She looked at her watch. It would take half an hour to get to work, so she’d best be starting back now. She had left the Jeep beside one of the many single-track roads that criss-cross the moor and now she drove abstractedly, looking all around out of habit for good subjects to photograph. Soon the ground began to rise gently to one of the many tumps and ridges favoured by the local hamlets and villages, but there were also a few injudiciously-sited cottages along this lower road, only just above the annual inundation level.
Dodgy place to live, she thought, driving past. But they’ve apparently got away with it for decades – until last winter’s freak flood, that is! The first two she passed now looked much the same as usual; dried out, reclaimed, even repainted. But the next one coming up still had jettisoned chairs in its front garden. What a mess!
Jess didn’t see the boy who jumped out into the road in front of her, waving his arms, until the very last minute. What the…? She jammed on her brakes and missed him – just. She wound down the window. ‘What the hell d’you think you’red…’ Then she recognised him. It was the Brakespear woman’s son.
‘It’s my mum,’ he gabbled, clutching the handle of the door and wrenching it open. ‘You’ve got to get help. She’s fallen down and I can’t…’
‘Hey… calm down,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll just pull off the road and then you can show me, OK?’ She parked the Jeep in the gateway, grabbed her mobile phone from the passenger seat and followed Christian up the garden path.
‘So, when did your mum fall, and where?’
‘Down the stairs, just now, over the cat, and she can’t get up and I…’
‘Have you phoned for help?’
‘Can’t. Haven’t got one. That’s why I stopped you.’
‘It’s all right,’ Jess said, patting his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a mobile.’
Zillah was still in a heap at the bottom of the stairs when they got inside. Jess saw with relief that she was pale but conscious.
‘Aren’t you the photographer from the Chronicle?’ Zillah said. ‘Good of you to stop.’
‘I didn’t have much choice,’ Jess said, ‘thanks to your kamikaze son here. So what’s the damage?’
Zillah winced. ‘I think I’ve broken my leg, but I’m more worried about the baby.’
‘Baby?’
‘I’m nearly five months pregnant.’
‘I’ll ring for an ambulance,’ Jess said, pressing buttons on her phone. ‘What’s your address?’
The ambulance crew took forty minutes to arrive and during that time Jess, guessing that she shouldn’t try to move Zillah, made her more comfortable on the floor with cushions, and then ran Christian the short distance to his school.
‘Won’t you be late for work?’ Zillah asked when she got back.
‘It’s OK. I can phone in.’
‘Handy things, those.’
‘Well I’m out and about a lot, so I more or less have to have one to keep in touch,’ Jess said, wondering why she felt she had to make excuses.
‘Clive’s got one in his lorry, but of course he’s never here when he’s needed. You got a man?’
‘No,’ Jess confessed.
‘Very sensible. Ooooh!’
‘What?’
Zillah put both hands flat on her stomach, her worried expression transformed into one of delight. ‘I felt it move! That’s the first time. Can’t be much wrong if it’s kicking, can there?’
‘I’m so glad,’ Jess said, but she was thinking, why is it that the whole damn world seems suddenly to be pregnant?
Hector enjoyed being Acting News Editor, even if it did mean getting to work at eight thirty each morning. This Monday he sat in Nigel’s chair in the long, open-plan Newsroom, running his eyes over the News Diary and relishing the modest amount of power the job afforded him. Behind him on the wall was a board with the date of the paper’s next edition marked in at the top, the names of the two duty reporters under it, and below them the six or so stories currently being worked on, each with the initials of the reporter doing them. In front of him was the line of desks which would shortly be staffed by the half dozen reporters and the secretary: On the far side of the room, the Sub-Editors would work at another line of desks, writing the headlines and laying out the copy and advertisements on large screens.
Hector looked around with affection at the rows of standard computers, at the piles of in-trays, phone books and files. The photo board (where Jess’s work, plus that of any of the freelance photographers was displayed) was constantly changing, like the distant view of the sea from the west window, but the yellowing maps on the wall had been there for ever, Hector reckoned. It was a comfortable, shabby, familiar place to work and he was entirely happy there. In fact it would never have occurred to him not to work, even though he could certainly have afforded to be a gentleman of leisure. There was a limit to the amount of golf a chap could play.
I’m a journalist because I like contact with people, he told himself, which is why I’d hate to be shut away in a small office all day, doing nothing but admin, like the Editor. I’m unshamedly un-ambitious, but I have to admit I wouldn’t mind Nige’s job. In general I suppose my life is reasonably rewarding, but there is one thing I simply must know… the sound of the tannoy distracted him.
‘Call for Hector on line ten,’ Wendy’s voice said.
Hector picked up the phone and pressed a button. ‘Hector Mudgeley’
‘There isn’t really a call,’ Wendy said. ‘I just wanted to talk to you.’
Hector looked round to check that he was still alone. ‘You’re in early?’
‘Yes, well I couldn’t sleep. Could we have a private chat soon?’
‘Why not? But not here of course. Oh yes, that reminds me, I’m afraid we won’t be able to go out much while I’m doing Nige’s job. He never gets away before seven thirty on Wednesdays.’
‘How about Thursdays then?’
‘Well I can’t promise. I may find errors when I’m checking the pages, so I may have to stay late.’
‘Well how about Friday? You should be off by lunchtime then.’
‘Let’s just play it by ear, eh?’
‘And Hector, you will keep an eye on things down here, won’t you? Nige always makes sure we’re safe. I mean, I don’t normally give the general public a thought, but that man last month was so horrible. Fancy calling me a slag-heap!’
‘Don’t worry old duck,’ Hector was feeling benevolent. ‘I’ll make sure I protect you from all loonies, drunks and weirdos; from everyone except myself in fact.’
Wendy giggled. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted someone to look after me, especially now.’
‘Why now particularly?’
‘Tell you when we meet,’ Wendy said. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘Right.’ Hector put the phone down. Then his mind reverted briskly to the important question which had been occupying his thoughts for some weeks. Did Jess have Caroline’s new address in London? They were friends, so she most probably did. He would just have to ask her, and risk her being nosy about it. He had worked out the dates, and they tallied exactly with her baby being his. Could it possibly be so? It would be an extraordinary fluke; a hole in one!
Of course he’d got plenty of time to work out what he was going to do about it. He would also have to make discreet enquiries to discover whether Caroline had been seeing any other men at the same time. That could be tricky… but essential. He wasn’t going to rear someone else’s little bastard, that was for sure! There was also the small problem of recovering from the embarrassment of their last encounter, plus the fact that he wasn’t sure he actually liked the woman very much. But, if the baby really was his (and conceived in the tower room, under the alphabet frieze, beside the blue elephants to boot), then he owed it to the child to do everything in his power…
‘Morning Hector.’ The secretary had come in, followed by some reporters.
‘Oh… Morning. Good weekend?’ He
smiled at her.
‘So so. You?’
‘Quiet.’
She sat down and started to open the mail, smoothing out press releases into a pile. Hector returned his mind firmly to the job in hand, and began Nigel’s routine; listening to news bulletins on the radio, discussing stories with the reporters, putting copy onto advertisements, and (over lunch) reading the rival newspapers. The Newsroom was quiet, but for the clicking of keyboards, the murmur of conversations on telephones, and the occasional laughter and chatter across the desks. Completed copy dropped into the Central News Basket beside him, for his approval. Piles of press releases built up; the used ones on Nigel’s future-reference spike, and the discarded ones in his waste bin, as Hector dealt with them. He got himself mugs of coffee from time to time, and sipped them slowly to keep his blood/caffeine level at optimal strength.
Jess came in from the darkroom and dropped a few prints into the photo tray. Hector leafed through them. They were run of the mill stuff; a Rotary Club function, a Lottery winner, a Hospice fundraising walk, and a Model Railway exhibition. Hector checked that all the necessary information was written on their backs, and looked up to find Jess still there.
‘Was there something else?’ he asked her.
‘Only that I saw a friend of yours on my indirect way to work this morning. She’s broken her leg, poor thing.’
‘Who?’ Hector asked, without much interest.
‘Zillah Brakespear.’
Hector jerked his head up. ‘Oh?’
‘Apparently she tripped over their cat and fell downstairs. Christian was just going for help when I happened along. He almost got himself squashed trying to stop me!’
Hector looked concerned. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Dunno. She went off in an ambulance. I thought I’d pop back this evening to find out.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hector said at once. ‘I’ll go. I’d like to.’
‘Fine,’ Jess said casually. ‘Let me know how she is, won’t you? Oh, and by the way, there’s another bit of news that might interest you. Apparently she’s five months pregnant.’
‘What!’ Hector choked and spat out a mouthful of coffee. Then simultaneously the tannoy sounded:
‘Call for Hector on line five.’
‘Hang on,’ Hector croaked, still coughing but detaining Jess with a hand on her arm. He picked up the receiver. ‘Kaugh!… ker… hmmm! Hector Mudgeley.’
‘That throat sounds nasty’ Wendy said, ‘You should get something for it. It’s only me again. Look Hector, can we meet before Friday? I don’t think I can wait…’
‘I’m sorry Madam,’ Hector said in as official a voice as he could manage. ‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Something very important has just come up,’ and he put the phone down. ‘Wretched woman,’ he explained to Jess. ‘Some pressure group – keeps on pestering me. What are you looking at me like that for?’
Drat! Hector thought, as he watched the truth dawning in Jess’s eyes. She’s guessed about Zillah and me. It’s written all over her face. Trouble with Jess is, she’s far too sharp for her own good.
‘Something very important, huh?’ Jess said mockingly. ‘Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it? I only hope for your sake that Zillah and Clive both like the name Morgan.’
Wendy worried all afternoon about what had just ‘come up’ that was so important to Hector. She wondered if he would take it so seriously, once she had told him her news. She had been agonising about how she was going to break it to him, and kept conducting trial conversations in her head:
Wendy: ‘Hector, ‘I’ve got something very exciting to tell you.’
Hector: ‘What’s that then?’
W: ‘I’m late you see, so I’ve done one of those test things and it’s turned out positive.’
H: ‘What’s positive? What ARE you on about?’
No, she thought, that’s too vague. I mustn’t give him a chance to get stroppy with me before he’s got the whole picture. How about coming straight out with it?
W: ‘You’ll be thrilled to know this. We’re going to have a baby.’
H: ‘WHAT?’
No, too abrupt. I don’t want to shock him rigid! Perhaps a more roundabout approach?
W: ‘Hector, is it true that you’ve always wanted to be a dad?’
H: ‘Well, yes it is. How did you know?’
W: ‘Call it intuition.’
H: ‘That’s what I love about you Wendy, you’re so sensitive.’
W: ‘So if I fell pregnant, you’d be pleased?’
Hector, kissing her: ‘Absolutely over the moon.’
Yes, Wendy thought. That’s the one. She went over it several times to make absolutely sure, and then having decided what to do, she began to work out when she should do it. There was no way she could wait until Friday; the suspense was already killing her. She was going to have to do it today. She knew that the News Editor always went home at five o’clock on Mondays, so there was no reason why Hector should be late. Wendy decided to wait for him after her shift finished, and maybe get him to take her home. Then she would pour him a good-sized whisky and sit him down comfortably, and break the news gently.
Jackie, the receptionist on duty that Monday evening, arrived on time and acted a bit huffy at Wendy’s continued presence. Wendy ignored her. Five o’clock came and went and people started saying in passing, ‘You still here?’ Wendy hung on grimly. Then at last, three quarters of an hour later, Hector appeared, moving so briskly that he was almost out of the main door before she caught up with him. ‘Hector?’
‘Sorry Wendy, I’m in a bit of a rush.’
‘But we’ve got to talk. It won’t take long.’ It’s no use, Wendy thought. It’s now or never. She took a deep breath and, lowering her voice carefully she said, ‘Look Hector, I really need to know. Is it true you’ve always wanted to be a father?’
Hector frowned and gestured with his eyebrows towards Jackie’s back, in a motion which plainly meant ‘not in front of the staff’. ‘I’m sorry, Wendy,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to go and see a friend who’s had an accident. I’m sure you understand.’ And he patted her on the head, and made as if to go.
Wendy felt quite desperate. ‘NO!’ she cried, clutching at his arm. ‘It’s YOU who doesn’t understand. I’m PREGNANT!’
For a moment Hector looked gobsmacked. Then he pushed her roughly through the swing doors with such energy that she went round a complete turn and a half before she could stop them and emerge into the street. Hector joined her and caught her by the elbow in a painful grip, rushing her away along the pavement and stopping only when they were well clear of the Chronicle building.
‘For God’s sake!’ he said incredulously, turning her to face him. ‘What are you trying to do to me? It’ll be all round everywhere in no time flat now. You know what a mouth that Jackie’s got!’
Wendy’s news had taken some time to register. Hector had been so completely preoccupied by fervent hopes about Zillah’s baby, that his instinct when Wendy had told him of her condition had been an overwhelming impulse to shut her up. He really did not want the staff at the Chronicle to know that he and Wendy were having any sort of a relationship, let alone a sexual one!
Yes, he had to admit it to himself; he was ashamed of her. He liked her well enough, but he definitely didn’t want to take things any further than a casual affair. He wasn’t the sort of man who fancied the kind of woman who knitted pink covers for lavatory seats. He was a snob, and unashamed of it.
Now, he thought, Caroline has the right sort of social cachet. Zillah, bless her, is really too bohemian, in spite of being bright enough, and so beautiful. But Wendy… Hector found he was still clutching her elbow. He loosened his grip and then let go altogether. He looked down at her. Two black streaks of mascara had begun to wend their way down her cheeks on the backs of tears. Oh Lord, Hector thought, she’s crying. That’s all I need.
‘Now let’s get. this straight,’ he said in businessli
ke tones. ‘You think you’re pregnant?’
‘I know I am,’ Wendy said, rubbing her freed elbow with the other hand. ‘I did a test and it was positive.’
‘But you told me you were on the pill?’
‘Yes… but it doesn’t always work, does it. I’m sorry, Hector. I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘You mean… you did it on purpose?’
‘No!… well, I don’t know.’ Wendy blotted her eyes with a tissue, and refused to meet his.
‘Are you even sure it’s mine?’
Wendy stared at him with a look of such injured innocence, that even Hector felt ashamed. ‘How can you even ask me that,’ she said, ‘of course it is.’ Then she began sobbing in earnest, and Hector was obliged to lend her his best linen handkerchief to mop up the mess. He walked her back to his car, glancing at his watch as he did so. Then he reluctantly drove her home and saw her to her front door. He couldn’t really spare the time, but he owned that he did feel a certain obligation to the woman, even though it was an entirely self-inflicted problem.
‘We’ll talk soon,’ he said, on the doorstep, ‘we’ll go through all the available options, I promise. But I really do have to go now, quite urgently. And Wendy?’
‘Yes, Hector?’ She looked up hopefully.
‘You know, you’ve been deliberately deceitful, so you can hardly blame me for feeling less than ecstatic about the mess you’re in now, can you?’ As he left, Hector felt quite justified in having spoken to her so harshly. He felt disconcertingly that he had been taken unawares, manipulated, and it made him feel very angry indeed.
It was only when he was halfway to Zillah’s house that he suddenly thought – Good Lord, suppose all three babies are mine? Far from being childless, I might even have a choice!
Zillah was unsurprised to see Hector. She had assumed that Jess would have told him of her accident, and that he would be bound to use the excuse to pester her again.
‘Zillah!’ Hector exclaimed rushing in, his face a picture of concern and anxiety. ‘You poor love. How are you?’
The Would-Begetter Page 11