The Would-Begetter (7 page)

It was a bit on the early side, so he slipped out into the storm without making any demonstrations of farewell, and walked briskly across the car park to his car. Even before he got there, he was soaked to the skin. The gorilla suit which had trapped his sweat on the inside all too efficiently, was now leaking like a colander the other way round! He’d put the headpiece on to act as a hat, but the rain was oozing in at the join and dripping down the back of his neck. Then he couldn’t see through the eye slits to find his car in the semi-darkness, so he was obliged to take the head off again and carry it under one arm. Not long now, he thought, thank God. Home and a hot bath, whisky and bed. It had never seemed so welcome. He located his car with a sigh of relief and felt for his key…

‘SHIT!’ Hector cursed loudly, dumped the head on the bonnet of the Jaguar and stumped angrily back through the rain in search of Wendy and her handbag.

Wendy had noticed Hector slipping out into the night and had been on the verge of running after him, calling, ‘Hey! Don’t forget your things!’ when a much better idea had occurred to her. It was so fiendishly good that she nearly gasped aloud. Instead she made a dash for the cloakroom, grabbed her mackintosh and umbrella, and then set off to walk home through the wind and rain as fast as her unsuitable shoes would carry her. As she passed a line of stationary taxis at the rank, her umbrella blew inside-out for the third time and Wendy, hanging the expense, took one for the rest of the way home. Then she kicked off her high heels, ran upstairs, tore
all her feathers off, put on her best silky robe and a liberal spraying of perfume, repaired her make-up, brushed her hair and sat down to wait.

Hector took an inordinately long time to arrive. Wendy almost gave up on him and went to bed, but kept waiting for five minutes more each time, just in case, yawning all the while and having great difficulty in keeping her eyes open. She rehearsed what she would say when he did eventually show up, and hoped it would sound convincing. In the meantime she cuddled up in her big armchair in front of the gas fire and crossed her fingers.

The chiming of the front-door bell threw her into an instant tizzy. She leapt out of the armchair, discovering as she did so that one leg had gone to sleep and was now all prickly with pins and needles. She clutched the front edges of her robe together with one hand and, rubbing her leg with the other, limped to the door and opened it only as far as the chain would allow.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Hector,’ he sounded cross.

‘Oh, Hector! Just a minute, I’ll open the door.’ She undid the chain and the force of the wind burst the door wide open. Wendy clutched at herself and gabbled, ‘Oh! Come in. You look wet through! I’m ever so sorry about your stuff in my bag. I looked everywhere for you to give them back, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe someone had given you a lift home, or even a bed for…’

‘No,’ Hector said shortly, stepping over the threshold and leaning his full weight against the door to close it again. ‘I’ve been looking for you too. If only you’d stayed at the party a little longer, then I wouldn’t have had all this trouble.’ He looked down at his feet. Water was dripping from the black fur and forming dark patches on Wendy’s hall carpet. ‘Hell! I’m wet to the bloody bone.’

‘You’ll catch your death like that,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m really sorry. I just didn’t know what to do for the best. Look, you mustn’t stay all cold and wet. How about having a hot bath here, now? I could pop the gorilla suit into the tumble dryer – I mean, you really can’t go out again like that, can you?’

‘Oh I don’t know…’ Hector began, then a shiver went right through him, making his teeth chatter, and he grudgingly agreed. ‘Oh, all right then. God, what a farce.’

Hector had found it hard to believe that Wendy had left the party without giving him his things from her bag. Surely no one could be that dim? How the hell did she think he was going to get home without them? He had wasted a lot of time rushing round all the party rooms, the cloakroom, the bogs, the entrance hall, every-bloody-where looking for the stupid woman. Then, when he concluded that she really must have gone home, he couldn’t find anyone who knew where she lived! Oh he knew roughly where it was, but roughly wasn’t good enough on a night like this and in such a ridiculous get-up. So he went to look for a phone book, but there wasn’t one. He tried Directory Enquiries and they gave him her number but refused to divulge her address. Then he saw it was a payphone, but he didn’t have any money, and by the time he’d realised this, he’d forgotten the number, because he hadn’t anything to write it down on. By this time, he was incandescent with frustration, jumping up and down and beating his head with his fists.

‘Something wrong?’ Barry enquired, on his way to the cloakroom.

‘You don’t happen to know Wendy’s phone number by any extraordinary chance, do you?’ Hector was clutching at straws.

“Course I do. Why?’

‘She’s only taken my bloody keys… You DO know it? Thank Christ for that! I don’t suppose you’ve got change for the phone as well?’

‘Sorry. Spent it all on booze. You could always reverse the charge, or, better still, I could pop round there for you, if you like. Have to be on foot though; I left the car at home so’s I could drink.’

‘You mean you
know her address?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well why the blazes didn’t you say so in the first place?’

‘Well you never asked m…’ but Hector interrupted him and made him say it twice, and slowly so that he could get it properly memorised.

‘D’you want me to go then?’ Barry asked. He seemed eager to do so for some reason.

Hector stared at him. ‘What, like that?’

Barry looked down at his sandwich-boards and then out at the gale. ‘Well, on second thoughts, perhaps not.’

‘No,’ Hector said. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. This is my disaster. I’ll sort it out myself.’

He walked briskly through the wind and rain, and was grateful the weather was so bad that there were few people around to jeer at his costume. A few cars hooted, and one youth wound down a window and wolf-whistled, but he strode on regardless. He felt very irritated with Wendy, but he made himself concentrate on the task in hand. He would get his keys etc. and then leave, walking fast (which would keep him warm – rather like wearing a wet suit actually) back to his car and finally, God willing, get
home
.

When Wendy opened her front door to him, Hector was taken aback. She was clearly ready for bed, and equally obviously wasn’t wearing anything at all under that dressing-gown thing! He hadn’t realised before what good legs she had. She looked younger too, and even fluffier than usual. He had intended waiting on the doorstep whilst she fetched his things, but with the gale roaring into the house as it was, he really had no option but to go inside and close the door.

Now, as he lay in a bath full of foaming scented oil, warm again, he felt enormously relaxed. There was something about coming to a house run by a woman that was curiously soothing. He supposed it was the feminine touch. He glanced around him at the lacy curtains, at the pink and white towels, at the pink knitted cover on the lavatory seat, and felt comforted and pampered. This is a good idea, he thought. Next, I must persuade Wendy to give me a lift to my Jag in her car, once she’s dried the gorilla suit.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Er… hang on,’ Hector called, ‘… I’m still in the bath.’

‘It’s OK,’ Wendy’s voice said, ‘I’ve just brought you a cup of hot milk and honey. Don’t want you getting a chill. I’ll leave it out here, shall I?’

‘Oh… well, thanks. Yes.’ Whatever next! Hector thought, I suppose I can always throw it down the bog. Hot milk!

However, once he was out, and dried, and had wrapped a bath towel firmly round his waist, he emerged and picked up the mug. He sipped it experimentally. It was delicious! He drank it all down, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Right, he thought, now I feel well and truly restored. Time to go!

‘Hector?’ Wendy called up the stairs. ‘Something awful’s happened…’

‘What?’ He went to the top of the stairs and looked down. Wendy was standing at the bottom, holding up something small and black.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ Wendy began. ‘I thought it’d be OK, but it seems to have shrunk somehow in the dryer. I’m ever so sorry…’

Hector clutched the towel with one hand, and the banisters with the other. Then he went down the stairs. He took the gorilla costume from her and held it up. It was now the size of a child’s romper suit; totally shrivelled.

‘But I can’t wear this!’ he exclaimed in horror. ‘It’s completely f…
ruined!
What in hell am I going to do now?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t any clothes that would fit you,’ Wendy said. ‘You’ll just have to stay the night… Yes, that’s the answer. Then tomorrow, I’ll drive over to your place and get some of your proper clothes, and come back, and you can put them on and then I’ll take you to pick up your car!’

‘But I’ve got a busy day tomorrow,’ Hector said, looking agitated. ‘Couldn’t you go now?’

‘Oh I would, Hector. It’s just that I’m really exhausted… and I’ve had quite a bit to drink… and anyway, it’s Sunday tomorrow. You’re not working this weekend, are you?’

‘Well, no.’ Hector conceded reluctantly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Wendy went on eagerly, ‘we can get up really early. It’d be no bother.’ Hector fancied she was blushing and wondered why. She led him into the lounge and sat herself down on a settee.

‘Well…’

‘It’ll be fine, Hector. Don’t worry. Come and keep warm by the fire a minute,’ and she motioned him to sit down next to her.

‘Well, if you’re sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘Well, all right then.’ He sat down.

‘Actually, I’m rather pleased,’ Wendy said, leaning towards him. He became aware that she was wearing a very seductive scent, and that the dressing gown which she had been holding closed at the front had slipped and was now revealing rather a lot of cleavage.

Good grief! Hector suddenly thought. Is this all leading where I think it is? Surely not?

The gale seemed to have worsened as Jess drove home from the fancy dress party. She had taken off the photograph-covered kaftan, and in its place had put on a heavy sweater and a scarf. She was grateful for their warmth. The gusty force of the wind was causing the Jeep to tremble like a jelly and veer unexpectedly. The rain was a horizontal monsoon, hitting the road in front of her like smoke, with volleys of drops as large as five pence coins gleaming in the beams of her headlights. She was relieved to get safely back to her flat, and closed the door thankfully behind her. As parties go, it hadn’t been such a bad one, but it wasn’t especially good either. Jess sighed and got ready for bed.

Two hours later the telephone shrilled, waking her from a deep sleep. It was Nigel, her News Editor.

‘Sorry Jess,’ he said. ‘Bad timing I know, but there’s some fairly dramatic flooding going on – great stuff!’

‘Uhhh… where?’

‘South of Woodspring. Apart from all the rain, we’ve apparently got an extra-high spring tide with half a hurricane behind it, and it’s smashed through the coastal defences. People are having to be rescued by boats and God knows what else!’

‘Right.’ Jess struggled upright. ‘I’m there.’ She reached for her glasses.

‘So, d’you have any idea where Hector is? I can’t raise him. He’s not at home and his car phone isn’t answering; not like him at all.’

‘I hope he’s OK,’ Jess said, stretching for her clothes with one hand.

‘Oh he’ll be fine. You know Hector. It’s just that it’s a bloody good story and I need you both there.’

‘I could go via his flat, just in case?’ Jess volunteered.

‘Great. Thanks.’ He gave her the location details ending with, ‘Don’t forget your wellies!’ and rang off.

Jess yawned widely, took off her glasses in order to rub her eyelids with her knuckles and then put them on again, before starting to dress.

When she arrived at Hector’s flat it was in darkness, but she could see by the street lights that none of the curtains were drawn. He can’t be there, she thought. Where on earth is he? She tried ringing the bell but to no avail, so, after a few minutes she went without him.

It was impossible to get down to the breached sea wall that night, and anyway there was little point in the dark. Jess went instead to the edge of an inland village which was still accessible by road, and where the largest of the
ad hoc
shelters had been set up. This was in the village hall, on higher ground which had so far escaped the inundation. Half of the rest of the place was under three feet of fast flowing water, and by the time Jess had arrived the evacuation of the inhabitants was almost over. It was pitch black but for the emergency lighting, still teeming with rain and about as unpromising for photography as could be. She got a fireman who was taking a short break to hold a brolly for her so that she could attempt a few flash photos of the arrival on dry land of the last boat. Then she followed the trail of resigned old people, harassed parents and excited children clutching pets, up to their temporary refuge.

Once inside, she dried her specs with a tissue and her camera lens with its special cloth, pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, and then took a few more shots as the refugees began to bed down for the remainder of the night in borrowed blankets in uncomfortable heaps on the floor. The pictures would be graphic enough, Jess thought, but they wouldn’t be able to capture the real drama of the event; the noise of the storm and the roaring water, and the vibration of the ground shaking underfoot as the roadway nearby was undermined by the flood and great chunks of tarmac were swept away. But above everything there was the
smell
of it all. Few people in the village hall were entirely dry, and their dampness was caused not simply by rainwater, but by saturated peat and mud and the contents of a large number of backed-up sewers and septic tanks. The authorities had brought in portable gas fires, and
people were huddling in front of them with their clothes steaming, rendering the entire atmosphere of the room redolent of old wet dog, and worse.