The Scrapbook (19 page)

‘Come and sit down, Fern, and finish your food. She's been like this ever since she got here, Rick, but I was the same when I was pregnant with her. Couldn't sit still for five minutes.'

Rick flinches and spears his fork into his lip. Blood wells instantly, thick droplets trembling down onto his mound of rice. Can't she see the effect that word is having on him? How many times has she mentioned my pregnancy in the last hour? It's got to be deliberate. I glare at her and she beams back at me with hazy affection. Rick grimaces and stirs the pink grains into the sauce while I jump up again to tear some pieces of kitchen roll. As I pass them to him across the table he takes my hand and won't let go. Another trickle, a perfect bloody teardrop, oozes down his chin and drips onto his plate but he doesn't try to wipe it away, just holds tight to my fingers and stares up at me. Mum chatters on, peering around my body to get his attention.

‘Trying to get hold of you for ages he was, but you see, Rick, I never usually answer the phone. It's always a cold caller or a wrong number, isn't it? I didn't spoil the surprise, did I, Fern? You didn't guess what we were planning?'

I prise the crumpled wad of kitchen roll from Rick's fist and gently press it to his lip, wincing apologetically down at him. ‘No, mum, you didn't spoil the surprise.'

She tries to pat my arm and knocks her glass into the salad bowl. ‘You'd better get me another one of those, love. And what about some ice cream? Rick, would you like some ice cream?' Speaking too loudly now, over-stressing each syllable. I feel a brief embarrassment for her, a pinch of protectiveness. But a glance at Rick shows me that he's still too immersed in his own shock to really take in mum's undignified state.

I start to collect the plates, run water into the sink. Rick moves to stand next to me. ‘Let me help you with that.' I don't look at him, just take what he passes me and stack it on the sideboard. Mum stays hunched at the table, elbows splayed and speckled with rice, waiting for me to turn around so that she can repeat her request. The water's too hot but I plunge my hands in anyway, taking grim pleasure from the sting of it.

‘Fern? Are we going to have another drink? Fern?' Mum's voice has become a whine. The evening's triumph is slipping away from her and she doesn't understand why I'm not being more attentive. ‘Can't we have some ice cream and another drink, Fern?'

Rick glances at me and then puts the tea towel down and turns to her. ‘I'll get it for you, Iris. Where do you keep your bowls?'

‘Oh, just get me that drink if you would, Rick, and don't worry about the ice cream. I've got to watch what I eat; I've got a dodgy heart you know.'

I snort and launch plates into the sink, food still attached. Bits of green pepper swirl and subside below the brown foam like diving frogs at a muddy pool. My hands are swollen now, blotched and crimson. I float them on the waves I've created, fingers spread wide over the oily film suffocating the water, and stare into the murk. My heart is throbbing inside my eardrums and I don't respond to the knock on the door until it repeats and Rick turns from the dresser, juggling glass and lemon. ‘Do you want me to answer that?' I shake my head and walk out of the kitchen.

Tommy stands on the step and smiles tiredly at me. ‘Hello, love, I popped round earlier and your mum told me you'd gone visiting. Can I have a word?'

I try to edge outside and pull the front door closed behind me but mum's already thrust her chair back. ‘Is that Tommy? Come in and meet Rick.'

We just look at each other, neither of us moving, until mum appears at my side and tugs us into the hallway. She's delighted at this interruption, this chance to recapture her self-satisfaction and tell again how she managed to arrange such a wonderful surprise for her daughter. Tommy murmurs, ‘I need a word with you, Fern,' as he passes me. I think about just walking out, leaving them all to it, but I follow him into the kitchen.

Rick's already shaking hands with Tommy when I remember and I rush forward and try to catch his eye, either of their eyes, to stop the exchange that must surely follow. Too late.

Rick glances at me. ‘Tommy? Fern's dad? I thought you'd… Fern told me that you'd gone. That's why she's here. Isn't it?'

I sit at the table and watch his frown of confusion, watch it mirrored on Tommy's face and then on my mother's. I press my hands to my blush.

‘I'm not Fern's dad,' and ‘
He's
not Fern's dad,' both spoken at the same time. Then Rick again. ‘Yes, you are. Aren't you? Fern always talks about you. I was sorry to hear about you and Iris splitting up.'

They all look at me but I don't raise my gaze from the table top. ‘I said he was
like
a dad to me,' I tell the pepper grinder.

Rick shakes his head with exaggerated emphasis. ‘No you didn't. You said he was your dad. You said it more than once.'

The silence that follows is excruciating. I bend my head and wrap my hands around the goosebumps that are prickling across the nape of neck. There's no way I can deflect this, or even laugh it off. Mum and Tommy are just confused but I don't need to look at Rick to know that he's not going to back down to spare my embarrassment. He can't express his public shock at one example of my deceit so he'll make damn sure he has the opportunity to express it at another. All I can do is come clean.

I look up at Tommy. ‘Yes, I'm sorry, I did say you were my dad.' I shrug and stand. ‘I've always wanted you to be. I've always hoped there might be a chance. You and mum…'

He gives mum a quick look then, no more than a flicker of pupil, but she reddens and retreats behind outrage. ‘How could you, Fern? Lying about your own father. I'm so ashamed, I can't tell you how much.' She snatches her glass and leaves the room at a near run.

Tommy, redder even than her, but gentler, strokes my arm. ‘I'd love to be your dad, Fern, and I'm touched that you'd say I am, but if you know it can't be true you shouldn't lie. Your poor young man here doesn't know what to think.'

I glance at Rick and then refocus on Tommy. ‘I know. I'm sorry. But there was something though, between you? It might not be impossible?'

‘No, love. There's no chance. Whatever may have been between Iris and me, and I'm not saying there ever was, you aren't a part of it. Just let it go.' He steps away and nods at Rick. ‘Sorry about all this. It was nice meeting you anyway. Fern, will you walk out with me?'

We're silent until we reach the garden gate. I'm in no hurry to go back inside, am content to lean beside him and stare at the house. The twin silhouettes of mum and Rick occupy different windows, both looking out at us. I wonder what they're thinking, as they strain through the twilight. Are they still angry with me? Such different reasons for their anger, but both justified.

Tommy fishes his car keys out of his trouser pocket and fidgets with them. ‘You went to see Ivy's sister today, then? How did it go?'

The question makes me remember how he drove away from me up at the viewing point the other day. How he didn't want anything to do with helping me look for my father. I tell him as much, though with less conviction than I would have had previous to him finding out about me adopting him as a parent. He has the grace not to bring that up, but pursues the question more urgently when I straighten to go back in.

‘Fern, wait. What happened with her? Did she tell you anything? I wouldn't listen to a word that woman says, you know. Your grandmother said she was born a meddler.'

Rick's form disappears from the window, and a second later so does mum's. Are they united in the hall, talking about me? But then light pools on the step as the front door opens. Rick calls my name and I move towards him. ‘I'm here, just saying goodbye to Tommy.'

He stays where he is, just outside the door, and I kiss Tommy's cheek quickly. ‘I'd better go. I've got some explaining to do.'

‘Fern, did she tell you anything?'

I stare at him. ‘Why do you want to know? She gave me a couple of things. A letter and something else. I haven't had a chance to look at them yet.'

Rick clears his throat and I turn to the sound. ‘I've got to go, Tommy. Thanks for coming by and I am sorry for the mix up earlier.' I grimace at him, hoping to raise a smile.

He shakes his head. ‘Maybe you shouldn't look at them, love. Just bin them, or give them to me. Maybe it's for the best.'

‘What do you mean? Do you know something?' I take his arm and put my face close to his to peer at his expression, but then Rick says my name again and I hear his footsteps on the gravel behind me. He has my coat over his arm and drapes it around me as Tommy shuffles for a moment and then gets slowly into his car. I raise a hand in farewell as he drives away.

Rick and I walk around the house to the back garden, our breath plaiting the air in front of us, and I lean into him. All I want now is to be able to fast forward the next couple of hours and have him forgive me, have him lie beside me in my childhood bed. He stops us under the oak, wrists resting on my shoulders. I smile into his solemn expression, trying to buy a little time.

‘You've got more white hairs.' I stroke the side of his face. ‘There was a time when I could count each individual one and now there's so many. How did I not notice before?'

‘When were you planning to tell me?'

So we're going to do this right now, with mum no doubt leaning from the living room window so as not to miss a word. I sigh and drop my hand to my side, try not to sound sullen. ‘I don't know. Tomorrow. The day after. Does it matter? You know now.'

His voice rises, making me jump. ‘Of course it matters. You're having my baby. That's why you went in such a hurry, isn't it, because you found out? It clearly wasn't because your dad had left and your mum needed you. That's if she's even your mother.'

I suddenly realise how hurt he is. How angry. And my own anger rolls over inside my chest, stretches and sharpens its claws. Yes, let us do this now.

‘Mum did need me. I couldn't just leave her to cope by herself.'

The years of doing just that, of not returning calls, of leaving her to cope, fan out on the ground between us and I trail into silence. He knows enough about my life and my relationship with her to know that I'm lying. He probably knew I was lying at the time but just didn't know why.

I think of the last night we were together, before I came here. The piles of clothes and shoes heaped over the bed, draped over the sofa. Me charging around the flat, dragging a suitcase, moving, constantly moving. Staying a few steps ahead of him throughout the evening, squeezing myself past his hugs and slipping out from his kisses. There was nowhere for him to sit down. I chattered my concern for my mum, spilling words over my shoulder, never allowing him space to question me, and by the time we'd said goodbye I'd almost forgotten myself why I was really leaving.

The oak tree drips shadow from its branches, making crazy paving of Rick's face. He doesn't speak. I start to fidget. I want to salvage something from this before it's too late.

‘How long can you stay for? It is lovely to see you, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed you. Shall we go to bed and talk about the other things in the morning?' I reach again to touch his cheek and move towards him but he shifts away, holding me at arm's length.

‘We need to talk about this now, Fern. What are we going to do? I can stay for a few days, give us a chance to sort something out. Shit, I just can't believe you didn't tell me.'

Now I move away. ‘Sort something out? What do you mean by that?' Outrage wraps itself around me, a suit of armour all spikes and sharp edges, and it's wonderful. I don't let him answer.

‘I didn't ask you to come here, and I didn't ask you to share this baby with me. She's mine. There's nothing to
sort out
. Christ, Rick, when have I ever put pressure on you to do anything but love me?'

‘I didn't mean
that
…'

I try to take a breath, slow myself down before I say anything else, because anything else I say is going to be needless and cruel. But the anger feels so much better than the guilt.

‘And how dare you sneak around behind my back, scheming with my own mother to ambush me.'

Slow down. Take another breath. Don't say anything else. Not right now, when you're feeling cornered. Just look at him and remember why you love him. Please don't ruin this.

But I can't stop. ‘And if you think you can just turn up here and start issuing orders, decide what's best for me and my baby…'

Above our heads the oak trembles loose a desiccated leaf. It spins on the breeze, trailing decay, and catches in my hair. Rick disentangles it, crumbles it between his palms and pulls me close. His hands are powdery against the nape of my neck.

‘Don't, Fern. Don't shut me out again. I do want this baby, of course I do.' He kisses my closed eyes. ‘But you're going to have to start being more honest with me.'

I'd wrestled the suit of armour off, prepared to let it drop to the ground beside me, but now I heave it back on, and tighter than ever. I make no effort to keep my voice low. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'