To Have and to Hold (38 page)

If he were a good father he would make the furniture himself. Ken would. But how could he, when he was not only inept but absent? He was a failure. He couldn't even write a book; there was no news from the publisher he had sent it to, but that was hardly surprising. Who would want to publish something so raw and bitter, with no satisfactory ending?

Nobody could bear to make plans for Christmas Day. If Viv didn't give away the baby he could stay at home, in his proper place. They could keep that darling boy and things might get back to normal.
Who wants to be normal
? she had asked. He did.

At last he managed to get a taxi. He went back to Kensington, where the heating had broken down in the block of flats.

A small group of children stood outside the tube station rattling a tin. They sang in thin voices; one boy, in an Arsenal scarf, giggled.

Ann paused. ‘Who are you collecting for?'

‘Charity,' said the boy glibly. Another boy sniggered.

What the hell, thought Ann. She gave them a pound. Let them keep it. She closed her eyes, for luck, as she walked on. Three days till the party; she needed all the luck she could get.

‘He won't be gone far,' said Viv. ‘Only down the road.'

Daisy was sitting on the sofa holding the struggling baby. Her face was set; recently she had learnt how to make herself cry.

‘He's your cousin,' said Viv desperately. ‘He's not really going away.' She looked at Daisy's glistening eyes and thought: everybody's always crying in this house.

‘What're we having for the party?' demanded Daisy.

‘I told you. A real clown, like you've always wanted. Like Tamsin had for hers. A jelly like a tortoise.' Her voice wheedled.
‘It'll be fun!'

She told herself: Daisy's only holding the baby so she doesn't have to help clean out the hamster.

‘You've always wanted a clown,' she repeated.

Rosie, cleaning out the cage, said flatly: ‘I want Mark.'

‘Don't!' said Viv.

‘I want our brother,' said Rosie.

‘Thanks, Diz.'

Ollie put down the phone. His blood raced.

If he'd gone out to the pub, as he'd meant to, he would have missed both these phone calls.

His legs felt so weak that he sat down.

They were going to publish his book and, after all these months, he had found Ann's father.

‘
I
'
M TOO OLD
, Viv.' Ollie was blowing up balloons. He sat down dizzily.

Viv was getting a jelly out of the fridge.

‘My tortoise! It's collapsed.'

‘You've failed as a mother.'

Viv was looking under some old newspapers. ‘Lost the chocolate fingers.'

Ollie inspected his balloon. ‘Balloons used to be bigger than this.'

‘Like policemen,' she said, still searching, ‘used to be younger.' She gave up with the biscuits. ‘I do want them to be happy.'

‘Policemen?'

‘The girls. I want this party to be special.'

Ollie half smiled. ‘It's that all right.'

They were both curiously high-spirited; almost manic, When Viv dropped a knife they both jumped. Ollie had wound a streamer round his forehead, sixties style. Viv wore crimson lipstick.

If you didn't laugh, you'd cry.
They avoided each other, hurrying nimbly round the room. When Viv's arm brushed Ollie's she said, ‘Sorry.'

And then Ken arrived with his doll's house. He bumped it along the corridor; it was so big. A carefully painted semi.

Ollie's dolls house, thank goodness, was upstairs in his study, wrapped for Christmas. But he had shown it to Viv.

They both stared at Ken's.

‘Just a little token,' he said.

Taken aback, Viv gazed at it. ‘It's lovely! Very Kingston Bypass.'

For some reason, the doll's house was the last straw. She and
Ollie sat down weakly, their faces rigid in their efforts not to laugh, or weep. Ken gazed at them, bemused.

Douglas had come to bring Ann to the party. She looked pale; she wore a rather formal, flowered dress and white high-heels. He looked around at the lounge: the illuminated fish, the lit tree. In the corner was a pram. There were no other signs that his grandson would be arriving here tonight, God willing.

She collected her handbag. They paused at the door. Suddenly he remembered this moment, it must be fifteen years before, as clearly as yesterday. Ann's wedding day: the two of them, in the bungalow in Watford, hesitating on the threshold. Behind them, the empty room; Ann's hand on his arm.
Do I look all right
? He had answered honestly:
You look radiant.
For that moment they had been close. In fact, he had enjoyed Ann's wedding a great deal more than he had enjoyed Viv's.

He said: ‘She's put you through a lot of pain, that young lady. Took her time, didn't she?'

Ann didn't reply.

He went on: ‘Don't think I haven't noticed.'

‘It's been terribly hard for her.'

He paused, then said awkwardly: ‘You deserve this baby. It's going to have a wonderful mother.'

‘You needn't say that.'

He cleared his throat. ‘I'm sure you'll make a better job of it than I did.'

‘Don't be silly.'

He said: ‘Sort of in the same boat, you and me. Somebody else's fledgeling in the nest.'

‘You weren't so bad.' She linked his arm. ‘Let's go.'

Downstairs the party was in full swing. There were distant squeals of laughter from the children – nine of them – and the lower boom of Smartie Artie's voice. Ollie and Douglas stood in the study; Douglas wore a party hat.

‘Sorry to drag you up here,' said Ollie, ‘but I have to go in a moment. I shouldn't really be here.'

‘Rum business, isn't it?' said Douglas. ‘Things were a lot
easier before the world got computerized and the authorities started sticking their noses into other people's business.'

‘There's something I need to ask you about.'

‘The baby?'

‘No,' said Ollie. ‘Ann.' He paused and took a sip of wine. ‘I've traced her father.'

Downstairs there was a burst of laughter. Viv shouted: ‘Sit down, Daisy!'

‘You've what?' said Douglas.

‘Diz on the magazine put out some feelers – oh, months ago. Someone on a newspaper in Stockport did a bit on digging and, well, I've got an address.'

Douglas stared at him. ‘Did Ann know you were looking?'

Ollie shook his head. ‘I was going to ask her if she still wants to know.'

‘What does he do?'

‘Runs a little joke shop.'

Douglas smiled faintly. ‘Very appropriate.'

There was a pause. Down below, the clown's voice boomed.

Ollie said: ‘You think I should let sleeping dogs lie, don't you?'

Douglas paused; then he nodded.

The pub looks festive, its ceiling burdened with streamers. It was the Kensington pub in which Ollie had spent so many evenings.

He arrived, breathless from the party.

‘Sorry I'm late,' he said, sitting down.

‘Doesn't matter,' said Norah. Like many people, she was surprisingly old compared to her phone voice. She wore a fitted suit. ‘We're delighted to have you join our list,' she said, shaking his hand.

‘Not half as delighted as me.'

She smiled. ‘I can see the reviews now. “An assured and sensitive debut”, “at last, a man who writes like a woman”.' They were sitting at the bar. She ordered two drinks and turned back to him. ‘It's very contemporary, Oliver. And frighteningly
honest. I blushed like an eavesdropper.' She pushed a cigarette into a filter-holder and lit it. ‘What does your wife think of it?'

‘She's a teacher,' said Ollie. ‘She gave me an A-minus.'

‘Minus?'

‘She says I'm impossible enough to live with as it is.'

Norah smiled and exhaled smoke through her nostrils. Ollie thought: she thinks I'm joking.

‘We aim to publish in September,' said Norah. ‘There's something very special about it, Oliver. A ring of truth.'

Ollie thought: in two hours' time, my wife is going to get into her car, drive to her sister's and give away her son.

He said: ‘Oh no. If it were true, nobody would believe it.'

They cleared up the party in silence: Douglas, Vera and Viv. Ken had gone home. Ann was upstairs putting the girls to bed. Nobody spoke, except to hold up a small plastic ring from a cracker and ask: ‘Who left this?' Though it was the night before Christmas Eve there was the same sense of hushed expectancy, a holiness in the air that gave significance even to folding up paper plates and ramming them into the bin. The baby slept near the tree, his face bathed in multi-coloured lights.

Ann spent a long time with the girls. When she came downstairs Douglas and Vera had gone.

She stood in the doorway to the living room. After a moment she said: ‘Always wanted to see one of those clowns.'

Viv was sitting on the sofa. ‘Terrific, wasn't he?'

‘Didn't have them when we were children.'

Viv replied. ‘Didn't have the money.'

There was a silence. The baby sighed and shifted in his sleep. Ann said: ‘Still, it wasn't so bad, was it?'

‘When?'

‘When we were young.'

There was another silence. Then Viv said: ‘See you in about half an hour.'

‘Sure you don't want Ollie?'

Viv shook her head.

Ann hesitated; then she nodded and left. Their mother was coming round in half an hour to babysit while Viv was gone.

A group of loud young stockbrokers were standing at the bar. It was nine o'clock and their faces were florid.

Ollie sat alone at his table. Nine o'clock; she should be there by now.

They raised their voices deafeningly:

His daughters sang something like that, but it sounded more appropriate when they did it.

He fetched himself another pint. Feeling in his pocket for some change, he found a scrumpled party hat. He thought: but when it comes down to it, which of us is really grown-up?

VIV
'
S CAR IS
parked outside the small terraced house. On its front door there is a wreath of tinsel and holly. The downstairs lights are on; the lounge curtains are open. Inside the room there is an illuminated Christmas tree and three people: Viv, Ken and Ann, who is holding the baby in her arms.

Ann kisses Viv. Viv kisses Ken. Then the front door opens and Viv comes out. Standing on the step, Ann and Ken watch Viv as she crosses the pavement to her car and gets in. Ken raises his hand in a half-wave, but she doesn't see.

Sitting in the car, Viv turns and looks at the back seat. Something has been left behind; it is the baby's shawl. She leans back and picks it up, then she opens the car door and gets out.

But the front door is closed now. In the lounge, Ann is holding the baby and standing beside the mantelpiece. Ken moves to the window and starts closing the curtains.

The curtains are closed now. The family is complete. Viv gets back into the car and drives away.

IT WAS NEARLY
ten o'clock. In the pub the Hooray Henrys had become more boisterous and had been joined by more of their kind. He could have become one of them; he had been bred to it. It was Viv who had saved him. They had grown smutty now; there was loud talk of arseholes.

Ollie finished his crisps, scrumpled up the empty bag and put it in the ashtray. At some point he must go back to the flat. Soon he would be too drunk to do so.

When he next looked up Viv was there in her overcoat. She looked very cold.

He moved up. She sat down beside him. ‘Let's have a drink,' she said.

He got to his feet, but she started to say something so he sat down again.

‘Come on Christmas Day,' she said. ‘Disguise yourself in a red cloak and white beard, become an outmoded patriarchal fantasy, become my regeneration myth.'

He sighed. ‘Life would be simpler if you couldn't make me laugh.'

He fetched her a beer. They drank to it.

Read on for the first chapter of Deborah Moggach's brilliant new novel
Something to Hide

I'll tell you how the last one ended. I was watching the news and eating supper off a tray. There was an item about a methane explosion, somewhere in Lincolnshire. A barn full of cows had blown up, killing several animals and injuring a stockman. It's the farting, apparently.

I missed someone with me to laugh at this. To laugh, and shake our heads about factory farming. To share the bottle of wine I was steadily emptying. I wondered if Alan would ever move in. This was hard to imagine. What did he feel about factory farming? I hadn't a clue.

And then, there he was. On the TV screen. A reporter was standing outside the Eurostar terminal, something about an incident in the tunnel. Passengers were milling around behind him. Amongst them was Alan.

He was with a woman. Just a glimpse and he was gone.

I'm off to see me bruv down in Somerset. Look after yourself, love, see you Tuesday.

Just a glimpse but I checked later, on iPlayer. I reran the news and stopped it at that moment. Alan turning towards the woman and mouthing something at her. She was young, needless to say, much younger than me, and wearing a red padded jacket. Chavvy, his sort. Her stilled face, eyebrows raised. Then they were gone, swallowed up in the crowd.