.
‘Oh come on, Holly. I think we’re old enough to be able to share a bed.’ Wilf sat up and stretched his arms out along the back of the bench.
‘I don’t think so. Look where it got us last time,’ she said and Wilf laughed.
‘I remember it being pretty enjoyable,’ he said and Holly rolled her eyes. Wilf laughed again as he stood up, ‘Come on, I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.’
‘You’d better be,’ she said, and swiped his arm away when he tried to guide her forward with his hand on the small of her back.
They walked side by side through the town, past restaurants that smelt of garlicky moules frites and bars with TV screens in the corner showing the football. Kids sat on stone stoops out the front of their houses and parents were chatting in the street. They turned right up a dark alleyway, walking towards a yellow awning that read: Hotel d’Europe 1*. The door had a scarlet curtain with stained gold fringing and the carpet was all swirly shades of red, brown and orange. When Holly looked at Wilf, he looked back at her a bit guiltily. At the desk inside was a man wearing a stained grey shirt and boxer shorts. Behind him was a curtain and behind that a bed, a TV and a fan and he’d clearly already settled himself in for the night.
He handed Wilf a key with a grunt and went back to the TV.
Holly was so knackered that the prospect of a bed made her ignore the peeling wallpaper, the cracks in the ceiling, the broken glass in the picture frame and what looked like a mousetrap at the side of the stairs.
Their room was on the top floor in the eaves. Wilf had to duck to unlock it.
They both stood on the threshold for a moment longer than necessary, staring in at the teeny-weeny attic room that smelt of mothballs and cabbage soup and the iron-framed bed with prison-blue sheets.
‘There’s no window,’ Holly whispered.
Wilf strode forward as if it was all just dandy. He opened the cupboard and had a peer in, then looked around the rest of the room, confused. ‘There’s no bathroom.’
‘Seriously?’ Holly really needed a pee. ‘Where is it?’
Wilf shrugged and went back out into the corridor and came back a minute later. ‘It’s two floors down,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Holly.’
She pressed her hands into her eyes and shook her head, ‘That’s OK. It’s a room. It has a bed. It’s fine.’ But when she said fine her voice hitched and she knew she wouldn’t make it to the bathroom before she started crying.
‘Oh god, Holly, I’m really sorry.’ Wilf stood awkwardly across the room from her.
‘It’s fine, I promise. I’m just tired.�
�� She held up a hand to show she was OK and then rooted around in her pocket for a tissue.
‘Here, I’ve got one.’ He handed her a crumpled scrap of tissue. ‘It doesn’t look great but I promise it’s clean.’
She sort of laughed through the snot and tears and tiredness.
‘Shit, I’m really sorry. I want to give you a hug but I don’t want you to think I’m trying anything on. Can I give you a hug?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, blowing her nose.
Wilf took a couple of tentative steps forward and Holly stayed where she was, then he put his arms round her, one hand across her shoulders, the other round her waist and held her sort of close but not completely.
She could smell him, the same him that she’d smelt when they were in bed together. Warm and heady, the cotton of his T-shirt soft beneath her cheek. ‘I’m alright now,’ she said, putting her hands on his chest and separating them. ‘I’ll go down to the bathroom.’
‘Do you want me to come with you? You know, not to the bathroom,’ he said. ‘Just, I don’t know, check there’s no one else around?’
‘No honestly, it’s fine. It’s just hormones. I’m being stupid. A big baby. I can go downstairs, I’m fine.’ She could feel her heart beating really fast in her chest as she left the room. She wished he hadn’t hugged her. Wished she hadn’t felt so safe when he had.
In the bathroom she leant over the sink and put her face in a handful of cold water.
What are you doing, Holly?
She looked up at her reflection, dark circles under tired-looking eyes.
Don’t.
Just don’t let this happen.
She splashed cold water on her face again. Was reminded of that same look in her father’s eyes when her mum would appear back. It was hope.
It will end in heartbreak and it sure as hell won’t be his.
