Two Loves (23 page)

‘Oh Thomas, it's not as easy as that. By bending over backwards to be fair to Erica, I may be damaging Joss. Don't you see that?'

‘Joss has got you, love, so he'll manage to weather whatever else happens to him. Yes, Alex seems a pretty worthless type, but he can't be all bad. He was probably very jealous of his father. Sons whose fathers are successful and famous have a pretty hard time trying to catch up. Perhaps he seduced you to get back at his father.'

‘Oh, thanks. I thought it might have been because…'

‘And even if Molly insists that he becomes involved in Joss's life, he probably won't have enough interest or energy to make a nuisance of himself. You said he was an idler and a waster.'

‘He certainly didn't work at his marriage. And Molly told me he doesn't often see his other children. She said it was because their mother had taken them to live in France, but that may be only an excuse.'

‘If I were you, I should tell Joss about Alex tonight – I'll take Harry home with me. Tell him you decided to wait till he was ten before telling him so that he'd be old enough to understand. That way he'll be on your side and won't start off feeling deceived and injured.'

‘Tonight? Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure. It would be disastrous if he heard it from Molly. Or from Alex himself.'

‘Tonight? Oh God, I only hope you're right.'

*   *   *

‘Yes, we do sex education. Yes, we've done it all. Penis and vagina and so on. I can draw pictures for you if you want.'

‘That wasn't exactly what I had in mind, though.'

‘And Stephen and Martin have told us more things. About having a hard-on and wet dreams.'

‘Yes, well, I'm glad you know all about it. But I wanted to talk about sex in a much more personal way. You see, when I was young there was a man who was very keen to have sex with me. His name was Alex. Well, we did have sex together, and as you know women have these eggs inside them…'

‘In their womb.'

‘Yes. And an egg I had in my womb got fertilised. But we'd been very foolish. Because this man called Alex was already married.'

‘Oh sugar!' Joss smote his forehead in sympathy. ‘So you had to have an operation?'

‘No. I didn't really want an operations – they're called abortions, by the way – so…'

‘They don't seem all that popular, do they? Miss Adams doesn't think they're a very good idea. Condoms are a much better idea she says. But I suppose they didn't have condoms in the old days.'

‘Anyway, I didn't much want an abortion. So I went to see this very nice older man I knew who suggested that I should marry him instead, that he would look after me and love me. And I did and was very happy. And that was Anthony.'

‘My father?'

‘Anthony was your father in every way except that one way which was to do with sperm and so on.'

‘Anthony wasn't my sperm father?'

‘No. That was the man who was already married. Of course it was very foolish of me to have had sex with that married man.'

‘Was it Thomas?'

‘No, his name was Alex. I told you.'

‘Right.'

‘Now to make things even more complicated – and this is why I needed to wait until you were old enough to understand properly – this man called Alex was Anthony's son. But he promised Anthony faithfully that he'd keep right out of our lives from then on. And not interfere with the baby in any way.'

‘And that baby was me?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did Anthony love me?'

‘He was besotted about you. As I was.'

‘You were both besotted about me?'

‘Absolutely. We couldn't stop looking at you. And every time you cried, we cried too.'

‘I'm besotted about Jim.'

‘Jim's lovely. But you – you were lovely as an angel.'

‘Mum, that's silly. You've never even seen an angel. Perhaps they don't even exist.'

‘Anyway, to get back to our story, this Alex has chosen to forget his promise to leave us alone, and wants to come to see you from time to time.'

‘Oh.'

‘How do you feel about that?'

‘I don't think I want to see him. I shall tell him off for breaking his promise. Anyway, everyone thinks Anthony is my father.'

‘He is really. But Alex feels he wants a little share of you.'

‘I shall talk to him like Granny talks to the paper-boy, polite but very chilly. “And please forgive poor little Willy for saying his prayers in bed. It's chilly.” Do you remember that, Mum?'

‘So you don't think you'll be too worried about having to meet Alex?'

‘Is he coming to live with us?'

‘Heavens, no. I'm not at all fond of him.'

‘Well, there's lots of children in my school with an extra father. I don't mind seeing him the odd Sunday afternoon. What car has he got?'

Chapter Twenty

The next day Rosamund felt relief flow through her body like champagne bubbles. She hadn't realised how much of a burden keeping Joss in the dark about his father had been. Now that she'd told him about Alex, however little had sunk in, at least it was out in the open and she felt almost ready to forgive herself for the whole sad episode.

She expected Joss to bring up the subject again over breakfast, but the only thing on his mind then was his games kit.

‘You
never
wash my things. I wish I lived with Granny.'

‘If I was perfect you'd have to be perfect too, and you'd find it an awful strain.'

‘No, I wouldn't. Anyway I only want my games kit washed.'

‘Then remind me about it as soon as you've used it, not in the morning just before you need it again.'

‘I hate it when you shout at me.'

‘Then don't shout at
me.
Listen, I'll dry-clean it for you.

‘How?'

‘I'll take it outside and scrape the mud off. You finish your toast.'

*   *   *

She dropped him off at school and then waited for Thomas who was driving up with Harry.

‘Thanks for your help, Thomas. You were quite right. I explained things to him and now I feel so much better. Something's decided now. Quite a lot, in fact.'

‘Good. I feel better this morning too, it must be the weather. Stephen and Martin are behaving abominably, I'm way behind with my marking and my A-level results are going to be atrocious, but damn it, I'm coping. I haven't got over Eliza's death, but I feel I will sometime.'

They waved to each other and drove off in different directions.

*   *   *

Rosamund felt so full of hope and excitement that she knew she couldn't settle to the housework and gardening she'd planned to do that day. Her whole life seemed to have opened out in front of her. Her drawing of Mary-Louise had proved to her that she did have a future as an artist. She'd looked at all her early paintings and realised that they were full of promise. Her failure had been owing to a lack of confidence after Anthony's death; she'd carried on painting the same old subjects feeling it was all she was capable of, repeating herself without developing her talents in any way. Now she planned to move in a totally different direction, figure-drawing first, then naturalistic studies of men and women against backgrounds of luxuriant colour; Brian working in his garden, his gardening clothes immaculate, his dahlias in serried ranks, the sky behind cloudless and acid blue; Paul in theatrical pose, vanity and world-weariness on his features, a backdrop of velvet curtains in royal purple; Marian and Dora sitting side by side on a squashy tomato-red sofa, the colour behind them intense but rather dark; Joss with frown and cricket bat in front of a tracery of the tenderest summer leaves; she could visualise them all and couldn't wait to begin.

She did some shopping in the village – fresh peas, asparagus, little round red radishes, bright green and white spring onions. That day she bought only things that were beautiful; she was an artist and might try a still-life later on. Every shop she went into was full of people she wanted to paint; plump women whose faces were soft and ripe as plums, thin men with weathered brown faces and winter-white arms, pre-school children, Botticelli angels with freckled faces and pink noses.

She passed the newsagent's window and saw a display of the new
Country Homes
magazine. ‘Local Artist wins London Acclaim' a poster announced – in Marian's spiky lettering which she'd recognise anywhere. She'd get her to add another. ‘Sale of Pictures. No Offer Refused.' She'd need space for her new work.

‘I'm going to start on some life-drawing, Mum,' she told Marian when she dropped in on her for coffee. ‘You're absolutely right. What I need now is to concentrate on my work.'

‘Is that what I said, dear?'

‘Yes. And thank you for doing the poster in Mrs Johnson's window, too. I do hope Joss sees it.'

‘Brian will take him along there after school to get some strawberry ice-cream … Have you decided what to do about Molly?'

‘Yes. I shall refuse to do what she wants but in the friendliest possible way. I'm going to take Joss up to London with me next month and we'll visit her. I've already told him about Alex and he seemed to take it in his stride, so she can't threaten me about that.'

‘Will you stay with Dora, dear?'

‘No, with Ingrid. Take a sleeping bag for Joss.'

‘You'll do the rounds, though?'

‘Of course. Daniel first, then Erica. And Dora and Molly on the Sunday. Ingrid says she and Erica are getting on really well with the book. All she has to do is try to keep up with the flow of reminiscences. I couldn't bear to take that away from Erica, all that pleasure and satisfaction.'

‘You're quite right, dear. Molly can look after herself. She seemed a real old battle-axe. I'm not going to feel sorry for Molly and neither must you. Anyway, she's got Joss as compensation and I only hope she appreciates him and leaves him lots and lots of money in her will. How is Daniel?'

‘I don't know. He said he'd try to phone me this week, but he hasn't so far. I hope he'll be reasonably well when I take Joss to visit him.'

‘What exactly is he suffering from, dear?'

‘Heroin addiction.'

‘Heroin addiction! Oh Rosamund, I think you go around looking for trouble.'

‘But he's in a rehabilitation clinic, Mum. So with luck he'll get over it. You remember Marie, the girl I spoke to you about? The one with the little baby called Theodore? Well, she was on heroin and she managed to come off it. It is possible. And Daniel seems very determined. At least, most of the time.'

‘Well, dear, I hope you know what you're doing.'

‘Today, I honestly feel as though I do. Of course, it may only be the weather … Hello, Brian. Finished the shopping?'

‘Just about. It's taken much longer than usual because everyone's been stopping me to comment on my brilliant stepdaughter. What it is to be related to the famous, eh Marian? Mrs Langsdale wants to buy one of your paintings, Rosamund, for the lounge in the George. And she could display a dozen or so, she says, in the dining room. She won't be taking any commision either, because Marian and I are amongst her regulars. How about that?'

‘Brian, you're wonderful. Bring her up to see them before she changes her mind. Bring her up to tea. I've got some birthday cake left.'

‘Have you any idea what to charge her, dear?'

‘No, but I'm sure Brian will manage to work something out.'

*   *   *

Some weeks later Rosamund called at the Woodisons' house and found Mary-Louise in the front garden trying to force some mushy pale green substance past Jim's clamped lips. She stood for a while watching the struggle.

‘Another obstinate one,' Mary-Louise said at last. ‘At four months old he's supposed to start on puréed apple.' Her voice was shrill.

‘Would you like to model for me? Life-drawing?'

‘How much?'

‘Three quid an hour.'

‘Four.'

‘Three-fifty.'

‘When?'

‘Any time you like. As soon as possible.'

‘I'll give you a bell.'

‘Right. Bye, Jim – I think you won that round. Bye, Mary-Louise.'

*   *   *

By this time Rosamund was looking forward to working from a model, but in the meantime started on another waist-length self-portrait.

My face isn't bad, she told herself. I think I'm better-looking than when I was twenty, my bones are more in evidence, I'm much leaner. I was certainly plump as a child. No wonder my mother despaired of me. She'd have liked her daughter to take after her, small-featured and slim, a perfect size ten, whereas I took after my father, much too tall for a girl, large nose and mouth, and overweight as well. I'm sure she didn't mean to make me feel inferior, but she did. ‘Oh, not another cake, dear. Think of those hips.' I wasn't clever or amusing or smart, and I had no self-confidence. No wonder she wanted to send me off to art school. She couldn't be doing with me.

She dotes on Joss, but she never doted on me. I think she's fonder of me now than she's ever been. She's quite proud of my achievements, meagre though they are, but most of all I produced the perfect grandchild for her and Brian to cherish and adore.

I think my self-esteem was at an all-time low in my first year at art school. When Daniel used to say I was beautiful, I thought he was being either kind or sarcastic. I felt he rejected me, but in fact I suppose I rejected him. I was unable to accept him as a lover because I felt he wasn't taking me seriously enough. For God's sake, what did 1 expect from him? That he should propose marriage to me, when I was twenty and he twenty-three? Yes, I suppose I did want some high-seriousness, some definite commitment, though I can't understand why, because I'd seen what early marriage had done to my parents.