The Would-Begetter (6 page)

‘So’s Hector’ Jess said, fishing.

‘There’s a lot of us about,’ Caroline said casually. ‘Perhaps we’re the beginning of the end of the human race?’

Jess didn’t take her up on this. ‘Of course, unlike you, Hector isn’t happy about it,’ she persevered.

‘Bit late now; crying over snipped tubes, I mean.’ Caroline expelled air down her nose in a brief snort.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Oh dear, hasn’t he told you about his vasectomy? I rather assumed…’

‘You are joking?’

‘No, seriously. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s no business of mine. Anyway, it’s academic now. He can tie his neck in a knot as far as I’m concerned.’

Jess struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. ‘So… it didn’t work out then?’ she ventured, ‘between you and Hector…?’

‘In a word, no.’ Caroline smiled. ‘No great tragedy. It just didn’t get off the ground. No big deal; not even a single tear shed.’

Jess smiled back. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘I thought you were totally wrong for each other, but I didn’t like to say… It’s just that Hector is mad keen to have children. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it seems to have become a sort of obsession with him. I expect he’s mentioned it?’

‘No?’ Caroline was clearly taken aback.

Jess frowned, ‘Oh yes, it’s his major preoccupation these days, so I don’t understand why on earth you thought he’d had a vasectomy? He’d rather kill himself than do that!’ Then an appalling idea occurred to her, rendering her uncharacteristically blunt.

‘Oh my goodness, you didn’t go to bed with him…?’

‘Good God, no,’ Caroline said, flushing. ‘There are limits!’

‘Oh, that’s all right then. Heavens, you had me worried there for a moment!’

Then over another glass of wine, Jess told her about Hector’s suggested strategy for a baby first, followed by marriage, and after Caroline’s first horrified reaction at the callousness of the man, they both laughed rather a lot.

Caroline went home quite early and Jess, as she washed up, had a sudden attack of conscience and wished she hadn’t said anything about Hector’s private life, especially when she’d promised she wouldn’t. Then she thought, I don’t suppose it matters. It doesn’t look as though Caroline will be seeing him again anyway. Thank goodness for that. It was all wrong. I’m glad that she and I are friends. I only hope she’s all right though; I thought she was looking a bit pale when she left.

Hector spent a whole week being browned off with himself, taciturn to everyone at work, and furious with Megan. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being made to look a fool. He realised, bitterly, that he had well and truly blown the Caroline option. That was it; finished! Once your dignity had been demolished, to the extent that his had that evening, then there was no going back. He resented the amount of time and effort he’d put into the woman, not to mention the money he’d spent on her, and now here he was, no nearer parenthood; back to square one. Megan’s remembered sarcasm still stung him. He winced at the thought.

To take his mind off her, he glanced at his diary. Hell! He really wasn’t in the mood for letting his hair down and having fun, and he most certainly didn’t feel like making himself look stupid on purpose by wearing fancy dress for the wretched office party this coming weekend.

Whatever it is I go as, he thought (and I suppose there’s no
way I can get out of going altogether?), then it’ll have to be something warm. It’s genuine brass-monkey weather these days. I haven’t time to mess about making anything, not that I’d have the first idea anyway, so I’ll just have to go to that theatrical costume-hire place. And I’ll get something with a mask – a little anonymity at this juncture would be most welcome.

By Saturday, Hector had worked out a plan for arriving incognito. The party was to take place in one of the large public rooms on the sea front, where there was ample parking space and good catering facilities. The proprietors of the paper and a handful of local dignitaries had been invited as usual, but this year there was no one that Hector was currently trying to cultivate. He was grateful for this respite. It meant that he could lurk inside his costume for the minimum time required, and then when duty had been served, and without the necessity for any bootlicking, he could get the hell out good and early and bugger off home.

He pondered on this idea with grim satisfaction as he parked his car in the far corner of the car park. Over on the other side he could see the lights of people arriving and hear the whoops and giggles as they identified each other. No one would see him getting out of his Jag. It was nice and dark so no one would know who he was. I’ll get out and walk all round the edge until I’m there, he thought. Good thing it’s not a garish costume; couldn’t be better actually. Right, here goes.

He got out of the car, reached in for the top of his outfit and put it over his head. Seeing out was a little tricky in the dark, and the cold wind whistled in through the slits and made his eyes water, but he finally managed to locate the door lock and turn the key in it. OK, Hector thought, let’s get this over with! As he walked briskly round the perimeter of the car park, he patted his hips, chest and bottom in turn, trying to locate somewhere safe to stow his keys and his wallet. There were no pockets. Stupid bloody get-up; clearly not designed by a man, Hector snorted in disgust. I’ll have to find some female with spare handbag capacity, to look after them for me. What a bore.

The room was already crowded and noisy when he approached the door, and he was seized by a moment of panic,
during which he seriously considered beating a hasty retreat. But then the frivolous atmosphere engulfed him like a kick in the pants, and Hector found himself seduced into an impromptu performance.

As Barry had predicted, there were several pirates in the room. He was glad that he had rejected that notion out of hand. He had been surprised how hard it had been to think up a witty idea for a costume, and he would not have admitted to anyone that he’d finally got his from an old university rag magazine from the 1960s which he’d found behind that filing cabinet he was helping to move from the Sales room. Now though, Barry was sorry that he hadn’t had the courage to approach Jess to collaborate in a double act. He should have dressed himself as a clown; Jess could just have come as herself. Then he would have given her a piggyback, and bingo! –
virgin on the ridiculous
. No, it would have been too unkind to Jess, who was a good sort, but not feminine enough for his taste.

Barry looked round for Wendy. He was determined not to appear sheepish. There she was! She looked so sweet. She was a mass of feathers, all brown and grey, stripy, barred and spotted, even down to the matching shoulder bag. She had a little downy head-dress, obviously home-made, with a beak on it, and a long tail hanging down over her bottom. Her shapely legs were revealed in tight brown leggings, and she even had little yellow claws fastened over the front of her high-heeled shoes.

‘You look terrific,’ Barry said, going over to her. ‘What are you?’

‘I’m a game bird,’ Wendy giggled.

‘Are you indeed? Way-hey!’ he smirked.

‘Now don’t you go getting any saucy ideas, Barry Poole. What are you?’

Barry looked down at himself; at the sandwich-boards of thick white card on which he had printed things very carefully in black ink:

MONSIEUR BARRIE CASANOVA,

RUE DE JOIE,

PARIS, FRANCE…

This appeared on the front, with a big, red postage stamp at the top right-hand corner. On the back, he’d written
S.W.A.L.K
. (Sealed With A Loving Kiss) and two lines to mark where the flap went. He hoped everyone would get the joke, but worried that it was too out-of-date a euphemism. Nowadays most people simply called them condoms. So, when Wendy asked him, ‘What are you?’ he really should have told her. It was a heaven-sent publicity opportunity. Knowing Wendy, he would only have had to say it once, and it would have been all round the room in no time.

‘I’m a French…’ His nerve failed him. ‘I’m an envelope,’ he said.

‘How peculiar,’ Wendy giggled again. ‘Oh no! Look at that!’

A gorilla had bounded into the room, grunting and swinging the knuckles of its large paws close to the floor, and everyone fell silent and stood back to let it into the centre. Once there, it started to beat its chest, but the heroic effect was slightly marred when it dropped something on the floor and had to pat about between people’s feet to find it.

‘Whoever is it?’ Wendy wondered. ‘You just can’t tell, can you? It’s amazing. Oooh it’s coming this way. Perhaps it’s a gorilla-gram!’

It’s a cheat, Barry thought,
hiring
a costume. Any fool can do that. It isn’t the least bit clever. ‘So, what are you game for, then?’ he asked Wendy, but she wasn’t listening. The gorilla was advancing towards her, holding out what looked like a bunch of keys and something else.

‘Hi Wend,’ it said gruffly in a disguised bass voice. ‘You wouldn’t be an angel and look after these for me, would you; pop them into your reticule?’

Wendy let out a little shriek of pleasure. ‘It’s
you!’
she breathed. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

The gorilla put a fat digit to its lips. ‘Sssssh,’ it said.

Wendy laughed delightedly. ‘I haven’t got a retic… whatever it was you said,’ she apologised, taking the wallet and keys, ‘but I’ll keep them safe in my handbag if you, like.’

‘Perfect’ the gorilla said, patting her feathery bottom with a hairy paw. ‘And what species of sporting birdy are you, then? If I snipe, duck and dive, or even goose you, will you grouse or quail or just be pheasant to me?’

Oh wonderful! Barry thought bitterly, as they moved away together. Thank you God, so much. Would-be Lothario upstaged by Pun-man wrapped in hearthrug; how stunningly incompetent!

Jess knew at once that the gorilla was Hector, and thought, How clever! I wish I’d got myself covered up so that I could pretend I’m not who I am. If only I wasn’t me, I could be the life and soul of this party, but reality is so dreadfully inhibiting. She had realised as soon as she had arrived that she should have spent more time trying to think of something clever and topical to wear. Even Wendy seemed to have hit the spot. Jess had simply come as ‘Westcountry Year’ and had stapled some of her best photos of the previous twelve months on to an old kaftan, including as many amusing ones as she could find. It wasn’t daring or original as she now acknowledged to herself, but it was warm and safe, and a surprising number of people came up and peered at her.

‘Lift your arm up a bit,’ Barry said, beside her. ‘I don’t remember that one?’ He was looking at a moody photograph of a drainage ditch on the Somerset Levels under louring clouds, in which the gleaming silver rhyne sliced through the flat fields into the middle distance in a hard straight line. In the foreground an untidy bay had been cut into its bank and a drunken hand-painted notice beside it read: NO FISHING IN COW DRINK.

‘No,’ Jess agreed, ‘it was just one I liked. I quite often walk down there on the moor for fun, you know. I take binoculars and watch birds.’

‘What, in this weather?’

‘Well no, it’s far too wet at the moment. Most of the droves are under water; have been for weeks.’

‘I’d hate to live down there,’ Barry said, making a face. ‘Horrible foggy, boggy sort of place, full of peat mumps and far too much sky. Looks like it’s in the process of getting even wetter too.’ He inclined his head towards the large dark windows. Someone had forgotten to draw the curtains, so it was possible to look out over the sea front. Jess did so. In the yellow glare from the street lamps she could see that it was raining hard. The wind had got up too, bowling an empty
fish and chip wrapper at speed along the promenade, and sending odd waves high over the sea wall in a flurry of froth and sand. She could imagine the combined noises of wind, waves and rain, but the thick glazing of the windows and the swell of party voices kept it at bay for the moment.

Leaving here is going to be horrible, Jess thought. But I won’t think about that now. Maybe the weather will have calmed down by then?

‘If it carries on like this, I’ll be papier maché by the time I get home,’ Barry said, echoing her thoughts. ‘I knew I should have come as a frogman.’

He wandered off to get his glass refilled, and Jess looked round to find someone else to talk to. Hector was not far off, in the centre of a group of people. He had taken his gorilla head off and left it somewhere, and his paws dangled from his wrists on bits of elastic, like a child’s gloves. Jess smiled. Then Hector turned in mid-sentence and saw her, beckoning her to join them with a gesture of his head and an answering smile.

‘Nice get-up,’ Jess said when she arrived beside him. ‘Suits you.’

‘No pockets,’ Hector said. ‘Honestly, how do gorillas manage?’

Hector was enjoying himself in spite of overheating in his tight-fitting costume. To cool himself off, he drank a lot of ice-cold lager and wiped his damp forehead from time to time on a hairy arm. As he was exchanging friendly banter with Jess, the food was announced and they went through to the buffet together.

‘It’s simply pouring down outside,’ she said to him. ‘There’ll be more floods at this rate.’

‘I’ll be OK,’ Hector said. ‘I’m on a slight hill. Your flat’s high up too, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes. I was thinking more of the cottages on the edge of the Levels.’ They joined the queue for food.

‘Daft place to live if you ask me; just asking for trouble.’

‘I’ve got some lovely photos down there, over the years.’

‘You’re a good photographer. Ever thought of going freelance, moving to London even?’

‘You trying to get rid of me?’

“Course not. Fancy a vol-au-vent?’

I mustn’t talk to Jess too long, Hector thought. I’d be more gainfully employed having a good look round just in case Caroline’s successor-in-title happens to be here; unlikely but always a possibility. Mustn’t miss a trick. No time to lose! He piled his plate high with goodies from the buffet table and then moved through the crowd, eating as he went, exchanging polite but brief chit-chat with those he bumped into or couldn’t avoid. After another hour, when it was obvious that there was not a single woman at the party who was remotely eligible, Hector decided to push off.