The Would-Begetter (32 page)

‘Eh?’

‘Will you give it to her after I’ve left?’

‘Oh, right, yeah.’

‘Well, I suppose I shall have to be off soon,’ Hector said. ‘I’ve so much enjoyed our afternoon together.’

‘Me an’ all.’

‘I’m just going to say goodbye to Jess, OK? And I suppose I’d better have a word with your mother, and then I’ll be going, but I’ll come and see you again very soon, if you’d like me to?’

‘Cool.’

‘Right then.’ He began to go down the steps to the basement.

‘Hector?’

‘Hannah?’

‘Can I put your stuff in the car?’

‘No, it’s OK, I’ll do it.’

‘Well…but… I’d like to.’

Hector looked up and smiled. ‘All right, thanks. I’ll chuck it up to you.’ After a few moments he emerged from the flat with his overnight bag and called, ‘Catch!’ and then, ‘Keys!’ and, ‘Oh well done!’

Hannah turned away with the bag, giving a covert clenched fist salute of triumph. Stage two was safe! She walked nonchalantly over the road to where Hector’s car was parked, and opened the doors. Then she put the key into the ignition and closed the driver’s door. Hector’s bag went on to the far end of the back seat above the pile of stuff already there and Hannah, glancing furtively all round to make sure no one was observing her, climbed in beside her shoulder bag, and covered herself completely with the sleeping bag and rugs. It was a large car and there was plenty of room. Hannah made sure she was invisible and then settled down to wait.

It took longer than she had anticipated. She got uncomfortably hot and began to wonder how long she could stick it, and then when she had almost dropped off to sleep through boredom, she heard someone coming. It had occurred to her earlier that she had set things up perfectly for any opportunist passing thief, by leaving the keys so conveniently in the steering column. She had visions of herself being driven off by some startled petty criminal and then held to ransom for millions of pounds… well, anything’s better than staying at home, she thought. At least I’d see some
action.

But it was Hector who eventually turned up, and if Hannah had hoped to hear him lamenting the fact that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her properly, then she was to be disappointed.

‘I can’t wait any longer,’ Hector grumbled. ‘She’s had her chance. Oh no! The car’s open, for God’s sake, and she’s left the keys in it! Bloody kids are all the same, aren’t they; totally
irresponsible! Anyone could have nicked it!’ He opened the driver’s door.

‘Is your bag there?’ It was Jess’s voice.

‘Yes, at least she got that right. She could have said goodbye though, don’t you think? Ungrateful wretch!’

‘Give her time Hector. It must have been a bit of a shock, when you suddenly turned up.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Well, I’d better drag myself away. It’s been so good to see you again,
cariad.
Thanks for putting me up. Let’s not leave it another seven years, eh?’

‘’Bye Hector.’ There were brief kissing noises.

YUK!
Hannah thought.

Then Hector started the engine and they set off. Once air began circulating it got blessedly cooler. Hannah hadn’t thought ahead to what the journey might be like, but as it got underway she realised that she was going to learn quite a lot about her unsuspecting parent, from the type of music he enjoyed to the degree of road rage from which he suffered. The music was the worst, Hannah thought, glad that her ears were well-muffled. It was some ghastly soprano screeching away in a foreign language. Why does
anyone
like opera? she wondered. And after all that racket, how can they have the cheek to complain about my heavy metal?

Hannah gathered quite soon that Hector tended towards the continental mode of driving. At first she thought everyone was hooting at him, but then she learned to distinguish the regular blare of Hector’s two-tone horn amongst the others, as he carved his way through the London traffic. There was a lot of rapid acceleration and sudden braking, squeals of tyres and hissing of air-brakes. At one point when they were presumably waiting at traffic lights, Hannah heard someone shouting,

‘Get yourself some sodding glasses, Grandad!’ and then the same voice, ‘Oh nice one! Is that your age or your IQ?’

She heard Hector mutter through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll get you, you stupid bastard…’ and was abruptly pressed into the back of the seat as he stepped hard on the gas, and then very nearly thrown forwards into the foot-well as he unexpectedly jammed on the brakes. ‘CUNT!’ Hector shouted.

Hannah took as firm a grip as she could on the edge of the
seat and lay there, ears pricked, wondering if she was going to learn any new words. She rather doubted it actually. Hector’s generation’s vocabulary was pretty lame in her estimation. She did, however, begin to wonder whether she would reach her destination in one piece. Veg out! she advised herself. Relax! He’s managed to survive this long as a driver, what’s another few hours?

Once on to the motorway, things got easier and Hannah almost dozed off again. I’ll wait until he’s safely in a service station, she thought, before I show myself. He’s not exactly laid-back, and I don’t want to be the cause of a multiple pile-up. She hoped, however, that Hector’s bladder would prove to be weaker than her own. She’d forgotten to go before stowing away, and she was already feeling the need…

After they had been driving for about an hour and a half, she felt the car slowing down and heard the sound of progressively lower gears being engaged. They turned a few corners at a gentler speed and finally, in the nick of time as far as Hannah was concerned, they came to a halt.

She threw off the sleeping bag and rugs and sat up, stretching. ‘Thank God we’ve stopped at last,’ she said. ‘I’m bursting for a pee!’

Hector’s expression in the mirror was one of comical horror. He whipped his head round to stare at her. ‘What the hell…?’

‘I wanted to come with you,’ Hannah explained, ‘and I didn’t think you’d let me.’

‘Too bloody right!’

‘Gotta have a leak,’ Hannah said quickly, opening the door. ‘Back in a mo.’

She worried as she hurried into the Welcome Break, that Hector might simply drive off and abandon her. He didn’t. When she got back, he was still sitting in his car looking displeased, but resigned.

‘I ought to take you straight back to London,’ he said, sighing, ‘but there isn’t time. Damn it, Hannah! What on earth am I supposed to do with you?’

‘Take me home to your place.’

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘Why? Are you ashamed of me?’

‘No, of course not, you noodle.’

‘So, what’s the problem?’

‘The problem, as you so simplistically put it, is this: what on earth am I going to say to my wife?’

Wendy examined her reflected head and shoulders carefully to detect the latest of the accumulating imperfections of age, and realized for the first time, sadly, that the term ‘turtle neck’ no longer applied solely to woolly jumpers. She turned away from the bathroom mirror feeling old and unloved. I shall be fifty next year, she thought. What shall I do if he leaves me?

When Hector had gone off with no explanation, Wendy hadn’t known what to think. Perhaps he already had left her? Where had he gone? How could she find out? She couldn’t look at any of their annotated phone bills to discover the numbers he habitually rang, because he always paid them without reference to her and then locked them up in one of his filing cabinets. She decided she would press the redial button on the telephone in his study, just in case his last call had been to his bit-on-the-side. She had done this several times previously without success. Once, surprisingly, it had been Barry’s number and afterwards she’d wished she had thought in advance of something plausible to say. But since she hadn’t, she’d had to disguise her voice and pretend it was a wrong number. Wendy had felt very sad about that. She would have liked a chat, but somehow she could never quite bring herself to phone him deliberately, in case she got Jackie instead.

This time, re-dialling got her a woman’s voice on an answer-phone. ‘I’m sorry I can’t talk to you at the moment,’ it said. ‘If you want to leave a message for Jess Hazelrigg, please do so after the beep. Thank you.’

Wendy put the phone down without speaking and thought,
JESS?
Surely not!

She didn’t know what to do. Suppose she were to ring Jess’s
number, and Hector wasn’t there? She couldn’t think of a convincing lie and she shrank from explaining the real situation to Jess, so she spent the rest of the day in a state of suppressed anxiety, functioning like an automaton. She took Morgan to his Saturday swimming lesson. She did one load of washing and two of ironing. She hoovered the house. She waited and waited for the telephone to ring and eventually, that evening, it did.

‘It’s me.’

‘Hector! Where
are
you?’

‘In London.’

‘But why? Who are you with? When are you coming home? And why didn’t you
tell
me first? I’ve been worried sick!’

‘Calm down, Wendy, everything’s fine. I just need some space, OK? I’ll be back tomorrow evening.’

‘But why did you go to London in the first place?’

‘I don’t know. It was an impulse. I’m sorry, I should have discussed it with you.’

‘Are you seeing Jess?’

‘No,’ Hector said very casually. ‘Haven’t been in touch with her for years. Why d’you ask?’

‘No reason.’

It
must
be her, Wendy thought as she put the phone down. Why else would he lie? She slumped on to the floor beside the phone, put her face in both hands and wept. She was now so unloveable that her husband even preferred
Jess
to her. Tears trickled through her fingers and down her arms, making the sleeves of her cardigan all wet inside. Wendy couldn’t understand how Hector could fancy someone like Jess! Perhaps she’d changed? Of course she had the advantage of comparative youth. I was attractive ten years ago, Wendy thought, wiping her eyes. It’s so unfair! Perhaps it’s a judgement on me for deceiving Hector into marrying me? Maybe I should have married Barry instead, when I had the chance?

Barry – she hadn’t given him a thought in years. He was still young. He must only be thirty-five or so, but even he wouldn’t fancy her now. She remembered how keen he had been on her fourteen years ago, and how she hadn’t taken him seriously at all. She knew now how he must have felt, and was sorry that she had treated him so casually. She should have
been kinder. She thought about him on and off all Sunday morning, and wished she could think of a way to make it up to him. Then, on impulse, when Morgan had gone out with a friend and the house was empty, she looked up his phone number in the book and dialled it. If it’s Jackie or one of the kids, Wendy thought, I’ll just put the phone down. But it was Barry himself who answered.

‘Barry? Hello, it’s Wendy Mudgeley.’

‘Hello!’ He sounded genuinely pleased to hear her.

‘This is probably a silly question, but do you know Jess Hazelrigg’s address in London?’ I don’t need it, Wendy thought. It’s only a pretext, but Barry isn’t to know that.

‘Sorry, no,’ Barry said. ‘I gather she’s been doing pretty well for herself though. Why?’

‘Oh it’s not important,’ Wendy said. ‘How’s things with you?’

‘Bit tough at the moment actually,’ Barry said. ‘Jackie’s… away and now Mum’s died, so I’m having to cope with all the children single-handed. It’s a bit like having both feet nailed to the floor.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Wendy sympathised, ‘I had no idea! Poor you! Can I help at all? Would you like to bring them over here for tea tomorrow, for instance?’

‘Well that’s really kind Wendy, but my two eldest are due to go to a birthday party in Bristol, and of course Muggins here has to take them, but thanks very much for asking.’

‘It would be nice to meet up sometime,’ Wendy suggested tentatively.

‘Yes it would. We must arrange it.’

‘Yes, well… goodbye then.’

“Bye Wendy. Good to talk to you.’

He doesn’t really want to see me, she thought. He’s just being polite.

The afternoon dragged by. It was sunny outside but there was a cold north wind. Wendy went out to dig up some dandelions from the border in the front garden, so that the flowers wouldn’t go to seed and spread themselves everywhere. Gradually, in spite of the chill, she became absorbed in her task. As she worked, a bright yellow brimstone butterfly, the first of the season, fluttered by. A robin sang in the cherry tree
above her head, and Wendy began to feel her heart slow down to a more tranquil beat. She breathed in the cool air, and brushed the hair out of her eyes with the backs of her soilcaked hands.

Once upon a time, she thought, I used to varnish my nails every other day, and grow them all long and sophisticated. Now they’re less than half that length and all filled up black with dirt! She didn’t quite know why she’d taken to gardening. She had never been in the least interested in it until she’d turned forty. Then she had sown seeds from a free packet on the front of one of her women’s magazines, and had watched them grow and transform themselves into bright summer flowers. She had made something beautiful from almost nothing. It felt like magic. Wendy knew Hector didn’t appreciate beauty – one spring she had planted out a whole bed of snapdragons, taking care to get the spaces between them exactly right, and he’d stood behind her and jeered. ‘You should get a job in municipal gardening,’ he’d said. ‘They’d love those serried ranks.’

If she had known then that serried meant ‘close set’, she might have been able to think up a cutting reply, but of course she hadn’t, so she couldn’t. She sighed, and decided to try to forget about Hector at least for the rest of that day.

It finally began to get dark and, unusually for her, Wendy couldn’t be bothered to change out of her gardening clothes. She brushed the loose soil from her knees, changed into more comfortable slippers, washed her hands, and then lounged in front of the television with Morgan and a glass of hock from her wine box. She remembered she hadn’t yet taken anything out to un-freeze for supper, but didn’t do anything about it. Morgan had requested spaghetti and convenience sauce out of a jar, so Hector could damn well eat the same. Why should she put herself out? Oh dear, she thought, looking down at her dirty trousers. Is this what they mean by ‘letting yourself go’? Is this the beginning of the end?