Hector waited impatiently for Christian’s bedtime, but it came much later than he expected, or thought good for the child. He found himself fidgeting with impatience, and unable to think of anything remotely intelligent to say. Zillah appeared unsettingly calm and relaxed. Hector drank several glasses of whisky and covertly inspected his watch from time to time.
Even after Christian had been read to, and finally settled, Zillah insisted on waiting for an hour to be sure that he was asleep, before stuffing a large red sock with the few presents she had brought with her plus the extra ones proferred by Hector, and creeping in to hang it from the end of his bed.
‘Right,’ she said, coming back into the sitting room at last. ‘Well that’s that. I’m about ready for bed myself. How about you?’
Now that the time had actually arrived for Hector’s great performance, he was dismayed to find himself nonplussed. He’d been keenly anticipating a friendly contest. No, more than that, he had looked forward to making a conquest; gaining ascendancy over Zillah through sheer force of character and animal magnetism. He’d planned to overcome her understandable resistance by his own subtle but powerful techniques, which slowly but inevitably would open the floodgates to all her pent-up passions… But when they both got into his bedroom and had safely locked the door, she just stripped off all her clothes and climbed matter-of-factly into his bed (as though she were doing a routine job… the notion leapt into Hector’s mind with a horrible clarity, and temporarily paralysed him), and he discovered that he was not only deeply confused, but much worse; not even particularly lustful.
Oh God! he thought. There has to be a first time for everything. What if I can’t get it up?
Zillah yawned widely and reached for the bedside light. ‘Hurry up,’ she said, ‘I’m knackered. D’you want to do it with the light on or off?’
Jess’s parents were on a cruise this year, so she had arranged to spend most of Christmas day with Caroline. They sipped celebratory glasses of champagne and orange juice for elevenses, and Jess felt pleasantly tipsy almost at once. Caroline had given her a present for her flat; a large green earthenware bowl, perfect for fruit, wrapped in scarlet tissue paper. In turn, Jess had given her an enlargement of one of her own photographs of the Levels in winter, which Caroline had previously admired. She had had it properly framed and, as she glanced at it now, propped against the sofa, it didn’t look bad.
‘It’s good,’ Caroline said. ‘How clever you are. Now why don’t we drink up and go out for a nice healthy walk by the sea? I thought we’d eat properly this evening. Vivian may turn up then too. Hope that’s all right with you?’
‘Sounds lovely’
Most of the rubble and detritus from the recent storms had been cleared away from the sea front, but parts of the wall were missing and there were several areas where the surface tarmac had been stripped off, revealing its underlying hardcore. Jess noticed that a few of the more vulnerable hotels still had sandbags piled across their entrances, just in case. The beach was deserted but for the odd gull, and the sea had withdrawn far out beyond the sand and further still, behind wide expanses of smooth grey mud, so that the breakers were visible only as a thin white line in the distance. All the donkey droppings and the trippers litter of the summer had long since been scoured out by the winter tides, and the sand was hard and clean as they walked side by side along it. A fresh wind made Jess’s eyes water and bleared her vision, so she was obliged to to take off her glasses and hunt for a tissue. She looked about her myopically at this newly Impressionistic seascape, and smiled.
‘What?’ Caroline asked.
‘I was just thinking that this would be a great place for a hero on a white charger – lots of galloping space. And I wouldn’t be able to see him properly until the very last minute, without my specs, so it would be just like the man in black on the camel in the heat haze in Lawrence of Arabia, only colder.’
‘Unlike real life, where you’d see him coming a mile away, and take cover sharpish,’ Caroline said.
‘Don’t be so boringly rational,’ Jess admonished her. ‘Let yourself go a little.’
‘Can’t,’ Caroline said briskly, ‘or I might never get back.’
‘Don’t you dream about the future at all?’
‘Not really. Too busy coping with the present.’
‘D’you think you’ll ever get married?’
‘Shouldn’t think so.’
‘I hope I will, one day,’ Jess said, polishing the lenses of her glasses and holding them up to the light for inspection. ‘I used to think I’d like at least four children; two of each, but now I’m not so sure
Caroline smiled ruefully. ‘I feel very ambivalent about children,’ she confessed.
‘I thought you were dead against the whole idea?’
‘Not really. I seem to swing wildly from one extreme to the other. I’ve been feeling rather broody lately to be honest, but I expect it will pass.’
‘Isn’t it usually more specific than that?’ Jess asked. ‘I mean, isn’t it usually all bound up with one man who is special to you, so you want his children, rather than kids in general?’
‘Not in my case,’ Caroline said. ‘But perhaps I’ve never met anyone that special.’
‘Haven’t you?’
‘Well, have you?’
Jess reddened. ‘Probably not,’ she said.
Caroline gave her a long look and then, ‘Let’s run,’ she suggested. ‘We need the exercise before we stuff ourselves with calories this evening. Race you to that bit of old driftwood over there!’
‘Where?’
But Caroline had already set off, and called over her shoulder in friendly mockery, ‘Get your specs back on! You can’t miss it.’ She pointed. ‘See? Just in front of that magic white stallion.’
When they eventually got back to Caroline’s flat, puffed and laughing, they took it in turns to use the shower. Then Caroline sat Jess down in front of the fire with a drink, and busied herself in the kitchen.
‘What can I do?’ Jess called.
‘It’s all right. Everything’s under control.’
‘But I ought to help with something.’
‘Why? Stay put. I’m not good at being helped.’
Marvellous, Jess thought, relaxing. What luxury!
Vivian, when he arrived, seemed not at all put out on finding her there too. After greeting his hostess, he stooped and picked up Jess’s present from its position propped against the sofa. He held it by the frame at arm’s length and narrowed his eyes as he examined it.
‘This one of yours?’ he asked her.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s very good indeed. Ever thought of going freelance?’
On Christmas morning at twelve noon, Wendy discovered that she was unable to park by Hector’s as there was a large articulated lorry manoeuvring right outside it. It was about to block his drive, Wendy noticed and thought, Hector won’t be pleased about that. Oh dear, I wonder what he’ll say when he sees me? She got out of her car and walked towards her destination, worrying all the way.
Perhaps it’s the wrong time to come? Perhaps I shouldn’t have come at all? Perhaps I should just have phoned? Perhaps he’s in the middle of cooking lunch? No, I just had to come; I couldn’t stand not knowing… But what if he doesn’t celebrate Christmas? Or what if he’s gone away? Or what if he’s regretting the whole thing? Perhaps I was a disappointment to him? Perhaps it was only a one-night stand… Oh…
As Wendy crossed the road and wavered in painful indecision beside Hector’s front gate, a large unshaven young man with red hair jumped casually down from the cab of the lorry and came round it on to the pavement beside her.
‘This number 42?’ he asked her.
‘Yes it is. I was just going in there myself, actually.’
‘Oh, right. You must be Mrs Mudgeley then?’
Wendy blushed scarlet with pleasure. ‘Oh…! Well not yet, no, I’m Wendy…’
‘Pleased to meet you. Name’
s Clive. It was right nice of you to take us in, like, specially at Christmas. Really appreciate it. Didn’t think I was going to make it back through the tunnel in time; got the last train by a whisker, so here I am.’ He rang the front doorbell. ‘God, what a state my house is in though; mud every-bloody-where! Good thing I saw Zillah’s note up the village hall or I’d never have found…’
‘Dad!’
The door had opened and a young boy had rushed out and flung himself at the man beside Wendy. Totally confused, she looked wildly around, checking she was at the right house. ‘But… What…?’ was all she managed to say. Then a young woman with long dark hair came out as well and joined in the welcome, kissing the red-haired man and pretending to complain about his bristly chin.
‘What’s going on?’ It was Hector’s voice. Wendy turned in relief and saw him standing in the doorway, awkward in a striped apron and with an oven glove over one hand. He looked harassed, surprised and annoyed all at the same time. ‘Zillah – Who’s this? And Wendy – what on earth are you doing here? And do you two know each…? He gave up.
The young woman with the peculiar name (who looked distinctly hippy) laughed, and taking the lorry driver by the hand, presented him to her host.
‘This is Clive, Hector; Christian’s dad, you know? Isn’t it great he’s made it back for Christmas? I never thought he would. Perfect timing, eh?’ Wendy saw Hector looking anything but impressed.
‘It’s a gift.’ Clive said modestly.
‘And who have we here then?’ Zillah asked, turning to Wendy with an incurious smile. ‘You’re not a friend of Clive’s?’
‘No!’ Wendy said, rather too vehemently. ‘I’m Wendy. I’m…’
She was about to explain her romantic connection with Hector, when Hector himself hurriedly interjected, ‘Oh I’ve told you all about Wendy, Zillah, don’t you remember? She’s my home decorating expert.’
Chapter 7
Hector had assumed that when Zillah came to stay, she would automatically take over the cooking for the three of them. But to save her from having to buckle down to it immediately on their first night, he had got a take-away. Then he had sat back, congratulating himself on his consideration and forethought. He had, after all, gone and done a large amount of shopping, buying all sorts of delicacies from Marks & Spencer, and getting a last minute goose at a bargain price. He had definitely made a big effort. He reckoned it would keep them going until the shops opened again, when he would press crisp tenners into Zillah’s long, strong fingers, and give her carte blanche to select anything she fancied to feed them through the New Year. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them might be staying. Zillah had told him that her landlord had promised to get her house cleaned and dried out and some of the furniture and carpets replaced, but that it would take time. As far as Hector was concerned, the longer the better. He would never get tired of looking at her.
On that first night together after an unpromising start, he had lain in bed beside the now sleeping Zillah and assessed the situation so far. Things hadn’t gone entirely to plan. He had (thank God!) managed to make love to her; old habits swiftly reasserting themselves at the touch of her hot acquiescent skin. She had even flattered him afterwards by sounding surprised, even if it had been a bit of a backhanded compliment.
‘You’re not bad in the sack, are you?’ she said. ‘Good-looking men are usually appallingly selfish in my experience.’
I wonder, Hector thought, eyes wide to the dark of the room, how many men she’s actually had? And did she take the initiative with them as well? Maybe I’m too conservative; out of touch? Perhaps the young feel able to dispense with the conventional hypocrisy of pursuit and conquest, with the man always taking the lead? It’s far more honest and straightforward after all, just to see what you want and go for it. I ought to be pleased that she jumped straight into my bed without any pretence at playing hard-to-get. She obviously fancies me, and why not? He turned over on his side, still thinking. He had wanted some sport, but he wasn’t so inflexible that he couldn’t adapt his aims and pleasures accordingly, was he? After all, he shouldn’t have expected her to be predictable; she was far too exciting for that. Comforted, he fell asleep.
In the morning he was woken at some God-forsaken hour by Zillah digging him in the ribs.
‘Wha…?’ he said, coming to with difficulty.
‘Hurry up,’ Zillah said urgently. ‘It’s gone five o’clock and Christian always wakes up early on Christmas day.’
‘Sorry. What?’
‘You’d better go and pretend you’ve been sleeping on the sofa, under that old blanket. That is what it’s for, isn’t it?’
‘Oh… well, yes.’
‘Go on then. I don’t want Christian to find us together.’
Hector dragged. himself sleepily upright and put on his dressing-gown and slippers. Then he gathered his pillow to his chest and tip-toed as quietly as possible to the living room. The sofa was cold. The blanket was thin. It was all a little unconvincing, Hector thought grumpily. He settled himself down as best he could, and tried to get back to sleep again. When it’s really morning, he thought hopefully, maybe she’ll bring me a cup of tea?
Zillah woke again at six o’clock when Christian came in and slid into bed beside her, putting his two cold feet on to her warm calves.
‘Aaaah! You’re freezing! Been awake long?’
‘Six and a half minutes; just as long as it takes to open a stocking.’
‘Was it all right?’
‘Great!’
‘Happy Christmas then.’ She put her arms around him and held him close.
‘Happy Christmas Mum.’
‘Sleep well?’
‘Yeah. How long do we have to stay here?’
‘Why? Don’t you like it?’
‘I thought he’d have a big house and a huge garden and peacocks and stuff. I thought you said he was rich?’
‘Mmmm. Well maybe I was wrong. Don’t worry darling, we’ll be home again as soon as we can be.’
‘D’you think he’ll lend me some of his books?’
‘He might.’
‘And will he give us presents?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Have we got anything for him?’
‘Oh I’ve already given him his.’ ‘What was it?’
‘I think you could call it payment in kind.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, it’s much too boring to explain.’ Zillah yawned.
‘You mean you’re not going to tell me?’
‘That’s about it.’ She yawned again.
Christian sighed. ‘So, are we going to get up then?’
‘Not for a while. He might bring us breakfast in bed, if we’re lucky.’
At eight thirty Zillah heard Hector running water in the bathroom, but by nine o’clock, when not even tea had appeared, she got up and went into the kitchen. Hector was sitting at the table in a plaid dressing-gown and carpet slippers, nursing a full mug between his palms. He leapt to his feet, smiling a welcome.
‘Good morning, and a happy Christmas to you! I would have brought you tea, but thought you might welcome a bit of a lie-in. Now then, how about a spot of grub? What do you normally cook for breakfast?’
‘Me?’
‘Well, I’m sure you’re far more experienced in these matters than I am.’
‘Nice try,’ Zillah said firmly, ‘but doing the cooking is definitely not part of our deal, you know.’
From then on, it became an unspoken contest as to who could manipulate whom most effectively on the catering front.
Zillah knew she had the advantage; she was not aiming to impress anyone. She and Christian both opted for cereals for breakfast and watched with mild curiosity as Hector cooked himself a hard-boiled egg.
‘I like the white hard and the yolk runny,’ Christian observed.
‘So do I,’ Hector agreed mournfully, adding a lump of butter to the pale yellow lump in the egg cup in front of him, in an a
ttempt to soften it.
Afterwards he produced presents, wrapped in fancy paper with stuck-on rosettes of shiny ribbon. Zillah had to admit to herself that the man really was trying. She even felt touched. Christian opened his first and was clearly delighted with them. He set them out on the table in front of him; a jar of sweets, a book token, and a compact camera with two films and a carrying case.
He beamed at Hector. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘They’re excellent.’ Then he opened the camera and began putting the first film in straight away.
‘I wasn’t sure what sort of thing you read,’ Hector explained. ‘So I thought you could choose a book yourself.’
‘It’s very kind of you, Hector,’ Zillah said, pleased.
‘It’s a pleasure. Go on, open yours.’
Zillah found that he had given her a large bottle of Givenchy perfume, some chocolate truffles and a multi-coloured silk scarf. She leant across the kitchen table and kissed his cheek.
‘You’re very generous,’ she said, ‘thank you.’
Hector, flushed with pleasure, got up and went over to a shelf where a few dusty cookery books were stacked. He selected one and brought it back to the table, smiling. ‘I seem to remember,’ he said, ‘that if one wants any sort of a Christmas lunch, then one has to spend the whole morning cooking it. I’ve got us a goose, you see, and I’m not sure how long they take.’
‘No more golden eggs then…?’ Zillah said, sotto voce.
‘Eh?… So I thought I’d better look up how long to cook it for.’
‘Good idea.’
‘You haven’t ever done one?’
‘Never.’
‘Pity.’
Zillah knew that if she were patient, Hector would be the first to crack. He was. Over the next few hours he put on a butcher’s striped pinny, lit the oven, and muttered a lot to himself. Zillah volunteered to wash and cut up vegetables. Christian took photographs of her doing it, and some of Hector stuffing the goose with sage and onion, oblivious to the large greasy mark on his forehead, where he’d forgotten and wiped it with the back of his hand. Then, whilst transferring the bird on to the roasting rack, Hector stumbled, and dropped it on to the kitchen floor with a dull thud. Christian took another picture. This was Zillah’s cue to step forward authoritatively and say, ‘Here, let me,’ but she was far too clever to be caught like that. She’d seen controlled incompetence before, and she wasn’t fooled by it.
The Would-Begetter Page 8