Home Truths (46 page)

‘Matt?’ He doesn't wake. He smells so nice. He feels so good. Fen's arm is around him, it's as if he's sitting on her lap and it's nice to have him there. ‘I'm sorry.’ She thinks about why she is so sorry. ‘I probably gave you leave to doubt my love for you,’ she says. She nustles against his hair. She kisses the back of his neck. ‘Madness,’ she says. ‘I love you.’

Matt continues to pretend to be asleep.

Pip and Zac Holmes

Pip was apprehensive about seeing Zac. It had taken her sisters to make her see that she'd need to broach the subject because her husband didn't realize the enormity of it for her. However, he was running late and she was starting to feel very tired and rather emotional. She had been taken aback by how hard she found it to take her leave of Tom at his mother's house. It had been a lonely drive back up Fitzjohn's Avenue and once she was home how she craved the happy distraction of Tom rambling on about the personal hygiene of his teachers, the vomtasticness of school dinners and the outrage of so much homework. There was nothing to do. No one to talk to. Just an awful lot to think about. Pip was immensely fond of June and she'd loved cradling baby Nathan but just now she deeply resented June the apparently effortless perfection of her family and she loathed herself for feeling this. She was appalled that she should think June had more than her fair share.

Zac's dilemma was whether to wake his wife or let her sleep. He stood and looked at her, curled up on the sofa, the remote control tucked under her chin, her lips parted and slightly
squashed by the conked-out angle in which she'd fallen asleep. She looked young, childlike almost; peaceful. Perhaps he should leave her be. But he knew her theory on jet-lag management and, though she might be temporarily grumpy with him in her grogginess, he reckoned she'd ultimately thank him for waking her. He tried as gently as he could, by tucking her hair behind her ear, by laying his hand on her shoulder and giving it a little shake. Then he whispered her name and gave her buttock a friendly tap. But still she slept. He decided to start cooking but not even wafts of garlic or the clatter of pans roused her. He watched a little television, laying her bare feet in his lap and lightly fiddling with her toes, but she didn't stir. So, with the supper simmering and the wife slumbering, he cranked up his laptop and did a little work.

‘Something's burning!’ are Pip's first words to him.

‘Fuck!’ is his back to her.

The pan is such a mess and Zac looks such a hungry, sorry sight, that Pip can't help but laugh a little.

‘I'm starving!’ he protests. ‘I can't believe I find spreadsheets so fascinating to the exclusion of everything else including my house burning down. I'm a sad fuck,’ he rues. He peers in the pan. ‘A hungry sad fuck.’

‘No, you're not,’ says Pip, about to surprise herself, ‘you're lovely.’

Zac is quite startled by this; he's become quite used to Pip guarding the affectionate, demonstrative side of her nature. ‘Thank you,’ he says, coming back through to the sitting area. ‘You're not too bad yourself.’

They look at each other, waiting to see who will smile first, who will talk next.

Pip does both. ‘We had a mad trip,’ she says, ‘but it was a good thing to do – though it didn't feel as such when we were in the thick of it.’

‘What's she like?’ Zac asks. ‘And would you like me to refer to her as your mother or by her name?’

‘Let's call her Penny,’ Pip says.

‘What's Penny like?’ Zac asks.

‘She's all right,’ Pip says. ‘I sort of wanted her to be evil incarnate, but she's not. She's not actually a
bad
person. I can now allow her that fact.’

‘That's good,’ Zac says, ‘that's closure, I suppose.’

‘Actually, it feels like the opposite,’ Pip says, ‘which is why I still feel so unnerved, I suppose. There's an opening now. I don't know how much contact we'll have. But she really is at the end of the phone or just a plane journey away. I can put a face to her. I will see her again – I don't know when. But there will be a time. And I don't think I mind.’

‘That's very noble,’ Zac says, with genuine admiration that flatters Pip.

‘More importantly, is there any news of Django?’ Pip asks.

‘Not as far as I'm aware,’ Zac says, ‘but we're up there this weekend, aren't we – for Cosima's birthday? Talking of news and birthdays – did you get my text, about the baby?’

‘I did,’ Pip says, ‘thanks.’

‘He's adorable,’ Zac says.

‘I know,’ says Pip, ‘I saw him this afternoon – when I took Tom back.’

‘Oh,’ says Zac, following it with a little awkward nodding.

‘Yes,’ says Pip, busy with her lips, glancing all around her.

‘He's adorable,’ Zac repeats, ‘isn't he?’

‘Absolutely adorable,’ Pip says, ‘and Tom is made up.’

‘Isn't he just,’ says Zac.

Go on, Pip! Go on! The scene is primed for a heart-to-heart. You're calm and Zac seems amenable. Say something!

But Pip is now flipping through the
Evening Standard
and she can't see that Zac is staring at her, hoping to catch her
eye. ‘Nothing on the box,’ she says, having spent an inordinate amount of time scouring the TV listings.

‘And nothing to eat,’ says Zac.

‘What shall we do?’ Pip asks, happy for Zac to suggest a takeaway and a DVD.

‘We could get a takeaway, watch a DVD,’ he says.

‘OK,’ Pip responds.

‘Or,’ Zac says, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and cupping her face in his hands, ‘or we could just go to bed and make a baby.’

Pip's immediate reaction is that it can't possibly be as easy as this. Surely the wrought confrontation she's been planning, dreading, needs to be played-out. There needs to be some level of workshopping, surely, at the very least. Angst. Tears. Proclamations. Soul-baring. Heart-beating. A fight. Should she say, Are you sure? Should she say, You don't really mean it, what's changed your mind? I thought you thought I was joking? But you said your family is complete with Tom? You're just saying this to keep me happy/keep me quiet?

But luckily for Zac, and ultimately for Pip too, she's a bit too zonked by all the travel and the enormity of the last few days to decide which sentence to deliver. So, she just sits and gawps and Zac swells more at this sight than when she sat and gawped at the Tiffany box with the platinum-set princess-cut engagement ring four years ago.

‘Have you gone all broody on me?’ she asks wryly.

‘Yes, I suppose I have,’ Zac nods. ‘I want a baby with you.’

‘No you don't,’ Pip says, trying not to grin, but Zac knows she's teasing him.

‘Yes I bloody do,’ he tells her.

‘Was it hugging little Nathan?’ Pip asks.

‘Oh God, June's been on at you with her tribal fertility theories,’ Zac laughs. ‘To be honest, while you've been away, I just had a long think about it all.’

‘Zac,’ Pip whispers, her hand on his cheek, loving him so much.

‘I wish I'd realized you were serious earlier,’ Zac says. ‘We've missed out on a lot of mating opportunity.’

Cat and Ben York

Cat was watching
ER
when Ben arrived home. She wasn't so much watching it, as staring at the television with a slightly glazed expression.

‘You're still up,’ he remarked. ‘Aren't you knackered?’

‘Is Melatonin safe?’ Cat asked him.

‘Yes – it's just not licensed here,’ Ben told her, ‘though I'd argue it's better for you than Temazapan or Valium. Did you buy some in the States?’

‘Penny gave us Bob's,’ Cat told him.

‘Penny gave you Bob's?’ Ben repeats, raising an eyebrow. ‘Did she give you anything else? Say – an explanation for why she buggered off with the cowboy in the first place?’

‘He wasn't a cowboy,’ Cat said, ‘he was the king of plastic tubing. And she did, actually – she did give an explanation of sorts. She wasn't nearly as scary as I expected. Just sad, really.’

‘Do you mind if we switch this off?’ Ben said, glancing at the television. ‘It's too much like work – but my hospital is not nearly as exciting and my staff are nowhere near as good-looking. I find it a bit depressing.’

Cat laughed. And then bit her lip and tipped her head to
her shoulder which Ben knew to herald a request of some sort.

‘What is it?’ he teased. ‘What do you want? Oh Christ – how much did you put on the credit card?’

‘Nothing,’ Cat protested, ‘it doesn't matter.
Nothing
.’

‘Nothing on the credit card?’ Ben was aghast. ‘
You?
’

Cat nodded. ‘Honestly,’ she told him earnestly, ‘we didn't shop, we didn't have time.’

‘So what were you going to say?’ Ben probed.

Cat thought about it. And then she reckoned that it was such an unexpected and probably daft, impractical and altogether bizarre thought, that she'd be wise to say no more. It was probably just the jet lag speaking anyway. Or Lorna Craven.

‘How are you, babe?’ he asked her. ‘So it was a good trip to make?’

‘Yes, it was,’ she said. ‘I feel a lot more settled. The trip quashed the drama, the mystique. I used to think it was something to fear, to be ashamed of, to run from and yet, I suppose, to be slave to as well. But actually, I had nothing to do with anything. It's just a bit of a sad story, really, but it's a story in which I now realize I actually played no part.’

‘I'm so pleased for you,’ Ben said tenderly.

‘Pip seemed to have the hardest time, but there again, she's always taken on the role as mother so I suppose meeting the real one was a little like coming face to face with her nemesis,’ Cat said thoughtfully. ‘I had a bit of a hissy fit on one day but after that passed I felt a lot more rational. Fen came out with some cracking one-liners – becoming a mother has made her so much more powerful than she gives herself credit for.’

‘Do you think she looks like you?’ Ben asked.

‘I can see Pip in her,’ said Cat, ‘or her in Pip.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, I have Django's eyes, remember. Is there any news, Ben, with his tests?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I'm sure there will be by the weekend, though. We'll all be there together.’

Cat was pensive. ‘Ben. It's just.’ She floundered for words. ‘I don't want to know – if it's bad, the news. I've thought about it. My feelings for Django are so fragile, so new, so promising. I don't want that to be taken away. I've only recently found him. I can't cope with even the thought that I won't have him for ever. It sounds pompous but this trip to the States, it was about my identity. Not just mine – my sisters' too. But I see myself for who I am – a young woman with my life ahead of me. I want to live it to the full. I want happy times to outweigh sad times. Those around me – my mother, my father – there's been such sadness and weird stuff. I sort of feel sorry for Penny, for my mother. The time I spend with Django I want to be happy, quality time. Does that sound naive? Does that sound deluded? I don't want dark clouds looming when I'm with him, I want only sunshine.’

Ben took a moment and then nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said, ‘but you know he wants me to know all the details, the facts and the figures?’ Cat nodded and shrugged. ‘I respect your wishes. And I respect his.’

‘Thank you, Ben,’ she said. ‘It's funny – my family is certainly unconventional. But it's such a relief to finally feel that I don't come from bad stock or from damaged genes.’

‘So if there are no hereditary implications,’ Ben said, ‘are you ready to make babies?’

Cat laughed. ‘Dr York, is that as good as your bedside manner gets?’

‘OK,’ Ben said, ‘OK. But I'm actually serious here. You can't deny male broodiness. It exists. It's medically proven. I should know. I'm the frigging doctor – and a broody one. Would you like to have a baby? With me?’

Cat didn't laugh, but she did smile at her husband. ‘A
family is a very nice idea,’ she announced, which was good news to her as well as to Ben, ‘but can we wait a year or two? I only want to have a family with you – but I'd like a year or two to get my career under way first.’

Ben considered this quietly. ‘I won't tamper with your pill, then, not for the next year or so,’ he said, with a theatrical sigh. She kissed his chin, his lips. ‘Now go to bed,’ he told her. ‘You look absolutely washed out.’

At 3.15 the following morning, the three McCabe sisters are wide awake. When Matt perceives Fen to have finished her declarations, he pretends to wake from a deep sleep and finds her very keen to seal her words with slow and exquisite love-making. Zac and Pip substitute the familiarity of rampant sex for the fascinating business of procreation and fall asleep in each other's arms, sticky but hopeful.

In Clapham, Cat lies in bed, awake, and thinks about sex. Sex, she thinks, is about more than just making babies. It's about happiness. About communication on a higher level than language. It's about love.

It's about lust!

She turns on her side and gazes at her husband sleeping. She feels horny. She touches his lip lightly with her fingertip and he gruffles and turns away from her. The sweep of his beautiful back. Slowly she takes her lips to the gentle slope of his shoulder-blade and presses against it. Then she licks her lips and takes her mouth to his skin again. She runs her hand along his arm, his muscles, his strength. She finds his hand, his fingers are sleep soft but she feels along the length of each one. She takes her hand back up to his chest, strokes him and hovers her hand lightly over the little smattering of hair he has there. Carefully, she feels down his stomach. Then along his thigh, as low as she can reach. Does she want him to wake? She's not sure. She's enjoying having him all to
herself. She kisses his neck and flicks her tongue over the soft bud of his ear lobe. She feels his arm again, his chest. Down to his stomach. His fingers – still limp. And she takes her hand down lower. And finds his cock straining and erect.
Fascinating
, she thinks to herself,
it has a life of its own. Women often chide a man for thinking with his cock – but I rather think a man's cock thinks for him
.

She encircles his penis and tugs it gently. Still Ben sleeps soundly. She goes beneath the covers and very carefully takes the entire length of him in her mouth. She doesn't know whether to feel a little insulted that not even a surprise blow-job can rouse him. Though he is certainly aroused. She comes back up and spoons against him, her hand loosely around his erection. She lies there, in the stillness and the silence, loving him.