Honestly – Fancy Man! I got the sudden giggles, making things worse.
After a bit more of this sort of unproductive exchange he said he’d ring his stepmother and try to get an address for his father en route so he could redirect him. This is not my problem, and I’m certainly not putting his father up.
Mr Rooney is now in Canada in pursuit of Glenda, Fergal says! I was amazed, and also afraid his bill would be huge until Fergal said he hadn’t just gone over on my business, he was doing something for him too, and we’d sort it out later.
Still, now Lovecall has started releasing my previous novels in America I should be all right (so long as they sell)! And Vivyan has just read
The Sweet Wine of Love
and adores it.
I’ve been brightly cheerful with Fergal since my birthday so he knows I didn’t take him seriously. He’s looking a bit brooding. I hope he isn’t getting bored with country life. Or with me and my tedious problems.
Fergal: March 2000
‘ROCKER IN LOVE TANGLE SCANDAL!
Lead singer of Goneril, Fergal Rocco, broke engagement
for pregnant ex-girlfriend, Mrs Leticia Drew, better known
as romantic novelist Marian Plentifold.
Heartbroken heiress Nerissa Bright reveals all.’
Sun
I wouldn’t have seen this if the
Sun
hadn’t been pushed through my door instead of that of the lodge …
That girl’s got more imagination than I gave her credit for, but I’d still like to wring her stupid neck – the next thing, reporters are going to be turning up in droves, bothering Tish, and that’s the last thing she needs at a time like this.
It’s her driving test today, too …
I’ll warn her about the article later, when that’s over – I don’t suppose she reads the
Sun
, so it should be safe enough till then.
It’s ironic that I only want to protect her, yet everything I do seems to make her life more difficult!
March the second, day of the second driving test, dawned bright and clear. I had a driving lesson first, and felt much calmer than last time. The fact that I’d received a letter a few days before informing me I’d passed the written segment of the test had helped my confidence. I was determined that even if a white rhino crossed the road in front of me I would just Mirror, Signal and Manoeuvre round it.
It did unnerve me a bit that it was the same examiner, but he looked petrified when I squeezed my enormous bulk behind the steering wheel. I expect he was afraid I would give birth in the driver’s seat just out of spite if he failed me.
I did everything in grim and concentrated silence, and at the end he just flatly told me I’d passed and hopped hastily out.
I could hardly take it in!
Now all I need is a car I can fit a baby and a Borzoi into.
Once I’d recovered from the shock of passing I began to notice I was having niggly little pains and backache – probably from the tension. The backache’s not new, but the pains were.
My first thought after Mrs Blacklock dropped me off was to phone Fergal and tell him I’d passed, but I was distracted by finding Mother on the doorstep, bursting with glad tidings of her own: Dr Reevey has proposed at last!
The relief was so stupendous I had to go and lie down for half an hour while the new, sunnier version of Mother was slapping a sandwich meal together in the kitchen, which she proposed washing down with Asti Spumante.
I don’t suppose a small glass of that will do the Incubus much harm at this stage.
Dr Reevey – Duncan – dropped her off, and is to collect her this evening. I’ll have to restrain myself from thanking him on my knees, because I’d never get up again.
‘Leticia! It’s ready!’ called Mother gaily.
‘Coming!’ I said, hoisting myself up rather reluctantly, since the pains were still there. They must be those practice ones you get, a sort of warning of the joys to come, although the Incubus isn’t due for weeks yet.
Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs the phone went off practically in my ear, making me (and the Incubus) jump. ‘I’ll get it, Mother!’ I called and picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Tish? This is James,’ he said tersely.
‘Oh. Did you manage to get in touch with your father?’
‘He’s here – at the office. Has been since early this morning. Uncle Lionel and I have been explaining the whole situation to him.’
‘What situation?’
‘Our situation: how you forced me to leave when that pop singer moved into the village, and the scandalous way you’ve been behaving with him since then, despite carrying my child.’
His
child? Had he done another of his revolving-door acts? ‘Now look here!’ I began indignantly, but he just steamrollered inexorably on.
‘Have you seen today’s
Sun
?’
‘No, of course I haven’t. I’ve been out all day and anyway—’
‘“Rocker in Village Love Tangle Scandal,”’ he read out. ‘“Fickle Fergal broke my heart, says Nerissa Bright as he dumps her for heavily pregnant girlfriend Mrs Leticia Drew …”’
‘What?’
‘It’s the last straw. Father and Uncle Lionel are sure that once you’ve had the baby I’ll have very strong grounds for gaining custody. I’m not having my son brought up by that degenerate, drug-crazed, promiscuous—’
There was a crash as the phone dropped from my numb fingers. My ears rang and the wall seemed to be swaying towards me.
The baby – I’d have to move right away now. Perhaps to Granny? And Fergal – I had to see him. He had to tell them he’d never see me again, or I’d lose the baby!
I was flooded with panic and despair – and the knowledge that deep down part of me had been cherishing dreams that Fergal, despite everything, still loved me.
I had to see Fergal.
Through the glass door panel my dazed eyes saw a small van pull up, and two men get out. One was hoisting a camera onto his shoulder, and both were unmistakably pressmen …
I was out of the kitchen door past Mother like a sprinter hearing a starting gun, just registering her stunned face. Somehow I found myself over the fence and plodding – my top speed even when desperate these days – towards the Hall, through the darkening, rainy, dismal evening.
‘Keep the baby, never see Fergal again. See Fergal again, lose the baby,’ droned a monotonous voice in my head.
Independence didn’t seem so desirable now it was being forced on me. More like banishment.
It was just about dark as I trudged towards the house, and light was spilling warmly through the open front door, illuminating a small car parked outside.
A girl got out – slender and dark – and Fergal came down the steps and enfolded her in his arms.
I must have stood there in the shadows until they went back into the house laughing and talking, with the rain dripping coldly down my face and the back of my neck and gluing the clothes to my shivering body. Then I turned and numbly walked away.
The hospital cubicle was small, hot and glitteringly white, and I seemed to be looking at it down the wrong end of a telescope.
What was I doing here? I seemed to remember running through the wet, dark night, trying to find – to find …
A sudden series of rippling pains began to run through me. ‘Fergal!’ I gasped, panicking, and his concerned face bent over me.
‘I’m here, Tish! Don’t try to fight it.’ His hand took mine and I clung to it as if I were drowning, which I was: drowning in pain.
‘How did I – what am I doing here?’
‘The gardener found you near the lodge, soaking wet and cold, but by the time I arrived you’d fainted. What made you run out like that, without a coat or anything? Were you trying to get to me?’
Memories stirred … horrible memories.
‘The baby!’
I tried to sit up, and he gently but firmly pushed me down again. ‘The baby will be fine.’
‘Oh God!’ It all came back to me: ‘The baby can’t be coming yet – and James will – James says—’ I grasped the hand that was gently pushing hair away from my face and shook it. ‘Fergal – you have to phone James and tell him I’m moving away from Nutthill. Tell him you’re never going to see me again! You
have
to tell him, or I’ll lose the baby.’
‘It’ll be all right, Angel, believe me,’ he assured me soothingly. ‘Four weeks isn’t that early – and forget whatever James has been saying. What he says or thinks doesn’t matter.’
‘But, Fergal – you don’t understand!’
A blonde nurse strode briskly in, stopped dead and stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘Aren’t you …?’
‘No!’ he said baldly. ‘Get a doctor, will you?’
‘Yes you are!’ said the nurse playfully. ‘You’re Fergal Rocco! Fancy that! I knew you lived locally now, but—’
‘I think I’m about to have this baby!’ I uttered through clenched teeth.
‘Nonsense, dear!’ she said brightly, without a glance in my direction.
My waters burst like Niagara. I wondered if there was really a baby left in there, or if it had washed out with the flood?
‘My God!’ exclaimed the nurse, rapidly checking me. ‘You
are
having the baby.’
‘It’s not due until April,’ I protested, but forces beyond my control had taken over.
‘Well, it’s arriving now.’
And suddenly I was whipped off on a dizzying ride to the labour ward, and into one of the hot, horrid, high-tech labour rooms, with people running about like disturbed ants.
I never let go of Fergal’s hand once – it was the only safe thing in a dangerous world. (And might have to be surgically removed later.)
‘Don’t fight it, Mrs Rocco – go with it,’ the nurse now urged me.
All the way up she’d been saying, ‘Don’t push! Don’t push!’
‘You’ve changed your tune, and I’m not Mrs R—’ I began, then gasped as a different sort of pain made its way through me as if it was going somewhere. I thought I’d better go with it.
‘Perhaps you’d rather go out, Mr Rocco?’
‘No!’ I tightened my grip even more. ‘Don’t leave me, Fergal, I need you!’
He looked pale but determined. ‘It’s all right, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I can see the baby’s head,’ the doctor said. ‘Breathe gently, Mrs Rocco – shallow breaths! Haven’t you been doing your breathing exercises?’
‘No – I could already breathe without them. Oooh!’
With a sort of slithering and burning sensation the Incubus surfed into the light on the remains of the waters.
‘Oh, well done, Angel!’ Fergal exclaimed, and hugged me.
‘Is it – is it all right? It must be too small, it …’ I choked, unable to look.
‘Hush, it’s all right, darling,’ he soothed, wiping my face gently with a cool damp cloth. ‘They’re just checking the baby – listen!’
There was a sort of muted whimpering, then a nurse turned, smiling, and brought across a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Rocco! It’s a girl!’
‘Shouldn’t she be in an incubator?’
‘Not at all. She’s a big healthy baby!’
‘But I—’
‘Give her to me.’ Fergal reached out and gently took the baby, but I looked the other way: even if she was all right, there was no point in getting attached to her if she was going to be wrenched away from me by James. A tear formed under my eyelids and trickled slowly down.
I felt Fergal sit down on the side of the bed.
‘Tish, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her – she’s beautiful,’ he said tenderly.
‘She looks just like her daddy!’ the blonde nurse cooed sentimentally.
‘Tish,’ he coaxed, in the voice I found hard to resist. ‘Just look at her?’
Slowly my head turned until I met a blue, innocent gaze … and was enraptured. She was perfect – and she was
mine!
I held out my arms and Fergal placed her in them, smiling.
‘I don’t suppose anyone’s got a camera?’
Someone produced an instant one, and snaps were taken of me with the baby, Fergal and me with the baby, the midwife and doctor with the baby, and the blonde nurse and the midwife, rather carried away, with Fergal.
Then he and the baby were temporarily removed and, after a short messy interval with the afterbirth and being cleaned up, I was moved into a little private room which he must have arranged, because I certainly hadn’t.
The midwife said it was one of the easiest births she’s ever seen. I wouldn’t want to go through a difficult one, if that’s an easy one … though there is a most peculiar empty feeling now that the Incubus and I are separated.
She was wheeled back in, asleep, followed by a grinning, exhilarated, crumpled Fergal. ‘Do you know what they’ve put on her wrist bracelet? Baby Rocco!’
‘Fergal,’ I began, then broke off to yawn hugely. Great waves of tiredness were trying to suck me under, and suddenly sleep seemed more important than anything else. Only I knew there was something I had to tell him first, to make him do …
The bed sank as he sat on it and took my hand. ‘What is it? You ought to get some sleep, Tish.’
My drowsy gaze focused on our joined hands, his marked by rising bruises.
‘Oh, your poor hand! Did I do that? I’m sorry.’
‘It’s nothing – I wish I could have taken some of the pain for you.’ He frowned. ‘I always wanted lots of children, but I didn’t realise … How could I ask you to go through that again?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ I muttered sleepily. ‘She’s worth it, isn’t she? And you won’t let them – they won’t take her away from me, will they?’
‘Take her away from you? Over my dead body!’
A tired, disembodied little voice that I vaguely recognised as my own explained what James had threatened, and that was why I didn’t want to hold her, because if I loved her and lost her … a tear trickled down. It was already too late – I did love her. And that newspaper headline, and the reporters … it all came tumbling out.
‘I’m sorry about the newspaper. I saw it this morning, and then Lucia came down with a copy this evening, to show me in case I hadn’t seen it.’
‘Lucia?’
‘She’s over to visit my parents, and she wanted to break it to me gently – she knows my temper – but I’d already seen it and I was going to warn you about it later. And Angel, you know I won’t let anyone take the baby away from you. I promise you, James won’t be able to take her. She’s mine, don’t forget – it says so on the bracelet!’