Sisteria (26 page)

Chapter 21

At the same time as trying to pluck up the courage to get Tom out of her life, Beverley had spent the last two weeks trying desperately to get her daughter back in it. Every time she rang the Newbegins, Natalie steadfastly refused to come to the phone. Beverley had stopped trying to discuss the situation with Melvin because the bit of his brain which dealt with concentration still wasn't functioning. She assumed his vagueness and inability to focus on everyday issues was due to his having reached a particularly painful stage in his psychotherapy. Although Wim assured Beverley he was on the mend, he made it clear that Melvin hadn't quite got to the point where he could start taking on parental responsibilities again.

Beverley turned to Rochelle, who told her (as did Queenie and Tom) that Natalie would get in touch when she was ready and that she should back off and give her the space she clearly needed. But when Natalie was still refusing to speak to her after two weeks, Beverley could bear it no longer and decided to take action.

She phoned Mo, determined to brook no objection to her plan or even let the poor woman get a word in edgeways.

‘Please don't get me wrong,' she said firmly. ‘I'm very grateful to you for taking her in, but I am Natalie's mother and I need to find out why she feels she can't talk to me any more. I must insist on seeing her. I'll be round in a few minutes and I'd be grateful if you didn't tell her I'm coming because it might frighten her off.'

Mo Newbegin opened the front door of the small Victorian house.

‘Ah, Beverley.' She smiled uneasily. ‘Do come in.' Beverley stepped into the hall.

Mo gave every appearance of having just emerged from a Sketchley bag. Her calf-length floral skirt contained not so much as a hint of a crease. Her brilliant white pie-crust-collar blouse looked like it probably moonlighted in soap powder commercials and her flat green T-bar sandals were so highly polished that if Beverley had bent down only slightly she would undoubtedly have seen Mo's freshly ironed knickers reflected in the leather. The woman was clearly in the prim of life. Even her straight chin-length bob looked like it had been cut with the aid of a set square.

‘I wonder,' Mo said, giving a nervous giggle, ‘if I could ask you to take off your shoes. Only we've just put down brand-new twist pile. You know what it's like with beige. Shows every mark.'

No, Beverley thought - this woman's hymen hadn't grown back just the once. A neatness fanatic like her would have trained it to grow back each time she had sex. Not that she'd have done it more than once – to make Duncan. The mere thought of a damp patch probably caused her to hyperventilate. Beverley couldn't help thinking that Mo Newbegin gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘immaculate conception'.

‘Oh, no, that's fine,' Beverley said, kicking off her scruffy trainers.

‘Come through,' Mo said, leading Beverley down the plastic carpet protector. The smell of baking bread wafted in from the kitchen.

‘Oooh, what a wonderful smell,' Beverley said by way of making polite conversation.

‘Yes,' Mo said smugly, leading Beverley into the excruciatingly neat John Lewis living room. ‘I bake all my own bread and cakes and we grow all our own veg. There's almost nothing shop-bought in this house. Oh no. I even make the church communion wafers.'

‘Goodness,' Beverley said, feigning admiration and at the same time noticing that there was no TV or stereo in the room, only two bookcases lined with religious books.

Mo showed Beverley to the floral sofa. She hovered over the seat cushion for a moment or two until she was satisfied Mo wasn't about to slide a newspaper under her bum.

‘I do hope you don't think Duncan influenced Natalie's decision to be baptised,' Mo said, squatting on the edge of an armchair. ‘I mean, we brought him up to respect all religions. And I do so admire you Jews. I mean, you're all so shrewd businesswise, aren't you? I know it's wrong to make generalisations. I mean, you personally - you're probably not shrewd at all. Probably quite the opposite, in fact. Not that you're stupid, I don't mean that. Goodness, no. But it doesn't matter what business empire you think of, you can be sure there'll be a Jew at the helm. Aren't I right, Beverley?'

‘Well, I'm not sure that's quite the case,' Beverley said, doing her level best not to get up and throttle the woman.

‘I mean, take Harrods, for example,' Mo said, warming to her theme now. ‘There's that little Al Fayed chappy.'

‘Actually, Mohammed Al Fayed isn't strictly Jewish, Mo.'

‘You sure?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘Oh. Well, he certainly looks it. Anyway, you take my general point.'

‘Oh yes, Mo. I take it. I take it exactly.'

‘Right. Well, you'll be wanting to speak to Natalie. She's upstairs in her room. Duncan's doing his homework. I've been very strict about them spending at least some time apart. Why don't you pop up and see her?'

***

Beverley went upstairs, walked the couple of paces to the box room at the far end of the landing and knocked on the door.

‘C'min,' Natalie said casually.

‘Hi, Nat,' Beverley said softly. Her daughter was curled up on the bed reading a magazine. Beverley made her jump.

‘Mum,' Natalie gasped. ‘What are you doing here?' She put the magazine down on the bed and sat up against the headboard.

‘I've come to talk to you,' Beverley said, sitting herself down on the edge of the bed. It was all she could do to stop herself scooping her daughter up in her arms and cradling her like a baby, but she knew that would only irritate and antagonise her.

‘I've been really worried about you, Nat. Couldn't you have at least telephoned me?'

Natalie shrugged defensively and began scraping at her nail polish.

‘I just don't understand,' Beverley said gently, ‘why you didn't tell me about this baptism thing. I had no idea you were even going to church.'

‘Look, Mum, I'm really sorry,' Natalie said, her face suddenly bathed in guilt, ‘I know it was wrong of me, but I just thought you'd be furious if I mentioned it. Then when I came here, the longer I didn't speak to you the harder it got to pick up the phone. I mean, you've always been more religious than Dad.'

‘But what did you think I'd do? I can't believe you see me as some kind of bigot who'd throw you out of the house and tell you never to darken my door again.'

‘No, not quite. But I reckoned it would really upset you and what with the baby coming and Dad in the bin, I didn't want to put you under any more strain.'

‘And you thought I'd see you leaving home in the middle of your A levels as the strain-free option?'

Natalie shrugged.

‘Listen to me,' Beverley said, stroking her daughter's hair. ‘You're nearly eighteen, almost an adult. I know you think you'll be on the verge of the menopause before I'm prepared to cut the umbilical cord, but that's not true. Honest. Whatever religion you want to be is OK with me and your dad.'

How she was getting the words out she had no idea. Her dreams about Amish grandchildren had become more frequent and even more disturbing of late. Instead of steering a dozen of them down Golders Green Road, she saw herself at the head of a marching, hymn-singing battalion of the little mites. As she sat on the bed smiling her understanding, liberal parent smile she cursed the Jews for not having nunneries. At least then she could have arranged for Natalie to be banished to one until she abandoned all this baptism nonsense.

‘I mean,' Beverley went on, ‘I may not be entirely comfortable with you being baptised a Christian, but I refuse to let a quick dunk in a tank of water come between me and my daughter.'

‘See, there you go, making fun,' Natalie snapped, pushing her mother's hand away from her hair. ‘It's not just a quick dunk in water. It really means something to me. I've found Jesus. I've found Jesus, Mum. Last night Duncan and I went to church and we were all singing and clapping like mad and God was just so... so totally out there. I mean, He just blew our minds.'

‘Yeah, well in my day it was LSD,' Beverley said. ‘But I guess it's much the same. Look, Natalie, I really do understand what it feels like to be passionate about something. We all go through it at some stage. Usually it's in teenage...' She paused and her voice softened. ‘Sometimes it doesn't happen until much later. But if Christianity is what you want right now, then go for it.'

‘You really mean that?' Natalie said, looking up at her mother.

‘'Course I do. Listen - me, Dad, Benny, Grandma, we'll all come to the baptism. We'll throw a party afterwards. Rochelle's already got a caterer in mind. I've got a great idea for the centrepiece on the top table. How's about Jesus on the cross, carved out of chopped liver?'

‘See. You say one thing,' Natalie shot back furiously, ‘but deep down you just can't take me seriously, can you?'

She turned to face the wall.

‘Sorry,' Beverley said. ‘Bad joke. I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere, that's all.'

Natalie grunted, but refused to turn round.

‘Listen, whatever you want to do,' Beverley said to her back, ‘I'll support you. Just come home. I've missed you. God help me, I've even missed the trail of mess you leave about the place. Come on, turn round and give me a hug.'

Natalie didn't move.

‘Please,' Beverley pleaded.

A second later Natalie had turned round and thrown her arms round her mother.

‘Mum, I'm sorry,' she blubbed. ‘I shouldn't have run off like that. I'm really, truly sorry.'

They sat holding each other and crying for a moment or two.

‘Right,' Beverley said, wiping her tears and her daughter's, ‘do you think you're ready to come home?'

Natalie nodded.

***

After they'd said their thank-yous to Mo and Natalie had spent ages kissing Duncan goodbye, Beverley and Natalie walked down the Newbegins' garden path arm-in-arm.

‘Natalie,' Beverley said thoughtfully, ‘I know this is a funny question, but does Mo own a washing machine?'

‘No, refuses to have one. Insists on doing it all by hand. Even the sheets. I tell you, there's nothing in that house - no telly, no sound system, no central heating. At night it was totally freezing in there. His parents are so tight. Lord knows how Duncan puts up with it.'

Beverley nodded, and continued to ponder.

‘And Duncan,' she said casually, ‘he's never said anything about whisking you off to the wilds of Pennsylvania one day, has he? I mean, the word “Amish” has never cropped up in conversation?'

‘Amish,' Natalie repeated, shaking her head. ‘Never heard of it. Why?'

‘Oh, no reason,' Beverley said. ‘I had this weird dream a few months ago, and it's just a bit of a coincidence, that's all... No, forget I mentioned it. I'm sure you're right and the Newbegins are just a bit careful with their money.'

Chapter 22

‘Ah, the Cricklewood Crone, I presume,' Tom said brightly, extending his hand. ‘I recognize you from your pictures in the newspapers. Tom Jago. How do you do?'

Bearing in mind the circumstances, he could hardly believe he was being quite so gung-ho. A few hours later, over a large Scotch, he would put it down to shock.

Fallopia Trebetherick had only ever been at a loss for words twice in her life: the time she had a general anaesthetic, and now.

Ignoring Tom's outstretched hand, a naked Fallopia simply gave a yelp like a stuck pig and leapt off Naomi's four-poster. She spent a few moments scrambling around wildly for her clothes. Then she bounded, her ciabattas swaying as she went towards the bedroom door. Tom couldn't help noticing how her tomato-red face clashed with her nipples, which looked like two elongated raspberries.

Naomi, apparently unperturbed that Tom had just discovered her
in flagrante
with Fallopia Trebetherick, pulled the duvet up under her armpits and smiled at him.

‘Tom,' she said, colouring up, ‘you must stop surprising me like this. What are you doing here?'

‘Apparently discovering my girlfriend's a lesbian,' he said with faux chirpiness. It was the nearest he'd ever seen to Naomi being grievously humiliated, and yet such was the woman's towering self-esteem that she didn't appear a great deal more embarrassed or flustered than when he'd found her bellowing at Plum before Christmas.

He bent down to the floor and picked up an off-white bra with gargantuan cups. ‘So, when did all this happen?'

He grimaced and threw the bra on the bed.

‘I can't imagine you're that interested, but I think I was attracted to Fallopia from the moment I first saw her at the seeding ceremony back in November. Look, Tom, this had nothing to do with you personally. If I'm honest, I think at some level I'd always known I didn't fancy men, but you know...'

‘Actually, no, I don't.'

‘Well, I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it - until I met Pia.'

‘Pia?'

‘That's my pet name for her. Fallopia's such a mouthful.'

‘Yes, I can see,' he said with a smirk.

‘Stop it, Tom. You can say what you like about me, but I won't have a word said against her. She's helped me come to terms with my sexuality. If it hadn't been for her, I would never have found the courage to come out. For years I was so bloody confused. I couldn't understand why my relationships with men never lived up to my expectations. Now I do. Suddenly a light has been switched on in my brain. For the first time in my life I am in touch with the real me. I feel utterly liberated and very, very happy. What's more Pia is the only person I've ever met who really cares about me and understands that deep down I'm as soft and vulnerable as everybody else.'

‘Yeah, about as soft and vulnerable as a Scud missile,' he said.

‘Whatever, but no man has ever cared for me like she does.'

‘Only because no man, other than the Dalai Lama on a good day, could put up with you.'

‘Look, all I know is that Pia's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I absolutely adore her.'

‘Well,' he said, ‘I had come here to end our relationship, but you've done it for me, really. I don't think there's much left to say, do you?'

She said nothing for a moment.

‘Tom?'

‘What?'

‘I'm sorry that you had to find out like this. I was going to write you a note.'

‘How thoughtful,' he said with a sarcastic laugh. ‘Over a year we've been together, we were about to become parents, and you thought you'd write me a note. Blimey, when will you finally stop treating people like the shit on your shoe? Look, give me a few minutes to put my clothes in a bag and I'll be off. I'll collect my books and stuff another time.'

‘OK,' she said, pulling on a black silk kimono. ‘I'll leave you to it... Oh, by the way... about the baby. I still want it, you know.'

‘Really. Well, we'll see about that,' he said quietly.

‘Don't fight me on this, Tom,' she retorted, tightly knotting the kimono belt. ‘You know that one way or another, legal or otherwise, I always get what I want.'

He thought about whether or not to tell her about his relationship with Beverley and that she was thinking of leaving Melvin so that they could be together. He decided against it. He would give Beverley that pleasure. She might quite enjoy it.

‘Well, maybe that's about to change,' he said.

‘Don't flatter yourself,' she snapped as she walked to the bedroom door.

***

For some reason Tom opened Naomi's underwear drawer instead of his own. Sticking out of the untidy pile of lace pants was a battered white envelope. Vaguely curious as to why Naomi should be hiding correspondence in her underwear drawer, he picked it up and took out two letters. As he started reading, his face turned to thunder. ‘The evil, two-faced, scheming fucking cow,' he muttered when he'd finished reading. Then, as fast as he could, he put the letters back in the envelope and shoved it into his jeans pocket. At that moment he could have happily murdered Naomi. His instinct was to march into the living room and confront her there and then. He certainly had every right. What stopped him was the feeling that Beverley's right to beat Naomi to a pulp was even greater than his own.

***

He phoned Beverley just after eight the next morning, sounding, she thought, highly agitated. He explained he had something majorly important to tell her and asked her to come to the flat that evening. Beverley assumed he was about to break the news that Naomi had ditched her boyfriend, that the two of them had made up and that his relationship with her was over. Although she knew that hearing the words would leave her devastated and grief-stricken, her one consolation was that this way he was at least saving her from the misery of having to end it herself.

The moment she arrived at the flat that evening and he started to tell her about his visit to Naomi's the night before, she began biting the inside of her mouth as she prepared herself for the worst. When he finally broke the news about Naomi being a lesbian, all she could do was sit staring at him in utter gobsmacked astonishment. She couldn't have been less prepared if she'd tried.

‘A woman,' Beverley repeated finally. Her shock was such that her voice was devoid of emotion. ‘She was in bed with a woman?'

‘Yep.'

‘That's absurd. Naomi - my sister, the pretty one - a lesbian. You're mad.'

‘Beverley. Please, I know what I saw.'

‘But it could have been completely innocent,' she said in desperation. She started to gabble. ‘I mean, maybe you were mistaken and they weren't actually
in
bed. Perhaps they were bouncing
on
the bed in pyjamas and huge fluffy slippers and playing the
Grease
soundtrack at full blast.'

‘I think I'd have noticed,' Tom said calmly. ‘Beverley, grown women do not have sleepovers. Not the sort you mean, anyway. They were naked, for God's sake.'

‘Maybe they got hot?'

‘Not that kind of hot.'

“This is absurd. There has to be some kind of rational explanation. My sister may be a lot of things, but she's not gay.'

‘I promise you she is. She's positively frolicsome.'

Beverley shook her head, still not quite able to take it in.

‘So,' Tom said, ‘aren't you going to ask me who she was in bed with?'

‘OK, who?'

‘Fallopia Trebetherick.'

‘What?'

He nodded.

‘But she's ugly,' Beverley said, doubly shocked now.

‘Tell me about it,' he said. ‘She's got these huge wobbly bits. And these nipples, I mean, you cannot imagine...'

‘'Fraid I can,' she said. ‘I've seen them... But what on earth does Naomi see in her? Clearly the attraction isn't physical.'

‘Dunno. Once Fallopia had gone we talked for a bit. Naomi clearly worships her. I think she sees her as some kind of mother figure.'

Beverley finished her coffee.

‘Tom, this really is taking some believing, I tell you.'

He didn't say anything for a few moments.

‘Look,' he said, his voice suddenly dropping and becoming much more serious, ‘when I went round to the flat last night, I didn't just find out about Naomi being gay. I discovered some other stuff too. And it's not pleasant.'

He paused.

‘OK,' Beverley said, forcing a smile, ‘don't leave me hanging. Tell me. What is it?'

He got up from the sofa and went over to the dining room table. Then he picked up the two letters he'd stolen the night before.

‘When I was packing my things, I opened her underwear drawer instead of mine by mistake and I found these.'

He handed her the letters and sat back down beside her.

The first was from Naomi's gynaecologist. It was dated over a year ago. Beverley read the single paragraph in a few seconds. A shiver shot down her back.

‘What?' she gasped, sitting bolt upright on the edge of the sofa. ‘My God, there was never anything the matter with her. No blocked tubes. Her eggs were fine. I don't believe this... But I thought you said you spoke to her doctor and he confirmed she was infertile.'

‘I did,' he said, ‘but only on the phone. I realize now that the whole thing was a set-up. He was probably just some actor she'd paid to pretend he was her gynaecologist.'

‘But I don't understand. Why did she lie?'

He passed her the second piece of paper. It was from the cook-in sauce company. Their request was couched in the most discreet and diplomatic of terms, but the bottom line appeared to be that because they were anticipating huge sales of Pure Gold sauces, they wanted her to endorse another of their products. In short, they were offering Naomi a million pounds to have a baby and put her name to their new range of organic baby foods.

‘Even with all her money,' Tom went on, ‘she wasn't about to pass up an offer like that. My guess is that at first she toyed with the idea of getting pregnant herself. Being in her late thirties, she even went as far as seeing a gynaecologist, who, as we now know, gave her the go-ahead. I can only assume she then decided it would have put her career in jeopardy.'

‘In what way?'

‘She knows how much they always hated her at Channel 6 even before this Rowe character turned up, and that her bosses might well have seen it as a brilliant excuse to get rid of her. They'd have called her in, told her quite simply that a pregnant presenter didn't suit the channel's image and chucked her out on her ear.'

‘But that doesn't make sense. Can you imagine what a field day the papers would have had with a story like that? “Sacked For Being Pregnant... Naomi Gold Shares Her Agony with the Nation.” I mean, Channel 6 would come across as complete bastards. Not only that, but by selling her story she'd stand to make even more money than the cook-in sauce people were offering her.'

‘Possibly. But how long do you think it would have been before somebody at the TV company tipped off the papers about the real reason they wanted to give her the boot? From then on there would have been posses of reporters camped outside the Channel 6 building just waiting for the likes of Plum to blab about her being the bitch boss from hell. Once a couple of quotes like that made the papers, the entire nation would have turned against her. Her career, not to mention the cook-in sauce deal, would have been finished. Naomi's no fool. She would have seen all this coming. In the end it was much less risky to make out she was infertile and ask you to carry her child.'

‘But she could have adopted a child - from China or South America. Why involve you and me?'

‘Simple. Genes. She knew what she'd be getting.'

Beverley began looking over the letters again. ‘I can't believe that even she could have done this,' she said, still sounding more stunned than angry. ‘She lied about everything. About her fertility, about being in therapy, about wanting us to be a family again. She simply manipulated all of us so that she could make money. I mean, what were you to her? Simply a sperm donor?'

‘Probably,' he said coldly.

Slowly the rage began to bubble up inside her.

‘Do you know, in my entire life I don't think I have every really hated anybody. I mean, there were times when I was growing up when I came pretty close to it with Mum, but it never felt like this. Tom, I actually think I'm starting to hate her. After everything I've done for her over the years, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive her for hurting me like this.' She burst into tears. ‘Christ, I actually put Mel in the bin to give her this child.'

Tom put his arms round her, but she pulled away. She stood up and began pacing round the room, clenching and unclenching her fists. ‘Suddenly I feel like I want to kill her. That wretched, evil, lying...'

‘Beverley, calm down,' Tom said, getting up and taking her hand. ‘It's bad for the baby. Now come and sit back down.'

She sat.

‘Look,' he said gently, ‘you've got yourself so worked up that you're missing the big picture here. Just think about it for a minute. After what Naomi has done to us, you have no reason to feel beholden to her. Now you can keep the baby.'

She blinked at him.

‘Blimey,' she said, starting to laugh. In an instant she became almost intoxicated with delight.

‘You're right. God, I can keep my baby. I don't have to give it up. It's mine. It belongs to me. It will stay with me for ever...'

‘And me,' he said excitedly. ‘It's not just yours to keep. It's ours. We can bring it up together. It's what we wanted. I'm not saying you have to stop being angry with Naomi, but if it hadn't been for her and all her Machiavellian scheming, we would never have met. Beverley, we can start thinking about our future together.'