Summer at Gaglow (16 page)

I didn’t suffer over my work like Mike, sitting up all night with scripts, locking himself away, and shaking with pure terror when he went out on stage. It made me nervous certainly, but I was too easily distracted, sidetracked by the people in my life.

‘Dad?’ I asked. ‘Have you heard anything else about that theatre?’ But he only shook his head, mixing up more paint and frowning as he laid it on.

I’d told my agent I’d be up for work again when Sonny was three months old. Kate said she’d mind him if I got an audition, but I hadn’t taken account then of his ravenous desire for milk. ‘You should try a bottle,’ Kate said, ‘so I can feed him when you go out.’ But the thought of brand names, teat sizes and twenty minutes’ sterilizing sent fear into my heart. ‘I don’t have time to make a bottle,’ I told her, ‘I’m too busy breastfeeding,’ and anyway my agent never rang.

Pam’s agent, a sun-tanned, glinting head of a conglomerate, was making business calls from her hospital trolley as they wheeled her back up to her room. ‘But did she have a Caesarean?’ I asked, refusing to be impressed, and Pam laughed.

‘You think Camilla Heston was going to waste days of her life in labour? She booked in three weeks early to coincide with Christmas and was back at work straight after New Year.’

‘That’s disgusting.’ I felt relieved that my own agent, a timid, balding man of fifty-two, was most unlikely even to know about such things.

‘That’s wonderful news, darling,’ he said, when I told him I was pregnant, and apart from a large and inappropriate card of animals tearing into flesh, I’d heard nothing from him since.

‘Dad,’ I tried again, as he clattered round the kitchen, ‘what’s happened about this theatre?’

He had to think for some time to know what I was talking about. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said at last. ‘Your theatre.’ A pan jumped twice as it hit the floor. ‘I’m afraid we were slightly mis-led over the theatre.’ He explained that it was, in fact, a grain warehouse that had been used by a nearby theatre to store their props. ‘The warehouses will be sold on together as a lot,’ he said. ‘They’re not even worth much, according to Johann.’

‘Have you heard from him again, then, your cousin?’

But the subject was putting him into a bad mood. ‘Oh, endless, ridiculous complications.’ He turned a flame up high. ‘I’ve said I want nothing more to do with any of it.’

I felt a sudden, irrational slump of gloom. It’s Sonny’s inheritance as well, I found myself thinking, and I shook my head, knowing it was easier not to think about such things, to expect nothing and then only be surprised.

My father passed me a plate of quail eggs, tipping a mound of celery salt onto the side. ‘Thanks.’ I cracked the dappled shells, peeling them away with the fingers of one hand. It was true he’d never shown much interest in money. His pictures he sold to his friends, who often sold them on for more, and any spare money he collected he used to lure his models with sumptuous food. He paid us by the hour, and when and if the painting sold, he always gave over a small sum.

‘Will you let me know if you need anything?’ he said that evening, tweaking Sonny’s nose, and it made me think of Mike and how he’d mumbled the same message into my machine.

It was a beautiful blue day, spring blazing into summer with blossom giving way to fat green leaves. I walked between Kate and Natasha, the long way round to buy ice cream.

‘Have either of you seen Dad?’ I asked, as we walked up towards the Heath. ‘I mean, have you heard the news about Gaglow?’

‘No.’ Natasha laughed. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s a country house. The house where our grandmother and her sisters were brought up.’

They both looked at me, alarmed. ‘How do you know these things?’ Kate frowned, and Natasha burst out, ‘I thought they were brought up in Berlin.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, they were, but they had this place as well.’ I stopped, responsible suddenly for the glories of the past. ‘Dad says they may have got it gambling. His grandfather may have won it in some kind of bet, or else it was given to him instead of payment.’ I remembered the warehouse full of props. ‘Money owed for grain, I think.’

‘Gambling sounds more fun.’ Natasha crunched the end of her cornet, and we all agreed it did.

‘Dad used to go there apparently when he was a boy, and once the village children came up to sing for him when he was ill.’

‘I just hope it wasn’t contagious, whatever he had.’ Kate laughed, and Natasha muttered, ‘Can you imagine, ghastly German songs?’

I stopped to catch my breath. Ghastly German songs, I thought, and I looked at Sonny asleep against my chest, his head rolled sideways, his mouth pressed open like a rose, and thought, But he was German then.

‘So what about it? What about the house?’

‘It’s come back,’ I told them. ‘I mean it’s ours. Well, not ours, but it belongs to the descendants of Marianna Belgard. Dad and his cousins.’ And I realized that I was beaming.

‘Marianna who?’ They both looked cross, and I tried to explain to them, my illegitimate family, what I’d pieced together from small scraps.

‘So how many cousins are there?’ Natasha wanted to know. But I wasn’t sure. There was Bina’s eldest son, Johann, and there had been another sister Martha, who’d stayed on too late.

‘Did she have children?’ I looked down at Sonny and I shivered suddenly for how little we’d been told. ‘I think the children survived. And there was Emanuel, their elder brother.’

‘Are you sure? A brother?’

‘Yes, definitely, a sort of black sheep. They never mentioned him apparently.’ And for some reason I kept the secret of his photo to myself.

‘Did the black sheep have any children?’

I didn’t know. ‘He married somebody unsuitable, I think.’

‘He probably did in that case, loads and loads.’

We strode on up the hill.

‘Talking of unsuitable children,’ Natasha said, once we’d stepped onto grass, ‘have you heard anything from Mike?’

We were heading for a large green tree, shrouded from the path by flowering grass and with a view over the lake. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I haven’t.’ But the admission met with such a flurry of abuse that, overwhelmed with guilt, I admitted that he had been calling. ‘I leave my answerphone switched on,’ I said. ‘I’ve told him I don’t want to see him.’ And, exhausted, I slumped down against the tree.

‘Quite right.’

Natasha shook out a blanket, billowing it onto the ground, but Kate looked up, perturbed. ‘That’s so harsh,’ and she crawled across to gaze down at Sonny’s face. ‘You can’t keep them apart, it’s cruel.’ She looked as if she might be going to cry.

‘Kate!’ Natasha glowered. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

But already I was filling with remorse. ‘We managed all right with just a mother,’ I argued, ‘didn’t we?’ But even Natasha agreed it might be different for boys.

‘And anyway,’ Kate smiled, ‘we did see Dad occasionally.’

And it was true that, occasionally, we had.

When I got home I replayed Mike’s most recent message, banked up with the others on the tape. ‘Hello, you two.’ His voice was strained with cheerfulness. ‘Just checking in to see how it’s all going. Give us a ring. I’ve got something to tell you, actually.’ And he repeated his number slowly and deliberately, twice. I made myself a cup of tea and put Sonny in his rocker, singing to him as I worked out what to say. ‘Right.’ And then the phone rang, almost in my hand, splashing hot tea right up my arm. ‘Pam, how are you?’ I shivered with relief, and then for twenty minutes without stopping she told me what a bastard Bradly Teale was turning out to be.

‘But it’s hardly unexpected.’ I felt her sharp intake of breath. ‘I mean . . . Oh, Pam . . . so what will you do now?’ And I listened for another ten minutes as she discarded plans. I glared at Sonny, cooing like a dove, blowing bubbles and for once quite happy to be sitting on his own.

‘Pam,’ I finally interrupted her, ‘I’ve got to go. Sonny’s . . .’ I couldn’t use him as my excuse. ‘Look, I’m leaking down the front of my dress.’ She apologized for going on. ‘No, no, I’m sorry.’ I promised to call her back when I had time.

My ear felt hot and itchy and my fingers ached from clutching at the phone. Right, I thought, looking at Mike’s number, and then Sonny began to howl. ‘You’re all right.’ I stroked his head, brushing his face with kisses, and then without warning his crying rose up into a scream. I scooped him into my arms. ‘What is it?’ But his tongue had curled into the sharp end of a drill, shrilling through me, rattling at my heart. ‘Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh,’ I hushed for both our sakes, and I walked him round the room, up the two steps to the bathroom, down again, round and round the tiny hall. I took him over to the window. I could see people in the street below looking round, squinting into the sun and, worried they’d locate us, accuse me of sticking pins into my baby’s eyes, I pulled down the sash. My hands were trembling. I sat down and stood up, unwrapped his nappy, and attempted to distract him with his beetroot face reflected in the mirror. I turned the cold tap on and off, and then the hot, until all I could think of was to lie down with him and cry against his dark red screaming mouth. For the first time in his life he didn’t want a feed and just as we lay desperate in each other’s arms the doorbell rang.

‘Oh my God.’ We tramped downstairs, half hoping to come across a policeman prepared to take us both away. Sonny’s head bobbed on my shoulder, his screams dipping and rising with each sharp step and as we turned on to the last flight down he burped and his crying lost momentum. I felt his back relax, his stiff arms soften, and just as I stretched out to open the front door he stopped.

‘Hello, there.’ It was Mike. He had on a white T-shirt, broad across his chest, and old trousers from a suit I’d loved. ‘Is it a bad time?’ I looked down at my dress, all stained and splashed, and Sonny, slippery with tears, and I held the door for him to come in. ‘I’ll take him, shall I?’ and he scooped Sonny off my shoulder, transferring him to his own, so that I could see his face, perfectly happy as he bumped back up the three flights of stairs. I went into the bathroom and sprayed water on my face while Mike rocked his boy around the room.

‘So, how’s the work situation?’ It was the one thing I’d planned not to say.

‘All right,’ he said, surprising me. ‘In fact I’ve got a job.’

I dropped two teabags into cups.

‘Starting tomorrow.’

I felt tempted to ask him if he took milk and sugar. ‘How long for?’

‘Six months, it’s a series for television.’ I nodded my congratulations, wondering why life couldn’t have been easy like this last year. We sipped our tea in silence, Sonny propped up against his father’s knee. ‘He’s enormous,’ Mike said, and I looked at Sonny, for the first time at a distance. His hair was turning gold like Mike’s and even his feet were wide and boyish.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I muttered, ‘he’s tiny. He’s a tiny little baby.’ And I got up and went into the kitchen. It was difficult to know quite what to do. My hands felt empty, and my arms hung light and full of air.

Mike leant against the door. ‘You look exhausted.’ He had the concerned look I hated most.

‘Thanks,’ I sneered.

But he shook his head. ‘No, I just meant, seeing as I’m here, why don’t you go and lie down for an hour?’

‘Well, I . . .’ and then, seeing I could only lose by arguing, I walked through to the bedroom and threw myself onto the bed. What if he cries or needs a new nappy? I thought, as I pulled the quilt over my legs. What if Mike runs off with him? And then I remembered it was Mike who didn’t want him. Didn’t want either of us, and I sighed a long sigh of relief and slipped off into sleep.

At first I dreamt about nothing, convinced I was still awake, and then black sheep crept in, nosing along and munching at the grass. They trotted along in a neat long line, their wool dusty, their faces turning white, while their hard hoofs clipped against the cool stone floor. And then I was in the country by the sea, and my grandmother, a young girl dressed in white, was showing me where I could sleep. It was a high bed mounded up with pillows and outside my window in the attic I heard the sheep bleating, the whole flock crying like a cat. I woke up and realized it was Sonny crying for his evening feed. ‘He’s hungry.’ I stretched out my arms automatically and Mike, who was hovering in the doorway, handed him down. I unbuttoned my dress while Sonny, his nose twitching, his mouth poised, searched round wildly in the folds of cloth.

Mike looked tactfully away. How ridiculous, I thought, and once the baby had latched on and was gulping noisily I started to laugh.

‘Feeling better?’ Mike asked, but I didn’t want him to take any credit so I stopped.

‘Sarah,’ Mike was looking at his shoes, ‘there’s something I ought to tell you about this job. It’s set in Scotland, right up near Skye, on an island,’ and he looked briefly out of the window before going on. ‘There’s a ferry that only goes over once a week, so I don’t think I’ll be getting back much during the next six months, if at all.’

My body hardened, sharp as knives. ‘I see,’ I said, adding quietly, ‘He’ll be practically grown-up by then.’

‘You could send me photos?’

Sonny choked on an overflow of milk.

‘Or, even better than that, you could turn the job down.’ I raised my eyebrows into mocking curves. ‘Tell your agent you’ll only work in London.’ Mike looked at me, alarmed, and I smiled brightly. ‘It’s all right, I’m only joking,’ and I had to stop myself from telling him it wouldn’t matter if he went off to live at the North Pole.

Sonny gulped and coughed and I took a breath, anxious that the poison of my thoughts didn’t run through into the milk.

For ten minutes we sat in silence, Mike staring down into the street while I watched Sonny’s eyes roll back and flutter into sleep.

‘Right,’ Mike said at last, ‘I’d better be off. There’s packing to be done.’ And he came and stood beside the bed. ‘Goodbye, son,’ he said, ‘goodbye, small fella,’ and without meaning to I began to cry.

‘Sarah, don’t . . .’

‘Go away,’ I said, and repeated, ‘go away, go away, go away,’ until finally he believed me and let himself out on to the stairs.

Chapter 13