Hannah gathered quite soon that Hector tended towards the continental mode of driving. At first she thought everyone was hooting at him, but then she learned to distinguish the regular blare of Hector’s two-tone horn amongst the others, as he carved his way through the London traffic. There was a lot of rapid acceleration and sudden braking, squeals of tyres and hissing of air-brakes. At one point when they were presumably waiting at traffic lights, Hannah heard someone shouting,
‘Get yourself some sodding glasses, Grandad!’ and then the same voice, ‘Oh nice one! Is that your age or your IQ?’
She heard Hector mutter through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll get you, you stupid bastard…’ and was abruptly pressed into the back of the seat as he stepped hard on the gas, and then very nearly thrown forwards into the foot-well as he unexpectedly jammed on the brakes. ‘CUNT!’ Hector shouted.
Hannah took as firm a grip as she could on the edge of the seat and lay there, ears pricked, wondering if she was going to learn any new words. She rather doubted it actually. Hector’s generation’s vocabulary was pretty lame in her estimation. She did, however, begin to wonder whether she would reach her destination in one piece. Veg out! she advised herself. Relax! He’s managed to survive this long as a driver, what’s another few hours?
Once on to the motorway, things got easier and Hannah almost dozed off again. I’ll wait until he’s safely in a service station, she thought, before I show myself. He’s not exactly laid-back, and I don’t want to be the cause of a multiple pile-up. She hoped, however, that Hector’s bladder would prove to be weaker than her own. She’d forgotten to go before stowing away, and she was already feeling the need…
After they had been driving for about an hour and a half, she felt the car slowing down and heard the sound of progressively lower gears being engaged. They turned a few corners at a gentler speed and finally, in the nick of time as far as Hannah was concerned, they came to a halt.
She threw off the sleeping bag and rugs and sat up, stretching. ‘Thank God we’ve stopped at last,’ she said. ‘I’m bursting for a pee!’
Hector’s expression in the mirror was one of comical horror. He whipped his head round to stare at her. ‘What the hell…?’
‘I wanted to come with you,’ Hannah explained, ‘and I didn’t think you’d let me.’
‘Too bloody right!’
‘Gotta have a leak,’ Hannah said quickly, opening the door. ‘Back in a mo.’
She worried as she hurried into the Welcome Break, that Hector might simply drive off and abandon her. He didn’t. When she got back, he was still sitting in his car looking displeased, but resigned.
‘I ought to take you straight back to London,’ he said, sighing, ‘but there isn’t time. Damn it, Hannah! What on earth am I supposed to do with you?’
‘Take me home to your place.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Why? Are you ashamed of me?’
‘No, of course not, you noodle.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘The problem, as you so simplistically put it, is this: what on earth am I going to say to my wife?’
Chapter 22
Wendy examined her reflected head and shoulders carefully to detect the latest of the accumulating imperfections of age, and realized for the first time, sadly, that the term ‘turtle neck’ no longer applied solely to woolly jumpers. She turned away from the bathroom mirror feeling old and unloved. I shall be fifty next year, she thought. What shall I do if he leaves me?
When Hector had gone off with no explanation, Wendy hadn’t known what to think. Perhaps he already had left her? Where had he gone? How could she find out? She couldn’t look at any of their annotated phone bills to discover the numbers he habitually rang, because he always paid them without reference to her and then locked them up in one of his filing cabinets. She decided she would press the redial button on the telephone in his study, just in case his last call had been to his bit-on-the-side. She had done this several times previously without success. Once, surprisingly, it had been Barry’s number and afterwards she’d wished she had thought in advance of something plausible to say. But since she hadn’t, she’d had to disguise her voice and pretend it was a wrong number. Wendy had felt very sad about that. She would have liked a chat, but somehow she could never quite bring herself to phone him deliberately, in case she got Jackie instead.
This time, re-dialling got her a woman’s voice on an answer-phone. ‘I’m sorry I can’t talk to you at the moment,’ it said. ‘If you want to leave a message for Jess Hazelrigg, please do so after the beep. Thank you.’
Wendy put the phone down without speaking and thought, JESS? Surely not!
She didn’t know what to do. Suppose she were to ring Jess’s number, and Hector wasn’t there? She couldn’t think of a convincing lie and she shrank from explaining the real situation to Jess, so she spent the rest of the day in a state of suppressed anxiety, functioning like an automaton. She took Morgan to his Saturday swimming lesson. She did one load of washing and two of ironing. She hoovered the house. She waited and waited for the telephone to ring and eventually, that evening, it did.
‘It’s me.’
‘Hector! Where are you?’
‘In London.’
‘But why? Who are you with? When are you coming home? And why didn’t you tell me first? I’ve been worried sick!’
‘Calm down, Wendy, everything’s fine. I just need some space, OK? I’ll be back tomorrow evening.’
‘But why did you go to London in the first place?’
‘I don’t know. It was an impulse. I’m sorry, I should have discussed it with you.’
‘Are you seeing Jess?’
‘No,’ Hector said very casually. ‘Haven’t been in touch with her for years. Why d’you ask?’
‘No reason.’
It must be her, Wendy thought as she put the phone down. Why else would he lie? She slumped on to the floor beside the phone, put her face in both hands and wept. She was now so unloveable that her husband even preferred Jess to her. Tears trickled through her fingers and down her arms, making the sleeves of her cardigan all wet inside. Wendy couldn’t understand how Hector could fancy someone like Jess! Perhaps she’d changed? Of course she had the advantage of comparative youth. I was attractive ten years ago, Wendy thought, wiping her eyes. It’s so unfair! Perhaps it’s a judgement on me for deceiving Hector into marrying me? Maybe I should have married Barry instead, when I had the chance?
Barry – she hadn’t given him a thought in years. He was still young. He must only be thirty-five or so, but even he wouldn’t fancy her now. She remembered how keen he had been on her fourteen years ago, and how she hadn’t taken him seriously at all. She knew now how he must have felt, and was sorry that she had treated him so casually. She should have been kinder. She thought about him on and off all Sunday morning, and wished she could think of a way to make it up to him. Then, on impulse, when Morgan had gone out with a friend and the house was empty, she looked up his phone number in the book and dialled it. If it’s Jackie or one of the kids, Wendy thought, I’ll just put the phone down. But it was Barry himself who answered.
‘Barry? Hello, it’s Wendy Mudgeley.’
‘Hello!’ He sounded genuinely pleased to hear her.
‘This is probably a silly question, but do you know Jess Hazelrigg’s address in London?’ I don’t need it, Wendy thought. It’s only a pretext, but Barry isn’t to know that.
‘Sorry, no,’ Barry said. ‘I gather she’s been doing pretty well for herself though. Why?’
‘Oh it’s not important,’ Wendy said. ‘How’s things with you?’
‘Bit tough at the moment actually,’ Barry said. ‘Jackie’s… away and now Mum’s died, so I’m having to cope with all the children single-handed. It’s a bit like having both feet nailed to the floor.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Wendy sympathised, ‘I had no idea! Poor you! Can I help at all? Would you like to bring
them over here for tea tomorrow, for instance?’
‘Well that’s really kind Wendy, but my two eldest are due to go to a birthday party in Bristol, and of course Muggins here has to take them, but thanks very much for asking.’
‘It would be nice to meet up sometime,’ Wendy suggested tentatively.
‘Yes it would. We must arrange it.’
‘Yes, well… goodbye then.’
“Bye Wendy. Good to talk to you.’
He doesn’t really want to see me, she thought. He’s just being polite.
The afternoon dragged by. It was sunny outside but there was a cold north wind. Wendy went out to dig up some dandelions from the border in the front garden, so that the flowers wouldn’t go to seed and spread themselves everywhere. Gradually, in spite of the chill, she became absorbed in her task. As she worked, a bright yellow brimstone butterfly, the first of the season, fluttered by. A robin sang in the cherry tree above her head, and Wendy began to feel her heart slow down to a more tranquil beat. She breathed in the cool air, and brushed the hair out of her eyes with the backs of her soilcaked hands.
Once upon a time, she thought, I used to varnish my nails every other day, and grow them all long and sophisticated. Now they’re less than half that length and all filled up black with dirt! She didn’t quite know why she’d taken to gardening. She had never been in the least interested in it until she’d turned forty. Then she had sown seeds from a free packet on the front of one of her women’s magazines, and had watched them grow and transform themselves into bright summer flowers. She had made something beautiful from almost nothing. It felt like magic. Wendy knew Hector didn’t appreciate beauty – one spring she had planted out a whole bed of snapdragons, taking care to get the spaces between them exactly right, and he’d stood behind her and jeered. ‘You should get a job in municipal gardening,’ he’d said. ‘They’d love those serried ranks.’
If she had known then that serried meant ‘close set’, she might have been able to think up a cutting reply, but of course she hadn’t, so she couldn’t. She sighed, and decided to try to forget about Hector at least for the rest of that day.
It finally began to get dark and, unusually for her, Wendy couldn’t be bothered to change out of her gardening clothes. She brushed the loose soil from her knees, changed into more comfortable slippers, washed her hands, and then lounged in front of the television with Morgan and a glass of hock from her wine box. She remembered she hadn’t yet taken anything out to un-freeze for supper, but didn’t do anything about it. Morgan had requested spaghetti and convenience sauce out of a jar, so Hector could damn well eat the same. Why should she put herself out? Oh dear, she thought, looking down at her dirty trousers. Is this what they mean by ‘letting yourself go’? Is this the beginning of the end?
At eight o’clock, after she and Morgan had eaten their supper and were again slouched in front of the box, they heard the front door opening and Hector coming in. About bloody time! Wendy thought, looking at her watch. I’ll wait until Morgan’s gone to bed, and then he’s going to have one hell of a lot of explaining to do.
But there were voices in the hall. Hector had some woman with him. Oh no! Wendy thought horrified. I look a complete and utter mess for the first time in my entire life and Hector has to choose this moment to bring visitors home without even warning me. I’ll kill him!
‘Do I look really mucky?’ she asked Morgan anxiously.
‘Well, you’ve got this big smudge of something on your forehead,’ he said. ‘I was going to tell you.’
Then the sitting-room door opened arid Hector came in, and behind him was a skinny, defiant looking girl of about Morgan’s age, wearing crumpled clothes and large black boots. Hector himself looked belligerent, and Wendy’s heart sank. She recognised this attitude as a favourite strategy of his for countering criticism; attack always being his preferred form of defence.
‘Ah, Wendy and Morgan,’ Hector said firmly, putting an arm around the girl. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter Hannah?’
‘I’m going to call the police,’ Caroline announced at ten o’clock. ‘There’s still no reply from Hector’s number, just a sodding answerphone. It’s quite obvious to me that the bloody man’s kidnapped her!’
‘But Hector wouldn’t do a thing like that,’ Jess protested.
‘So where is Hannah? We’ve looked everywhere. We’ve phoned all her friends. What other explanation is there?’
‘But I saw him leave,’ Jess said, ‘and she wasn’t with him, and anyway it would be virtually impossible to make Hannah go anywhere she didn’t want to, without an almighty struggle and a lot of noise. Someone would have noticed!’
‘No,’ Caroline said despairingly. ‘You don’t understand. I didn’t mean kidnapped as in “against her will”. She probably hid in the boot for the first five minutes. That’s why I’m feeling so desperate. I have this dreadful certainty that Hannah would do anything to get away from me.’ She began to cry messily and with great gasping breaths. ‘I’ve failed,’ she sobbed, ‘failed at the most important thing in life – being a mother!’
‘No…’ Jess soothed her, putting both arms around her, and holding her tightly. ‘You haven’t, of course you haven’t. It’s all my fault. I’m so, so sorry. If only I hadn’t let on that Hannah was Hector’s daughter, then none of this would have happened.’ She sounded tearful too.
After a moment or two, Caroline sniffed loudly and pulled back a little, so that she could meet her friend’s eyes. ‘It would probably all have come to the same thing in the end,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sorry I blamed you earlier. If I’m honest, I’ve known for some time that Hannah was just waiting for an excuse to get away from me. It’s just… just that I can’t believe that any responsible adult would connive at it with her. How could Hector do it? It’s sick!’
‘But I don’t suppose…’ Jess was interrupted by the sound of the telephone ringing. Caroline let out a muffled scream and almost pushed Jess over in her haste to disengage herself and rush to answer it.
‘Sorry, sorry. Hello?… Oh Hannah darling! I’ve been so worried. Are you all right? Where are you?’
‘In Somerset, at Hector’s house,’ Hannah sounded sulky. ‘He made me phone you. Calm down, will you? It’s no big deal.’
‘What on earth do you mean? A man kidnaps you and…’
‘Get real, Mum! It was no kidnap. I stowed away on the back seat of his car. He was, like, ballistic when he found out.’
‘Ohhh…’ Caroline felt about for the nearest chair and sank into it. There was a brief silence.
‘You OK?’ Hannah asked. ‘Like you haven’t fainted or nothing?’
‘A fat lot you care,’ Caroline managed to say.
‘What d’you mean? I’m calling you, aren’t I?’
‘But I’ve been trying Hector’s number for hours, and all I got was his damned machine!’
‘Yeah, well, he switched it over when we got here. He said he needed quiet space, ’cos we had, like, stuff to discuss.’
‘But you are all right?’
‘Well I’m totally wrecked and the journey here was a bunch of arse, but yeah, I’m OK.’
After the first tremendous relief of discovering that Hannah was safe and well, Caroline began to be curious about the kind of reception that had awaited her. ‘What’s Hector’s family like?’
‘Oh Morgan’s not exactly cool, but he’s wicked at drawing. He’s mad for it! You should see the stuff he does. He is SO talented.’
‘And Wendy?’
‘Well she was well gutted at first. Seems she didn’t know nothing about me, nor Florian, Hector’s other son. Hector’d decided to, like, give it to her straight, see, but Wendy just ran upstairs, and we could hear her bawling right through the ceiling. And then Hector wen’ up and they had one heck of a row, like shouting and chucking stuff, and then she comes down all swollen up round the eyes, and she goes, “I’m sorry Hannah, this isn’t any fault of yours,” and I’m like, “
That’s OK,” and then she makes us this huge bowl of spaghetti and stuff, like nothing’s happened. It was well weird, I can tell you!’
‘And what about Hector?’
‘Oh he’s toughing it out. He’s the dog’s, is Hector.’
‘PLEASE Hannah! Do endeavour to talk proper English. All this mock Cockney street-speak is getting more than a little tedious. It’s so limited!’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘So,’ Caroline said briskly, ‘when are you coming home? Get Hector to put you on a train, and I’ll meet you at Pad-dington. Yes?’
‘No way.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Just that. I like it here. The food’s pukkah. I’ve never had a dad nor brothers before. End of story.’
‘Now come on, Hannah. Don’t be ridic…’
‘Leave it, Mum, OK? It’s been a long day and I’m wrecked. Oh, one more thing…’
‘What?’
‘Hector’s showed me this huge portrait of my great-great-grandmother, yeah? On his study wall? So my name’s not Hannah Moffat no more. Everyone’s got to call me Gwladys Mudgeley. Right?’ And she put the phone down.
Jess didn’t know quite how to help Caroline. She felt guilty for having precipitated the crisis, and yet she knew logically that it wasn’t her fault. It was Hector they should be blaming. Jess supposed that she ought to feel antagonistic towards him as a result, and thought she did, but then again…This is no time for introspection, she thought wearily. I shall have to try to help sort things out, but first I’m going to make us both a milky drink to go to bed with. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.
The Would-Begetter Page 26