To Have and to Hold (8 page)

‘Trying to keep me out?' joked Douglas.

‘Awful, isn't it?' she said, indicating the electronic lock.

He came into the office and looked around. Lovely décor.

‘We had it done up – oh three years ago. Would you like some coffee?'

‘Putting you out?'

‘Of course not.' She smiled at him. She saw little of her father, and even then it was mostly at Viv's house.

He pointed to the customer windows. ‘I should be out there.'

‘Of course not.'

He paused. She poured the coffee. ‘What I mean is . . .' He took the cup. ‘Well, there's something I'd like to ask you.'

‘What about?'

‘A little . . . business matter.'

She stared at him. ‘Oh.'

‘I'll come straight to the point. What's the chance of me getting a mortgage?'

‘Goodness.'

She stared at his creased face and grey hair. Her mum was right about the sideboards.

‘You going to buy your flat?' she asked.

He stirred his coffee, gazing into the cup. ‘Not exactly. I was, well . . . thinking of moving.'

‘How exciting.'

‘Just thinking.'

‘Where?'

‘Nothing's finalized yet.' he put aside the spoon and looked up. She thought: it's years since he's looked at me and actually asked me a question. ‘So what do you think?'

‘It depends on the size of the loan and the repayment period,' she said.

‘It wouldn't be out of the question, for an old dog like me?'

‘If you give me more facts I'll make some calculations.'

‘Think you can put in a word for me with what's-his-name, Derek?'

‘I can look into it.'

‘You can?'

She smiled at him. ‘It is my job.'

‘Yes, of course.' He smiled at her hurriedly. She knew that at that exact moment, now he had the facts, he would get up to leave.

He rose to his feet and put down his unfinished coffee.

‘Do us a favour, love . . .'

‘Yes.'

‘Keep this to ourselves, just you and me.'

They went out into the road. He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

‘You're a good girl,' he said.

She stood there watching him as he walked away, heading for the shopping precinct. Once he turned and, seeing her still there, waved; then he walked on. She watched him until he was out of sight, and then she watched the passers-by who replaced him. What was he up to?

Perhaps she would wake up and realize he had never visited her, and that Viv, a day ago, had never sat in that grubby car across the road and spoken those words. Her morning felt dislodged.

Back in the office Janine came up. ‘Been looking for you,' she said. ‘Your sister just phoned.'

‘Blast!'

Janine raised her eyebrows. ‘Keep your hair on. She says she only had a minute and she'll phone later.'

It was not Dad's fault, of course. Still, Ann felt a wave of what she told herself was simply irritation.

Ann was not yet home. Ken looked at his watch and poured himself a lager. He wandered around the lounge, then switched on the TV.

‘
Mom, Dad's outside and he says he has some important news
.' A cute American child tugged at his mother's apron. ‘
Honey
,' she said, ‘
why can't he tell me himself?
' The child answered: ‘
He has this problem getting out of the car
.'

Canned laughter. Ken flipped the channels.

‘We spoke to Dr Gupta who is himself blind and who has made a study of –'

Ken switched off the TV and stood beside the window. The plant she had bought on Sunday was already beginning to droop. He felt the soil: wet. Ann was always over-watering; that was what her sister said. Viv's plants somehow managed to thrive on neglect.

He felt the usual prickling sensation. What a relief it had been to come back here, to home sweet home, on Sunday night. He drained his lager and put the glass down on the table. It rattled; he realized with surprise that his hand was shaking.

The gate clicked. He looked out of the window. Ann smiled at him, startlingly near, as she unlocked the front door.

‘Hello.' She came into the lounge. ‘You're home early.'

‘You spoken to Viv?'

She nodded.

‘Ah.'

‘I told you, Ken. She's serious.'

‘He's in on it?'

‘No. It was Viv's idea.' She sat down on the settee. He remained standing beside the window.

‘I can just imagine them,' he said, ‘like we're some deserving case.'

‘Of course not –'

‘Telling all their friends. Probably put it in that magazine of his.'

‘Ken –'

‘Remember when we all went to Salcombe and he tried to pay the hotel bill?'

‘It's not like that!'

He felt his voice rising, but he couldn't stop it. ‘Think they can give it to us like a Christmas present?'

‘No!'

He lit a cigarette, keeping his back to her so she would not see his hands. ‘What exactly is she planning to do? It's against the law, you know. I suppose she hasn't thought of that. Like those women in the papers.'

‘No – it'll be unofficial –'

‘Will? It will, will it? All fixed, eh?'

‘No! We need to talk.'

‘We do not need to talk!' he shouted. ‘We're going to forget all about it!'

He drew deeply on his cigarette, staring at her plant. Two buds had fallen off.

He said: ‘Tell you something. I'd rather adopt a baby than have theirs.'

‘But we can't! I told you, it's too late!' She started sobbing – a noisy, rasping sound he hadn't heard for years. ‘It's all right for you, you can have a baby with anybody – that woman in accounts –'

He swung round. ‘Ann!'

Her face was wet and red. ‘With what's-her-name at the Youth Club. If we got divorced –'

What?'

‘– you could start all over again!'

He hurried over and sat down beside her, but she got up.

‘What's this about divorce?' he said.

She stared down at him. ‘You say you're worried about me – I mustn't distress myself, I mustn't let Viv upset me – but all you're really thinking about is yourself, and your stupid,
stupid
pride!'

He tried to grab her, but she pulled away.

THE NEXT DAY
was blustery and sunny. It sent the blood singing in Viv's veins; she felt muscular and happy, as if anything were possible. It was the first of March. The wind blew away her doubts as she dug the earth, bending to pull out the strings of couch grass. She flung them aside – petty, pale strings, they could not beat her. Nothing could. She smelt tomato soup, and when she lifted her head she could see the dizzying sky.

Words: she flung them aside. All the talking, these past two evenings – the words scattered on the wind. She remembered standing in the garden centre just a few days ago – it seemed like another year now – and saying
anything's possible.
How much had she realized it then?
You can make things happen, if you believe it.
Ann's face, turning to her, blanched in the strip lighting, her cardigan buttoned up as if it were possible to keep herself for ever safe and sad.
Viv, you've always been able to make things happen
.

Viv dug a shallow trench and took out her packet of broad beans. She pressed one, and then another, into the earth, planting them in a zig-zag. This was the part that satisfied her the most. Then she clomped back to the beginning again, her rainbow gumboots weighed with mud. In the distance she could hear the shouts of her children; for once they were not bored here, they seemed to be possessed by the same energy as herself.

The beans were buried. She straightened up and saw the flash of blue anorak as the girls chased behind the huts. Then she turned towards the car park and saw Ken.

He was walking towards her. She stood still. He was not yet within earshot so she could say nothing, which made her blush. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him, stepping over the puddles. He looked incongruous in his business suit. He
made his way around the runner-bean poles, with last year's rags still fluttering from them.

At last he was near enough.

‘Hi!' she called.

‘Hello.' He came up to her and looked around. ‘I was just passing. Thought I'd drop in.'

Just passing? She gazed at the distant factories. She smiled at him encouragingly.

‘Working on a house near here,' he said. ‘Saw your car over there. Seeing there's no school today. Read about it in the papers.'

She nodded.

He said: ‘Surprised you're not joining in.'

‘The demo?'

‘Being so political.'

‘Didn't feel political today.' She smiled again, and bent down to her carrier-bag. ‘Want an orange?'

‘Er, no thanks. Sure I'm not interrupting?'

She shook her head. ‘Been longing for an excuse to stop.'

There was a pause. He turned his head. ‘Coming along.'

‘You haven't been here for ages, have you?'

‘Not since the thistles. You've put a lot of work into this place.'

‘When I start something I can be very determined.'

There was a silence. They stood there, watching the browning under-leaves of the sprouts rustle in the wind. His shoes were frilled with mud.

‘Smell soup?' she asked.

‘Now you mention it.'

She pointed to the factory.

‘So much for the natural life,' he said.

‘Lots of my girls work in there. Whenever I smell soup I feel a failure. All these years I've taught them and they end up tinning minestrone.'

‘You're not to blame.'

She sighed. ‘Words. All those words and it didn't do them a blind bit of good.'

‘Don't say that.'

‘I got out, you see. If I hadn't got brains I'd be working in there.'

‘Rubbish.'

‘Till they get married, of course, and have babies.'

The words still hung there, refusing to blow away. She looked at her gumboots: silly swirls of green and orange. The mud on them looked more honest. Ken cleared his throat. She opened her mouth to speak. Instead she said: ‘Want a conducted tour?'

He bowed. ‘I'd be delighted.'

She walked ahead along the path, and paused at the expanse of earth.

‘Broad beans in there,' she said. ‘Need a lot of manure, broad beans.'

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him nod politely. She pointed to the further stretch of earth. ‘That's for lettuce and carrots.' She paused. ‘Not much to see yet.'

‘It's very interesting.'

‘In fact, not anything.'

They came to a stop. She took a breath, then she turned to him. ‘Ken –'

In the distance a hooter sounded. ‘Is that the time?' He looked at his watch. ‘Duty calls.'

‘Ken –'

‘Must be toddling.'

Before she could speak he had turned and was hurrying away down the path. She didn't watch him; it felt like an intrusion, for them both.

She hadn't begun to peel her orange. She dug her fingernail into its skin, angrily.

Ann's shoes pinched, so she had taken them off. They were beige high-heels, with ankle-straps; she had bought them on impulse the day before. They were far too expensive. Their solace had been temporary. She sat at her desk and glanced at the clock: 1.15. Derek came out of his office, putting on his jacket. He paused at her desk.

‘Aren't you going out?'

‘Waiting for Ken,' she said. ‘We had a vague lunch date. Only looking at video recorders.'

‘Don't get the one I got. Keeps doing the wrong thing. There you are, all set up, supper on your lap, switch the damn thing on and it's the second half of middleweight boxing.' He smiled. ‘Not conducive to marital harmony.'

Ann glanced at the clock again. ‘Perhaps he's forgotten.'

‘Ken never forgets.'

‘No,' she said, doubtfully.

‘Not our Ken.'

Derek went out. Ann, wincing, put on her shoes in readiness.

1.25. Ken ordered a second pint. The pub was shabby, but he deserved a depressing room. Through the frosted glass he could hear the traffic in Willesden High Street. It was the nearest pub to the allotments.

Pinned behind the bar was a photo of a bare-breasted girl, advertising KP nuts. Her gaze followed him, challengingly, wherever he looked. He lit yet another cigarette.

The girls had finished their picnic. They ran off again. Viv, feeling restless, wandered along the allotments, looking at other people's neater plots. An old man in braces was double-digging a trench; she had never double-dug, though her gardening books told her she should. How blameless he looked. Was he too elderly, now, for confusions? This morning she had felt strong and supple; now she knew nothing, and the thought of digging tired her.

Overalled figures were sitting in the factory yard. Viv went up to the wire fence and saw Mo, whose sister Tracey was in the sixth form.

‘Stupid bitch,' said Mo, sitting down on an oil drum. ‘You'll be seeing her Friday?'

‘Second period,' said Viv. ‘If she turns up.'

Mo passed her some chewing gum, through the wire, and sat down again. ‘Told you she's living with this bloke?'

Viv nodded.

‘The milkman calls her madam, when she answers the door
in her dressing gown. Then five minutes later out she trots in her school uniform.'

Viv grimaced, undoing the silver paper around the gum.

‘Sisters,' said Mo. ‘Nothing but trouble. You got any?'

‘One.'

‘She got a fella?'

‘She's married.'

‘Like him?'

Viv shrugged, then nodded.

Mo said: ‘Mean he's boring?'