‘I know, Fergal, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since and I just want to get my divorce and be rid of him, even if I have to pay through the nose to do it. He said he wanted the money as consolation for having to marry Wendy – which bodes well for their future happiness! And her father’s going to buy them one of those new detached houses in Lower Nutthill.’
Fergal looked thoughtful. ‘My immediate reaction was to go round and break both his legs, but it might just be worth paying him off and getting rid of him.’
‘If I can! But I don’t have that sort of money to hand, although Granny might loan it to me if I ask her.’
‘
I’ll l
end you the money.’
My eyes smarted. ‘That’s so kind of you, Fergal. But I couldn’t possibly! I mean, with James already thinking the baby’s yours half the time, not to mention the village, I mean, it would look as if …’
He shrugged. ‘Why should anyone know? I wouldn’t tell them. You can pay me interest if it makes you feel better. And you’re well into your new novel, aren’t you?’
‘
The Sweet Wine of Love
,’ I said absently. ‘Yes.’
‘So you needn’t feel under any obligation to me – it isn’t going to put you into my evil clutches, and I won’t try to exercise my droit de seigneur.’
‘Really, Fergal! What a thing to say,’ I protested primly, and looked down at my bump, which shifted visibly under the scrutiny. Impulsively, I took his hand and placed it on the Incubus, who obligingly gave him a good kick. I laughed at his surprised face.
‘Does it do that all the time?’
‘No, thank goodness. It’s quite painful – but when it stops for too long I worry.’
‘I think that kick signified approval for the loan, don’t you? So, between the three of us, are we agreed?’
I nodded, and he dropped a chaste kiss on my forehead. ‘Sealed with a kiss! But don’t worry – that’s as droit as my seigneur is going to get!’
I wasn’t worrying, but I didn’t say so.
The solicitor thought I should fight for every farthing I could screw out of James, but I suppose I’m her client and that’s her job.
She soon saw that to me the priority was simply to get rid of him, a clean divorce, and she thinks the first stage will be through in about six weeks. Then we have to wait for it to be made absolute and that’s it.
She’s communicating all this to James, and drawing up a new agreement specifying a time limit for moving the Shack and aerial.
Far from distancing myself from Fergal, I now find I’m under an even greater obligation to him, and I wish there was something I could do to repay him. But probably the best thing I can do is remove myself from his orbit after the baby arrives, so he doesn’t feel he has to take any more responsibility for me.
Mrs Deakin came round in the evening to see the puppies and, to be honest, with all that going on I’d quite forgotten she was coming. I showed her what I’d done to the house first, and she said it would be very nice when I could afford carpet and wallpaper, despite my assurance that the effect was intentional.
She was absolutely amazed by the puppies. ‘Well, I never! And look at the size of them!’
‘Yes,’ I agreed regretfully. ‘They’re going to be vast, and I’ve got to find homes for three of them still. Mr Rocco is having one, and Bob, and Margaret Wrekin is having this one – isn’t it sweet? I love the way its eyes cross.’
Mrs Deakin leaned down and tickled one under the chin. ‘I might think of someone who would want one,’ she said vaguely. ‘Half-Bourgeois, half—’
‘Durex,’ I said irresistibly.
‘Oh, yes.’
Bess then astounded me by performing the first intelligent action of her life: taking the biggest puppy, the one who made her life a misery by his constant demands for attention (just like a man!) by the scruff, she dragged it across to Mrs D. and deposited it hopefully at her feet, where it chewed thoughtfully on her pinny while lambently eyeing her.
She picked it up, and I knew she was lost when it snuggled its head under her chin and gave a long, blissful sigh.
‘After all,’ she said, as if trying to convince herself, ‘everyone’s got a Labrador, but there aren’t many half-Bourgeois about!’
‘That’s very true!’ I agreed.
‘And it would be nice to have the company of an evening. I can get the food wholesale.’
‘That’s an advantage.’
‘And I’ve still got old Bozo’s lead and basket.’
‘Even better. But are you sure you’ve got time for such a big dog? And it
is
going to be big.’
‘That Bob – I’ve seen him walking Bess sometimes. Well, he can walk mine, too, if I’m busy. I don’t suppose he’ll mind.’
Bob could make quite a good thing out of this!
Mrs D. is going to try to think who might take the other two. I hope she doesn’t change her mind about hers.
Margaret kindly ran me to my next antenatal visit.
All the doctor did was take my blood pressure, laugh, and say that if I got any bigger I would have to have the door taken out when I went to hospital.
Margaret said I looked OK to her, and then we had a mooch around some antique shops and a pub lunch before she dropped me back home, which made a nice change.
When I got back I found my driving test date on the mat: 4 February at nine thirty.
It was just as well the letter came after I got back from my appointment or my blood pressure would’ve been skyhigh. Fergal said to look on the first test as a practice run, but he doesn’t have the pressing sense of urgency I do. He phoned because his private eye is coming to the Hall tomorrow to report. Fergal doesn’t hang about when he decides to do something!
I wonder what – if anything – the detective has found out? Probably just that Mother is Mother, and the pregnancy has unhinged me.
What with that and the test to look forward to, I’m a jangle of nerves.
The detective, a small innocuous-looking man, was called Mr Rooney (but not another Mickey – I asked). He didn’t look at all familiar to me – I’m surprised James spotted him. ‘Shall I go or stay?’ enquired Fergal.
‘Stay, of course!’ I said immediately. ‘You know all about it, and if Mr Rooney has found anything out I want you to hear it too.’
I looked nervously at the detective. ‘
Have
you found anything out?’
‘Well, I’m satisfied that I’ve got to the bottom of the matter, yes, but you must understand that after such a length of time it was impossible to find any hard evidence.’
‘If you’re satisfied you know what happened, that’s good enough,’ Fergal said, taking my hand in a warm, hard grip. ‘Go on.’
‘It seems that Mrs Norwood went down to Cornwall because her sister was staying there in a rented cottage, in the last stages of pregnancy.’
‘Glenda!’ I exclaimed. ‘Mother never mentions her because she ran off with someone when she was sixteen, or at least that’s why I thought she never mentioned her. Do you mean,’ I added slowly as it sank in, ‘that Glenda was my real mother?’
I didn’t, strangely enough, feel that shocked; after Granny’s hints it all seemed to fall into place.
Mr Rooney nodded. ‘Yes, it seems pretty certain, although what confuses things is that
your
parents’ names appear on your birth certificate.’
‘But I don’t understand.’
‘Glenda called herself Mrs Norwood when she went into the cottage hospital to have you, and I think she was already planning to leave you with her sister when she did so, though whether with her knowledge and agreement or not is unclear. Mrs Norwood may have responded to a call for help, and then been left, literally, holding the baby.’
‘Me!’
‘Yes. Glenda seems to have left suddenly within a week of your birth, and Mr Norwood arrived almost immediately to take his wife and yourself home. Even after this length of time, some of the local inhabitants remember the goings-on as being a little out of the ordinary.’
I should think they might! I sat back, and found Fergal looking anxiously at me.
‘I hope this hasn’t been too much of a shock, Tish?’
‘No,’ I said a little shakily. ‘It’s a lot better than some of the things that occurred to me since Granny sowed the seeds of doubt in my mind, I can tell you. You know, I even had visions of Mother snatching some stranger’s baby! At least this keeps it in the family.’ A doubt struck me. ‘Except for the father, I suppose. I don’t know who he was. And I don’t know where Glenda is, either.’
‘Shall I make a few more enquiries and see if I can find out what happened to her?’
‘Would you like that, Tish?’ asked Fergal.
‘Oh, yes, please. I don’t suppose Mother will tell me if she knows, though surely, whatever happened, Glenda would want to know what happened to her baby. How could she just dump me on her sister and vanish like that?’
‘She was very young,’ pointed out Mr Rooney. ‘And she perhaps thought it would be better for you to grow up as her sister’s child.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, but still, I can’t imagine just handing the Incubus to someone else when it’s born and walking away.
The frustrating thing is that Mother could tell me All but I’m sure when I try to get the details from her she’ll hysterically deny everything.
The effort is beyond me at the moment; I feel a great inertia creeping over me like a marshmallow avalanche.
Fergal: January 2000
Exclusive interview with Goneril’s manager:
Final tour not to be their last, after all …
NME
Hywel at it again, but his tactics aren’t going to work any more than Nerissa’s ever did, because no amount of saying something to the press will make it true.
I’ll be glad when Tish has finally divorced James and more than happy to help her achieve that, now I know what kind of man he is. That might sound strange coming from me, but he never deserved her. I don’t think
I
deserve her either, but if it wasn’t for Lucia’s advice to take things slowly …
Mrs Blacklock came in to see the puppies before my lesson. She didn’t want one, she just couldn’t believe Mrs Deakin’s description of them.
She emerged ten minutes later covered in dog hair and drool, the bewildered future owner of one of the last two puppies, which just leaves the one with the enormous ears and permanent worried expression.
Next week I’m having driving lessons every afternoon, and what with all the practice I’m getting with Fergal I should be ready for the test (or as ready as I’ll ever be) .
My solicitor phoned in the afternoon to say the cheque (from Fergal!) has been duly handed over to James, and the agreement signed: the divorce is proceeding.
Just as I put the phone down on that glad news a van drew up and disgorged a mountain of the baby equipment I’d bought through Margaret.
There was an amazing amount of it – it filled the hall and spilled over into the front garden. Boxes and boxes, plus odd items of furniture. Surely one little baby doesn’t need so much? Mrs Peach’s curtains were twitching like mad!
I was still dazedly surveying the piles of stuff when a large unfamiliar car drew up and Fergal got out, followed by a younger, less angular version of himself – his brother Carlo.
Carlo waded through the boxes and kissed me with enthusiasm on both cheeks and the mouth.
‘Tish! You look wonderful!’
He’d started in to kiss me all over again when Fergal’s icy voice just behind us snapped, ‘Put her down, Carlo!’
‘Hands off?’ Carlo enquired with a grin, and set me back on my feet (breathless).
Fergal ignored this, and turned the glacial stare on me. ‘You shouldn’t be standing about in this cold wind! And what
is
all this stuff?’
‘Baby equipment. I bought it from a friend of a friend, but I wasn’t expecting quite so much!’
‘Looks like we got here at just the right time,’ Carlo said. ‘We came to ask you to dinner – Maria said we weren’t to take no for an answer.’
‘That’s very kind, but I’ll be pretty busy today, trying to find somewhere to put everything …’ I said helplessly.
‘It’ll look much less when it’s unpacked,’ Fergal assured me. ‘We’ll take it upstairs and do that.’
I was so glad to see he was coming out of the bad mood he’d arrived in that I didn’t argue when he wouldn’t let me carry even one little box.
He was right about it seeming less unpacked, too – but not that much. There was a cot, high chair, baby bath, bedding, clothes … and what would fans of Goneril think if they could see their idols now, assembling a cot like a giant three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle?
I stowed things away in the little wardrobe unit and the drawers of the baby-changing table, which was a pale mint green, like most of the rest of the equipment. It goes well with the stencilled trees, and I thought I’d get a rug and some curtains in a colour scheme that will draw it all together.
Carlo and Fergal flattened the empty cartons and took them outside, so by the time they’d finished I’d practically got a complete nursery – and a nasty surprise for the refuse collectors.
All it needed now was a baby. A shiver went down my spine. Wasn’t it tempting fate, or bad fairies, or something, to have everything waiting? But you can’t leave it until the baby actually arrives!
‘I could do with more drawers, and perhaps a wardrobe,’ I mused. ‘I saw one in a magazine like a little striped beach tent.’
‘You have the basics so you can afford one or two extras,’ Fergal agreed, setting the wicker bassinet on to its stand while Carlo suspended a musical mobile above the cot.
‘Did you really only give a hundred pounds for all this?’ he added.
‘Yes – she must be so rich she doesn’t care! I like all this pale green, don’t you? But I could get tired of shell-pink baby clothes.’
‘So will the baby if it’s a boy,’ Carlo pointed out, lying on the floor to see the effects of the mobile from underneath with the lights and music working. ‘This is fun!’
‘You’d better have a little chat with Sara, then,’ Fergal suggested. ‘He’s getting married,’ he explained to me.
‘Congratulations, Carlo!’
Carlo rose to his feet, smiling. ‘Thank you. I’d let you kiss me, but I’m afraid of Fergal!’