The Fleeting Years Page 24

  Back at Newton House, as Zina parked the car in the garage she saw Mrs Cripps had come out to speak to her.

  ‘I’m glad to see you back home, Mrs M, I’ve been that worried about poor little Fiona. Not a bit herself, she isn’t. Says it’s a tummy bug and that’s why she couldn’t go back with that handsome young hubby of hers. Poor little soul, what with that and perhaps she’s one of those who get a lot of pain when it’s their time of the month.’

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure it’s not that.’

  With a ‘just between ourselves’ look and lowering her tone, even though there was no one to hear, Mrs Cripps went on: ‘Being new to marriage has upset the dates, I expect.’ Then in hardly above a whisper, she continued, ‘Any road, when I went to give the bathroom its daily clean I found blood drips the poor little soul couldn’t have noticed.’ Then with volume increased to normal, she added, ‘She’s still in bed and I told her that was the best place for her till this tummy bug leaves her in peace.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see her. Thanks for taking good care of her, Mrs Cripps.’

  ‘Well bless the girl, of course I take care of her. Husband went off all right, I suppose. Nice young man. Must be a relief to you and Mr M to know she has found herself a good man; such goings on you read about amongst some of those film people – oh, not our Mr M, he’s different.’

  Zina laughed, nodding her head. ‘He’s special,’ she agreed as she turned to hurry indoors and up the stairs to Fiona.

  ‘I’m home,’ she announced quite unnecessarily and in an over-cheerful voice. ‘Have I missed anything while I’ve been in London?’

  ‘Not very likely, is it?’ came the unpromising reply.

  ‘Mrs Cripps believes you’ve got either a tummy bug, as you told her, or are having a lot of pain with a heavy period. She said there was blood on the bathroom floor. What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing’s bloody happened, but it’s not for the want of trying. I cut myself. I didn’t go to Gran’s yesterday, I was here by myself and I made the most of the chance.’ She glared at her mother as she spoke, as if she were to blame for what she thought of as fate working against her. ‘What else can I do? I climbed Old Ben, the tree Tom and I used to play on, then swung from a high branch and dropped off. All it did was give me a sore ankle. I skipped till I could hardly breathe, pretty well finished off the bottle of gin – neat – then I threw up, so that was no good.’

  ‘But Fiona, why? The boys have taken it in their stride, in fact I think they got on really well and Peter respected Ivor for telling him the whole thing. And as we said last night when we were talking about it, you’ll be staying here as long as you want and when you go back with the baby to the States, Ivor plans that you will have a nanny so that you can work.’

  ‘Shan’t need a nanny; it’s just a devil come to plague my life and I’ll get rid of it, I swear I won’t have it. Anyway—’ just from her voice Zina knew the sulky expression on her face – ‘it’s easy for Ivor, he’s not the one having the brat. I hate it, Mum, I never knew I could hate anything like I do this growth. You talk a lot of twaddle about how it’ll be different when I’ve had it – after my body has been torn to pieces to get the thing out and probably left me with stretch marks so that I can’t wear the sort of things I like—’

  ‘You mean go about half-naked looking more like a street walker than someone’s wife?’

  ‘You don’t know anything about fashion, proper glamorous fashion. I shouldn’t think you ever did. Anyway, in your day things were different. I thought of the shopping I’d done in London; not for clothes, for things to help shift this thing that’s like a growth inside me. I’d heard about people using a knitting needle or a long crochet hook.’ Her eyes were closed and she might have been remembering the horror of her lonely and frightened hours rather than talking to Zina. ‘I tried and tried, over and over, pushing them further than any man had gone, but all they did was make me sore. All night I kept trying. Then when it was just starting to get light I went out to the tool shed to see if there was anything better I could try. Was so sore by that time that I didn’t care how much I hurt myself. I found what I wanted.’ She was probably lost in her memories, for she stopped speaking.

  ‘What was in the tool shed?’

  ‘What? Oh, the tool shed. It was this.’ From under her pillow she brought out a long and rusty looking screwdriver.

  ‘For God’s sake, you’re not telling me you put that thing inside you? Fiona, grow up and stop being such a little fool. Your child is here to stay. Surely if all the dreadful things you’ve done to shift it have failed, you’ve got to accept that you are going to have it in a normal way when the time comes. This is where things are and this is what we have to make work.’

  ‘I won’t. Don’t you listen to anything I tell you? I am not going to have this – this – thing.’

  ‘What was the blood in the bathroom?’

  ‘I did it with this.’ Again she held up the filthy and rusty screwdriver. ‘I saw there was blood on my hand and so I pushed harder and harder. But I was frightened. I suddenly thought, at three months would it be a third the size of a baby. How much would it hurt, and how would I get rid of it so that no one knew what I’d done? Would it have arms and legs? Too big to go down the loo, so I’d have to wrap it up and burn it in the garden before you got home. I had it all planned. I sat on the loo and pushed like I’ve seen people told to do in films, and all that happened was drops of blood from where I’d broken the skin with the screwdriver …’ By now she was crying, long, hard, dry sobs. ‘At first I thought that was the beginning and soon the thing would come. Was so frightened, yet sort of excited. Never felt like I did as I just kept stabbing as high as I could push it.’

  ‘You might give yourself blood poisoning with that dreadful thing. Stop that noise, Fiona and listen to me for once. Are the cuts still bleeding?’

  ‘Don’t think so. And I thought I’d done it, I thought I was getting rid of it.’

  ‘Instead of thinking just of what’s convenient to your own life, stop calling the baby a thing as if it’s so much rubbish and start to think of having a new person, perhaps a little girl like you used to be, a person who will soon have dreams of her – or his – own. Maybe it’ll be a boy like Ivor. But one thing I bet, it will grow up dreaming of acting like its parents and grandfather. And you want to deprive it of life? Don’t do it, Fiona. You came into the world with love all around you. Can’t you give that gift to a baby of your own?’

  ‘It was different for you, I expect you were pleased when you knew you were having us. But I’m not and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. If I’d never gone to America, if I’d always been stuck here and seen nothing like you seem to like doing, then I might have felt different. I know what I want – and it’s not a baby no matter what wishy-washy talk you give me.’ She wiped the palms of her hands across her eyes and nose now that at last she had stopped her hysterical crying.

  ‘You’re not ill. Get up and pull yourself together. Go and have a long, hot bath and put plenty of disinfectant in the water – and make sure the water goes right inside you, anywhere that disgusting screwdriver might have touched. The next thing is you’ll be getting blood poisoning. There are far more dangerous things than having babies.’

  ‘I don’t care. If I get this blood poisoning you keep on about perhaps I’ll die. Better that than go through having a baby and then being lumbered with it for the rest of my days. I never want any children; Ivor knew I didn’t. I just want to be me.’ She’d got as far as sitting on the edge of the bed and now she looked so miserable that Zina’s anger was overtaken by pity. What a child she still was, something that her next words confirmed. ‘Everything was so good; me and Ivor living together; lots of friends; always so much fun, even working was like a wonderful dream come true; pressmen following us around. Now I’ve woken up and it’s all gone and there’s nothing.’ Hardly the sentiment of a bride of less than a month.

  ‘T
here’s plenty to be happy about if you would stop dwelling on what you don’t want. How do you think Ivor feels having to go back without you simply because you want everything to go the way that suits you? Stop thinking just of yourself for a few minutes and consider others. Are you enjoying knowing what the way you are behaving will do to Peter when he is trying to concentrate on rehearsals? As for Ivor, I just hope when you talk to him on the phone it won’t be just about yourself and your self-pity. When I had to give up, do you think it was easy? It’s not a bit of good sitting there with a face like a thundercloud.’

  Fiona’s thundercloud became even more threatening.

  ‘It was different for you. When you gave up you wanted kids. I don’t—’

  ‘Yes, we wanted children. If a couple is lucky enough to have a family then it’s a blessing. But when I talk about having to give up I meant after the cliff fall—’

  Fiona looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘But you can’t compare that with what’s happened to me. You weren’t young and with everything before you. You were only messing about to fill up time because Tom and I were away at school and you wouldn’t have wanted to hang around here on your own. I expect you quite enjoyed having something to do, but it was hardly a career.’

  The remark caught Zina unprepared and she felt the burning sting of tears. She felt hurt and angry, but most of all she wanted to put an end to the conversation before she disgraced herself. Without looking at Fiona she walked to the door.

  ‘Have a bath and get dressed and don’t forget to put plenty of disinfectant in the water. I’m going down to talk to Mrs Cripps.’

  ‘Mum! Mum you can’t tell her about the – the—’

  ‘That Peter and I are going to be grandparents? Yes, I shall tell her and I shall tell Mother. Mrs Cripps has been with us since you and Tommy shared a twin pram; she cares for you as if you were her own. Lesson number one for you to learn is that loyalty from people who care for you through good times and bad is worth a thousand times more than the glitz and glamour you set such store by.’ And with that she went out of the room shutting the door with a positive click. She had no feeling of triumph in the way she had talked to Fiona, in fact she felt defeated. Instead of going down to report to Mrs Cripps she retreated to her bedroom just as the telephone rang. Peter? But it couldn’t be, he couldn’t have got even to Paddington yet.

  ‘Mum, it’s me, Tom. I rang the flat first but there was no reply, so I thought I’d just try you at home but I didn’t really expect to find you. I thought you’d sure to have gone on to London to stay with Dad. Did you wait and see them off at Heathrow yesterday? I haven’t got much change, but I just wanted to know they had got away OK.’

  ‘Give me the number of the phone where you are and I’ll ring you straight back. Nothing to worry about, but a lot to tell you.’

  As the weeks dragged by Fiona was physically well, but there was nothing reassuring in her quiet acceptance. In fact she showed no interest in anything as her time of waiting went by. When Ivor had a chance to get back for a short visit she accepted his presence but showed no emotion, or so it seemed to Zina and to Peter who managed to join them from the early hours of Sunday morning until Monday when, just as he had after his previous visit, he drove Ivor to Heathrow on the way back to London.

  Summer gave way to autumn. Fiona, who even as a child had cared about her appearance, took no interest in buying maternity clothes and wore those Zina bought for her. As for collecting a layette, when Zina suggested to her that she ought to make a list and they could have a day in Exeter so that everything was ready, all she said was, ‘That nurse person left a printout of what she wanted.’

  That was on a Sunday evening and Peter was at home. He watched with concern; there was something very wrong, it was as if all the life and hope had been crushed out of her.

  ‘I’m not going back until early Tuesday morning, so what about if the three of us have a day out tomorrow. Bring your list, Fiona, not just what the nurse wants but everything that ought to be ready – clothes, pram or whatever babies use these days.’ Then, with that smile that had always told the twins there was fun to be had, he added, ‘We’ll go adventuring.’

  Watching them, Zina felt the scene would be imprinted on her memory: Fiona, her beautifully made-up face as lovely as ever it had been, her swollen body somehow pathetic in that moment. In the brief glance that passed between father and daughter she felt Fiona’s armour of defence crack, but it didn’t break. Immediately she had herself in control as she shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Mum knows more about what babies wear than I do. Anyway I don’t feel like lumbering around in town. You and Mum go. Or we could just phone up and read out the nurse’s list and whatever Mum thinks the—’ Something in her father’s expression stopped her speaking of the unborn child in her usual way. ‘Whatever Mum says is needed and it could just be delivered without the bother. I don’t really care.’

  Did she sense the change in Peter? If so she gave no indication. Certainly Zina did and felt a sudden fear. It was seldom, in truth almost never, that he lost his temper and she hated to see the way his mouth tightened and the change of expression in his eyes. When she reached her hand to touch his he seemed not to notice.

  ‘Then it’s time you did care,’ he said, his voice dangerously controlled. ‘There are plenty of girls right now who are pregnant like you are, girls with no husband and no family behind them. You have both and to act as though you deserve pity for your situation is not only dishonest play-acting, but it’s unfair to your mother and to Ivor too. How much happiness do you imagine you bring to this house with your behaviour? None. You give no thought to your husband, to us nor yet to Tom.’

  His outburst seemed to have put the spirit back into Fiona. She stood straighter and raised her chin as she looked coldly at Peter.

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken it for granted that I was welcome here. I apologize Mother if you find my presence an inconvenience.’

  Zina started to speak but before the first word was out Peter cut in.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Fiona, stop playing the tragedy queen. Another month and you will be a mother yourself, a mother and a wife. You’re not the first woman to find pregnancy doesn’t suit her lifestyle, but you’re luckier than most. You have a husband who seems to dote on you and looks forward to taking you back to that place you find so attractive. When you calm down and look the facts in the face without the drama you thrive on, then you’ll be a happier person yourself – and more pleasant to be with. At eight months that poor child you are carrying ought to have clothes, a crib and all the paraphernalia waiting ready. Tomorrow we shall go to Exeter and arrange for it all to be delivered.’ Then, his tone softening as he looked at the child who had always been so especially dear to him, he said, ‘If you get down off your high horse and come too it’ll be a fun day out. Think about it.’

  ‘I can think of nothing less like a fun day out,’ came the reply, the drama queen clearly not yet laid to rest. ‘And I expect, Mother, you think you deserve a day without having me underfoot.’

  ‘If this is the way you usually behave, then she certainly does.’

  ‘I shall leave you in peace and go to bed.’ Fiona turned towards the door ready for the grand exit.

  ‘Come with us,’ Zina implored as she tried to lighten the atmosphere, not so much for Fiona’s sake as for Peter’s. ‘You ought to be the one to choose. I’ll guide you with what a baby needs, but Fiona, once you collect up the tiny things the baby will need, I promise you’ll feel different.’

  ‘De-da, de-da, de-da,’ Fiona mocked insolently with a scathing look at them both.

  ‘That’s enough! If you can’t behave, just go to bed.’ Peter’s voice was hard with anger and in that second two things happened: he seemed to realize that Zina was holding his hand and his grip tightened until she felt her fingers being crushed, and Fiona lost her hold on the drama queen who had helped her through such an unprecedented scene with her father and with a
loud howl burst into tears – real not crocodile tears. In a second Peter let go of Zina’s hand and was on his feet holding the sobbing girl in his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so miserable. Don’t want a beastly baby spoiling everything. I knew it couldn’t last. Was so happy. Now there’s nothing. Don’t want to be a bloody mother, old and ugly. Hate it, hate everything. We’ve never quarrelled, you and me. Hate quarrelling with you. Say it’s all right, Dad.’

  Zina stacked their coffee cups on a tray and carried them to the kitchen. The moment belonged to Peter and Fiona. After a while she heard the girl going up the stairs, her light tread carrying the message that all was well. It was safe to go back to the dying embers in the drawing room.

  ‘I’ve put another log on the fire and poured us a drink,’ Peter greeted her. Then holding out his hand to draw her down to his side on the settee, he said, ‘Here’s to this time next month when it’s all over.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ she agreed. ‘Do you want to waste tomorrow in baby shops? I could go the next day if you’d rather.’

  ‘I think a day out is probably just what we need. And this new scrap of humanity deserves its bits and pieces bought by folk who are ready to give it a loving welcome, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘She’ll feel differently when she holds it. I think more than anything she’s frightened. A day out … we haven’t had a day out together for ages.’

  He put his arm around her and she nuzzled against his neck. Tomorrow they would leave most things to be delivered, but she decided that they’d bring one or two tiny garments home with them; surely the sight of them would move Fiona’s mind forward and, instead of the unborn child being a ‘thing’, the clothes would help her to see ahead to when the birth was over and her future free of fear.

  In the warmth from the burning log, with Peter close, and the atmosphere of anger gone, Zina had a new feeling of hope. Whatever he and Fiona had said to each other she didn’t know, neither did she want to know; but in that last hour of the day she found herself looking to the future with hope she hadn’t known for months.