To Have and to Hold (12 page)

The phone rang. Ann put down the book and hurried into Viv and Ollie's room. She sat down on the bed.

‘Viv! How's it going? How is he?' Ann whispered, even though there was nobody to hear. ‘No, we're fine. Yes, do. Stay out as long as you like.' She paused. ‘Good luck.'

Smiling, the put down the phone. She was sitting on the protruding buckle of a boiler suit. When she got up she found it had laddered her tights.

‘Sit this side.' Viv patted the seat. ‘Such is the womblike nature of their lighting I can hardly see you over there.'

Ken got up and moved next to her.

‘Still,' she said, picking up the menu, ‘the best curries in London.'

After a moment Ken said: ‘Ann's a wonderful woman, Viv.'

‘I know.'

‘Never a moment's bitterness.'

‘What about?'

‘Here you are,' he said, ‘straight A's in your exams and you never did a stroke of work.'

She smiled. ‘I did when nobody was looking.'

‘I remember coming to tea once –'

‘Used to get out the best cups for you –'

‘And there you were,' he said, ‘with your school pullover back to front.'

‘Sexier like that.'

‘You'd had your ears pierced and your dad blew his top.'

‘Very protective, Dad.'

‘Of you.'

She paused. ‘Of me.'

There was a silence. He looked down at the menu.

‘University, kids . . .' he said. ‘No, there's no sweeter-tempered lass than Annie.'

She put her hand on his arm. ‘You needn't convince me, Ken. I think you're very lucky too.'

They sat silently, listening to the sitar musak. Slightly drunk, she had the sensation of the maroon room echoing and receding, of conversations endlessly repeated. The other diners seemed to be speaking in whispers, but that was probably her imagination. To them, Ken and herself must look like just another couple.

She pointed to the menu. ‘Fancy something mild? That one, that's nice. Lamb cooked in yoghurt, very subtle . . .'

‘Sounds nice,' he said. ‘But I think I'll have the rogan ghosht, some keema nan, and I wouldn't say no to some dhal and dahi.'

She looked at him in surprise.

He turned to her, raising one eyebrow. ‘Ah,' he said.

‘Ah what?'

‘You've always thought I was a meat-and-two-veg chap, haven't you?'

She paused. ‘Of course not.'

‘I, too, have lived it up in the odd subcontinental nightspot. I too have had a misspent youth.'

‘Have you?'

He smiled. ‘No. Just came to these places with Ann.'

They laughed. She thought of themselves a couple of hours ago, and the blurring, confidential gift of alcohol.

‘Used to go to the pictures,' he said, ‘then we'd come to a place like this.'

‘Like us. Now.'

He nodded. ‘I felt . . . if we went to a film first, we'd have something to talk about.'

‘Oh Ken . . .'

‘You've never had that problem, have you?'

‘What?'

‘Self-confidence.'

‘Course I have.'

He paused. ‘Sometimes I'd write down interesting topics and put them in my wallet.'

She smiled. ‘Kenny . . .'

He looked at her. ‘Know something? Never told that to a living soul.' He turned to the tablecloth. ‘Never been . . . spontaneous, like you.'

‘Pretty spontaneous to tell me now.'

‘Must be learning.' He aligned the salt and pepper pots, side by side. ‘You think I'm pretty boring, don't you?'

‘Don't be stupid!'

‘Boring old Ken with his DIY and his boring old job –'

‘No!'

‘And his boring old tropical fish. Don't know how Ann can stick him.'

‘Ken!'

He paused. ‘I think it's boring too.'

She stared at him. ‘What?'

‘My job. I see the lads horsing around, but I'm not one of them, am I? But I'm not management either, not a high-flier, don't want to be. Don't want a golf handicap.'

‘Glad about that.'

He looked up. ‘Know what I want? I want to run my own little garden centre.'

‘Really?'

He nodded at her, his face solemn. ‘Oh I'm full of surprises.'

She nodded, smiling. ‘So why don't you?'

‘It's a big risk. I'll have to . . . well, see how things turn out.'

‘You mean, if we' – she corrected herself – ‘if you two have a baby.'

He nodded. ‘Won't be the best time to give in my notice.'

‘So if I get pregnant, you'll have to stay in your boring job.'

‘But I won't mind, will I?'

‘Why not?'

‘Won't mind anything,' he said simply, ‘if there's a child.'

Ollie had spread his papers over the bed. He could make a hotel room look as if he had lived in it for weeks.

He put on the kettle for a cup of tea. He didn't want one, but he liked to use the tea-bag and the midget pot of denatured milk. On the TV, a game show was in progress. A track-suited woman, of ample build, was trying to hammer one of those test-your-strength machines. Her husband watched anxiously.

‘How's Joyce doing then?'
asked the compère.

‘She can't get it up.'

‘Thought that was a husband's problem.'

The audience roared. Ollie switched off the TV. Outside the window loomed a darkened Liverpudlian office block, too near. Suddenly he felt even lonelier. He picked up the phone.

Ann woke. Her neck ached; she had fallen asleep on the settee. She thought it was the doorbell that was ringing: in her dream Viv was trying to get into her own house.

It was the phone. She picked it up.

‘Ollie! No – it's me, Ann.' She looked at her watch. ‘No, not yet. It's a good sign, Ollie. They need to, well, have a chat. No, I'm fine. Tucked up. No, really . . .'

She put down the phone and looked at her watch again. Then she lay back on the settee, her eyes open.

Viv and Ken came out of the restaurant. Viv staggered; they had finished with brandies.

Ken said: ‘Forgotten where we parked the car.'

Viv giggled. ‘You? Mister Advanced Driving Test?'

Ken looked up and down the street. ‘Round the corner somewhere . . .'

They were near Paddington Station, in one of those shabbily wakeful areas that surround mainline termini. She took his arm. ‘Let's be companionable.'

They walked along slowly. ‘Sleazy, isn't it?' he said.

She nodded. They passed an all-night Wimpy bar, and then the black windows of Genevieve Sauna and Massage.

He said; ‘You like this sort of all-human-life-is-here sort of place, don't you?'

She nodded. ‘I like a bit of sleaze.'

‘Thought so.'

She turned to him. ‘Don't you? Just a teeny corner of you . . . hitherto unack –' she hiccuped – ‘unacknowledged?'

‘Perish the thought . . .'

A woman passed them. Viv nudged him. ‘Bet she's one,' she whispered.

‘A you-know-what?'

Viv nodded.

Ken said: ‘Let's play Spot-the-Tart.' They paused outside a late-night supermarket. A woman stood inside, looking at the shelves. ‘Two,' he whispered.

They walked on, slowly.

‘Three,' said Viv.

‘Her?' Ken looked at middle-aged woman on the other side of the road. ‘Surely not.'

Viv nodded. ‘Another one can tell.'

‘Another what?' He sounded alarmed.

‘Another woman.'

‘Ah.'

They laughed.

He said: ‘Bet you played I-Spy with Ann.'

She nodded. ‘Did you?'

He shook his head. ‘Nobody to play it with.'

‘Poor Kenny.' She ruffled his hair. ‘Poor only child.'

‘Four.'

They turned to look at the passing woman.

‘Four,' agreed Viv, clutching his arm.

‘At school they said you could always tell if a girl had – you know . . .'

‘Done it.'

‘Done it,' said Ken, ‘if she wore a charm bracelet.'

‘Did anyone?'

He nodded. ‘Brenda something. She was in the next desk in Geography. She keep asking me why I was staring.'

She laughed. ‘Make any headway?'

‘Me? I was petrified.'

They arrived at the car. She hugged him, burying her face in his jacket.

‘Oh Ken, you're so . . .'

‘So what?'

‘Sweet.'

He paused, in her arms. ‘Don't want to be sweet.'

‘What do you want to be?'

‘Masterful. Dangerous.' He paused. ‘Spontaneous.'

They stayed, their arms around each other, leaning against the car. In the distance, men guffawed and a car door slammed. Behind them, in the main road, a bus passed, its windows lit and empty.

In a low voice she said: ‘Let's be spontaneous now.'

‘What?'

‘Want to be spontaneous?'

‘How?'

She said: ‘Look behind you.'

Ken disentangled himself from her arms and turned. ‘What do you mean?'

She spelt out the lit sign on the front of the building. ‘H-O-T-E-L.'

He looked at the place. It had once been a row of terraced houses but had now been converted into a shabby commercial hotel. In the ground-floor window a sign glowed:
Central Heating. H and C in all Rooms.
He said: ‘So?'

She kept her voice low. ‘Ken, let's not go to that clinic.'

‘What?'

‘You know . . .'

Now he understood. He stared at her. She remembered, later, how the neon light shone on his moustache. She remembered the silence.

‘Come on, Ken.'

‘But –'

She took his hand. ‘Come on!' Half-elated, half-appalled, she looked into his eyes.

‘We can't!' he said.

‘Isn't it better, this way?'

‘But Viv –'

Suddenly she dropped his hand. ‘Sorry. Mad idea.'

There was a silence. Standing beside the car, they gazed at each other. She turned away. It was a cold night but she felt the heat rise in her face. ‘Don't know why I said it.'

‘Mad.'

Blushing, she went round to the passenger door of the car. She kept her eyes on its roof. She heard him insert the key into the driver's door, then it must have got stuck because he stopped. She waited. She longed to be home, and closing her own front door behind her. How could she have been such an idiot?'

‘Come on then,' he said.

She looked across the car. Ken was still standing there; he hadn't moved.

‘What?'

‘I said, come on.' He looked across at her, directly, his eyebrows raised. She said nothing.

Then he walked round to her side of the car and took her hand.

‘But –' she stopped. They stared at each other.

He held her hand and they crossed the road, stopping to let a taxi pass. Still holding her hand, he pushed open the door into the hotel foyer.

A HAND WAS
stroking his brow. Ken woke, suddenly. Ann was sitting on the bed; sunlight shone through the curtains.

‘You'll be late for work,' she said.

He stirred and groaned.

‘That was Viv on the phone,' she said.

‘What?' He sat up.

‘It's OK. She's rung off.'

‘What did she say?' he asked sharply.

‘She wants to see you at lunchtime. She's made an appointment at a clinic?'

‘A clinic?'

She nodded. ‘She'll phone you later, at work.' She smiled. ‘Feel awful?'

He nodded. ‘Hangover.'

She paused. ‘Ken, I'm so happy.'

‘What?'

‘She told me.'

He stared. ‘Told you?'

‘You know, that you're going to do it.'

‘What?'

‘Go through with it.' She stroked his forehead again and leant over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I'm so proud of you. Don't look like that, I am.' She got off the bed and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room; Ken flinched.

‘Now there's no turning back,' she said.

Harold met Viv in the corridor and walked with her to the staffroom.

‘And how's Viv this sunny morning?'

‘Awful,' she groaned.

‘What's the matter?'

‘Hangover.'

‘Naughty naughty.' He nudged her. ‘I usually give a detention for hangovers.'

Ann knocked, and went into Derek's office.

‘Here's the surveyor's report,' she said. She sat down, wincing.

‘What's up?' he asked.

‘Nothing.'

‘Come on, Annie.'

She indicated her neck. ‘Just my, well, this bit.'

‘Poor Annie.'

‘Slept on a settee,' she said.

‘He stood up, and came over to her chair. ‘Let Doctor Derek get to work.' She sat still and he started massaging her neck. She thought; nobody ever does it quite right but one always murmurs ‘aah, lovely'. . .

‘Mmm, lovely,' she murmured.

‘I hope, I mean . . .'

‘What?' she asked, her eyes closed.

‘No, none of my beeswax.'

‘Come on.'

‘This wasn't, er, the result of marital strife?'

‘Oh no,' she said. ‘Babysitting.'

‘Ah.'

‘No marital strife,' she said.

He went on massaging.

‘You can do it a bit harder if you like,' she said politely.

He kneaded her shoulders. ‘Mary used to love this. In the good old days.'

‘Derek . . .'

‘Sorry. Out of court.'

‘No,' she said. ‘I was just babysitting for my sister. All above board, dirt-resistant, stain-free, fully washable above board.'

His hands stopped. He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?'

She shrugged. ‘Don't know.'