Douglas spoke loudly. ‘Is this April the first, by any chance?’
Ollie said: ‘It’s not my baby.’
‘It’s Ken’s,’ said Viv.
Ann remained at the sink. She felt as alert as an animal poised between joy and fear. She hardly breathed.
Her father looked from one face to another and said finally: ‘What’ve you all been up to?’
‘I was artificially inseminated,’ said Viv. Ollie turned, sharply. Ken stayed still.
‘What?’ said Douglas.
‘It’s Kenneth’s baby?’ asked Vera.
Viv nodded. ‘Ken’s and mine.’
‘I’ve read about this in the newspapers,’ said Vera.
Douglas turned to Ken. ‘You paying or something?’
‘Dad!’ said Viv. ‘I’m doing this for love.’
Ken said: ‘Of course there’ll be proper compensation –’
‘For love, Dad,’ said Viv sharply. ‘Something you might not understand.’
There was a noise at the back door. They all froze. Rosie and Daisy were in the garden. They banged on the glass, their heads appeared, hair flying, as they jumped up and down. They looked like apparitions from long ago – how much time had passed since they had climbed over the wall?
Viv rose and let them in.
It was so hot in the garden. Viv stood for a moment, breathing in the scent of next door’s lilac. The blossoms lolled heavily over the wall, as if inspecting her – fragrant and incurious. How peaceful it was. She looked back at the house. Through the window it all looked like a normal family gathering: Ollie washing up, the girls’ laughter rising inside the room; her father’s deeper voice. She took her time emptying the peelings into the compost heap.
When she turned back, Ken was behind her. she looked at him: his square, masculine face, flushed now; his helpless hands hanging at his sides.
He spoke in a low voice. ‘There’s something I need to know.’
‘What?’
‘On Wednesday, when we . . . you know . . .’ He glanced back at the house. ‘You must’ve known you were pregnant.’
She nodded.
He asked: ‘Then why?’
She looked down. The compost heap was built of bricks; in one of the cracks she could see something shining. She picked it out; it was an egg the children had missed. She gave it to Ken. Then she shrugged, trying to look casual. ‘I suppose I just wanted to.’
She moved back towards the house. He remained standing there, holding the egg.
‘Didn’t you?’ she asked, and hurried back into the house.
Vera was sitting on the sofa, her hand outstretched. On either side of her the girls were inspecting her ring.
‘. . . and these are little diamonds,’ she said. ‘The jewels of love.’
Rosie touched them. ‘Are they proper ones?’
‘Cost enough,’ said Douglas. His colour was high and his voice loud. He stood at the mantelpiece and glanced at Viv as she came in.
‘Don’t listen to your grandfather,’ said Vera. ‘He has no romance in his heart.’ She looked up at Douglas, and smiled.
Rosie said: ‘Mum, why haven’t you got a proper ring? Why didn’t you have a proper wedding dress?’
Viv put away the compost bin. ‘It was my sort of proper.’
‘Some bloody kaftan,’ said her father.
Daisy said: ‘Aunty Vera wants us to be her bridesmaids.’
Vera nodded. ‘I’m seeing them in the most pale green, like new little leafs.’
‘Leaves,’ said Douglas sharply.
Viv went over to the dresser and took out her purse. She said to the children: ‘Run along and get some crisps.’
‘They’ve just had tea,’ said her father.
The girls grabbed the money and ran out into the hall. Viv called after them: ‘Eat them in the playground, else you’ll have to wash up.’
She turned back. Ken had come in from the garden; he stood beside the sink. ‘Can I help?’ he asked Ollie.
Ollie shook his head. ‘Too many cooks.’ His apron had come undone at the back. Viv longed to tie it up, but she knew she couldn’t.
She turned to her father. ‘Don’t tell anyone. We haven’t decided anything, we haven’t even talked. I just wanted you to know.’
Vera smiled at her. ‘I’m so happy.’
‘Are you?’ asked Viv.
‘It is a very beautiful thing to do.’
Viv looked at the Austrian woman. She felt expanded, lighter. She felt herself smiling, for the first time. ‘Are you?’ She moved forward and sat down on the sofa beside her. Her father still stood at the mantelpiece. He was fiddling with some bits of Lego.
He turned and spoke sharply to Vera: ‘She’s joking, Vee.’ There was a silence. ‘In poor taste, I grant you, but –’
‘I’m not!’ said Viv.
‘In fact it’s disgusting,’ he said.
Ann spoke. ‘She means it, Dad. We all do.’ She had stopped even the semblance of drying up and sat down at the table.
Douglas stared down at Viv. ‘That’s Kenneth’s baby in there?’
Viv nodded.
He went on: ‘And how does your husband –’
‘It’s not mine,’ said Ollie. He had turned from the sink and stood there in his Mothercare apron. the front was blurred bluish, where the Pentel marks had been wiped.
‘Excuse me,’ said Douglas, ‘but how do you know?’
‘It’s not,’ said Ollie.
Douglas’s face was deep red now. He turned to Ken. ‘You, young man. How could you?’
‘Dad!’ said Viv.
‘My own daughter!’ he went on. ‘It’s like incest.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Viv. ‘We’re not related.’
‘Don’t get uppity with me, young woman, just because you’ve been to college –’ He stopped for breath.
Ann went nearer him and said sharply: ‘Dad! Will you listen? It’s over, it’s done. It was all perfectly decent.’
Ollie spoke, ‘Perfectly,’ he said.
‘In a clinic,’ said Ann.
‘A clinic,’ said Ollie.
‘And quite frankly I think it’s rather purient to enquire too much about that particular aspect.’
There was a pause. Vera had taken Viv’s hand. Nobody moved. Then Douglas said: ‘You must all be out of your bloody minds.’
Viv turned to Vera. ‘You seem to understand.’
Vera nodded, ‘I understand.’
Viv spoke to her father; he loomed above her. ‘Vera called it beautiful.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but there’s one difference.’
‘What?’
His voice rose. ‘You’re my daughter, not hers.’
Beside her, Viv felt Vera stiffen. She looked up at her father. ‘Listen, Dad. I love Ann. She’s had a raw deal, and nobody should know that better than you.’ Everyone was silent. Viv took a breath and went on. ‘I’m doing this for love. We all are. You call it disgusting. Do you know what I think is disgusting?’ She paused. Her father didn’t answer. She went on, her voice rising. ‘Do you? The way you’ve loved me more than Ann. That’s a terrible, terrible thing to do to a child.’ Her hand felt slippery with sweat; she took it from Vera’s and looked up at her father’s red face. ‘God knows I’m not perfect – I’ve had abortions, I’ve been unfaithful to Ollie, often, I’m a terrific liar, I’m bossy and inconsistent and, oh, lots more . . .’ Breathing heavily, she turned to Vera. ‘You must be enjoying this, here’s family life.’ She turned back to her father and spoke urgently: ‘But none of this is as truly wicked as making a child feel a failure. There’s no prison sentence long enough for that and yet it’s not even considered a crime.’ She stopped, breathless, and then hissed: ‘Now isn’t that disgusting?’
Nobody spoke. From the playground came the faint sounds of children yelling. In the street a car passed. Then Ollie started clapping.
Viv frowned at him. He said: ‘I mean it.’
Ver
a turned to her. ‘You can’t say that to your father.’
‘I had to,’ said Viv. She willed her heart to stop thumping.
Vera went on: ‘But it’s no wonder he has favoured you more than Ann when –’
‘Vera!’ her father bellowed.
They all stared at him.
Viv turned to Vera. ‘What do you mean?’
Her father shouted: ‘Shut up, you stupid woman!’
Vera burst into tears. She bent over her knees, sobbing.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ he said.
Viv put her arm around Vera, whose shoulders were shaking. Ann moved over quickly, taking out a handkerchief. She sat down on the arm of the sofa, comforting her.
The doorbell rang. Nobody moved. There was no sound, except small hiccups from Vera.
The bell rang again. Finally, Viv jerked her head at Ollie. He left the room; they heard him walking along the hall, then opening the door. There was a chatter of voices and Irene came in.
She stumbled on the mat. ‘Whoops,’ she said merrily.
Behind her came Frank. He was a plump, benevolent man with corrugated grey hair. He smiled and nodded at Viv.
Irene saw her ex-husband and raised her eyebrows. ‘Hello, Doug.’
‘Hello,’ he said.
Viv said hastily: ‘Er Mum, this is Dad’s fiancée, Vera.’
Irene looked at Vera, who was blowing her nose. ‘She looks happy about it.’
‘Mum!’ said Viv.
‘Pardon me,’ said Irene. ‘We’ve been celebrating. Doug, this is Frank; he runs the salon.’ Irene worked at a hairdresser’s.
‘Hello, Frank,’ said Douglas.
‘Glad to meet you,’ said Frank, stepping forward and putting out his hand. Douglas shook it.
Viv spoke to her mother. ‘I thought you were going to –’
‘Venice,’ said Irene, nodding. ‘Just popped in, didn’t we, to bring these.’ She put two large Easter eggs on the table. ‘For the girls,’ she said. ‘Where are they?’
‘At the shops,’ said Viv.
‘And to show off me frock,’ said her mother, swirling round for them all. She wore a dress with large red poppies printed on it.
‘Lovely,’ said Viv, going to the kettle. ‘Have some tea. Frank, do sit down.’
Her mother grimaced. ‘Can’t we have something a bit more festive?’
‘Of course,’ said Ollie. He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine.
Frank laughed. ‘She’ll be too sloshed to get on the plane.’
‘Well, you only live once,’ said Irene.
Frank took out a packet of panatellas and offered one to Ken, who shook his head, and then to Douglas.
‘No thanks,’ said Douglas.
‘Mind if I do?’ asked Frank.
Viv fetched the glasses.
Irene, who was looking at Vera curiously, sat down beside her on the sofa. Vera moved a little, to give her room. Irene asked: ‘So where’s he taking you for your honeymoon – Southend?’
‘Crete,’ said Douglas loudly.
Vera looked up at him, surprised. ‘Where?’
‘Crete,’ he repeated. ‘Well, why not?’
Irene looked at him with interest. ‘You have changed.’
‘As you said,’ he replied, ‘you only live once.’
Viv looked from her mother – petite and beady-eyed, like a bird in flowery plumage – to her father, who looked larger than ever, and flushed, as he stood at the mantelpiece. She wondered what Vera was seeing, now. The Austrian woman sat on the sofa, still and dignified, gazing from one face to another. She wore a sombre but rather beautiful brown silk dress. Beside her, Viv’s mother looked garish. Viv thought: who in this room do I actually trust? She passed out the glasses of wine; the scent of it made her queasy.
Frank leaned towards Vera and asked conversationally: ‘Have you visited Venice?’
‘Course she has,’ interrupted Irene, and turned to Vera. ‘She’s from Vienna, aren’t you?’
‘It is very lovely,’ said Vera.
‘Vienna?’ asked Frank.
‘Venice,’ said Vera.
‘So I’ve heard,’ said Frank.
Irene took a sip of her wine. ‘See Venice and die.’
Viv passed her father a glass. ‘That’s Rome.’
‘Is it?’ asked Frank.
Viv nodded. ‘See Rome and die.’
Ollie, passing by, muttered to her, ‘It’s Naples,’ and sat down.
‘It isn’t,’ said Viv.
Her mother giggled. ‘Well anyway, it’s not Southend.’
Vera looked around confused. ‘Where is Southend?’
Viv smiled. ‘Quite near Crete.’
‘Pardon?’ asked Vera.
Silence fell. Ollie started humming under his breath and picking at the frayed seam of his jeans. Viv frowned at him. Ken stood against the draining board, drinking.
Irene turned to Vera and said: ‘That’s a gorgeous outfit you’re wearing.’
‘Thank you,’ said Vera.
Douglas nodded, ‘She made it herself,’ he said, pointing at Vera with his wineglass. ‘She’s a professional.’
‘Mmm.’ said Irene, feeling the material between her fingers. ‘Lovely little shoulders. So you get paid for it?’
‘Course she does,’ said Douglas.
‘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?
_____Thirteen_____
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.