‘Why? He’s only speaking the truth. And what’s more, I think it’s very commendable of you that you should look for someone refined. I do indeed. What do you say, Mrs Vidler?’
‘Oh…Oh, Sir Charles, I…I agree with you. I think every man should marry, especially if there’s a child in the case, and he’s aiming, as he says, for more refinement in his life.’ And when she turned and bestowed on Davey a beautiful smile, Fiona looked up the table at Bill and he looked down at her, and they yelled from the one to the other: No! No! No. She’s surely having him on. But no; Fiona could read her mother only too well: Davey Love’s reformation would be a crusade. And under the patronage of Sir Charles! Well, what was good enough for the gentry would indeed be good enough for her.
She could see Bill was beginning to laugh: his body was shaking; she knew the symptoms, soon it would explode into a bellow. And in this, he was helped when Sir Charles, once again leaning forward and his mouth full of cake and grinning mischievously, said to Sammy, ‘What will your father really do to you when you get home tonight?’ And Sammy replied with an equally mischievous grin and in no small voice, ‘Threaten to knock bloody hell out of me. But I don’t give a tinker’s cuss ’cos it’s just his mouth workin’.’
A tablecloth had been stained with tea at Willie’s birthday party, but now Fiona looked at the chaos that was breaking out up and down the table, then at Rupert who, thumping his employer on the back, called to her, ‘How long has he been at that private school?’ And Sammy, as though just becoming aware that he was an actor and could make people spill their tea, laughed himself as he shouted, ‘Three weeks!’
Epilogue
The party was over. The visitors had taken their leave. The children were in bed. Nell and Bert were doing the last tidying up in the kitchen, and Bill and Fiona were really alone for the first time since his return home.
They were sitting on the couch, his arm about her, and neither had spoken for some minutes when she said, ‘Tired?’
‘Yes; I suppose I am; it’s been a day and a half. As long as I live I’ll never forget that tea. I’ve never seen so much havoc at a table.’
Fiona did not enlarge on this but said, ‘You’ve had presents from everyone but me. Do you know that?’
‘No, Mrs B. Anyway, I’ve never given it a thought. You’re my present. By! Aye.’
When he kissed her, she gently pressed him away and, looking into his face, she said, ‘I’ve got a present for you.’
‘You have? Well then, let’s have it.’
She took his hand and brought it to her stomach, saying, ‘It’s in there.’
His ruddy colour had somewhat dimmed during the weeks in hospital; even so, his complexion was still somewhat high; but now, to her consternation, she saw the colour disappear from around his mouth when twice he opened it without emitting a sound.
‘Bill, aren’t you pleased?…Bill!’
‘When?…How long?’
‘Oh.’ She wagged her head. ‘Two and a half months, a bit over. I didn’t tell you in hospital because I thought it best not to excite you. But I needn’t have troubled myself.’
‘Oh Fiona!’ He closed his eyes.
‘What is it, Bill? What is it? Tell me.’
She was asking him to tell her. Tell her what was happening inside of him? How could he when he couldn’t explain this feeling to himself? He only knew that all his life, yes all his life…the part that mattered, he had longed for a child of his own. He was Dad to four children, but they weren’t his, he merely played at being a father. But now she was telling him he had put a child into her, his child, his own.
He heard the door open and Nell say, ‘Well, we are now all shipshape and Bristol fashion,’ then her voice quite near, saying, ‘What’s the matter? Has it been too much for him?’ And Fiona answering, ‘Yes, something like that. I’ve just told him I’m pregnant and he’s going to have a baby, and he mustn’t like the idea of carrying it.’
The room was filled with gusts of laughter from Bert, Nell and Fiona.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the three laughing faces, then slowly held out his hand towards Fiona. But all he said was her name and that was softly.
It wasn’t a bit Bill-like but it expressed something that went beyond his usual bawl.
The End
Bill Bailey's Lot Page 26
