The Would-Begetter (9 page)

‘So, where’ve you
been?’
Jess asked Hector as he appeared at her open darkroom door, halfway through Monday morning, ‘and have you spoken to Nigel?’

‘Yes, I phoned him yesterday afternoon,’ Hector said. ‘Tasty bit of flooding, eh? I got some brilliant heart-rending stuff down at that village hall of yours, with tea and buns thrown in!’

‘You never ate their emergency rations?’

‘They wouldn’t take no for an answer. But enough idle chatter. Where’s your pics? There’s one I particularly hope you’ve got…’ He leafed quickly through the photographs Jess offered him, ignoring her best daylight shots of the broken
coastal defences and the newly formed inland sea, and going instead for the technically less good ones from the village hall. He gave an exclamation of pleasure, ‘Ha! Good one, and with the boy too.’ He flourished a picture of a young woman with long dark hair and gipsy earrings who was wrapping a lovely child of about nine in blankets, and making a rueful face at the camera as she did so. ‘That is one beautiful woman,’ Hector said, inspecting it closely, ‘and she has a very unusual name too.’

‘Something like Shakespeare, as I remember?’

‘Brakespear – Zillah Brakespear. You wouldn’t believe it, but she’s actually an Oxford don’s daughter who’s down-shifted – a real wild child! D’you know, she even quoted
Socrates
at me? I made a note of it. Here…’ Hector felt about in his pocket, produced a sheet torn from his notebook and unfolded it.
The desire for things is unlimited, so there are two ways to approach your material life: increase your income, or decrease your wants
he read aloud. ‘I think that says it all.’

‘Maybe in theory,’ Jess said.

Hector clearly wasn’t going to brook any criticism. He went on enthusing regardless, ‘… and the boy’s called Christian – pretty bright too, I think. He insisted on giving me an interview first, before his mum, and told me an amazing story about snakes…’

‘You still haven’t told me where you were,’ Jess insisted, picking bits off his jersey, out of habit, ‘and you’ve got feathers all over your back.’

‘Hangover,’ Hector said abruptly. ‘No excuses, just a plain boring old hangover. No, this Christian child told me that as the water rose higher and higher in their cottage – they live right out in the wilds you see – half a dozen grass snakes swam in through a broken window and swarmed up the stairs! Can you believe it? So I asked him if his mother had screamed, and he said, no, she was…’ Hector adopted a falsetto treble, ‘… totally cool, like it happens every day’

‘Must be a witch,’ Jess said.

‘Well I’ll most likely be finding that out,’ Hector said airily, shuffling the photographs into a pack and tapping the bottom edges on the bench. ‘I decided that it was time I did a festive Good Deed, so that’s where I’ve been this morning – inviting Zillah and son to come and stay with me for Christmas.’

Zillah Brakespear wrestled with pride versus ethics, and pride won. I am definitely NOT running home to Daddy at the first sign of real trouble, so that he can say ‘I told you so’, she thought. He’s just waiting for my lifestyle (and my relationship with Clive) to fail, and I’m damned if I’m going to give him that satisfaction,
ever!
After all, there is always Hector Mudgeley.

In normal circumstances she and Clive managed well enough. Zillah sold her pots to passing trade in the summer, and Clive took what cargo he was offered, and was away a lot, driving his lorry across the continent. But it didn’t generate enough income to cope with a sudden crisis like this flood. Where would they stay? They wouldn’t be able to afford hotel bills, and she hated the thought of B & B in this cold weather. If ever I needed a sugar-daddy, she thought, it’s now.

Zillah had seen at once that Hector fancied her, but she was well used to wandering hands, sheep’s-eyes and grovellers; men in general trying it on, so she’d very nearly given him her
not-if-you-were-the-last-man-alive
look. She was stopped only by the realisation that she was in no position to dismiss such a good offer out of hand. She was in no doubt that there would be a price to pay; she just hoped it would be worth it. Eyeing Hector dispassionately, she supposed he was much like any other tall, middle-aged, greying man, but he did have a very handsome profile, an appealing smile and a sexy laugh. She could do worse. And it was Christmas… and it was a long time since anyone had given her presents… and Christian seemed keen to go…

The day after the storm, the authorities organised transport for a round trip for people to visit their flooded houses (where the water had receded enough) to collect clothes and anything
vital that was needed for the ensuing days before normality might return. Zillah had been horrified at the state of her cottage. The building itself still appeared sound, but the mess of mud and slime in the bottom three feet of the ground floor was daunting, and the smell overpowering. She thought, There’s nothing I can do, not with Christmas so imminent. I’ll have to wait for my landlord to sort it all out anyway, and it’s bound to take ages to dry out. It’s obvious we can’t live here for some time. No, we’ve no real alternative, we’d better cross our fingers and go and stay with the Mudgeley man.

Hector had offered to come and collect them, so whilst they waited for him in the village hall, Zillah scribbled Z.B. and his name and address on a note and stuck it on the newly organised communications board. Then she exchanged small talk with some of the other families who were still without somewhere to stay, and were waiting to be interviewed by Social Services and the Housing Department.

‘Lucky you,’ a menopausal Social Worker observed, on hearing of her plans, ‘Christmas in style, eh? What it is to be nubile.’

Huh! Zillah thought, curling her lip, she probably doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. Then she thought – marriageable; yes, technically speaking I suppose I am, although Clive certainly wouldn’t think so!

‘Here’s Hector now, Mum,’ Christian said, pulling at her arm, ‘but he’s got a really old car, look!’

Barry had resigned himself to spending Christmas with his mum, as usual. Since his father’s decampment they had always done so, and this year he saw no way of absenting himself without causing her pain, but he decided to make up for this dutifulness by going out boozing with his mates both the day before, and on Boxing Day. He wondered what Wendy’s plans were. When he had passed Reception and had asked her as casually as he could manage, she had been very bright and positive.

‘I’m spending it with my man, of course,’ she said. ‘He’s going to take me all over the place; shows, restaurants, nightclubs, you name it. I’ve had to buy myself that many new clothes!’

It sounded good, but why was Barry getting the distinct impression that she was being brave? This feeling of slight disbelief niggled him all through the 23rd and finally, on Christmas Eve just before he was due down at the pub, he gave in to it and telephoned her. She answered at once.

‘Hello?’ So she
was
at home. ‘Hello, is that you?’ She sounded anxious.

‘It’s me, Barry.’

‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was palpable.

Barry clutched the receiver more tightly and thought, the bastard’s let her down! I could still be in with a chance. ‘You doing anything tonight?’

‘Oh Barry. You never give up, do you?’

‘Well, are you?’

‘Well of course I am. I told you…’

‘So what time are you leaving?’

‘Oh, any time now. I was just waiting for him to ring… In fact, I thought you were him…’ ‘Really?’

‘What d’you mean, really?’

‘I mean, is he really going to phone you?’

There was a small pause before she answered. Then she said, all in a rush, ‘There’s someone at the door. That’ll be him now. Sorry, got to go,’ and she put the phone down.

Hmmm, Barry thought sceptically, and went out for his drink with a hopeful heart.

Hector looked round at his flat in despair. He had only unpacked the essentials when he’d moved in, and the front hall was still full of boxes of books and papers. This was not the sort of place in which to entertain anyone, let alone one’s lady love. It wasn’t nearly good enough. It hadn’t really mattered how shabby it looked before, how dingy the wallpaper, how faded the curtains, but now it was crucial. What the hell could he DO about it? He couldn’t possibly repeat his ploy with Caroline, and take Zillah to Megan’s house. He would just have to sort this place out, explain to her that he didn’t own it; that it was just a temporary expedient.

God! Where should he start? He rushed around, hoovering, dusting, shoving clothes into drawers, junk into cupboards. He
discovered some Jif and cleaned the basin, the bath and the lavatory. He wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen, sniffed inside the fridge to check that nothing was flagrantly off, but balked at mucking-out the cooker. Then he made up the single bed in the only spare room for Christian, stuffing the duvet into the brand-new cover he had bought especially, and which depicted the latest, most popular Walt Disney character. To Hector it appeared simplistic and crude in the extreme, and it looked even worse on the bed than it had on the packet illustration. It’ll have to do, he thought, seizing double bedclothes from the airing cupboard and preparing to fit them lovingly on to the only other bed in the flat – his. If she’s reluctant to sleep with me, he thought, plumping up the pillows (and one must expect a certain token resistance in a properly brought-up girl), then I shall offer to sleep on the sofa, but I’ll make sure I’ve only got one thin blanket. She surely won’t allow me to freeze to death?

He glanced at the clock; nearly time to go! He had a quick shower, dressed with the maximum amount of care and attention to achieve the greatest casual effect and then, suffering from unaccustomed nerves, got into his Jaguar and set off for the village hall.

The boy, Christian, came running out to meet him.

‘My dad’s lorry’s a lot newer than your car,’ he said.

‘This,’ Hector said, ‘is a classic car, I’ll have you know. Where is your father these days, then?’

‘Europe somewhere. I dunno.’

Good, Hector thought. We can do without him. He and Zillah must surely have split up, or he’d be here helping her now? He was just about to ask the boy a few more pertinent questions, when he saw Zillah approaching. They were clearly not well off but she looked marvellous anyway. She had changed her clothes and was wearing a short orange coat with a button missing, a rather tatty, long, black skirt and little lace-up boots. She had a bright scarf round her neck and a suitcase in either hand. Her facial expression was strictly neutral. Next time, Hector promised himself, next time she’ll look positively eager to see me – I’ll make sure of that or I’ll die in the attempt. He jumped out of the car and went to help her with the cases.

‘Hello!’ he said. Was he sounding ridiculously hearty? ‘Is this it?’

‘There wasn’t much else left,’ Zillah said.

‘No, of course not, stupid of me. Right, climb in then and off we go.’

‘Have you got a computer?’ Christian asked him as they drove away.

‘Well, only a fairly basic one at home,’ Hector admitted. ‘I use it for word-processing; for letters and the odd unofficial article here and there, that sort of thing.’

‘So what games have you got?’

‘Games? Oh, I see… I don’t think it does games as such.’

‘Oh,’ Christian was clearly disappointed.

‘I’ve got lots of books though.’ As he said this, Hector nerved himself for the usual scathing response from the younger generation: ‘Nah, books are crap’. It didn’t come.

‘Hey, have you? That’s excellent!’

Hector felt a surge of happiness. It was all going to work out wonderfully. Zillah was both beautiful and fertile. She had already proved herself by producing a son with a literary bent. If that didn’t bode well for a future Morgan, then what could? He turned and smiled widely at her. In response, she raised a quizzical eyebrow, and twitched her mouth just a little at the corners, but it was definitely upwards.

When they arrived at his flat, Hector watched Zillah’s face intently, to see what her reaction to it would be. She didn’t register anything.

‘I’m just staying here temporarily,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s not my usual sort of place, but I thought I’d get it decorated anyway. I know a woman who’s very experienced in interior decor.’

‘Why bother?’ Zillah asked. ‘Looks fine to me.’

How kind of her, Hector thought fondly. She’s only saying that to make me feel better. ‘Now then, what would you like,’ he asked, ‘cup of tea, or a drink?’

‘Where am I sleeping?’ Christian interrupted.

‘Oh yes, first things first.’ Hector led the way. ‘You’re in here. All right?’

Christian went inside, made a face at the duvet cover, but
sat and bounced on it anyway. ‘Yeah, it’s… okay.’ He went on bouncing.

‘Kitchen in here, living room, bathroom, lavatory,’ Hector demonstrated, opening the doors in turn to show Zillah round.

‘And I suppose we’re in here then?’ she asked quietly, opening the door of the main bedroom and taking a cursory glance.

‘Oh, well… er… yes.’ Yippee! Hector thought triumphantly, and then wondered why he felt strangely disappointed.

‘Can I have a bath?’ Zillah asked.

‘Yes, of course. Plenty of hot water.’

‘I’ll need a towel.’

‘I’ll get you one.’ Hector was cross with himself for forgetting. ‘Would you like a G & T to drink in your bath?’ he asked, as he handed her his best bath sheet.

‘Sorry?’

‘Gin and tonic.’

‘Oh no. A glass of white wine would do.’

‘Damn! I don’t think I’ve got any white…’

‘Forget it. I’m fine.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘I thought I’d get us a Chinese take-away for supper?’ Hector suggested.

‘Fine.’

‘Can we have prawn crackers and spare ribs and sweet and sour?’ Christian asked eagerly, catching up with them.

‘Whatever you like.’

‘Great!’

Well I’m glad someone’s enthusiastic, Hector thought. His mother is too laid-back to be true. Never mind, I’ve got a tried and tested method for drawing out emotional responses from inhibited women, and maybe when she sees all the goodies I’ve bought for her and the boy, she’ll realise how serious I am about her?