Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

Stretching around her, there were a few empty places were, only three people sat. If she said no, it would be rude.

  ‘No, these seats aren’t taken.’

  ‘Thanks, you know some people at these places can be very unkind,’ he was making himself comfortable before returning a thoughtful gaze to her. And then his eyes went to her left hand. He smiled again, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She was available, at least this was a good place to start.

  Usually, she wore a ring even though she wasn’t married and never had been. Wearing a wedding ring was a sign for men to keep off, you won’t find any interest here so don’t bother.

  ‘I’m new to this part of the world,’ the talking had started.

  She nodded but kept her lips closed.

  ‘For letting me sit at your table, I would like to buy you a drink—you do drink, don’t you? I mean, everyone drinks even if they say they don’t.’

  When he smiled again, there was chemistry of instant attraction. He was charming, and he also came across as being gentle and posing no threats. What harm was there in liking him? In fact, he was reasonably good-looking for someone who looked like he was in his early forties. A wave of dark hair which gave him that Latin look and beautiful blue eyes which shined merrily. His nose though could be said to be slightly too large, but his lips were generous, yet this only credited him with character. Something was going on in this head where a beautiful face would leave vacant. Cecelia was impressed with him; he was well dressed. He knew how to enjoy the person he was. A dark-gray suit, with a dark-gray matching tie, and a light blue shirt. He looked suave, immaculate—and surprisingly, he wore silver colored cufflinks which suggested he was not your average guy.

  All this calculation was completed in a couple of seconds. Meanwhile, he had been studying her. She stroked her hair back, tugging it a little to enter the second phase of fate’s spontaneous connection. Did he take every chance as an opportunity?

  ‘Will you have a drink with me? I believe they have some decent Californian wine, a Chardonnay. Or if you don’t drink…’

  ‘I’ll have a Chardonnay. That would be nice, thank you.’ When Cecelia made up her mind that it was time for action, she would now leap at it, right or wrong. To make a quick decision is always something good, it gives a reason to go forward. Usually. Her world had been fractured with vacillation, but not now, not any longer. Take that opportunity when it comes along. The job of making a decision puts a whole new perspective on life. She smiled; she was free to go on.

  He smiled when she suddenly accepted his offer. The conditions of the relationship had changed, he too could now relax. Again, he gave her another smile which intimated that he liked her.

  Calling for a bottle of wine, they now viewed each other from another level.

  ‘I heard it was roast chicken with all the trimmings,’ he said putting his elbows on the table placing his chin on to his interlaced fingers. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, can’t you smell it?’

  ‘No, actually I can’t smell, well at least, I can’t smell things that well.’

  ‘No,’ she was an open wide surprise. A piece of news which because they were sitting at the same table together, became more interesting.

  ‘Yes, I damaged my nose when I was a kid and nearly blew off my eyebrows. I was spoilt,’ he laughed. ‘I was and am that incorrigible kid, unfortunately, my parents’ only child, although I did have a brother who died from an accident. My parents gave me everything I wanted, and I wanted a chemistry set. I think I must have been a difficult child to live with,’ and then he laughed at the memory again now instilled on his retina.

  He could see his parents and their dismay and how they shook their heads. It was their fault alone that they gave in to his demands.

  He had a dead brother.

  ‘And what about you—my parents thought I was perfect; I could do no wrong. I suppose you could say I had a charmed life. There I go again, always talking about myself. Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Not really, well, I do have a sister, but she’s a lot older than me.’

  His eyebrows raised; he was waiting for her to carry on because it was his turn to be interested.

  She shrugged; it didn’t matter whatever you said to a stranger that was why these conversations were so liberating. It gave you the freedom to be what you wanted to be providing that you didn’t meet up with them again.

  ‘The age gap, she’s seventeen years older than me. I’m from my father’s second marriage and now he is on to number four.’

  ‘Wow, I mean, I mustn’t be rude, so how many of you are there?’

  ‘Six going on seven, that was the last time I heard. One each from the first and second marriage, two from marriage number three, and two and a half from number four.’

  ‘I take it you don’t get on with your parents?’

  ‘My mother’s dead. She died when I was three. By the time I was four, my father had been married again for six months.’

  ‘Wow,’ and then he frowned and generously considered Cecelia’s face. ‘That sounds like a tragedy to me.’

  ‘Not really. I was looked after for a while by my mother’s parents. It was okay, but they were old. They both died by the time I was ten and then, it was the children’s home.’

  ‘And your father didn’t want you?’

  ‘Of course not, he had a new young wife.’ She looked down, still bitter about these hoaxed memories.

  ‘Can I ask you one question—you can tell me to go and mind my own business if you like, but is your father wealthy,’ now it was his turn to shrug. ‘I mean, your father must pay out a great deal on alimony.’

  ‘Well, it depends on what you mean by wealthy. If he carries on paying the alimony, nobody asks where it comes from. But yes, he is wealthy I suppose, not that this makes any difference to me. Whatever he leaves, will go to his last two marriages, numbers three and four. Virginia and I are supposed to be grown up and able to look after ourselves.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had a good life with my parents. I was the star in their sky. I thought every child was treated the same.’

  ‘I’m not grumbling. It’s just…’ and then she stared into space.

  ‘So, you have come here for a break—you don’t live near here, I take it. No, of course, you don’t. Why have a home and go and sleep elsewhere? It wouldn’t make any sense would it?’

  Half an hour walking distance away, her studio flat sat in the dark waiting. She smiled that obligatory smile which stood for agreement.

  ‘How long are you staying for—oh hey…’ he looked up? ‘Here comes dinner—now I can smell it. When the wine comes, let’s toast ourselves.’

  The dinner and the wine arrived together. The bottle was open which meant whether they liked it or not, this would be on the bill.

  Cecelia watched as the wine tumbled out from the bottle and into their glasses. She could do with a drink.

  ‘Cheers,’ he held his glass out to her. ‘I don’t even know your name to propose a toast to you.’

  She smiled, but he was waiting for her to supply that name. It was tempting to give him her real name, but that was banned for now.

  ‘You tell me what your name is first.’

  ‘Okay, why don’t you tell me what you think it should be, what sort of person I look like.’

  Was this a game? She wasn’t sure, but it could be fun.

  ‘Okay,’ she said eyeing him closely and noting his features. ‘You look like a Peter.’

  ‘My God, how did you do that?’

  ‘Is that your name?’

  ‘Yes, how did you do that? Did you go and peek at the register? I can’t believe it. Most people never guess my name. I’ve been told that I look like a John and even a Gareth, but you’ve seen right through me, it’s taken my breath away.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she shook her head. She was as incredulous as he was to have it guessed correctly.

  ‘Okay, and now it’s your
turn. You must tell me what your name is. It’s only fair, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Clara.’

  ‘Oh, I knew a Clara once, very attractive, rather like you.’

  He knew how to make her smile; she was warming to him.

  ‘So, tell me, Clara, what are you doing here—work or play?’

  One of these questions which wouldn’t receive any truthful answer.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she reflected his question.

  He smiled, he understood. ‘Well, I would like to say play, but it’s quite the opposite. Anyhow, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself while I work. And now, what about you?’

  ‘Me,’ she smiled gently. ‘It’s neither work nor play, it’s a duty. One of my uncles is dying and I am there for the family.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry, now I understand why you want to be quiet. Which uncle is it?’

  A spontaneous question which again, one she wasn’t ready with an answer for.

  ‘On my mother’s side.’

  ‘And you knew him well?’ he was cutting into the chicken, his ears cocked while he listened.

  She watched as he popped the piece of chicken into his mouth and began chewing seeing the movements of mastication, but still, he was waiting for an answer.

  ‘Not really, well yes I did when I was very young, but I don’t remember him very well except that he was kind to me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s interesting. Why didn’t he take you in when you lost your mother?’

  She had to think fast.

  ‘Well, I suppose he would have done if he was married.’

  ‘So, did he marry later?’

  He was beating her with questions making her struggle to find false answers.

  ‘You know, life isn’t as simple as that. It was when I was sixteen that my uncle got married, and by then I was too old to be taken in by him.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  A piece of roast potato went into his mouth, he was still waiting for her to answer. She was becoming angry.

  ‘Does it matter to you what his name is? He’s dying, after all, it doesn’t matter, does it?’

  ‘You’re right.’ He piled some Brussels on to his fork. ‘I can be bloody nosy sometimes. I’m told this is a fault. But really, I don’t mean any harm. I’m on my own most of the time. It’s my job. You become like your job, don’t you? What job do you do?’

  ‘My job has given me three weeks off as a vacation.’

  ‘Well that was decent of them, I suppose. Are you a schoolteacher?’

  ‘No, what makes you think that?’

  ‘It’s the way you look, quiet, keeping yourself to yourself. You have the look of a teacher, intelligent. Yeah, I would bet my life that you are a teacher. Are you?’

  ‘No,’ her answer was tight and smart. ‘I work for the government.’

  ‘Wow, I’m impressed—are you in enforcement, a police officer? I bet you’re someone important.’

  ‘Not really, I just work in an office dealing with people’s cases, I’ve had to sign a non-disclosure agreement.’

  ‘Oh really,’ his fork was into another piece of chicken. ‘So, that means you are a tax worker.’

  How did it mean that? She was staring at a roast potato that had been lined up for his mouth.

  ‘You should start eating, I’m far ahead of you.’

  He was right, she hadn’t touched her dinner at all. But when she looked at her piece of chicken laid there shaped so smooth, the shadows of memory interposed and replaced one for another. The twisted torn off leg from the baby had been placed on her plate.

  ‘What is it? Are you okay?’ he had heard her retch.

  She had turned white. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, you don’t say sorry to me. Are you ill?’

  ‘A bit of a squeamish stomach. It’s been an awful day. And this dinner…’

  ‘I can understand, but you must have something to eat. What about trying the apple pie? Pass me your plate. Eat what you can eat, you can have mine as well if you like?’

  He took her plate and poured her dinner on top of his own. There fell the leg on to his plate, cleared of blood and cooked and ready for eating.

  We eat each other in one form or another. Our falling bodies are food for the future.

  He had called for Cecelia’s pie, and while he continued to eat, she watched, unable to stop her eyes wanting to see what he did with the chicken.

  That baby is dead and must be forgotten. He did not know life. The death of a third child.

  He ate as if he had never eaten before; his appetite was not suppressed for anything. She wished she could be more like him and live her own life without being influenced by others on what they thought or felt.

  A sip of wine might help her relax and provoke her stomach to eat.

  6

  The morning came still without a plan on what she should do. The image of Angelina was in her eyes when she awoke. Her angel-like features watched Cecelia with the expressive eyes of wonder of what Cecelia was about to do.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cecelia said climbing out of her bed and going to the bathroom.

  There was a whole day ahead of her which were already making tracks in her diffidence, and then she thought of Peter and what he might be doing.

  As she dressed, she judged his ghost with curiosity. He was the type of person who didn’t care about anything, he just got on with his life. A thoughtful pilgrim with many opinions about others, she was interested in him. The wandering minstrel of life and happy to be who he was, nothing got in his way or pulled him back. How lucky he was to have this disposition.

  It would have been nice to spend more time in his company listening to him talking about himself. He had a lot to say about himself because he was vain, there wasn’t any doubt about that. Nothing appeared to affect him, he just got on with his life, maybe because he didn’t care.

  While the shower water tumbled down bouncing off her skin, Cecelia drew up his image to play with. Was he, she paused to collect the soap which had slipped down to her drenched feet, interested in her? Did he find her attractive? A sigh. Probably not. Was she interested in him? She found herself curious about him.

  Like a honeybee, in her thoughts she couldn’t leave him alone. He was fascinating, irresistible. Where had he come from? He was not the sort of guy that would inhabit a joint like a bed-and-breakfast. She filled her mind with him because it was preferable to thinking about Angelina and the clinic.

  When he hadn’t told her what he did in life, she was peeved and decided to get her answer. Tit for tat, it was only fair, she told him last night.

  ‘You could say I’m a bit like you,’ he smiled before plunging another roast potato into his mouth. When he grinned, he had a swollen bump in his cheek like an abscess. This endeared him to her, it made him more human.

  ‘I didn’t realize how hungry I was,’ and then he smiled now that his mouth had relaxed. ‘I’m a contractor, I’m called in when the accounts don’t add up. It’s me who has to find the missing link and sort out the mess up when things start to go wrong.’

  ‘So, you’re not a salesman?’

  He laughed; he was astonished. ‘No, although I was once into life insurance, I insured people’s lives against their properties,’ he had noted the disparaging expression on her face. ‘Well, someone’s got to do it. I was paid well for it—in fact, very well, and I enjoyed it. But like you know, when you are good at something, your bosses want to promote you. And so, here I am. I don’t mind this job. I’m very good at it as well, and I get paid even more.’

  ‘So, what about your wife? Doesn’t she mind you being away all the time?’ she had dared to ask him this, the memory made her blush.

  ‘What wife? I don’t have a wife. A man doesn’t have a wife in this business. It’s not fair on her.’

  ‘But perhaps it would be fair if she traveled with you.’

  His eyes said it all. He looked up and stared her straight in the eye. Was she pr
oposing?

  Yes, in all respects it appeared she was. The raw embarrassment of desire made her blush and lower her eyes.

  Oh, gosh, did she like him? Yes, she did. Was she going to embarrass herself? Hadn’t she sworn she wouldn’t get involved with men again especially after that time ten years ago? Don’t go into that anymore. It would pull her apart if she remembered and analyzed it. Everyone makes fools of themselves. It’s in the act of forgiving oneself that tests the will to go on. This is the secret she should keep to herself, forever.

  But what was she going to do today? You are nobody if you don’t do something with this special gift called life particularly when you’re given knowledge. Enlightenment is a gift, but this bounty always comes with a price tag.

  Being anonymous was perfect, it meant that she could do whatever she liked, do something dangerous and then disappear. Life is dangerous, whatever one does there will be a penalty for it. Fortunately, she had always kept a low profile which was advantageous. She would go to the clinic and begin some real undercover journalism.

  Nearly every month, a letter from her bank came offering her more money to borrow. I do not borrow money Cecelia said every time she opened these letters, but now without any real finances to her name, it seemed like a good time to begin. She couldn’t do anything without money, this was one of those accepted truisms.

  To be the part, one must look it. She would buy herself some smart new clothes just like Angelina had, and they didn’t have to be too expensive. This was exciting. Change the person she was into someone she could live with. Get rid of that old and embarrassing self, for now, she could be whoever she wanted.

  Ten years ago, she hadn’t known what to do with her life when the police force wouldn’t take her. Hang on, what had made Peter believe she worked for the police? Was it a lucky guess, did she look like a cop? Another thought to be shrugged off.

  Anyhow, being rejected and after a month of severe depression, her thoughts turned to nursing. She would help those people who needed caring for. But such a big step made her wonder if this was the right course for her in life. It was a profession she often thought about taking, believing it to be an honorable one. Yet in the long haul, she couldn’t see herself as being devoted to the sick. But a compromise like becoming a nursing auxiliary would give her a look into the world. It surprised Cecelia to find out that even with this, she needed training.