An Enormous Yes (18 page)

In the ensuing silence, the rain drummed against the window with callous mockery, as she sat, wrestling with her conscience. She could hardly expect a hopeless invalid to take an interest in a child he didn’t even know existed. Yet she was spending tomorrow with Amy, for another of her
antenatal
check-ups, and how could she possibly admit that she hadn’t so much as broached the subject when her daughter was expecting a full report?

As if in reproach, a baby started crying somewhere in the block, the noise barely muffled through what must be cardboard-thin walls. Again,
she
felt a surge of guilt that Silas should be living in such inadequate surroundings, but then it suddenly struck her that he had failed to ask how she was, or put a single question to her about her own life and
circumstances
. For all he knew, she too might have been diagnosed with cancer, or sacked from a job, or living in a dump. Did he even care? Had he ever cared about anyone except himself and his non-existent talent? She’d been so dazzled by his charisma at the start of their relationship, so grateful for a saviour and a life-raft, she had simply clung on to him blindly; ignoring his narcissism, his self-absorption, his belief that other people existed only for his benefit.

‘Silas,’ she said, abruptly, abandoning her plan of a gentle, tactful
build-up
to the subject of their child, ‘there’s something I need to tell you – something you won’t like.’

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Too bad. In fairness to Amy, she had to keep her promise. ‘You can’t have forgotten that when I “walked out”, as you put it, I was pregnant with your child.’

‘Yes—’ His voice rose in anger ‘—a child you tried to trick me into having, although you knew damned well I didn’t want kids.’

‘That was wrong, I admit it, but please don’t interrupt, because there are other things you
don’t
know.’ She was still scared of his reaction and only managed to continue by fixing her attention on Amy and her needs. ‘You see, despite all your insistence, I didn’t have an abortion. I went ahead and had the baby – a daughter who’s now nearly thirty-nine.’

He stared at her a moment, clearly needing time to register her words. Then, as the unwelcome news hit home, he jumped to his feet, his face contorted with rage. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing – that you gave birth to my child, completely against my wishes or even knowledge! That’s another betrayal – an act of base deception. No wonder I feel bitter. There’s not a soul in the world I can trust. In fact, now I come to think of it, you’ve betrayed me twice over, because you made a solemn vow never to contact me again. Oh, I realize why you’ve come now – you’re going to dun me for maintenance, backdated thirty-nine years. Well, I’m afraid you’re in for a shock, woman! I don’t
have
any cash, except my pension, which is barely enough to live on.’

‘I don’t want a penny from you,’ she retorted, incensed by that demeaning ‘woman’. ‘My daughter happens to have a very good job and doesn’t need your hand-outs. But, actually, I thought you might feel some shred of interest in her. You haven’t even asked her name, yet she’s flesh of your flesh and carrying your genes. In fact, that’s the reason I’m here. She’s expecting a baby herself and the hospital need to know your medical history. And before you interrupt or object, I want you to understand that I did my absolute best to keep my promise to you. Amy’s almost
middle-aged
, for God’s sake, and not once did I come near you, or breathe a single word about her existence. Yet, all her life, she’s longed to know who her father is and to lay eyes on him at some stage. Can’t you imagine how
difficult
that was for me, always having to say no to her and deprive her of a father’s love and interest? Well, now it’s different, I’m afraid, because it’s a matter of hereditable diseases that could threaten the health of her child.’

‘Life itself is an inheritable disease,’ he interjected, virulently, pacing round the tiny room like a lion enraged by the confines of its cage, ‘as I’ve come to see it, anyway.’

‘There’s no need to be so bitter.’

‘
You’d
be bitter, if you’d suffered as much as I have.’

‘And how do you know I haven’t? You’re so eaten up with self-pity, it hasn’t even occurred to you to find out how things have been for
me
. Surely, out of simple good manners, you should have asked me how I am.’

He had the grace to look shame-faced and slumped down in his chair again. ‘Well,’ he said, although grudgingly, ‘how
are
you?’

‘Well, things weren’t too brilliant in the past, but I’m OK now and what matters at this moment is our daughter. I deliberately say “our”, Silas, because she is your daughter, whether you acknowledge it or not.’

‘A daughter I didn’t want, as I’ve told you twice already.’

‘Can’t you be less self-centred and try to see things from her point of view? She’s not to blame in all this and what she dearly wants is
recognition
from you and a chance to meet you, before it’s too late.’

‘It’s already too late. I can’t cope with any more problems in my life, let alone responsibilities.’

‘No one’s asking you to be responsible for anyone. Amy has a perfectly good husband and I shall be the baby’s live-in nanny. All she wants from you is just a couple of meetings, so she can tell her child about—’ The sentence stumbled to a halt.
Would
Amy actually want that, in these new, unfavourable circumstances? Might it not be wiser to allow her to preserve the image of a talented, handsome, decent sort of father, rather than a selfish wreck? She could always emphasize the cancer and persuade her daughter how impossible it was to make demands on a dying man. Yet part of her was maddened by Silas’s sheer intransigence. Perhaps he was so resentful at not having published a single poem, or made any contribution to culture or society, he was blind to any further possibilities.

‘Listen, Silas, there are other things in life besides poetry and fame. Many people settle for a quite different type of immortality, through their children and their grandchildren, by passing on their genes and leaving them with memories of who they were and how they lived. You can do that, too. You still have time to get to know your daughter
and
your grandchild, and create some new relationships.’

‘I don’t want relationships. I’m in no fit state to get to know anyone, let alone some shrieking brat. There are quite enough of those round here, all with useless parents who let them caterwaul all night. Nor do I have the slightest wish to be saddled with strangers who’ll expect me to cough up. In fact, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Maria –
now
. All this has been incredibly upsetting for me and I need time to rest and recover.’

‘Fine!’ she yelled, sarcastically, marching to the door. Typical of Silas to
fail to see that this encounter had been ‘incredibly upsetting’ for her, as much as for him, and would be even more ‘incredibly upsetting’ for their frustrated and still fatherless daughter.

S
EEING
A
MY REAPPEAR
at the door of the waiting-room, Maria jumped up from her seat and went to join her.

‘Sorry, Mum, we’re not done yet.’ Amy gave a shrug of resignation. ‘The midwife says my blood pressure’s a bit high and my haemoglobin’s too low. She needs to discuss the results with the doctor, but he’s busy with another patient, so she told me to come back here and wait.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious – just a damned nuisance coming on top of everything else.’

Coming on top of
Silas
, Amy hadn’t said, but Maria picked up the subtext, knowing how desolate her daughter was at the news of an outright rejection. ‘I’m sure you’re doing far too much,’ she added, as they returned to their former seats, ‘which alone might account for the blood pressure.’

‘It’s only slightly raised, Mum. The midwife thought—’

The sudden shrieks of a toddler cut across her words. Several other under-fives were waiting with their pregnant mothers, adding to the general hubbub. Every so often, a nurse would come to the door to summon a patient, but, for each one that left the room, another took her place and there was now barely a free seat.

‘All the same,’ Maria said, once the toddler’s yells had subsided, ‘I do think you ought to rest more. Isn’t there any chance you could start your maternity leave earlier?’

‘Mum, for goodness’ sake, don’t fuss! I’ve arranged to stay until 22 July and I can’t just change my mind and let them down. Anyway, that gives me four whole weeks before I’m due, which should be quite enough rest. You don’t seem to understand that I’m in the middle of really tricky
negotiations
for one of my top clients, which are likely to go on for at least six or seven weeks. And then there’s my lead candidate for the CEO job in Hong Kong – he’s sticking out for more share options
and
a bigger bonus. The
chairman thinks he’s simply being greedy, so I’m caught between the two of them.’

Maria also felt caught – between her desire to reduce the pressures on her daughter and her instinct that she shouldn’t interfere. ‘But suppose,’ she ventured, warily, ‘you stop work on the 22nd but take longer than three months off? I thought six months was more the norm, in fact, or even a whole year.’

‘Not in this present economic climate, with people being sacked right, left and centre. I can’t afford to be away too long or they might start thinking they can manage fine without me! And, anyway, I lose all my bonuses while I’m on maternity leave and that money will come in handy for the baby.’

Maria refrained from saying that the baby, however precious, didn’t actually need the £500 cot Amy had ordered last week, or the cashmere babygros recently sent by Hugo’s parents. Didn’t Beatrice realize that
cashmere
was a devil to wash and that the child, not even born yet, already had a wardrobeful of clothes? An infant could thrive perfectly well wrapped in an old cardigan and put to sleep in a drawer. But, of course, Amy lived in a different world from most of the women here. She only had to look around and see their casual, comfy clothes to realize that Amy’s elegant suit and sleek designer briefcase put her in a class apart.

‘And even Hugo can’t count on really well-paid work once the Olympic project’s finished. I suspect the issue of his future is preying on his mind, along with the whole Dubai thing, of course. The legal wrangles seem to be dragging on forever, with constant emails back and forth, and
sometimes
phone calls in the middle of the night – which really isn’t on. They seem to forget the time-difference, or perhaps they all work
twenty-four
/seven! I can’t help being anxious, though, because at the start he was pretty certain his old firm would win, but now he’s getting jittery, which really is unlike him. And when I try to probe, he’s strangely reticent, as if he’s hiding something.’

‘But surely he’d be frank with
you
?’

‘Well, he always has before, but I get this feeling he’s somehow on the defensive.’

‘When will he know the outcome?’

‘God knows! They’re forever changing their minds and, anyway,
corruption’s
rife over there, so you’re never quite certain how things will pan out in the end. And, when it
does
come to the trial, he’s bound to be nervous, poor darling. He’s never appeared in court before and he doesn’t know the language. And translating from the Arabic often leads to misinterpretations,
with all the regional variants and suchlike. The culture’s entirely different from ours, so, what with nepotism and face-saving and the whole religious thing, it could be a bit of a minefield.’

‘I’m terribly sorry, darling. It’s the last thing you need at the moment. But, court case apart, do you think Hugo
misses
Dubai – maybe even wishes you’d never left?’

‘Oh, no. I can’t imagine bringing up a child there. And we’d both had enough of living in high-rise apartments, so we’re much happier in our London house. And he actually prefers his current job, although he’s no less busy, unfortunately. I mean, take today – he arranged to have the morning off, so he could come with me to this—’

‘I hope I’m not a poor substitute?’ Maria interrupted.

‘Mum, of course not! In fact, he’s much less patient than you are, so he’d probably be getting grumpy by now, having to wait so long. But, going back to Dubai, our three years there seemed exactly right and, businesswise, taught me a hell of a lot, but now we’re in a new stage of our life. I just wish we could draw a line under the whole court case thing, instead of being involved in all this hassle. Wow, the baby’s kicking like crazy! It’s probably picking up my stress. Here – feel it, Mum.’ Amy reached for her mother’s hand and laid it across her stomach.

‘Lord, it’s going bananas! You’d better take some deep, slow breaths to calm the poor thing down.’ She felt privileged to touch Amy’s ‘bump’; feel it heave and bulge; be in such intimate contact with her grandchild.

Amy laid her own hand over her mother’s, as if bonding the three
generations
. ‘You know, I can hardly bear to think of Chloe – how close she must have felt to Simon, long before he was born, and then to lose him at the end.’

‘Try
not
to think of it, darling, if only for the baby’s sake. You need to send it good, positive vibes and believe everything will be all right.’

‘Yes, but even the surviving baby, Sam, looks so frighteningly small and he’s all wired up to tubes and things.’

‘Do you think you ought to have seen him? Neo-natal intensive care is enough to frighten any pregnant mum.’

‘I had to, Mum, and anyway, she was really pleased to have me with her at the hospital, if only for an hour or two. Apart from anything else, it must be an awful strain for her, having to
live
there, more or less. Of course, she needs to be with Sam as much as possible, but even so—’

‘Perhaps I could pop round to her house one morning before she leaves and see if I can help in any way – maybe cook a meal for Nicholas or
something
?’

‘Yes, great idea! Forget the cooking, though. I think what she’d really like is someone older to talk to. Neither she nor Nicholas has any parents to hand and she’s obviously quite shell-shocked at the moment. In fact, is there any chance you could make it fairly soon, Mum, because I feel she needs a boost right now – maybe even a shoulder to cry on?’

‘Yes, no problem. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning.’

‘Great! I’ll phone her and let her know.’

‘Mrs Talbot?’ The nurse had returned and was scanning the room for Amy.

‘Want me to come with you?’ Maria asked, as Amy rose to her feet.

‘No, I’m fine. Read a magazine or something. You must be sick of waiting.’

Impossible, she thought, to read any magazine, with so many problems weighing on her mind – not just Amy’s, but Chloe’s and Hugo’s, too. In fact, her former blithe assumption that her daughter had broken with the family tradition of suffering and sadness seemed less certain now, what with these new health concerns, the continuing worry over Dubai and, most of all, her bitter disappointment about being unable to meet her father.

And she herself was gutted by the fact that she had left her bag behind in Silas’s flat. Fine to march out in fury – not quite so clever to leave her credit cards, her mobile and her free travel pass in his possibly vindictive hands. Only when she was halfway down the stairs had she stopped in horror and realized what she’d done, but although she’d instantly dashed back and rung his bell repeatedly, he had refused to open the door. All evening, she had tried to obtain his phone number, but had drawn a blank with Directory Enquiries, and then with Tracesmart, Barbara and even with Ian Johnson. Finally, in desperation, she’d rung Felix and poured out the story, but he’d been so incensed with Silas he’d threatened to break the rotter’s door down – which was hardly any help.

Although she’d had to use Amy’s landline for the calls, fortunately her daughter hadn’t heard them. She had no desire to explain the loss of the bag, since it would only highlight the dissension between her and Silas, which she had deliberately played down, concentrating mainly on his illness as the reason for his negative response. Even so, her daughter had reacted badly and, once she had kissed her goodnight and trailed up to her flat, she’d sat staring through the darkened window, brooding on the losses: Amy’s loss of a father; Chloe’s loss of a child, and her own much smaller loss of what nevertheless seemed vital possessions.

She shifted in her seat, wishing she still believed in saints like Jude and
Anthony, the patron saints respectively of hopeless cases and of finding mislaid objects, who had helped her as a schoolgirl if she lost her purse or broke up with a friend. These days, however, her faith was gossamer-frail and a month ago she had actually missed Easter Sunday Mass – a heinous sin in Hanna’s eyes. And, as for her sex with Felix, her mother would be deeply shocked to think that the daughter she had raised to be devout and chaste could ever have sunk so low.

A heavily pregnant African woman, just summoned by the nurse, was trying to squeeze past her in the row. Maria gave her a distracted smile before returning to thoughts of Felix, which only prompted yet more worry. She was due to accompany him to Cornwall in just a fortnight’s time, yet how could she disappear for three whole nights without explaining to Amy and Hugo where she would be? On the other hand, it seemed unwise and tactless to mention another man when her daughter was still shaken by the Silas debacle.

She was so absorbed in the dilemma, she jumped when her daughter touched her on the arm.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realize you were back. How did you get on?’

‘Well, they want me to take iron for the anaemia – just a basic
supplement
, they said, from somewhere like Superdrug.’

‘And the blood pressure?’ Maria prompted, aware of the risk of
pre-eclampsia
, more common in first pregnancies
and
in older mothers.

‘It’s not high enough to warrant medication, so the doctor said. They’ll just check it more often and also do more frequent urine tests.’

‘But surely he told you to rest?’

‘Well, yes, he did. And he also recommended a few nice, gentle walks in the fresh air – you know, to get some exercise. In fact, it’s such a glorious day, let’s not have lunch inside. Why don’t we buy some stuff from that snack bar outside the hospital and picnic in Brompton Cemetery?’

‘Picnic
where
?’

Amy laughed. ‘Don’t worry – I haven’t developed a death-wish! It’s
actually
more like a park, big and quiet and peaceful, with lovely old trees and squirrels darting about.’

Maria glanced at her watch. ‘But how do we get there? Don’t you have to be back in the office by two?’

‘Oh, it’s only a short walk from here, so I’ll be getting my fresh air and gentle exercise, and we can even rest while we sit and eat our sandwiches, so what better way to obey Dr Wainwright’s orders!’

‘I can’t believe we’re in London!’ Maria exclaimed, as she surveyed the vista stretching far ahead: a variety of trees – beech, larch, horse chestnut, sycamore – spreading their welcome shade across the path. On either side, a tangled undergrowth of brambles, ferns, nettles and convolvulus all but choked the ancient gravestones. ‘There’s not a soul around, so it’s like a real oasis. Most cemeteries are boringly neat, but this one seems to have gone its own sweet way. And look – butterflies!’ She watched two meadow-browns flit across the cow-parsley, then slowly come to rest on the powdery white flower-heads.

‘The only thing that spoils it is the planes.’ Amy winced as yet another jet droned over. ‘But if you tune those out …’

Maria stopped to study a carving on one of the tombstones. ‘You know, I do miss Mama an awful lot. And this place reminds me I haven’t visited her grave for – let’s see – nearly four months. I must go back to the cottage soon and sort out things up there. And I’ll need to order a headstone. Obviously, it’ll take a while to erect, but, once it’s done, perhaps we could have a little ceremony – all go up north together and lay a wreath or a bouquet of gorgeous flowers.’

‘Good idea – except knowing Grandma’s views on extravagance, she’d probably prefer a bunch of dandelions!’

Maria’s thoughts returned to Felix: his dislike of her own obsession with economy. Yet economy was built into her DNA, as well as into her mother’s and her grandmother’s. However, she deliberately dropped the subject, not wanting to seem critical of Amy’s spendthrift ways, or how they contrasted with her ancestors’ frugality.

They wandered on, arm in arm, until they spotted a bench sheltered from the sun that seemed ideal for their picnic. Maria unwrapped the sandwiches and spread her handkerchief – a large but flimsy one of Hanna’s – across Amy’s pristine skirt. They both ate in silence for a while, Amy nibbling at the food in a half-hearted sort of manner. Maria guessed that she was tired, not only from the anaemia but because the baby’s lively movements
probably
disturbed her sleep at night.