Good Husband Material (36 page)

At the moment, all I really want is a quiet life at Nutthill, painting, writing songs, and watching out for Tish, because God knows, her stupid husband isn’t.

At least she’s stopped looking at me as if I’m the Devil incarnate – though that might change if she sees some of the snaps in
this
little family album!

The puppies do look odd! What on earth was the father? They’re all blind and deaf, with big tummies and heads, and little legs. I hope they’re supposed to be like that.

Bob was so desperate to see them, I let him have a quick peep. Bess didn’t mind – she likes him. He was so incoherent you’d think he was the father. I said he could have one if his mum agreed. I expect it would be as happy with Bob as anyone, as long as it got on with the Jack Russells.

At least Bess has got it all over with.

At five months, my tummy is already so tightly stretched that my navel is on the surface instead of sunk in, and the skin itches. I feel mildly uncomfortable all the time, too, and since it’s turned freezing now we’re into December and I can’t fasten any of my coats, I’ve had to buy a loose, warm jacket.

I simply must have some intensive driving lessons before I’m too big to fit behind the wheel.

Nerissa called in again. It’s hard to slam the door in her face when she acts as if she knows I’m her friend, but I think she came just to tell me that Fergal had gone to London.

‘I thought he might have told you when he had to give you a lift the other day. He’s such a softie at heart, just can’t bear to see you struggling with shopping in your condition.’ Her big brown eyes lifted to my face. ‘Poor you, not being able to drive when you’re pregnant – and alone! Well, I think he’s gone to buy me a ring, because he was so secretive. He didn’t mention it, I suppose?’

I cringed at the thought of Fergal telling Nerissa he’d had to give his poor old pregnant ex-girlfriend a lift home …

‘An engagement ring?’ I tried not to sound surprised – how do I know the idea of marriage hasn’t grown on him? ‘No, he didn’t mention it – but we hardly spoke.’

‘Say, that’s a nice ring
you’re
wearing!’ she said suddenly, gazing at my sapphire heart. ‘Is it antique?’

‘This old thing?’ I said casually. ‘Yes.’ And with an effort of will I restrained myself from adding, ‘And Fergal gave it to me!’

I wish Nerissa wouldn’t keep appearing like this – she makes me feel huge, pathetic and old. And a nuisance … When Fergal’s housekeeper did phone to ask if I wanted any shopping, sounding cross, I thanked her and said I’d made other arrangements. I’ll find a way to manage – other women do.

Just after lunch today I was standing at the window idly eating a tangerine, when a big, dark car pulled up at my gate. It was hard to make out through the curtain of sleety rain, but the driver seemed to have got out in order to help his passenger alight.

A small, dark and solid figure advanced up the path under a large striped umbrella and I hastily disposed of the tangerine and wiped my hands. Whoever it was, they were coming here.

The visitor rang twice and knocked with the letter flap for good measure, before I got the door unlocked to discover, with amazement, a familiar, crumpled red face framed in a black sou’wester.

‘What on earth …? Granny! Where – is Mother here, too?’

‘Not flaming likely!’ She pushed past me like a small wet seal, and jammed her dripping umbrella in the corner. ‘I’ve given her the slip. Permanently. Shut the door – all the warm air’s going out.’

Then she prodded me in the stomach, none too gently. ‘What’s all this?’

‘I’m pregnant, Granny.’

‘Nothing good ever came of it.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

That seemed to be the end of the subject as far as Granny was concerned, for she moved off purposefully towards the kitchen.

‘Thought as much!’ she announced, flinging back the door with a crash that made me wince, and Bess in her corner whimper.

‘I’ll make you some tea, Granny. You’ll like that better than coffee, won’t you?’

‘I don’t like coffee – it makes me Go.’ She examined the kitchen, poking in all the cupboards she could reach, and opening up the front of the Aga. ‘Good stove – you should use it.’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Find out.’

I made the tea in the bright red pot and put out the sugar bowl. Despite being diabetic, she’d insist on having some in her tea if I didn’t put it out, whereas if it was very much in evidence she probably wouldn’t.

Meanwhile, she concluded her tour with a scathing inspection of Bess, cowering over her brood, and was now removing her mack and peculiar plastic overshoes – transparent with little dots of glittering gold embedded in them. The heels were the same archaic shape as the shoes inside them, which were Ladies’ Extra Broad Kid, size 3.

‘I love your overshoes, Granny.’

‘Bought six pairs in Thompson’s closing-down sale. No – leave that tea. It’ll be weak as cat’s pee yet.’

‘Does Mother know where you are? How did you get here?’

‘Does yer mother know yer out?’ she parodied, and cackled. ‘I came by car. Hired it. I’ve left a note for Valerie …’ she mused, stirring the contents of the teapot with a spoon. ‘I’ll have to sell the house with her as a sitting tenant, and I won’t get half as much for it.’

‘Sell the house?’ I had a sudden, horrible suspicion that Mother was right after all about Granny’s sanity. ‘But you can’t do that, Granny! Where would you live? Do you need the money urgently?’

‘Don’t be silly, dear.’ She poured herself a cup of black, treacly liquid. Her hand hovered over the sugar, then passed on to the milk. She added gallons, but it didn’t make the brew noticeably paler.

‘I’ve had enough of your mother. She doesn’t want me, and I don’t want her – you should understand that! What I want and deserve is a bit of peace and pleasure in my old age, and that’s what I’m going to have. I’ve bought a cottage in Devon, and I’m off there now.’

‘But, Granny! You can’t be serious. How could you live alone? What about your injections and everything?’

‘Won’t be alone!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Rose Durwin – the district nurse – is coming with me.’

‘Mrs Durwin? To live with you?’

‘That’s right. She’s a widow too, and she wanted to retire early. We get on well – always have. Her daughter lives in Devon, that’s why we chose it. We’ve been planning this for weeks.’

‘Oh?’

Suddenly I thought: why not?

‘It all sounds perfect, Granny! And I know you’ve always enjoyed Mrs Durwin’s company.’

‘Got a sense of humour, and likes cooking and gardening. We’ll each have our own sitting rooms, so we won’t get on top of each other.’

‘But it must have cost a lot of money.’

‘I’ve sold most of my jewellery – not that I was strapped for cash, mind, but it might as well be doing me some good as sitting in a safe deposit box. It’ll see me out in style.’

She took a gulp of tea. ‘It was a mistake trying to live with Valerie. Blood may be thicker than water, but hers is pure sherry and that doesn’t count. I’m off.’

She refilled her mug. ‘But I always liked you – finicky child, but turned out not too badly, considering.’

‘Thank you, Granny!’

‘Not that I hold with it, mind.’

‘Hold with what?’

‘Don’t hold with it – but maybe they didn’t, and anyway, what’s done is done. And I always liked you, as I said, so I just thought I’d pop in on my way to Devon and give you a little something.’

She fished in an enormous black bag and handed me a crumpled handkerchief. A tangle of jewellery fell out.

‘I saved one or two bits I thought you’d like. Nothing very valuable, but not trumpery stuff, either.’

‘Oh, Granny! I – I don’t know what to say!’ There was a lovely little bracelet of linked cameos, some glittering diamond earrings and a flat gold brooch that proclaimed: ‘
MIZPAH
’.

‘Don’t say anything, then. I can see you like them; that’s enough. You can have this –’ she jangled the bracelet she always wore – ‘after I’m gone. Bernard gave me the three little Fabergé eggs on it.’

Her eyes went misty for a minute, then with a sigh she came back to reality and began heaving herself to her feet. ‘I’d best be off. Rose and the driver have been waiting long enough.’

‘Granny, what if Mother just follows you down there? She loves Devon.’

She gave her familiar cackle. ‘She’d never live in the same house as Rose – they don’t get on!’

‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘But what will she do?’

‘If she plays her cards right, that fool of a doctor might marry her.’

My heart lightened. ‘Oh, do you really think so?’

‘She’ll do the “brave little woman struggling to survive with the house being sold over her head” routine to perfection – that should fetch him.’

‘Granny, you are clever!’

She reclad herself in crackling black. ‘Still got enough brain cells to see me out,’ she conceded modestly. ‘But if it doesn’t work out, I’ve put enough aside to set Valerie up in a little flat. And you can come down and visit me for a weekend when I’m settled.’

On the doorstep she opened her huge umbrella and gave me a brisk peck on the cheek. ‘If Valerie phones, you don’t know where I am. I’ll send her the address when she’s stopped foaming at the mouth.’

‘All right.’

She prepared to move off. ‘Mother!’ she snorted suddenly. ‘Hah!’

‘Granny, you keep hinting things about Mother! Do you really think there’s something strange about—’

But she was already vanishing into the misty rain and only odd words carried back: ‘… talk again soon … visit … bye, dear …’

She’d done it again! Planted more vague doubts in my mind and then toddled off before I could attempt to pin her down.

‘Granny, come back!’ I yelled, struggling into my wellies. But by the time I’d run down the path the big car was pulling away. She waved to me regally.

I trudged damply back in, wondering if it was one of her odd jokes, after all. But no, her sense of humour isn’t that obscure.

The rain trickled down my back and the Incubus leaped like a fish in my womb. The phone rang.

Mother?

‘I’ll need only half a dozen eggs a fortnight now,’ I told Mrs Peach on the Monday.

‘Eggs is nourishing!’ she stated disapprovingly.

I told her that they were only good for you in small quantities, because of cholesterol, but she said she’d never heard of it, and wouldn’t feed it to her hens if she had, and anyway, eggs had never done her any harm.

However, with her lopsided face she’s hardly a glowing advertisement.

She added that I ought to eat a rabbit or two a week to build me up, but I brilliantly announced that I’d suddenly gone off all meat and felt queasy just at the thought of it.

Then she stumped past me into the living room without a by-your-leave.

‘Bloody hell!’ shouted Toby delightedly, abandoning a half-eaten monkey nut. ‘Bloody hell!’

‘Cunning old bird!’ crooned Mrs P. ‘Who’s glad to see old Mrs Peach then?’

The phone rang, so I had to leave them to their lovers’ tryst.

It was Mother again, and my heart plummeted into my turquoise suede loafers. I’m desperately afraid she’ll try to plant herself on me permanently now Granny’s gone, though at least when I hear her prim and proper voice on the phone, I realise that some of my worst imaginings about Granny’s hints are unfounded. There’s something she’s concealing about my birth, but I can’t believe it’s anything major.

‘Are you still there, Leticia?’ she demanded peevishly. ‘I’ve had a letter from Granny, and she’s quite safe, but completely mad! Do you know what she’s done?’

Mrs P. stumped silently past me at this point and let herself out. This is quite usual – I’m thinking of charging for parrot-viewing. But I missed most of Mother’s diatribe.

Mother’s anger had further been exacerbated by a communication from Mr Herries, informing her that the house is to be sold over her head.

I held the phone a little way away, feeling the baby turn and kick, and thinking how odd it is to look down and see your abdomen jumping about of its own volition.

The phone was still quacking. I looked at it, then laid it gently down in its rest, and when it rang again a few moments later, I ignored it.

It rang for ages.

I’m just too tired to be bothered at the moment … I could sleep twenty hours out of every twenty-four, if I didn’t urgently need to write quickly.

Mrs Deakin is a fund of knowledge about pregnancy and childbirth, but I wish so many of her stories were not so awful. Surely giving birth can’t have that many complications? Most of the stories end with absolutely blood-chilling phrases like, ‘… and there was so much blood the nurses were wading about in white wellies’. Or even, ‘… forceps the size of a horsedoctor’s!’

I’d like to have a natural childbirth, but under general anaesthetic.

Bess is not a very good mother and there’s a definite smell hanging round in that corner of the kitchen. I’m dying to do it all out with disinfectant, but I must control myself until the puppies are bigger. They’re really rather sweet …

I’ve had to start buying a daily paper again, just to put on the floor round the Aga (whichever publication is thickest).

Bess considers James to be a potential puppy-napper and growls whenever he walks round to the Shack. Her fur stands on end and all the puppies whimper.

Still no address from Granny.

Fergal: December 1999

    
‘This week I’d like all my parishioners to reflect on the text: Let him who is without sin cast the first stone …’

Nutthill Parish Magazine

Thanks, Vicar, I need a champion.

Mrs D. has given me some idea of the kind of rumours running like wildfire through the village since I was seen coming out of Tish’s cottage … not to mention James being seen on the same day with a bruised face.

Nerissa called just to tell me, ‘How absolutely ludicrous, Fergal honey, that anyone should think you’ve got a thing going with your poor old pregnant girlfriend, when all you’re doing is being sorry for her!’

Yeah, right.