To Have and to Hold (20 page)

‘A proper dressmaker,' said Irene. Then she looked at Vera, ‘Say, will you make something for me?'

‘Look – ‘began Douglas.

‘I mean it,' said Irene. ‘You can see she's handy with a needle and I'm rushed off my feet.'

Vera smiled. ‘I would be delighted.'

Douglas said: ‘Vera, I don't –'

‘Oh shut up.' Irene glared at him. Then she raised her glass. ‘Let's have a toast.'

Vera raised her glass. ‘To Vivien,' she said.

Irene turned and stared at her. ‘Viv? Why?'

Viv said hastily: ‘No, here's to everyone.' She had poured herself some orange juice. She raised her glass. ‘Heaven knows, we need it.'

The guests were gone, Ollie paced the room, pouring the dregs of other people's wine into his glass. He drank, then looked at Viv.

‘Why didn't you tell your mum?'

‘Not with Frank there.'

‘She'll be hurt,' he said.

‘She's tough.'

Ollie stood at the window. In the playground, children were sitting on the swings. He saw his two daughters sitting on top of the climbing frame. They didn't move. Perhaps they were having a conversation; perhaps they were dreaming. He could hear nothing, even from the boys playing football; the scene looked blameless in the luminous evening light.

He said: ‘You're the tough one.'

He went to the table and swept Ken's tiny silver balls into his hand. He put them into the bin, which was stuffed with wrapping paper, and started wiping the table. He went on: ‘You're in your element, aren't you?'

‘How?' asked Viv. She was lying on the sofa, her eyes closed.

‘Using people.'

‘I'm not using people., I'm being used. Look, I'm pregnant!'

‘Call that being used?'

‘What?' she asked.

‘I call it playing at God.'

She sat up. She looked pale, but that was going to make no difference to him.

‘You've got us all dangling now, haven't you?' he said.

‘Don't be ridiculous.' She stood up and came over to him. ‘Don't be vile to me now,' she whispered into his hair. ‘Come on, let's go upstairs. It's been weeks.'

‘No.' He moved away. He looked at the clean table; now that was done, there was nothing else left to wipe.

‘We can now,' she said. ‘I'm pregnant.'

‘No!'

‘Ollie.' She stood at the other end of the table, looking at him. ‘I love you. I'm not using you.'

‘That what you say to Ken?'

She shook her head. ‘That was just sex.'

‘And the others?'

‘You knew about them,' she said.

‘You used people for our marriage.'

‘Haven't you, sometimes?' She raised her eybrows.

‘No!' His voice had risen to a silly squeak. He hated himself. He hated her. And she was even smiling.

‘We can cope,' she said.

‘That's your speciality, isn't it?'

‘What is?'

‘Coping!' He spat out the word and strode out of the room, banging shut the door behind him. He hurried up the stairs, his face burning and his eyes filled with tears. A small part of him said: these exits are getting ridiculous. Another part of him said: aren't you the one with something to hide?

IN HIS LUNCH-HOUR
Ken stopped to buy some wine. He had been working on site that morning, as one of the chippies was off sick and nobody else was remotely capable of doing the job. Not that he didn't, secretly, enjoy doing it. When he opened the off-licence door he noticed his grimy hands.

Ollie and Viv were coming over that evening to Talk. Inside the shop, Ken looked at the bottles. Ollies's parents were the first – and so far the last – people he had ever met who had a wine cellar. It went with the wisteria and the two labradors with bad breath. Ollie himself, of course, knew enough about wine to pretend he knew nothing, and was always over-effusive about the stuff Ken produced.

He stood at the shelves, undecided. There was a special offer on Frascati, the same wine Ollie had given them at Easter. On the other hand, what about Chablis? Double the cost, what the hell. He remembered the hotel at Salcombe: Viv suntanned, in a red spotted dress that showed her shoulders, Ollie folding up the wine list and grinning at the waiter as if he'd known him for years.
Let's have some frightfully overpriced Chablis.
And the waiter, dammit, smiling back.

Ken walked to his car with the two bottles of Chablis. Opposite the off-licence was Peter's Pet Store. The last time he had been there, looking at the fish, it was – oh, well before any of this had happened. He had felt like a middle-aged man; he had felt worn but unused.

How could he bear to face any of them? With or without Chablis?

He opened his car door and then stood still. Shoppers passed, unconcerned. The sky remained grey. The bin nearby remained stuffed with McDonald's cartons. But he knew, now, that nothing would ever be the same again.

Of course he knew this, but how chancily these things creep
up and pounce. Only now did it hit him. Viv was going to have his baby. He had to lean against the car, he felt so dizzy.

Ann laid out the bowls of peanuts and looked around the lounge. The fact that she had gone to the trouble of setting her hair made her feel nervous. Don't be foolish she thought. Don't panic.

Ken had only just come in from work. He was in the kitchen, washing his hands. She remembered a TV production of
Macbeth
: how Lady Macbeth kept washing her hands. What was it she was trying to clean?

Instead of asking this she said: ‘What is it?'

‘Timber preservative. Can't get it off.'

She smiled. ‘At least you won't get dry rot.'

He didn't reply. She went up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He flinched, and moved aside for a scrubbing brush.

She said: ‘Ken, please don't.'

‘Don't what?'

‘Always push me away.'

He didn't turn, but held up his hands. ‘I'm filthy,' he said.

‘What's happened? Ann stood in the hall, staring at Viv: her eyelids were swollen and red; a tear slid down her cheek.

Viv blew her nose. ‘Just a cold.' She pointed to Ollie. ‘His.'

Ann breathed again, normally. ‘Come in and sit down,' she said. ‘Sure you're OK?'

‘Fine.'

Ollie said: ‘We've all got to take care of her now.'

Ann looked at him sharply. They sat down. Viv looked around the room with the curiosity of a newcomer. What was she seeing, and with whose eyes now? Ann realized, with a feeling like liquid draining from her stomach, that Viv would never again be simply her sister.

Ken came in with the wine. Viv inspected her fingernails. Ann looked at Viv's bent head; her curly hair pulled up with butterfly clips.

Ollie said: ‘Ah, Chablis.'

Ken sat down and cleared his throat. ‘What we've got to decide is, who to tell and what to say.'

Nobody replied. Viv blew her nose again, then raised her head. ‘We'll tell them the truth.' She screwed up her Kleenex into a ball, aimed, and threw it into the wastepaper basket.

Ken said: ‘Is that wise?'

Ann asked: ‘What'll you tell the children?'

‘That I'm having a baby and giving it to you.'

Ollie, who was leaning over for a handful of peanuts, stopped.
‘But who's having the baby?'

‘Me and . . .'

‘You and who?' he insisted.

‘We'll tell them everything,' she said.

‘Will we?' Ollie asked. He ate his handful of peanuts in one gulp and looked at her.

‘We believe in telling the truth,' she said.

‘Do we?' he asked.

There was silence. They all looked at the aquarium. The fish flicked luminously to and fro, as if an aquatic paintbrush was busy. Viv took out her cigarettes and lit one. Ann shifted in her seat. Viv caught her eye and stubbed it out.

‘Sorry,' she said.

‘Don't be sorry,' said Ann.

Viv looked around at them all, her red eyes wide, and asked: ‘Why should we hide anything?'

Viv was in the kitchen, finding the kitchen roll. She pulled some off and blew her nose.

Ken came up behind her. ‘Viv –'

‘Stay away!' she cried.

He stared.

She tried to smile. ‘Don't want to catch my cold, do you?' she asked, and went back into the lounge.

Ollie looked at the glass coffee table, with its brass edges. He looked at the framed reproductions of Degas dancers, and then he looked at Ken's veneered units. It was all so known, yet
today entirely unfamiliar. He thought: none of this is happening.

He gazed into the aquarium but what he remembered was the soft skin on the inside of Ellie's thighs. He remembered, yesterday, sitting in her room while she played the recorder, grave and simple as a child. He remembered, afterwards, touching the corners of her mouth with his tongue.

Vera and Douglas's new flat was in a mansion block, up towards Highgate. It was one of those buildings with a bit of landscaping out front and some fancy Edwardian brickwork. Perhaps it reminded Vera of lost splendours.

Now she stood, poised on the pavement, as a removal man carried a table from the lorry. ‘Oh be careful!' she said. ‘It's very fragile.'

‘Look, lady,' he answered. ‘I'll do my job and you do yours.'

She pointed. ‘There is a scratch.'

He ignored her and carried it towards the entrance hall.

She turned to Viv. ‘Some men, they are such brutes.'

Viv laughed. ‘But look at the muscles on him.'

‘What?'

‘Doesn't matter.' Sometimes Viv missed her mother. ‘Leave them to it.' she said. ‘Come and have a cup of tea.'

On the way back they met Ann, shopping. They walked to Viv's house together. It was a calm, grey day. If Viv had known then what was going to happen, she would have felt it as the stillness before the storm. As it was, she just felt that air of significance that hangs over a day when someone is moving house.

Vera sat down, sighing. Like many well-groomed women, an outsider had to look at her twice before they realized she was exhausted. Viv went over to the kettle but Ann stopped her.

‘Let me.'

‘I'm not an invalid,' said Viv.

‘Still feel sick?'

Viv nodded. ‘A bit.'

‘Wish I could feel sick for you.'

They both made the tea and sat down at the table. Vera said: ‘Your father, he is in such a temper.'

‘Moving's bad for the blood pressure,' said Viv.

‘Shouting here, shouting there,' said Vera.

Viv asked: ‘Does he shout at you?'

Vera sipped her tea, and then said: ‘All men shout. Because they do not get in touch with their feelings, in here.' She touched her breast.

Viv asked: ‘The other day, why did he get so angry?'

‘Pardon?' asked Vera.

‘When you were here. Why did he get so angry with you?'

Vera sipped her tea and said, after a moment: ‘Oh, it was nothing.'

‘But he made you cry,' said Viv. ‘In front of everyone.'

Vera said: ‘It was me to blame.'

Viv sighed. ‘He can be very violent.'

‘No!' Vera shook her head frowning.

Ann said: ‘He can.'

‘You don't understand!' Vera spoke loudly.

‘We do,' said Ann. ‘We know him, we're his daughters.'

Suddenly Vera burst into tears. They stared at her, appalled.

‘I didn't mean . . .' began Ann. ‘What is it?'

Vera fumbled in her bag and brought out a handkerchief. Ann went over and sat beside her.

‘I can't say,' said Vera.

‘Tell us, please,' said Viv.

Vera raised her swollen face. ‘It's not my business,' she said. ‘I come here, into this family, I am an outsider. I want to belong, to be part of this, and now –'

‘You are!' said Ann.

‘All the barriers,' said Vera, shaking with sobs. ‘All the secrets.'

‘You mean the baby?' asked Viv.

‘No.' said Vera. ‘Not the baby.'

‘What is it?' asked Ann.

Vera turned to her, and then to Viv. ‘It's you.'

‘Us?' asked Viv. ‘But you're welcome here, we're delighted –'

‘No!' said Vera.

‘You are!' said Viv.

Vera blew her nose. They sat there, watching her. She put away her handkerchief and shut her bag with a click. Then she said, in a low voice: ‘He was wrong.'

‘Who was?' asked Viv. ‘About what?'

‘Wrong for never speaking, all these years.'

‘Who do you mean?' asked Viv.

‘Your father.'

‘What hasn't he said?' asked Ann.

Viv asked: ‘He hasn't told you something?'

Vera looked at them both. ‘It's you he hasn't told. The two of you.'

There was a pause. Ann said: ‘You must tell us. Please.'

Vera took a breath, then stopped. She looked at them both, again, as if making up her mind. Then she spoke. ‘You are not real sisters.'

A moment passed. Then Viv whispered: ‘What?'

Vera didn't reply. She simply gazed at them, as if in pain.

‘Go on,' said Ann.

‘Your mother, she is the same,' said Vera, turning to Ann. ‘But Douglas is not your father.'

ANN IS STANDING
in Sainsbury's. She thinks: I'm always shopping. Why am I always shopping?

The packets bewilder and depress her. The light is so bright; it hurts her head. There are shelves of what is simply water, bottled. She wants to laugh, but she can't. She'd make a noise and everyone would look. The planet is silting up with empty plastic bottles that once contained water. Where does madness lie?

She must move on. She walks past yoghurt pots with Mr Men on them, leering at her. She is filled with fear because she can't make up her mind what to buy, but if she admits this the panic will get worse. Better never to speak, even to yourself. Besides, soon you might be talking out loud. In her dream she thought she knew what she was seeking. She cannot shake that dream away; it has lingered for weeks, like a taste at the back of her mouth, where the thinking begins. She had only found bags of knitting, squashed into the shelves. How large and echoing that supermarket had been; she shivers to remember it. Those silly mewlings. She had never found out what she was looking for. Now she knows that she had never deserved to.