The Importance of Being Emma

by Juliet Archer

  The older children hovered impatiently while I rummaged in my carrier bags and took out two presents.

  ‘This one’s for Emily.’ I helped her to unwrap the cloth doll I’d bought her and she grabbed it with an appreciative gurgle.

  ‘And for Emma,’ I said heartily, holding the other present out towards her. She couldn’t refuse to open it, surely?

  It seemed she could. She flushed and mumbled something about having her hands full with Emily.

  Bella came to her rescue. ‘I’ll help you, Aunty Emma.’ In a second she’d taken the present from me and torn off the paper to reveal a book. She held it up to her face to read the title. ‘It’s about a shridge,’ she said importantly.

  Izzy frowned. ‘A what, darling?’

  ‘A shridge.’

  I couldn’t help smiling. ‘You’ve got all the letters right, Bella, you just need to make it into one word. Ashridge. It’s a special place I took Aunty Emma to, not long ago.’ Not long ago? It seemed like a lifetime. I went on, ‘The book’s got some lovely pictures of the house and grounds, to remind her of our visit. And it tells you all about the people who used to live there, which is fascinating. I think so, anyway.’

  Emma took the book from Bella as if it was a live cobra, put it straight down on the floor and studied the back of Emily’s neck. ‘Thanks, I’m sure I’ll be duly fascinated.’ She sounded anything but. ‘Bella, can you bring Uncle Mark’s present from under the tree?’

  Bella was a willing go-between. As she gave me the present, she beamed at me and whispered, ‘It’s your favourite smell.’

  It was. Armani, Eau Pour Homme. With a tag that said simply ‘To Mark, from Emma’; no love, no kisses, nothing. Was it that that made me see red, or was it the fact she’d been so lacking in imagination? I managed to mutter ‘Thank you, very useful’ and turned my attention to handing out my other presents.

  Shortly afterwards, however, when she left the room, I followed her. I stood at the door of the kitchen, watching her pour the champagne and trying not to think what might have been. If Churchill didn’t exist, I would have won her round after Forbury Manor, I was sure. And right now I would have taken her in my arms, laughed off her uninspired Christmas present and urged her to come back with me to Donwell Abbey for the evening, if not the night …

  But Churchill did exist. And she wanted him, not me.

  Still, things couldn’t go on as they were. I took a deep breath. ‘Emma.’

  She whirled round, knocking a half-filled flute to the floor. Champagne and fragments of glass went everywhere. She looked as though she was going to burst into tears, then collected herself.

  ‘That one was yours,’ she said coldly, and went to fetch a floor mop and bucket from the nearby utility room. In a matter of seconds, she was sweeping the damp mop across the tiles with an air of vicious satisfaction.

  I stayed out of her way, folding my arms and leaning against the door jamb to observe her with as much detachment as I could muster.

  ‘Maybe I’d better not have anything alcoholic,’ I said, in a casual tone. ‘God knows, I should have learnt my lesson about the evils of drink by now.’

  She looked up, her face pale with anger. ‘Is that why you came in here? To taunt me about – about that?’

  Incredible, it was as if she still couldn’t bring herself to say that we’d slept together! I struggled to keep my temper in check. ‘No, I came to tell you to make an effort, keep up the appearance that everything’s normal in front of our family. It’s Christmas, remember? At least let the children enjoy their day instead of involving them in whatever little games you’re playing with me.’

  She paused within a yard of me and gave a supercilious smile. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I only asked Bella to give you your present.’

  ‘She’s a bright kid, they all are, they could tell there were – undercurrents.’

  ‘How could they, when there weren’t any? At least, not on my side.’

  ‘Don’t talk such crap, you wouldn’t even look at me.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Oh, I forgot, I’m supposed to fall down on my knees and gaze at you adoringly, aren’t I? I should be so grateful that Highbury’s very own Sex God condescended to knock me off! Just a pity it wasn’t more memorable. But, of course, I have that charming book to remind me of how it all started. You know, when you brought me home from Ashridge and behaved so unprofessionally. Such a thoughtful present from such a thoughtful man.’

  I lost the struggle with my temper, but managed to keep my voice deceptively quiet. ‘Ah well, it was a toss-up between that and a framed transcript of the proceedings at Forbury Manor, for you to hang on your bedroom wall. Shame you can’t remember much about it, because your task focus was rather impressive for once – something you’d be well advised to transfer to the workplace. What did you say again? “I need you to undo my dress” and “Kiss me”. Oh, and then there was “Don’t stop, not now”.’

  I knew I was totally out of order, but it just didn’t seem to matter any more. I went on, ‘And let’s see if I can recall the grand finale, when you actually begged me to – ’

  She slapped my face, hard. We glared at each other in silence while I rubbed my smarting cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It was out before I realised I’d said it. I didn’t even know if I meant it. Part of me would never willingly cause her pain; but another part of me wanted to provoke her into some sort of physical retaliation, which was precisely what I’d got. So why didn’t I feel good about it?

  ‘Emma, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of those things.’ This time I meant it. And, God help me, I wanted her more than ever. I reached out and cupped her face with my hand, letting my thumb caress the corner of her mouth. It was exactly the wrong thing to do. She wrenched herself from my grasp and ran into the utility room, sending the mop flying.

  I’d taken no more than a couple of steps after her when the doorbell rang. Cursing, I went to get rid of whoever it was, resolving to come straight back and sort things out with her. As soon as I opened the front door, however, I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It was Kate, laden with presents.

  She greeted me with a kiss. ‘Merry Christmas, Mark. Are you having lunch, or can we stop by for a while?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ I heard myself say, lamely.

  I stood to one side while she came in, followed by her husband and, of course, her grinning stepson. I gritted my teeth and shook their hands – Tom’s warmly, Churchill’s as briefly as possible – then showed them into the drawing room, fully intending to leave them to it and slip back to the kitchen. But James was wearing the Doctor Who Cyberman mask I’d brought for him and clamouring to show me what a realistic noise it made. No sooner had I given him the horrified reaction he expected, than Harry wanted me to help him set up his Simpsons Game of Life. When I next looked around, Emma still hadn’t returned and there was no sign of Churchill. My lip curled. They were probably locked in a passionate embrace in the kitchen. It was too much to hope that he’d impaled himself on the mop in the process.

  I let out a long breath, pasted a smile on my face and played the role of doting uncle to perfection.

  ~~EMMA~~

  I stared out of the utility room window; seeing nothing, trying to hold on to my fragile composure, remembering with intense shame the wave of longing that had flooded through me at his touch. I’d felt my eyes start to close, my lips part, my body sway towards him – all just moments after he’d humiliated me by repeating things I couldn’t possibly have said.

  No. Deep down, I knew I’d said those things.

  And more …

  Then, unbelievably, a few minutes later he was behind me, his arms round my waist, his breath ruffling my hair.

  I dug him violently in the stomach with my elbow. ‘Get off me, you bastard!’

  He gave a loud groan and backed off. ‘Em, what the hell was that for?’

  Flynn! I spun round and blurted out, ‘Sorry, I thought you were
Mark.’

  ‘Do you normally have to fight him off like that?’ he said, with a frown.

  I forced a laugh. ‘Of course not, it’s just because it’s Christmas.’

  ‘Thank God. And at least you weren’t encouraging him, unlike some people I could mention. The man’s insufferable enough as it is.’

  ‘Oh, don’t I know it – he treats me as though I’m still in nappies.’

  He gave me an appraising look and raised one eyebrow. ‘In that dress it’s fairly obvious you’re not wearing a nappy. In fact, Miss Woodhouse, it’s debatable whether you’re wearing any underwear at all – and Highbury is well and truly shocked!’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, there’s me just wanting to wish you Merry Christmas and getting almost crippled for it. Shall we try again?’

  He pulled me to him and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘That’s better.’ He paused, then winked at me. ‘And how are things with the lovely Harriet?’

  ‘Look,’ I said, with an exasperated sigh, ‘there’s absolutely nothing between me and Harriet.’

  He winked again. ‘That’s exactly how I like to imagine the two of you. Quite a turn-on, believe me, on my lonely nights up in the Lake District for the past couple of weeks.’

  ‘The lovely Harriet’, ‘quite a turn-on’? Was this empty talk, or an indication of something more serious? I stored these thoughts away in my mind until later, but decided I wasn’t going to let him off the hook for now.

  I placed my hands on my hips and scowled at him. ‘You can stop your imagining, period, because it’s simply not true. And why you had to call me a lemo in front of Harriet and those Goths, I’ll never know. You told me you wouldn’t say a word to anyone!’

  He put on an injured expression. ‘I was only trying to create a diversion. You’d better let me off, or else you won’t get the really nice present I’ve got you.’

  ‘I don’t want a really nice present.’ My lips tightened. ‘And I need to see to the lunch, otherwise it’ll be ruined. You can make yourself useful and take that tray of drinks into the drawing room. Presumably Kate and Tom are with you?’

  ‘Yes. We meant to come earlier, but Kate wanted to call on the Bateses first.’

  ‘I see. And how were they?’

  ‘Oh God, same as usual. Except that Batty was still full of the Donwell Organics Christmas party, although she wasn’t even there. “Dear Mark, so generous, so attentive to dear Jane, everything a girl could wish for … The most wonderful syllabub for dessert, with delicious little biscuits, almost like a … Then carriages at one, so not too much beauty sleep lost” – and so on, ad nauseam.’

  I couldn’t help smiling; he had Batty off to a T. ‘You’re a very wicked man, mocking her like that. Ask Kate and Tom what they’d like to drink – oh, and “dear Mark” too.’ I bit my lip. ‘If he doesn’t want anything alcoholic, he can have either orange juice or lemonade, like the kids.’

  Flynn did as he was told and returned a few minutes later. ‘Champagne for Tom – he says he’s got lots to celebrate – and orange juice for Kate and God’s Gift. Shall I see to it?’

  ‘Please.’ The less contact I had with Mark at the moment, the better.

  I left Flynn in the kitchen and went into the drawing room to wish Kate and Tom a Merry Christmas. As I watched them give the children their presents, I noticed that they were unusually restless. Tom was shifting from one foot to the other and Kate kept glancing up at him; whenever their eyes met, they would both break into a smile.

  I nudged Kate and said, with mock severity, ‘You two should be behaving like an old married couple by now, but you seem even more excited than the children, if that’s possible. What’s your secret?’

  She exchanged another look with Tom and he went dashing out of the room. Then she turned to me. ‘Tom’s gone to find Flynn because he’s going to make an announcement. But I want to tell you our news myself.’ She added, with a blush, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  My hand went instinctively to my stomach; then I hugged her and said brightly, ‘That’s wonderful. When did you find out?’

  ‘A while ago, but I’ve just passed the three-month stage so we thought it safe to go public. We’re going to tell the others once Tom’s back.’

  I did some rapid calculations in my head. Her baby would be born in early summer; whereas, if I was pregnant, mine would be due very late August. Or even September, the time for an Indian summer. How appropriate, given who the father was … I corrected myself. There was, in effect, no such person. I would have to be both father and mother to my baby.

  I squared my shoulders. ‘I’m so happy for you. You’ll be the perfect mother and Tom will have the chance to be a real father this time. Not like with Flynn.’

  She sobered instantly. ‘Yes, imagine fathering a child and not being able to see it grow up. Oh, I know it happens far too frequently these days, but that doesn’t make it any easier for the man concerned. And the child, naturally.’

  I felt my eyes fill with tears but, fortunately, Tom and Flynn came into the room with the remaining drinks and provided a distraction. Kate gave me a kiss and moved to Tom’s side, while I found myself staring at Flynn. He hadn’t turned out that badly, I supposed, but how did he feel about seeing so little of his father during his childhood? Of course, Tom had been in the Merchant Navy, unable to interfere even if Stella had allowed him to.

  Mark would be entirely different. He was a more forceful character than Tom and, worse still, he was on my doorstep. But he was due to go back to India when George Knightley returned in February. With any luck he’d leave promptly, giving me the time and space to work out how to run my life – and Dad’s – with a baby.

  All of a sudden, it dawned on me. As my pregnancy started to show, I’d have to endure all the gossip. ‘Fancy Emma Woodhouse making that sort of mistake! But then she always thought she was better than everyone else in Highbury. Now who could the father be?’

  I wondered gloomily how Dad would react. I decided he’d either get permanently bloated, in the spirit of a sympathetic pregnancy, or become obsessed with the potential risks to my health.

  Then there was Izzy; she’d probably accuse me of being immoral and irresponsible and forbid me to have anything more to do with her children. And what about John? What if, for once, he agreed with her?

  I was sure Kate and Tom would be supportive; but naturally, when their own baby arrived, they’d have far less time for me and my problems.

  As for Batty, she would be positively unbearable. She’d smother me with kindness and those endless pairs of pale yellow bootees she used to knit for Izzy. I could just hear her rabbiting on at me: ‘You can’t have too many of them, Baby’s little feet can get quite chilly and … Such a lovely colour, it does for a boy or a … Still keeping us in the dark about its father, dear? Never mind, I’m sure we’ll be able to tell who Baby looks like when it’s born, so exciting, perhaps I’ll organise a Guess the Daddy stall at the Autumn Fayre.’

  Funny, until Kate told me her news, I hadn’t thought any of this through. It was as though her pregnancy – so straightforward, so welcome, so right – made me realise what a mess mine would be.

  But this much was clear: whatever the truth of the situation, I had to tell Mark I wasn’t pregnant. I needed him safely back in India and out of my life.

  ~~MARK~~

  I wondered what Emma and Kate were talking about. Whatever it was, it made Kate happy but left Emma quite upset. Once she was on her own, her face drained of its colour and, for a moment, I thought she was going to faint.

  I frowned. Normally, I’d have gone over and probed a bit, or jollied her out of it. But there was no such thing as normality any more, only the appearance of it. And anyway, she didn’t need me, she had Churchill. She certainly couldn’t take her eyes off him, which filled me with a sense of foreboding. What if my playing it cool for the past few weeks had been completely the wrong tactic?

  As a result, when Tom asked for silence so that he could make ‘an important ann
ouncement’, I broke out in a cold sweat – because I knew what was coming. Strange, though; I’d have expected Henry to do the honours, not Tom. Unless Henry didn’t approve?

  My mouth went dry as I glanced across at Emma. She looked strained rather than pleased, and there was no ring on her engagement finger. But, of course, she’d be concerned about her father’s reaction; or perhaps Churchill wanted to put the ring on in front of everyone, like the flamboyant bastard he was.

  Emily started to wail and Emma picked her up to comfort her; odd, when I’d have thought she’d need her hands free …

  Just then, Tom cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, everybody. I’m delighted to announce’ – I closed my eyes to blot out the inevitable – ‘that in June, all being well,’ – oh, get on with it, for God’s sake! – ‘a new member of the Weston family will put in his or her appearance.’

  I let out a long slow breath. In other words, Kate and Tom were expecting a baby. Why hadn’t I guessed? It was the most natural thing in the world, even if they were both getting on a bit. I opened my eyes and grinned inanely at no one in particular.

  Tom drew Kate’s arm through his. ‘Please join me in a toast to my lovely wife and the safe arrival of Baby Weston!’

  As we raised our glasses and echoed his words, I took the opportunity to study the faces around me. Everyone seemed delighted, with two notable exceptions. Henry looked apprehensive, presumably speculating on what could go wrong with Kate’s pregnancy. And, although I couldn’t see Emma’s expression properly for Emily’s head, her eyes were suspiciously bright. They met mine, then flicked away.

  I understood perfectly. Kate and Tom’s news had been a timely reminder that she might be carrying my child.

  And the contrast with Kate’s happiness couldn’t be more marked.

  ~~EMMA~~

  After the toast, Flynn sauntered over to me, lifted a rather surprised Emily out of my arms and pressed a small, square, gift-wrapped box into my hand.