The Continuity Girl (27 page)

Meredith closed her eyes again and pulled the pilly flannel sheet under her nose. It occurred to her that she felt better
than she had in many days. Must be the change of scenery. Something about her mother’s flat was making her crazy and depressed.
She would look into that. That and what she was going to do now that she had no job and no real reason to be here. Her money
was running low, and she could not bear the thought of asking her mother for a penny. Soon she would have to return to Toronto
and her hamster-cage condo. She thought of the stainless steel appliances, the way they picked up every fingerprint and smudge
of cooking oil no matter how often she wiped them down, and shuddered. She realized she didn’t want to go back. Not because
of her empty condo, but because of her empty life.

The years after she’d graduated from school and begun working seemed to slide together in her mind, each one indistinguishable
from the next. For a long period she and Mish had roomed together in a big ground-floor apartment on Shaw Street. Then Mish
had moved out to be with her boyfriend (a manic-depressive tabla drummer named Ned). Meredith had tried other women roommates
but they drove her up the wall in various minor, yet unignorable ways—one was a hummer, another talked at her through the
bathroom door, and the last one came with a pissing cat—until she decided to forget it and just buy a place on her own. She
didn’t care where, really, as long as it was clean and affordable, and she could be alone and in peace. But mostly just alone.

There had been guys. Guys who took her out to movies and dinner and showed up with half-wilted tulips from the grocery store.
Guys who stayed overnight and made her scrambled eggs in the morning (which she loathed). There was one guy who even took
her home to Sudbury to meet his retired schoolteacher parents. But never anyone she would have considered sharing a home with,
let alone a future. The roommate thing had put her off the idea of living with other people. Other people who didn’t share
her DNA anyway. Maybe it was the result of growing up an only child at a boarding school, but Meredith had never been particularly
inclined toward the idea of sharing her life. She wanted a baby, yes, but that was more of a continuation of existence rather
than a concession. She wanted a whole new reality, rather than a merged one. A part of her, rather than a partner. It was,
she realized with a chill, probably the same way her mother had once felt.

She wondered what time it was. There was no clock on the wall and she had left her watch at Coleville Terrace. Meredith began
to sit up, and as she did there was a soft knock on the door.

“Just a minute,” she said in a higher-than-normal voice, and she looked around for her clothes before remembering she had
slept in them.

She kicked at the covers and tried to hop out of bed but her feet got caught in the sheets, and in her struggle to rise she
fell off the bed and onto the floor with a humiliating
thump
on her right bum cheek. She grunted and the door opened at the
sound. Barnaby was standing behind it holding a tray with plates and a small vase with a bit of holly. His hair was sticking
up and his eyes were showing a lot of white.

“Are you all right, then?” He placed the tray on the threshold and stepped over it to where Meredith lay, stiff beneath her
sheets. “Oh, poor you,” he said.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. This time I mean it.”

Barnaby helped her up and she shook his hand off her arm once she was standing, the sheets in a white cotton puddle around
her stocking-clad feet. He didn’t seem to notice this rebuke and went straight for the tray, picking it up and holding it
out in front of him with stiff toy-soldier arms. His eyes were glazed but expectant.

“I brought you some breakfast,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

Why was he being so nice? There was a small black comb on the dresser and she wanted to pull it through her hair, but not
in front of him. Meredith smoothed her dress flat and picked some bits of lint that had attached themselves to the material
during the night. The room seemed far too small for the two of them. She suddenly had the feeling of being on a steamer ship,
heading across the ocean for the first time. Imagine, she thought, living like this for weeks on end.

Barnaby showed no sign of leaving. He sat down on a small chair across from the bed and placed the tray on the bedside table.
The reading lamp had to be moved to the floor to make room. Meredith stole a glance in the mirror above the dresser and noticed
a ruddy lipstick smudge on her chin. She licked her thumb and tried to rub it off.

“Please sit,” Barnaby said, indicating the unmade bed.

Meredith did and felt immediately more comfortable.

“I guess I ought to say thank you,” she said. Then, feeling bad, she rephrased it. “What I meant to say is, thank you.”

“Nonsense.” Barnaby closed his eyes and shook his head, snorting a little through his nose. “I just gave you a place to stay.
You seemed so...unwell.”

“I guess I have been lately. It’s staying with my mother, I think. And the movie and everything...” She trailed off, realizing
she couldn’t possibly explain the story of how she had been fired. Not that Barnaby would have asked her to. He never intentionally
did anything to make her uncomfortable.

“Mish told me you decided to leave your job.”

She shrugged and smiled a little, and his expression brightened in a way that made her feel apprehensive. “Thanks for letting
me stay here,” she said, letting her face drop into seriousness. “I’ll pay you back for the room.”

“
God,
no,” he almost shouted, and then caught himself and leaned back slightly. “I insist.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. Really.”

“Okay. I mean, if you insist.” Meredith was secretly relieved. She had no cash with her and her credit card was nudging its
limit. “Where did you sleep, then?”

“Oh, well.” He shook his head dismissively as though the matter of where he slept was trivial. “The club manager was very
accommodating.”

“They gave you another room?”

“No, actually they were entirely booked. I slept on the sofa in the lounge.”

“Oh God, Barnaby, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Really. For once I had a good excuse to close the place down. And it certainly isn’t as though it’s the first time
I’ve ever spent the night on a pub sofa.”

Meredith laughed, and Barnaby’s eyes seemed to dart out of his head. They smiled at each other for a long moment and blood
began to thump in her ears. She coughed and searched for an excuse to change the subject, or, more specifically, she sought
to ward off whatever subject she sensed he was about to bring up.

“Did you find your birds?”

“The owl and the vulture came back, yes. They’re actually quite tame and old, so I knew they would. But I fear two of the
young falcons are gone for good.”

“Will they be able to survive?”

“I should think so. Better than you or I. It’s just the loss of the time. All the training gone to waste. Anyway, I shall
be leaving Pear Cottage shortly, so they wouldn’t have me to return to even if they did.”

“Why?”

“Things with my brother have degenerated, and I think it’s time I found somewhere else to live, at least for a little while.
I’ll still have the cottage for holidays, of course, but living there all the time was becoming...untenable.”

Meredith touched the back of his hand.

“I’m actually thinking of getting a job.”

“Really?” She squeezed his fingers and hoped he did not find the gesture gushy.

“There’s a falconry centre down the road in Gloucestershire. They’ve got hundreds of birds and they’re always short on trainers
and people to do flying demonstrations, so I thought I might...help out.”

“Barnaby, that’s great. I mean, it really is. You’re changing your life. That’s amazing.”

Her hand was still on top of his and he surprised her by placing his other hand over hers and pressing down.

“Meredith, I’ve been thinking about what you said. About our talk that weekend. Specifically it made me think that I want
different things from the things I thought I wanted before. Not that I thought I really wanted anything in particular. The
point was I didn’t really know. I had no idea. Until now, that is.”

Meredith waited.

“I was wondering if you would ever consider coming to Gloucestershire with me. To live. I mean to—to live as my wife.”

Meredith pulled her hand out from between his so fast she accidentally slapped herself. Words began to pour. “
Wow.
That is
huge. I mean, that is such a big
thing
you just asked me. I really don’t know what to say. Hmm.”

He put a finger to her lips to make the words stop.

“It’s just that I know you want to have a baby—which I think is wonderful, by the way—and I thought that, well, given that
my brother seems to be having such a difficult time producing a son, maybe if we were to...”

“But what about Chubby?” Meredith said, touching her stomach.

“She gave birth last Thursday to a girl,” Barnaby said. “Penelope. But everyone’s taken to calling her Pud.”

“Barnaby, look,” Meredith said after a pause. “I just want to have a baby. I wouldn’t make a good wife.”

“To me you would.”

“I know myself pretty well and I’m telling you now. I wouldn’t.”

He smiled, then reached out and caught her hand again. “You don’t understand. If we are to have a son, we must get married.”

“Why do you assume it would be a boy?”

“Of course I don’t know that it would be a boy, but I should obviously hope—”

“Why? Don’t you like girls?”

Barnaby laughed. “Of
course
I like girls. And I should like to have a dozen daughters after we marry and have a son.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I
told
you—a legal heir can only be produced within the bonds of wedlock. I could leave you alone entirely. You could
even have your own house if you wanted. Your own life. And I could have mine. I know it might seem unusual to you, but such
arrangements are not as uncommon as you might think.”

The room got much quieter after that. Meredith said something to the effect that she would think about it, and then tried
to eat some of the breakfast Barnaby had brought up to her. The coddled eggs were slimy and the toast was hard. She took a
few sips of lukewarm coffee mixed with some kind of milk formula and then reached for her bag. “Do you mind if I check my
messages?” she said.

“Not at all.” Barnaby picked up the paper.

There were four messages on her cell phone. One from Mish and the other three from her mother. Though it was the first time
she had turned on the phone in over a week, the voice mail informed her that several unheard messages had been deleted from
her mailbox, which annoyed her. A bit like the post office writing to tell you it lost a package.

Barnaby read the
Sunday Telegraph
as she cupped her phone to her ear and listened.

“Heya.” It was Mish. “Hope you’re feeling better. God, I am so sorry I made you go out last night. Please don’t hold it against
me, okay? Okay? Anyway, I thought I’d leave one more message just in case you were returning calls. Wacky news. Remember that
guy Benedict? The German banker dude we had naked sushi with? Well, he invited me to his place in Munich. Or Frankfurt. One
of those places where they drink beer from giant mugs and dance around in suede overalls. Anyway, do you think I should go?
I mean, I barely know him. But I guess you went to Barnaby’s for the weekend. And look how that turned out. Although I must
say he was looking pretty cute last night. The way he caught you as you fell and then carried you out of the room like Clark
Gable in
Gone With the Wind.
Okay I’m gonna go now.
Call me.
Bye.”

A beeping sound, and then her mother’s voice in a mechanical tone.

“Meredith, it’s your mother. Call me back.”

Beep.
Irma again.

“Moo, it’s Mum. I’m calling about...” A loud mechanical thrumming noise drowned her out for a moment. “Sorry, darling. That
was just my friend Philip practising his didgeridoo. Now, what am I calling about? I know there was a reason—” The noise grew
into a roar. “OH, WOULD YOU KNOCK IT OFF FOR TWO SECONDS. YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE.” A pause and then Irma’s voice resumed
its normal chirp. “Oh, yes. I wanted to ask you how your head felt. I meant to say last night that you shouldn’t go to sleep
if you’ve hit your head. You might have a concussion and go into a coma. Though I suppose it’s a little late for that now.
Anyway, if you haven’t yet gone to sleep, don’t. And if you are in a coma, that’s terrible. Comas can be awful. Philip knows
because he spent four years in one. Of course that was drug-related. Oh, darling, you
must
meet him. He’s terribly talented.
I met him at the book launch last night. I
do
think you would approve. Call me. It’s your mother. Did I already say that?”

Beep.
Irma again.

“Isn’t that funny? I completely forgot the reason why I called you in the first place. It was about this letter that came
addressed to you, of all people. It looks intriguing. Philip and I both think you ought to open it as soon as possible. I
wanted to open it but Philip said no. Wasn’t that proper of him? Anyway, if you don’t come home for it soon, curiosity may
overcome my resolve. Bye, duck.”
Click.

Meredith looked at Barnaby, who had folded the paper into eighths, just like one of the old men in three-piece suits she saw
traveling to work every day on the tube. It must be a skill particular to English men. The women never seemed to do it. He
was completely absorbed in a column written by a well-known Tory pundit known for his ruminations on such topics as why-the-London-transport-poses-a-threat-to-the-city’s-septic-management.
How fascinated he seemed, when just a few moments ago he had been proposing his “arrangement” to her. She wasn’t sure whether
he thought she had turned him down or left it at maybe. None of it seemed clear.