Love Is a Four Letter Word (25 page)

He lowered his voice. ‘Well, it's rubbish. You'd be brilliant. Why d'you say that?'

‘I'd be bound to mess them up and they'd grow up resenting me – they'd need decades of therapy and
then send me the bill. Or I'd be too anxious and over-protective. They look so fragile. I couldn't bear it. I'd lie awake all night to check they were still breathing.'

‘Believe me, after a few nights of no sleep, you'd find yourself dropping off in the middle of the supermarket. Anyway, babies are tougher than they look, but, yes, it's a worry. Mum says she still worries about us and look how old he is.' Helen nodded at Will. ‘What about your lot – do they nose into your life all the time or are you more the typically English family who meet up twice a year?'

‘Dad can be a bit of a fusser. My mother likes to interfere but not to the point where I might think she actually cared one way or the other, so she treads a delicate line – takes years of practice to get as good as that. She'd love me to settle down only so she would no longer have the embarrassment of having this
spinster
daughter.'

Leo started to cry and Helen reclaimed him and held him close against her.

‘Oh, come on,' said Will.

‘It's true. As for worrying about me, the only reason she'd mind if I was squished by a truck tomorrow is because then she'd have to put up with pitying looks from the neighbours.'

‘That's a horrible thing to say.' Will's voice was quiet.

Helen was silent.

‘I can't believe you said that.' Will looked glazed.

Bella shrugged. She had intended it as an amusing hyperbole, but said out loud it had suddenly seemed not very amusing, not very amusing at all.

‘You sound very angry,' said Will.

‘I didn't come here to be analysed. Don't patronize me, Will.'

Helen topped up their cups.

‘Well, it's none of my business,' she said, ‘but I'd be angry if I thought
my
mother didn't care. So would
you, Will. Course you would. Anyway, you can share our mum, Bella. She obviously thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread. Went on about you for hours after Will took you to see her. I felt quite jealous, I can tell you.'

Bella wondered how she had sounded. Was she really so angry? She didn't know any more. Her mother – Mum; it sounded odd, too aprony and cosy for Alessandra – had always been like that so she was more resigned to it than anything, she supposed. Whatever you grew up with, that was what was
normal
to you. You only questioned it when you came across something different.

∼ ∼ ∼

She is at Sara's house, for tea. They have had egg sandwiches in white bread, soft and flannelly, with the crusts cut off. Now they each have a fairy cake, covered in hundreds-and-thousands, and a drink of orange barley water in a glass with red and yellow rings around it. As they eat their cakes, the hundreds-and-thousands keep falling off onto their plates, making a tiny pattering sound, multicoloured rain. Sara reaches across to try to steal some of Bella's windfall with a licked finger, laughing. Bella leans over to get to Sara's plate. As she stretches out, she knocks over her glass of orange barley. Sara squeals as it spills across the table and drips onto the floor.

Bella holds her breath. Sara's mum will call her clumsy, shout at her. She will be tipped off her chair and pushed out of the kitchen. She will have to go in the garden and hide behind the bush with the purple flowers where the butterflies play.

Sara's mum wipes the table with a stripy cloth.

‘Oops-a-daisy,' she says. ‘There we go.' She mixes up another glass of orange and gives it to Bella.

Bella looks at her, waiting, barely breathing. Any minute now.

‘That cake nice, is it?' says Sara's mum.

Bella nods slowly and starts to pick off the hundreds-and-thousands to eat them one by one.

∼ ∼ ∼

‘I went to see my dad once. Our real dad. Remember, Will?' Helen said.

He nodded.

‘I'd been pissed off at him for years. And I mean
years –
he made practically no effort to see us when we were growing up, after he'd left Mum. We had Hugh and he was great and all that but I wanted my real dad to want me, too. I went to see him when I was about eighteen, up in Yorkshire. Mum gave me the fare. I don't suppose she can have been keen on the idea, but she didn't try to dissuade me. I needed to see him, she knew that.'

‘So, what was he like?' Bella asked.

‘He was – a bit pathetic really. Ineffectual, not a real grown-up. It was such an anticlimax. He gave me this kind of awkward half-hug and I just felt, well, sorry for him. He didn't seem worth all that wasted energy of being angry all the time. I suddenly saw that
he
had missed out, by not knowing us. And he'd never get those years back. I couldn't be bothered to resent him any more. I send him a card now and then, but he's just like a distant uncle really. I miss Hugh much more.'

Leo had fallen asleep. His small face was completely calm, at rest. Helen carefully laid him between two cushions on the sofa and sat beside him.

‘Have you ever tried to talk to your mum about how she is?' she asked.

‘What would be the point? She's not going to change magically just because I ask her to.'

‘No, she probably won't. That's not what I meant. But
you
might. If you talked to her, you might start to understand why she's like that. What have you got to lose?'

Abigail came to whisper in Helen's ear.

‘You don't have to whisper, sweetheart. What is it?'

She whispered again.

‘Just ask her. I'm sure she will.'

Abigail remained silent, but tugged at Helen's sleeve.

‘Bella, would you mind looking at Abby's drawings? I think she wants a new fan.'

Bella and Abby lay on the floor, drawing with crayons while Helen fed Leo and Will washed up.

‘What shall we draw now?' asked Bella.

‘Me. Me. Draw me.'

A stylized Abby duly took shape on the page: springy, Will-like, brown hair, bright red dungarees, blue T-shirt.

‘Shall we draw your baby brother in here, too?'

Abby sucked her lip, considering.

‘No,' she said.

Bella laughed.

‘Fair enough.'

Abby gave Bella a drawing as they were leaving – one she had done of Bella, with huge eyes and a red smile.

‘Thank you very much. I'll put it up in my studio, and you must come to me for tea soon and we can do some more.'

‘See, she's got your hair spot on,' said Will, pointing at Bella's head in the drawing, covered with a tangle of lines like unravelled knitting.

‘Shut up, you.' She squeezed his arm. ‘I'm glad I came. Thank you.'

‘I knew you would be. Have you got to dash off to do “stuff” or do I get the good of you on my own for a while?'

She checked her watch.

‘Hmm. I ought to be getting back.'

‘Can't it wait?' He drew her towards the stairs. ‘I've got something to show you … upstairs.'

‘I bet you have. OK. On condition I can watch
Jane Eyre
here – starts in forty minutes.'

‘Oh, you.' He towed her up the stairs.
‘Four
minutes will probably be sufficient. We don't need to bother with all that foreplay stuff now we've known each other all this time, do we?' He started unbuttoning her dress.

‘Fine, dear. I'll just lie back and you take your pleasure.'

Her dress fell to the floor.

‘Forty minutes, hmm? Look, she gets him in the end – there, you don't need to watch it now.' He manoeuvred her towards the bathroom. ‘Come and have a shower with me.'

Standing with Will in the shower, she watched the rivulets of water running down his chest, soaped her hands to lather his legs, his back, the curve of his bottom. He held her with one arm, pressing the cool bar of soap over her breasts, sliding his hands over her skin, cupping her tummy, dipping his finger into her navel. He turned her to clasp her from behind, reaching around her, his fingers roaming, slipping, tracing tingling paths over her flesh. Pushing back against him, she rested her head on his chest, her wet hair slicked to his skin. Curved her hand back to touch him. His sudden breath hot on her neck. His hand reaching lower. He guided her other hand between her own thighs.

‘Carry on without me for a moment. I'll be right
back.' Will jumped out of the shower. She heard him call through from the bedroom. The banging of drawers.

‘Where are the bloody doo-dahs?'

‘Under the pillow!'

He ran back into the bathroom.

‘Enjoying yourself there? Can I join in at all?'

‘Get in, you fool.' She pressed herself hard against him as he clambered back in.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Where were we?'

They were lying in his bed in a tangle of towels, pillows and duvet.

‘Fat face?' Will turned towards her.

‘Hmm?' She wriggled to face him. Raised her hand to his cheek.

‘I —' he kissed her nose, ‘love —' another kiss, ‘you —' kiss, ‘bigly.' Kiss.

‘Bigly?' She snuggled closer to him, rubbing her face against his chest.

‘Yes. Very bigly. I know this has all been – well – it has, really, hasn't it? – quite quick and intense, not just the sex – which is certainly intense but not too quick I hope – and anyway, the thing is –'

‘You're wibbling, Will.'

‘That's true. I am wibbling. I want to say something, but I don't want you to panic.'

‘Don't panic, Mr Mainwaring, don't panic!' Bella slipped into the
Dad's Army
refrain.

‘No,' he said, gently shaking her arm. ‘Don't do that.'

‘Oops. Have I got to be serious now?' She bit her cheeks. ‘See? Being sensible.'

Will nodded.

‘I don't want to scare you off. You know how I feel about you.'

He took her hand, looked down at her fingers as he
squeezed them in his own, ran his thumb over her knuckles, her fingernails as if he had never seen them before, then looked up and straight into her eyes.

‘I want to marry you.'

For a tiny fraction of time, she felt herself flooded with warmth. Her face must be glowing. For one moment, light shone from her eyes. Tears pooled softly below the rims.

Yes, yes.
Love me, marry me. Yes.

Then a wisp of cold blew down her neck. She shivered. Her skin was clammy, pale, her mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes closed. And there was Patrick, his back turned towards her. But she dared not reach out to him. What would she see in his eyes? She clenched and unclenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

‘Er, does your silence mean you'd like some time to think about it? Or are you just gobsmacked? Or is that a yes but you're playing hard to get?'

‘I wouldn't do that.'

‘I sort of thought you might feel the same way. Shit, I knew I shouldn't have rushed. I'm such a dickhead. Forget I said it.'

‘How could I? It's fine. Really. I'm flattered. I'm just not sure yet. Sorry.'

Why could she not say what she wanted to?
Yes, yes. Love me, marry me. Yes.

He managed a smile.

‘Will you think about it at least? At some point, as you would say.'

‘At some point.' She smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you.'

‘Will you stop being so polite? Here, come and give us a cuddle. Consolation prize.'

*   *   *

She met up with Viv on Monday lunch-time. They sat on a park bench eating sandwiches.

‘Oh-oh, you've got that strange mask look.' Viv's eyes narrowed. ‘What's occurring? You've not had a fight with Will, have you?'

‘Uh-uh.' Bella shook her head. ‘Quite the contrary. He proposed.'

‘Proposed? What, like marriage you mean?'

‘No. He proposed we start drilling for oil in my back garden. Yes, of course marriage. Is that so ridiculous?'

‘Of course not. But that's brilliant!' Viv clasped Bella in a big hug. ‘I'm
so
pleased, you know I am. Oh, a wedding! I may have to cry.' She took a bite of her sandwich, then chewed slowly. ‘Hang on – shouldn't you be looking a bit more ecstatic or something? You did say yes, babe?'

‘Not as such.'

Viv stopped mid-chew.

‘I'm not hearing this.'

‘Well, it is quite quick. I thought you'd be all in sensible mode – now don't rush into anything – take your time – it's a big decision. All that. Look at you two for Chrissakes, you've been together what? Four? Five years? And still no sign of your personalized Viv 'n' Nick napkins with the little silver bells on.'

Viv flushed.

‘Sorry,' said Bella. ‘That was out of line.' Viv wouldn't marry Nick only because the wedding would inevitably be boycotted by one of her parents; some eighteen years after their acrimonious divorce, they still refused even to be in the same room together for five minutes.

A shrug from Viv.

‘Never mind that now. Anyway, why
did
you turn him down?'

‘Don't know, miss.' Bella picked at a bit of lettuce
from her sandwich and kicked one of her shoes with the other.

‘Bel? Is it …? Is it, well, because of Patrick? Oh,
babe.
I'm sorry.' Bella was shaking her head, her eyes scrunched tight.

‘I don't know, I don't know. I just can't. I can't—'

‘Bella, can I ask you a favour?' Will called up from her kitchen.

‘Sure. Why so serious?' She ran down the stairs. ‘You don't want to borrow my life savings, do you?'

‘No. Now don't go ballistic on me, but is there any chance – would you mind moving those photos of Patrick from the pinboard, up to your studio say?'

‘Really, Will. You can hardly be jealous of a dead person? I'd no idea you were so insecure.'