An Enormous Yes

by Wendy Perriam

  Although she’d had to use Amy’s landline for the calls, fortunately her daughter hadn’t heard them. She had no desire to explain the loss of the bag, since it would only highlight the dissension between her and Silas, which she had deliberately played down, concentrating mainly on his illness as the reason for his negative response. Even so, her daughter had reacted badly and, once she had kissed her goodnight and trailed up to her flat, she’d sat staring through the darkened window, brooding on the losses: Amy’s loss of a father; Chloe’s loss of a child, and her own much smaller loss of what nevertheless seemed vital possessions.

  She shifted in her seat, wishing she still believed in saints like Jude and Anthony, the patron saints respectively of hopeless cases and of finding mislaid objects, who had helped her as a schoolgirl if she lost her purse or broke up with a friend. These days, however, her faith was gossamer-frail and a month ago she had actually missed Easter Sunday Mass – a heinous sin in Hanna’s eyes. And, as for her sex with Felix, her mother would be deeply shocked to think that the daughter she had raised to be devout and chaste could ever have sunk so low.

  A heavily pregnant African woman, just summoned by the nurse, was trying to squeeze past her in the row. Maria gave her a distracted smile before returning to thoughts of Felix, which only prompted yet more worry. She was due to accompany him to Cornwall in just a fortnight’s time, yet how could she disappear for three whole nights without explaining to Amy and Hugo where she would be? On the other hand, it seemed unwise and tactless to mention another man when her daughter was still shaken by the Silas debacle.

  She was so absorbed in the dilemma, she jumped when her daughter touched her on the arm.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize you were back. How did you get on?’

  ‘Well, they want me to take iron for the anaemia – just a basic supplement, they said, from somewhere like Superdrug.’

  ‘And the blood pressure?’ Maria prompted, aware of the risk of pre-eclampsia, more common in first pregnancies and in older mothers.

  ‘It’s not high enough to warrant medication, so the doctor said. They’ll just check it more often and also do more frequent urine tests.’

  ‘But surely he told you to rest?’

  ‘Well, yes, he did. And he also recommended a few nice, gentle walks in the fresh air – you know, to get some exercise. In fact, it’s such a glorious day, let’s not have lunch inside. Why don’t we buy some stuff from that snack bar outside the hospital and picnic in Brompton Cemetery?’

  ‘Picnic where?’

  Amy laughed. ‘Don’t worry – I haven’t developed a death-wish! It’s actually more like a park, big and quiet and peaceful, with lovely old trees and squirrels darting about.’

  Maria glanced at her watch. ‘But how do we get there? Don’t you have to be back in the office by two?’

  ‘Oh, it’s only a short walk from here, so I’ll be getting my fresh air and gentle exercise, and we can even rest while we sit and eat our sandwiches, so what better way to obey Dr Wainwright’s orders!’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re in London!’ Maria exclaimed, as she surveyed the vista stretching far ahead: a variety of trees – beech, larch, horse chestnut, sycamore – spreading their welcome shade across the path. On either side, a tangled undergrowth of brambles, ferns, nettles and convolvulus all but choked the ancient gravestones. ‘There’s not a soul around, so it’s like a real oasis. Most cemeteries are boringly neat, but this one seems to have gone its own sweet way. And look – butterflies!’ She watched two meadow-browns flit across the cow-parsley, then slowly come to rest on the powdery white flower-heads.

  ‘The only thing that spoils it is the planes.’ Amy winced as yet another jet droned over. ‘But if you tune those out …’

  Maria stopped to study a carving on one of the tombstones. ‘You know, I do miss Mama an awful lot. And this place reminds me I haven’t visited her grave for – let’s see – nearly four months. I must go back to the cottage soon and sort out things up there. And I’ll need to order a headstone. Obviously, it’ll take a while to erect, but, once it’s done, perhaps we could have a little ceremony – all go up north together and lay a wreath or a bouquet of gorgeous flowers.’

  ‘Good idea – except knowing Grandma’s views on extravagance, she’d probably prefer a bunch of dandelions!’

  Maria’s thoughts returned to Felix: his dislike of her own obsession with economy. Yet economy was built into her DNA, as well as into her mother’s and her grandmother’s. However, she deliberately dropped the subject, not wanting to seem critical of Amy’s spendthrift ways, or how they contrasted with her ancestors’ frugality.

  They wandered on, arm in arm, until they spotted a bench sheltered from the sun that seemed ideal for their picnic. Maria unwrapped the sandwiches and spread her handkerchief – a large but flimsy one of Hanna’s – across Amy’s pristine skirt. They both ate in silence for a while, Amy nibbling at the food in a half-hearted sort of manner. Maria guessed that she was tired, not only from the anaemia but because the baby’s lively movements probably disturbed her sleep at night.

  ‘By the way, Mum,’ Amy said, throwing a crust for the pigeons, which were now flocking round their feet, ‘the midwife said I should be thinking about my birth-plan, but I’m confused by all the options. What did you do, when you had me?’

  ‘There were no such things as birth-plans then. You just lay on your back and did what you were told!’ She forbore to mention how completely unprepared she’d been for the extremes of pain and ensuing waves of panic that had rollercoastered through her body, along with the contractions, or with the added stress of being left alone for such long and frightening periods. Her mother had been banished and, since the hospital was understaffed, her screams and writhings went largely unobserved. In the end, she had lost control entirely and become near-hysterical, until the strict, censorious matron shamed her into silence.

  ‘To tell the truth, I rather envy you your choices, Amy – birthing-pools and birthing-balls and being allowed to walk around and even listen to music.’ And, she didn’t add, a loving, supportive husband permitted to be present and expected to play an active part throughout. ‘And all those new developments in pain relief.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s still hard to make up your mind. I mean, I’m tempted to go for an epidural, but apparently they can slow your labour down, or give you a raging headache, or leave you with backache afterwards, and I certainly don’t fancy any of that. Still—’ She shrugged ‘—let’s not discuss it now. I need a break from all the baby stuff.’ She fed her last crust to a squirrel, tame enough to take it from her hand.

  ‘Hey, remember that picnic Grandma brought for my Cambridge graduation, when I’d already booked a restaurant? I don’t think she ever forgave me for spurning her home-made pasties and cheese scones. But after your long journey, they were decidedly the worse for wear.’

  ‘She was so excited, though. We were both just bursting with pride. No one we knew had ever got into Oxbridge, let alone won a scholarship. I don’t know where you got the genes from.’

  ‘Silas?’ Amy suggested, reaching for an apple.

  Maria didn’t contradict her. Having always stressed Silas’s intellectual gifts, she had no intention of denying them now. All at once, she rummaged in the carrier she was using as a handbag, removed a small brown envelope and withdrew from it a photograph – an old black-and-white one, crisscrossed with strips of yellowed Sellotape. ‘Amy, there’s something I want to show you, but I’m not sure if I should or not. I mean, it might upset you, which I’d hate.’

  ‘What is it, for heaven’s sake?’

  Still Maria hesitated, before finally blurting out, ‘The only photo of Silas I possess.’

  ‘But you always said you didn’t have any,’ Amy said, indignantly.

  ‘I know. I’m really sorry. But I didn’t feel I could share it with you because I’d … I’d ripped it into pieces – you know, after he and I went our separate ways. But I’d b
arely finished tearing it up when I realized how precious it was, so I rescued it from the waste-bin and stuck it up again.’

  Maria was still holding it, face down, on her lap, but Amy leaned across and took it. As she stared in silence at the handsome profile, the long dark hair and blazingly black eyes, she suddenly burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I should have kept it private. I’ve been agonizing for ages about what was best to do, but when you said last night that now you’d never know what your father even looked like, I decided—’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum,’ Amy sobbed. ‘It’s just that he seems so … so special and I can’t bear the thought of never having met him.’

  Maria’s guilt was so great there was nothing she could say. It was her fault Amy had no father, her fault Silas had refused to see his daughter, and the fractured state of the photo seemed to symbolize the relationship itself.

  ‘It’s worse for you, though,’ Amy said, wiping her eyes on the handkerchief. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage being pregnant without Hugo around to help – let alone through all the years to come of being parents – yet you did it on your own.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t, Amy. Grandma was there from day one. And, considering what a strict Catholic she was, it’s a wonder she didn’t show me the door. You can’t imagine just how shameful it was to have a baby out of wedlock. One girl I knew miscarried and her family said it was the best thing that could have happened.’

  ‘OK, give Grandma her due but, whatever you say, a mother’s not the same as a husband. And, anyway, to have to lose a man like this …’ Amy was still gazing at Silas’s proud, alluring face. ‘He looks every inch the poet.’

  Again, Maria failed to correct her. Some untruths were merciful.

  ‘Oh, I realize he was about to go abroad and couldn’t cope with a marriage and child, but even so …’ Amy retrieved her apple, as yet uneaten. ‘I just hope he didn’t leave you penniless.’

  ‘No,’ Maria lied. She had often wondered, since that time, if she should have taken a much tougher line. After all, he expected her to go through with an abortion, so shouldn’t he have tried a little harder to raise the wherewithal to pay for it? That cash would have helped her mother with the expense of an out-of-work daughter and of a newborn baby without a cot or pram to its name. But to take money under false pretences would have been a truly serious sin, resulting in an avalanche of guilt. Besides, she was so far from being tough back then, the question was purely academic.

  ‘Can I keep the photo, Mum?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Extraordinary that she should feel a pang at parting with it, yet, in light of her visit to Lewisham, this tiny, mutilated snapshot seemed the only remaining evidence that she had once loved a handsome poet, once been muse and mistress to a man of genius.

  ‘And we’d better make a move. It’s half past one already, but if we walk on to the Old Brompton Road, I can take a taxi back to the office and drop you off first at home.’

  ‘No, I’m coming with you, right to the door of your office. This morning’s been quite stressful for you, so you need your mum to hold your hand, OK?’

  ‘OK. And listen, Mum – thanks for everything, including having had me in the first place. That took courage, I bet.’

  Yes, she thought, gigantic courage.

  ‘Goodbye, darling. Try not to stay too late.’

  With a final wave, Amy shut her office door, leaving Maria to retrace her steps, back along the corridor, hung with expensive modern art. Then she took the mirrored lift again, down to the spacious reception area. She had been here only once before and had felt much the same unease at being in so daunting a place, with its marble floor, steel-and-glass coffee table and weirdly angled ultra-modern chairs. And no wonder Amy had to dress so well, when even the receptionist resembled a fashion model. She slunk past the snooty female, trying to make herself invisible. No one old or shabby or down-at-heel should surely be admitted to MacKendrick, Lowe and Partners.

  As she walked briskly back to the house, her mind was still preoccupied with the problem of her handbag. She desperately needed money yet couldn’t withdraw it without a bank card. Even getting back from Lewisham had proved something of an ordeal. She’d had to plead with the ticket collector to let her through without her travel pass, and repeat the exercise at Charing Cross. In fact, that second time, she’d actually broken down in tears before the chap relented. Mercifully, she always kept a spare £10 note in her flat, so now she had a small reserve of cash, but after today’s expenses that was already down to a mere £4.35. Should she return to Silas’s flat this very minute and ring his bell so loud and long he’d be forced to open up from sheer annoyance? No, that would only alienate him more.

  Once home, she walked miserably up to her flat, although the sight of her mini-studio did lift her spirits slightly. A battered junk-shop trolley now held her art supplies – most of them gifts from Felix. She had graded the brushes by size in a row of empty jam-jars and arranged the tubes of paint side by side in an old cigar-box, while her bottles of solvent and varnish stood on the shelf above. She relished the fact that the place now looked professional and even smelled the same as Felix’s studio. Poor pregnant Amy found the smells abhorrent, but to her they were consoling.

  She picked up the finest sable brush, recalling the exquisite sensations when he had touched its tip against her nipples, then stroked her bush with the bristles of a badger-brush. Tomorrow, they would be making love again, immediately after the class – Felix had an engagement in the later afternoon. But, however pushed for time he was, maybe they could spend five or ten minutes, at least, working out a way to retrieve her missing bag.

  Unable to settle to any painting, she went downstairs again, having decided to do some ironing for her daughter. It was pathetic to think that a few nicely ironed blouses or tea towels could compensate for Amy’s lack of a father; nonetheless, she felt the need to make some tiny gesture.

  As she was setting up the ironing board, the phone extension in the kitchen rang. She was about to let it click through to the answerphone, as Amy and Hugo preferred, when, suddenly, she heard Silas’s voice, leaving a garbled message.

  Racing over, she snatched up the receiver. ‘Silas, I’m here! Don’t ring off, I beg you. I must collect my bag. I’m completely lost without it.’

  ‘Calm down – your bag’s quite safe. In fact, I’m glad you left it behind, because otherwise I wouldn’t have found your phone number and I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Well, shall I come and fetch it right away, then we can talk in person?’

  ‘Look, forget the bag for a moment. What I’ve rung to say is that I’m sorry if I overreacted yesterday.’

  Sorry? Could she be hearing right? Silas had never apologized for anything in all the years she had known him.

  ‘But what you don’t understand is that Wednesday was a truly dreadful day for me. In fact, you couldn’t have chosen a worse time to come. You see, when I got up that morning, I discovered a lump in my groin and immediately assumed the worst.’

  ‘Oh, Silas, how ghastly! But why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Well, however crazy it may sound, I felt that if I spelled out my fears to you, I’d make them a reality. And one part of me was still clinging to the hope that it might not be a tumour. All the same, I worked myself into such a state, I finally took to my bed, which is why, when you rang my bell, I didn’t answer straightaway. Anyway, this morning I saw my GP and he told me the lump was a hernia and therefore totally benign. It will have to be repaired, he said, but there’s no urgency about the operation and – far more important – no sign of the cancer returning. I was so relieved, I was able to eat, the first time since Tuesday evening.’

  ‘That’s really good news, Silas. In fact, if I came round now, we could have a drink to celebrate.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I’m due for an eye test in an hour. Anyway, I haven’t finished yet, so will you listen, please? While I was sitting ove
r lunch just now, I got to thinking that maybe I’d been too harsh – not just yesterday, but when you were pregnant, all those years ago. And it struck me, all of a sudden, that you were the only person who ever really cared.’

  What about Camilla, she wondered, the gorgeous girl who’d supported him and housed him, stuck it out for ten whole years? ‘Well, yes, I did care, Silas, and I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. But about my bag,’ she persisted, as he clearly didn’t realize how inconvenienced she was without it. ‘Could I fetch it after your eye test?’

  ‘Sorry – I’ll be too tired. This last day and a half has been the most god-awful strain and I’m ready to collapse. But how about tomorrow lunchtime?’

  Tomorrow lunchtime was her life class, not to mention the post-class sex, and Felix was annoyed enough with Silas as it was. But perhaps she could go to Lewisham first thing in the morning. No – she had offered to visit Chloe then and would hate to let her down.

  ‘I’m no great shakes at cooking, but I could buy a pizza or something and we could discuss the whole issue of your daughter.’

  ‘You mean you’ve changed your mind?’ she asked, incredulous.

  ‘Let’s put it this way – I have what I hope is a good idea.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me now?’ she pleaded, daring to feel a grain of hope.

  ‘I’d rather explain it face to face, so why don’t you come for lunch tomorrow, as I suggested in the first place? I’ll expect you about half past twelve, OK?’

  He hadn’t lost his former dominance, she noted, yet if there was the slightest chance of Amy meeting her father before it was too late, she couldn’t afford to argue about dates or days or times. So, putting aside all thoughts of life-drawing and love-making, she accepted with a resolute, ‘OK!’