The Would-Begetter (19 page)

‘Jess?’ Hector said, putting his head round the corner of the otherwise deserted coffee area. ‘You look comfortable. I wish I had the time to read novels at work!’

‘I was working until past midnight last night,’ Jess retorted. ‘I’m entitled to a break with my coffee.’

‘Quite right,’ Hector said, pressing buttons on the drinks machine and picking up the resulting hot plastic cup rather gingerly. ‘Ow!’

‘You usually make your coffee in the Newsroom,’ Jess observed, putting a finger in her book to mark her place.

‘Yes, but today I’ve a couple of things to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘Well, firstly it seems that Zillah’s baby isn’t mine after all. It’s Clive’s, but far more important than that…’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘… Wendy and I are getting married.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘No, seriously.’

‘But why?’

‘Because, as you so trenchantly pointed out, I have a duty to her and the child.’

‘But she’s marrying Barry.’

‘Not now she isn’t.’

‘But why did you wait until she promised him? It’s hardly fair…’

‘Because I’ve only just got my decree absolute.’

‘But… will it work?’ Jess protested. ‘I mean… d’you really think you’re compatible?’

‘Oh yes. I’ve done a lot of thinking, Jess, and it’s quite obvious that I have to marry Wendy and take full responsibility for our baby.’

‘And you’ve come in here especially to tell me that?’

‘Well I felt I owed you a debt of gratitude you see, for showing me the error of my ways. And I hoped you’ll be happy to discover that I’m not entirely an ethics-free zone.’

And with that, Hector whipped out his handkerchief, wrapped the top of the plastic cup to make it more bearable to the touch, dipped his head once in a mock bow, and left the room.

Jess watched him leave without a word. Then she shut her mouth firmly and frowned long into her coffee. But when she finally forced herself to begin reading her novel again, she discovered that the words on the page had disconcertingly slipped from their allotted lines, and had wandered at random into a meaningless jumble.

Jess, in her reluctant role as wedding photographer, went early to the Register Office to await the arrival of both bride and groom. She was surprised, soon afterwards, to see Barry walking up the path towards her. He looked pale and miserable. ‘God, what a dump,’ were his first words.

Jess looked round at the ugly prefabricated building which was dwarfed by its concrete car park and bereft of any softening form of plant life, and was obliged to agree with him. Dark clouds were gathering low in the north and there was an unpleasantly sharp edge to the wind. ‘Looks like snow,’ she said, pulling her scarf more firmly round her neck.

‘Nah,’ Barry said, ‘It never snows in December. It waits until it can kill off all the spring flowers in March.’

‘Why did you come?’ Jess asked him gently. ‘You’ll only upset yourself.’

Barry shrugged. ‘I still can’t believe Wendy will really do it,’ he said. ‘I told her all about Hector fancying the Moffat woman, and then all about that pretty one who got flooded out. I
told
Wendy what a womaniser he is, but she still says he has a right to be a proper father to his baby. Huh! I’ll be willing to bet good money the poor bloody baby won’t thank her for it when it grows up. I mean how do you get
through
to someone like that? How d’you tell her she’s making the biggest mistake of her life?’

‘I don’t think you do,’ Jess said sadly. ‘She wouldn’t thank you for it. It would only make her more determined. People seem to have to find things out for themselves, the hard way.’

‘So where does that leave me?’ Barry demanded.

‘I know,’ Jess said. ‘It’s horrible for you. I’m so sorry.’

Barry shivered. ‘S’pose I may as well go on in,’ he said. ‘It’s
freezing. Very appropriate; piss-awful weather for a piss-awful day. See you.’

Jess rubbed her forearms with her palms to warm herself up. Her coat was usually perfectly adequate, but today seemed particularly raw. She speculated upon what Wendy would wear; some form of off-white perhaps? Then she agonised as to whether she should have told her the whole story about Hector, long since. Jess was sure she didn’t know about the other babies. If Wendy hadn’t been pregnant herself, she thought, I would have, but then again… perhaps not. It’s really none of my business.

A car drew up and Ifor Mudgeley, the best man, got out first. Jess pointed her camera and got the two of them, Hector and his brother, walking towards her. They were both solemn, and Hector looked wonderful in his dark suit with a white carnation in his buttonhole.

I much preferred him as a gorilla, Jess thought with a pang.

Then the guests began to arrive all at once, and Jess was fully engaged in trying to get a photograph of everyone attending, so as to get a complete record of the day for the album. When Wendy finally arrived, it was on the arm of her brother who had flown over with his family from Australia especially to give her away. He was the only one who looked properly cheerful, grinning from ear to ear and wishing everyone, ‘G’day’.

I’ll have to take lots of shots of him, Jess thought, if I’m to get a laugh a page. Wendy caught her eye and smiled. She was clearly apprehensive, but also very determined. She had done her best with her own deeply unflattering shape and the unhelpful ambient temperature, and had managed to find a costume both voluminous and warm, but which still looked bridal. It had been a heroic effort, Jess thought, but the words ‘white elephant’ still rose irresistibly to mind. Then she thought, I
must not be catty
, and began to concentrate once more on taking photographs.

She took more pictures as everyone gathered in the waiting room. The Registrar was running late, and so they were not admitted to the Wedding Room for a long twenty minutes. Jess amused herself by trying to work out the relationships of the guests to each other and to Hector and Wendy. There
seemed to be few blood relations on either side; no mums to cry discreetly into small handkerchiefs, no dads to make inarticulate speeches. If I ever get married, Jess thought, I’ll have both. The thought cheered her. She looked across at Barry and wondered how he was doing, and as she did so, he got up and walked purposefully out. Best thing to do, she applauded him silently. Why torture yourself unnecessarily?

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ the Registrar said, appearing at the door of the Wedding Room. ‘Would you please come in now.’

The room was square, with a desk at the far end, rows of hard seats facing it, and a rubber plant in each corner. It had been painted magnolia above the dado and a dirty yellow beneath. This place looks more like a transit camp than anything, Jess thought in disgust. A church would be so much more sympathetic, if only it wasn’t for the inconvenience of God.

The marriage solemnisation, although deficient in the poetry of the traditional prayerbook, was entirely dignified. Jess, however, missed the ritualistic rhythms of:
For richer for poorer, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, until death us do part
. She was just wondering whether they would all be asked to name
any just cause or impediment why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony
, when there was a commotion at the back of the hall. All heads turned, and the Registrar, startled, paused in mid-sentence.

It was Barry. He had burst in and was shouting, ‘Wendy! Don’t do it! He doesn’t love you. I
love you
. WENDY.’

The congregation gaped at him. Wendy went white. Hector flushed brick red. Then Nigel, the News Editor, rose and, stepping smartly sideways from his seat at the end of a row intercepted Barry, catching him firmly by one arm and holding on to him. ‘Gerrof!’ Barry cried, ‘WENDY!’

‘Come on, Barry,’ Nigel said firmly, ‘Let’s go,’ and he dragged him out.

‘Now then,’ said the Registrar, ‘where were we? Ah yes…’ And the wedding went on. After that, both Wendy and Hector took deep breaths, made their responses in firm voices and were pronounced man and wife. They bumped noses as they gave each other the customary kiss, laughed shyly, and it was all over.

Later, Jess wished that she’d had the presence of mind to photograph Barry’s courageous intervention, but it had happened too quickly. When they all emerged from the Wedding Room Barry was still there, sitting in a corner of the waiting room, crying into a hanky and being talked to encouragingly by Nigel. Jess went over, concerned for him.

‘Drunk,’ Nigel said briefly, looking up.

‘He can’t be. He was fine ten minutes ago.’

In answer, Nigel held up a quarter bottle of whisky. It was nearly empty. ‘Dutch courage,’ he said.

‘Oh, poor Barry.’ Jess was near to tears herself.

‘We’ll have to get him home somehow. He certainly can’t drive himself. I’d take him, but I haven’t got my car. I got a lift here.’

‘You could drive him in his car,’ Jess suggested, ‘and I’ll follow in the Jeep, and then I can drive us both on to the reception hotel afterwards. Barry’s house isn’t too far out of our way.’

‘But shouldn’t you be busy taking photographs?’ ‘No. I’m doing the group shots in the hotel. It’s not exactly picturesque here.’

‘Telling me! Right, let’s do it.’

‘On second thoughts, perhaps I’d better go first, and warn his Mum.’

When Jess got outside there was a blizzard blowing, and the ground was already covered in a thin layer of snow. Well, well, she thought, so it is a white wedding and no mistake! Then she bit her lip and busied herself in clearing the Windows of her Jeep before driving carefully away.

As Jess arrived, she saw that Barry’s mother was already engaged in defending her front doorstep from the elements, with a stiff brush. At her approach, she jerked her head up smartly.

‘Is something wrong? There’s not been an accident? Barry…?’

‘No, no, everything’s fine, Mrs Poole. Nigel’s just driving Barry home, and I came on ahead. They’ll be here any minute. Barry’s just a bit tired and emotional, if you see what I mean.’

‘Well he shouldn’t be. He had his full eight hours last night. Well, I suppose you’d better come in now you’re here. Give
your feet a good stamp.’ Jess did so. ‘I don’t know what’s got into my Barry these days,’ his mother went on. ‘He won’t talk, he won’t go out. He isn’t even eating properly. In fact he does nothing but moon around watching rubbishly old videos. It’s just not right.’ She led the way into their living room and motioned Jess to sit down.

‘Oh dear.’ Jess wasn’t sure how to reply. She looked around, and then idly picked up an empty video case from the floor by her feet and glanced at it to see what kind of thing Barry had been reduced to watching. It was a film she remembered well:
The Graduate
.

‘He’s had that one on a dozen times if he’s watched it once,’ Barry’s mother complained. ‘Don’t know what he sees in it. Oh, sounds like him now.’

Barry, supported by Nigel, made a sheepish entrance. ‘Hi Mum.’

His mother leant suspiciously towards him and sniffed. ‘You’re drunk! At half-past eleven in the morning too!’ She looked accusingly at Jess. ‘You said he was tired!’

‘Sorry,’ Jess said, standing up again, ‘but I’m afraid we have to go.’

‘Well!’ Nigel remarked, when they were both safely back in the Jeep and on their way to the reception. ‘What a carry on, eh?’

‘Poor Barry,’ Jess said, eyes fixed on the white road ahead. ‘He’s certainly no Dustin Hoffman!’

‘Don’t get you?’

‘No, it’s nothing. Isn’t unrequited love sad! I feel so sorry for him.’

‘Can’t understand it myself,’ Nigel admitted. ‘If some woman didn’t fancy me I’d find it a complete turn-off. I certainly couldn’t ever see me doing what young Barry just did; make a total prat of myself.’

‘Lucky you,’ Jess said.

At the hotel, Jess took picture after picture of Wendy and Hector, Hector and Wendy, Wendy on her own, Hector and his best man, and the bride and groom with assorted family and friends. And Hector smiled and made little jokes and winked at her conspiratorially. It was all quite ghastly. Jess could feel her brittle veneer of control breaking up, and an
unprofessional emotion beginning to ooze through the cracks. Lunch was called. She wondered if eating might take her mind off things, so she sat down at an empty place. The table was laid with plates of appetizing smoked salmon, each with its own slice of lemon and little squares of bread and butter. Jess thought, I think I could just about force some of that down. She turned to smile at a relation of Wendy’s, who had just made a start on his and picked up her own knife and fork to do the same.

‘Uuughhh!’ the man expostulated in disgust, spitting out his first mouthful into the white damask napkin provided. ‘This ham’s off, surely! Tastes just like fish!’

The office Christmas party came and went, without Jess, who couldn’t face it and pretended to be ill. Christmas itself was a quiet affair at home with her parents, and when she returned to her flat on 2 January, she discovered a small envelope addressed in Hector’s handwriting, amongst her pile of post. Inside was a card, edged with a scalloped border in pale blue:

It’s a boy!

Hector and Wendy Mudgeley

are proud to announce

the arrival of their son

MORGAN CARADOC NOEL

on 25 December at 8lbs 2oz.

Mother and baby both well
.

Underneath, Hector had scrawled in biro:
Thanks Jess. You were right all along. The eleventh Baronet is
beautiful!

Jess dropped the card face down on to the kitchen table. Then she went slowly into her bedroom, took her photograph of Hector out of the bedside drawer, removed it from its frame, tore it into tiny pieces, and burst into tears.

New year, Jess thought, and time for reflection. It was another good Christmas with Mum and Dad, but I do wish they wouldn’t worry so much about my future. These days, heaps of people of my age are single by choice.

Now I’m not going to make any resolutions because I never keep them, but perhaps I ought to do a mini-assessment of the recent past, just so that I can point myself in the right direction for the coming twelve months. So, where am I? I’m thirty one. It’s… goodness… it must be seven years since Hector and Wendy’s wedding and I’m still stuck in the same old job. But then, nothing much changes at the
Chronicle;
Nigel’s still News Editor, although Barry’s now an established Reporter (and heavily-married man). The editorship changed of course, and the new one is OK. I’m not surprised Hector didn’t get it, and I don’t suppose he was either, really. I wonder if that’s what’s been depressing him? He’s seemed very down lately.