To Have and to Hold (14 page)

‘Nothing can spoil you!'

She gazed at him curiously. ‘What a funny thing to say.' She paused, and went on unpeeling container lids. ‘Haven't had one of these for ages, have we? What's this?'

‘Bhuna ghosht.'

‘What did you and Viv have last night?'

‘Can't remember. Mutton mughlai, that sort of thing.'

She tore off a piece of nan bread and ate it. ‘Don't you mind doing it again?'

‘What?'

She indicated the meal. ‘When you had it last night?'

He shook his head. ‘Want some prawn thing?' He passed her the container and she took some.

She smiled. ‘Remember that ancient waiter with the squint?'

He nodded.

She said: ‘Remember when I ate that whole chilli by mistake?'

‘And that stuff ran down your face.'

‘It was Viv's,' she said, spooning out some dhal.

‘What?'

‘Viv's mascara,' she said. ‘I'd borrowed it. Didn't usually wear mascara.'

They ate for a moment in silence. Then she said: ‘I'm so glad, Ken.'

‘What?'

‘That you got on. What's happening about the clinic?'

She tore off a piece of nan and laid it beside his plate. ‘She's looking into that.'

She smiled. ‘I'm glad it's going to be your child. You must realize that.' She took a sip of beer. ‘It makes it so much better.'

He spooned some yoghurt on to his curry and swirled it around: beige swirled into brown. He looked up. ‘Know something?'

‘What?'

‘Those days, I remember looking round that restaurant and thinking something.'

‘What?'

‘That I was the luckiest man there.'

She smiled and put her hand on his arm. ‘You don't have to say all this, you know.'

‘Why not?'

‘You just don't have to.'

She ate for a moment in silence. Ken ate a little; he was not hungry. Suddenly she laughed.

‘What is it?' he asked, startled.

‘That.' She pointed. He looked down at the table. Small pellets of nan lay scattered beside his plate. ‘You used to do that
when we were first going out,' she said. She looked at him and smiled. ‘That's because you were nervous.'

Ann lay in bed reading her book. A March gale was blowing outside; rain spattered against the window.

Ken took off his dressing gown and climbed in beside her. Ann read aloud: ‘
Mark saw Candice through the party throng. Their eyes were riveted together
.' She laughed. ‘Ouch!'

She closed the book and put it on the bedside table. Ken lay on his back, looking at the ceiling.

He said: ‘Ann.'

‘What?'

‘About the clinic . . .' A gust of wind blew the rain against the glass; the window frame rattled.

‘What about it?'

He paused. Then he turned his head. ‘Nothing.' He put his arms around her and stroked her. Then he started kissing her passionately.

Gently she pushed him away.

He moved back. ‘What is it?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.' She paused. ‘Must be all that curry, made me sleepy.' She touched his brow, and then turned and switched off the light. ‘Blame it on the biriani.'

‘What?' In the dark, his voice was sharp.

‘Remember “Blame It on the Bossa Nova”? Viv and I had another version.' Softly she sang: ‘
Blame it on the biriani
. . . then it got rude. Funny, isn't it?'

‘What is?'

‘We hadn't a clue what biriani was but it sounded very wicked.' She paused. ‘Silly, wasn't it?'

He spoke into the darkness. ‘Why?'

‘Couldn't be anything wicked about a biriani, could there?'

They lay there, side by side. Then she leant over and kissed his cheek. ‘Night-night.'

‘HERE'S YOUR HORRIBLE
Brie stuff again.' Ellie sniffed a package and put it on Ollie's desk.

‘Thanks.' He gave her some money.

‘So how was Liverpool?' she asked, as he unwrapped the paper.

‘Lonely.'

Since he had been away she'd put a pink streak into her fringe. The rest of her hair was tied up with a bit of lace. She picked up the copy of
Capital
which lay on his desk.

‘Mind if I nick this for lunch?' she asked.

‘That's incest.'

‘What is?'

‘Reading something you work on.'

‘I don't work on it,' she said. ‘I only answer the phone.'

He took the magazine from her and leafed through it. ‘Well, Ellie, what do you want? A lesbian co-operative? A growth workshop? One waterbed, slightly foxed?'

‘A fella.'

He stared at her. ‘What?'

She blushed. ‘Oh heck . . .'

He opened the magazine at the Lonely Hearts page. ‘You don't need this bit.'

‘Who says?'

‘I do.'

Still blushing, she said: ‘Why not, Mr Knowall?'

He gestured at her. ‘Well . . . just look at you.'

She turned to go. ‘Knew you'd take the mickey.'

‘Wait.' He searched down the columns and read out: ‘
Wanted: warm, sensitive, non-smoking cat-lover
– you love cats?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good.
Nice legs essential
. . .' – He leant back, looked at her legs and nodded – ‘. . .
for long-term relationship
.'

She held out her hand. ‘Give it to me.'

He shook his head and read: ‘
Virile estate agent seeks freehold lady
.'

‘Ugh.'

‘You can have a
slim, shy guy
– no, he's gay. Or a
well-built graduate
– no, he's gay too. Here's a
caring electrical engineer
– ah, and a
professional man
– as opposed, that is, to an amateur man like the rest of us.'

She laughed. ‘You're daft.'

‘You're the daft one. You really going to reply to one of these?'

She shrugged. ‘Got any better ideas?'

‘What about – oh, clubs? What about the people here?'

She grimaced. ‘They're all –'

‘– into LTRs.'

‘What's that?'

He grinned. ‘Living Together Relationships.'

She nodded. ‘They're all married.'

‘Or married.'

She sighed and took the magazine. ‘Think they're all weirdos?'

Ollie raised his eyebrows and bit into his sandwich. ‘No weirder than the rest of us,' he mumbled.

During the night the gales had blown away the clouds. It was a clear, sharp day. The puddles winked in the gutters; lorries passed with a hiss. Viv sat in the car, her palms damp. It was 1.15; she had been waiting for twenty minutes but she realized she was still clutching the wheel. A bus passed; sunlight flashed on its windows. On the other side of the high street stood the row of shops. The Archway Building Society had a new poster in its window; from this distance it looked like a family on a beach: happy and tanned, no doubt. Two children, it was always two.

1.20. She had come on impulse. Soon she must get back to school. Another bus passed. The door opened, but it was only a customer coming out.

She had had to come. She couldn't bear it any longer. She
thought: I could switch on the radio. But her hands didn't move.

The door opened again. This time it was Ann. She came out, buttoning up her jacket, and looked up at the sky. Viv's heart thumped. But another girl had come out with Ann; she wore a pink coat. She said something to Ann and they both laughed. Then they turned to the left and walked down the street together.

Viv opened the car door. She waited a moment, gripping the handle. Ann and the girl walked along briskly; after a moment they were swallowed up in the lunchtime shoppers.

Viv closed the car door. Slowly, she put the key into the ignition and drove away, back to school.

Tracey sat on the desk, smiling dreamily. Her face was floury with powder; there were bumps over her chin. It was the afternoon break and the room was empty, except for Viv, who sat on the next desk.

‘Hope it's a little girl,' said Tracey.

‘This is terrible,' said Viv. ‘Look, I don't want to be schoolmistressy but –'

‘Don't even mind throwing up.'

‘What're you going to do?'

‘He buggered off, you know. My bloke.' She was still smiling. ‘Couldn't see him for dust but I don't care. Not now.'

‘But what about your A-levels?' Viv wanted to shake her, to shake off that smile.

‘Did you feel like this, with yours?'

‘Listen, Tracey. you're one of my brightest girls –'

‘They give you a flat with a baby.'

‘But what about your future?' said Viv. ‘Your career –'

‘What, be factory fodder like Mo?'

‘No! You're clever, you could –'

‘Leave off.' Tracey eased herself off the desk and started for the door. ‘Thought I'd be able to tell you. Of all the idiots here.' She paused. ‘Thought you'd understand.' She sighed theatrically. Her hair was greasy; she suddenly seemed matronly for her years. Viv got up but Tracey opened the door. ‘You stick to
Jane Eyre
,' she said, her parting shot, and closed the door gently, as if more in sorrow than in anger.

Ollie let himself in and put his suitcase down in the hall. Strange, he thought, how the house always seemed altered, even after a couple of days. Roller skates on the carpet, from an unknown voyage down the road; Viv's crumpled dress, to go to the cleaners; phone messages stuck in the mirror, and a Roneoed letter from the girls' school announcing no doubt either a teacher's retirement, contributions welcome, or a jumble sale, jumble welcome. It was all the same as ever but shifted, as if normality was shattered shards in a kaleidoscope that were shaken up each day to settle in an altered pattern. The house was silent.

He went into the living room. For a moment he thought it was empty. He looked around: the morning's breakfast in the sink, the table piled with exercise books, a Sainsbury's carrier, an empty crisp bag on the floor. The evening sunlight shone through the straggling windowsill plants. He looked at a single empty tea mug, and a fag-end in a saucer, both given poignancy by the absence of the person who had finished with them.

Then he noticed that Viv in fact was in the room. She was lying on the floor under the sofa; her head was hidden. He gazed for a moment at the patched jeans (
Nuclear Power? No Thanks
on her buttock) and her purple jumper. Hadn't she heard him come in?

‘That bad, is it?' he asked.

‘What?' She sounded muffled.

‘Reality.'

‘Hi,' she said, and then: ‘Bloody Bertie.'

Ollie looked at the dresser. The hamster's cage was open.

‘Why don't they ever shut his cage?' He turned back to Viv's legs. ‘Come on out and I'll fix us a drink. I want you to tell me all about it.'

‘What?'

‘Ken and you. Everything.' He went to the fridge and took out the ice. He pressed the rubber compartments; the ice clattered into the tumblers. He glanced again at Viv's motionless
legs. ‘You know,' he began slowly, ‘I was thinking, while I was away . . .' He went to the tap and refilled the ice tray with water. ‘I might have joked about it, and got angry but it was only, well, you know . . .'

She didn't reply. He looked at the dirty soles of her trainers.

‘. . . embarrassment,' he went on. ‘There's something about, well, the mechanics. But it struck me in Liverpool . . .'

‘What did?'

‘The enormity of it. What you're doing. It's what one means by . . .' He cut two slivers of lemon and paused, turning to look at her legs. ‘. . . by an act of love.'

Still no reply.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘Tell me about it, blow by blow.'

‘It was all right. Quick!' She shifted under the sofa. ‘There he is! Head him off!'

Ollie hurried over and crouched down at the end of the sofa. ‘Where?'

‘Brute!'

‘What?'

‘I'm talking to Bertie,' she said. ‘Quick!' She rummaged under the sofa.

Crouching, he asked: ‘What do you mean, “all right”?'

‘Got you!' She wriggled backwards from underneath the sofa, her face was red and her hair messy. She held up the hamster and spoke to it: ‘You and your unquenchable thirst for experience.' She took him over to the dresser and put him in his cage.

Ollie passed her a gin and tonic. ‘Let's sit down.'

She sat down at the table. ‘Tracey's pregnant,' she said.

‘Is she? Tell me about it.'

‘She's going to keep it.'

‘Not her,' he said. ‘You. What happened? Have you found a clinic? Will you have to pretend to be married?'

She nodded, pushing the ice around with her finger. ‘There's this place in Harley Street.'

‘Harley Street. What did they say? Will you have to go into little cubicles?'

She paused. ‘Look Ollie. I promised Ken I wouldn't . . .'

‘Wouldn't what?' He stared at her.

She lit a cigarette. ‘It's all so . . . undignified. He wants us to, well, respect his privacy.'

‘He is a pompous twit.'

‘He's not!' To his horror, her eyes filled with tears.

He jumped up and sat down beside her. ‘Darling . . .' He put his arm around her but she pushed him away.

‘I didn't mean to upset you . . .' he said.

She rubbed her nose, sniffing. It was not like her, this. She wouldn't look up. ‘It's all so . . . difficult.'

‘Vivvy darling . . .'

‘We'll talk about it later,' she said.

He nodded helplessly.

Viv moved away from Ken; their skin made small, sticking sounds. She fiddled with the radio knob beside the bed. It produced crackles of static, then faint music.