‘We were just, um … dancing,’ Nancy puffs, patting her hair nervously when she reappears. There’s an awkward silence.
‘Oh, don’t turn it off on my account. I love the old songs. Dad used to play them all the time before … ’ My voice trails off as I wonder if she knows. He may not have told her about his time in prison for fraud. Yes, it was a long time ago now, but still, it’s his personal business, not mine to tell. It makes me feel strange – I’m worried she’ll judge him. I don’t want him getting hurt, rejected, like I have been. For all his faults in the past, he’s my dad and I love him.
‘Come and sit down, dear. Put your feet up,’ Nancy says, giving me an odd look. I do as I’m told and follow her into the sitting room. Dad follows behind and sits in the armchair opposite. ‘I’ll give you two some privacy.’ Nancy disappears and I crease my forehead, wondering why she’s acting so strangely. First the old woman at the door. Now Nancy. And Dad too, if the look on his face is anything to go by.
‘Dad, is everything all right?’ I ask, rattled.
‘Err, yes, yes of course. Why wouldn’t it be, sweetheart?’ he says, and I know I’m not mistaken, there’s definitely something weird going on, and it’s more than him having been in Nancy’s bedroom and feeling a bit embarrassed about it. I’m not stupid, they could only have been cuddling, or dancing, as Nancy said, but there’s no way they were naked – unless they hold the world record for getting dressed in record time. Dad is wearing a shirt, tie, V-neck jumper, trousers and lace-up shoes – he’d have to be a contortionist ninja to have got dressed that quickly. Not that it really bothers me if they were naked – good for them; it’s more action than I’m currently getting in the bedroom department. No, there’s definitely something strange going on. Oh God, I hope Dad’s OK. I decide to probe him.
‘I’m not sure Dad – maybe it’s my imagination, but you all seem to be acting really uncomfortably around me. If it’s because you’re worried about how I feel about you and Nancy, then I want you to be happy, Dad. I know Nancy won’t ever replace Mum, you said so and that’s good enough for me. I like Nancy and I understand that you can’t be expected to be on your own for ever more and, well, if we can still go to Mum’s grave sometimes, and the pier, like we said we would, just us and well—’
‘Georgie. Stop talking,’ Dad interjects, and I close my mouth before opening it again and sucking in a massive gulp of air. I hadn’t realised I was babbling without drawing breath. I actually feel dizzy. Silence follows.
‘I’m sorry. It’s probably not my business,’ I mutter, to break the awkward atmosphere.
‘Of course it is. And we do need to talk about my relationship with Nancy,’ Dad starts. ‘But there’s something else first. Something far more important.’ He cups his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and I know it must be serious; he used to do this when I was a child and had done something I shouldn’t have, like the time I poured a tester pot of apple blossom paint into Mum’s handbag. But I’m not a child any more, and I haven’t done anything wrong, as far as I know.
‘Oh, Dad, what is it? Are you OK? You’re not ill are you? Oh my God, why didn’t you say?’ I leap up and dart across the room to crouch down in front of him. I put my hand on his knee. ‘Dad, please tell me … ’ A lump forms in my throat. I’ve just got him back in my life. Tears sting. I couldn’t bear it if—
‘No, no, it’s not me Georgie. I’m fine. Honestly sweetheart, no need to put two and two together … ’ He smiles kindly and shakes his head. ‘I remember you doing exactly the same as a little girl, but please don’t worry, I’m as strong as an ox, me.’ Dad pats my hand reassuringly and relief rushes through me.
‘Georgie, you know I love you very much and I’ll never judge you – not that it’s a big deal these days anyway, but just so you know, I’m always here for you, I’ll support you every step of the way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Darling, you don’t have to hide it. Dad looks away. I’ll support you no matter what.’
‘Dad, what are you talking about?’
‘Oh sweetheart, shall I make it easy?’ Dad says softly. He stands up and walks out of the room.
I’m still trying to work out what’s going on when Dad returns with a glossy magazine in his hand. He passes it to me. I glance at the page. And freeze. I can hear my own blood pumping in my ears.
Is new reality star, Georgie Girl, of Kelly Cooper Come Instore going to be a yummy mummy soon? Here she is outside Bumpalicious laden down with baby goodies!’
There’s a picture of me below the headline. Alone. They must have cropped Sam out. And I’ve got all the maternity shopping bags in my hands and I’m standing right next to the Bumpalicious shop sign. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, a reader has posted a comment underneath.
I bet she’s holding that oversized tote in front of her belly to hide the bump, oldest trick in the book, all the slebs do it. PS – I love her coat; does anyone know where it’s from?
‘Dad! You think I’m pregnant. Oh my God!’ I don’t believe it. Talk about surreal. No wonder he’s being weird. I bet he thinks it’s a secret love child or whatever, especially with me not being married. In his day, this would have been a total scandal, and he can be a bit old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like this. Only a few months ago he was telling me how shocking it was that a woman in the post office he goes to is rumoured to be pregnant after a one-night stand – Dad was outraged that ‘the scoundrel responsible’ hadn’t offered to marry her.
‘It’s OK, darling. Really it is. And thank goodness it’s with the singer and not that lad Brett,’ Dad puffs, leaning forward and pointing a finger in the air as if he’s marshalling a damage-limitation plan. ‘Do you think you might marry him?’ he quizzes.
‘Dad. Please. Will you just stop it? I’m not pregnant. And even if I was, I know how to look after myself. I’d deal with it, decide what’s best for me. I’m not a little girl without a mind of my own. I’m a grown woman. And nobody cares if people are married or not these days.’
I’m up on my feet now, my mind racing as I pace around Nancy’s sitting room. She appears in the doorway. I knew I should have moved down to the basement to flog washing machines. It might not be as glamorous as selling high-end handbags and being on TV, but I bet it’s dull, discreet and just what I could do with right now.
‘Is everything OK? Shall I get the cakes?’ Nancy gives Dad a furtive glance. ‘It’s all pasteurised cream,’ she quickly adds, giving me a look. I stare at her, goggle-eyed and speechless. I turn to look at Dad. His face gives nothing away – Oh my actual God, he’s not even sure I’m telling the truth.
This is madness. And then my mind starts racing, back to my night with Tom. He was sensible. We both were. I’m on the pill, for crying out loud – I’m not pregnant! I’m definitely, definitely not pregnant. Sweet Jesus, the real but made-up world has finally gone and addled my brain. I can’t even tell what’s fact and what’s fiction any more. I’m even doubting my own sense of reality. It’s official. I need to sit down. I slump back in the armchair, exhausted by it all. And I need a drink – I pull a ginger beer from my bag, open it and guzzle half in one go. The alcohol content is practically negligible, I know, but it’s all I have right now, it’ll have to do. Maybe the pending sugar rush will help …
Once the initial shock wore off, I talked Dad through it all. Explained that Sam is the one who’s pregnant and how the magazine had cropped her out of the picture. It took him a while to get his head around how that could be and he’s vowed to ask his teacher on the silver surfers’ course to show him how it’s done. And Dad was delighted for Sam and Nathan, naturally. I’ve told him that it’s early days and that she had wanted to wait to share the news with him, but I guess it’s too late now. Sam was OK about it. I checked with her first – went into Dad’s garden to call her, to quickly explain what had happened as she had just arrived at the hospital for her scan. I told her about the magazine, the misunderstanding,
and after she’d stopped screaming with laughter, she said it was fine for Dad to know.
‘Oh Georgie, I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions,’ Dad says, holding his head in his hands. ‘I’ve been such an idiot.’
‘We both have.’ It’s Nancy, hovering in the doorway with a mountain of cream cakes piled up on a silver foil platter.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, looking first at Dad and then Nancy. ‘The paparazzi are very good at distorting the truth.’ I shake my head.
‘Well, I shan’t ever bring up your tendency for putting two and two together again, that’s for sure. And now we know where you inherited it from – I’m the one with the drama queen gene. Sweetheart, it’s all my fault.’ Dad lets out a big puff of air. ‘I feel like such an old fool. And you know, I was thinking about asking the council to rehouse me again so I could be nearer to help out with the baby. And Nancy had even dug out her knitting needles, hadn’t you love?’ We all laugh. I’ve calmed down a bit now.
‘That’s right. Oooh, I’d love a grandchild … ’ Nancy stops talking abruptly and there’s an awkward silence. ‘I’m sorry, I err … didn’t mean, that’s not … ’ She places the platter on the coffee table and her cheeks flush rhubarb-red.
‘It’s OK, Nancy. Really.’ I smile and Dad looks up. Nancy fiddles with the gold letter N on the end of her chain.
‘Why don’t you two get stuck in and I’ll put the kettle on.’ Nancy nods and makes big eyes at Dad, as if she’s telepathically giving him a message. What’s going on now? He waits for her to disappear before getting up to close the door.
‘We need to talk sweetheart.’
‘I know Dad.’
‘Please hear me out. Is that OK?’ I nod, eager for everything to be out in the open.
‘I loved your mother with all my heart. I still do. And that will never change.’ I nod and smile. Nancy is very lovely, but she’ll only be second best, a companion; she’ll never take Mum’s place.
‘I know Dad. And you were the only man for Mum, she told me so.’ Dad smiles wistfully.
‘But, I … I’ve always loved Nancy too.’ His eyes are searching mine now, gauging, waiting for my reaction. What does he mean?
‘Loved?’ I ask, wondering if I heard him correctly.
‘And I still do. Very much so.’ He’s glancing at the carpet now.
‘But, I … I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do, sweetheart,’ Dad studies the swirly patterned carpet intently, and the ramifications of what he’s just said sink in. He didn’t meet Nancy when the council condemned his old flat and relocated him here. He hasn’t been on his own since he came out of prison. And no, Frank Sinatra … they’re not strangers in the night exchanging glances, at all. Oh no, they’re seasoned lovers all day long. He’s known her for years!
‘How long?’ I ask, holding my breath.
‘Georgie, it was a difficult time. I was … the gambling was—’
‘How long, Dad?’
‘Twenty years, give or take.’
‘Whaat? But it can’t be. That would mean Mum was still alive. I must have been a child when it started. You knew Nancy before you went to prison?’ That twitchy, uneasy feeling from the first time I met her returns.
‘That’s right. And I’m so ashamed.’
‘And so you should be,’ I snap. ‘Poor Mum. She adored you.’ I take a deep breath, desperately trying to take it all in. ‘Oh please, God, tell me she didn’t know … ’ Dad shakes his head and the feeling of relief is overwhelming. She had enough to contend with, with the MS and Dad gambling away everything we had. ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. But Dad, how could you? Mum was ill. She needed you. And then you left … you left us all alone. Do you know what that did to her? To us?’ I’m conscious that I’m almost shouting.
‘I know, darling. And, like I said, I’m truly ashamed. I’m so sorry. Nancy is too, that’s why she urged me to be honest with you. She’s hated keeping it from you. Me too. Of course it all stopped when I went to prison, but we, well, after Mum died, we were back in touch.’ He looks up and then I remember, there were rumours of other women. So it was true. They weren’t lies made up to discredit him and upset Mum. It was even in the newspapers at the time.
‘And what about Nancy’s husband? Did you even stop to think about Bob, or Mum for that matter?’ I say, my voice all shrill and accusatory, but I have to stand up for them, it’s not as if they can do it themselves.
‘Bob knew,’ Dad says, flatly. His shoulders drop.
‘He knew?’ A short silence follows. ‘But how? What? Did he condone it?’ I say, incredulously. Nothing would surprise me. I push a hand through my hair. Talk about the day that keeps on giving, first my faux pregnancy and now this – it’s beyond surreal.
‘It’s why I went to prison.’ The room sways. I grip the arm of the chair. ‘He found out about the affair and wanted revenge. He launched an investigation into me and my business affairs, unravelled everything, and, well, you know the rest.’ Dad’s voice is barely audible. And I notice a silent tear slowly trickling down his chin. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me, or Nancy. But I had to tell you. I had to. I couldn’t keep it from you any more. What if these celebrity hunters had found out before you knew? How would that have made you feel? I wanted you to hear it from me, not from some scurrilous hack looking to make a quick buck without a single thought for who they might hurt in the process.’
I stand up, practically panting for air. Why is the room so hot? I feel as though I’m suffocating. I push my sleeves up. I can’t breathe. And my head feels as if it might explode. So Dad went to prison because he was having an affair with a policeman’s wife, and my whole life – Mum’s too – changed because of it. Abruptly. And horribly.
‘Dad, I have to go. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not right now. I have to go … ’ The rollercoaster of emotions is overwhelming. I pull the sitting room door open, race down the hallway, grab my coat from the peg on the wall and run from Nancy’s flat. The crisp fresh air hits me like a shot of adrenalin, and I gasp.
I’m running along the slippery ice-covered pavement when my mobile buzzes inside my pocket. I pull it out. It’s Sam. I press to see the text message. I stop running. My hand freezes around the phone. And everything that’s happened today, and in the last few weeks, evaporates in an instance. Inconsequential.
No heartbeat
Oh God. Oh no. Oh no no no no … Tears sting my cheeks, collecting on my chin before snaking down and pooling in the groove above my collarbone. I have to go to her.
I’m on my way xxx
But I can’t move. I’m standing motionless against a brick wall. The phone still clasped in my hands. I send another text.
Ps – I love you xxx
19
Sam is devastated. Nathan too. But he’s holding it together, trying to be strong for her. I’ve taken time off to be with them, Annie is holding the fort at work with Denise from Home Electricals helping out, and we’re in the lounge of their villa on the private beach estate just along the coast from Mulberry-On-Sea. Sam blames herself, says she feels like a failure. Or that she’s being punished – for working too hard, for tempting fate by getting excited, for buying baby clothes so early on, for letting herself imagine a whole lifetime in a few short weeks. At one point she even convinced herself that the miscarriage was down to the sip of mulled wine she had in the restaurant that day. Of course, both Nathan and I have told her that it definitely, definitely wasn’t the reason, it absolutely wasn’t anything she did, but she can’t help going over and over, searching for an explanation. A reason. Something to help her make sense of what happened.
The sonographer started doing the scan before calling the doctor in, who explained that Sam was right – she was more pregnant than she first thought, but the baby had stopped growing at around eleven or twelve weeks. But she’d felt the baby move. She was convinced of it. The doctor said it was most likely wind. Nathan stepped in then and promptl
y brought her straight home, determined they be allowed to cherish at least some memory of the pregnancy. And Gloria is on her way over from Italy. Sam has stowed the scan picture in a keepsake box, with the tiny clothes she had already bought, to show Gloria; she really wants to do that, she says it means the baby was real, even if she was only here for a short time. And Sam is still convinced that Cupcake was a little girl.
Sam was given the option of going back to the hospital for an operation, but decided she’d rather stay at home and let nature take its course, which it did soon after. We sat up one night and she told me that even though Nathan and I were here with her, she just felt numb and alone, that she needed to talk to someone who knew how she felt. Who understood. Someone who had been through it themselves – so I got on Google and got her the number of a couple of support organisations who’ve put her in touch with a woman who lives here in Mulberry-On-Sea. Sam called her and said she was very calm and kind, and gave her hope.
At first, Sam was adamant that she wasn’t putting herself or Nathan through the heartache again, but in the last few days she’s been talking about trying for another baby. She says it’s a comfort to know that although this time it wasn’t meant to be, next time it very much could be. Sam’s always been a positive person, and I’m in awe of the way she’s coping, once again, in the face of adversity. Archie would have been so proud of her …
The doorbell rings. I look over at Sam sitting on the sofa next to Nathan, but they are oblivious. Sam has her head on his shoulder and they both have their eyes closed, their fingers entwined. I leave them to be alone and go to the front door. It’s Eddie and Ciaran.
Cupcakes and Christmas: The Carrington’s Collection: Cupcakes at Carrington’s, Me and Mr. Carrington, Christmas at Carrington’s Page 50