Love and Devotion (47 page)

Later, when she was lying across his chest and he was stroking her silky soft hair, he was struck how still she was. A rare moment for her, he surmised. He would have liked to ask what she was thinking, but he didn’t want to disturb her; it felt good just lying here with her in his arms. He always got the feeling that she was speed-thinking, her thoughts rattling through her head at lightning speed, like a computer. She’ll burn herself out if she’s not careful, he mused sadly. One day he’d suggest she slowed down, but not tonight. Tonight was perfect just as it was and he wanted to enjoy it to the full, not go spoiling it by lecturing her.

There was a lot about Harriet he didn’t understand, not least the reason why she was here in bed with him, but he was determined to make the most of their time together. Like the song period of the nightingale that she had told him about, he knew this pleasure would be fleeting.

 

 

 

 

A fortnight had passed since Suzie and her sister had shown up unexpectedly at their father’s. Before leaving The Navigation that night Suzie had told Gemma that they should phone him to make sure it was convenient, but Gemma had said, ‘Give over, he’s our dad; of course it’ll be convenient.’ The reason Gemma had been so eager to see their father was to try and get him on her side with her plan to spend Christmas in Paris with Marcel. Suzie had told her it was wrong and selfish to keep using Dad this way. With her usual bluntness Gemma had said, ‘That’s rich coming from the girl who wants to move in with him when the baby’s born. How do you think that’ll work when he wants to bring some woman home?’

Gemma had a point, Suzie could see that. Which was why she was going to tell Dad that she’d changed her mind and decided to stay at home with Mum, just until she’d got herself sorted. Whatever that meant, and however she achieved it. If she thought about the future too much it overwhelmed her and she became depressed. Nana Ruby said it was her hormones playing merry hell with her, and that every pregnant woman went through more ups and downs than a big dipper. Because her grandmother was always so positive, Suzie had taken to spending more and more time with her. It was lovely to be pampered and spoiled by Nana. She had even said that if things got difficult with Mum, there would be room for Suzie and the baby in her tiny bungalow. ‘It would be a bit of a squash,’ Nana had said, ‘but I want you to know there’d always be a welcome for you here.’ Her generosity had made Suzie cry. Burrowing her head into her grandmother’s shoulder, she’d wished her mother wasn’t such a heartless bitch. ‘You mustn’t think so badly of her,’ Nana had said. ‘She has a lot on her plate. And there’s that husband of hers to keep happy. Relationships are fragile things, especially second-time-around ones. And talking of relationships, I hear from Gemma that your father’s seeing someone. What’s she like?’

‘Her name’s Harriet and he says she’s just a friend.’

Nana had laughed. ‘Same old Will. Dear me, when is he ever going to grow up? Do you like her? Gemma said she’s very young.’

‘I don’t know how old she is for certain; we only met her for a couple of minutes, but she looks about thirty.’

‘Pretty?’

‘I suppose so. She’s got this intense, serious look about her. I can’t imagine she’d be a laugh a minute. Not really Dad’s type, I wouldn’t have thought.’

‘Perhaps it’s time your father took on someone with a bit of substance.’

‘Nana! You’re not suggesting he should get serious about her, are you?’

‘Why not?’

‘But the age difference; its — ’

‘No one’s concern but theirs,’ Nana had said firmly. ‘Would you be very upset if he did marry again?’

‘It would take some getting used to,’ she’d said guardedly.

That their father might marry for a second time had never been a concern for Suzie or her sister. They were so used to him playing the field, it hadn’t occurred to them that he might want to be with someone on a permanent basis.

‘Your father would never stop loving you, Suzie,’ her grandmother had said. ‘He wouldn’t ever let anything come between him and you. You two girls have always meant the world to him, and always will. But you have to respect his right to be happy.’

Nana’s comments combined with Gemma’s criticisms meant that Suzie knew she couldn’t move in with her father. It wouldn’t be fair to him. But even so, she didn’t want things to change. It had been all right Mum and Steve marrying, but it was different with Dad. Dad had always been there for them. He was theirs. She couldn’t help it, but selfishly, she knew that she would be jealous of any woman who meant more to her father than she did.

This conversation, like so many between Suzie and her grandmother, had taken place one evening while Nana Ruby was knitting and Suzie was flicking through a baby magazine trying to picture the baby she would be holding in a matter of weeks. She couldn’t believe how huge she was now or how much the baby moved around inside her. There always seemed to be an elbow, a knee, or a fist making its presence felt, usually at night when she was trying to sleep. But no matter how often she was kept awake by the baby, or how uncomfortable she felt, she didn’t regret her decision. This baby was going to be the most loved child in the world.

As though to make the days pass quicker, Nana Ruby had made a special countdown calendar to go on her kitchen wall and as each day came and went, her grandmother crossed it off with a red marker pen. Suzie’s due date — 15 January - was only six and a half weeks away. The midwife said she wouldn’t be surprised if the baby came sooner than that.

Sinead had been in touch to see how she was getting on, but most of the phone conversation had been about her and breaking up with Richard. ‘I found out he was seeing someone else behind my back,’ she told Suzie. ‘Can you believe it? Everyone says I’m better off without him and that they can’t understand what I saw in him in the first place. I’m okay now, but I wasn’t when I found out. I went a bit loopy, if I’m honest. Don’t laugh, but I got very drunk and threw a brick through his car window. The girl he’d been seeing, and is still seeing, is a right stuck-up bitch. She comes from somewhere near you; Rochdale, I think.’ This was a typical piece of Sinead geography - having grown up in Kent she heaped anywhere north of Birmingham into one enormous neighbourhood.

The conversation proved to Suzie that she’d been right to keep her silence about Richard. It proved there would have been no point in telling Richard that he’d got her pregnant; he was not the kind of boy who would have stood by her. That much was obvious.

Sitting in her father’s office - he was out for the afternoon - Suzie looked up from the
Miller’s Guide
Dad had suggested she should study, and watched a woman inspect a large jug and bowl on a pine dressing table. According to Dad and Jarvis, you had to watch every customer like a hawk; no one was above suspicion when it came to stuff being nicked. There were cameras on each floor of the Emporium, and alarms fitted to the cabinets that contained the more expensive items such as silverware and Jarvis’s precious Royal Worcester china.

When the woman left empty-handed Suzie decided it was time for a packet of crisps and a Cuppa Soup. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she opened the box of Christmas decorations her father had asked her to inspect. ‘Throw out anything you think is past its sell-by date and use some money from the petty-cash box to buy some replacements,’ he’d said. ‘But don’t go mad. I don’t want the place looking like a tart’s boudoir.’

It was good working for Dad. She liked it that he trusted her. It gave her a sense of responsibility. Something, as her mother had told her, she was going to have to get used to.

 

Will was at the hospital waiting for news about Marty. His friend had been in surgery for nearly two hours now and Will had drunk so many cups of black coffee from the shop in the private wing of the hospital, his head was buzzing. Marty had told him not to be so stupid, that he didn’t need anyone hanging around when he came to after the operation, but Will had told him to shut up. ‘I may well be the last person on earth you want to see, but get used to the idea, because I’ll be grinning from ear to ear knowing you’re in such pain.’

‘Bastard.’

From what Marty had told him, the operation was a relatively straightforward procedure, but nothing would convince Will that this was the case. Marty had been diagnosed as having a malignant tumour, and the only way forward, as Marty had put it, was to submit to the knife and be ‘one man down’. ‘Just think,’ he’d said, ‘I might be able to sing falsetto in the future.’

Apparently, only by resorting to surgery could testicular cancer be confirmed or discounted. It was bloody drastic stuff and Will had nothing but admiration for his friend’s upbeat outlook. ‘There’s no other way to be,’ Marty had told him.

Will didn’t know what he’d do if he had to face a worse-case scenario - if Marty did have cancer and nothing could be done. To lose his oldest and closest friend would be like having both his arms ripped off. They’d been through so much together. He tried to remind himself of the statistics involved. The cure rate for early testicular cancer was ninety-five to a hundred per cent. For advanced cancer, when drugs and radiotherapy had to be thrown into the mix, the numbers were still good: eighty to ninety per cent. It could be beaten. That was the thought he had to hang on to.

Somewhere further down the corridor, he could hear some nurses singing along to ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’ on the radio. How did they stay so jolly?

He took out his mobile phone, wanting to speak to someone who would take his mind off Marty. But remembering mobiles were banned, he went to find the nearest payphone and tapped in Harriet’s number. Disappointingly, all he got was her endearingly prim, self-conscious recorded voice telling him to leave a message. The first time he’d got her recorded voice he’d left her an obscene message saying what he’d like to do with Miss Prim Knickers. He often teased her that she was at her sexiest when she least realised it. It was the simple things that got to him; the way she wore her cuffs so long they dangled past her hands, or the way she sat on the worktop in the kitchen, her legs swinging. Then there was the way she buttoned her jacket right up to her chin and shook out her hair. When she did that, he couldn’t help but undo every button and start removing the rest of her clothes to get at her slim, fluid body. She would look at him in that measured way she had and say, ‘But I was just going.’

‘There’s been a change of plan.’

She never tried to stop him, and not once had she ever complained that all he thought about was sex - a complaint that had been levelled at him on several occasions during his marriage.

He didn’t know how long this honeymoon period would go on for, but he’d come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be him who ended it. He enjoyed having her in his life. Although, to be precise, it wasn’t so much his life as his bed she was in. Last night, when they were lying exhausted and slick with sweat in each other’s arms, he’d propped himself up onto an elbow, and traced a finger between her small pert breasts. ‘Let’s go out on Friday night.’

‘I’d rather be here in bed with you.’

‘But I want to take you out for a special dinner, seeing as I wasn’t able to help you celebrate your birthday in style.’

‘You did. When I got back from Dublin you gave me a present and a ... now what was the phrase you used? Ah, yes, a right seeing to.’

Smiling, he’d said, ‘You young girls, you take all the romance out of a thing, don’t you?’

‘It’s you men. You’ve taught us all you know.’

‘Good, so behave yourself and let me take you somewhere romantic for dinner.’

With a movement that caught him off guard, she pushed him onto his back. ‘I’ll think about it. But not Friday night. I have to work late.’ Then pulling the duvet up over their heads, she slowly slid down his body and the last thing on his mind was going out for dinner.

One of the things he liked most about her was that she had no inclination to change him. She wasn’t interested in reorganising his kitchen or tidying up the bathroom like so many women had tried before. A woman he’d gone out with last year had kept on at him to resume his former life as a lawyer. When he’d told Harriet this, she’d said, ‘People should learn to mind their own business. We are who we are.’ She was refreshingly pragmatic, but at the same time very private. However, he was getting better at reading her, especially when they were in bed. He loved the way he could so easily penetrate that tough exterior of hers. ‘Aha, the formidable woman melts in my hands,’ he’d teased her one night. She’d given him her scariest wrath-and-brimstone look and refused to accept that she was formidable. To his surprise, she had seemed genuinely hurt by his comment and he took care never to say anything like it again.

An elderly couple walked towards him, the man’s arm resting protectively on the woman’s shoulder, and Will stepped back to let them pass. Long after they’d disappeared around the corner he was still standing in the same spot, lost in thought. He was thinking the inconceivable - how he wanted to be an all-out couple with Harriet. Since they’d got it together the only time they’d gone anywhere was to the Jools Holland concert in Manchester and to take another look at her house. Other than that, all they’d done was have sex. He had absolutely no complaints on that score - what man would? - but he wanted to do the whole going-out thing with her. He wanted her to meet his mother. Marty too. He wanted her fully in his life.

And that, he suspected, would be his downfall.

 

Marty was wheeled back to his room a short while later, still groggy from the anaesthetic, but sufficiently awake to say to Will, ‘What, no flowers?’