by Guy N Smith
Ruth flung the bedclothes back, swung her legs to the floor. And then the nausea hit her; no warning, a rush of bile from the stomach and she only just made it to the bathroom, heaving and retching. She was going to faint, down on her knees, head over the bowl, crying as she threw up. Then resting, holding on to the porcelain rim, waiting for the spasm to pass.
When she returned to the bedroom, white and shaking, Gwyn was sitting up in bed. He stared at her with red-ringed eyes, seemed to have difficulty in comprehending. He was confused again, unsure of his surroundings. He was certainly no comfort to her in her predicament.
‘Aren’t you well?’ he asked at length, a question that was devoid of sympathy, perhaps even a touch of annoyance because his wife was inconveniencing him, disturbing his rest.
‘I’ve been sick.’ She held on to the dressing table. ‘Like I have every morning for the past fortnight.’
‘It must be something you’re eating or drinking that doesn’t agree with you,’ squinting at her as though he could not focus properly. ‘I think it’s all that coffee you drink. They say caffeine is bad for you, why don’t you cut down or try drinking something else? Fruit juice or even water.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she snapped irritably. A sudden decision, she would have to tell him. Didn’t they say that a problem shared was a problem halved? Perhaps not in her husband’s case, the only problems he concerned himself with were financial ones. All the same, he’d have to know sooner or later. She could not remember whether or not she had told Sarah. Where was Sarah, anyway? It didn’t matter right now.
‘Maybe you’ve got one of these summer viruses,’ his speech was slurred. ‘There’s always something going about.’
‘No,’ she took a deep breath, had to force the words out, ‘I’m pregnant, Gwyn!’
He stared at her blankly. His eyes seemed glazed, a grey film that spread an opaque covering across the orbs, slowly rolling back, clearing. His lips moved, soundlessly at first, miming, and then he grunted, ‘You’re what?’
‘Pregnant. With child. In the club. Whichever crude expression you care to apply.’
Gwyn Mace’s complexion drained of its normal ruddy colour, his cheeks paled, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘That’s impossible!’ He was going to become angry, she knew the signs well enough. The doctor had said that he wasn’t to go working himself up but, blow him, she had pandered to him enough. He had to face up to the situation because she was going to need him.
‘It’s all your fault,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not bothered about sex these days but it’s you who keeps on wanting it, and I’ve let you have your way to keep you happy. Now you’ve got to pay for your fun. You insisted a condom wasn’t necessary so you’ve caught me on the change!’
‘My God!’ He lay back, stared up at the ceiling. ‘Still, we can always do something about it.’
‘Like what?’
‘You’ll get an abortion easily enough at your age.’
‘I don’t want an abortion, Gwyn. Furthermore, I’m not having one and you can’t make me.’
‘Jesus on a bike!’ Twin spots of red began to show on those white cheeks. ‘All right, if you insist on having it but don’t get involving me in it. You can get it fostered afterwards.’
‘You obviously aren’t familiar with the new laws on childbirth.’ She hated him more at that moment than she had done at any time during their marriage. A selfish pig who didn’t give a damn for anybody else.
‘I haven’t heard of any law,’ he answered.
‘No, I don’t expect you could be bothered unless there was a few quid in it for you.’ She felt an urge to slap him, right across the face. ‘They’re cutting down the population or else this planet will die of starvation, there won’t be enough food to go round and everybody will be out of work. No family can have more than one child. If you do, then they fine you and probably put you in prison as well. And they take the baby away and you never see it again. Probably they put it to sleep. Now, do you understand?
‘You’ll have to get it aborted then if you don’t want to go to jail?’
‘You bastard!’ She had never sworn in her life before, in times of excess provocation she had sometimes thought bad words, but he had pushed her right to the brink. ‘I’m not having an abortion and it’s you who’ll have to pay the fine because I don’t have any money. And both parents go to prison. Think about it.’
That shut him up. She watched him sinking further down the bed, clawing at the sheets, starting to pull them up. You can’t hide down the bed, Gwyn, you’ve got to face up to the fact we’ve got another baby on the way.
‘Where did you learn all this crap?’ Just his eyes were visible above the bedsheets.
‘I read it in the papers.’ Don’t ask me which one because I can’t remember. Or I might have seen it on the telly. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s true.
‘Where’s Sarah?’ he asked in a whisper as though seeking some kind of support from their teenage daughter. Handled right, Sarah sided with him. Many was the time that between them they had sent Ruth up to bed in tears.
‘I …’ Ruth closed her eyes, shook her head as though trying to clear it. ‘Yes, I remember. She’s gone away on holiday with Norman.’
‘What!’
‘You heard. We tried to talk her out of it but we didn’t get anywhere.’ Ruth drew a hand across her eyes. All they needed now was for Sarah to announce that she was in the family way and they were all in trouble. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got to face up to it, Gwyn, that this is the eighties, not the fifties, and we can’t keep our kids at home. We’d planned to come to this camp so that they could come with us, where we could keep an eye on them, but teenagers don’t go on holiday with their parents any longer. There’s just you and me here and we’ve got a problem.’
‘I see.’ His eyes were closed, he looked very tired. ‘But I’ve got to rest, Ruth. You know what the doctor said.’
‘You rest, sleep all you want.’ She began to dress, discreetly opening the wardrobe door and standing behind it so that he would not be able to see her as she pulled off her nightdress. ‘I’m going out, it’s a beautiful day and I’m going for a walk round the camp. If you want me I’ll be lunching in the restaurant around one. Ugh, I don’t think I can ever face food again!’
He pulled the sheet right up over his head, lay listening to her movements, the swish of clothing, brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Quick footsteps, the angry slamming of the front door. Then he was all alone.
This was all very confusing. And in the turmoil of his thoughts something else struck him, had him tensing and wincing in the gloom of a daytime bedroom. If Ruth was pregnant then perhaps the father of her unborn child was somebody else. Another man!
He sat up, threw the bedclothes back. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror on the open wardrobe door, a haggard face that was dark with sudden anger
‘You bitch!’ he shouted aloud. ‘You fucking bitch, you’ve been screwing around and now you’re trying to put the blame on to me! And I nearly fell for it. By Christ, you’ll rue the day you were born when I get hold of you!’
He got out of bed, swayed on his feet, fell back on to the mattress, sprawled there. It was frightening, he had not realized just how weak he was. And even as he lay there he heard the sharp rap of knuckles on the front door.
A sudden fear because there was somebody out there wanting to come in. A stranger, it couldn’t be Ruth because she had a key and there was nobody else. Scrabbling into his clothes, rumpled trousers with his shirt hanging out, hair awry. More knocking, insistent this time.
‘Bloody wait, will you?’ Who the Christ could it be?
He could not get his socks on properly, the heels would not slide into place. Shoving his feet into a pair of slip-on shoes with difficulty, slopping his way through to the hall. ‘I’m coming!’
It was a fresh-faced youth who stood on the threshold, an open-necked shirt tucked into washed jeans. A
mass of freckles and twinkling blue eyes. Familiar. Gwyn vaguely recognised the other, had to think for a minute. Of course, Norman Tong, Sarah’s boyfriend! Now what the fuck did he want coming here?
‘Hallo, Mr Mace. I made it after all.’
‘I can see that!’ Gwyn kept his foot behind the door, he wasn’t having this layabout barging in here as if he had a right of entry. The lad was just too cheeky for Gwyn’s liking and, furthermore, he’d never done a stroke of work since the day he’d left school, gone straight on the dole and stayed there. Got his wits about him, though; marry the daughter of a well-off guy and let him support the pair of them. Clever, but it didn’t work where Gwyn Mace was concerned. No, sir!
The other was set to walk right in; Gwyn pushed the door another six inches forward. ‘It’s no good coming to try and sponge off me, mate.’
‘I …’ Norman Tong was visibly shocked, stepped back a pace, ‘Sarah …’
‘Look, pal,’ Gwyn thrust his face forward. ‘What you and my daughter get up to is your business. Apparently I can’t stop you in this day and age. But you’ve got to pay your own way, I’m not the fund-raiser. Get it? The wife and I have come here for a bit of peace and quiet. We need it. And the last thing we want is you two hanging around us. So you can just fuck off! And you can tell my daughter I said so.’
Gwyn slammed the door, turned away. What a bloody cheek! All that fuss they’d made about going away together just so that they could have a bit of dick without having to listen to see if we’ve come back earlier than expected, but now they’ve come up against the realities of life. You need money! No bother, we’ll go over to the camp, get a sub off Dad and when that’s run out we’ll go back for more. No way, not with me, you don’t. Go and screw to your hearts’ content but don’t expect me to finance it!
Gwyn felt dizzy, his vision was distorted. The hallway seemed to come up at him so that he was walking uphill back to the bedroom. He flung himself on to the bed. The upset wasn’t doing him any good; first Ruth and now that berk. A family was a waste of time, you were better off on your own.
Norman Tong backed away from the closed door in bewilderment, stood there staring at it, expecting it to open again at any second. Another torrent of abuse, doubtless. He flinched. But the door remained closed.
‘Bloody hell!’ He spoke aloud. ‘Old Gwyn’s finally flipped his top. It’s been on the cards for ages.’
He walked slowly away, undecided what to do. This holiday with the Maces was a disaster before it started, he had warned Sarah about that. It wouldn’t work, it was crazy. They had, reluctantly, booked him into a separate chalet so, in effect, he wasn’t part of the family holiday, just an accessory! They had agreed to him coming, under protest, because if they hadn’t he might have gone off somewhere else with their daughter and the two of them might have slept together! Some chance with Sarah! He loved her but she was too much influenced by her mother’s prim and proper ways and both of them were under the old man’s thumb.
But the fact remained that he was here and he was going to stay. In all probability Sarah had been taken off somewhere by her mother, maybe on purpose just to keep her away from Norman for another few hours. They were like that. But old Gwyn had finally cracked, that was an indisputable fact. Some holiday this is going to be, Norman thought.
He wasn’t going back to the Maces’ chalet. Sod ’em! Sarah knew where to find him, in chalet 13 on Pink Camp. She’d turn up eventually. So the best thing to do was to go back and wait there.
The day dragged. At one o’clock he went down to the fish and chip salon, bought a pie and chips and took it back to eat in the chalet. He couldn’t chance being away in case Sarah showed up.
Two o’clock and there was still no sign of her. There was no cause to worry. Ruth Mace had undoubtedly decided to take her daughter off for the day, they probably couldn’t stand Gwyn’s company and who could blame them for that? Maybe they had gone shopping to town or embarked upon a coach trip into the mountains. There were endless possibilities. He would wait.
The afternoon was unbearably hot and he fell asleep in the chair. When he awoke it was after six. Christ, they should be back by now! He resisted the temptation to go up to Red Camp and find out, he’d only be insulted again. No, let her come to him. But, in any case, he had a ticket to use the restaurant, to share the Maces’ table, so they’d meet up at dinner. They would surely put in an appearance there.
The restaurant was crowded. Norman stood just inside the door, looking about him uncertainly.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ A camp official wearing a yellow uniform approached him with a smile.
‘Er, yes,’ Norman held out his ticket, ‘I’m with the Maces, I’ve just arrived. Perhaps you could show me which is their table.’
‘Follow me, sir.’ The other threaded his way across the crowded room, pulled up before a table with four places laid on it. ‘There you are, sir. The waitress will be along in a moment.’
Norman pulled back a chair, sat down. A sudden feeling of desolation engulfed him, that nobody else was going to come. Which was ridiculous; Gwyn didn’t pay for meals and not eat them. The guy was a greedy bugger where food was concerned. They would all be along shortly, he kept telling himself.
‘Would you care to order, sir?’
Norman looked up, the young waitress was standing there with a notepad, an air of impatience about her. I’m busy, please don’t keep me waiting.
‘I’m expecting somebody to join me,’ he motioned to the three empty places. ‘I’d rather hang on, if you don’t mind.’
She turned away without a word. Typical holiday camps, he decided, always in a rush, nobody’s got a minute to live. He picked up the menu, toyed with it, bending over the edges but not reading it. Apprehensive, not hungry. Again the feeling that the Maces weren’t going to arrive. Perhaps Ruth and Sarah were pissed off with Gwyn so they had gone back home. It wasn’t likely, but if they had then surely they would have left a message in reception for him.
7.30. He turned towards the main entrance door every time it opened. Campers from all walks of life but no Ruth and Sarah. Fidgeting, resisting the urge to go and stand outside looking up and down for them; it wouldn’t make them come any sooner.
‘Good evening, sir.’
He started, had not heard the attractive dark-haired girl in the white overalls come up behind him. A supervisor, that was what it said on her lapel. She smiled, seated herself next to him, had a clipboard in her hand on which she wrote something. He noticed idly that there was a mark on her neck, it could have been either a bruise or a love bite, it was none of his concern. She stroked it, rubbed it, as though it was painful.
‘You must be Mr Tong.’ She glanced at him and he thought she seemed ill at ease.
‘Yes,’ he spoke quickly, his tone incorporating all his anxieties of the past few hours. ‘I’m with the Maces. I’ve seen Mr Mace but there’s no sign of the others.’
‘And how was Mr Mace?’ A direct question, more than just a casual enquiry.
‘He … he didn’t look very well.’
‘Hmm,’ she was looking at her clipboard. ‘I’m afraid he’s far from well, a kind of nervous breakdown, I understand. He needs to be kept very quiet.’
‘Then this is the last place he should be.’ Norman was watching her carefully. She seemed embarrassed as though she ought not to be discussing Gwyn Mace’s problems with himself.
‘On the contrary,’ she tried to smile reassuringly, ‘the camp can be one of the most relaxing holidays you can take. It all depends what you’re looking for. You don’t have to go to the fairground and play bingo. It isn’t obligatory!’ A kind of reprimand. ‘But, in any case, he was taken ill after he arrived.’
‘Well, I want to see Mrs Mace and Sarah.’ Norman was becoming stubborn, felt that the other was intent on putting obstacles in his way.
‘I don’t think that will be possible,’ Ann Stackhouse smiled sweetly, just too sweetly. ‘Mrs Mace is distraught
with worry over her husband. She doesn’t come to the restaurant anymore. I believe the catering staff are serving them their meals in their chalet.’
Norman Tong’s expression tightened, there were tiny icy shivers running up and down his spine. ‘Then I’ll see Sarah. She’s my girlfriend. She’s the only reason I’ve come to the camp.’
‘I’m …’ the supervisor hesitated, glanced away. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, either.’
‘Christ alive! Why ever not?’
‘Sarah has not been well, either, I’m surprised you haven’t had a message from Mrs Mace but I suppose she’s been too worried about her husband to let you know. Oh, nothing serious, don’t look so worried. Summer flu, I believe, but her mother decided to send Sarah away, it was just too much to cope with.’
‘This is crazy!’ Norman scraped his chair back. ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this!’
‘Please, don’t go troubling Mrs Mace, she isn’t well, all this has been too much for her. I did speak to her yesterday and she told me that she had sent her daughter to stay with relatives until she and Mr Mace return home.’
‘Relatives! Which relative has Sarah gone to stay with?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t know.’ Ann stood up then leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. ‘But, please don’t go troubling Mrs Mace. She’s … having problems. In fact, I think she might be on the edge of a breakdown, too, with all this worry. Sometimes she doesn’t know who she is or where she is. I don’t think you’d get much out of her, quite honestly.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ Norman shook off the other’s restraining hand.
‘Look, why don’t you sit down, order a meal and relax for the moment, get your thoughts together. I can recommend the hotpot tonight, it’s exceptional.’